Eternity RPC Board
08-28-2018, 03:12 PM
Under the quickly falling curtain of dusk, Elke could imagine the gnarled silhouettes of tree branches and amorphous, shivering dark blobs of leaves tossed in the slight summer zephyrs to, in actuality, be some sort of ancient beasts looming over them, waiting for the pure darkness of midnight to come to life and move about. She’d had similar visions as a little girl, although back then she would have described the transformation her mind put the nighttime landscape through as decidedly spooky. A bare tree limb scraping against her window as she tried to sleep was the bony avian claw of a harpy coming to snatch Elke up to feed to her hatchlings. Now, much older, she wasn’t afraid of something as silly as the dark shape of a poplar against the blazing indigo of the night sky, but she still liked to let her imagination wander and bring the trees to life as big, leafy giants.
Nevina’s bristling at an unseen threat was almost visually imperceptible in the dark, but the way her footfall stopped all at once, the rumpling of the textiles of her bag ceasing in unison, was salient as it was immediate. It sent a chill up Elke’s bare arms, and she suddenly became aware of how cold her sweat had turned - was that an affect of the night, or fear?
A very present honeyed floral scent distracted her from the imaginary tree people that now stretched their woody joints as they stood to their full height and doubled in size in her mind’s eye. It was sweet, almost sickeningly so in the way that the town square always smells in the days following the vernal equinox festival when cartfuls of cut hyacinths and woven crowns and necklaces of crocus lay rotting in the gutters of the main thoroughfare, their purpose served and their usefulness withering away with their beauty.
There was something else, too, though Elke couldn’t name it. Sulfur, maybe? She’d smelled it once when her father had brought some home for a patient’s medicine - distinctive, like hen’s eggs boiled in a hot spring. Maybe this odor was something different, but it made her nose scrunch up the same way the sulfur had.
It was then that Elke, the taller of the two, felt exposed in the clearing. She swallowed thickly and froze, pulling her arms in against her body and half-crouching, subtly making herself smaller and trying to match Nevina’s more diminutive form.
“What—“ she’d almost asked. What is it? But the elf spoke first.
“I’d like to go,” Elke answered without much delay. “I’ll stay behind you.”
What was the threat? It just looked like a cottage. Of course, the concern rested probably with the occupant, and not the dwelling itself. Still, Elke had a hard time imagining anyone occupying such a quaint little cottage other than a grandmother - perhaps a cantankerous one to live this far from everyone else, but she probably made great cakes.
The only other cohort that, according to childhood storybooks anyhow, tended to live in an unassuming little hideaway in a deep and lovely wood were—
“A witch?” Elke half-spoke, half-mouthed, her eyes becoming round as full moons with the realization. “Is it a witch?”
Nevina’s bristling at an unseen threat was almost visually imperceptible in the dark, but the way her footfall stopped all at once, the rumpling of the textiles of her bag ceasing in unison, was salient as it was immediate. It sent a chill up Elke’s bare arms, and she suddenly became aware of how cold her sweat had turned - was that an affect of the night, or fear?
A very present honeyed floral scent distracted her from the imaginary tree people that now stretched their woody joints as they stood to their full height and doubled in size in her mind’s eye. It was sweet, almost sickeningly so in the way that the town square always smells in the days following the vernal equinox festival when cartfuls of cut hyacinths and woven crowns and necklaces of crocus lay rotting in the gutters of the main thoroughfare, their purpose served and their usefulness withering away with their beauty.
There was something else, too, though Elke couldn’t name it. Sulfur, maybe? She’d smelled it once when her father had brought some home for a patient’s medicine - distinctive, like hen’s eggs boiled in a hot spring. Maybe this odor was something different, but it made her nose scrunch up the same way the sulfur had.
It was then that Elke, the taller of the two, felt exposed in the clearing. She swallowed thickly and froze, pulling her arms in against her body and half-crouching, subtly making herself smaller and trying to match Nevina’s more diminutive form.
“What—“ she’d almost asked. What is it? But the elf spoke first.
“I’d like to go,” Elke answered without much delay. “I’ll stay behind you.”
What was the threat? It just looked like a cottage. Of course, the concern rested probably with the occupant, and not the dwelling itself. Still, Elke had a hard time imagining anyone occupying such a quaint little cottage other than a grandmother - perhaps a cantankerous one to live this far from everyone else, but she probably made great cakes.
The only other cohort that, according to childhood storybooks anyhow, tended to live in an unassuming little hideaway in a deep and lovely wood were—
“A witch?” Elke half-spoke, half-mouthed, her eyes becoming round as full moons with the realization. “Is it a witch?”