Chapter 2 -A Coven in Marginchester

Witches are defined as magic-users whom utilize one of the four forbidden magics, they being Bone Magic, Blood Magic, Necromancy, Conjuration, or some combination of the four. Despite popular belief witches are not strictly female, however female witches are more common and tend to be more powerful than male witches as some techniques are more favourable to female users.

Witches can be identified in several ways, while the common system involves a lake and a rock chained to the anchor. We Hunter's prefer to identify witches before killing them. Many witches show symbols on their torso signifying...

Spirit grunted as the cart bounced roughly over a rock. He was sat in the back, laying against the hay as the stallion in front pulled him along. Spirit had convinced the trader to give him a ride, using his pleasant charms and a sizable bag of gold. They headed towards Marginchester, a sizable city nearer to the front, still controlled by Equestria, for now.

Spirit didn't have much intention of travelling there but with nary a whisper of any contracts to take up near by Spirit figured a large city like that so near the front was bound to have at least a ghost or two to deal with, anything to fill the old coin purse. Spirit closed his book, titled “Regarding Witches, Crones, and Necromancer's by Professor Dark Snow.”

Spirit was content to watch the road go by past him as he was pulled along, the landscape was full of rolling green hills and empty plains. It seemed all do very peaceful, but it wasn't long before the scent of rotting flesh would be carried by the wind to assault Spirit's nose. That was just before he saw them; handing front long wooden posts, traitors, deserters, and cowards, a length of rope ties around their necks and a hood over their face. They hung out their, flesh handing off bones, being pecked away by birds, a warning.

“Just coming in sight of Marginchester, sir,” The cart driver said.

Spirit turned to face front and see the city spread out before them, a stone wall teen feet tall surrounded the city while much taller buildings of stone and wood poked out from over top it. Being so near to the front the old and ancient defences simply weren't enough, thus tall wooden towers had been erected wherever possible which were brimming with archers; upon Gryphon attack the idea was to make flying around the city extremely deadly for them.

Spirit and the cart driver pulled up to the front gate which was guarded by two burly stallions in plate armour holding large steel halberds and with tunics bearing the crest of Equestria; a moon and a sun fused together at the middle.

“Halt!” one barked at them. “What's your cargo?”

“Hay, and a traveller,” the cart driver said as Spirit hopped off the cart, tipping his hat to the guards.

“A Hunter!” the guard exclaimed. “Don't think you'll find much work here friend, Celestia's Holy Fire protects this city from harm.”

“Then I'll have a lovely vacation,” Spirit said with a mildly sarcastic smile. “Want to search me?”

“I'm sure I'd find a number of banned items on you're person,” the guard grunted “Hunter's got their tools, head on it, the both of ya.”

The heavy iron gate lifted allowing the two stallions to enter, Spirit bid the cart stallion a farewell and began walking into the city. The narrow streets were crowded with a diverse crowd of common goers, travellers, soldiers off duty, strange folk from remote corners of the empire; all being called to and shouted at by the merchants and vendors whom lined the sides of the street. It was a thriving place, full of noise, music, laughter even, one could almost forget that just a hundred leagues north raged the war for the continent.

The crowd seemed to be flowing specifically towards the centre of the city so Spirit found himself following the current. The street opened up to a large central square where a sizable crowd gathering, all clamouring to get a closer look at something occurring at the centre, slipping through the crowd Spirit was able to come into sights. Before him were three large pyres each of which were piled around tall metal poles. Upon those poles hung ponies, three mares in fact. The first was an elderly mare, with a messy white mane and milky blind eyes, her brown coat was shaggy and unkempt. The second mare was a beautiful young maiden, a glossy red mane, striking green eyes, and and a soft pink coat. The third was nothing more that a filly, tiny and frail, she look terrified.

A stallion walked up before the pyres, hefting a lit torch, he wore polished steel platemail under a yellow tunic emblazoned with a sun being pierced with a sword, a bright white cape fluttered from his shoulders and a ornate longsword was at his side.

“Solar Paladin,” Spirit muttered to himself.

