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

((most of my posts will be about half this size. I'm just getting back in the swing of things and the first one came out long))

“Now now my love, we'll be there by nightfall, don't you worry,” the scaled wagoneer spoke soothingly to his wife who sat uncomfortably on a straw pillow, leaning on her husband for moral support. The wagon jostled violently and the woman blanched. “Coddswallop!” the dracari wagoneer cursed. “I'm sorry Pet, its just... Its like someone pulled up every second brick! By the Four, I don't toil like a slave so those winged toads can just neglect the damn roads!” The human woman groaned again, loudly this time, but was cut short by the howling of a wolf in the distance. She looked about, startled, but not frightened, for they were stout farmers both and the countryside was their domain. They had not, however, been in the country side for some hours now. Surrounded by willow trees on both sides, their pale green branches hanging nearly to the ground like a lady's frock and glistening from the last rain, neither traveller could see from where the howls came. It seemed far enough off and there was no cause for panic.

The dragon-man was no different in form than any human male, save that his skin was covered in scales, a deep, rich brass in color, and his eyes were like molten gold, with black vertical slits in place of pupils. His fingers ended in cracked, blunt claws that he skritched affectionately on the woman's bulging tummy to sooth her as the wolves bantered behind the veil of willows, this time further off. The dracari smiled, his brown lips parted exposing slightly pointed teeth. The pair of Suthainnian draft horses which pulled the laden wagon along - whether it wanted to follow or not – had been a good investment. The towering beasts were more than enough to scare away a small pack of wolves. He touched his wife's belly again, still smiling.

One of the black draft horses whinnied, reared, and the heavy wagon halted. The golden-eyed serf peered down the road, thankful the mists of earlier had dissapated. The road forked up ahead, left and right, and a weatherbeaten signpost as big as a totem pole stood in the center of the intersection. Driving his agitated horses slowly, he approached the small clearning where the cobblestone road split three ways, and examined the waypoint pillar, frowning. It seemed to have been defaced. No useful information was legible, replaced with lewd graffiti and carven scoundrel poetry. He caught his wife sniffing the air with great interest from the corner of his eye, and then he too caught wind of the aroma. Grilled leeks. Stewed tomatoe. And something else. Mint?

“Hail, friends!”

Both figures on the forefront of the wagon sat upright, a sudden chill creeping up their backs that not even the ominous howling of wolves had achieved, and the horses huffed again in alarm.

“Won't you join me for a meal?”

-

Harchibald fluffed the straw pillow for his wife who gratefully repositioned herself on the fallen tree, working the straw with her behind 'til it suited her.

“You two are too much. If that isn't true love, I don't know what is,” honeyed words flowed out of a dark, shapely mouth. “how far along did you say you were Melinda?”

The pregnant human absently rubbed her large belly and smiled. “I'm due at the end of the month,” she looked up dreamily. “It's twins.”

“You are surely charmed by the fey, good woman,” the third traveller spoke through the smile she wore as a mask. There was a brief uncomfortable silence as Harchibald and Melinda sat on the fallen tree. The human woman fussed with some mud on the hem of her white linen dress, and adjusted her puffy bonet needlessly while her dragonkin husband's eyes wandered. The newcomer bent over low, the hem of her form fitting black dress rising, and stirred a small kettle on the campfire she had been maintaining all day, her back to the wed couple. Black smoke from the damp firewood drifted lazily into the willow branches that surrounded the small clearing to the side of the fork. Harchibald checked himself as he realized he was staring, and cleared his throat with a rumble, attempting to rekindle the dying conversation.

“You know, you frightened us,” he said with a throaty chuckle. “We didn't see you there. What did you say your name was again, miss...”

“I didn't.”

“I beg your pardon?” the seated reptilian asked.

“I didn't tell you my name,” the camper said, standing up from the cooking fire with a wooden ladel in her hand. It still dripped with hot brown stew. She turned once more to face the couple, flashing a broad, toothy smile. “Almost ready!”

“Great, because I'm starving,” Melinda spoke up cheerily. “I didn't even realize how hungry I was until you invited us to share your lunch.” In truth, it was her husband who had accepted the invitation, and Melinda didn't like the woman much, dispite her apparent generosity. She didn't like how she had tried on more than one occasion to touch her belly. She didn't like the way she “bounced” when she giggled at her husband's silly jokes. Plus her breath was foul. Still, Melinda hadnt eaten since supper the night prior, skipping breakfast in favor of making good time to Suthainn. She scolded herself, thinking so poorly of someone who was about to feed a pair of hungry travellers.

“Yes, I think its done,” the woodland gormand said, bringing her palms together excitedly. She turned around again, obscuring the view of the kettle for just long enough to loosen the phlegm from the back of her throat and drop the yellow loogie into the roiling stew with a barely audible 'plop'. With one more generous stir, she doled out a generous portion into a pair of wooden bowls with tin spoons already within. Harchibald rubbed his scaled hands together enthusiastically as she handed out the food.

“Thank you very much!” the dracari said graciously, his wife seconding the notion. “So, as I was saying earlier... Oh! Haaaashhhh-haaaa... Hot. Mmm, that's quite good. Hot. So as I was saying, we decided that as the big day draws near, it would be more practical to move to Suthainn and be nearer to the midwife. So after settling our affairs, we packed our worldly belongings onto the wagon, and here we are! Say, is that coney I taste?”

“Caught it in the marsh this morning,” the cook said, pleased her food was being well received. She made her way to her seat on a willow stump where her still-steaming earthernware mug sat nearby. She picked it up and pressed it to her lips, slurping noisily and exhaling profoundly.

“Say, are you not eating?” they asked her.

“Oh, I've already had my fill, please, indulge yourselves. There's more than enough.” It wasn't completely a lie. She had eaten earlier that morning, just before dawn. She happened across a cluster of peculiar mushrooms with violet caps and white speckles. She greedily consumed the largest of them, and decided she would keep the rest for tea. Her pupils were still dialated from its effects, but her dining companions had never met her brilliant green eyes long enough to notice. She crossed her legs femininely and took another long pull from her mug. “So you're going to the city. That's too bad. The bridge is in such disrepair. I don't know if it would hold your wagon. In fact, I'm certain it will not.”

The pair looked up from their already empty bowls and eyed eachother. The bridge being out could mean another three days of travel including the back tracking they would have to do to get back out of the marsh's fringes. Noticing their concern, their host lowered her mug and smiled warmly. “Don't despair yet, you can simply take the other road. It may add another day to your travel, its true. But after it passes under the bridge, it eventually rejoins the main road further along! The lady will be nesting in your new home before supper time tomorrow!”

