#autumn village campsite

[pocket-champ]

[charliemwrites]

Oh, Witchfinder...

The rumors are seeds carried along the last frigid winter wind. There’s a cluster of townships that flirt at the edges of a dense forest in the northeast. The smallest and farthest village is said to be infested by those most heinous of Hell’s denizens, a witch. Witchfinder General Shepherd sends the captain of the 141st witch hunting division to investigate. "Let me pour you a drink."

Original AO3 Link

Content: Witchfinder AU, Dark Content, Dub-Con and Non-Con, Abuse of Power and Power Imbalance, Murder (non-descriptive), Possessive/Obsessive Behavior, Unreliable Narrator, Blasphemy and Religious Elements (Christianity)

The rumors are seeds carried along the last frigid winter wind. They sprout suspicion in the fertile soil of the witchfinders’ information network.

There’s a cluster of townships that flirt at the edges of a dense forest in the northeast. The smallest and farthest village is said to be infested by those most heinous of Hell’s denizens, a witch.

Travelling merchants who have weathered the journey tell tales of shrieking trees and shadows that creep around campsites. Water coppery with blood and plagues of nightmares swathing entire caravans.

Witchfinder General Shepherd sends the captain of the 141st witch hunting division to investigate.

It is a sunny spring day when John first steps foot in your apothecary.

A bell above the door announces his arrival, a little brass thing that peters off like good laughter once it’s closed after him. The shop is absent of customers in the late morning; all the better to ask his questions without others to share the weight of his attention.  

A voice calls to him from a room beyond the counter, a bright compliment to the doorbell just gone silent, begging his patience.

Church bells ring for death too.

But death knells are not what flood John’s mind when you flutter into view, sage-stained hands smoothing ribbon-laced hair. An apron hugs tight about your waist, a stained linen cloth tucked between double-looped strings. A smear of vibrant green when you absently wipe your fingertips over a corner.

Barbed hooks burrow into his mind and hold fast.

You come up short when see him, eyes big and blinking like a trick of the light you can’t make sense of. He takes a heavy step deeper into your shop, herbs fresh and bitter in his nose.

What remains of the man he was before this moment clings to his shoulders.

“Oh, hello,” you say, “I’m sorry, I expected… ah, what can I do for you, sir?”

You close the last bit of distance to the counter, a half step for him two of yours. Dainty hands stack at the edge, one beneath the other like nesting birds. John crosses your humble shop in two long strides, boots loud as gavel strikes across a clean-swept floor. He is accustomed to being judge and executioner, a blood-soaked cloak draping his shoulders; something in his chest stirs at being yours.

“You are the shop keep?” he asks, dragging his eyes over yours.

You peer up at him through your lashes. Sunlight spirals through your irises, trips over the dark ring that separates them from pristine white.

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

“You’re the village healer, then?”

You blink again, brows doing a complicated dance deciding if you’re offended or not. “I am.”

Petal soft lips curl and press together on that last phonetic, hint at the question you didn’t quite ask.

“The others tell me you were beset by a witch last year.”

Your mouth parts on surprise, closes when you notice the silver medallion perched on his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe in realization. “Yes, in the autumn. Another witchfinder cured me.”

His eyebrows arch, but your expression remains open and guileless. The counter is less than the length of his forearm, but it’s too much distance. He wants to drag you to his chest and bruise that delicate jaw, squeeze a story from your polite tongue.

“I heard no news of this,” he says, hardening his voice into brick.

You tilt your head. “I couldn’t say why. He seemed quite proud of his victory.”

John’s eyes narrow. Pride is a poison to be imbibed in small doses. A couple drops on the tongue will do, a honeyed warmth fueling good, hard work and living well. A witchfinder must abstain regularly, lest the work become hollow and the living too well.

“His name.”

“Sir Graves,” you answer promptly, then tap a neat fingernail against the countertop, “I’m afraid that if he shared his first name, I don’t remember it.”

Not likely, he thinks. Philip indulges pride a little too readily by John’s estimate – and by most others’ as well. It’s no wonder when Shepherd feeds his lapdog feasts just for fetching. Could, perhaps, put the Devil himself to shame one day, glutted on lording himself over peasant folk looking for salvation by his sword.

If Philip was in this little village and saved a lovely young thing like yourself from perdition, he would have come back to trumpets.

“Odd, that.” John muses. “That I heard of your village’s witch, but not one of my own killing it.”

You hum. “Yes, you said.”

“And the witch is dead now?” he confirms.

One shoulder lifts, a tentative shrug. “I should think so. The village has been peaceful and I’m no longer ill.”

No, you certainly are not. You’re a portrait of health, haloed in good humors. John has seen mere brushes with the wicked rend men in their prime to frail simulacra of themselves. Yet you stand exquisite upon the year’s rebirth, cheeks round from a full belly through the winter.

“And yet I hear that the woods cry in the night.”

He heard no such thing on his journey in, but better to see how far the roots spread. 

“I could not say,” you demure, “I sleep quite well, sir.”

He flicks his gaze over the precious silhouette of you, a pretty thing in a dress trimmed in yellow. An idle thought tiptoes to the front of his consciousness, a thief sneaking away his good sense.

You, tucked up alone in a too big bed, sleep soft and vulnerable, moonlight kissing bare skin…

The sleeves of your dress are scrunched up a bit at the wrist, tender skin and serpentine veins peeking past modest fabric. A dark splotch near your thumb draws his gaze.

He snatches up your little wrist like a lightning strike, yanking your arm across the counter while you’re still scrambling past a gasp to protest.

“When witches consort with the Devil, he often marks them.”

John’s grip is iron, though it wouldn’t bruise if you’d stop pulling. Surely you must know, just from the size of him, that you have no hope of resisting without indulging in some inhuman power. Even bracing your free hand against the counter for leverage, you’re held fast.

He tugs your sleeve down, revealing the discolored patch of skin to the light. You make a noise in the back of your throat, brows scrunched and tilted with distress.

“It’s just ink!” you squeak. “Let me���”

He concedes to his initial urge and locks his big hand around your jaw, from corner to corner. You squeal, supple lips bracketing teeth blunt of suspiciously sharp edges. A slick pink tongue pillows the floor of your glistening mouth. He twists his wrist, rough fingers hooking under your jaw and chin so that he can plunge his thumb into that noisy cavern.

He’s tempted, so tempted, to leave it there. To pet at your tongue until it’s a tame pet, jumping at his command. But your whines are getting pitchy, your eyes shiny, and he has no need of scaring you until you’ve been proven heretic. He dips into the saliva pooling behind your bottom teeth, then pulls away before you can do something monumentally stupid – like bite.

He rubs the wet digit over the mark and sure enough, it reactivates and dilutes a coal gray. Just ink after all.

When he releases you, the glass-laden shelf behind you rattles, glass vials shuddering together with a tinkling sound. Laughter at your expense.

“W-wha – why…?” you whimper, arms drawn close to your chest.

Perhaps he was hasty. He nearly startles that he does not feel more than passing regret – that you will be warier to approach him again. Hastily, disturbed at his own reaction, he forms his expression into a moue of apology.

“I know,” he soothes, weaving his voice into a velvet blanket around your tense shoulders. “That must have been frightening. That was not my intent, little miss.”

You sniffle a bit, those unshed tears still glossing big, round eyes.

“Witches are a dangerous kind,” he continues, “you know that for yourself.”

At your tentative nod, he curves his mouth into a gentling smile. Combined with the scruff of his facial hair, he knows he telegraphs warmth and trust – Soap has even teased as fatherly. The sight of it unfurls you, a wilting flower twisting towards the sun.

“You can understand, then, why I had to act swiftly?”

