An old woman groans as she slowly stands from her kneeling position. She places a tea kettle on a hook just above the young fire in the hearth that was beginning to crackle merrily. Hobbling over to her cupboards, she hums while placing her hands on the jars, her fingers brushing different symbols. Eventually her hand stops and she smiles toothlessly, pulling the jar from the shelf. Opening it up, she inhaled deeply, the scent of juniper and mint filling her small house. Feeling for a bowl on the counter just below, she leans closely to hear herself pour the leaves into it. Shaking the jar carefully, a satisfied look crosses her eyes and mouth as she finally hears the amount she desired.
She replaces the cover on the jar and puts it slowly and gingerly in it's previous place before closing the cupboard. Taking the bowl, she hobbles back to the fire, the tea kettle now bubbling happily. Pouring the contents of the bowl into the fire, she grabs a wooden spoon and stirs the dried herbs into the kettle. She then feels her way to her chair, her knobby, old fingers coming to rest on the soft upholstery before leaning carefully into the seat, sighing with relief, the cushions accepting her plump frame. She begins to hum, the only other sound in the house besides the fire and the kettle.
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The crunch of boots in the snow pervaded the dark woods around Nevie. He had been traveling for weeks, scavenging where he could and stealing when he was able to. He cursed his luck for the fiftieth time since he had run from the king's guards. He had been part of a band of brothers and sisters that captured elves, orcs, halflings, humans, and more, and delivered them as bounties to work camps. It was hard work, but they had a good paying gig going. He didn't know where the rest of his band was, but he was determined not to get caught and suffer the fate the scarred inquisitor had in store for him. Compared to an executioner, an inquisitor of Everly searching for slavers was less a job and more pleasure, and this inquisitor was one known to be especially vicious and mad. He shakes his head. 'Either way, it'd be nice ta know where tha blast ah am,' he mutters to himself.
Looking about himself, all he could see was black woods and skinny, leafless trees. Drawing his cloak tighter around himself, he continues to walk in the direction he had been going. After what felt like hours, he came across a trail of boot prints. Excited, he rushes over and studies them. His excitement drains, however, as he realizes that they're his. With a shiver that wasn't entirely from the cold night around him, he sits against a tree and lowers his head down, wrapping himself tight in the cloak. 'Fuck, ah'm lost...', he says with a shaky breath. 'Where tha fuck do ah go...'
Looking up, he stares straight ahead, his expression one of uncertainty. He stops for a moment, before standing up slowly. Just ahead, the faintest hint of light seemed to be speared through the trees. Hastily, Nevie begins to stomp his way through the snow, the thought of comforts and warmth unbearable. The closer he got, the more perceivable the light became. The man's face cracks into a wide smile, as he forces his way through the snow and bushes between him and his salvation.
Getting closer, he sees through the trees what looked to be a small cottage. The snow seemed to also get higher and higher, it had already gone from being ankle deep to hip deep, and now was up to his chest. Nevie gasps, sweat freezing as soon as it appears. Soon, the snow had gotten past his head. It felt like he was trying to dig through an avalanche, with no end and no beginning. As soon as he felt his body collapsing from the struggle against the snow, he steps once more and trips into a small clearing around the house. He falls forward onto his stomach, and crawls forward gasping hoarsely. Looking back, where Nevie expected a massive mountain of snow, it was instead just ankle deep again, light and fluffy.
He stands up slowly, using the side of the cottage to support his weight, exhaustion in every cell of Nevie's body. He walks over to the fogged window nearest him, stepping onto a stack of wood to look in. Wiping the fog, inside he could see an old woman sitting in a cushioned chair, smiling at a cheery fire. That must have been the light he had seen from where he had been. Looking throughout the cottage, he could see hanging meat, herbs and vegetables. He could see a bookcase, a table, cupboards, and a door on the far side away from him. 'Bedroom, mayhaps..?', he thinks while chewing on his cracked lip.
He steps down and away, and makes his way to the left side where he is greeted by a plain, sturdy door. Nevie shivers uncontrollably for a few seconds, making his insides ache. 'Blasted cold', he mutters through gritted teeth. Stepping up, he pounds loudly on the door. An additional pounding and what seemed like an eternity later, he could hear the latch undo itself. He waits for the door to open, but no one answers it. He attempts the handle and the door swings inward on rusted hinges. He pauses before stepping up into the cottage.
