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Post by Caedes Oleander on Oct 8, 2022 15:31:13 GMT -5
The old hag of the veil, was once a beautiful dame. A witch of the night with eyes of flame,
But time is cruel, And death was nigh, The old hag of the veil is running out of time,
So from your blood, your body she'll take. For her lasting beauty, the sacrifice she'll make.
So gaze into the night, and beware the blood moon: If it's the red star you see, she's coming for you soon.
... and with the blood moon rising just above the horizon, far out of his sight; the hag is on the hunt tonight. She was once an old wives' tale, sung in rhyme by the children of Darkveil as they bounded down cobblestone streets in the twilight; and even to him, she had only been a story for a long time. Caedes looks quietly at the black widow perched on the bark of a gnarled tree nearby. Whispers echo in his ears; a series of strange tongues leaves the spider's clacking fangs. "... You saw her?" he asks. The spider, fangs clicking, scuttles forwards as Caedes reaches out his arm to it. In the pale red moon, the cat-sized beast slowly disappears as it moves towards his shoulder; the only evidence of it is the refraction of the moonlight from its wide abdomen. "Take me there."
The hag of the veil was an elusive figure; she was a swapper of souls and a stealer of bodies. The witch left behind little evidence, save for the dismayed young soul of a woman in a decaying old body, fated to fall to the hands of time in her place.
But—
Death comes for all eventually. She could only hide for so long.
Caedes closes his eyes; the voice in the forefront of his mind reverberates through every bone in his body like an ache. It is a chore to acclimate to an additional voice in one's head; the presence of a thing beyond any aspect of mortal comprehension; and know that it is with you in every waking moment.
It is an honour, and it is a terror to be its vessel; but it is correct. Death comes for all; and tonight he will ensure it comes for her.
Too many young women have withered in her place over the many years the hag has wandered the mortal plane; too many premature souls who were not marked for death were taken by ill luck and cruel witchery at her decrypt hands. But now, the bad luck turns on the hag: for her grimoire has been found and stolen, and spirited away into the deepest recess of the bog. Her book of tricks and spells will be hidden away until she finally returns to the dust, as she was meant to do so long ago. The hourglass runs thin tonight. It will be the hag's last blood moon.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Oct 10, 2022 6:40:27 GMT -5
The blood moon was a jealous maiden, for while it stood high, no other star could shine in the sky. None warned the witch of the veil, who carried all the stars of the dome, bringing their light in her eyes.
The swamp was cruel to her in the past, and now even more; her fiery mare neighed nervously, something she had never done before. For Despair, the fiery mare, was braver than anyone she'd met. Eyes of madness and fire for mane, there was nothing to fear as of yet.
Except for the hag.
Their journey had been hard and discouraging, her determination was shook. All that drove them forward, through the wet and bumpy marsh, was purpose: and the purpose was a book.
The Raven Queen was known through the lands, and when mischief and luck contributed, she was the first one warned: the hag's book was in their hands; of her druids friends, neighboors to the hag. For so much time they escaped the evil woman, merely a few inches away of her claws; but her reign of terror was about to end, for the witch of the veil would join their cause.
But instead, she became prey. Caught in a web of the hag's doing, carefully hidden in the swamp, she was certain of what the hag had been brewing. Her mare's hooves were strapped to the ground by sticky cobwebs, and as it tried to turn and kick, a thousand small spiders shot out. Despair, the brave mare, even her couldn't handle the crawling of hundreds of clacking tongues and thousands of spidery legs. The nightmare steed rose to its hind legs, throwing the rider into the mushy swamp. And while the steed kicked and turned, trying to get rid of such unerving foe, another horde of the critters tried to swarm the witch of the starry eyes as she rose to her feet.
Fire rose to her command, as the hag knew it would. And as the spiders melted like snow before heated coal, a miasma did too. For the hag was clever, and knew of the others strengths: the fire melted a poison, a venom the spiders carried. And in the matter of a few moments, the witch's mind was clouded, and the stars faded from her eyes.
And in the darkness that fell, no one could hear her cries.
The hag's ritual went on as planned, for even if her book was stolen, it meant little for her. She had done it so many times before, she accounted for every little twist and possibility.
Except, perhaps, for Mischief.
