A Comprehensive Classification and Identification Manual
Witches are a unique species defined by their relationship with Whim - the raw, volatile force of reality that they shape and manipulate. Every witch possesses the innate ability to bend or rewrite aspects of the world around them, though the form this takes varies wildly from individual to individual. For example, some open temporary portals between spaces, others act as living energy sources, some make good luck charms, and some manifest constructs, illusions, or physical transformations. No two witches express Whim in the exact same way even when utilizing the same medium.
Whim responds to art. Each witch channels their power through a chosen artistic discipline that becomes an extension of their identity. A painter might drag a brush and open a rift portal in the air. A cook could knead and braid a dough infused with protective wards. A musician could send wind rippling with colors from a few choice notes. Ink, textiles, metals, pottery, instruments, and so on, practically any craft can become a conduit for manipulating Whim.
Whim mediums are not genetic. However it's common for children to gravitate toward the mediums they grow up around. Through exposure, imitation, and learning from someone skilled, baby witches are more likely to grow into mediums similar to their parent's. But any witch, regardless of lineage or upbringing, can ultimately choose whatever medium resonates with their own expression.
Their magic is grounded in personal expression, but witches within the same medium still share certain strengths and limitations. Each medium has a natural "affinity" - things it excels at and things it resists. For example, ink lends itself well to shadow travel, slipping through negative space and fluid edges, but it struggles with stable constructions. This works much like art itself: you can render a lifelike portrait with a cheap ballpoint pen, but a paint set will make the process smoother and more straightforward.
Across all variations, a witch is an artist first and a reality-shaper second.
Witches present in two distinct physical states: human-form and witch-form. In human-form, a witch is externally indistinguishable from an ordinary person. This is the form most witches default to in daily life, and many spend the majority of their time in it. It requires no particular effort to maintain, it is simply one half of what they are.
Witch-form is the other half. When a witch shifts, their body reorganizes into something unmistakably other. The silhouette remains broadly humanoid - two arms, upright posture, recognizable face - but the specifics diverge sharply from human anatomy. Digitigrade legs are the most commonly documented trait. Witches may shift to colors outside the human range: deep indigo, pale grey-green, a flat chalky white, etc. Eye count is unreliable. Some witches shift with a single large eye, others gain a scattered cluster, a few lose conventional eyes entirely and seem to perceive by other means.
It would be a mistake, however, to treat any of these traits as rules. Witch-forms are not standardized. Documented specimens have presented with additional limbs, asymmetrical features, unusual skin features (scales, luminescence, visible ruts), vestigial structures with no clear function, and proportions that don't hold up to close measurement. The only consistent statement one can make is this: you will know a witch in witch-form when you see one.
Witches age, but not on a human schedule. Childhood through adolescence appears to proceed at roughly human pace. Development of Whim sensitivity typically manifests in late childhood, and medium affinity usually solidifies sometime in early adolescence, though late bloomers are documented and not considered abnormal.
After early adulthood, the aging process slows significantly. A witch in their second century may present as physically equivalent to a human in their late thirties. The mechanism is not fully understood, though it correlates strongly with active Whim use. Witches who suppress or abandon their practice age more quickly than those who remain engaged with their medium.
Witches do die of old age. The upper limit of natural lifespan has not been reliably established, mostly due to the fact that witch-related record-keeping has largely been destroyed.
Witch-forms are unisex. Their human-forms, by contrast, can present anywhere across the full spectrum of human variation.
Witches do not reproduce in the strictly biological sense. Two humans can produce a witch child and two witches may produce a human one. What determines whether a child becomes a witch is the presence of what is commonly referred to as a witch soul which is something that arrives, or doesn't. It does not appear to be random in the way a coin flip is random, as certain conditions seem to influence likelihood, but no reliable predictor has been identified beyond the genetic background of the parents.
One early indicator that a witch soul has taken hold is involuntary shifting. Witch infants and toddlers practice transitioning between forms the way human infants stretch and roll reflexively without apparent intent. An ear may briefly elongate. Skin may flicker through a color before settling. A hand may shift to something clawed and then back again mid-grasp. It is an ungainly, uncoordinated process, and in a welcoming environment it is generally considered unremarkable.