“Truly?” they asked in unison, their spirits lifting. Melinda raised an eyebrow as the cook got up again to collect their bowls for a refill. She noted the light, and very unnecessary brush of a finger along the contour of her husband's muscled shoulder as she passed. “I've lived here a long time and I can't recall anyone ever using the left road. Where does it even go?”

The woman shrugged after bringing their seconds, and then helped herself to a seat next to Harchibald, mug in hand. He could catch wiffs of the pungent tea mixed with her personal scent of marsh lily and... something else. Something both earthy and unsettling at the same time. “People lived on the cusp of the marsh, once. It was a long time ago though. You may even see some of the ruins of old houses reclaimed by the swamp.” She did not miss the questioning looks between the guests at her campsite. “But the road was built on a causeway above the water and I'm certain your wagon will have no trouble navigating it,” she shrugged. "If you're afraid, simply go whence you came. Take some stew to keep you warm on the extra days of travel.” She loosened the black slipper off her heel and dangled it with her toes, ever so lightly brushing her heel against Harchibald's leg. “Or, stay here tonight, decide in the morning, and share my camp.” Melinda did not miss the gesture that came with the invitation.

“Well, thank you so much for lunch. Really, it was so nice of you. But the day wears on and I can't bear the thought of sleeping in the wagon for more than one more night. I'm sure the side-road will suit our wagon fine. The horses are strong and Harchibald is a master of wagon steering, and we'll get by.” She rose with effort, grabbing Harchibald's blue tunic and almost flinging him off the fallen tree and away from the strange woman.

“Master,” the hostess parroted the word silently, only moving her luscious lips while maintaining intense eye-contact with the handsome dragonkin. She shrugged again, feeling her stomach turn as the tea began to hit her. She pouted dramatically. “Well then, I shan't keep you a moment longer!”

The trio slowly walked the very short distance through the willows back to the fork where the wagon and draft horses patiently awaited their return. Melinda practically pushed Harchibald to the wagon as he stuttered his way through a final thank you and farewell.

“Keep the marsh to your left shoulder, and don't let your horses drink of its water. About two or three hours down, you should find a pool on your right. Its waters are cold and clean, and you can fill your canteens there. Safe travels my friends,” she practically spat the words through the veneer of her smile. The couple, resituated in their wagon, raised their hands in good-bye, then made their way left at the fork, speaking rapidly in hushed, heated voices, leaving the woman alone on the street. She stood motionless, still smiling as the cart clattered out of view. She felt a wonderful numbness creep into her fingers, and whimsy took her. The delicate tips of her fingers found the edges of a loose brick in the road, and she began to pry while singing melodiously.

Here today, and gone today,
Fed and watered, led astray.
Now it's the Kotaj's tax you'll pay,

In blood and tears and screams you'll pay,
the Kotaj's tax, without delay.
Fed, and feeding, profusely bleeding,
While I sing the day away.

While I sing and wait for more,
Travellers who's feet are sore.
So many visitors at my home's door,
So many travellers whos feet are sore,
Unaware they'll soon be gore,

She grunted with satisfaction as the brick came free from the road, worsening its condition. She threw the cobblestone over her shoulder and into the brush with a flourish and a pirouette on her "slippered" toes.

The Kotaj will feed upon that whore!

She cackled feverishly, then, calm and sober as a chaplain, went to work on the next loose brick.

It was a side job that lead them all the way out to Dheathain.

The mistress looked at Archanex for a long moment that morning. "If the information was not valid, we would not be out here."

Archanex looked away for a moment, considering all that had happened of late to them. "If you command it, I will go."

"No hesitation at this point?" She asked of him, she wanted to be absolutely certain.

"As you say, if the information is reliable it is worth looking into the location of the relic." Archanex rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

She frowned a moment. "You are my favorite play thing. I don't wish to harm you anymore than necessary, but, for certain things you are expendable as well You are more competent than the other members of my guild here."

In other words, she was trusting him to have the job done to the letter. Archanex thought about what he was hearing. "When do you want me to part to the location of the relic?" He asked of her.

"As soon as you are able to." The mistress said calmly.

***

Archanex, took a look back at the safe house in the small town owned by the guild. It was well away from any of the Dheathain main cities, done deliberately. So they could do their dark deeds without too many eyes on them. He kept his staff with him at all times, he was always an older gentleman. He'd physically aged much sooner than most of his people do, but was in incredible physical good shape.

He used his staff as a walking stick, and after having memorized the map he'd been given in it's entirety...he made sure to destroy the evidence. There was never any physical evidence with the jobs of their guild. Very little ways to track back to the safe house without considerable effort on someone's behalf. He narrowed his eyes and started to walk forward...

A wind came in from the west. The marshland that surrounded them was full of many dangers, so he had to be weary. He personally doubted the relic would be found, but he wanted to make sure the mistress's source was completely accurate. It would prove invaluable information in the layout of the new land. Archanex was an outsider to Althanas looking in...

He was impressed with how many diversified regions there were on that planet...

Even with both hands, she had a hard time dragging the relatively small stew pot, still over half full. She dragged it from the small campsite to the road, and after stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she began the process of dumping it in a line at the base of the willow trees.

“Here, doggy doggy doggies, come get some of the nice meal I've prepared for you,” she said with a husky laugh, because she wasn't talking about the stew. She was talking about herself.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she heaved the pot into the hedges where most of the cobblestones she spent the better part of the day pulling up went. With any luck, the sabotauge would wreck a wagon wheel or sprain a traveller's ankle. The damage she had done to the bridge of which the road to Suthainn depended, was considerable. It needed but a wind and a prayer to fall to pieces. She had been working on it for many days and took pride in the results. The only road now lead into the maw of the swamp, and it hungered, she knew. Resting her ample buttocks on a broad stone and adjusting the neckline of her illusionary dress to accentuate her porportions, she waited.

A wailing maiden, I want you to see,
So a wailing maiden, I'll truly be!

To win your trust, you must save a life,
Behind my back you shan't see the knife!

The Dark One's told me to wait for my knight,
And to serve them truly is my life's delight!
For your desperate maiden, you'll surely fight!
Its a man that I seek, who will do what is right!

Come quick, oh brave one, quickly to me,
From jaws of the beast i need be set free!