Because it was part of her plan to dispose of her old body, now housing her newly made enemy. And yet, when she turned to deliver the fatal blow..... she was gone! Annoying little pest! Disgraced raven! For the bird was smarter than she thought, loyal to his witch, as was a good familiar, more often than not. Mischief freed his Master, now bound to the hag's face. And they escaped, together, into the marsh once again.............
And when her legs couldn’t carry her any further, she stumbled across a log. And she recoiled, and wept, and wept. For she knew no one would believe her when she said:
"I'm not the hag! I'm not the hag!"
Only Mischief believed her, keeping her company and chasing away her fears. Only the raven believed her, wiping away her tears.
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Post by Caedes Oleander on Oct 11, 2022 18:14:14 GMT -5
“I’m not the hag! I’m not the hag!”The witch’s raven was the first to know, and the first to believe, the witch’s cries as she wept into the night. The shadows, too, held vigil; and they would be the second to know, and the second to believe, even before a voice which hisses in the back of its mind like a great snake says: This one’s soul is young, But her body is old.
Caedes watches her from a distance; the way the shoulders of a hunched, old crone shake as she cries. He had once brandished his dagger to strike, but now it slides between his fingers without intent to kill. With Charlotte’s guide, finding the figure of so much tragedy and legend had been easier than he had expected. He realizes now, why it had been so; she was not running from the shadows, nor was she running to her book of spells—- She was running from the hag.
It was truly not her.
When the Blood Moon reaches its zenith, She will be the next line of the myth.
Caedes takes a slow, calm breath as he watches the scene unfold before him; the raven, and the woman, mourning together in the murk. Behind them, the water of the bog ripples and signals his arrival. “ You’re not the hag,” he affirms, repeating her cries from before. “ Don’t fret; I’ve nothing to want from you.” Caedes dips his head, and with a sweep of his red-trimmed cloak, the phantom-like man lays it over the old woman’s shoulders. “ But you are not who you once were, either; who are you— and what happened?”
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Oct 15, 2022 4:53:10 GMT -5
And when hope seemed to be nowhere near, she wondered what made the raven cheer.
Someone approached, and she recoiled, for certainly no one would see her for who she truly was. If once her beauty was capable of laying down defenses with a single glance, the repulsiveness of the hag would certainly do the opposite: they would kill her on site, and there was nothing she could do, because her power was gone.
But it was a familiar voice that reached her ears, and when she turned to face him, still in disbelief, still shook by her fate, a gentle cloak was laid on her shoulder; a gentlemanly gesture of good will and protection a hag would have never seen.
Her eyes couldn't believe her. The man would see recognition in the eyes of the hag, yet the eyes were not of the evil doer. There was some semblance of those eyes of deep blue to one he'd seen before, even if now the stars faded.
"...........Oleander? Is that you? Does Father Ginma still watches over me, after all? After everything?"
Mischief flaps his wings, cawing in recognition.
"CAWWWWW! Caedes! Help!"
The hag stumbled, for she was not used to a body that was crooked and couldn't obey her like her own.
"Caedes! You have to believe me... I came to get her grimmoire, take it somewhere safe... The book of the hag! But the hag found me first... I'm Kamille!"
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Post by Caedes Oleander on Oct 18, 2022 20:08:36 GMT -5
When the hag turns to face him, there’s something familiar about her eyes; a deep, but intense blue looks back at him. An ocean which once reflected the glimmer of the stars above; but now, the clouds of age have obscured the mirror to the other side. She speaks his name in a voice cracked by time and use, which are not hers; but despite the contrast, it brings him back to her home in the Moon Glade. Recollections of his stumbling up the stairs, carrying an ill tiefling on his back. The raven shrieks his name, and Caedes steps forth; catching the old woman gently before she can fall into the murk. “Mischief?” he addresses the Raven breathlessly, which means…
His non-beating heart almost breaks at the tone in which Kamille cries out; her distress is palpable in the hum of the bog. "Hush, hush..." Caedes breathes, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her before she can stumble. "I believe that it's you, Kamille." He furrows his brows, turning his eyes cautiously towards the darkness; the voice in his head murmurs:
The witch of the Moonglade... She certainly does not lie. The hag has spirited her away, But it's not yet her time to die.
