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

[DarkDelights]

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.