Oh brave Sir Gallant, is that you I hear?
Come quick, for the beasties are drawing so near!

She heard an expected growl from the bush, as if arriving to play audience for the culmination of her song, drawn by the smell of food. The woman stood up, and crouched low, her arm held forward between her face and the one, two, then three wolves who also padded onto the road, no more than ten feet away. Dheathain marsh wolves were small by the standards which wolves are judged, with brick red fur growing in mottled patches over grey skin. Partially submerged in the bog, they were well suited to disguising themselves as a mound of dead grass while they waited for larger predators to pass them by. But when confronting single, helpless prey, they were highly agressive and were fueled by the rabies that every third or fourth member of their species posessed. Still able to function as the shocktroopers of a pack, the rabid wolves were always the first on the scene and the first to bite. Their disease heightened agression and fueled action by way of pain, but was not fatal to its host as was the case with most other strains of the disease. An animal, or person, could live a good long time if it had enough room to stalk, kill, and eat.

It wasn't solely insanity that caused the woman to approach the closest of the beasts, slowly, her arm outstretched. It was her orders. Someone was coming, she knew. Someone she was decreed to meet by her malicious patrons, unlike the unfortunate couple she chanced upon earlier in the day, to their misfortune. Someone is coming, the stagnant air, ripe with swamp gas whispered. She made her move, knowing if it was the will of the powers that she should die, then she was doing naught but her due-dilligence. She lashed her arm forward at the closest wolf as the other two circled her. It didn't take the bait. It skittered back two paces, and gnashed it jaws, barking shrilly, and spraying foam into the air. Its eyes were bloodshot and whitish-green gunk pooled and crusted in their corners. It gnashed its teeth and snarled again, and the woman lept forward with hostility, keeping her arm blocking the path from the wolf's maw to her throat. The wolf took the bait. It clamped its jaws down on her arm like a vice, as the other wolves bayed with excitement, waiting for their turn to join in the killing. Blood coursed from the wound and the woman shuddered in extacy, almost forgetting her mission; the part of the damsel in distress. So keenly she felt the call of the grave, and service in a bleak, slimy, cold afterlife. Paradise.

She wailed.

The wolf dug its jaws in cruely and did not letup the assault.

“Help me!” she shrieked. “Won't someone please help me!?”

Fog somehow crept up around the area.

He was not sure why, but fog seemed fairly common in the swampland area he was currently within. He noticed it, there was sections of brick on the made road that had been carefully sabotaged...he sighed. But before his mind could piece together anything else...he heard a woman's call for help. The old sorcerer would have jumped at the chance to help someone in the past...but not after all that the mistress...Miranda had done to him. His eyes narrowed and he maneuvered in the direction he heard the cry for help from.

His eyes went wide there, a small group of something similar to dire wolves was attacking a lone woman.

They are tearing her apart. I have to intervene here... He thought to himself, he readied his staff in a centered combat position and ran at the nearest wolf. He wasn't ever a speedy type of combatant, but he was no slouch. He was physically fit for an elderly type, he swung his oak staff at the nearest of the wolves. Aiming at the head of the creature he hoped to the gods, that his strike would connect. He had a chance to study the woman before him...she was exotic looking. Archanex did not know what was considered beautiful or not by normal Althanas women, but he had seen enough of them to see beauty in the woman before him.

There was a beauty everywhere if one knew where to look.

An eternity felt like it passed when he swung at the wolf's head. So intent were they on making a quick meal of the woman they did not notice Archanex come in for the attack. He bashed the first wolf hard across the side of it's skull, and the wolf yelped loudly. It went crashing a few paces away, Archanex was not physically weak, but he was quite skilled with his chosen weapon. The wolf looked up at Archanex with a knowing fear of the old man.

Concentrating, Archanex had summoned up the mana energy necessary for a single fully powered energy bolt...the intent to kill was there. To protect the woman before him, he would kill the dire wolves. His eyes narrowed, the wolves saw the glowing energy in the old man's hands...and somehow respected the Overmage's power. They decided to go hunt safer prey at that point and ran off. Archanex held on to his energy bolt for a moment longer before dismissing it, and looked towards the woman. "You're hurt." He said carefully and noticed the injury on her arm, she was bleeding. "I know a bit of herbology I am going ot try to cover your injury." He ripped a sleeve off his own robe, and used some solvent ingredients he'd prepared in the safe house. "This will sting a little, but you seem like a strong woman I am sure you won't mind." He smiled softly at her and wrapped her injury, after cleaning it himself.

In the separations of skin, she imagined she could see them. Wriggly black worms of corruption, burrowing deeper into her body, swimming down her veins like a rabbit through its warren, taking up residence inside her, occasionally creeping out her nostrils or ear canals for air. There were no crawling parasites or visible traces though. What was creeping into her blood stream was much smaller, and much more insideous. Microbes of a baterial disease, transmitted by the wolf's bite were in fact, looking for a new home inside her, but it was the nature of the primal magic that fed her that she should not suffer from the disease. She would carry it, and introduce it to others. Spread it. She could feel it vividly, although there was no telling how much of that was her intimate connection with corruption, and how much was the mushroom tea. Either way, she could feel it, and feel that it was weak. Hardly a plague that would help bring about the end of times. She pouted. Her arm throbbed relentlessly and she couldn't muster the will to flex her fingers, which were slick and red with her own blood.

Not paces away from where she fell, the dazed but not dead marshwolf was coming back to its senses but the fight was knocked out of it. She locked eyes with the beast as it prepared to flee, chastising it with a look. It was weaker than she anticipated, not even a challenge for her would-be rescuer. No matter, they played the part adequately in her unfolding fiction, and it was her turn to play her's. She applied pressure to the gash on her forearm and kicked her feet to put distance between herself and the rabid canine, shreiking shrilly though she saw that the creature was preparing to flee itself. She then took a moment to examine the cause of the marsh wolf's fear.

Simple oak staff in hand, it was no youthful knight in shining armor that had come to her aid. He was much older than she expected, and she prepared herself to be disappointed once again that day. Then she had to supress a smile and force herself to remain the helpless maiden, as the man began to conjure. Energy was gathering between his hands, some sort of wizardly projectile or the like. Whatever he was planning to do, the show of force was enough on its own to scare the beasts and defeat them outright. They scampered away, yelping. She thought, perhaps, she should have baited a Grolluk or even a jaguar if there were any left. At least then she would have got to see what that bolt of energy could do. She didn't like not knowing. She let the magical radiations wash over her as they disapated. They weren't even intermediate. Beginner's magic like her own. And then, when the coast was clear, he turned his attention to her. “The glamor will hold,” she thought. “My will is stronger.”