You nod slowly after a moment, taking the tiniest of steps away from the wall.

Brave little thing, he thinks with a wicked curl of fondness. The type of fondness a dog would feel for their favorite bone to gnaw.

He offers his hand, beckoning you to come of your own volition this time. His palm tingles in anticipation of your touch, builds into a burn the longer you hesitate, your touch the balm he needs to relieve it. Your eyes flick between his face and his hand; your unmarked throat bobs as you swallow.

Then you shuffle closer and glide your soft fingers across his, alighting his nerves.

“Though it is my duty, I do regret the affect it has had on our introduction,” he rumbles, voice lowering. You lean a bit to hear him better; he nearly drops to a whisper. “But may I offer my name, as a sign of good faith.”

Your answering smile is small, still shaky, precious like gemstones.

“I am Captain John Price, witchfinder. At your service, my lady.”

Men avoid you in the streets.

It’s a subtle gesture, a slight change of course or pivot of the heel. John doesn’t even notice until a group of three splits two and one to allow you unhindered passage. They don’t appear nervous, nodding their heads in greeting that you respond to with smiles and tiny waves. There’s a basket on your arm that they are careful not to bump, though none offer to carry it either.

The women, by comparison, frequently stop you in the middle of the street for a pleasant word or friendly clasp of hands. Like songbirds on the eaves, twittering brightly.

“Where are all the men?” John asks the baker.

“Begging your pardon, sir?”

“There are fewer men than women,” John notes, nodding to the main street – three women to every man. “Why is that?”

The baker blows out a breath, the long sigh of an elder man. “Oh, the same reason all boys leave home, you know? They go out to make their fortunes, chase fame, fall in love. We’re a small village, little of those first two to be found here.”

John chuckles his agreement, thanks him for the insight – and the fresh rolls – then strolls towards the smithy. The short journey is riddled with curious glances and whispers, none with concern, but none with eagerness. He thinks someone might whisper your name to another as he passes.

As luck would have it, you are outside the smithy, a younger girl hovering at your elbow with a worried brow.

“Is something the matter, ladies?” he calls.

You jump a bit, cup your hands together, one over the other. Hiding something. He arches an eyebrow and hooks a hand in the belt across his chest, thumb peeking out. Stops a polite distance away. Without the illusory safety of a counter, you appear ready to dart off like a startled doe.

“Or are we up to mischief this morning?” he teases upon seeing the younger girl’s flustered face.

You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, trepidatious eyes scanning John’s features. He keeps his smile warm and friendly, the set of his shoulders loose. Your gaze lingers at the corners of his eyes where the skin has begun to crinkle with his age. Then you giggle a bit, an embarrassed grin sneaking across your mouth.

“We’ve made a friend, Sir Witchfinder,” you reveal.

“A friend you say?” he asks, tilting his head.

You hum and lift your hands a bit in offering. “Would you like to see?”

He arches an eyebrow, taking his turn at a cautious measure of your intentions. The glint in your eyes is joyous, not sinister. Shaking his head a bit, he idles a step closer.

“If I end up with a face full of ash…”

“We would never!” the younger girl gasps.

“I wouldn’t dirty my hands for a silly joke like that,” you add with a cheeky curl to your lips.

“Let’s see it, then.”

You slowly, carefully, lift the hand on top. Sat in the well of your palm is… a mouse.

“This is your friend?”

“Handsome little devil, isn’t he?” you coo, thumb smoothing behind a rounded ear.

“A bit waterlogged, though,” he notes.

The poor creature’s fur is dark and clumped together, sticking up where it's brushed against your hands. It’s curled into a tight, shivery ball, beady little eyes staring out at a world far too big for it.

“He fell into the rain barrel,” the girl explains sadly, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have sent it on its way,” he offers, peering at her across your arms.

This, apparently, is of great offense.

“He would die! It’s still far too cold!” she cries.

You hum in agreement, soothing the mouse as its ears twitch. “He’s a young one too, would be a shame that he survived the winter to die like that.”

A circler patch on your skirt reveals just how much of a shame you thought it would be.

“Well, what’s to be done with it now?” he asks.

You cuddle it closer to your breast, beaming as it huddles into the warmth of your body.

“Mallory, would you collect a wooden bowl your father won’t miss?”

“Gladly!” the girl chirps and scurries into the smithy.

Left alone, you don’t seem to grow wary of John again. Most of your focus is on your tiny charge, though you flick him a warm glance when he ventures a careful finger over its spine.

“What a stupid little thing,” he muses, not unkindly, “falling into the water like that.”

You laugh a bit, soft and quiet. A precious jewel shining from a riverbed.

“I like stupid creatures,” you reply. “When they lash out, you know it’s not with malice. Ill intent is an invention of man.”

His brows arch. “How do you reckon?”

You tilt your head, eyes sliding away in thought. “Well… I’ve never heard of mice starting a war for gold. Have you?”

Such a seemingly harmless question; it sits like stone in his chest.

“No,” he admits. “I have not.”

Mallory returns, a wooden bowl with high sides in her hands. You pluck a square of linen from the layers of your dress and arrange it at the bottom of the bowl, then deposit the soggy rodent atop. Its tiny black nose twitches, exploring its new bed.

“Set this in a sunny window with a thimble of water. When he’s regained his strength, you can return him to the forest,” you instruct.

John clicks his tongue. “Your father will not be pleased if it gets loose.”

Still, he tears a bit of bread from his bounty of rolls and drops it next to the mouse.

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Mallory assures and trots off with her occupied bowl.

You and John watch her until she’s disappeared back inside the smithy.

“It’s still a pest, you know,” he says after a moment.

You slant your eyes towards him, a sad twist to your smile now. “That didn’t make him any more worthy of drowning.”

“Someone may still kill it one day.”

You turn to him fully then, chin tilted in not quite a challenge. “Then why did you give him bread?”

It’s a question he could easily shrug off or wave away, but the weight of it settles heavy around his shoulders. Your gaze bores into him.

“I don’t believe in cruelty for cruelty’s sake,” he explains after a moment. “And I do not believe in suffering for principle.”

You blink at him for a moment, storm clouds churning in your eyes. Then someone calls your name and you bid John a quiet ado.

The sheep are huddled in the pasture, an off-white island in a blue-black sea of grass. Their sentinels perk as John passes, eyes glinting by fish-belly moonlight. They make no sound, only lift their shaggy heads to track his passing. John spares them a nod, one guard dog to another.

The nature of a witchfinder is not so different from theirs, to protect the flock and bend to the shepherd’s guidance. How must they feel when their master inevitably slaughters one of their own lambs and lets them taste of the meat?

The forest is loud for the first half-league. Mother nature has let her night children out to play – foxes in the brush and owls perched amongst crooked boughs. Perhaps she has welcomed the arcane tonight as well. The moon is not full, but the lure of sin drives the craven to sate themselves on unripe fruit.

John follows the trodden path to the river where the witch drowned. No trace of the execution or her remains. The wilds are cruel that way, swallowing the righteous and wicked alike and leaving not even bones behind. Marrow is always good for feasting, no matter the soul that inhabited them.

He follows the bank upstream a ways, deeper into the forest, and farther from the places that most would venture. The animals here are more cautious of unfamiliar scents and flee long before he might disturb their evening. As a consequence, the night grows quieter, lonelier.

Then silent all at once.

John is a blooded witchfinder; he knows what this silence means. His palm curls around the handle of his flintlock.

A shrill scream splits the air, high and awful. A death cry – a rabbit’s.

The insects return as the night folds over the bloodshed. John doesn’t move his hand from his pistol.

He waits, a chill wind gnawing at his skin, wriggling in the spaces between his clothes, tangling in his cloak. But there never comes a sign of anything more. Eventually, he turns and navigates back towards the village along the threads of deer trails.

