The Witching Hour
Everyone in Kryta knew the old tales of the Witch of the Wilds. She was the classic bedtime story villain, a conniving boogeyman to scare children to behave themselves during the day and stay in their beds at night. The definition of a classic character, if there had ever been any truth to the tales, it certainly had been lost over generations of telling and retelling the tales of her schemes and the children who thwarted her.
It came as no surprise that, when smoke started rising from the Godslost Swamp and travelling merchants brought word of a ramshackle hut deep in the fog, that the children came to believe the witch had somehow escaped the confines of their storybooks and come to life. The adults didn’t mind these rumors, as they supplemented their own efforts to keep their kids in line and encourage them not to venture into the swamp alone. But for all they assured themselves that the hut probably belonged to some eccentric Priory Magister performing some sort of study, none of them could deny the aura of unease that penetrated the swamp. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, and hope the mysterious owner would pass on soon enough. But for some, the siren call of curiosity is undeniable, and only matched by desperation. *~* Despite the endless shroud of night, the inside of the hut was bathed in warm light, the smell of hot food and the comfort of heavy blankets. Somewhere deep in Samuel’s mind he knew he should be terrified – he had made it farther into the swamp than even the older kids had ever dared, and yet the witch had not harmed him. In fact, he had begun to wonder if she was even a witch at all – she was a sylvari, clearly, dressed in all manner of leaves and branches that matched the dark, muted greens and browns of her skin and hair. Her red eyes had been piercing in the dark, but now they complimented her small smile as she handed him a bowl of broth and a wool blanket far meant for someone far larger than either of them. “What brings you to my home at this hour?” she asked, and all of a sudden, the guilt of trespassing in someone’s home fell upon him. He almost thought to apologize and leave before causing her further bother, but that would mean braving the dark again without what he came for. “My home, Triskell Quay - ” he began, before taking a deep breath, and letting all the words fall out at once. “We keep getting attacked by bandits, and usually it’s fine because the Seraph are there, but they’re all busy now with the vines and everything, and the attacks keep happening and people keep getting hurt and – and Mom and Dad are – ” He hated that he was powerless to stop his tears; at least the other boys weren’t here to see it. “Please, you have to help them. I don’t care if you’re a witch or evil or anything, I’ll do anything as long as you stop them!” The witch was silent for a moment before standing up to gather his now-empty bowl and offer a mug of warm milk in return. She stood in front of the fire for a long while, as though lost in thought. “I cannot ask anything of you,” she said, “for it would be far too cruel to take from a child. But I also cannot do this for free.” She walked to an old wardrobe stained with rot and moss and began selecting various items from within. “In exchange for their safety, your parents will owe me a service, of a sort and time of my choosing. No matter if they refuse or forget, I will come to collect when the time is right.” The witch stepped away from the wardrobe, now adorned with new, strange clothing composed of more moss and sticks and leaves, all the color of murk and decay without any of the weakness of rot. Her belt, previously bare, was now laden with a dagger, hand axe, and various pouches. Finally, she took a worn straw hat and gently placed it on her head. She walked back over to her guest and, kneeling down, gave him that same small smile from before. “All I need from you,” she whispered, gingerly holding his chin, “is to sleep.” Caught under her spell – or perhaps the influence of the lateness of the hour, a warm blanket and a mug of warm milk – Samuel granted her request. *~* When he awoke the next day, Samuel was back in Triskell Quay. The sun was shining, the docks were filled with the smell of the ocean and the sound of ships preparing to set sail, and his parents were watching over him as though they hadn’t been captured by bandits the previous day. They didn’t talk about what happened, saying he was too young to hear about such things. All of the adults in
town kept quiet about the whole thing, but that didn’t stop rumors from circling the mill. The details were always different: some spoke of monstrous hands springing forth from the ground, dragging its prey down into the cold and dark earth; others claimed terrifying creatures of flesh and bone charged down the hills and left none of the bandits alive. But every story agreed on the lone, strange sylvari standing amongst the chaos, with blood red eyes peering against the darkness and the ghost of a cold smile on her face. When the bandits were gone, they rumors claimed she spoke only to Samuel’s parents in hushed whispers, who in their terror could only nod in agreement as the sylvari faded into night. The townspeople eyed the family suspiciously for weeks, waiting for some curse or another to spring forth from their quiet home, but life continued on as normal. The people knew peace; without bandits prowling the highway, business was flourishing, and for a long while even Samuel forgot about the fee for the witch’s service. One night long after, he awoke at the sound of the front door opening below. Quiet as he could, he stepped down the stairs, peaking around the corner to see his parents in the torchlight outside. The witch stood just beyond, deep in darkness, and her deep red eyes caught with his for just a moment, as a small smile spread on her face. The boy sprinted back up the stairs and into his room, diving under the covers. He sat awake, even as the sounds from below assured him that his parents came back inside and returned to bed unharmed. Try as he might, he could not banish the witch’s shadowy face from his mind.
