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sspky
ooof my bones
A haze of early morning mist rose up from the mirror-still surface of the lake. Passed the sedge grass and cattails that choaked the shoreline, on a rise of stone and earth that overlooked the water, sat a small, low hut built of wood and stone.
A figure was hunched before a firepit. Formless beneath a thick blanket of white, shaggy fur, about the only visible feature of the being was the pair of narrow forearms that pocked out of a fold in the pelt. A crown of antlers and vines topped the hood of the fur cloak, giving the being a strange, beastly shape. Morter in one hand and pestle in the other, the seated figure was carefully grinding a strong-smelling reagent into a fine powder.
There was a metal pot hung from a spit above the crackling fire, it’s odour wafting about the narrow valley. It was hard to determine what, exactly, was stewing away in the cauldron. There was meat, certainly, but its savoury aroma was buffered by an assortment of spices and components that an almost metallic scent to the concoction.
Located a good five days travel from the nearest human settlement, this lonely camp saw very few visitors. There were local wildlings that knew of the witches presence and would, on occasion, seek her out with offerings in exchange for aid or curses, and fewer outsiders who had heard the legends of the Witchwomen of the Vale -- who would shed their own skin and dance by firelight in the worship of a stag-headed moon-beast -- and were foolish enough to hunt for answers.
Although the sun had not yet peeked out over the story mountain tops, the clear sky was quickly shifting from grey to morning-blue. There was a chill to the dawn, although it had not been not enough to cause the nights’ dew to frost over. A sharp, whooping birdsong broke through the morning. It was soon joined by others, as the forested valley slowly began to wake.
A figure was hunched before a firepit. Formless beneath a thick blanket of white, shaggy fur, about the only visible feature of the being was the pair of narrow forearms that pocked out of a fold in the pelt. A crown of antlers and vines topped the hood of the fur cloak, giving the being a strange, beastly shape. Morter in one hand and pestle in the other, the seated figure was carefully grinding a strong-smelling reagent into a fine powder.
There was a metal pot hung from a spit above the crackling fire, it’s odour wafting about the narrow valley. It was hard to determine what, exactly, was stewing away in the cauldron. There was meat, certainly, but its savoury aroma was buffered by an assortment of spices and components that an almost metallic scent to the concoction.
Located a good five days travel from the nearest human settlement, this lonely camp saw very few visitors. There were local wildlings that knew of the witches presence and would, on occasion, seek her out with offerings in exchange for aid or curses, and fewer outsiders who had heard the legends of the Witchwomen of the Vale -- who would shed their own skin and dance by firelight in the worship of a stag-headed moon-beast -- and were foolish enough to hunt for answers.
Although the sun had not yet peeked out over the story mountain tops, the clear sky was quickly shifting from grey to morning-blue. There was a chill to the dawn, although it had not been not enough to cause the nights’ dew to frost over. A sharp, whooping birdsong broke through the morning. It was soon joined by others, as the forested valley slowly began to wake.
Nenma Takashi
Terribly Terrible
Slowly yet surely a figure wobbled it's way through the forest, the sound of twigs snapping under their metal boots and their armor clinking against itself. The figure's armor was covered in dirt and dust, chipped in some places and rusting in others. There was even a dent on the breast plate near they're heart.
The figure placed a hand on a tree using it to steady themselves. Reaching the other hand up they took off their helmet that hid their face. Short black hair was then freed from its metallic prison. Eyes brown like the bark of the very tree the knight leaned on scanned the forest for signs of their destination. The face the eyes belonged to was covered in small scars and one large scar running down from their left ear down to their chin.
Sweat dripped down their face it had been days since they began this journey. It was full of it's fair share of troubles. From bandits, to getting lost, to the wild animals, and they were sure a pixie or two caused them to get lost at some points. The figure was a humble knight in search of help, the help they needed was not the kind most would find themselves seeking.
For this knight was a poor woman given a curse. One that made her life hell and as such needed to get rid of it by any means she could find. She had heard rumors of a witch that lived out amongst these trees. The breeze that blew through sent a chill up her spine, it also caused the trees to rustle. The sound of the branches swaying was shut out by the knights stomach as it growled calling for food. She had long since ran out of rations, she already wasn't really sure where she was going which meant her hunger wasn't helping her either.
Forcing herself forward the knight stumbled over a tree root. She fell to the ground with a loud clatter, the weight of her armor felt even greater due to her hunger. She clenched her fist trying to force herself to her feet. As struggled to stand she could smell something. The slightly metallic spice to the smell at first made her believe it was her own armor, but she definitely could smell something savory in it as well. Wondering for a moment if perhaps this was due to just how hungry she was, then she could see it. A small hut built of wood and stone sitting cozy near the water. The knight drew her sword using it like a cane to help bring herself to the hut. Finally making to her destination her body gave out and she fell to her knees another clutter of metal resonated through the forest as she did. Leaning next to the door the knight notice her vision began to blur, her eyes lids just so heavy that it felt impossible to get them open. Lacking even the strength to speak so she did all she could, she leaned forward just slightly and smacked the door.