The man drew near, retreiving first-aid supplies and speaking soothingly.

She reclined on her hands. Her black slippered feet showed no dust or grime, and her bare legs displayed only a few recent scratches on her otherwise flawless white skin. She sat up, but no road dust clung to her behind. Brushing herself once was enough to restore her illusionary dress to a pristine state. She could have removed the scratches on her legs too but they were accessories to her costume now. There was nothing she could have done to conceal the bite on her arm if she wanted to. It hurt far too much, and still pulsed blood as she proffered her arm to the stranger who prepared to bandage her.

He touched her.

The illusion held.

She remained a vision of health, wide hips, smooth skin, ample breasts, and voluminous raven-black hair. Clad in a black dress that only accentuated her shapliness and contrasted her alabaster skin, now crimson at the hands.

“You, you saved me,” she said, shifting so a tuft of her hair, clean and soft by the graces of the glamor, fell into her face and covered one of her almost-too-large green eyes. “I am in your debt, Sir Mage.” He completed the binding on her arm then she stood to her feet and barely reached his chest in height. He was quite large, and she looked at his face without raising her own, peering instead through the curtains of her black eyelashes, emerald eyes sparkling in the waning daylight.

“My camp is just beyond the willows. Will you escort be back?” she asked, smiling.

-

“I regret that I'm recently out of tea,” she told the newest guest to her campsite. She shrugged as she raised her own earthernware mug which she had filled with the last of it. As fun as it sounded to drug the new comer and watch him tirade through the swamp, out of his senses, she was greedy, and wanted the rest for herself.

“I don't suppose you have any food? I'm so hungry I could eat a wolf!” she beamed. She lied. Her stomach was already cramping up again as the last round of tea was beginning to take effect. “Thank you again for saving me, I know not what would have happened if you didn't chance upon me. An angel must watch over me,” she glanced skyward mischievously. It was nightfall and the mists had returned, gently blanketing the soft marsh floor like a carpet. The only light came from the campfire that separated the two, though the air was alive with noise. Crickets chirped and the campfire crackled. A stubborn wolf howled in the distance.

“Tell me though, why did you come when you did? I havent seen anyone on this road for days now.”

She adjusted the straw pillow she sat upon, and awaited a reply.

Because of what Miranda had done to him...trained him with...he was always naturally weary of strangers in general.

But the woman seemed all right. It was in his people's nature to help. The woman was attacked by the wolves and he'd acted without thought or desire for reward. He sat in silence for a moment as she asked questions. "Was the right thing to do." He answered plainly, in the mannerisms of his people. He had a gentle nature in his voice, the way he spoke was similar to scholarly types. He considered what she was asking of him. I can't place the safe house in danger, what do I tell her? He nodded after a moment. "A job lead me out here." He was only half-lying himself, he simply didn't completely trust her. Something about the whole situation left a bad feeling in his gut he could not quite shake.

"I'm hunting relics for a local temple." He said, also not necessarily a lie. He couldn't tell her the truth on Miranda's orders...the guild was far more important and the secrets he held in his heart. He would never place Miranda and the guild itself in any sort of danger, he was loyal to a fault. "I keep some rations and supplies, yes." Archanex responded to her question about food. "I'd be glad to share with you."

He kept his eyes on the woman before him. "Are you okay being out here by yourself?" It dawned on him to ask. "I know some people prefer to be alone...but it is really quite dangerous here. Me...as I said earlier I'm on a job so I did not mind helping you but you could have really been in a very bad situation there." He said plainly.

He studied her reactions carefully, that strange gut feeling he could not shake off for some reason. He prepared the food for her, using the single campfire. "I will ready the meal shortly just bare with me." He said to her with a smile as he prepared a simple meal of basic food he always kept with him and some he got from the safe house as supplies for his own cooking ventures. He prepared the meal for her and handed her the plate of it. He sat down on the ground after watching her eat. "Reminds me of my own home." He said to her calmly.

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.”

She's trying to teach me something... He observed very carefully. There was a history lesson in there someplace probably half truths and half lies but their cultures fascinated Archanex deeply. He, a hungry scholar, absorbed every word she spoke and was greedy for more. Everything she said deeply interested the older sorcerer, it was not too much different than when two geniuses of any other races met. He nodded to her as he watched her speak and eat the food he'd prepared for her. "...I see." Archanex said calmly after she was done talking. He'd very little knowledge of Althanas proper itself yet, but he was still learning and he was eagerly learning more all the time.

He visualized the Grolluk in his mind, pretty similar to some aquatic monster types back home.

He nodded once more. "I will watch the camp while you sleep don't worry I won't go anywhere." He said to her. That was the truth. His eyes narrowed for a moment "Me...I'm not from Dheathain originally...I'm from a land called Ayenee." He thought about what was safe to tell the locals, they would not understand things like other world traveling and other dimensions. "It is a land beyond Kebiras." He was willing to tell her, that wasn't a far stretch either. He just knew he could not be like...I'm a god damned alien...how would they react to that? He chuckled for a moment at the thought. He watched her enter her tent and go to sleep for the night.

I'll watch her, I will watch all of them always...your adopted son... Archanex never slept. Instead, he started scribing things in his personal journals and parchments. Things with regards to his recent musings, his recent findings...he did not want to forget the details that he'd learned from her. So he wrote the things down in his people's original writing which was not Althanas common tongue. He went into a partial trance as he wrote the details he'd learned of Dheathain and even some of the history. He was no historian but he could fact check the girl later on.

He was certain there was some actual truth mixed in there...The swampland was her home...something is adding up.... Archanex at some point in the morning hours of the next day Archanex started smoking his hemp pipe. It helped calm his nerves and he was certain the journey ahead would be a long one.

The six legged insect crawled across her eyelashes. The witch held her breath and remained still. Like a venus flytrap, she snapped her eyelashes shut, attempting to catch the bug, but its ability to sense vibration and intention were stronger than that of a human and it flew away, already clear of her face as the fluttery lashes shut. She sighed. Virtually every creature that walked Althanas was superior to humans in some way, and at the end of the day, that's all she was.

Human.

She spat the word like a curse. At herself as much as anyone else.

