One Black Coven spreads itself over all the Urth, like the web of a poisonous spider, snarling and snaring any that might creep or crawl into its web. And to this Coven’s tenants and dark rites are all witches sworn - else find themselves accursed, and perhaps aboil in their own cauldrons.  These too must, all of them, to the Mother Dark bow; and it is said that once each thirteenth moon she gathers them to great and secret conclave, where she whispers out her plots and plans for evil days ahead.  Then she is wont to offer up the taste of her brew, that her sisters sworn may away to their haunts, savoring as they fly the taste of those many dooms she has stirred amongst men.