Weed Witchcraft Novels & Stories

she answered. I heard a low throaty growl. I didn’t think I would ever react to it in such an animalistic manner, but the human in me has taken a back seat. I didn’t care about my rules and beliefs at that point. All I could see was red. Rage. Fury. Revenge. “I know they are using witchcraft, but it isn’t normal witchcraft, Aaron. It is something way more powerful than we thought it would be, and I know whom they must be using,” she added.

She swallows thickly and I feel my wolf’s heart sink a little as he considers his next words carefully. ‘It is tradition amongst witches, to keep their mother’s name. They are a matriarchal people, and the divine gifts that pass from mother to daughter ensures that they are revered by the men they bond with and provides protection for their offspring. It was necessary then, to ensure their survival, that they bond with the strongest men they could. That is why the Llewellyn witches always bonded with Sacred Moon Alphas or occasionally Betas. Our Moon Goddess, and the witch’s Blessed Mother, worked together to ensure the survival of their most powerful and cherished children.’ His explanation

I replied firmly, keeping my gaze fixed on Aaron and Callie, who were watching me closely. "What were your motivations for such criminal actions?" the wolf asked, stepping closer with narrowed eyes, his imposing presence filling the room. "To fulfill my duty as a priestess, as ordered by the ancestors and by Hecate, our Goddess of witchcraft, magic, night, the moon, and spirits," I explained, my voice clear and resolute. I noticed that my words caught Callie’s attention; she lifted her chin slightly, focusing on me. "My methods may not have been the most correct, but my intentions were genuine. Rigan is the one chosen by our Goddess to guide us through what is to come!"

someone repeats, the word spat like a curse. Mireth doesn’t flinch. “Yes. The world has changed. The witches of today are not the ones who once manipulated our leaders or sowed discord in the packs. They study the earth, natural medicine, healing, midwifery, agriculture. They could be allies, they could be… family.” The tall woman with the wine hued lips stands at the back, unreadable. The other sits with her hands folded, her eyes forward, and neither speak.

That's right. I bought this top-tier, brawny werewolf to scrub my cauldron and do my chores. The inspiration came from a fellow witch I met at the wizarding market. She was bragging about her new half-orc slave, claiming he could lick the floors so clean you could see your reflection in them and even served as her personal foot warmer in the winter. While the other witches burst out laughing and treated it as a joke, I was the only one who zeroed in on two key words: labor and warmth.

This harmonious coexistence between the two packs, characterized by mutual respect and camaraderie, had set a lofty example for others to emulate. In the wake of these transformative events, a nascent community of witches had found refuge in the southern reaches of Cold Mountain, drawn by the promise of solidarity and companionship. Under the leadership of the powerful high witch, Nirvana, they had established a sanctuary of sorts, a haven where they could practice their craft free from the specter of persecution. Collaborating with their newfound werewolf allies, they embarked on a journey of collective growth and prosperity, laying the foundations for a flourishing witch community.

she finished her introduction while pointing me to a spot on the yoga mat she was seated on. I was floored at how she didn’t look as old as she was, but I had no doubt that there was a magical explanation for her appearance. Sage didn’t even need to introduce herself, she was the most sought after witch on the continent, and everyone knew that she’d never failed a client of hers in her two hundred years of service to humanity. However, her name was forbidden in werewolf circles because she was a known practitioner of blood and black magic, the kinds of magic that our elders frowned against.

Channelling spells weren't easy to come by, in fact my mother used to tell me that no living witch in other parts of the world could perform that. My mother had taught me time and time again that witchcraft mostly revolved around four elements. Water, fire, air and soil. Looking at the image, the candle represented fire, the tin of water was pretty direct. The pots of plant represented soil, from which they grew with the bird clearly standing in for air. What I didn't understand was the ring of fire, what did it represent? A slight headache was beginning to form, my mind overworking to try and break the hidden meaning. Where was the written spell to go along with the depiction?

Wiccan, was a specific fanatic and was viewed as far superior than any other witch covens. However, they were entirely different from magic practitioners who belonged to the mage community because unlike those who were blessed with mana and have aplitude to harness its power in their body, members of Wiccan were only normal people. These people called themselves wica and they have no ounce of mana in their body. They were but a group of priestess who used to burn sacrifice and attend to the hearth of Hecacy as a sign of workship.

Adam had to quiet them down on the issue. "What did they request for?" Dean asked with a serious king-like face. "The witches we captured and have now released are witches that belong to a coven in Stadia. It's a coven in Hill Country. Their elements are wind and earth, so they are a Wind and Earth Coven." Adam started explaining. "The young witch is the daughter of their high priestess and was sent by her mother to scout for habitable land. The war has worn them out, and they need a place to recuperate." Adam said.