She hadn't slept, but her body rested in the grass as insects and nightcrawlers slowly made their way across her bare skin. She hardly noticed. It was the three-thousand, six-hundred, and sixty-fifth night she had spent just like this. She hardly noticed, but the human in her still counted the nights.

She sighed, and rose from the rough grass. Her putrid eyes flared with arcane energy as she channeled primal power. She blinked. Emerald orbs, sparkling in the sun that filtered through the willow branches. A ripple in the perception of reality moved over her form, starting at the head. Her matted, grungy hair writhed like snakes, shaking the spiders out and breaking free of the crust. It was thick and voluminous, falling over her shoulders in waves of slightly curled ebony silk. Her nose was slight, and just barely noticibly crooked from when an adolescent girl broke it with a balled fist. Her lips were dark beyond reason, and the corners curved in a smirk. Her teeth where white, and near to shade as her skin. Her limbs were lean, contrasted intensely by her hourglass figure. Rich black fiber knit itself across her alabaster skin, starting at the hips and neckline, and working their way to the form-fitting center. She stretched her bare arms – and winced. She looked at the brownish stain in the center of the mage's robe that a strange man had torn from his person to apply the first-aid. The bleeding had only recently stopped, and the pain had returned when the effects of her brew wore off. Her fingers on that hand were still partially unresponsive. Infection would not set in, she knew. It never did. They had a pact. Examining her clean form glumly, she supposed she would have to find some cheer at someone else's expense.

Back near the camp where the old overmage had stood vigil the whole evening, the green curtain of branches parted and a vision of good health emerged, save for the ghastly wound on her arm.

“Still here, I see. Didn't bolt in the night like a frightened lamb. That's a good portent, to be sure,” she said with a curtsy. “My arm feels much better today, thanks to your skill and care. I thank you, and if you still wish to find your relic, I would still be at your disposal, Sir Mage,” she smiled. The sort of auto-pilot of playfulness she enacted when others were around took over and she pranced across the camp, twirling as she passed Archanex.

“I've been thinking about what you said last night. About Ayenee,” she turned her head dreamily skyward. “I would love to see such a place!”

Burnt to the ground.

“You simply must tell me more,”she tugged on the old man's arm, leading him back towards the road and the fork, where one path led to the ambling country side, one to the Dheathainian capital city of Suthainn, and one... the path they would take that lead somewhere different entirely.

If she had her way, the witch would have insisted they travel immediately the previous day, but there was no guartantee that the Kotaj had found its dinner yet, and the road was not safe to walk when the Great Sleeping Thing was hungry and active. Not even for her. Enough time had passed though, and she was certain that it would be contented and have returned to its slumber by now. There was still a great deal of danger on the road.

She smiled darkly as she lead the man across the damaged court of the crossroads.

She was counting on it.

“Its about a days walk by road. Maybe a little more. Then we hike. Normally I would be concerned about you making the journey at... an advanced age. But you seem pleasantly hale,” she winked her, and fluttered her fly-traps. “There are so many interesting things to see on the walk, I promise you shan't be bored! You mentioned your passing knowledge of herbalism! I am something of an enthusiast myself,” she said, taking his arm as an escorted maiden would take her man's. “Did you know there are exactly fourty-two species of toxic flora in the marsh? And nearly as many venomous species of animals! Some have been here since before the founding of Suthainn. Actually, most of them more likely. Oh, but I could go on. You'll see the beauty here, oh I know you will,” she looked up to meet the tall man's eyes. “When you've seen all the wonders of the swamp,” she gave a hearty laugh, “Why I doubt you'll want to leave!”

The witch was talkative and pleasant as they put distance from the fork. The road curved and ducked under the massive moss-covered timbers of the old bridge which led to the highland and out of the swamp. The bridge she spend the better part of a week sabotaging. They passed under, following the deep ravine, until it turned into the causeway, a long patch of man-made hill that lifted the road out of the marsh that crept up on both sides. The water was dreary and brown, with speckles of green lily-pads which frogs sat on lazily, singing to the travellers. Twisted trees and low, thorn addled shrubs grew in clusters where they may. She ventured down to the water's edge, plucked a pale-pink lily and tucked it into her hair near the forehead. It suited her current form. Returning to her escort, she looked down the old road. They had many miles to go, but she would stall as often as she could. For now...

“Oh please, Sir Mage, tell me a story to help pass the time. Tell me of Ayenee, and the temple you are employed to! And of your travels so far! How did you come to be in Dheathain?”

Tell me of home... The old man thought to himself as he walked alongside her.

"Where do I begin?" He nodded to the girl as they walked. He could only tell her half-truths, but some of it would be honest. "It is a distant land you see?" Archanex said to her very calmly. "Beyond Kebiras on the other side of Althanas." He told her. "It is not too different from some parts of mainland, here, but it has known a different set of wars." He figured she would be interested in hearing some of the past history. "My people, Overmage...are an eccentric group of people as you have no doubt guessed already."

"I myself, have studied the arcane arts sine youth. My village....most of my family and friends were from there. I was chasing someone through a neighboring town when I ended up here in Althanas." It wasn't the entire truth, but it would do. "Not quite sure how exactly I ended up here, but I had. Maybe some spell gone awry." He said to her. "Either way, I was saved by the Temple that I work for now." He nodded, he had to protect the safe house at all costs. "The relic I seek is a talisman of sorts. I can pay you for your assistance if you require any money at all." The older man said to her, attempting to barter and negotiate with her.

She had an excitement about her, but the older man had seen many things in his life.

The feeling in his gut never went away, but he kept his eyes on her handsome form. "Let me see your injury, in case I have to bandage it once more." He suddenly said to her...he had prepared some extra bandages for her in the night while she had slept. Or he had assumed she slept...

She held out her dainty limb to receive treatment. No infection would set in, it was certain, but one had to keep up appearances. The old mage tended her wound carefully and she put on a mask of gratitude.

“Pay me? You must be joking, kind sir. After all you have done for me already?”

She listened eagerly to his tale but sensed he was deliberately not being very forthcoming with information. Still, what little he presented she accepted at face value.

“It sounds like you put yourself at great risk for this... temple you serve.” It seemed odd that there was no deity tied to the temple he mentioned. It must have been something quite secret indeed, as most clerics would not miss a chance to boast their god's name. Still, she was glad he hadn't said anything of the sort. She found waxing religious to be the most boring form of conversation and took great pains to avoid it. There were no further questions about the nature of the temple the Overmage served.