“These three!” the Paladin announced. “Stand accused of the practice of witchery! Of dark magic! They pray upon you! Children of Celestia! To gain power and wealth! And for this sin, by decree of Her Holy Majesty Celestia of the Eternal Sun these witches must burn”

“Burn the witches! Burn!” the crowd chanted rhythmically.

“Burn the witches! Burn!”

“Burn the witches! Burn!”

“May the Light of the Sun have mercy upon your souls,” The Paladin said as he lit the pyres.

Spirit looked the way and clenches his jaw as the fire roared to life and the three mares began screaming in agony, the filly's being the most piercing. It went on and on until it very abruptly stopped. Spirit finally looked up to see the charred remains of the three mares and to also see that the crowd had quickly lost interest and was dispersing, leaving Spirit standing alone.

The Paladin noticed Spirit and approached him, offering a nod in greetings.

“Hunter,” he said.

“Paladin,” Spirit replied, doing his best to hide his disdain.

“Ser Golden Ray, Paladin of the Sunlight Order.”

“Spirit of Midica, Hunter for the Elder Chapel.”

“Few of you coming out of the Elder Chapel these days,” Golden Ray said. “Perhaps for the best, the Light of the Eternal Sun protects this land now, including this city, so I doubt you'll find much work here.”

“Not the first time I've heard that,” Spirit grunted, he gestured to the smouldering pyres with a nod. “How'd you figure these three were witches?”

“The crone had an abundance of magical potions and brewing equipment in her possession,” Golden Ray explained. “The maiden had a spell book, and the child wore magical charms around her neck.”

“That sounds like harmless sorcery to me, legal sorcery,” Spirit said, anger entering his voice.

“If they wanted to be sorceresses they should have obtained licences to practice magic from the Grand Mage, any unlicensed magic is witchery, so say the Sun Throne.”

“Elder Chapel says otherwise,” Spirit growled.

“The Elder Chapel and it's heresy are no longer the Divina Protectoris of Equestria, that privilege now rests rightfully with the Sunlight Order, and if it weren't for the Treaty, and the fact that you do help people; then I would try you a heretic and burn you like the witches,” Golden Ray said with bared teeth.

“Fun talk,” Spirit said sarcastically. “See you around, Paladin.”

“Good day, Hunter.”

Spirit left promptly, heaving a sigh as he went. Perhaps the Paladin had a point though, the Order were brutes but when they took hold of an area they scared pretty much any beast worth mentioning away, the smell of burning flesh was warning enough. Still, one night's stay instead of on the trail wouldn't hurt; Spirit had money enough for at least one night. Near the city square was many luxurious and expensive inns, full of good drinks and beautiful mares but Spirit knew all too well how light his coin purse was, no these wouldn't do. Instead he followed a street down the slope that the city sat on, down where the water and the sewage all flowed, the buildings became less well-kept, the streets full of rats, shit, and rough sorts whom looked like they'd eat a stallion as soon as look at him. The suspicious eyes of street children peered at him from shadowy alleyways as Spirit came across a modest two-floor inn which appeared to be on the verge of toppling over, it's mouldy wooden structure on a significant tilt to the right. A sign made out of an old cupboard door with words roughly carved into it, probably with a kitchen knife “Darkwater Inn.”

“Appropriate,” Spirit said to himself, he pushed open the door which was hanging loosely on rusty hinges and was immediately assaulted by a blast of warmth which stank of stale sweat and booze. Wrinkling his nose Spirit entered into the inn, the common room was packed with the poor labourers whom called this part of town home. With their unwashed manes, shaggy fur, and more than a few missing teeth; upon his entrance Spirit gained more than a few looks that were far from welcoming. Spirit approached the bar and sat down, keeping his hat on for now and keeping his face hidden, he'd rather no one remember his face in a place like this. The inn keep was a middle aged mare with a plump face and kind brown eyes whom emerged from the kitchen when Spirit sat down.

“How can I help ya, love?” she said, with a mothers warmth in her voice.

“Lodgings for one night, if you please madame, and a warm cider to push away the cold,” Spirit said.