Just as he passes the tree line, a breeze stirs. A few faint haunting notes burrow into his ears and carve maddening paths through his brain. Someone is singing.

His gaze curves towards your apothecary, though even from this distance the windows are ink black.

How easy it would be to steal inside, confirm that you are a good girl tucked up in bed. Perhaps even, for the sake of thoroughness, confirm with his hands and tongue that your croons are not the ones teasing him on an unnatural wind.

John takes a single leaden step towards your home. Towards you. Then the church bells toll – once, twice, thrice.

He pivots on his heel and returns to the inn.

You are at mass the next morning, in the third row from the front, tucked between the baker’s wife and the blacksmith’s daughter. The latter is giggling to you while the other parishioners trickle in and lace the pews. Your smile is bright and sweet, primrose blooms in the trellis outside the inn. A spiderweb of lace threads through your hair today, an intricate pattern he traces with his eyes, over and over and over.

He asked after you – before going to your apothecary and then after. You are well-liked, of course you are. Their precious healer, so handy with your tinctures and ointments, so kind in word and deed. A dreadful business it was, when the shadows appeared in your eyes and spilled over, vitality washed from your skin. You snapped at a huntsman one day, then snarled at the mayor’s eldest son a week later. They each fell fatally ill by month’s end.

You had not liked the witchfinder one bit. Had forced him from your shop and refused his men aid for their travel sores. No one knows what happened All Hallows Eve, when they dragged you from your home to the tiny village jail. All anyone knows were the rabid screams, the curses you shouted through the night, the staggering gait of one witchfinder come first light.

The villagers spoke little and reluctantly of the drowning. That you were marched, silent as death and blank as parchment down to the riverside in chains. The forest was silent when they bundled you up in canvas and roped it closed. There was a terrible splash when they threw your still body into the depths, how you sank and sank and sank…

You were sitting at old woman Josie’s side when they returned, dry and warm and so curious about where everyone had been for so long.

John watches you kneel for communion, mouth parting to receive sacrament. How powerful the Lord must feel, to be placed upon that silken tongue and taken into that soft mouth. The light shifts through stained glass, you’re dyed with Heaven and saints.

No, you are far too exquisite for God; all His angels would fall for envy of you at their gate.

Blasphemy tastes like fresh bread, warm and soft and a little sweet.

John forgets to cross himself. The eucharist has ended and you are gliding down the center aisle towards his post at the church doors.

“Good morning, Sir Witchfinder,” you chime.

The baker’s wife squeezes your elbow as you part ways. John replaces her touch with his own, turning with you towards the apothecary.

“I trust you slept well?” he asks, falling into step.

“Like a lamb,” you reply, “and you, sir?”

“Well, for what I got.”

You are a song that followed him into sleep. His dreams were laden with your big eyes and your soft lips and the memory of you yielding beneath his grip. He woke this morning humming your tune.

You have to tilt your head so far to gauge his expression. “Trouble sleeping?”

“I went into the woods last night, looking for truth to the rumors.”

“Oh! Did you find any?” You wear innocence like fine pearls.

“None. Though I may find something on the full moon.”

You hum, curious. “The full moon is important, then?”

“It is sacred to witches.” He scoffs, “Well, what passes for sacred to them.”

Another question perches on your lips, but a call of your name robs your attention once more. The mayor, asking for a tonic. You pause to ask after his symptoms, and his wife, and his niece in the next town over. It’s a simple yet beautiful net you weave, ensnaring the man’s good will. You promise a bottle before noon and continue on with John at your pretty little boot heels, a dog on a silver leash.

“Tea?” you ask as you enter the apothecary.

He nods. “My thanks.”

You hum and flounce off to the back room. He keeps half an ear on you there while he wanders the shop, a more critical eye upon your wares. There are jars labelled in looping script with commonplace items. A quartet of honey, a cluster of infused oils. Tins of balm for wind chafe and sunburn. Nothing of suspicion, though it would be a foolish witch that keeps virgins’ blood and reptile eyes in plain view. He’s still not sure if he expects to find them anyway.

Spurred by he knows not what, John rounds the counter. Beneath it is a number of other glass vials and containers with careful labels. Their uses are not included, but he recognizes some of them. Cinnamon powder, crushed chamomile, lavender buds, mint leaves. There’s also a little sheaf of bound parchment denoting inventory and sales; business is healthy for the village’s sole healer.

The quiet shuffle from the other room becomes supplemented by a light hum.

John’s feet move of their own accord. The backroom is a well-lit, clean space, but the entirety of his razor focus is on you. He does not bother to lighten his steps and so you’ve already turned by the time he reaches you.

A gasp pitches high in your throat when he backs you against the table behind you.

“Sir—”

You smell like vanilla and daffodils today. Incense in the church that’s been built for you in his mind. He braces his hands against the table to either side of you, caging you in.

“Price,” he growls against your ear. “Call me by name.”

The sweetest little shudder wracks through your smaller frame, a spray of blush blooming across your nose and cheeks. He exhales the urge to drag his tongue across it, let the heat burn his mouth, initiation by fire.

“I-I couldn’t possibly – never mind, what are you doing?!”

He could coo at the affront daring to color your voice. How dare this big man invade your shop and your space and your life, how dare he sink his teeth into the very thought of you?

“I heard singing last night,” he says instead, a growl in his chest that you surely feel against your fluttering breast. “It sounded like you.”

You shake your head, a little furrow between your brows. “I slept through the night, sir.”

“Price.”

“Captain, please, are you sure it sounded like me?”

He stiffens to his full height, towering over you. You try to shrink away, but space has become a commodity he will not afford you.

“You doubt me?”

That little spark of indignance is already cooling, smothered before it could grow into a proper flame. You try for reason with a man who thinks he lost it sometime between seeing you for the first time and his next breath after that.

“There are many children in the village,” you explain. Your hands inch up between your bodies, like ivy creeping up stone walls. Their roots will find purchase in the cracks you’ve chiseled in his foundation. “Perhaps it was a mother singing a lullaby?”

He grasps for all the good sense he was once graced with that made him captain.

Behind him, the kettle begins to shriek.

“Please… Price?” you murmur. “Let me get that?”

He allows the narrowest margin for you to escape. You take it with nervous, stumbling steps. As you collect the kettle from the modest fire burning against the back wall, he tries to wrestle up what remains of his tattered resolve.

John has always considered himself a fair and reasonable man. Unlike a tragic number of his fellows, who have never met a woman they did not condemn, he has strived to be more discerning. A shepherd dog cannot protect the flock if it bites its own sheep. He’s saved as many from the stake as he’s sent to the noose.

Since meeting you, however, he feels as if he’s stranded with no compass and no stars. You’ve robbed him of sense and patience and virtue, left a ravenous beast behind in his skin. It’s unlike any enchantment he’s heard of – one that wishes to ruin the caster so thoroughly. He’s possessed by his need to possess.

It’s some kind of magic, it must be. He doesn’t think he’d recognize himself in a mirror.

“We’re putting this to rest.”

His voice startles you, eyes wide and anxious when he closes the distance again. He counts his steps, measures them on whirls in the floor. You fidget at the sleeves of your dress, light blue trimmed in white lace. A bit of sky draped around temptation. Hell hidden in Heaven.

“The Lord’s Prayer,” he commands, “now.”

Though your voice wavers, you manage its entirety without stuttering or coughing, each word carefully enunciated. It is no surprise; you attended church and took communion without strain.

And yet… and yet.

“I need to be sure,” he decides. “I must examine you.”

You blink. “E-examine?”

“You must be familiar with this, yes? The Devil hides his marks in many places.”

