Tag: wayfare witches

#Lore24 – Entry #133 – Muckenmyre Month #12 – The Grimbridge Way

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

Riding forth from Grimbridge for the first time filled me with conflicting thoughts and emotions.  I was intent on capturing the troublemakers, my goal could really have been no clearer.  Though hours had passed since they had ridden out of the town gates, I could still discern their scent well enough to follow them.  Yet, even with Satella riding near, and the members of the town guard who had so willingly joined up and under my leadership, I felt an unexpected sense of melancholy at leaving the town that I had spent my life in for the past few weeks.  I have never been one to easily grow attached to anyone or any particular place given what I have been trained to become, but nonetheless, these emotions were there. 

As we grew further from Grimbridge, I could sense the unease of the town guard growing.  Night in the Muckenmyre, as I was told, was a dangerous time, though the Grimbridge Way was generally considered safe.  By the time we set out, everyone had found a place to shelter for the night, either in town or the handful of nearby farms.  It was during this first ride out of town that I first saw the Witch Lights that lined the roadway at regular intervals.  These are magical lanterns, tended to by the Wayfare Witches that called this area home, giving off a pale bluish-white light, warding off the most dangerous of creatures that called the swamps home.  As the light evening fog came in, the Witch Lights proved to have a most eerie quality about them.  On the one hand, they clearly marked the Way, though it would be difficult for one to become lost given the raised nature of the road, and the way the thick growth of trees, full of their hanging mosses, along its sides rose up and encased the road, like a dark, twisted tunnel overhead.  On the other hand, with the sounds of the night coming alive, and the many new sounds and scents I encountered as we rode, I could not help but feel slightly overwhelmed; there were things lurking just beyond those lights that I could not identify but could clearly understand were dangerous.

I inquired with Satella and the guardsmen as to what the lay of the land was as we came upon a crossroads, a pair of smaller, less well-traveled roads venturing off from the Way and out of the safety of the Witch Lights.  Our quarry had not gone down either of these paths, but the information could prove useful nonetheless.  Both ways led to farmland, smaller outlying villages that were mostly composed of families that had called the swamps home for generations, though they usually relied upon flatboats when coming into town, so the roadways were lightly used.  We were some hours yet from the first of the Wayfare Houses along the Way, one of the traveler’s rests maintained by the Witches, each placed about a day’s travel apart from one another.

Pausing just beyond the crossroads to consider the trail, to discern the hoof prints in the damp soil of the roadway, I asked about local landmarks and possible hiding places should the twins venture off the Way.  Even the guards who had grown up on the local farms before coming to live in the town were wary of the Muckenmyre, and explained that anyone who wasn’t born of the area would be lucky to find the various spots they described to me, which usually were certain ancient trees, nesting areas for animals, or small communities of more reclusive and often hostile humanoids, usually lizardmen and kobolds.  There was a place marked by a particular rock formation called the Witch’s Table somewhere out there, though they were reluctant to say more, and even uttered prayers upon mentioning it, so I reasoned that this wasn’t associated with the Wayfare Witches.  Far deeper into the mire, there was an area known as the Devil’s Armpit, though it was filled with toxic gasses and unpleasant, dangerous creatures.  There had been a several instances over the years where bandit groups had hid out in the swamp, so there were scattered spots that could be made livable, and were possibly in use even now, one being the wreck of an ocean-going ship that had somehow wound up deep in the swamp, likely during a hurricane. 

Though unlikely that the twins would know the area well enough to be aware of any of them, it was nonetheless potentially useful knowledge.  By this time, I had clearly marked the tracks we were to follow using some of the magic I had been taught; with my spell in place, I could see the hoof prints along the road glowing in a golden light, leading onward down the dark tunnel of the Way.  I mounted once again and started following, though I had discerned an additional detail in their trail which I relayed to my party then.  Given the spacing of the hoof prints since we’d set out from town, it seemed the twins were pushing their horses hard, and were likely, if they were perhaps smarter than they seemed, using magic to enhance their mounts’ stamina, otherwise they would certainly have to have rested them this far along.

This would not be quite as simple a task as it first appeared, but that was no discouragement to me.  I had tracked my targets for weeks on end before, though now I did not have to worry about blending in amongst the other kerryn as I did so, didn’t have to rely upon other Inquisitors to tend my leash.  I felt a strange exhilaration at this thought.  If the twins were using magic as they ran, then they too would have to rest eventually, for no arcanist’s power would last forever, and they had already used up several spells when fleeing town.  Would they make it to the Wayfare House to rest, or would they try to push onward, dead set for the city that lay beyond the Muckenmyre perhaps, or did they have another destination in mind?

As dawn approached, I smelled smoke in the air and spotted the glow of fire in the trees ahead of us before my human companions did.  Having rested our horses along the way, though no doubt my companions were beginning to feel fatigued, we nonetheless spurred our mounts forward, and I felt the rush of the hunt fill me.

