Second Place in Character Story Contest- March 15th 2003 Quiet murmurs in the peachtree tavern, a young man walks in and steps to the bar. He is obviously still learning the ropes and no one pays any attention to him. He clears his throat and in a loud voice says “I am looking for the Witch Agnes, I was told there are those who live here that might be able to help me.” A hush befalls the crowd and they all turn to stare at this youngster who dared to speak a name that is considered profane in Tellerium. Eventually, the patrons all slowly turn from the youngster and their eyes fall on the tall Minotaur throwing dark-horned imps at a dartboard. At first he appears not to notice the stares and continues throwing the living darts….he slowly walks over to his table and almost imperceptibly nods to the curious adventurer. In a remarkably soft voice for such a large creature he begins to speak of a person who once knew…. Agnes...the mere mention of that word seared through his being like the hot branding iron used on his bum at the Druid Institute for Hominid/Bovine Research Facility on Avros as a young mino. The scar from the branding iron was still visible in his chestnut fur, but the scars left by that wretched witch were deeper and harder to see. Occasionally, people would ask him about...her....twas a period in his life when he spent a lot of his time with the fiendish wizard in the condemned Stargazer Clanhall, picking through the ruins, ocasionally finding syringes or just sitting on the model of the moons in the main room. Most of the time though he wracked his brains, trying to solve the mystery of Lord Telleri son's lost love....Agnes...well his wish came true all right, her corpse located, she didn't seem all that bad, a bit shriveled and smelling of pungent earth and mothballs but he had seen plenty of corpses before in his life...it was what happened after he brought her mummified body to Telleri Jr.....the purple flashes, the scent of lilies and something else...something green and wet...like a fetid swamp....when the Fiendish Wizard was done with his casting, she was alive….if you could call it that...flashes of cream colored bone stuck out in raggedy contrast to the mottled tint of her flesh. That gaping maw of her mouth was filled with sharp teeth that curved inward. One bite from her diseased mouth would surely leave one in dire need of a Shaman’s healing spells. While doing battle with her, he once made the mistake of looking into her eyes and what he saw chilled his bones and caused his testicles to retract in fear: her eyes where alive with dozens of maggots, they squirmed and dropped from the corners of her eyes like fat wriggling tears...they dropped to the ground and collected in a pool at his feet. Grateful that he had casted an easy levitation spell prior to combat because the maggots seemed to reach for him. No ordinary maggots were these, they were the very embodiment of the evil that festered inside of her. He wobbled slightly upon seeing them, but his nature proved true and he did not fall. Eventually she was soundly defeated...many times over....and yet it always ended up the same didn't it? She always came back...if not to the road between Templeton and Tellerium...then in the thick of the night, when he was sleeping in his home in Rune, her bony hands wrapping around his thick neck, her flesh sloughing off her wrists....thank Vandyne his wife, the Lady of the Ruby always woke him before the dreams could go further. With her psionic powers, she was dimly aware of the dangerous hold on his mind the witch had left behind as her legacy even if he was not. There were harder trials ahead for him and the brave explorers who joined in the battles; the Pot-bellied imp who had caused all this havoc; supposed friends turning against each other. It tested a creature’s morals and none of those who were there were ever quite the same. But mostly, it was her…SHE was the one who left that indelible branding, the one that seared our souls. How do I know all this you ask? How can I be privy to the very thoughts and private demons of a Minotaur's soul? Don't ask me such questions…and don't...please don't...ever mention HER name in this town again..... He finishes his Spiced wine and puts the goblet he carries with him back into his trunk. The adventurer sees a flash of cream colored bone in there before the lid is snapped shut. As he walks away our eyes are drawn to the single maggot crawling across the floor where his feet were. |