He cannot allow this to pass; and so, he looks at her with a frown. "Tell me what happened," he murmurs, gently stepping around her. "I knew the druid had called a witch, but I did not know it was you." He crouches down in front of her, patting his shoulders— encouraging her to hop on, so he can support her through the bog. "The druid can help; I'm sure she'll believe you, too."
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Oct 22, 2022 8:32:51 GMT -5
That old body, which was not hers, felt disgusting and uneven, as if wearing the dusty old clothes of another. Her heart-stopping elven features and alluring voice were not hers anymore to command, instead carried the soul and powers of an evil hag that intended to have her killed and use her influence. She couldn't see how things could get worse...
Kamille held onto Caedes - her delicate, expert hands, that once helped him nurse his friend back to health were traded by old, wrinkled hands that knew nothing but pain. She didn't realize how shaky her legs were before being offered a ride on Caedes' back. All her remaining strength was used to get away from the hag, and then she found some more to cry her eyes out. Her heart swelled with gratefulness for her raven's loyalty - she would never be able to convince anyone of who she was if not for Mischief. The Witch's familiar was a dead giveaway of her true identity.
"She imprisioned my mare too....."
While Mischief was able to swiftly fly away, the Nightmare Steed wasn't as lucky. Knowing her fiery and wrathful personality, Kamille feared for her safety, since it was hard for anyone but her to contain the steed. As hope started to once more fill her heart, she told Caedes the story of how she was ambushed in the swamp, and how the hag had successfully performed the ritual to exchange their bodies. Kamille didn't fully understand the ritual, but dared mentioning it didn't seem to be over. The hag seemed disraught when she managed to fly away with the raven's help - maybe there was one more step to it? Maybe there was hope to reverse it? Once they saw the hag's grimoire, they would know.
The journey through the swamp would be hard without Caedes' help, but with Kamille on his back, they swifly made their way to the druid's hideout, amidst mud and vines.
The druid was an old, minotaur lady with gentle eyes and quick wits, and while she squinted her eyes at the approach of them, her apprentice - a small, young orc, barely stepping into his manhood years, pointed at the raven that acompanied the mismatched pair. The minotaur lady and the young orc were before their house, so much mud and moss covering it, it was barely visible from distracted eyes. Mischief flew over to land on one of her horns, calling her "Mama Omma".
"Caedes! What happened? Is this... Is this... Mischief? Ohh... By Ginma....."
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Post by Caedes Oleander on Oct 26, 2022 10:13:00 GMT -5
His heart has long since stopped beating; but even so, he aches for the once-beautiful young witch as her withered hands loop around his neck. He pulls his arms back, gently supporting her legs as he stands to his full height. He turns his head to ensure that she’s settled enough so that he can run with her. Charlotte dances anxiously at his feet, her thin legs carrying her with ease across the deep muck; and after all she’s been through, Caedes does not blame her when he hears her cry. The changeling flees from beneath the blood moon with the very same witch who’d saved, and nursed his employer back to health; he knew this woman, and he owed her for her assistance. She was free and kind when he’d met her; eyes sparkling like the stars above. Had he known that Kamille was the one Mama had called, he might have looked harder, or ran faster; maybe he could have found her before the hag. Even I cannot predict when the web of fate Might tangle through mortal whims That is why I have you.
His boots schlop through the mud and murk; Mischief’s wings beat as he follows, chasing the fleeing duo farther, and farther, into the darkness of the Marsh Flats. No regard is taken for the slinging muk, nor the state of himself; by the time he reaches a house hidden by mud and vines, he’s splattered in mud and murk.
“Mama Omma!” Mischief cries nearby; the raven swoops past to join the Minotaur and her apprentice. “Mama,” he remarks in a rushed greeting, slowing his steps. Charlotte, scurrying always close by, approaches at his feet in a rush. “The hag found Kamille before she could find us; the ritual was partially completed, but not fully.” he looks between the minotaur, to her orc apprentice. “The hag has Kamille’s body, and… the witch of the Moonglade is trapped in hers. Something has to be done— we cannot allow this to pass before the moon reaches its zenith; is there any way we can turn this back?”
He looks to the apprentice. "You still have the book, don't you?"
The young orc nods, looking between Caedes and the hag that he's slowly letting to the ground.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Oct 31, 2022 7:40:54 GMT -5
The marsh was cruel, littered with skulls and bones. And the hag even more, to the lady of fire and stones.