“Aye, twenty for the room, two for the drink,” the inn keep said, she poured Spirit the drink as he divvied out the coin. “What brings you to my corner of paradise the, love?”

“Passing by mostly, though I'm always looking for work,” Spirit said, taking a sip, the cider's warmth easing the aches away and settling in his stomach.
“What sort of work you lookin for? I could ask 'round.”

“I'm a Hunter,” Spirit said, watching the innkeep's reaction.

“From the Chapel in Oldhill? I've heard of you lot, bring trouble some say.”

“Make trouble go away more like,” Spirit said. “Any trouble you think needs a Hunter?”

“Maybe,” the innkeep said thoughtfully. “There's always rumours you know, who can say whats true? But I'd say you should talk to Mister Spade.”

“And whom is Mister Spade?” Spirit asked.

“Iron Spade, he be the Corpse Gatherer 'round 'ere, any time a poor child ends up in the river or some stallions gets his neck cut after a mugging he grabs the body and cleans it up, will even bury it for enough coin, best we got with no real undertaker or morgue around,” the innkeep explained. “He may have something for ya, you can find his shop on Drainpipe Street”

“I thank you for the tip,” Spirit said, tipping his hat just before finishing his cider. “My room?”

“Up the stairs, third on on the left, and there's a breakfast for a extra five in the morn.”

“Thanks.”

Spirit climbed the stairs and entered the small room he had rented, it was not much but a single bed and a small trunk. Spirit unloaded his equipment and armour and hung his hat on the edge of the bed, stretching Spirit laid down on the bed and pulled out his journal, a quill, and ink. He wrote a quick entry mentioning the innkeep pointing him to Mister Spade the Corpse Gatherer, he then laid the journal out open to dry before falling promptly to sleep.

He awoke early the next morning, the orange light of dawn streaming through the dirty brown curtains of the small window. Spirit climbed out of bed and stretched before immediately dropping to the floor and performing rapid push-ups, thirty in total before relaxing on the floor for a few moments. Taking deep breaths to steady his heart beat before rising to his hooves and dressing, carefully strapping on his twin swords and belt full of potions before leaving the small room and going down the stairs.

The common room was empty, even the innkeeper wasn't awake yet, so Spirit left a coin on the counter and promptly left the inn. Turning left onto the street he went looking for Iron Spade's shop, it didn't take long after he found a sign directing him to Drainpipe Street. The shop was an old grey brick building with thick black drapes covering all the windows, the only think marking it was a sign nailed into the door which showed the roughly painted likeness of a skull being lifted by a spade.

Spirit rapped on the door loudly and didn't have to wait long for an answer before a stallion opened the door and shoved his head out. He was very thin, with tired dark eyes and a black wiry beard.

“Mister Spade?” Spirit asked.

“Yeah, you looking for a loved one?” Spade grunted.

“Not quite, I'm a Hunter,” Spirit said. “The innkeep of Darkwater mentioned you might have something for me.”

“Ah yes, some strange things turnt up, and I've seen much in my time, come come, I show ye,” Spade said, opening the door wider to allow Spirit inside. It was somehow colder inside the house then it was out, a long dim hallway was laid out with doors lining either side. Spade led Spirit to the fourth door on the left and unlocked it with a large iron key, inside the small barren room was three tables upon which were the forms of three corpses covered in white sheets.

“I've seen corpses pulled apart by stray dogs or perhaps mutilated by gangs as a warning, this is different,” Spade said, approaching the closest body. “But this is something different.”

Spade pulled the sheet down to just past the corpse's ribs, immediately apparent were the eyes; or rather the lack of them as two gaping holes were left in their absence. The second odd feature was the open would in the centre of the chest, it was very deep.

“All three exactly the same,” Spade said. “And these are but three of twelve total that were like this, it's just the other have been buried by now.”

“When did the first one appear?” Spirit asked.

“Just 'bout a fortnight ago, and they've been popping up here and there ever since,” Spade answered.

“If I may, I'd like a few moments to examine these bodies further,” Spirit said. “I'd like to discover perhaps the nature in which they were killed.”