#Lore24 – Entry #129 – Muckenmyre Month #8 – Ashleyra the Witch of the Swamp

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

In my mess of thoughts concerning my future that night, as dawn approached, I became aware of a subtle shift in the air outside.  From my window, in the faint light of the lanterns hanging along the Span, I could see that not a soul moved at this hour, and that a fog was coming in, spreading rapidly from the north, from the depths of the Muckenmyre itself.  I knew immediately that this was not natural, could feel the magic in the air as the gray enveloped the town.  Immediately on alert, I eased silently from my bed to peer more closely at the gathering fog.  To my surprise, I heard movement in the house; the mayor was already awake, and in moments, he stepped lightly through the front room and out the door, dressed for the day, it seemed, and headed toward the Span. 

Curious by virtue of my inquisitor’s nature, immediately suspicious of a plot of some kind, I waited until the mayor had neared the Span and slipped out of my window, my bare feet silent upon the slightly muddy stones.  Keeping low and using the fog to my advantage, I hurried to follow the mayor, easily tracking his path.  Spotting the watch towers as I cleared the row of houses, I could see the night watch still in place, none of them seemingly aware that the fog wasn’t natural, none more alert of a possible attack. 

As I came upon the Span, I saw movement upon the river, a single flatboat coming down the side closer to the far end of the Span.  The fog had obscured it to some extent, but I could make out a single figure upon it, wearing an earthy-colored cloak that obscured their features.  As they neared a small dock, I saw something else move over the bundles and bags that filled the boat, a reddish-colored muskrat, running excitedly back and forth.  I likewise spotted the mayor and three others coming down the steps, lanterns in hand, two assistants from the general store, and the woman I recognized as the town’s herbalist, though I had yet to introduce myself to her. 

I continued silently and quickly through the fog-shrouded street along the Span, picking up snippets of conversation, thought he fog had a muffling effect, and I could make out nothing of what was said.  As I rounded the far end of the Span and came up behind some crates that were stacked near the platform at the top of the stairs leading from the dock, I could finally hear the mayor and the herbalist speaking softly, an unfamiliar, female voice answering.  It seemed they were discussing trade of some kind. I peered around the crates, watching as the assistants unloaded the flatboat, though my eyes were drawn to the newcomer.  Curiously I could not see her face, even in the lantern light, though I saw the faint, reddish glow coming from her eyes, the tips of curling horns poking from her hood, and the gentle swaying of a pointed tail around her legs.  A mazoku, the first I had seen since my arrival in Grimbridge.

As the last of the cargo was removed from the boat, I noticed the muskrat again, having climbed atop some of the bags that had been brought onto the docks, its eyes suddenly focusing upon me, its head cocking curiously to one side.  A heartbeat later the conversation had stopped, and I felt the mazoku’s eyes fall upon me, and then she called out to me. 

“Fear not, newcomer; I was aware of your arrival from the moment you first came to these shores.  If you come with no ill-intent, then please, join us, for I would quite like to meet one who has survived such an ordeal, one from the far Empire.”

My fur bristled at having been spotted; I knew then that the muskrat was not natural, and would momentarily discover it was a familiar, and the stranger was known as Ashleyr, the Witch of the Muckenmyre.  I did not hesitate once I had been spotted, for I sensed no danger, and made my way down the steps.  I bowed in deferential greeting, and silent apology, to those gathered here, aware that the assistants had began loading other bags and crates upon the boat.  The mayor made introductions, to the herbalist, an older half-elven woman named Cardiane, and even to the muskrat, Thornton, who was now nibbling on some sweet treat he’d gotten from somewhere.

Ashleyr extended her hand, and once I had taken it, she held to it with remarkable strength, for she was shorter and lighter of build than me, turning it so that she could see my slave brand.  Without need of being told, I showed her the one on my other forearm; she took a few moments to examine them, running her fingers over them, seemingly tracing their lines, then nodded and thanked me; I had steeled myself, though, my training preparing me to resist any magic that may be placed upon me, though none came. 

I still could not make out the details of her face but for her faintly glowing eyes, even this close.

She told me that she came to town at least once every couple of months, trading mostly herbs, potions, and other rare materials from the depths of the swamp in return for things she needed, though preferred early-morning visits, when fewer eyes would be upon her, for not everyone took well to her kind, especially not a witch such as she.  I inquired as to whether she was associated with the Witches of the Ways, for I had encountered them in my homeland.  I could hear her smile as she spoke, confirming that she was, though she was far more aloof than her sisters, for her home was the heart of the swamp itself, and the place of power that stood there.  I did not inquire further about this, for it did not seem to be my place to do so.