Realization washes across your pretty panicky face. What an awful spell you’ve cast, that makes him want to see that expression when he wrests terrible ecstasy from your trembling body.

“I-I don’t…”

“I know,” he soothes, “it is frightening. We will do this last thing to ensure your innocence, and then I will not seem so mean, I promise.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, perhaps finding solace in darkness one last time, before your glamour is revealed.

“One thing at a time,” he encourages, firm but not unkind. You look like your knees are about to give out. “It will not take long.”

With shaking fingers, you unbuckle the thick leather belt cinching your waist. You fold it in half and set it aside on a clear patch of worktable. Your gown comes next, laced at the front with a neat bow that had been hidden by the belt. This is draped atop the table as well, and then you pause, hands twitching in the skirt of the cream shift you’re left in.

John takes pity, generous with the promise of more to come. Delayed gratification has always been his vice of choice. “Let’s start from the bottom, shall we? Shoes next.”

You sigh softly in relief and bend at the waist, drawing the hem up with one hand. The other tugs at the laces of first one boot, then the other, stockinged feet padding out onto the wood floors. You tut offhandedly about tears while you set your shoes neatly aside.

Higher and higher your thin shift goes, a measure for the anticipation roiling in his gut. Your stocking climbs up to your thigh, where a clever little cuff hugs plush flesh, a slight bulge where you’ve laced it tight to stay in place. It slides down, down, down, and off your dainty little foot. Between the deliberate slide of fabric and the fluttering of your shift, bits of skin flicker into view like clouds passing over the moon.

The other stocking is just as torturous, just as hypnotizing. John drops to his knees when you’re finally standing barefoot, the hem of your shift still drawn up enough to display how you shift your weight.

Even your ankles are so small that he can fit his entire palm with fingers overlapping. You make a nervous noise as he pries your foot up from the floor.

“I’m going to fall,” you mumble.

“Hold onto me, then.” With his free hand, he guides one of yours to his shoulder. The other follows suit, balling into his tunic. “Just like that, there we are.”

You hum, sounding unsure but mollified. He tilts the limb until he can get a look at the sole, finds smooth and unmarked skin. The same for the other, and he luxuriates in how you lean into him for stability.

On both feet again, you seem to forget to let him go. He does not remind you while he smooths your skirt up your calves, your knees. He thumbs at a little bruise on the left and bites off a mean smirk when you twitch away.

“I bumped into a table,” you explain.

“Clumsy thing,” he tuts.

Your pouty little huff tempts him to look, but he refrains, rallying all his years of witchfinding service to the task at hand. There’s a scar on the inside of your left thigh that makes his mouth water.

“And this?”

“I dropped a kitchen knife when I was thirteen. My mother was furious.”

His teeth ache to bite into it. He taps at your hip instead. “The back now.”

“Oh.” You unlatch your hands from his shoulders to hold your dress for him. When you turn, he can’t resist drawing his palm up your thigh, marveling at living silk against his callous-roughened hand. It feels like he could tear you.

He stands, so close he can see the shade of each strand of hair. You glance at him over your shoulder, curious, but he wraps his fingers in your hair and faces you forward again. If you keep looking at him with those big, wet eyes, he’s going to do something unspeakable.

He examines the nape of your neck, the fine hairs that gather at the base of your skull. You fuss a bit about him ruining your braids when he tugs the lace ribbons free. Like a kitten, you subside when his fingers card through, scraping blunt nails along your scalp. It’s its own sort of magic, that. How your shoulders fall, and you lean into his touch just that guilty little bit.

“Back ‘round now, little miss,” he orders when the moment has stretched far, far too long for any justification.

He gives you another moment to gather your courage for what’s next and continues his inspection above your neckline. You scrunch your cute little nose when he brushes your ears and shiver a bit when he tilts your head back.

“Last of it now, c’mon,” he encourages.

A bit calmer now, you unlace the corset from your abdomen. An endearing little breath when it’s gone, ribs expanding like fireplace bellows. In nothing but soft linen, your nipples form rosy shadows through the fabric.

You have to turn away as you gather it up, flushing the brightest yet as you pull it over your head. The shift is piled with the rest of your abandoned clothes, and you are left wonderfully, scandalously, bare.

“No knickers?” he asks, a fingertip skimming over your buttock.

You jump. “I-I need to do laundry.”

He hums, amused despite the suspicious convenience of that explanation. Still, you are hardly the first woman to forget your washing, and you are a busy little bee at that.

“We’ll continue from here.”

The curve of your spine is a masterpiece, a thing for starving artists to make their name if they could capture it on canvas. He draws his thumb along each ridge, counting knots of bone down to the dimples at the small of your back.

Silver fissures decorate the lush roundness of your hips and lower stomach, where your body grew too fast inside your skin. A sign of a good, healthy childhood. They’re even softer and smoother than the surrounding skin, more decadent than silk.

“Once more. We’re almost done.”

You turn with great reluctance, arms drawn up and thighs pressed tight together. You’ve turned your face away, staring into the low fire. When he opens his mouth to coax you again, you fling an arm out, smacking into his chest. The other is still folded across the swell of your breasts.

“These as well… right?” you ask.

He tries to keep his chuckle soundless, but the dubious glance you send him from the corner of your eye is unappreciative.

Deft fingers unfurl when his thumb presses to the center of your finger palm, reflex that spreads them wide. It’s mouthwatering how easy your body yields. He turns your wrist and forearm over, checking along the tender parts beneath. You wrinkle your nose again when he holds it out to check your armpits as well. Once he’s satisfied with that, there’s some awkward shuffling to offer him the other arm.

“Your stomach, now?” he guesses, not trying to hide the patronization this time.

You jerk your head in a haughty little nod. He bends a bit to scrutinize your stomach, soft and well-fed. A sharp noise bursts from your throat when he thumbs at your naval. He arches an eyebrow as he tilts his head to your face, but you’re stubbornly looking as far from him as you can.

“That tickled,” you complain.

“My sincerest apologies, miss.”

Your nose twitches like you want scrunch it at him again. All that fussiness evaporates, however, when you realize what’s next.

“We’re almost done, little one.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Slowly, achingly, you lower your arms. They don’t go far, folding across your stomach with tight little fists. It only takes a glance to know that you are unmarked, but John is far from satisfied. He can’t bring himself to look away, fingers tingling with desire to touch that supple skin, to feel the weight of your breasts in his palms.

“Thinking naughty thoughts, are we?” he teases, the barest brush of a fingertip over one hard nipple. “And on a Sunday.”

“N-no!” you squeak. “There’s a chill. I-I’m not…”

“So when I check this precious little cunt, I won’t find you dripping for me?”

You yelp, hands flying up to cover your face. “You mustn’t say things like that!”

“Mustn’t I?” he wonders as he lowers to his knees. It sends an ache through them, but the view is worth the toll.

“I know this is all so unusual but that’s – that’s improper, sir!” you cry.

“How many times must I remind you?” He traces his fingertips up the back of your calf, delighting in the goosebumps left in his wake. “Call me by name.”

You squeal when he hooks a hand beneath your knee and jerks it over his shoulder. Your hand flies to his other to keep your balance, eyes huge. He rakes his gaze deliberately down the curving length of that delicious body until it settles on his prize.

Heaven, he thinks, is on Earth. It is here, nestled between your thighs. The pearly gates are dripping between plump lips in a bed of downy curls. The clouds are pink and shimmering; the apple of Eden is a swollen, throbbing bud. God’s throne is the tight little hole twitching around nothing, untouched for want of a worthy offering.