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The heat inside the cottage blasted him and made his limbs come back to life, filled with pain from being numb for so long. Closing the door behind him, a voice whispers from the chair in the middle of the room. 'Bar the door, dear. The winds...they are strong these nights. Then come around.' Nevie hesitates before latching and barring the door. He then warily steps slowly around the side of the chair, watching for any sudden movements. What greets him is a wrinkled, old face, scraggly white hair, and pure white sunken eyes. He could tell the woman was very, very old, possibly the oldest person he'd ever met. A bubbling pulls his attention to the kettle, a sweet smell coming from it. His mouth waters, before he looks back at the old woman. He jumps slightly as he finds her looking directly at him, smiling a toothless smile.
'Welcome, dear, I'm sure it's very cold outside this time of night', she says with a raspy, unaccented voice. Nevie bobs his head and says, 'Yes'm ma'am, frightf'ly so. Felt ah almost lost me limbs in tha snow amongs' tha trees.' The older woman's smile widens as she says, 'Well, that wouldn't do at all, no, not at all. One must have their limbs, and not leaf them behind.' She cackles loudly, the sound of it strange to Nevie's ears. The older woman suddenly stops her cackling, her smile almost plastered to her face. 'Are you hungry, dear? We old folks don't generally eat much, so there's more than enough to share.'
Nevie's stomach betrays him as a long, low growl erupts from it, his face contorting into a desperate grimace as he nods emphatically. He catches himself, clears his throat and says, 'Y-yes, ah'd very much appreciate tha'.' The old woman's face doesn't change as she looks back toward the fire and stokes it with an iron rod. 'Very well, dear. You take a seat here, I'll go get something from the cellar and we'll have a fine meal', she says. The old woman pulls herself up from her chair and moves toward a hatch in the floor. She bends down slowly and pulls a rope up, the floor hatch creaking loudly. Feeling her way down, she moves out of sight. Nevie moves toward the opening and peers inside, but the darkness was too complete for him to see past it.
He moves back toward the fire, stripping his jacket and cloak off, letting them fall to the stone floor with a wet thump. He removes his shirt and falls to his knees in front of the hearth, basking in the intense warmth, tears rolling down his face. 'Ah'll never take this fer granted again, ah swear on me life,' he cries softly. Curling on the warm stones, he faces the fire and stares deeply into it, taking every movement of the flames. He had actually thought he was going to die out there in the darkness, his body becoming food for some wild animal. Or worse. He shuddered at that thought, and rubbed his hands toward the fire.
The warmth he felt began to fill him up more, until it almost seemed unbearable. He yelped and scrambled back, the heat in his body suffusing his skin. He screamed as he felt and saw flames ripping up from his skin. Beating at the flames, he tried to put them out but they just continued ripping through. All of a sudden, the flames on his skin went out, and he sobbed in relief, tears streaming his face, pants wet from pain and fear. As looked toward the hearth, he noticed that the fire seemed to get lower and lower. Feeling the chill of the night, he scrambled over to the hearth and blew on the dwindling fire, poking at it with the iron poker the old woman had left behind.
The fire ignored all of his efforts as it eventually dwindled down to the barest of flames, before guttering out entirely. Darkness flooded the room, and the heat he had so desperately been afraid of was replaced by a bone chilling cold, as if he had never left the snow laden ground outside. Shivering, he picked up the firestarter in the bucket next to the hearth and attempted to strike a new fire to life, but nothing would catch. Reaching into the hearth, he found it to be cold ash, with no semblance of there having been a fire there before. He stood up wearily, stepping back before looking around.
Seeing only the chair in front of him, Nevie moves with his arms outstretched toward the kitchen. As he steps forward, his head hits something feathery and heavy. He clutches his head with one hand and a groan, stopping the thing swinging in front of him with the other hand. He discovers the rotting corpse of a bird clutched in his hand, his breath catching sharply in his chest. Looking carefully toward the counter that was so clean before, he touches something tacky. Pulling his fingers away, he smells the substance, recognizing the smell of blood. It smelled like...human blood.
Nevie's face went white as he looked closer at the counter, knives and what looked like meat covered it. A squalid smell began to permeate the air, making him clutch at this nose. Backing away, he lightly hits something boney. His heart slamming in his chest, Nevie looks behind him slowly. A long arm was coming out of the darkness above. Peering along the length of it, he looks up and up and up, practically craning his neck. He peers, wide eyed, to where the arm was coming from. A face loomed from the darkness toward him, its four eyes blinking at him with amusement. A seam opens in the face, and a smile shows itself. Nevie, too afraid to move or scream, stared up in horror as the mouth opened wider and wider until a massive mouth filled with teeth, mixed with both human and razor sharp incisors, laughed in a bass-filled inhuman voice.
"Are you ready for dinner, dear?"