the Things the Marsh Remembers ((Closed to Archanex))

[DarkDelights]

A hearth, stoked by servants at all hours.

Above the mantle, a portrait of a family, mother, father, daughter.

They are all smiling in the picture.

“I live here,” she said while chewing. It wasn't the worst cheese she ever had. She set the remainder of the offered food in the short brown grass. A fly rubbed its hands together, delighted.

“Always have.”

She took another bite of the white cheese. “Have you ever seen a Grolluk? They're like,” she took another bite of the cheese and continued while chewing. “...A freshwater octopus I guess you could say? But I'm not sure how many limbs they actually have. More than eight for sure. They're black, like my hair!” she shook her head playfully. She set the other two-thirds of the cheese on top of the cooling food at her feet. The fly was overjoyed and called a friend.

“Anyways, so, they grab something with their arms that have these boney little growths like thorns running allll the way along them. So they'll grab it, and pull it towards the center of its writhing body where its mouth is, all the while it watches with its big white, milky eye. Grolluks differ from an octopus, in that they're smart enough that they understand how frightened their dinner is, and for them, it makes food taste all the sweeter. Now, their mouths are little puckered circles and inside all around it are long, needle-like teeth. If you manage to pull one from the Grolluk's mouth and live, you'll have exceptionally good luck for one year, and one day.” She neglected to mention how big they were.

“Oh, but I'm rambling. Don't be afraid though, Sir Mage, such things only dwell in the heart of the swamp where the sun hasn't touched the water in a thousand years. Now, relics and temples you say? I don't know much about those things beyond my borders, but that's not to say I know nothing at all," she began slowly, a plan formulating in her mind. "If you follow the main road out of the swamp, there's a temple to one of the four pagan gods the dracari worship,” she said, then shook her head as if reconsidering. "No, any relics to be found there would surely be under heavy guard by dracari champions. It would be impossible to retrieve any relic from their vaults, unless of course you're a master burglar. Are you a master burglar, sir mage?" she laughed offhandedly, stalling while fabricating the finishing touches of another half-truth.

“Perhaps what you seek is somewhere closer at hand. Did you know that before the dracari made their home, or rather, before there were any dracari. You know, when it was just dragons. There was an ancient civilization here. One of the first races of man, its said. They worshipped all sorts of primordial things, gods, I guess you could say, but I don't know if that's quite the right word. There are ruins not far from here which are the bones of a holy site where such worship was practiced,” she gestured through the willow trees in the direction the old road would lie. “There was a town here once, when it rained less and the swamp was smaller. They just had enough time to build a causeway for the road before the waters came in and drowned the town and all the poor people who lived there.” She pouted for emphasis. “They built their town in the shadow of an old religious reliquary and the road runs there, but after about a day of travel, the way is washed out and its another day's travel by foot through the marsh. My home isn't far from there.”

She pressed her short, slender index finger on her chin, thoughtfully.

“I could take you in the morning if you like. Its really no trouble, and its the least I can do for rescuing me and sharing your supper.” She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out, popping up her chest. She winced as her bandage arm throbbed, and bit her lower lip, forcing back a smile.

"I'm tired though, and its best to have the campfire out before the moon gets too high. I'm going to get ready for bed. If you're still here in the morning, I'll happily take you. If you decide to go on without me, I shall come pull you out of the bog later,” she laughed merrily. “No peeking now. Good night, Sir Mage, and thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” she pressed her palm to her lips and blew a kiss.”

My black, rotten heart!

-

The glamour melted away like peeling paint, and beneath she was caked in filth. The extent of her bleeding was much more than her illusion let on. She felt weak, and sick. It was delicious. Her feet were bare and the brown marsh-grass had sharp edges, and sliced them like paper cuts. She pirouetted on her toes, her arms outstretched. Her clothes were gone, and her womanly features were painted in black and green oily slime. Grease ran in brown smears from her hair and she licked it from her black lips which, still plump, looked like they had been attacked by frostbite despite the warm climes. Her eyes. Green emeralds were replaced by sickly yellows, brown pocks, and swirls and blotches of red, as she aligned the tatters of her soul with the dark core of the swamp.

She spun until she grew dizzy, and collapsed, laughing, and looking up, at the industrious spiders hard at work in the willow branches.

“Bring him to you, I will, I will. Bring him to you, I will.”