Heaven’s choir is your shuddering little inhale when his thumbs part your slit wider. It’s the bitten off sound from cool air blown over sensitive flesh. It’s your sweet, startled “oh” when he draws a knuckle through all that decadent wetness. Angels sound like your moan when he pays special attention to that forbidden fruit, light circles until your hips twitch.

“W-wait,” you whimper, breathy, “I’m a – I’ve never…”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, “I won’t hurt you, but the Devil can hide things inside, can’t he?”

You whine as he prods a careful finger at your entrance. Your modesty is still intact, really the last bit of evidence he could ever need that you are innocent. He gathers your slick on his fingertip and prods gently at that thin bit of tissue. You shake your head, bottom lip pinched between your teeth.

“Calm yourself, little miss,” he croons. “This hasn’t been painful so far, has it?”

“N-no…”

“It will not be painful now, either. Just stay still for me.”

You make a weak little sound of agreement, hands clenching and unclenching. He massages at the membrane of your entrance in slow, even strokes, his thumb toying at that swollen button when you start to tense. It finally gives just that little bit and your body welcomes his finger inside.

He does not rush, keen to fulfill his promise of a painless touch. Who would forgo the pleasure of exploring Paradise in favor of sprinting from one end to the other?

When he’s down to the knuckle, he pauses, absorbing all of this exquisite moment, all of you. Shaking and panting, leaning into him with blush down to your chest. He curls his finger, draws it out just a bit, then sinks back inside. You bend your head to him as if in prayer, mouth falling open.

“Steady on, darling,” he coos. “You’re doing well.”

When you start to squirm, he hides a smile against your thigh and pumps his finger again. Deeper, faster, curling just that little bit to pet your supple walls. Your voice breaks loose when he finds his rhythm, a cascade of moans and whimpers that baptize him an acolyte. He devotes himself to your alter, to the pleasured twitching of your virgin cunt and the rocking of your untrained body.

He finds a spongy place inside that makes you flutter around him, a gush of slick beading a bracelet down his wrist. It soaks into the edge of his sleeve and beneath the leather of his vambrace.

“Th-that’s… oh.” You nearly sing with pleasure, a hymn made of monosyllables and whiny hums. He presses his thumb firm and insistent to your sensitive clit, rewarded by another flood of wetness and desperate whimpers. “I feel… ah, I feel l-like… what are you doing t-to me?”

He chuckles deep in his chest, brushes his lips along the side of your knee. Your traitorous pussy clenches around him, not nearly so demure of its admiration.

“Let that feeling build. Let it wash over you,” he purrs. “Don’t be afraid.”

You tilt your head back, crying your pleasure to the heavens as you tighten and shake. John braces your standing leg as your eyes roll back in your skull. You’re vicelike around just a single finger, it would be nearly painful around anything thicker. He rubs at that spot inside you, thumb still in place, unspooling your ecstasy like pulling a thread from knitted cloth. You unravel so beautifully for him, on and on until you’re a puddle in his hands.

It takes a little sniffle and a wordless mewl to coax him from your heat. His hand is drenched, slippery between his fingers. You lower your leg shakily from his shoulder, reluctant to put your weight on it with aftershocks still wracking your frame.

“Good girl. You’ve been so strong and brave, there’s a love,” he soothes, stroking your hip with his dry hand. “We can put this witch business to rest now.”

You tilt your head. Perhaps a nod; perhaps just exhaustion. He straightens while you gather yourself, flexing your fingers, likely sore from how hard you held onto him. He considers the mess on his hand, a temptation more intoxicating than any wine…

But he would rather drink from the source.

There’s a spare cloth folded into a neat square next to herbs you likely meant to cut. He cleans his hand with it and turns back just as you’re fumbling for your shift.

“Easy now, little miss. Allow me.”

John leans you up against the same table where you’ve piled your clothes, palms lingering at your waist until he’s sure you have your balance. You’re sweet and pliant under his touch, his voice. He redresses you with careful consideration, putting you back together just as he found you. Or nearly just.

The post-orgasm haze dissipates like fog with each article of clothing, an odd curiosity chasing across your face when he helps you back into your boots.

“You’re a strange sort of man,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Is it because you’re a witchfinder?”

He arches his eyebrows as he stands again, arms winding around your waist to buckle your belt.

“I could not say without knowing what makes me so strange,” he chuckles.

You tilt your head, eyes still and deep, Leviathan’s abyss. Something is coiling behind your irises, a beast stirring from long slumber. Ripples in a lake will calm eventually, its natural state to be a placid mirror. You’ve become contemplative in your satiation; it’s the most substantial you’ve ever felt.

“You can’t decide to be cruel or kind,” you muse. “I didn’t know someone could be both.”

He presses his mouth to your temple.

“I’ve taught you a few things today, then.”

John sighs and runs his hands down his face, scratches a thumb absently at the corner of his jaw. His room’s modest writing desk is obscured by four pieces of parchment. One from each of his men, and a fourth from the witchfinder’s spymaster.

He sent Ghost, Soap, and Gaz to investigate the neighboring villages before setting for this one. They have each reported that there was nothing of note from any of them. Just the same things they’ve all heard. Rumors of a witch, a story of a healer who was exorcized of the evil. No curses or hexes since.

Laswell’s message was the last he was waiting for, just come in this morning.

Two men fell victim to your affliction. A huntsman, and the mayor’s eldest son.

The huntsman, an unpleasant man by the name of Robert, traveled along the province following his prey’s migration patterns. Apparently, he also had a predilection for women - girls, really - far too young for him. His last occupation before expiring: a certain blacksmith’s daughter.

As for the mayor’s son, there’s something to be said for still wearing that title at some four and a half decades old. Though Laswell’s information is scarcer here, owing that it was a very local matter, it seems he had a conflicted relationship with you. Would preen and fawn for your attention and then condemn you when you did not return it past politeness.

Even once boasted to a merchant two towns over that you would be the one he married, then stormed off when you declined to let him carry your basket.

Misfortune couldn’t have befallen better men, John muses. It was fortunate that no one else in the village fell victim to the witch’s wrath.

Fortunate indeed.

He sighs, sets his hands on hips. There’s really no need to stay, not now. None of his squadron have found any evidence of foulness. His own investigation concluded when his one suspect passed every measure of witchcraft he knows. He’s no reason to stay.

Gathering the parchments, he sets them aside and pens three identical messages commanding his men back to headquarters. He pens another to Laswell, thanking her for her diligence.

He returns downstairs, to hand his correspondence off to the innkeeper. Cecilia, the wife, is there instead. Talking to you.

“Oh, Captain Price,” she says, “dearest me, were you waiting there long? And here I am clucking like an old hen!”

“Not at all, madam,” he replies, approaching so that she need not go through the trouble of leaving her chair. You watch over the rim of your teacup, eyes dark and too knowing. “I thank you for looking after my correspondence.”

“Not at all, dear,” Cecilia coos. She takes his letters in one hand and pats at his shoulder with the other. “Now, then, we don’t want you losing any of that muscle, do we? How about a bowl of stew, it’s been cooking overnight.”

He stumbles out an agreement - not that he thinks it’s needed, she’s already bustling off to prepare him a bowl. You set your cup down with a gentle clatter.

“Important witchfinding business?” you ask, nodding after Cecilia.

And there’s the crux of it. You’re not a witch; you can’t be. He’s assured of that himself.

Yet…

Something lingers in the back of his mind, that animal knowledge of an unknown predator lurking nearby. Gut instinct tells him something is off, despite all evidence to the contrary. It has never betrayed him before.

“Something like that,” he answers.

You hum, apparently satisfied with that answer.

He’ll stay until the full moon, at least. Perhaps then better sense will finally win out.

