True to its name, darkness had fallen over forest just outside Skara Brae.
Darkness and light. Day and night. They’re all just conditions on the everlasting battlefield that is the life of Astorath, all permutations of surroundings to be accounted for. Nothing more.
As such, he didn’t mind the darkness. The late hour itself provided a serene escape from the daily buzzing of life in the Keep and the deep forest only reinforced that feeling.
It was also a change of scenery. Far from the barren wastelands, the ashen plains and the obsidian mountains he had fought upon during his years in the Blood War.
To the inhabitants of Skara Brae a night in the forest was dark and eerie. A harbringer of ill omens and creatures too evil to tolerate even the fleeting rays of sun that pierced the crown of the trees during daytime.
But to Astorath it was a fresh breath of life compared to the desolation he was used to. The owls hooting, perched ominously on the branches. The flickering of fireflies and chirping of crickets – all a stark reminder of life that exist on the other side of the coin the same inhabitants are used to.
Having long since left the road and now navigating across the thicket and mossy remains of ancient ruins he found himself in a part of the forest he had never been to before.
At first he wasn’t sure he heard it. Was it a faint cackling in the distance? No, the creaking of woods and sound of nature he was sure.
Then again, closer this time. Behind him? Maybe. Certainly in the vicinity. He turned around, his infernal blooded eyes adjusted to the darkness he peered into a nearby clearing. His right hand gently rested upon the hilt of his sword. There was no creature in this forest that could harm him, this he felt no need to draw his sword.
But there in the clearing up ahead he saw a small hut made of thick hardened animal skins. Tiny skulls, fetishes and totems hung in ropes at the entrance.
The cackling grew louder and Astorath surmised beyond all doubt that it came from the hut. He felt no immediate threat and walked towards the hut – out of morbid curiosity if nothing else.
He entered without announcing himself and the atmosphere changed drastically.
Inside all the ambient sound of the outside died and only the bubbling of cauldron in the middle of the hut took its place. No singing owls, no creaking trees, no rustling in the wind or chirping crickets. Only the bubbling and pop of bubbles of a liquid unidentifiable. A green-reddish hue of unnatural light spread across the small hut.
On the other side he saw a humanoid form draped in something, from where he stood he couldn’t tell if it was a cloth, animal skin…. Or some other skin…
The creature turned it head and with two bony hands threw off it’s cloak.
“Amidst an avalanche of glums, something wicked this way comes” it said with a dry and cracking voice.
Astorath eyed it closely. A small hag, green skin and black stripy hair hanging in patches from the almost skull like head. She was so skinny it was almost as if skins hanging of a skeleton with no meat behind it. Her fingers were long with an unnatural amount of joints.
He moved to his side, still hand on his blade yet he thought that it was nothing worse he had faced on the battlefields of war. The morbid curiosity arose within him once more but he said nothing.
The hag hunched towards him. With eyes in sunken sockets locked on him.
“Greetings friend! Give me a forge stone and a drop of blood, a small crimson offering of life, and your fortune I’ll gleam” she cackles.
Astorath considered for a moment, a warrior through and through he had no taste for dark magic or the promises they held but the mesmerizing curiosity had taken hold of him.
Without taking his eye of the hag he reached down in one of his bag and fished out a small round jade stone before handing it to the witch. She took it in both her hands, the elongated fingers grasped it like claws before she threw it in the cauldron.
He was half-expecting the cauldron to spark or violently start boiling over at the sacrifice but nothing happened.
She eagerly awaited what came next. Astorath removed his right armored glove and quickly ran his finger across his sword, just enough to make the smallest of cuts.
He held out his finger, small drops of blood running down and hitting the ground. He thought the witch would direct it over the cauldron to join his first offering but it would not be so.
Without warning – the witched lounged forward with unnatural speed and before he knew it his finger was in the mouth of the hag as she began to suckle the blood from his finger.
As soon as the realization of what happened hit him he shoved the witch away. He was about to draw his sword as the crone held up a hand in deference.
“No need, no need, yes good enough” her yellow eyes rolled backwards as she fished up strands of blood running down her chin into her mouth.
“Mmm” she moaned disturbingly. “Infernal blood yes, and deep it runs”.
“If you mean to tell my fortune by informing me that I am a Tiefling you are about… a hundred and ten years too late” he replied unimpressed.
The wrinkled crone arched a brow. “Tiefling?” she shaked her head “Tiefling..tiefling.. no.. noo” she moved closer with caution. “The blood runs deeper than a mere Tiefling taint”.
He remained unimpressed.
“Does it matter?”
Her eyes widened into two unnaturally large orbs of sickly yellow. “Matter? You wish something that matter?” she cackled in a mocking tone.
She looked up and scratched her chin with her claw like fingers, as if thinking deeply but in an exaggerated manner.
“I could tell you about her last thoughts… You wonder sometimes if they were of you do you not?”
His eyes narrowed “You know not what you speak of, crone”
“I could tell you where Hecate’s soul is now… and who has ownership of it -”
As quickly as she had lounged at him he had drawn his sword and in a swinging motion brought it to bear just by her crackled throat. The passive indifference disappeared just as fast – replaced with a snarling anger in his voice.
“Speak that name again – and I promise I will end you here and now”
“Sheath your sword mighty warrior, you paid the price… and the fortune was promised”
He slowly removed his sword from her throat and turned to walk away. He will suffer this black magic no longer.
She cackled maniacally once more “And Hecate’s last thoughts were not of you…!”
A promise is a promise.
He turned back towards her and in the same motion arced his sword in a roaring slash that came down upon here like with all the hate and malice his infernal blood could muster.
The sword ran through her – head to torso – like wet tissue. The bisected parts fell to either side as the blood of the witches seeped deep into his blade. He looked at his blade and saw that the blood began to crawl and swirl alongside the blade, as it was searching for a way in. Then, as if burrowing down in dirt it disappeared into the blade itself. He gazed at what happened for a moment and the blade began to take on a glowing red hue.
“Curious” he said to himself and the two parts of the witch by his feet. He looks down at the corpse. It is dead indeed. Suddenly he heard whispers he could not discern. Blade at the ready he turned around but saw nothing.
He looked closer at the sword. It was the sword that whispered to him. Curses in drow, infernal and abyssal. All languages he spoke. But then they morphed into the common tongue and he could make out two words “Land’s End….”
OOC: The Witch Blade was found in a raid and sold by Skoden (Thanks!) in the game, but I thought I’d give it some backstory here that fits with the description (the fluff text says that it whispers curses to the wielder and tie it with the new Land’s End reveal tonight