"Cawwww! Mama Omma! Help!"
The raven's presence attested for the Witch's identity, landing on her shoulder when she was carefully put on the ground. She was still shocked and weary from the incident, and had it not been for Caedes, she surely would have given up to tears and fate. She was never one of destiny's favorites, but despite that, Ginma still put people in her way to push her forward into the tapestry of history.
Her time had not yet come.
Mama Omma's apprentice disappeared into the house, only to return with the cursed tome. If one's tome was to make an statement about its Master, that was certainly a dark one, written with a mixture of the dust of bones and blood of past victims. Bound by simple and unassuming black leather, even then, the dark aura that filled its pages still oozed from it like a slithering miasma, poisoning the air around it. The apprentice seemed quite familiar with it already, browsing through its pages in search of something.
"There is still hope, for the ritual is only completed when the blood moon reaches its zenith."
He opened it in a page, so he could show it to them. The inscriptions took both pages, an intricate work of cursed runes, symbols and alchemical shapes wielded a complex circle that made up for the most important part of the ritual. Kamille's now old, frail hands took the old hag's tome, her nebulous eyes squinting at the markings. Her understanding of the arcane arts was vast, but these kinds of dark rituals didn’t usually made part of a regular mage's breadth of knowledge.....
"See how the circle is nearly perfectly symmetrical? Both sides have the exact same runes and symbols, except for these ones.... This is where the hag stands to receive the powers....and this.... is where the victim stands...."
He pointed. There were two different, simple symbols carved at opposite sides of the circle. Mama Omma approached with large, heavy steps. Despite her frame, her large hands were incredibly gentle when looking for wounds in both Caedes and Kamille.
"Sadly, that means you'll have to go back to her hideout.... I can guess she'll want to be found out because she does need to complete the ritual, or else she is bound to this estate of in-between, this limbo........"
Mama Omma raised her old, concerned eyes to Caedes and Kamille.
"She'll be ready for you."
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Post by Caedes Oleander on Nov 21, 2022 20:11:02 GMT -5
Caedes eases the old woman from his back, still holding one of her fragile hands as her feet touch the earth. Mischief’s cry rings out in the shocked silence that follows; he looks at Kamille— her bottomless blue eyes now look shallow— faded with an age that is not her own. Distantly, he understands a similar feeling; the foreign feeling that comes with possessing a body which does not feel the same. In the end, he is still the same man that he was— just different— and this body which Kamille’s soul has been latched to is one entirely different. It’s not her own, and was never meant to be hers. He closes his eyes for a moment, turning to look back at Mama Omma as her apprentice disappears through the threshold. “ So this can be reversed.” he remarks, pale gaze shifting towards the orc apprentice— as he returns with the tome, something ominous creeps into the air. Caedes winces; it’s just a book, and yet each step that the apprentice takes with it in his hands makes the air heavier. Darkness writhes from between its pages, and a great revulsion overwhelms him from somewhere deep inside. This knowledge was never meant for mankind.
The thrum of a string resonates like a hiss, rattling his bones; he closes his eyes, turning away from the book as Kamille takes it in her fragile palms. He looks at Mama Omma instead, while she overlooks the two wanderers. “ She will be,” he agrees gravely; and with Kamille in this body… he hates to wonder about it: but will she be okay? She has to be there by the sound of things— and there is a danger that comes with her presence. To her safety, and to the ritual. “ Must the ritual be carried out exactly as the book states?” he remarks, looking at the apprentice with narrowed eyes. Unease washes over him as he looks back; behind his eyes, the darkness writhes. “ I don’t think she’ll stand still while we set something up.” The apprentice looks at Mama Omma for a moment, then looks back into the symbols and runes in the ancient, evil pages of the hag’s book. “ That’s the thing,” he remarks with slight hesitation. “ She’ll be ready for you… she needs this ritual to be completed at the Zenith, or…” The young orc clears his throat. “ ...both souls will be destroyed, caught in limbo. Leaving their hosts as shells.” Caedes looks at the orc for a moment longer, and he won’t meet his eyes. “ That’s part of the cost… A soul for a soul: she’s risking it all for the extra time.” He frowns; they’re on a time limit then. “ What do we need to do to perform this? We need to hurry.”
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