There’s a garden in back of the apothecary, just sloughing off hibernation. You’re tending to what few brave plants have ventured above ground in defiance of the lingering cold. John finds an orange cat batting at your apron springs. It flicks its ears towards him, then turns back to your laces.

“Flaunting your familiars?” he asks to announce his presence.

You half turn, though your eyes don’t stray from the rosemary spines you’re collecting. “Do you mean Curtis?”

The cat overbalances and lands on its back, rotund stomach hindering its ability to gracefully recover. As far as familiars go, it would be a pathetic one, stocky and cockeyed as it is.

“He’s a village cat, but he likes to test his luck with the crows.”

“You’ve crows now, too?” he asks, sidling closer. He’s mindful of the neat rows of your garden, where seeds or bulbs may lie dormant. “You enjoy drawing suspicion.”

You scoff; it’s unladylike, but he’s enchanted by sincerity. “There have always been crows. They eat pests from the garden. Better here than in the fields, no?”

He does spot a number of crushed snail shells and unharmed leaves amongst your few charges.

“I defer to your logic, my lady,” he chuckles, hands up in defeat.

You shake your head, but he spies your smile regardless. “Have you need of me, Sir Witchfinder?”

“I’ve need of your expertise today.”

He follows as you gather your little harvest and sidestep him out of the garden, arm brushing his. Curtis brings up the rear, tail swishing. You don’t seem bothered by his presence and so John only closes the door after the cat is inside. Back to your preparation room; you’re ignoring the back wall by the fireplace.

“What is it?” you ask.

“The full moon is tonight. I intend to camp in the forest. Have you anything to deter wildlife?”

You hum, eyes gazing off and head tilting back and forth as if shaking the information loose. “Yes, I think so.”

You beckon him about the backroom and the shop. He holds a cheesecloth pouch open while you sprinkle powders and dried herbs into it, murmuring as you go. Calendula and some of that fresh rosemary for wolves, ground spice for bears, peppermint for foxes. It’s certainly fragrant, but even if it is not effective, it’s worth its weight in gold to watch you flutter about with a confident set to your fine brow.

You tie the pouch closed with a neat but tight bow and instruct him to sprinkle it around his campsite. When he tries to pay, you shake your head, flushing hotly as you tell him it is thanks for making your examination so… painless.

He chuckles and strokes a finger down your warm cheek to make you swat at him.

Just as he turns to leave, you take his wrist and press a smaller pouch into his palm.

“Lavender, to help you sleep,” you explain.

“Will I dream of you?”

“So improper!” you complain, pressing your little hands to your cheeks.

He dips down close, bristly cheek brushing the softness of yours. You shiver as his lips skim the shell of your ear.

“My thanks, love,” he whispers, “I will show my gratitude when I return.”

You turn your face away, “It is a gift, you need not repay me.”

He grins wickedly. “Oh, but it will be my pleasure to do so.”

You shake your head and push gently at his chest. “Out with you, Sir Witchfinder. You’ve preparations for your hunt, I’m sure.”

He goes, though not without locking his gaze with yours. “I will hear my name from your lips again.”

There was never a vow so sincere.

If God is the Holy Father, Mother Nature reigns His queen. It must be a contentious marriage.

It’s the first warm night and a fat full moon. John’s gut tells him that if ever there were a night for heathens, it would be this one.

He makes camp on the other side of the river, only just within earshot of the water. He builds a modest fire and scatters the sachet generously. It makes for a pleasant perfume, at least, and mingles pleasantly with the tobacco he smokes while he lets the night deepen.

The moon is high and the stars bright by the time he sets off from his campsite. Much like his last foray, however, there is little more than chittering animals and nightbirds to disturb the evening. John returns to stoke the fire after a couple hours. He is a patient man – except, apparently, where you’re concerned – he can wait for some sign.

It comes as he’s dozing on his bedroll, the scent of lavender fogging his mind with pleasant apparitions of you. The singing, again.

He pads through sodden leaf litter, ghostlike as he weaves among the vegetation, following faint notes. They grow louder as he picks his way through the forest, building in strength and pitch – and number.

It is not just one voice he hears but several, threads that twine a haunting tapestry. Soon there is not just melody, but shouts and whoops as well, powerful as they bounce off the trees. It is pitch black until all at once it is not. The thick tree line breaks upon a great clearing, where a bonfire smolders in the center.

Around it, a dozen dancing women. They are not naked, levitating hags painted in blood and ichor. They are dressed – or mostly dressed, in any case, as firelight gilds thighs peeking from skirts and shoulders bare of under-shifts. Some have their hair pinned back, others wear it loose, flying and tangling as they throw themselves about.

Hands joined and rising as they bounce around the flames, then spinning apart with cries of delight. A few plant their feet wide apart in the earth and drop their chests, hands extending towards the fire and then up towards the stars. The others whirl around them, voices rising to start a call and response that sends chills down his spine.

“When God is gone, and the Devil takes hold,” one set begins.

And the other answers, “Who will have mercy on your soul?”

A few refrains of this and then of others, until a single voice rings damnation above the rest.

“I am Death, none can excel. I am the door to Heaven or Hell.”

It has been burned into John’s bones, into his soul. Your voice.

A glamour he knows now. He knows, he knows. It is a foul trick meant to distract him from his true query, one he is ashamed clouded his judgement for so long. Of course you would not cast such a garish and obvious enchantment to draw his attention – lest it was not you that cast the spell in the first place.

Death is in the valley.

John knows his own capabilities, and he knows he cannot beat nor catch a dozen witches on a full moon. He must content himself with what he can, far as he is from their ritual and unable to distinguish any particular features. It need not be this night; he’s caught the scent and will root out the wolves from the flock.

The morning light is water between his fingers. He swims through it at the perimeter of the village, smoking another roll of tobacco. The night was long and cold; he did not linger near the witches, wary of being found. He gathered what little information he could, stamped out the coals of his campfire, and returned to the inn. Your lavender came in quite handy; he means to be especially generous with his thanks this morning.

You are not in the garden and the shop is still locked up from the night before. Perhaps you were called out early to treat some ailment. He makes a direct line from your shop back to the tree line and hears your humming again.

When he follows it this time, he’s led to a creek and your naked form sunk beneath the surface. Your back is to him, hair streaming with the current.

“And what naughtiness are you up to this morning, little miss?”

You shout, hands instantly flying up to protect your modesty. When you spin to find him, arms crossed, on the bank, you make an angry little noise and splash at him. Not even a droplet touches his boots.

“You know witches bare themselves in the open like this?” he asks.

You scrunch your nose at him, an embarrassed blush high on your cheeks. “That’s not funny.”

“You oughtn’t to be out here like this.” In fact, the more he thinks of another man stumbling upon you like this, the hotter his blood simmers.

It seems you’re not entirely unaware of your actions either as you deflate a bit. “I know, I know – but I spilled an entire jar of vinegar all over myself.”

A bloodless finger emerges from the water to point at flat rock, where your clothes are laid out in the meager sunlight. A brush and bucket rest beside it, suds still clinging to the sides.

“Clumsy thing,” he sighs, fond and exasperated.

“You oughtn’t to call me names,” you huff.

He arches an eyebrow and uncrosses his arms.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” you reply haughtily, turning away to scrub at your hair. He suspects it is to give you reprieve from his darkening gaze. “It’s terribly rude.”

He wades into the creek. “Rude, you say.”

“I do.”

You peek over your shoulder and startle when you see him approaching. “John, you’re getting wet!”

“I’m not the only one, I reckon.”

You sputter long enough for him to snatch you up in his arms, the entirety of your shivery little body pressed against his. The creek isn’t actually that deep – just to his waist standing. You’ve only been knelt down among the round stones of the bed, but he drags you up to your feet as you wiggle.