“Say, to pass the time, why don't we play a game! Its so rare for me to entertain guests, I absolutely must take advantage! Hmm, but what game shall we play? That's the question! Hmm, how about... I spy?” she looked about, adjusting the flower in her hair as her large, almond-shaped eyes scanned the marshland.

The causeway that they followed was of packed earth that rose up several feet above the swamp which ran parallel to the road, and stretched out in either direction as far as the eye could see. A yellow and purple dragonfly flitted about close by, landing on lily pads from time to time in its search for something to eat. The air was alive with the ambient noise of such creatures, with the occasional crash and splash of something larger in the distance. The trees had diversified from the road, although willows were still a common sight. More commonplace than trees though, were the thorny tangles of briars that often crept along the slope of the road. They rustled occasionally, as all manner of creature sought safety under the barbed vines. Flowers bloomed here and there, but the witch knew that deeper in, traces of color would start to dull in favor of shades of pale green, brown, and grey. She smiled at the thought.

“No no, that won't do at all. Such games would hardly challenge a man of your advanced wisdom,” she mused, tapping her index finger on her chin as the duo resumed travelling. “How about... truth or dare?” she said, smiling, guessing that she had probably just grabbed the gentleman's attention.

The young woman arched her eyebrows, looking side-long at the spellcaster. He was not so bad looking... for a human male. She felt the stirrings of cruel impulses, but quickly pushed them back down. It was still early in the morning, and far too soon for such often-bloody activity.

“No, no, that won't do either,” she said, playing the tease. “A man of your stature must be stimulated intellectually! How childish of me,” she said, jokingly bowing her head in shame. She looked down at her black slippers, picking her path gracefully over the somewhat uneven ground. The two were silent for a short time. A black beetle with dangerous looking pincers crawled up one side of the embankment, and the witch trod on it with a crunch. No beetle goo stuck to her clean black slippers, but past the illusion, she felt every delightful crack of the mindless insect's carapace shattering and its vitals being forced out between the breaks. Its slime and sharp shards of exoskeleton clung to her bare heel, but the glamor kept it secret, like the thrill of not wearing any underwear.

“Aha! I know!” she proclaimed, breaking the silence excitedly. The witch spun on her heel, turning to face the mage, and further mushing the innards plastered to her heel. “We shall play, two truths, and a lie! A game I played once or twice as a child, but should still pose a challenge to your perception. Its really simple! I am going to make three statements about myself . As per the title of the game, two of them will be very much the truth! One of them will be, naturally, a lie. It is up to you to determine which of them is the lie!” she clapped her hands delightedly. “This will be so much fun!” She bounced on her toes which made her endowments heave in a way known to catch the male eye.

“Okay, I've got it. The first statement,” she paused for dramatic effect. “In my youth, I... was a ballerina! I practiced hard, morning, noon, and night, and I was quite good at it, I don't mind saying!”

She took Archanex's arm affectionately. It was nearly a shame that her companion was doomed to die screaming in the marsh. The witch was enjoying herself.

“The second. I come from a wealthy family! My father was one of the greatest lawyers money could buy. My mother purchased wonderous treasures from far away cultures, and sold them at auction for profit. I had the finest education, and servants to meet my every whim!”

She looked sidelong again, and up, seeking out the mage's eyes with her own. She wondered which he would guess.

“The third... I have three fathers, when most only have one! Can you believe that I have three, and not one!? Well! What is your guess, Sir Mage? Oh please, I'm just dying to know! If you choose correctly,” she paused again, considering, with her typical chin-tapping gesture, “Oh, I know! If you choose correctly, I will sing you a song! One very dear to my heart!” If anything, that was the lie. Nothing was dear to her heart. “If you guess incorrectly... Hmm...” She pondered again. “Well, then you must tell me a secret! One that you have never told another! We all have such a secret Sir Mage, after all.”

The hikers travelled on, putting the morning behind them. The seemingly vibrant girl looked over and up once again, not sidelong, but directly this time, meeting the much larger mans eyes squarely and devoid of any reservations.

“Well, what's your guess!?”

He was watching her closely the entire time, his expression was stoic he was going to see where this all went.

Truth or dare now is it...I get the feeling she is trying to hard to play at something she is not. Archanex was merely guessing there, he had seen a lot and been through a lot in his old age to know a thing a two about dark intentions...yet he went along with the whole thing. The game intrigued him that much. He had nowhere near the grace that she had in her step so he had to walk much more carefully than she did.

There were also half-truths in her words...he wondered about what she was saying. What she was choosing to tell to him. She's lived out here her whole life...by herself...she is hiding far more than what she appears here... He suddenly stopped walking at that point. "Truth or dare you say? I actually do enjoy a nice game of truth or dare." Archannex said...in the past he would have eagerly helped the woman to his death.

But because of her...because of Miranda there was something else there now a different and far darker motivation. He thought of what Miranda, the mistress would have him do.

He looked at her his expression was serious for a moment. "I think you were not from a wealthy family. The rest of what you are telling is probably half-truths if not out right lies." Archanex suddenly said hoping to throw her completely off guard. "You stated that you lived here in the marsh your entire life how can you come from a wealthy background? Truth or dare you say...it is my turn to tell you the same thing." He became suddenly very serious.

"I am a hero." Archanex told the outright lie first...he wanted to have her be afraid of him...the moment of charades was over. "I have saved people my entire life."

"The second thing, I have lived in libraries most of my adult life seeking knowledge and power." He said to her.

"My people are from another planet, not originally from Althanas itself." He figured telling her the whole truth at that point would not matter anymore...there was something else going on there. She is after something else and it is not pleasant at all... His face was extremely serious at that point. "The damage to the bridge I saw earlier...that was you doing that was it not? You can be honest with me here its just me and you out here, no judges no law enforcement no one to persecute you." Archanex said with a serious tone. "I'm not sure why you would deliberately sabotage a bridge but the more I have gotten to know you the more I can only guess that it is an extremely bad intent you have here."

The intent to cause harm and panic... The overmage took a step or two backwards. They had gone deep into the marsh at that point and he had not noticed up until that she was deliberately LEADING him someplace. "The person I am protecting trained me...to handle severe situations." Archanex explained at that point. "I know you have power within you. It is a gift of my people to know the arcane arts. Think on this after...I went along anyway with whatever you have planned." Archanex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Your turn to guess which one of mine is the lie." I am a Hero...repeated itself in his head over and over. Miranda had already broken the old sorcerer long before the woman before him could ever have...he was used to pain.