The figure placed a hand on a tree using it to steady themselves. Reaching the other hand up they took off their helmet that hid their face. Short black hair was then freed from its metallic prison. Eyes brown like the bark of the very tree the knight leaned on scanned the forest for signs of their destination. The face the eyes belonged to was covered in small scars and one large scar running down from their left ear down to their chin.
Sweat dripped down their face it had been days since they began this journey. It was full of it's fair share of troubles. From bandits, to getting lost, to the wild animals, and they were sure a pixie or two caused them to get lost at some points. The figure was a humble knight in search of help, the help they needed was not the kind most would find themselves seeking.
For this knight was a poor woman given a curse. One that made her life hell and as such needed to get rid of it by any means she could find. She had heard rumors of a witch that lived out amongst these trees. The breeze that blew through sent a chill up her spine, it also caused the trees to rustle. The sound of the branches swaying was shut out by the knights stomach as it growled calling for food. She had long since ran out of rations, she already wasn't really sure where she was going which meant her hunger wasn't helping her either.
Forcing herself forward the knight stumbled over a tree root. She fell to the ground with a loud clatter, the weight of her armor felt even greater due to her hunger. She clenched her fist trying to force herself to her feet. As struggled to stand she could smell something. The slightly metallic spice to the smell at first made her believe it was her own armor, but she definitely could smell something savory in it as well. Wondering for a moment if perhaps this was due to just how hungry she was, then she could see it. A small hut built of wood and stone sitting cozy near the water. The knight drew her sword using it like a cane to help bring herself to the hut. Finally making to her destination her body gave out and she fell to her knees another clutter of metal resonated through the forest as she did. Leaning next to the door the knight notice her vision began to blur, her eyes lids just so heavy that it felt impossible to get them open. Lacking even the strength to speak so she did all she could, she leaned forward just slightly and smacked the door.
sspky
ooof my bones
The birdsong quieted as the haphazard clunking came into earshot. Stilling her hands, the witch tilted her head and listened, her chin cocked back just enough for her face to peek out from beneath the heavy cloak. She sniffed at the air with a nose far more adept at picking up scents then any humans ought to be.
A wildling would never make such a ruckus, and most travellers approached with more caution. An outsider, certainly, was the cause of the approaching commotion, but if the witch were to hazard a guess, the stranger was not likely expecting to find such a dangerous woodland creature so near.
When the figure broke through the evergreen brush, the witch dropped her head again and tensed, though she remained still and seated. Hand retreating beneath her cloak, she took a firm grip of the bone-handled knife at her hip and watched the scene with wary curiosity.
When the stranger collapsed at her doorstep and began pounding at the wooden frame of the hide-sheeted door, the witch only sighed heavily before pulling herself to her feet and hoising the fur cloak firmly about her shoulders.
“Ai, what’s this then?” she asked, still standing by the fire. She stood on a pair of boney, bare legs, her feet caked black with mud. Her body was still concealed behind the white fur, the hood concealing her face beneath its crown of antlers.
A wildling would never make such a ruckus, and most travellers approached with more caution. An outsider, certainly, was the cause of the approaching commotion, but if the witch were to hazard a guess, the stranger was not likely expecting to find such a dangerous woodland creature so near.
When the figure broke through the evergreen brush, the witch dropped her head again and tensed, though she remained still and seated. Hand retreating beneath her cloak, she took a firm grip of the bone-handled knife at her hip and watched the scene with wary curiosity.
When the stranger collapsed at her doorstep and began pounding at the wooden frame of the hide-sheeted door, the witch only sighed heavily before pulling herself to her feet and hoising the fur cloak firmly about her shoulders.
“Ai, what’s this then?” she asked, still standing by the fire. She stood on a pair of boney, bare legs, her feet caked black with mud. Her body was still concealed behind the white fur, the hood concealing her face beneath its crown of antlers.
Nenma Takashi
Terribly Terrible
The knight could hear the witch speak, her exhaustion and hunger made it hard to respond. Yet she forced out words her voice hoarse. "Please witch, I request your aid. A curse...I need you to help break a curse upon me." She raised her left hand fumbling around with her right gauntlet. When she removed the armor it fell to the ground with a clang rolling away slightly. She held up her arm showing the scars that lined it. The witch would have to look hard to find a single bit of skin that wasn't scarred.
"This damn curse it prevents me from serving my country and king. All damage I do upon others is done as well upon me." Her arm fell unable to hold it up any longer. "What goods a knight that can't fight." The knight's exhaustion finally caught up with her as she slowly slid off the wood and stone hut. Her body fell to the ground with a clunk. "Please witch, I swear on my honor to repay you... just... don't let me...perish like this....not like....this.."