“If ya like, I'll be 'round when you're done,” Spade said, leaving the room.

Spirit removed his hat and placed it to his chest, whispering a quiet prayer wishing peace to the dead. He then retrieved his notebook and quill from his bag and leaned over the corpse to examine it further, writing down his findings.

“Both eyes removed, lack of cuts around the sockets suggests it was done post-death and by someone with practical experience. They clearly wanted the eyes in tact which rules out animals or mobsters..

Large vertical cut in the centre of the chest, extending from the top of the rib cage down to the end of it. Cut is deep and very fine, it was made by a very sharp and thin blade. Perhaps a surgical scalpel...

No clear sign of death, both wounds were made post mortem.

Spirit looked at the wound closer and noticed how the flesh rested, something just didn't look right. Glancing behind him Spirit unsheathed his dagger and used it to gently loft the flesh away from the bone, opening up the wound further to peer inside, magically feeling around. Yes, there.

The heart was gone.

Spirit unstrapped his saddle bag and went digging through it, rifling through vials and papers. Finally he found it; a small talisman made of rowan wood, carved with small intricate runes from an age long past. Carefully Spirit held it aloft the corpse and as it neared the gaping wound in the chest it began to glow and hum with energy rather violently.

“Dark Magic, nice,” Spirit said out loud. “So that's how you died.”

A quick inspection of the other two corpses revealed that they too were missing their hearts and showed traces of Dark Magic. This was getting interesting. Spirit stored away the talisman and retrieved a book titled “A Record of Black Rituals – A cooperative work from Oldhill Scribes” and flipped through, looking for an entry in particular.

“The removal of eyes is used in witchery as a way of scrying, as through the eyes of the dead one can see beyond the veils of this realm. It is theorized that if enough eyes are collected one may be able to spy into Tartarus, perhaps view and even communicate with that realm...” Spirit flipped forwards a few pages.

“The removal of the heart is used in several form of ritual witchery, Necromancer's may use them to summon the spirit attached to them. An abundance of hearts can be used as a sacrifice to lure Chorts, Fiends, or even it is rumoured to contact Fomorians.”

“It must be my birthday,” Spirit said happily, gathering his things and calling for Mister Spade, he found the Corpse Gatherer quickly. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to pay to stop such defilement?”

“Don't bother me none in what state the corpses come to me in,” Spade shrugged. “Why? What you think happened?”

“I believe that these people were murdered and their organs taken as part of a dark ritual,” Spirit explained.

“Sweetest Sun and Moon, deliver me,” Spade said in shock. “Then I'd say take this to the Paladins, they ought to handle it.”

“Perhaps, or pay me when I do it for them,” Spirit said. “Where was the first body found.”

“In an alley, Dirtroad, next to the seamstress' shop,” Spade said as Spirit moved past him and quickly made for the door. “Oi! Don't end up here a corpse you hear!”

Spirit sought out the alleyway named by Spade, next to the seamstress' shop. It was a dead end, no reason for anyone to be there which suggested that perhaps the victim had been chased for a time before he was cornered in the alleyway. There were no markers nor signs of the murder after so long, yet perhaps there were witnesses.

The Seamstress Shop was open and Spirit entered, the small shop was piled to the brim with cloaks, tunics, dresses, and all manner of garments. The mare behind the counter was young and very pretty, with a brushed auburn mane which lay in curls over one shoulder, and enticing soft green eyes with long lashes. While Spirit admired her beauty he couldn't keep the voice of Master Hunter Crescent out of his head “You can't trust pretty girls.”

“And what can I do for you, handsome?” the mare asked with a smile, showing off perfect white teeth. “New hat perhaps? That one looks like it's seen it's fair time in the sun.”

“Not quite, miss, I'm looking into a murder that occurred next to your shop in the alleyway, perhaps you noticed or heard something?” Spirit asked.

“I'm afraid not,” the mare said pleasantly. “I sleep rather heavy.”

“I see, and you do sleep above the shop?” Spirit asked.

“I do, but as I said, never heard a peep.”

