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

[DarkDelights]

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?”