Dark Age Of Camelot: The Witch

Chapter 17: The Witch, Part 1

I had spent some time in Thidranki. I had engaged the enemy, and I found myself still standing. The fights there had been chaotic, and many times, we had fled. I had passed beyond those grounds and made my way into the Hibernian province of Murdaigean, there to continue the fight. But no matter my patience and persistence, no other natives of that magickal Celtic land had made mention of Shai.

And then when I had gone to see my trainer again, he had again spoke of the Undead Albion Army.

He told me that the threat was far from gone, and that I had again been summoned by the dwarf blacksmith, Morlin Caan. I had gone back to that area of bright licks of flame and gray ash, and Morlin had told me to make my way south to the troll village of Galplen, there to speak to a barkeep named Yseniver who bore some troubling news about the Undead Albion Army.

I had grown much since last I saw him, and I could see a growing sense of respect for me about his stalwart features. I did not care. I did not utter a word.

It seemed the only people I ever opened up to were those of my new family, the Guild Varthmundr. I must admit, I was quite happy with being a part of their company, for they were such a small Guild that I still often found myself hunting alone. The times when others were about, though, and we gathered together, also proved quite pleasureable in a way I did not know I would enjoy.

This time, though, as with so many other times in my life, I went alone.

I had been to the troll village before, and though it may bother others, I saw no reason to cringe at the particular odors or scoff at the primitive, stone architecture. These trolls were a proud people, and they had their lineage just as did everyone else of this land ... just as with everyone of all lands. I also knew where the small tavern sat tucked in the rear of the settlement, and so I returned the inquiring stares of the guards with nothing more than my own mute, steely eyes as I made my way into that dark hovel.

I went right up to the counter, placing myself gracefully atop the tall, troll stool. I saw a female troll some ways down, and I did not fail to notice the shine of her eyes in that firm face as they cut ever-so-slightly to peer at me. She may be a troll, and trolls may not be permitted to pursue the dark path of the Shadowblade, but she seemed no stranger to strangers.

"Whut yu want, nirz woman?" she asked, shambling over to me.

"I have been sent by the House of Loki and Morlin Caan."

I saw it, then, on her features, as she took the most minute step backward.

"Yu here about the Witch?"

I simply nodded, though no one had mentioned a witch.

She leaned in closer, then, in the manner of a conspirator: "Many people come in here. Me hear many stories. Many stories me thinkin' nub always true. But that Skald comin' in here, and him actin' all quiet," and she shook her head, as though to say for any poet of Skadi to be quiet implied doom indeed, "Me get him talkin' - me good at dat - and him sayin' only his mojo speed keep him alive. Him sayin' how his party come suddenly upon a small group of Undead, but dey nub like some half-frozen zombies, nub, they organized. Dem Undead, well, dey attack like an ambush, killing several right out. Dat Skald, him fast, so him get away, but him said he saw the Witch."

"Witch?" I asked.

"Yub," Yseniver nodded, "Me heard about her before. Dis just more of what me knowin'. She controls the Undead Army. She the minion of Morganna ... some harlot of Darkness ... she bringin' dem Albions back from the dead to fight uz."

She nodded once, and I felt slightly amused at her suspicion and turnings of phrases. I felt that I could just as easily qualify as a 'harlot of darkness'. But though she may be some self-confessed champion at getting people to open up, I was not here to converse.

"Where?" was all I said.

Chapter 18: The Witch, Part 2

Yseniver had given me information on a location in Skona Ravine, not the friendliest of places, but a place with which I was not altogether unfamiliar. I had never been to the exact area of which she spoke, so I knew I was in for something new. The way she described, or at least the information she relayed from the Skald, told of a much more organized pocket of the Undead Albion Army hidden away in one of the many geographical nests created in the rocky region of the ravine.

I had much time to think as I made my way there, and I must admit, I began to ponder as to the identity of this witch, or the Witch, as Yseniver put it: an alledged minion of the sorceress Morganna, a necromancer capable of reviving and commanding an army of undead soldiers. Was she Shai? Was I about to finally meet the mysterious entity that had shadowed my career seemingly from the start?

It chilled me a bit. I wondered what would happen, for I had faced many trials and pressures, and I had managed to survive, but what would come of me once I stood face to face with Shai?

I left off these musings as I neared the area. I engaged my stealth, which proved quite easy in this region. This was no flatland or area void of trees as might be suitable for some farm, no, there were rocks and hillsides and foliage aplenty. I noticed the first Undead sentry hidden a bit up on a sloping edge of the natural canyon that created a bottleneck into the place. He was not too well hid, but I could see how he might remain unnoticed by a careless party, then he would quickly alert his cohorts, thereby setting up just the kind of ambush that slew the Skald's group.

I observed him for a while, his cracked, oozing face seeming almost too numb to perform any complex operation, much less noticing an intruder and signalling thus. But I had faced these creatures before, and I knew of the unnatrual animation which moved them.

I crept in, not wanting to bother with the sentry. He was too weak to even blink in my direction as I passed him.

I moved through more and more of them, and though they did not seem sufficient numbers to constitute an army, there were enough here to indicate some growing threat. I wondered why the leaders in Jordheim did not send some squad of highly trained Huscarls to end this once and for all, but then, I had never had much of a head for politics.

I finally noticed something interesting - there was a particular member of this macabre company who seemed to elicit respect from his comrades. He even looked a bit different, his hair longer, a white as of snow, and I saw how the others defered to him, even saluted him on occasion. He must be the commander, I concluded, and so I set to stalking him.

