Trivagante
Fog hung heavily in the forest, thick and seemingly as ancient as the very trees it shrouded. There was no sound on the wind, save for the creak of leather beneath plate and chainmail. As if the fog was swallowing everything else.
Dark, sickly eyes stared into that fog, as if they could pierce the depths and discern what they sought. Equally dark stained lips pursed into a thin line, ears full of hopped piercings flicking every so often as they listened for something. The tittering of a bird caused those eyes to snap to the side, though that sound was soon silenced and seemingly early at that. Eyes back ahead, the proud figure stood tall. Still waiting. The silence was not to last though, as the faint scrape of metal on metal sounded, growing from that abrasive sound into a full on rattle. Thinned lips turned into a downward curl, frowning in annoyance. A plated hand reaching to the back to still a massive blade. The hiss of escaping miasma still could be heard, right up until the sound of many choking voices filled the air. ‘Why… Are we… Here….?’ Plated hand returning to the side, silence lingered at first. The miasma lurked, vaguely shaped as a humanoid beside the other, waiting for the answer. When dark lips parted, it was the matronly yet commanding tone of Mynaetha that spoke. “You know why we are here. Unless you meant to ask why are we here in this moment? That answer is simple. We are unneeded. The fringe. Which means no one will notice our absence. The child is under supervision. Distracted by lessons. She will not notice either.” The sword rattled once more, the miasma swirling with a low groaning hiss. ‘You are… Lonely… Pathetic…’
For once, the witch did not strike at the plague hive. Instead, she sneered and kept her gaze ahead. “An affliction of mortality. Something your feeble mind cannot grasp or comprehend.” Finally it seemed she found what her eyes had been searching those foggy depths for. “Now focus and remain silent. ‘Swathed in her cover, those with sight might gaze upon the gateway.’ It lies ahead.” The crunch of plate boots on undergrowth seemed to sound and then be immediately swallowed by the oppressive fog. As they walked, the bark and chitter of creatures stalking the fog began to sound out, as if just beyond an arm’s length away. Not a care was given, it seemed, by the witch. Striding along as if the silence that had lingered before still remained. “He came this way. Even after all this time… Even in this place… His energy lingers.” Her words were spoken to no one in particular, rather, more of a spur to urge herself on more quickly. Haste was not for nothing, as her quick footfalls led her to roots as tall as she was. The creak of a towering tree more ancient than even she groaned and echoed, swallowed soon by the fog. Dark eyes flicked over the scene, trying to discern everything at hand. Tracing along the roots, she soon found a carved rune that most would mistake for a knot. “Death…” Stooping, she ran her plated fingers over rough bark, until the next rune was found. “Life…” That left just one, which was found soon enough now that she knew where to look. “Chaos…” The three runes were arranged in a triangle, Death at the top, Life and Chaos forming the base. Closing her eyes, she took in a breath while placing her palm flat in the triangle’s interior. Letting that breath out, she spoke softly. “The moon between…” As if responding to her words, the bark cracked and split, dragging inward as if made of roots. Groaning and creaking of ancient wood followed, until that root and those it was made of split fully apart, revealing an archway. “Finally…” The word drifted in the still air as Mynaetha forged ahead and onward into the darkness, ever descending into the depths of the world. Gone from sight, the roots creaked and slithered, closing the path behind, leaving the tree to look like any other once again. Photo by Martin Podt
