Mycena

Named for a genus of luminous fungi. An intimidating witch living deep in the border woods. No one has ever seen her and lived to tell the tale.




Shing, shing, shing.

The steel knife sliced neatly through the rosemary, filling the small cottage with a pleasant herby scent. Mycena gathered the diced herbs and sprinkled them generously into a small cauldron she kept nearby for experiments. A few sprigs of thyme followed it, and half a dozen chopped onions after that. She stirred it slowly and stoked the flames. A knock at the door interrupted her.

Without waiting for an answer, a dragon burst in through the door and stopped dead in the doorway, staring at the one-room house. A Wildclaw. He had a scattered, frantic look in his eyes. A sharp scent rose from his talons. He had trampled her garlic plants. No one messed with Mycena's plants. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Wildclaw started screaming his head off before she said a single word.

Witch! WITCH! HELP! THERE'S A WITCH!

It was quite an overreaction, really. She supposed she looked the part, leaning over a smoking cauldron, but she hardly thought making soup made her a witch. She tasted her brew. Too oniony. She made a note in her sketchbook, then looked back up at the Wildclaw. He was still there. How disappointing. She'd have to interact with another dragon now. She sighed. He would not listen to reason, she could see that much already. She had no weapons other than her steel knife, and it would be unwieldy in a battle. Besides, she was NOT in the mood to clean blood off of a knife. She'd heard of witches using symbols to cast spells, and she knew a few of them, but her parents had made it very clear that any witch would be killed on sight. And anyway, she didn't have magic.

It was worth a try, she supposed. Her claw moved quickly and precisely, spelling out a complicated symbol in the air. She knew now it would work, as her mane and eyes glowed turquoise. He was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving nothing but the faint scent of garlic. Mycena returned to her soup, adding a bit of rabbit meat. She supposed he had been right, in the end. She was a witch, apparently.