I wondered what motivated these beasts, what hungers and needs might move within them, and I suppose that though they were very different than when they had once lived as normal beings, their decaying flesh still required sustenance and rest, for this commander finally wandered into a tent and made as if preparing for a small bowl of some ichorous fluid and then perhaps some sleep on the rudimentary cot.

I had more of the poison that I knew would finish these creatures, though I had my suspicions that they held a similar mortality as everyone else. Apparently Morlin had been in communication with Masrim, and some Alchemists in the capital had received recipes on how to duplicate that particular venom that supposedly sent these creatures to their grave. I had seen blood all that time ago when I slew the Scout Argyle, and I presume that if I sheared this one's head from his neck, he would not live anymore. Still, I had grown used to harboring my own thoughts and still doing as I was instructed, so my cleavers bore the slight sheen of that singular poison.

He sat down on some crude, wooden thing of a chair and prepared to imbibe the viscous liquid. Perhaps it was some magick potion from the Witch, and it helped them to maintain their unnatural life. It did not matter to me. He was caught completely unawares, as I snuck up to him and quickly slit his throat open with my cleaver.

He dropped easily and quickly, and I could not distinquish between the blood pouring form him and the upended contents of his horrid supper. He tried to raise his arm to fight, and I sliced down with my other cleaver, imbedding it through his arm and pinning him to the ground. It seemed he was in no rush to call for aid, but was hissing and mewling at me in some obscene way for my having attacked him.

I leaned down and got close to his face, my free cleaver poised to deliver a quick death strike if so needed, and I spoke: "Where is she?"

He hissed some more, his eyes registering me for a moment, then moving on to some other focus. I could tell the poison was working on him, and he sputtered forth some more of the black fluid that served as his blood.

"You cannot ... kill me," he said.

I shook my head a bit, somewhat like cajoling a child: "You are dying even now. But there is more of that soup waiting on you," I said, gesturing my head back toward his meager table, "You could still live."

I wondered if this would work, for I wondered if I would not welcome death were I in his state, but then, something in the magick that animated these things made them greedy and ravenous for the sliver of life they had been granted. I saw his eyes take a held focus toward the table, and I knew I had him.

"She is outside." he said, and I slightly rolled my eyes, but then he got more to the point, "She does not dwell with us .. in the camp ... she lives in the black trees ... working her .. magicks."

This I could understand, for the Witch did not want to directly associate with the very vile things she created. I wondered more and more what kind of creature this Shai would be, and now that I had an idea of how close she was, I needed no more time wasted on this hideous thing.

I looked down, realizing he had still been speaking.

"My ... soup .... you said ... my soup-," he sputtered.

I rose a bit, but only to get better purchase with the muscles of my legs, and I sliced down and completed shearing his head from its neck. I slipped out of there quickly, heading for the far side of the camp.

I was amazed, though I suppose it was only the moment. For I had wandered to so many places, sought information in so many ways, sought even to surreptitiously glean information from my trainers, and here after all this time, they were the ones who had sent me here. It suddenly seemed too easy, for there she was, off in the dark trees, just as the commander had said, and I saw she was working over some small brew, perhaps trying to perfect the drink that animated the dead.

I got close enough that I heard her mumbling. She did not seem so easily overpowered as those Undead things, for where they excelled in numbers, she seemed radiant of power as a single being. Her robes were long, and though they were covered in the dust and grime of being out of doors, there was a regalness about her that could not be denied. Her eyes held a great spark, and they seemed almost to glow from the aura of her power.

I wondered what I should do. Should I go up and speak to her? Should I try to kill her?

I crept up closer, subconsciously daring her to see me before I was close enough to strike. Surely, Shai would notice one as inexperienced as I. She seemed to not notice, but then, perhaps she knew and did not perceive me as a threat. I would show her a threat.

I executed a similar move as I had on the commander, and soon her throat burst open. She seemed rather startled, and I noticed a charge of magick from her hands. I am not sure if she was in the throes of some spell, or if she was trying to defend herself, but I completed two more quick strikes, moving as might an automaton, before I halted myself. She lay there, seeming as pathetic as the Undead commander. I looked down at her.

"Who ...?" she tried, though she gagged on her blood, "Who are you?"

I was struck by the curiousness of the question, and I considered not answering.

"Nylithil."

"Ahhhh," she said, and it seemed some calm took her eyes, and then she nodded.

"You know me?" I asked.

"Of course I do," and she actually grinned, but then a jet of fluid shot out past the hand she held over the wound in her neck, and she cringed.

I could not imagine it. She was about to die, and this was it?

"How could this have happened?" I asked.

"You ask this of me?" she managed to utter, "They sent you ... you killed me."

"I did not expect to kill you," I confessed, "Not you, Shai."

She looked up at me suddenly.

"You think I am Shai?" she asked, and the baldness of this question made me go to the ground nearer her, for I had simply been staring down in a state of mild shock, "I am not Shai. I am just the Witch. But you must beware, for she has betrayed me, using you. You are no less a tool of her than am I."

I knelt there for a while after she had died, pondering on what she had said. Was I a tool of Shai? The Elf that had tried to kill me implied that I was. Fulnia also seemed to think I was under Shai's influence.

There was more to this than I had even thought, and I decided I needed to depart. I was more concerned with ruminating over what I had learned than reporting back to my trainers, but I would assuredly do both.