“I see, well if you think of anything seek me out,” Spirit said, tipping his hat in farewell.

“Didn't see anything, not bloody likely,” Spirit mumbled to himself as he peered around the corner at the seamstress' shop. He had been monitoring the storefront ever since he had talking to the mare inside. Her story had seemed very suspicious to him, and afterwards Spirit had taken out the wooden talisman and held it near to the shop; it had hummed and glowed detecting dark magic around.

Spirit stood around the corner of a building just in sight of the shop, the past few hours had seen no one enter the shop at all which seemed odd. It wasn't until the sun had set and a full moon began to peak over the rooftops that the lights shut off in the shop, yet just as Spirit was thinking this was a false lead a cloaked figure emerged seemingly from nowhere and slipped into the shop. Five more equally shadowy figures would emerge and enter the shop within the next ten minutes, all entering the shop swiftly and clearly avoiding being seen. After waiting a while when no more appeared Spirit carefully approached the shop and peered through the window, the shop was dark and Spirit couldn't spot anyone inside yet the shop was small enough that he should have seen at least one. Carefully he pushed on the door latch and found it unlocked, slowly Spirit entered the shop and looked around, there was no obvious sign of any other exit where the seven could have gone. A quick check upstairs confirmed they weren't there either.

Spirit rubbed his chin and rummaged through his bag where he found a small vial filled with glowing blue liquid labelled “Spellbane.” Giving it a shake Spirit tossed the vial against a nearby room, the vial smashed and immediately the liquid inside turned to blue smoke which quickly spread and filled the entire shop, an electrical hum buzzed throughout and a glowing enveloped a cabinet which lay against the far wall. The cabinet shimmered and disappeared all together, an illusion cancelled out by the power of the potion.

Behind where the false cabinet was a hole in the wood of the wall, revealing a tunnel which lead steadily downwards and was lit by still burning torches. The air was so charged with magic that Spirit did not require any talismans or potions to detect it, he could practically taste the power in the air. Carefully Spirit ducked into the tunnel and began to follow it as it led him into the ground, the air became steadily even more cold as he descended, unnaturally so, like all the life and warmth had been drained out of this place. Sounds, voices reached Spirit's ears, echoing through the tunnel, there were all female voiced and speaking quickly, as Spirit got closer he saw a white light glowing at the end of the tunnel and the voices became clearer.

“We have been careless, and now we have a Hunter on our trail!”

“I knew this was too much! Potions and spells are one thing, but I won't be put in a pit on Oldhill or burned!”

“Sisters, this is why we formed this coven! How long must we run and hide from Hunters and Paladins alike? The moon is high tonight, we have what we need, let us commune now and gain the power to destroy this Hunter!”

“Yes! Yes! This Hunter is but mortal! No match for the power of Fomorians and the Geata na Firinne, let us use our power of blood, bone, and flesh! So says I!”

“And I!”

And I!”

The tunnel curved to the left and opened up into a large open area which was dug out in a vague dome. A white ball of magical energy kept the cave lit and around it gathered seven mares including the seamstress, their cloaks had been shed revealing thin and colourful dresses underneath with charms and talismans hanging from their necks and tied to their legs.

“Then let us begin the ritual,” the seamstress said, producing a canvas sack with was damp with some moisture.

“I'm still not sure about this, Red Dusk, they call you ravenous and now I see why! You are so quick to display your power that you don't think about us!”

“I love all of you!” Red Dusk declared. “That is why I insist on this, now, each of you take one.”

Red Dusk opened the bag and floated out it's contents. Eyes, they were eyes, all taken from the murder victims; each of the witches took one in their magical grasp. Facing the irises forward towards the white light that they gathered around.

“Grant us sight, grant us communion with He Whom Will Rise,” Red Dusk said loudly, closing her eyes as her horn glowed ever more bright. “Deonaigh dúinn radharc, tiarna, deonaigh do chumhacht orainn, téigh chugainn nuair a labhraíonn muid d'ainm Balor”

“Ardaigh duine d'aois, ardú agus neart a thabhairt dúinn” the coven chanted. They opened their eyes to reveal glowing white stares which was mirrored by the severed eyeballs that they held, a circle of energy began to form around them as bolts of magic discharged from it.

