Nestled on the eastern edge of the river’s bend, marked by a large wooden mansion less than one-hundred yards from the river, was The Landing. This was the very spot that the witches arrived into this new land, where the single brood split into two, forcing some away, and where many still resided. The waves rolled over the banks of the river to lap at the doors atop the mansion steps, its sound structure holding it still as the mighty wind roared around it, but the building itself was raised up several feet off the ground for just this situation, its bottom floor being empty and used only in rare circumstances.
Inside, the witches of Saint Bernard paid no mind to the raging storm that engulfed the swamp. Instead, the eldest and most trusted among them gathered in the large chambers on the top floor to discuss plans of attacking the brood of Saint Claude while they were still recovering from the flood. They understood that the Saint Claude witches could not have been as prepared as they were. They knew that the flood would be much worse near the chambers due to its proximity to the lake. And they also knew about the arrival of the vampire, and the dissention he could cause. For a nearly extinct race to arrive in this new land at such a time, it threatened to change the course of the future, which they currently controlled. The renegade witches of Saint Claude had been on the run for the previous three years, and never possessed any true power, at least in the eyes of the Elders. They were young and seen as ignorant by those Elders, seemingly incapable of taking control of their race, let alone taking care of themselves.
But events as of late had arisen that threatened to change all of that. A chain of events had already been set into motion, and it was now possible for a shift in power to take place, but a course of action had been taken by the Elders to stop that shift before it even had a chance to happen. The Saint Bernard witches sought to stomp out any flame of hope they may have had, and they now awaited the return of the young witch Angela, her new apprentice Stace, and the elder warlock George’, for word on that effort, and with the opening of the large wooden door, Angela led the way into the Elder’s High Chambers.
She returned with the news of mass flooding, worse than ever before, further up river near the underground chambers, news that spread quickly throughout the mansion and all the way up to the filled to capacity chambers of the elders atop the massive structure. But that wasn’t the bad news. She finally made it through the crowd to stand before the elders and report to the eldest wizard, Poydras, that her mission was a failure. She explained that everyone had evacuated from the underground chambers, leaving them empty. One of their witches was there, though, Jane Saint Marie, and she had interfered with their attempts to find the vampire, costing them the life of the warlock George’ as the floodwaters rose and the vampire showed its face. She explained that the witch’s escape was prevented, but that the vampire, their main objective, had already fled the chambers.
The native witch known as Violet leaned forward in her chair, placing her face into her hands in disgust. “That explains why the Ruloux brothers haven’t checked in with Sanfrond yet.”
“You’re talking about those little youths, Rylo, Tren, and Rex?” The wizard Maro looked over at her as she nodded.
“I left them with the task of ridding this swamp of that pest, just as your witches were sent to do.” Violet explained. “But it seems we both underestimated him on this night.”
Maro looked upset, “But… why were they even tasked with such an objective?” He asked. “Is that not why we agreed to send Angela and Stace after him, because we believed your prophecy to be true?”
“And as you can see now, neither were enough to do away with him.” Violet pointed out.
“Yes, but… had you told us about your entire plan, maybe we would have been able to weave our forces together and…”
“Do not fault me for trying to save this swamp for us all!” The native witch shot back at him, but before another word could be spoken…
“Enough,” the massive wizard known only as Poydras, rumored to be descended from the bloodline of the ancient beast known as the Hydra, lowered his large, hood-covered head. “It was never meant to begin this way.” He spoke in his deep moan of a voice.
He was surrounded on both sides by the eldest and most knowledgeable of his kind, from the old world and this new one, all seated in chairs descending down from each of his sides.
Standing before them, filling the room, were the strongest and most trusted of their youth, all of them anxiously awaiting their next course of action, one that had been building for the last three years.
“No, this was never meant to begin at all!” The elder witch known as The Mother stood up in protest, her long graying-brown hair hanging down long around her shoulders to rest upon her swollen stomach. She spoke in a cold and pointed voice. “If it were not for their so called ‘King’ corrupting the minds of our younger generations with his propaganda, then none of this would be happening. I should have killed him when he still called me Love.”
Poydras raised his head enough to uncover from shadow the thick beard that stretched from his unseen chin. It was a grayed white with dashes of an algae-like green, and he stroked it slowly as he spoke. “Calm yourself.” He said, remaining calm himself as his voice boomed throughout the room. “Your anger will not help your situation.”
The Mother’s eye’s turned downward towards her large stomach, her thoughts turning to what she carried inside of her, and then sat back down.