“Why do you insist on such impropriety?!” you groan, ducking your head.

He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilts your face back towards him. Craves your eyes on him like the starving man craves food.

“I may be improper in word, but you are in deed, my lady,” he counters, drawing spirals at the small of your back. “A matched pair we make.”

You dart your eyes away and purse your pretty, pouty lips, but you cannot conceal your pleasure at his declaration.

“You oughtn’t to call me your lady either,” you mutter. “I am not yours.”

A serpent’s tail thrashes his insides. He swallows the sick, violent burn in his belly.

“No?” he asks. “How can that be when I’ve pleasured you the way a man pleasures his? When you take such good care of me with your teas and herb pouches?”

You blink, latch onto that last thought with endearing desperation to alter his course.

“Oh, how did the lavender treat you?”

“Quite well,” he answers, sweeping his hands along your sides. “Allow me to repay your care.”

Your fingers curl gently in his sodden shirt, peeking up at him through your lashes again.

“I told you, you need not – wah, John!”

He’s hoisted you up on the steep, grassy incline of the embankment by your lush thighs. Your weight is negligent when he has your knees nearly to your hitching chest. Splayed open and lovely, a breakfast fit for a king – no, for God. He would usurp Atlas to have you like this. 

“Remind me again, little one, how exactly you are not mine.”

Your lip wobbles a bit as you try to gather your scattered words. Have just begun your very sensible quibble when he laps at the cream between your thighs. Digs his tongue into that precious hole he so recently collared as his newest pet. Traces the seam of your cunt to that perfect, round clit and flattens his tongue against it.

Whatever pretty bouquet of arguments you’d arranged are swept downstream. His mouth is mortar upon your flimsy defenses; devastates you to trembling rubble. The mewling pours fast and easy now that you’ve found your voice, pitches into a squeal when he sucks. You taste clean and human on his tongue, sticking in his facial hair, ambrosia from the purest source. He pampers your cunt to keep the drink flowing, swallows you down like the finest wine.

Even better than those weak cries, is the way you squirm in his hold. You arch your back and twist your hips, fingers tearing up flossy grass, then tugging at his wet shirt, then scratching uselessly at his forearms. He growls when you think to tug his hair, and the vibration of his voice against your swollen folds makes you sob dry.

“Please, please, John,” you chant. His new favorite psalm. “Please, I can’t, John, please.”

He hides a smile by curling his tongue as far inside you as it can go. When he comes up for air, you’re properly teary this time.

“Why not?” he murmurs against your neck, false concern makes your hips twitch. “Why can’t you, darling?”

“It’ll – I’ll fly apart this time,” you gasp. “I swear, John. I’ll fall apart.”

Oh, so precious. So sweet and perfect and utterly his. You can’t be anything else. Not now.

“Is that all?” he asks. “I’ll put you together again, just like last time.”

He dives in with your bitten off fretting in his ears, licking you into silence, compliance, until you’re obediently whimpering again. Your slick spills down his chin, his neck, smears across his cheeks. Gentleman that he was raised to be, he is a messy eater, and you are a delicacy.

Now that he knows what it sounds like, he recognizes the rising tide of your pleasure and rides its crest with gusto. You wail and whine about that feeling again, that sublime crescendo to a symphony played with your own body, by a conductor so cruel as him. He swirls his tongue around your clit, then suck it into ravenous mouth.

“John, John, John!”

He only just manages to cover your mouth; your songs are for him alone, no need to serenade the rest of the village. You taste like salvation, communion he’ll kneel for at every mass.

Overstimulation makes you noisy, fussy sounds in the back of your throat as you try to press away, pushing with earnest at his forehead. He relents only because you say his full name, sharp and scolding, and he needs to see the angry little furrow between your brows.

“You are incorrigible,” you pant.

He hums, licking shamelessly at his lips. “My sincerest apologies.”

“Lying is a sin.”

He gives you a look. It makes you burst into a fit of giggles to rival birdsong.

“Yes, yes, have a laugh at the old captain,” he grouches, lowering you gently to your feet.

“You’re not old, John,” you scoff.

“Older than you, spring chicken.” He pauses as he notices that the fine tremble in your limbs has not subsided. “And speaking of spring, you’ve spent far too long in this water. You’ll catch your death.”

“I would have been out sooner had I not been accosted.”

“Oh yes, I’m a terrible man,” he soothes, guiding you back to shore. “A scoundrel.”

You hum in placid agreement, clinging to his side to leech his warmth. “Yes, yes. All of that.”

“As you say, little miss.”

You tuck up against him by the fire in the apothecary’s backroom and send him warning looks whenever his gaze grows hotter than the flames.

John wakes in the dark.

He cannot move his arms or his legs. The mattress at his back is softer and thicker than the inn’s, absent the odd lumps that bent his spine at angles. He is also stark naked.

He has been captured, somehow.

Memory shines thin and useless beams through a waning fog. A thick, warm stew… sweet, floral tea… you…

You.

Where are you?

There is little point in trying to gain his bearings, though he does regardless. There are no windows to light his prison. Only the scent of exposed wood and slightly stale air. It’s warm enough, at least, even bare as he is. Sound comes from above his head, creaking boards.

He’s belowground.

Some minutes pass in consternation, his last memory your hands in his hair and his head in your lap.

Then the creaking above shifts. Away, then to his right. A louder, metallic squeak. Hinges. Individual steps now, descending a set of stairs. A faint seam of gold grows near the ground, a miniature horizon with an approaching dawn.

A click.

Candlelight infiltrates the room, shying from corners and exposed ceiling beams. John gets his first glimpse of his prison – a rather cozy bedroom. The generous bed he’s splayed on and tied to. A vanity in one corner; a bedtable to his left. A chair kept company by a small shelf of books.

There’s even a rich burgundy rug on the stone floor, on the other side of which you stand.

“This is one way to have a man in bed.”

You do not speak, only cross the room, round the bed. The heavy candelabra you’ve brought is set on the bedtable. The flames play ghostly shadows across your features, caressing the line of your nose and the curves of your mouth.

The silence stretches so far it begins to sag beneath its own weight in the middle.

You – or the facsimile of you – have not turned your gaze from the whirls of silver in the candelabra.

“You need not keep this shape any longer, witch,” John growls at last.

The illusion twitches, fingers curling tight in its skirt.

“I know this is a glamour, stop hiding behind her face.”

“Damn you, John!” You – it snaps around, gaze burning hellfire and brimstone. “There is no glamour.”

Held still before, he is stone now. “What?”

It – you? – snarl, showing all your teeth. Still as blunt and neat as ever.

“You witchfinders,” you scoff, shaking your head, “and your so-called purpose. You’ll see anything shiny and call it gold. By God, any woman is a witch if you try hard enough, isn’t she?”

“I acquitted you.”

You snort. “Was that before or after you wanted to wet your cock?”

It was always, regardless. He does not think it wise to answer. You don’t seem to need one.

“Graves condemned me only after I denied him – repeatedly.” You perch at the edge of the bed by his ribs and press your palm against the mattress on the other side of his head. John denies you the pleasure of leaning away. “He took me to the river in chains.”

“Magic.”

You roll your eyes. “What did I say? Use the wits your God gave you.”

When he just stares into your blown out pupils, you pull away with a groan, standing again.

“The blacksmith made the manacles,” you explain. Slow, quiet. “And Agnes brought my last meal.”

Mallory, the smith’s daughter and Agnes, the baker’s wife. Your church companions.

You hum as understanding smooths his brow. Despite the pleased lilt, your mouth is a flat, angry line. “Makes much more sense, doesn’t it?”

He tugs at his binds as you gather up the skirt of your dress.