“Why sir, are you making fun of me?” she asked, tittering with laughter. “Are you telling me that you are the man in the moon? Sir Mage, you didn't even try, and sure as day is day and night is night, you are from this world and that is your lie. Do you think me a silly young thing to believe just any old fanciful tale?”

She thought a moment about the things he had said, and the assumptions he made. There was a curious, flat change to her tone of voice.

“I was born into a wealthy family, my father was a lawyer and my mother dealt in antiquities. I attended the Greenmire Girl's School, where I learned arithmetic, and poetry, and science, and dance. And what's more, sir mage, my father fell deeply in love with his aide, and the two were a scandal, but I gave him my blessing, as my mother was a shrew. They left together, after being wed in secret, and I alone knew where they went. I loved him so, and missed him dearly. Then, my mother remarried. So you see, in the end, I had three fathers. That's right, all three of my statements were the truth!”

She veered unexpectedly and turned her back from the man she was with. The girl slowly traipsed down the side of the causeway which was becoming more and more overrun by foliage. Her eyes flared a nasty yellow in color.

“Who are you to presume so much!?” she shouted over her shoulder, her mood taking an abrupt change for the worst. “I give you my trust and faith, and you accuse me of crime, and nefarious intention? WHO are you to presume so MUCH!?” she screeched, sobbing hysterically, and crocodile tears ran down her cheeks.

She spun on her heel, now very near the water's edge. She glared up at the Overmage, still standing at the top of the causeway.

“I had one desire, and that was to lead you to what you sought, and help you in turn as you helped me. Well I guess you are not the gentleman I thought you to be, with all your, your abruptness! Well know this, Sir Mage. Follow the road until dark when there is no more road to follow. Point yourself east, and continue through the swamp for another half of a day, and there you will find a forgotten building of ancient make, half sunk into the bog. Inside its walls, I am certain you will find what you seek. But I will not lead you to it. Our time has passed.”

She took a step backwards, into the marsh. And another. She walked backwards a short way, until her form was completely hidden by a stubby, but thick-trunked dead tree. Her natural affiliation with the swamp would conceal her from sight from there.

There was a few rapid footfalls, splashing through water, and a voice called on the winds, already sounding quite far away.

“I never lied to you sir mage. I have lived in this swamp all my life. My truths were three, and it was only the game that was a lie, to grow closer to you, but now you have decreed by your unfairness, that it is not to be. So I leave you my brave Sir Mage. Good-bye.”

More distant footsteps through the swamp.

-

She rejoined the road more than a mile ahead, certain she had made better time than Archanex, even off the battered road. It was thick with mud and there were no more stones to guarantee good footing. The witch had long ago abandoned her glamor in her anger. Her bare skin was exposed to the hot, humid afternoon air, and mosquitos buzzed near her in a swarm. She didn't bother to swat them from her back, and just itched her scalp absently. She picked a path through the muddy road with her bare feet, then stopped as quickly as she began. She smiled.

Wagon tracks...

Two deep ruts were carved into the mud. She followed them for many minutes. Not far up ahead, she saw a large object blocking the road. The witch crept up alongside. She peered in the back, but there was no one. All things were in place, and the entire lives of two humble farmers, at the height of their love, was filed neatly there. Next she peered onto the cracked and splintered wood of the drivers bench. There was blood, and lice wriggled in it.

She maneuvered out front of the wagon, and still yolked securely to it were the withered husks of two immense draft horses, seemingly mummified alive. They both lay on their sides, one propped up on the other. She placed her hand on one of the dead beast's noses, and there was a crack from her light touch. It was as if something drank the meat from the miserable things and left behind naught but brittle bones and papery skin from which the horse's fur fell away easily.

She covered her mouth with one hand as she explored the carnage. Not far away, a skeleton wearing a full body covering of distinct brassy scales lie face down in the muck. She gently turned it over and heard the ribcage creak and crack like the opening of an ancient wooden door. The once handsome face was emaciated and hollow. Gazing into the empty black sockets where only a crusted white puss remained, a pink tongue snaked from between the witch's black lips and into the husk's mouth as she planted a passionate kiss on the corpse. She groped the scaled head, and they crunched as she pressed her hands into it. A trickle of saliva bridged the gap between the two mouths as the witch pulled away, and she placed her stained index and thumb around one of Harchibald's sharper incisors and pulled. The tooth came free without any resistance.

And from there, not far again was a once-white dress, now brown with distinct patterns of black spray. The dress was pocked with circular holes, the dried flesh beneath wrent. The corpse was impossibly thin. It still had its bonnet laced below the jaw, which was open wide in a final, lasting scream.

She threw herself away from the scene, and brought her trembling hands to her face. They trembled with excitement.

“Oh but my knight should see! See what the Kotaj takes for its tax! Hehehe! What will he say? What will he think? Will he know that I did it for him, so that he may pass this way unmolested by the Kotaj and it's hunger? Will he appreciate that it now slumbers in the bog, and the Great Sleeping Thing will now bother him not?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“No... no, he'll say 'she did this!' and point his finger. 'She is responsible!' he'll curse, but he will never even stop to think that it was all so he could pass safely.”

He DESERVES what is coming to him.

“Yes, my lord, he does. He does indeed. The Kotaj was too good of a fate for him. Let him find his trinket in your swamp. He'll never leave it alive!” She cackled, and the sound carried through the marsh. Then, calmed, she slid on her behind back into the swampwater and drew her body in so that only here eyes were visible above the surface, coming up occasionally for air. She drifted into an overhang of briars near the scene of the slaughter on the road, and waited for the Overmage to stumble on the scene of horror.

"You must think me an idiot." He suddenly called to her. He had observed her mannerisms very carefully the entire time by that point. He noticed it before she thought he did...he was a smart guy for a reason. Books and cleverness had kept him alive that long and he would put it all the test. She was...guiding him to far off the road for it to be a coincidence. Archanex knew they had gone much deeper into the swam like area than intended, but he kept a considerable distance from her to be snared completely.

"Next time...be more mindful of the prey you attempt to ensnare with your traps!" He knew things were off from the very beginning but she was someone who needed help...he figured by that point the wolf attack may have been engineered too. Probably for his own benefit. "So you know...I am spoken for." He called out to her, almost spitting that out. He turned to take his leave when...

She is not responding back...she probably did not even hear me. He looked off in the direction she had ran to. Too far away from the main road for this to be a coincidence. I am going to go back home and report this mission a failure... He noticed she was not returning. You try too hard. He thought to himself...Still much to learn young one. He thought as he looked in her general direction. He was glad he had listened to is gut, but he stood there for a while longer seeing if she would come back from where ever she had run off too...no chance.