“Right,” Spirit said, unhooking a bomb from his belt and lighting it. “That's enough of that.”

Spirit tossed the bomb into the room where it violently exploded, interrupting the spell immediately and making the witches collapse in place. Only Red Dusk managed to stay upright.

“The Hunter! Flee!” she shouted. “I shall deal with him! Flee sisters!”

As Spirit drew his silver sword and charged he saw the witches one by one disappear in bright flashes as they teleported away. Red Dusk's horn crackled with energy as she slung a bolt of energy at the swiftly approaching Spirit. He managed to duck and slide underneath it only to be blasted backwards with a strong magical force, Spirit slammed against the rock wall hard; knocking the wind out of him.

“Tabhair dom cumhacht Balor ionas gur féidir liom an namhaid seo a bhrú” Red Dusk said, immediately she was enveloped with a white glow, her dress turned to mist and her flesh shifted as she became more beast like, her teeth became sharp and black veins popped, her eyes turned to black pools. A witches true form. She lunged at Spirit with jaws open, Spirit stopped her with a jab of his swords pommel to her eyes and then roughly shoved her to the ground. Spirit stabbed downwards but the witch teleported a short distance away, metallic spikes grew out of the ground at her feat until they broke into razor sharp daggers which flew rapidly at Spirit. He managed to deflect and dodge most but one struck him in the shoulder, piercing through into his flesh and drawing blood. Spirit grunted in pain and gritted his teeth through the pain. He grasped a pouch at his belt, it was full of salt which he threw at Red Dusk, the grains struck her and brought about burned flesh and sores immediately, Red Dusk howled in pain and fell to her knees. Spirit took this opportunity to dash forward and swing savagely at the witches neck, severing the flesh deep as black blood splattered upon the rock floor. Red Dusk collapsed on the ground, convulsing violently and that is where Spirit struck down again and cut deeper into her neck, reaching the bone, and then one more strike severed the head clean off. Spirit haphazardly threw salt upon the body before he collapsed on his back, dropping his sword. He touched the place where the metal spike pierced him and provoked immense pain.

“Damn,” Spirit said. He pulled a small bottle from his bag, a healing brew, he drank a sip which filled him with warmth and dulled the pain. Spirit then grabbed the metal spike and after a few deep breaths pulled it out, shouting in pain he quickly poured the potion over the wound. It stung harshly and hissed audibly as it seared the wound closed, it still hurt but at least the bleeding had stopped.

Spirit rose from the ground slowly, retrieving his sword and sheathing it. Limping over he approached the body of Red Dusk the Ravenous, a witch of this calibre wouldn't stay head for long; given enough time her body would retrieve her head and put it back on. She needed to be contained. Using one of the discarded cloaks as a makeshift sack Spirit wrapped the witched body and head in it and threw her over his back, then with great struggle he lugged her back up the tunnel.

When Spirit entered the shop he spotted the light of torches outside, and when he burst through the front door he was confronted with with the unpleasant sight of Ser Golden Ray and ten Paladins of the Sunlight Order.

“Good hunt?” Golden Ray asked with a sneer.

“You could say that,” Spirit said, spitting blood onto the ground.

“Seems you did our job for us,” Golden Ray said. “Not something most would advice towards, in fact I believe upon our first meeting I told you that this city was under my protection.”

“And yet a coven of witches had formed here,” Spirit said. “And were engaged in rituals and murder most fowl, right under your nose!”

“You dare-”

“But! No one needs to know that,” Spirit interrupted. “Not if I don't say a word.”

“...What our your terms?” Golden Ray asked.

“Very simple, you compensate me for my trouble, no more than five hundred bits, and you allow me to take the remains of this witch back to Oldhill,” Spirit said.

“...Agreed,” Golden Ray. “If you speak even a breath of this I'll have you-”

“-Burned like a witch, yes yes,” Spirit said with a sigh. “Now if you excuse me I'd like to leave this Gods-forsaken city.”

Author's Note

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