“We must prepare for much more than originally thought.” Poydras continued on to the important matters at hand. “If what young Angela tells us of this vampire is true, that he truly has arrived, and that he has already murdered one of our own, then our worst nightmares have already become a reality. Violet, not long ago, spoke of an undying force rising to power. Her visions have been rare but often trusted by the natives as being true. And not only that, but the Mother’s dream of Orleans being killed by an unknown assailant, and then, as she calls it, this shadow figure robbing his place of leadership, it may…”
“It was much more than just a dream, Poydras.” The Mother cut him off. “And if Orleans is allowed to live much longer, that vampire will take his place.”
“And we will do whatever we can to prevent that.” Poydras assured her. “We just…”
“You can do as you wish.” She told him. “But I have to kill Orleans. I saw the shadow kill him and claim his power, and I have to stop that from happening myself. Thus… only his death will assure it.”
Poydras slowly shook his head in disappointment. “You are in no position to do anything at all.” He told her with his drawn out words. “I cannot allow you to put that child in danger. You will give birth any time now and…”
“That is exactly my point.” The Mother told him. “This child is going to get the fury out of me, and then I am going to kill Orleans. It is that simple. Birth and death… the beginning and end of all our existence… and I hold them both within my hands.”
The mighty wizard groaned his disappointment, “Do what you must, Rita… but only after that child is safe, here in this mansion.”
She smiled and told him as politely as she could, “That is all I wanted to hear. Now you may proceed.”
His eyes turned slowly from her to the crowd. “Yes… so, as I was saying… our preparations for the arrival of this vampire would not have happened if not for these visions. And what we have done with The Mother and her son may very well be our only savior if we fail in our assault. But tomorrow will happen as planned, just as we have already discussed it, only instead of attacking under the cloak of darkness, we must attack during the day to avoid fighting this vampire so soon. But my days of war have long since passed me by… so I will now leave the details to a very old and dear friend of mine. Having left us to journey across this land three years ago, after leading our kind to so many victories of the past, against the demons and everything else, I have called him back to lead our forces against an enemy that I never thought would be, one that I never imagined w
e would ever fight… our own kind. But, nevertheless, I would like you all to welcome back from his very long journey northward… the grandest Composer of War that has ever graced our Terra, General Dubouchel de Floridia.”
The old wizard stood up from his seat, using a bone-carved cane to push himself up to his feet as he accepted a brief but welcoming applause. His dark gray coat stretched down to touch the floor as he bowed to all of the familiar faces he had not seen for three years. But after that brief applause, and after that one bow, his smile quickly faded away, and the room suddenly became much more serious.
The old War Composer, who had since taken the mortal designation of General, mostly to fit in, took a step forward and began. “In all my ages, never have I once imagined that this would happen.” He spoke in a low tone, with a deep sympathy as his long gray beard bounced up and down with the movements of his jaw. “I have led witchkind to many victories, yes.” He took a few steps down the stairs to stand between the elders and the youths. “I led the charge against the ancient beasts, leading both witch and mortal alike against them, thus ridding our Terra of their tyranny. I also led many to victory in countless battles with the demons and the vampires, alike. And I led us in our defense against the mortals when they turned against us. I have defeated mighty beasts and killed the fiercest demons. In my time on this Terra I have seen too many wars to count, but never did I believe that I would ever be forced to lead an assault against my own kind.” He lowered his head in shame. “I am very disappointed that we have come to this, fighting amongst ourselves for control.” He then slowly raised his head back up and looked around the room. “But I recognize that times have changed. The mortals have taken this world from us, taken this world from Mother Nature, herself. So… some of our kind has found it necessary to align themselves with those mortals for survival, since they are the only ones with any true power left. And there is no doubt that they will one day wish to seize that power from the mortals. But as far as I am concerned, if they wish to turn their backs on us and side with those who have slaughtered our kind for centuries, their own mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, no matter the reasons they chose to do so, then I shall look upon them as nothing more than humans, themselves!” He balled his hand into a tight fist. “Tomorrow we will begin our war against them, our first battle against our own kind, and the first of what could be many. But tomorrow they will not be anyone we know. Tomorrow they will simply be our enemy. They wish to align themselves with humans, so tomorrow they will die…” He pounded his fist forcefully against his open palm, “Just like humans!”
He then began to point in opposite directions, stopping the applause from the crowd. “I have traveled this land from the sea to our south to the frozen lands of the north, and the mortals have already claimed much of it for themselves. With the help of witchkind, man will surely be able to conquer all of it, and that must never happen. Tomorrow may be our final chance to stop the mortals advance upon our Terra, our last chance to save this earth, so failure …is not… an option.”
Then, suddenly, before the crowd could respond, The Mother collapsed to the floor, screaming and clutching her stomach, “AGGRRHH!!!” Her shrieks echoed off the walls like a thousand fingernails across a chalkboard.
“The time is here!” The voice of Poydras bellowed, now showing signs of urgency. “Get her out of here, quickly! Bring her to the birthing chamber!”