The knight fell unconscious her mind began to replay memories. Perhaps it was sure it would perish and thus it wished to look back on the knight's life before it all came to an end. It was a life of hard work. A life filled with aching muscles and the loud clang of metal. The weight of a blade, the desire to get stronger. Of course it all came together to form a sensation of loss. That's what the knight felt right now. She felt lost her cause had escaped her due to her curse. It was exactly as she had asked the witch, what was a knight that couldn't fight?
"This damn curse it prevents me from serving my country and king. All damage I do upon others is done as well upon me." Her arm fell unable to hold it up any longer. "What goods a knight that can't fight." The knight's exhaustion finally caught up with her as she slowly slid off the wood and stone hut. Her body fell to the ground with a clunk. "Please witch, I swear on my honor to repay you... just... don't let me...perish like this....not like....this.."
The knight fell unconscious her mind began to replay memories. Perhaps it was sure it would perish and thus it wished to look back on the knight's life before it all came to an end. It was a life of hard work. A life filled with aching muscles and the loud clang of metal. The weight of a blade, the desire to get stronger. Of course it all came together to form a sensation of loss. That's what the knight felt right now. She felt lost her cause had escaped her due to her curse. It was exactly as she had asked the witch, what was a knight that couldn't fight?
sspky
ooof my bones
Grumbling, the witch waited for the stranger to still before she cautiously approached.
“Hrmph. Bloody useless,” she prodded an armoured shoulder with her barefoot, “Bloody outsiders.”
From what she gathered from the exhausted stranger’s ramblings, it seemed this outsider had, in fact, been seeking one of the wood-witches. Honour was only a valid currency when she could be sure the offer came from a character of upstanding morality. Still, the curse piqued her interest, as they often did, and she reckoned there’d be nothing to lose by taking a peek at the outsider’s condition.
Pulling the pelt away from the door, the witch grabbed the outsider’s ankles and dragged her gracelessly into the small hut.
Embers smouldered in a small firepit in the center of the hut, while rays of soft, pre-dawn light poured in from a chimney-hole cut into the center of the ceiling. Leaving the woman on the dirt floor by the hearth, the witch discarded her fur cloak and turned her attention to a low work-table cluttered in an assortment of reagents and alchemical contraptions.
It would be difficult to make out the woman’s features in the dim light of the hut, though the shadows seemed to not hinder her work at all. She was slight, with pale skin and near-white hair, and she wore little more than a long, lose hide tunic. She moved quickly, collecting a few basic instruments before crouching down at the woman’s side.
Deft, bony hands began picking at the woman’s armour, peeling away pieces of cloth and leather with little care or shame. At a glance, she could tell the stranger was suffering from fatigue. It looked as though she hadn’t had a decent meal or drink of water in quite some time. Even if she were to lift the curse, the woman’s survival would be questionable without actual medical aid.
Sighing, the witch considered for a moment how interested she was in helping this outsider. Finally, apparently deciding she had little else to keep her entertained, the witch pulled a water skin from a nearby hook on the wall. Cradling the woman’s head in one arm, she rose the spout of the canteen to the stranger's mouth.
“Hrmph. Bloody useless,” she prodded an armoured shoulder with her barefoot, “Bloody outsiders.”
From what she gathered from the exhausted stranger’s ramblings, it seemed this outsider had, in fact, been seeking one of the wood-witches. Honour was only a valid currency when she could be sure the offer came from a character of upstanding morality. Still, the curse piqued her interest, as they often did, and she reckoned there’d be nothing to lose by taking a peek at the outsider’s condition.
Pulling the pelt away from the door, the witch grabbed the outsider’s ankles and dragged her gracelessly into the small hut.
Embers smouldered in a small firepit in the center of the hut, while rays of soft, pre-dawn light poured in from a chimney-hole cut into the center of the ceiling. Leaving the woman on the dirt floor by the hearth, the witch discarded her fur cloak and turned her attention to a low work-table cluttered in an assortment of reagents and alchemical contraptions.
It would be difficult to make out the woman’s features in the dim light of the hut, though the shadows seemed to not hinder her work at all. She was slight, with pale skin and near-white hair, and she wore little more than a long, lose hide tunic. She moved quickly, collecting a few basic instruments before crouching down at the woman’s side.
Deft, bony hands began picking at the woman’s armour, peeling away pieces of cloth and leather with little care or shame. At a glance, she could tell the stranger was suffering from fatigue. It looked as though she hadn’t had a decent meal or drink of water in quite some time. Even if she were to lift the curse, the woman’s survival would be questionable without actual medical aid.
Sighing, the witch considered for a moment how interested she was in helping this outsider. Finally, apparently deciding she had little else to keep her entertained, the witch pulled a water skin from a nearby hook on the wall. Cradling the woman’s head in one arm, she rose the spout of the canteen to the stranger's mouth.
