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Squib Ep.24 - The Witches Want

ButonflyJan 23, 2019, 1:09:09 PM
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(Start at the beginning here)

The Witch emerged, stepping from a space between the folds of reality that boggled the minds of those witnessing it. There was a shift in the air, a haze that crossed the vision, and after a second to blink it all away all seemed right with the exception of the strange feeling that something odd had just occurred.

Herule was unimpressed, more so than usual, and not in the flippant, dismissive kind of way. There was a detestation, a familiarity that bore like a bad smell to invoke some distinct, distant memory. The sort of primal awareness that came from generations of biological knowledge, of wisdom passed down through elders by the blood. He knew this swamp-Witch, knew all about her, and had every reason to dislike her in the presence of his standing. Such was his disdain that if forced to consider it, he didn't even think he’d eat her, no matter how hungry he might be.

“What is this? Crone come making her appearance to ssuch as lowely as these,” and Herule swept his arm over the trio, and bowed his head in a ceremonial show of respect. Though his tone could have used some work if he wanted to be convincing. He didn't.

The Witch waved her hand, “Yes yes, spare me your formalities, Lizardkin.”

Herule watched as she walked lithely over her giant turtles back, hopped off the edge onto solid land, and strode over to join the trio in the already crowded space. Herule folded his arms, standing tall with his jaw set level, peering down at the strange swamp Witch with a veneer of strength and domination.

He’d met the old hag only once before, present among a number of his tribe at a ceremonial meeting to do with things above his concern. The warrior, much younger back then, had been forced to hold a chalice in the absence of anyone closer to do the job, much to his chagrin. He remembered her to be rude and unthankful. On top of that there was the shame he’d been burdened with, carrying out such a petulant task, and that was only the beginning of it.

Throughout his people, the Witch was considered a necessary evil. A being they respected for her undying affinity to the very life of the swamp, but one who poked, pried, and meddled in their affairs. She superseded their hierarchical structures, and contested the sovereignty of their authority. Considering the Lizardmen’s pride, this was no small trifle. She was regarded as a shamen of shamans, with a voice on par with that of the Chieftain, and not without good reason. The Witch had her ways. She had her sight. If there were a life flow to the swamp, a pulse of blood that surged beneath the waters, it was said she had her finger on it. Some believed her to control the very beating of its heart, one that could sense its quickening, or slowing, as if faced with danger or illness. Herule found her ugly, small for a biped, annoying in her quirks, and above all to harbor a bad odour. Exercising dominance over his people was simply icing over a cake.

The Witch ran rivlets of water to the ground as she began roving her eyes eagerly over Bandana. Her face formed a crooked smile, a strange pleasure taking control of her features that was equal parts alarming as it was disarming. Bandana was already standing at the edge of the canopy having berthed as much room for the approaching Hag as she dared before succumbing to the falling rain. For Squib it was not much different despite his acquaintance, though he seemed less concerned and more annoyed with her presence.

“Why is she looking at me?” Bandana asked, turning her head slightly toward Squib but not taking here eyes off the Witch.

“Do not sspeak to the Witch if you know what is good for you. Sshe will only bring curses and misery upon you.” Herule answered, trying in vain to explain, but he saw only confusion mask Bandana’s face. She shook her head.

“What did he say?”

“Spare us your tongue, Blue Scale. I shall deal with you at my leisure.” The Witch snapped.

Squib looked wearily between the parties weighing his response. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

“You are the one, yes, with the two bandanas.” The Witch took two crooked steps forward, motioning with her hands invitingly for Bandana to step closer, away from the rain. “Come, come. You must show me, I want to see it with mine own eyes.”

Herule watched the awkward, unsure moment play out from behind his glower, not understanding what was being spoken but following through the strange body-language. The Witch half ushered, half helped as Bandana got the idea, and drew up two bandana’s to cover both the top of her head, and the lower part of her face. The Witch brightened with pleasure before they were removed again.

“Ahhh! There she is, there’s the one I’ve seen. Two-Bandana-Anna they call you. Quickly, show me, show me!” And the Witch pushed Anna, urging her to turn in place, positioning her away from her, then tugging at the collar of her jerkin to pry it from her shoulders.

Bandana drew her shoulders in sharply and spun back, protesting with a heavy frown, “Hey!” She decried. “You can’t just.. I’m not..” She stammered through her words, flustered, irritated, bothered by the motions irritating her apparent wounds, trying to make some point. Herule didn't understand the word she finished on but “weirdos” didn't sound like a word of promise.

The Witch digressed, lowering her gaze and withdrawing. “Yes, yes, apologies. It is just so pleasing to meet One, is all. Forgive my rudeness, I am a matron of the swamp. I understand your customs to be foreign, I do not wish to overstep.” The Witch coo’d, though Anna seemed no less defensive for it.

“Perhaps you could start by telling me who you are, and how you know so much about me?”

“My name, yes. It is Witch, Hag, Crone, Tender of Silk, Friend of Turtle, Keeper of the Swamp, I am tree, and bark, and mist, Minder of Children,” And she passed a judgmental eye over Herule, “and Watcher of Signs. There is no time to explain the other, and besides, such things would come at a high price.”

Bandana bore a thoughtful stare, and gave a discerning nod. “Fine, then tell me what I need to know and if there is some deal to be struck, then let us strike it, but you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Squib stepped forward “Hey! I had deal first!” He said, injecting himself into the conversation. Though half a body smaller than Bandana and the Witch, with his chin held high and ears pulled back, he seemed hard to ignore.

Herule sensed tension throughout the three which made him eager to impose himself no matter the reason. “I demand to know what is ssaid! Or assume you’re conspiring against me.”

Squib growled, the threat hitting a chord, but the Witch responded with action by raising the head of her staff and butting Herule in the head. “I do not suffer your fancy, Lizard brain! You should know better!” She clocked him again for good measure. “Do not think I’ve forgotten you, young Herule. Hold this while I work!”

Herule suffered the first blow, and raised his arm too late to catch the second, surprised to be treated so crudely by one so small. But he found himself cut short, restrained by what they both knew to be true. Though he was free to do as he pleased, there were consequences for him where the Witch was concerned, and lines he knew he could not cross. So when the staff was presented for him to hold, he took it without so much as a sound, and once again found himself devolved to the position of ‘bearer’, a lowly figure in his own sights to be sure.

The Witch turned to Squib, “You’ll get your powder, as agreed. You will give me a moment more.”

She reached into the folds of her moss and lichen covered robe, drawing out a large, flat, circular bowel from within. Herule watched, curious from behind his staff as all the various pieces of a puzzle he did not understand were suddenly brought bare before him. The Witch traversed back into the rain, filling her dish at the water's edge, and returned to place it on one of the wooden stumps used as stools. It took her a few minutes to prepare, drawing forth regents from about her person, plucking a hair from Bandana’s head upon request, and chewing off one of the overgrown nails of her toes. All went into the shallow dish before she swirled and swirled, chanting something no one could understand. With the dish layed down she motioned to draw everyone closer, and with her finger pointed to the center of the swirl as it slowed, and smoothed.

“There, look.” In one sentence, in a single tongue, she spoke words that all understood, and each peered to discover her telling, and each found their features soften in the face of wonder, and each was without words or fuss, for each bore witness to the Witches strange purpose, and to a sight she’d beheld, and was want to share.

(Continue to Ep.25)

(Episode Directory)

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