09-23-2021, 06:00 PM
Around ten years before Peggy Powler had found herself leading a group of bedfuddled young girls through
a pitch-black corridor of nowhere, the little Witch had experienced something similar when she'd solved the
disappearance of Lucy Lightfoot.
Heading towards the faint wisp of light with only the natural abilities of the Chime-Children preventing her
single kitchen match from burning out, Peggy stumbled across memories that had survived in comparable
conditions. "Stay close" she mumbled and felt the girl's hand on her shoulder tighten.
They were coming back.
...................................................
Peggy remembered that it had been a drizzly Tuesday morning that she and her grizzled companion had
discovered the cave. She had spent the previous night scouring the Geather forest with man now standing
beside her and staring at the ominous entrance. Silas Manson, who many folk believed was the county's most
prolific monster-hunter.
Lucy Lightfoot was eighteen years of age and there'd been talk that a Werewolf was stalking the heavily-wooded
environs of Bander's Edge. When the blonde-haired stripling had gone missing and the men of the village had
failed to locate her, a passing Midnight Mail Carrier was informed to search for the last Witch of Underhill and
ask for her assistance.
The galloping courier had found the wily enchanter travelling an unpaved lane that would take her over the high
moors and down towards the town of Salterhead, a mundane boondocks where Peggy hoped to hole-up for the
Winter.
As the panting Postman struggled to haul the bantam necromancer onto the back of his heavily-sweating horse,
Edgar Turpin explained the situation and later -over his shoulder as the unlikely pair sprinted through the darkness,
he relayed to the bouncing Witch that the residents of Bander's Edge had also procured the services of a wolf-hunter.
Riding into the dawn and past the wooden signpost that named the remote hamlet, the weary woman in the grubby
poncho surveyed the heavy woodland for another type of placard, a sign of the furry Gerulfi.
...................................................
If any of the doleful girls from the welcomed insurrection -or in fact Peggy herself, had remained in the room of abating
illumination, they'd have seen amongst the shadows, a gnarled hand reaching for purchase in the wreckage of the looms.
Gwydionel was down, but not out.
...................................................
Manson looked at Peggy and rasped his chin in thought, the darkness of where he believed Lucy Lightfoot was probably
being kept, was an ideal place for an ambush. If a Werewolf hadn't just devoured the young woman and instead, decided
to hoard Lucy for some God-forsaken reason, he and the stoic spell-maker would good addition for a Loup Garou stocking
-up a larder. However, the grey eyes of Silas never purveyed his thoughts.
"If'n the Wolfman is in here, he'll be just a fella' in daylight" Peggy said off-handedly and without waiting for a response
from the so-called Lupus-Hunter, she stepped towards the cold tenebrosity of the cave. Silas Manson snorted his answer
and pushed the Witch to one side,"Aye, and the cursed-thing could be waiting for us to think that" he hissed and jammed
his crossbow out in front of him.
The cave was lightless, not even a natural fissure allowed a single beam of daylight to show that the cavern was passable
for walking in. After a minute, Manson struck a match and scanned the walls for the sign of a torch. The rag-wrapped chunk
of honed-timber laying on the sandy ground told a tale that neither wolf-stalker nor Witch wished to dwell on.
Someone was home.
...................................................
"So they send in a tiny Seer to try and wrestle my babies from me, do they?" Gwydionel muttered to herself and peered at the
almost-lost tapestries that were now turning to rags. One of her eyes had turned inward and her right-arm was useless due to
the fall. Spitting out the last tooth in her head, the Bitch O' The Hill snarled "Well, we'll see about that" and lumbered off in the
direction her flock had been taken.
...................................................
The rope could only offer faint tones of grey as the coloured strips that Jane Bowman had carefully weaved into the hemp failed
to display their hue due to the light-sapping surroundings. But still, it was a rope and and on the other end, Peggy hoped Treacle
was there readying himself and the given-words she required him to memorise.