When both parents are human the probability of a witch child is low, estimated around five percent. When one parent is a witch, this rises to roughly twenty-five percent. Two witch parents produce a witch child approximately half the time. Whether the higher rates among witch parents reflect something biological, something environmental, or some combination is a matter of ongoing debate.
Critically, a witch soul is not guaranteed to stay. A child may present as a witch in early development and lose that status entirely. Neglect, routine fear, and chronic unsafety have all been documented as preceding a more likely departure. The child does not die. They simply become, quietly and completely, human. Whether the soul relocates, disperses, or ceases in some meaningful sense is unknown.
Among more accepting families, witch children stabilize at higher rates, which is noted in the literature without much further comment.
Witches are, as a general tendency, a sociable and light-hearted species. They laugh easily, make friends readily, and have a reputation - even among those who distrust them - for being disarming company when they want to be. This is a generalization, and should be treated as one. But the pattern is documented consistently enough to note.
Most witches today live nomadically, or with a nomadic rhythm. They move between places with no strong fixed attachment to any one of them. Whether this is an innate inclination or a practical adaptation to a history of being asked to leave is difficult to untangle at this point. They travel light, form connections quickly, and tend to be skilled at making anywhere feel temporarily like somewhere.
A Fractured Cultural IdentityWhat witch culture was, in any cohesive traditional sense, has been largely lost. Decades of suspicion, displacement, and in the worst periods outright violence following the Summoning Events did what sustained persecution usually does: it interrupted transmission. Children raised in hiding or in isolation from other witches did not learn witch traditions. Communities that might have preserved them were scattered. What survived did so in fragments such as particular habits, aesthetic preferences, half-remembered practices carried individually rather than collectively.
The result is that most witches today live embedded in whatever human culture surrounds them. Their clothes are contemporary. Their food is local. Their references, holidays, and idioms are borrowed, adopted, and ultimately genuinely theirs too.
Witches who maintain traditional practice more continuously exist, and are generally regarded with a mixture of admiration and mild bafflement by their more assimilated peers.
Traditional AestheticsTheir historical fashion is an art of flow and fold - free-form, wrapped textiles that layer gracefully over the body. It is a style born of necessity given the unpredictable variability of witch-forms, clothing must be forgiving. Traditional witch dress tends toward richness and visually generous. Multiple textures and fabrics. Beadings and adornments. Warm, bright, or saturated colors.
Most witches today wear whatever everyone else wears, albeit maybe oversized for comfort if they plan to shift that day.
FoodTraditional witch food culture leans toward the delightful and the decorative. Tea served with candied petals floating in it. Sweets in many colors, small enough to be interesting, varied enough to be worth examining before eating. Individual cakes with fluffs of neon icing and sprinkles. This has survived better than most traditions, possibly because it is easy to practice quietly - a witch making star-shaped fruit for their own drink is not visibly a witch doing anything cultural. It travels well. It requires no explanation.
Festivals and GatheringsThe spaces where traditional witch culture is most visibly alive are witch-friendly festivals and seasonal gatherings. In these events, traditional clothing and foods are shared and compared. Mediums are displayed openly. Witch-form is worn without calculation.
The broader cultural weight of witch birth is considerable. In most communities, a witch child is received as misfortune at best. This attitude traces directly to the widespread belief that witches bear responsibility for the Summoning Events - the period during which demonic entities were called into the world through an array of hyper-specific mundane actions: particular combinations of household ingredients, repeated gestures with common objects, sequences of ordinary behavior that happened, by terrible coincidence, to be exactly wrong.
The specificity of the triggers made prevention nearly impossible and attribution easy to misdirect. Witches, already marginal and already strange with their daily worldly manipulation, became the explanation.
Summonings have largely subsided. The pool of viable trigger conditions appears finite and enough of them have been exhausted by ordinary human behavior over time that new incidents are rare. But the cultural memory has not subsided with them. Witch children are still, in many places, understood as something that happened to a family rather than for one.
Glass witches work in windows - brief, irreversible, and unforgiving. The Whim commits during the molten state and cannot be revisited once the glass sets, which produces magic of extraordinary clarity when it lands and a genuinely spectacular failure mode when it doesn't. The fragility is real and consequential. They either pull it off or they have a very interesting story about why the floor looks like that now.
