My Ancestors...(part 1)

 

She felt the whispers, to the core of her being, as they rode upon the wind. Their song was low and bone chillingly deep. They spoke of memories of souls past, and magik yet to come. Drowning in their message, she welcomed the wisdom of their tales. Yet the deeper she sank, the more her light fought to return to the surface. The beauty that surrounded her dreams belied the dark winds that had enveloped the world. Creeping across the lands, leaving death and darkness in its wake, judgment had arrived. It was coming for her. The choice was impossible, but reality called and her crusade, the crusade that would end her life, would allow the magik to thrive.

Lightning in a dry sky mimicked the power that once rolled through her veins.  Though she grew weaker as she strayed farther from the only home she had ever known, her resolve grew. The elements echoed the news of the change that she would bring. Moira was going to restore the glory of the Pacte Noir, even if she had to bring the world to its knees in order to make it happen.

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 Excitement laced fear lay sweet upon her tongue. The straw huts that marked the village grew smaller as she trekked along the road of muck and thatch. Her sensibilities would have to wait, survival was of the utmost purpose at this point.

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Moira didn't bother to cover her head with the hood of the burlap mantle, or to silence the slight sounds of her hide covered feet. There was no need to hide who she was, for the eyes that would find her would not use the eyesight of mortals to accomplish the task. They only had to consider her for her to appear before them. Her only hope was to avoid their attention.

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Aamina would have her hands full attempting to quell the panic. The young girl had coveted the position of high priestess since she was old enough to understand what the title meant. HEr pranks and follies had appeared to be light hearted and playful, but it was not a secret that with Moira gone, the child hoped to fill the revered position of High Priestess.

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She could prove herself now by cleaning up the mess left behind. the village well, overfloowing with blood should have created enough of an uproar to keep everyone  occupied for quite  a while. It should also keep the attention of Pacte Noir away from her for a while.

her safe haven, her last chance at fulfilling her dreams, and her destiny, fought her ties to the dock. the sway of the ship belying the calm waters she called home. The name Grande Damme was etched into the bow, but her title shone from every  battle worn plank. She was a tyrant against the lulling tides. Barely restrained, she pulsed with the yearning to answer the sirens call of the sea. The Mistress of the sea would provide passage for the soon to be Madre de Magik.

 

"Tell me, my lovely little stowaway, what shall it be? Would you prefer the monsters of the sea or the hearty appetites of my men?"

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Her hand, tingling from the lack of circulation would feel so good wrapped around his blasted neck. Her shackles left no room to maneuver though. She settled for a deceiving look of non-chalance. She could not risk even the slightest magik here, or they would see. They would know. This predicament she'd have to remove herself from the hard way.

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"I do have to admit, I have never run across a stowaway as...gifted...as you are. I may just have to keep you for myself." Sully, the captain, chuckled to himself

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The seagulls squall echoed off the wall of fog masked the racing of her pulse.

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"I am Moira."

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"She speaks!"

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"You will escort me to safety."

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"Oh, you will be escorted. The level of safety cannot be guaranteed as yet."

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"I can barter."

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"I'm sure before your adventure is done, my little sea dove, barter you shall."

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She masked the shudder, barely

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"What is it that you feel you have worth offering. You have nothing besides the rags on your back."

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The ship rocked, the crack of the waves against the vessel were deafening. She fought back the urge to throw the arrogant captain over the edge. His kind had invaded her lands and captured her people, treating them as chattel. Right at this moment, she needed him to see her that way.

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She very deliberately removed the emotion from her eyes. With a well-placed twist and shrug, the rags she wore fell from her shoulders. The captain did a double take, but appeared to show no other reaction, other than the lazy stare. She let her thoughts run to the power which she would soon not only wield, but control. Her now bare nipples peaked and her breathing grew shallow.

Her scent rose through the room, hungry for power, she let her excitement shine through.

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"You will take me to safety, to Hispaniola."

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With his hungry lips locked around her breast, he agreed. She could have asked him anything at that moment and he would have given it to her. To ensure the safe completion of her quest, she did not ask, she offered, and he accepted. Drinking from her, a thirst he had never realized, was sated. His hunger slaked by the mere touch of his mouth to her skin. She fed him through his very soul, leaving her mark along the way.

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Balance was required of all things living and dead. She could not very well take from him what she needed without leaving a gift for him in recompose.  The only way to ensure the purity of her bloodline, was to create a mate of her own Magik. The stern and handsome Captain would serve her purposes just fine.

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When she exited the ship, she took not only his heart, well-earned or not; as well as his seed planted deep in her fertile womb. The change had begun.

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It would be 30 years before the Council of the Covenant would learn of her betrayal. A mere drop in time, with their millennia of experience considered. Yet, it was long enough for the Priestess to establish a stronghold on the new island that she called home. The power that she had stolen from her native Afrika had begun to take root in the area that he mortals called the new world. It could not be eradicated without throwing the balance completely off kilter. The slight adjustment needed now would have to come from a personal penance. She would pay, as would her offspring and so she believed, would the man that aided her in this treasonous act.

 

The sentences were severe and succinct. The priestess would never again leave the hills of her beloved island. If she wanted them so much they would now be her prison. The ship’s captain, Sully they called him, had erred in offering her safety and transport. They had no recourse, as he was Daeve demon. The demon was beyond their reach, though he chose to pass time in the mortal world, he was a bastard child of the Primal Gods.

 

As for their bastard, she would be exiled to the world of mortals. Her line would have no knowledge of their origins. Their power, although it could not be removed, would be slight. Each generation would grow stronger, but the council knew that the line would be eradicated before the power grew strong enough to be a true threat. They were wrong.

 

Today, we have The Grey_Witch. She is descended from the Primal Gods and La Madre de Magik.  Daeve demon, Priestess, and Elemental, she is unstoppable.