"Git set girls..." the tired Witch whispered, "We're nearly home".
a pitch-black corridor of nowhere, the little Witch had experienced something similar when she'd solved the
disappearance of Lucy Lightfoot.
Heading towards the faint wisp of light with only the natural abilities of the Chime-Children preventing her
single kitchen match from burning out, Peggy stumbled across memories that had survived in comparable
conditions. "Stay close" she mumbled and felt the girl's hand on her shoulder tighten.
They were coming back.
...................................................
Peggy remembered that it had been a drizzly Tuesday morning that she and her grizzled companion had
discovered the cave. She had spent the previous night scouring the Geather forest with man now standing
beside her and staring at the ominous entrance. Silas Manson, who many folk believed was the county's most
prolific monster-hunter.
Lucy Lightfoot was eighteen years of age and there'd been talk that a Werewolf was stalking the heavily-wooded
environs of Bander's Edge. When the blonde-haired stripling had gone missing and the men of the village had
failed to locate her, a passing Midnight Mail Carrier was informed to search for the last Witch of Underhill and
ask for her assistance.
The galloping courier had found the wily enchanter travelling an unpaved lane that would take her over the high
moors and down towards the town of Salterhead, a mundane boondocks where Peggy hoped to hole-up for the
Winter.
As the panting Postman struggled to haul the bantam necromancer onto the back of his heavily-sweating horse,
Edgar Turpin explained the situation and later -over his shoulder as the unlikely pair sprinted through the darkness,
he relayed to the bouncing Witch that the residents of Bander's Edge had also procured the services of a wolf-hunter.
Riding into the dawn and past the wooden signpost that named the remote hamlet, the weary woman in the grubby
poncho surveyed the heavy woodland for another type of placard, a sign of the furry Gerulfi.
...................................................
If any of the doleful girls from the welcomed insurrection -or in fact Peggy herself, had remained in the room of abating
illumination, they'd have seen amongst the shadows, a gnarled hand reaching for purchase in the wreckage of the looms.
Gwydionel was down, but not out.
...................................................
Manson looked at Peggy and rasped his chin in thought, the darkness of where he believed Lucy Lightfoot was probably
being kept, was an ideal place for an ambush. If a Werewolf hadn't just devoured the young woman and instead, decided
to hoard Lucy for some God-forsaken reason, he and the stoic spell-maker would good addition for a Loup Garou stocking
-up a larder. However, the grey eyes of Silas never purveyed his thoughts.
"If'n the Wolfman is in here, he'll be just a fella' in daylight" Peggy said off-handedly and without waiting for a response
from the so-called Lupus-Hunter, she stepped towards the cold tenebrosity of the cave. Silas Manson snorted his answer
and pushed the Witch to one side,"Aye, and the cursed-thing could be waiting for us to think that" he hissed and jammed
his crossbow out in front of him.
The cave was lightless, not even a natural fissure allowed a single beam of daylight to show that the cavern was passable
for walking in. After a minute, Manson struck a match and scanned the walls for the sign of a torch. The rag-wrapped chunk
of honed-timber laying on the sandy ground told a tale that neither wolf-stalker nor Witch wished to dwell on.
Someone was home.
...................................................
"So they send in a tiny Seer to try and wrestle my babies from me, do they?" Gwydionel muttered to herself and peered at the
almost-lost tapestries that were now turning to rags. One of her eyes had turned inward and her right-arm was useless due to
the fall. Spitting out the last tooth in her head, the Bitch O' The Hill snarled "Well, we'll see about that" and lumbered off in the
direction her flock had been taken.
...................................................
The rope could only offer faint tones of grey as the coloured strips that Jane Bowman had carefully weaved into the hemp failed
to display their hue due to the light-sapping surroundings. But still, it was a rope and and on the other end, Peggy hoped Treacle
was there readying himself and the given-words she required him to memorise.
"Git set girls..." the tired Witch whispered, "We're nearly home".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.