Our conversation was short, ending once her boat had been filled.  She expressed a desire to speak with me at some length in the future but did not wish to linger longer than necessary.  She announced that I was welcome in the swamp, but that I should not take that to mean I should not be wary of its many dangers.  She then bid farewell to the mayor, the herbalist, and myself and made her way back upon the flatboat, her familiar hurrying to follow.  As she departed back up the slow-moving river, the fog followed her, disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

Offering another apology to the mayor for my actions, though I caught myself before I suggested he punish me, for I knew by now that he would tolerate no such talk, I instead offered my help in carrying the goods Ashleyr had brought as my way of making amends.  This he seemed to accept without complaint, and so I made myself useful.  I am no stranger to hard labor, so carrying these bundles and boxes was no trouble, and I daresay that I was better at it than even his store workers.  If nothing else, it was a gauge of how well I had recovered, and thankfully, it seemed, I was very nearly fully healed.

As we returned to his home for another hour or two of sleep before the day’s work began, I expressed my interest in finding some kind of work within the town, as a way to repay the hospitality they had shown me, and to start earning my way properly, given that I was no longer anyone’s property.  Saying such a thing still felt entirely wrong, and internally I was feeling as though I had willfully committed some great act of betrayal to my Emperor, but what choice did I have?  Surely his kindness had its limits, and I would not be wise to overstay my welcome so far from home. 

#Lore24 – Entry #63 – Fantasy Month #3 – Witches of the Ways / Wayfare Witches

 

From the journal of Angeliqua “Goldeneyes” Cartacustos:

 

Perhaps today’s prompt indicates that soon we will travel?  I can only hope; as much as I enjoy the archives, a trip out of these (perhaps overly) serene walls would not go amiss.  At least not a long trip.  And I suppose the peace here isn’t all bad.  I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing the southern lands this time of year, for the chill from the north is felt a bit too often these days. 

On to the topic at hand, less my fantasies overtake my more rational line of thought.  The Wayfare Witches, or alternatively, the Witches of the Ways, are perhaps the largest and most widespread of the known covens on the face of Andyllion, known to be found throughout not only the Imperium Draconis but throughout known civilization and perhaps beyond into the wilds beyond.  I suppose calling them a coven would be stretching things; some do tend to band together and practice secret rituals from time to time, but others seem to be following their ways without affiliation to a larger group.  Even then, from what the records indicate, their organization is extremely loose and informal, and operates perhaps with some amount of divine or otherworldly guidance, perhaps at the behest of the gods of nature and travel. 

The Witches are typically found outside of the largest cities, frequently operating the various travelers’ inns and rests along the roadways that connect civilized lands, or in the case of their seafaring sisters, within the safe ports located throughout the islands dotting the seas and oceans; rarely they will appear within large cities, but they are known to be found in even the most unexpected and inhospitable climes, such as the great swamps like the Muckenmyre or the icy Frigid Steppes.  A wise traveler will seek shelter beneath the roof of a Wayfare Witch, assuming their intentions are honest and they can offer a proper payment.  Payment varies with the individual or group, depending on the whims of the witch, but are usually reasonable and fair:  coin or a modest piece of jewelry in the case of a traveling noble, or something as simple as sharing a story or song for those of less wealth.  Some witches will accept favors to be repaid when able, and woe be to those who try to weasel out of the deal, or worse, try to harm a witch within their domain.

Generally seen as goodly and kind, offering shelter and aid (food, a hiding place, healing, etc.), especially to those fleeing conflict or those injured during their travels, the Witches of the Ways are not without their fangs.  Like most who practice the craft, they are adept at curses, and if crossed, will not hesitate to lay one upon the offending individual or party.  Their revenge is rarely, if ever, seen coming, and never immediately, and may be as simple as months of annoyances along the ways (imagine getting a pebble in one’s boot every day for a year), or as severe as outright ruin and calamity for the offenders in the cases of the most severe offenses; the disastrous campaign of Akakios Andriadis two centuries ago during the attempt to expand the Empire’s reach to the west saw his entire expeditionary force wiped out and reportedly consumed by the kobolds of the Flammesand Desert, supposedly after one of his subordinates assaulted a Witch’s apprentice and he refused to see them properly punished for the offense (said apprentice was a kerryn, and thus, the thought of punishing a soldier for such an act was deemed laughable), as the legends say.  Actual evidence of this is lacking, however.

The inner workings of the order are mostly a mystery to those outside of it, for the Witches closely guard their rituals and practices.  It is said that new members are brought in once a Witch finds a fitting apprentice, regardless of who or what they may be (they are a remarkably open-minded group, even within the Empire), spending many years learning before they either take over for an aging witch or go on to create their own Wayrest.  They do have places of power in which they hold their most sacred rituals, though these are usually difficult if not impossible to find if one is not allowed to.  Supposedly one can be invited into these places, or can seemingly stumble upon them during their explorations, but only if the local coven deems them worthy or if they can serve the witches in some way.  Once the need has been met, the place of power cannot be found again, supposedly, without an additional invitation.