He grinned. Probably better this way I would have not liked to have harmed her...too much... He looked up at the Dheathain sky. It was still late afternoon he could make it back to she safe house before it got too dark. "Until we meet again you bandage yourself on your own liar." He spat that out too, but grinned the whole time, he liked her. She had spunk even though she'd been faking it the whole time. "I have a lot to learn about Althanas women. Some are nice and some are not...but there is a lot of spice there for sure." He turned around and began to use his staff as a walking stick to get back on the main road...he would not follow her any longer to a certainly horrid fate.

I'd rather sleep at night, thank you very much. He thought to himself...She ran off on her own so oh well. "Good bye friend...until we meet again young one." He said to her in the silent stillness. He almost partially regretted not having played along with her trap, whatever it may have been...there would be other times. He started to slowly walk back towards the main road. It would be a considerable hike, but he was strong and smart...he would make it back with good time.

She ran off on her own... He smiled to himself...he'd won that battle.

Her belly was pressed firmly in the mud, but she was already filthy, and it didn't matter to her anymore. She arranged broken brass scales in front of her until the pattern suited her whim.

The things that the marsh rememberssss... she crooned softly and in key. She wasn't going to get her big musical number, she knew.

Time passed.

She sat on the wagon driver's bench, reigns in hand.

“THE BANDITS WILL NOT OVERTAKE US AS LONG AS I'M ALIVE! HEE-YA!” she snapped the reigns teathered to the dead horses. “Only a league to Passwind Gulch! Hee-ya! We can make it! We have to make it! Hold on!”

Time passed.

She pitched pebbles into the marsh, and a toad croaked its irriation and dived beneath the scummy surface.

She sighed.

Time passed.

She stood up, and went around to the back of the wagon and collected a heavy, fluffy pink robe, cinching it around her waist with the matching tie.

“Peter!” she screamed. “Peter this is rediculous, he's not fucking coming. I'm cold an I'm getting hungry. I'm not DOING this anymore,” she was on the brink of full-blown tears.

"CUT!"

The ringing of a bell.

A man in a dapper vest, artist's beret, and a cashmere scarf wrapped once around his neck, trotted up the path.

“Scarlett, baby, come on, we just have to wait a little longer, he'll be here, I promise. Come on, just wait a little longer,” the man put his hand tenderly and comfortingly on her shoulder. She smacked it away.

She put her face less than an inch from his, and although he was taller, the anger present in her eyes put them on an even keel. She gesticulated wildly to accentuate every part of her statement. “I'm. Not. Fucking. Doing. THIS,” and she fled, leaving the director “Peter” alone. Nearly right after, a quintet of men in heavy grey make-up approached from the length of road that was yet unexplored.

“Uh, hey Pete, our make-up is starting to come off,” their leader said timidly, not wanting to bother the director, but knowing that it would take a few hours to repair the special effects. A goopy fake eyeball hung from his socket, and he was still dripping with swamp water. Grey putty peeled from his forehead and cheek in sheets, exposing the clean, healthy skin beneath.

Peter pressed his palm to his forehead and sighed.

“Alright everyone, thats a wrap on scene 8, wagon massacre. Kotaj team, I need you to stick around. We need to talk about those bugs in the animatronics. Fuck. Where's casting! I want to talk to casting! Get them the hell out here! Where do you find these guys!? I told you we can't just take any schlub in off the street and stick him in a hundred-million dollar horror-drama! There needs to be screening!”

-

The actress peeled the long black eyelash off of her lid. It looked like the action would be painful, but she had done it a thousand times. She peeled the putty off her own cheeks and chest, dumping it in the trash bin beside the small desk with a large, well-lit mirror. She looked at herself. Her hair was dishevelled. Her big eyes were puffy and red from crying.

You're a star. You worked hard to be here. You DESERVE to be here.

Her pep-talk did nothing to staunch the tears that were coming on again. He hand moved subconciously over the black leather cover of the old book. She couldn't read the archaic writing on it, but one of the people in props and FX had told her that it translated to “Diary of a Witch.”

“I wonder if you had days like this,” she asked the book. The book that inspired the entire cursed movie production. She shovelled a handful of peanut M&M's into her mouth and chewed with her mouth open. There was no one around in her dressing room to notice. She belched.

Her delicate hand, now clean, slid into the pocket of her robe and produced a broad-screened Samsung. It lit up, and she thumbed through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for.

“Simon. Yeah, its Scar. Terrible. YES, terrible. I quit. Call Marvel and ask them if they still want me. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! Beg? GOD! I can't believe I turned that down. Why did you let me? I'm such an idiot. No. NO! I told you, I quit. I don't give a FUCK about contracts. MAKE IT HAPPEN!” she hung up angrily and put her head back in her hands.

So much wasted time. So much wasted time.

She picked up the ancient book off the desk, and opened it once more, but just like before, she couldn't read a word in it. By all accounts, it detailed the life of a tortured young woman, fighting a personal battle against pervasive evil that held her very soul in its grip. There were hand-drawn pictures, but they were disturbing and she couldn't bring herself to look at them for long. She slammed the cover closed and dumped the book into the bin with a *thud*. Sighing one final time, she composed herself. She walked into the small shower in her dressing room, cleaned all the gunk off her body, and began to get dressed.

Outside the studio lot, the lights of her Mercedes flashed and the alarm beeped once. She got in and turned it on. She would put this entire ordeal behind her. She reminded herself that she was born to play the role of Black Widow. Marvel would call.

As she rejoined the queue of LA traffic, she hummed to herself absentmindedly.

The things the marsh rememberssss...




((Well, this ended abruptly. The Witch contracted a new disease.

Lesser Rabies - The central nervous system is attacked by wracking pain, and the mind is fogged. Only violent impulses remain clear. Unlike Greater Rabies, this disease is easily curable with bed rest and water (which most victims will not accept willingly and they must be forced to drink or hydrated interveinously. Any character described as having even slightly above average constitution, fortitude, or health, fails to contract the disease.

Onset - 1 full day in game
Transmission - Saliva (bite)
Effect - Intense feelings of aggression and difficulty preforming non-violent tasks.
Cure - 1 day bedrest and appropriate hydration
Applicable skill for diagnosis - healing, herbalism, animal lore

Thank you for your time))

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