The Bog Witch Project [Lloyd P1, Private]
Sept 10, 2023 1:45:16 GMT -5
Post by Lachesis Calyptra on Sept 10, 2023 1:45:16 GMT -5
There are few things Lachesis Calyptra despises as much as unwanted visitors.
It is very rare that she gets them to begin with, of course; the Black Bog is a seldom-visited location, what with its murky waters and heavy mists, ancient bones reaching up from beneath the waters, skeletons of temples and buildings from a time long-gone serving as the backdrop to an already eerie place. Her own home– a hollowed out set of ruins she’s claimed as the meeting grounds for the Circle of the Moth– is even less commonly stumbled upon, save for those who know her name and where to find her, seeking either a boon from the Maiden of the Mothlight or perhaps deigning to join her circle; either of which, of course, is perfectly acceptable. Lachesis will never turn her back on a sister who desires a purpose, or someone who wishes for her aid– so long as they are capable of paying for it.
What is not perfectly acceptable, of course, is strangers stumbling onto her sacred ground by “complete accident", claiming to be searching for a decent campground, and having to be given directions elsewhere so they aren’t ruthlessly devoured by whatever monsters they stumble upon in the night, or so they don’t wind up horribly lost to the point of no return. It is unspeakably irritating.
She’s a witch, not a gods-damned map.
It had started to happen enough times that she was halfway to considering butchering the next hapless adventurer who stepped foot into the area, but that was when a little birdie happened to mention just why there were so many people scattered around the Marsh Flats lately; apparently, some pesky little researcher was sending people out on missions for him, interested in studying various creatures, and one that piqued his interest this time was something called a Bogaboo– an amalgamation of the swamp’s nature and the bones cast to the water– and her little birdie had been asked to go search for one, too.
Lachesis couldn’t deny that she’d been… interested. Very interested.
So perhaps she’d offered to help her little birdie with his research.
The only issue is finding him.
They’d arranged to meet by a familiar landmark by noon, but the sun’s long-since crept past its place in the sky and Everett has yet to show up at the lichen-stained pillar, and Lachesis can’t help the… concern(?) shooting up her spine. Where in Charon could he be? She’s been waiting for some time, and he’s still not here– heavens know what manner of trouble he’s gotten into by this point. She hopes he’s not getting his face devoured by a Vorrapede or anything. That would be troublesome.
Only a few more minutes slip by before she finally gets fed up and starts off into the Bog to search for him, slipping through the familiar waters, the lines of trees and ruins until it all becomes impossibly samey, her focus on her surroundings falling into the background as she searches for any traces of that silly, foolish–
Ah.
“...Evvy, sweetheart, honey, doll,” Lachesis sighs, already lifting two fingers up to massage her temple, eager to rid her face of any stress before it can start taking root there. “We cannot keep doing this. Why are you laying down in the mud again?”
It is very rare that she gets them to begin with, of course; the Black Bog is a seldom-visited location, what with its murky waters and heavy mists, ancient bones reaching up from beneath the waters, skeletons of temples and buildings from a time long-gone serving as the backdrop to an already eerie place. Her own home– a hollowed out set of ruins she’s claimed as the meeting grounds for the Circle of the Moth– is even less commonly stumbled upon, save for those who know her name and where to find her, seeking either a boon from the Maiden of the Mothlight or perhaps deigning to join her circle; either of which, of course, is perfectly acceptable. Lachesis will never turn her back on a sister who desires a purpose, or someone who wishes for her aid– so long as they are capable of paying for it.
What is not perfectly acceptable, of course, is strangers stumbling onto her sacred ground by “complete accident", claiming to be searching for a decent campground, and having to be given directions elsewhere so they aren’t ruthlessly devoured by whatever monsters they stumble upon in the night, or so they don’t wind up horribly lost to the point of no return. It is unspeakably irritating.
She’s a witch, not a gods-damned map.
It had started to happen enough times that she was halfway to considering butchering the next hapless adventurer who stepped foot into the area, but that was when a little birdie happened to mention just why there were so many people scattered around the Marsh Flats lately; apparently, some pesky little researcher was sending people out on missions for him, interested in studying various creatures, and one that piqued his interest this time was something called a Bogaboo– an amalgamation of the swamp’s nature and the bones cast to the water– and her little birdie had been asked to go search for one, too.
Lachesis couldn’t deny that she’d been… interested. Very interested.
So perhaps she’d offered to help her little birdie with his research.
The only issue is finding him.
They’d arranged to meet by a familiar landmark by noon, but the sun’s long-since crept past its place in the sky and Everett has yet to show up at the lichen-stained pillar, and Lachesis can’t help the… concern(?) shooting up her spine. Where in Charon could he be? She’s been waiting for some time, and he’s still not here– heavens know what manner of trouble he’s gotten into by this point. She hopes he’s not getting his face devoured by a Vorrapede or anything. That would be troublesome.
Only a few more minutes slip by before she finally gets fed up and starts off into the Bog to search for him, slipping through the familiar waters, the lines of trees and ruins until it all becomes impossibly samey, her focus on her surroundings falling into the background as she searches for any traces of that silly, foolish–
Ah.
“...Evvy, sweetheart, honey, doll,” Lachesis sighs, already lifting two fingers up to massage her temple, eager to rid her face of any stress before it can start taking root there. “We cannot keep doing this. Why are you laying down in the mud again?”
Bringing:
- Bella (Dancing Chain)
- Donna (Dancing Chain)