What they excel at is revelation: making the invisible legible, the hidden apparent. A witch glass piece held up to a room can show emotional residue such as the anxious static that precedes a summoning or the faint wrongness of a space where something demonic has been. For permanence, they encase. Smaller demons are often suspended in glass, visible and inert. A dangerous thing made into an object that can sit on a shelf and not touch anything. Whether this is containment or taxonomy depends on who you ask.Among witches, The Kept occupy a peculiar position: simultaneously the most dedicated preservers of traditional witch culture and the group most other witches find pretty unsettling.
They are a closed, insular organization and absolutely a cult in the structural sense, though members would reject the word. It is built around the belief that witch lineage is something to be protected from dilution. Their hierarchy is organized by generation. For example, a witch whose grandparents were both witches, whose parents were both witches, who was themselves born a witch is a third-generation witch, and within The Kept, that distinction matters enormously. The higher the generation count, the more untouched by human lineage, the more pure a witch is considered to be. High-generation witches are coveted and placed at the top of a hierarchy that many outside the organization find difficult to comprehend.
Because of this insularity, and because The Kept have spent generations pairing only with other witches, raising children only among witches, living only within witch-specific tradition, they have actively preserved more of traditional witch culture than anyone else. The draped clothing is not a festival novelty here. It is simply what people wear. The foods, the practices, the knowledge of mediums passed carefully from elder to student - all of it is alive within The Kept in a way it is not alive really anywhere else.
This is the central uncomfortable truth that most witches reckon with quietly: The Kept are wrong about almost everything, but they are also the reason certain things still exist.
Lower-generation witches within The Kept occupy a specific and deliberate role. They are rigorously trained in their mediums, more formally and extensively than most witches outside the organization ever are, and sent into the broader world as skilled workers. They assist humans and witches alike with the lingering aftermath of the Summoning Events: demon cleanup, ward-setting, the management of whatever strange damage and residue the worst of the summonings left behind. They are professional, capable, and often genuinely helpful.
They do not proselytize in the traditional sense. They are not tasked with converting anyone to The Kept's beliefs or actively recruiting for the organization. But they carry its culture with them visibly with the clothing, the food, the practiced ease with witch-form, and they know exactly what they represent. They are, in their way, an advertisement. A demonstration of what witches can be when they are, in The Kept's framing, properly kept.
Other witches tend to find them somewhere between impressive, concerning, and deeply annoying.
High-generation witches within The Kept are a different matter entirely. They do not shift into human-form. Not under duress, not for convenience, not for anyone. Human-form is, within their framework, something to be shed and left behind - merely a remnant of dilution and violence rather than a natural part of what they are. They live entirely in witch-form, interact exclusively with other witches, and regard the human world with a detachment that shades into open disdain.
A high-generation witch encountering a witch in human-form will often react with visible distaste and pity at the waste. The high generation are considered extremely desirable within the organization's hierarchy. They are also, by most outside accounts, extremely strange to spend time around.
Formally known as the Peripatetic, but more informally known as "the caravan". It is a perpetual, rolling caravan composed of massive, wind-and-Whim-powered intricate kinetic frames with multi-jointed wooden leg assemblies that walk with a complex, scuttling stride known as Whim Frames. Atop these skeletal, clattering undercarriages sit plonked a mishmash of wooden abodes, workshops, and storefronts.
The architecture defies physics. Held together by a patchwork of localized Whim, the living quarters are impossibly stacked and in long rows, leaning at absurd angles, and connected by a shifting maze of rope bridges, trapdoors, and wooden steps. The modular structures riding atop the frames are often known as studios, or ateliers if the witch is feeling fancy. The contents and internal layout of a studio turn over as fluidly as the transient artists occupying them.
A Community of TransienceThe Caravan has no permanent roster or centralized leadership. Witches come and go constantly. They either reside in an existing, empty studio or hitch their own walking wagons to the main herd for a month, a season, or a single night before detaching and drifting away. While there is a core group of "Long-Haulers", often witches whose mediums are tethered to the upkeep of the wooden beasts themselves, the overall population is extremely nebulous.
It serves as a vital economic, information, and travel lifeline. Because the caravan never stops moving, it evades the jurisdiction of hostile human authorities. It is a place to trade gossip, pass news of safe human towns, to take witches where they are needed, and let witch-form stretch openly without fear.