Where do witches come from?

Where Do Witches Come From?
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Amrey - Witch of Sartellia
Sartos and Patros played happily at their grandmother's feet, oblivious to the important discussions happening around them. Sartos was slighter than Patros, who dwarfed his brother physically. They didn't often leave each others company, so there was little danger of them trying to wander off separately. Freyna kept her grandsons in sight, and the language lofty enough that they wouldn't know what was being discussed til they were much older. She was sure the homunculus would occupy them long enough though. It had been an effort to make it, as costly as it was, but it had served to keep her grandsons entertained enough to pay for the sacrifice tenfold. Of course it had other uses as well. Though she was physically frail these days, mentally she had gained tremendous acuity. Shifting her attention to the tiny creation and back without losing her train of thought was second nature.

"Age is slowing you Freyna, and some think it may be affecting your judgement as well." Amrey was doing her best to keep the condescension from her voice, well aware that Freyna had more than enough power to lash out if she really wanted to. Sometimes she reminded Freyna of Shae, but only mildly, and that was more out of wishful thinking. She hadn't seen Shae in a long time.

"Physical sluggishness has no bearing on my intellect dear. I'm well enough up here," she tapped her temple slowly, "to outpace even the brightest of you upstarts." Her smile was full of hubris, but well deserved hubris. Amrey looked somewhat distraught. This was obviously not going the way she thought it would. She had come in full of good nature, promises and persuasive air, but Freyna had swiftly rained upon her hopes with unwavering conviction. They wanted her to retire and retreat, but her work wasn't done. There were rites left to complete, and promises to make and collect on. Though, truth be told, she could do most of it without the title.

"Come back tomorrow dear. I think it will be a better day for discussion." This time she smiled warmly, and invitingly. Somehow this looked to unnerve Amrey more than the sarcasm and implacability Freyna had adopted all morning. "I'll make tea and we can talk about the future."

Amrey seemed to know that this was the end of the conversation, but was quick enough to note the invitation to return. She bowed, collected her things politely, and excused herself before Freyna could rescind the invitation.

"Grammor, tell us a story." It was Sartos. At some point the boys had stopped playing with the homunculus and stood nearby, waiting for a chance to speak. Freyna smiled at their manners, especially Patros. The boy was the embodiment of impatience. The homunculus spun, tilted and tumbled about the boys feet, it's antics going unnoticed by the pair of them. Patros rubbed at his eyes a little, and that told Freyna it was after noon, and almost time for them to nap.

Freyna summoned a servant, the old fashioned way, with a small silver bell she had been gifted long ago. Some suitor or other. He had been handsome, and intelligent, but fell short of her standards, and would not have been able to follow the traditions. She had kept the bell though, and he did not grudge her for it. A servant arrived as she reminisced and she asked him to prepare a light snack for her grandsons as she set the homunculus to work laying out sleeping mats at the edge of her yurt. The boys had stopped arguing about nap time months ago, so long as she told them a story.

"What would you like to hear darlings?" Her face took on a countenance that only they knew, and that only they enjoyed. It was warm and loving. Not even her husband had been given the gift of this aspect of her. They hugged her aged legs, looked up and in unison, almost as if practiced, said "Tell us where witches come from!"

She smiled, nudged them toward their cots and rose to move to the chair closer to that side of the yurt, nodding all the while. "First, you must know that while we suffer to be called witches by those who do not share our customs, that we have another name for ourselves. That name is the Tel Astria, and it means the oathkeepers." She had told them this before, and she knew that they knew it, though they loved to hear the telling regardless.

The servant came in with some fruit, crackers and water, and laid it out between their cots, and on the table next to her chair. She nodded approval, and the servant withdrew. When they were gone she continued, tracing a symbol in the air that dimmed the light, and replaced it with a faint ambient glow between herself and her grandsons. They giggled and gasped at this, though they saw it every noontime and evening.

"Long ago, the Tel Astria arrived from a distant land. A place lost to memory. At that time, we wrote down little, and all was passed down by our storytellers." She paused and used her hands to cast shadows on the wall, that seemed far too perfect in shape to be formed by hands. The boys watched the silhouette of a group of wanderers set up a camp at the foot of a mountain range they knew from previous telling to be the Sartellian peaks.

"They found a fertile land and said 'This land is good.' They built homes, farms and began a new life." She moved her hands and the silhouettes were replaced by the silhouettes of buildings, and farm animals. The boys giggled.

"They brought with them their customs, traditions and oaths. Those things that gave their lives meaning, and gave them the ability to live and thrive." She paused as the shadows took on a life of their own and rested her hands. The shadows portrayed men around campfires, hunting parties, and reveling.

"But this new land required new promises. New oaths, and so they made them." She paused for a moment, looked to be sure they were still listening, and continued, "As each Tel Astrian comes of age, they are given a choice. They can become an oath keeper, or they can continue their life as it had been. Becoming an oath keeper gives them power, but at the price of a strict set of rules. Denying that choice means a life of freedom from those oaths, but servitude to those who keep the oaths, because the oaths are important and must not be forgotten." Freyna stopped a moment to snatch a grape from the table. As she did so, the sleeve of her robe pulled back slightly, revealing the very edges of her promises. Her grandsons stared intently, and she did not fail to notice. She continued.

"The oaths are taken onto oneself symbolically, like a mural upon the body, weaving into and out of one another as more and more oaths are taken. Most take one, two, or a minor handful. A rare few become a canvas of oaths, colourful and resplendant. Intricate, and if they aren't careful, fragile. To break the oaths is to invite tragedy as the promises exact their own price from the oath keeper." The shadows depict a figure taking markings as she speaks, concluding with a figure bent over in agony, apparently having broken one of their oaths.

"Many Tel Astrians are women, but not all my darlings. Some men take on the oaths as well, though this is viewed less favorably since the betrayer came and took our customs to others. He was one of the last great male Tel Astrians, though few outside of our people knew it." The shadow play depicted a single figure stealing away from a Tel Astrian village in haste, something under his arm.

"These days, Tel Astrian men merely think they are doing the right thing by remaining free of the oaths to protect our women." She seemed to snort a bit at this, but stopped before continuing when she noticed her grandsons had fallen asleep sitting up in their cots. Her expression shifted back into a warm smile as she directed the homunculus to lay them down properly and then come rest beside her on the table.

"Sleep, my grandsons. Sleep and dream. Sleep and build the strength you will need." Freyna extinguished the dull glow and allowed herself to doze lightly in her chair.