“I took a blade to that wretched sack and swam with the current downriver,” you explain. There is no shift or corset beneath this time. “When I emerged, I snuck back home and hid right where you are now.”

You bend at the waist to unlace your boots, ass on full, beautiful display. You are no longer just a temptress; you are a succubus. The limited candlelight paints you in burnished gold, Hell’s currency. John is far, far too gone on your sin to help his reaction to the sight of you, even now.

“When the moon rose, Cecilia let me into the inn and unlocked their doors.” You kick off your boots, inner thighs glistening. You don’t even bother with your stockings. “One. By. One.”

You pad to the foot of the bed and place your knee on the mattress between his legs. It’s real weight, your weight that sinks into it. You crawl up the bed, body swaying over his, flesh and blood depravity.

“I saved Graves for last.” You straddle John’s thighs, trace soft palms up his abdomen and over his chest. The bite of your little, clean nails chases belies that deceptive gentleness. “I slit his throat with his own iron dagger. The blood looked like ink in the moonlight.”

His cock stands proud and flushed, pressed against your belly, begging entrance. A tower of pride in spite of God and all sanity, he throbs with the low thrum of pride in your velvet voice. He tries at the ropes again; they hold fast, creaking in reprimand.

“I fed him and his men to the river.” You lift yourself, wrap an elegant hand around the girth of him. Your lips part, above and below, at the heat of him against sensitive flesh. “I thought it was over. Hoped I could finally have my peace again.”

You grind the flared head of him against that bundle of nerves, back and forth, up and down. A sigh slips from your lips and blankets him in fire. Head tipping back, neck rolling as everything that makes you human sloughs off, overworn garments. You tease yourself and him, wetness dripping down his shaft and spilling over his groin. He is a slave to his desire’s whims, your whims, hips twitching to grind.

You crack your eyes open, damnation in your gaze. “And then you showed up.”

You bare your teeth and take him into you all at once. A ragged shout cracks you both in half, clashing in the lust-heated air between your bodies. You are tighter than a vice, strangling him in plush, slick walls.

“Fuck,” you grit, sucking in air. Your mouth drops open, a delirious bark of laughter hitching in your throat. Ruby crescent moons decorate his chest. “You fucking bastard.”

Swallow thick and harsh, as if you can feel him in your throat. It certainly feels as if he reaches that far, as deep inside you as he is. He wants to test it for himself, but the ropes do not relent despite his persistent tugging.

“I could not do a goddamn thing without feeling your eyes on me,” you snarl. “Is this what it’s like to believe in God?”

You rock your hips. A little at first, still somehow so mortal to the pain of a thick cock in your virgin pussy. And then your spite and pride overtake the discomfort and you bounce once, hard. Grin wildly when it guts a groan from him and do it again. And again. And again—

It’s torture, it’s paradise. It’s John’s undoing. Your face twisted in divine wrath and hedonistic ecstasy, riding his cock like you were born to bring men beneath your dainty heel. He drops his head back against the mattress, tries to arch up to meet your thrusts. You’re having none of it, hissing as you brace all your (not considerable) weight on his chest.

“I don’t care if God is real,” you breathe, “I care about the people He and His have forgotten on Earth. Does that make me a witch?”

It’s all so much noise to him with the way you squeeze around him, walls fluttering. You’re moving hard and fast, but not hard or fast enough. John moans your name, earns another of those scowls that makes him throb.

“Shut up, Witchfinder,” you pant. You rise up, back arching as you find an angle that breaks your voice. “I will have my pleasure and you will thank me for the privilege of delivering it. The least you can repay me for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

The angels themselves could come to his aid now, and he’d only ask that they cut him loose.

And for all your scoffing, perhaps there is a greater force at play because the rope circling his right wrist catches. A rough edge or a bent nail, it does not matter. John works his arm back and forth, sawing through rough fibers, any remaining blood in his body dedicated to this salvation.

Your voice rises with your pleasure, knees widening to get him deeper, but not with any actual intent to bring either of you to climax. No, you’re luxuriating, gloating. You’ve won. He reaches across while your head is tilted back to pull the loop from his other wrist.

He will show you the spoils you’ve wrought.

“Tell me, oh Witchfinder,” you smirk, diamonds dripping between your breasts, “what am I?”

Your eyes go beautifully wide when he fits his wide palm around your pretty throat. Small hands grasp at his wrist, need both just to wrap around the circumference. Lips parting, you clench down so tightly as he sits up and reaches for the silver hidden in your right stocking.

A paring knife, honed to a deadly edge.

“Now what did you plan to do with this?” he wonders. “Little girls shouldn’t play with knives.”

Eyes locked with yours, fluttering like butterfly’s wings, he slices his ankles free with two flicks of his wrist. The knife is discarded over the side of the bed, far from your sneaky fingers.

It is laughably easy to flip you onto your back, to bind your dainty wrists together with the remains of one of his. So he does laugh, cock still buried deep inside your pulsing cunt and his hand loosening from your throat.

Each blink brings you back to focus, until you seem to realize all at once what’s happening. You snarl, kick your legs, back arching at an angle that makes him grunt. And you are still so, so wet.

“I should have killed you!” you shout, even as John guides your legs around his waist. Your knees press into his ribs, ankles interlocked at the small of his back.

“You should have,” he agrees, pressing your tied wrists to the mattress. He forges a path of biting kisses up your chest, over your neck, licking where he can feel you swallowing noises.

“Oh, let go, let go!” you demand, except it comes out more a whine, and one you don’t even mean at that. Not when you twist your hips to feel him pressing inside you.

“Oh, my little witch,” John rumbles, drawing his tongue along your jaw. “Never.”

That just spins you up further, mouth clashing violently with his. He revels in the scrape of your teeth on his lips and tongue, chasing into your mouth and counting how long before you remember you hate him.

“I’m not a witch,” you spit when he pulls away.

“Then what was all that business in the forest?”

You smirk. “Just a bit of fun to hail the spring - and at your expense.”

He sinks his fingers into the roundness of your hips. “Funny.” And slams home.

You shriek, loud and shameless, body jerking as he sets the pace you couldn’t achieve atop him. It’s brutal and animal, you keen at every scrape of his fat cockhead against your (nearly) untouched walls. The headboard knocks against the stone wall, a steady, rapid beat to match his thundering pulse.

You’re still cursing and threatening him between moans, rocking your hips eagerly to meet every thrust. He snakes a hand down your stomach, down to where your bodies collide with obscene wet squelches. You yelp when his thumb finds your neglected clit, shake your head and struggle in earnest.

“Don’t you dare,” you wail. “Y-you don’t get to…”

He sheathes his cock as deep as he can and grinds.

“Say my name,” he commands. You shake your head, squeeze your eyes shut. “Say, ‘John, don’t make my pretty cunt come.’”

You whimper, high and keening, sinking teeth into your bottom lip hard. There’s nowhere for you to go but try to press your hips into the mattress - and he can’t have that, can he?

Manipulating your squirming body is becoming his new favorite addiction. John gets his knees under him, curls an arm around your waist, and hauls you up into his lap so easily. You’re half-limp and half-struggling and yet still he sinks you deeper and deeper onto his cock unti the head of his cock bumps against your womb.

“There we are,” he purrs against your jaw. “Do you feel me? Right here?”

He presses a covetous palm to the spot where he swears he can feel the pulse of his own drooling cock. Your arms loop over his head, try to pull yourself up and off. A firm flex of his biceps drops you right back down again, squealing.

“Just like this, darling,” he whispers, “You’ll milk my cock just like this.”

You moan, hide your face in the crook of his neck. This position slows him some, but he’s not lost any of the power or angling that makes your eyes flutter. He rolls his hips each time he buries inside, just to tease at your cervix. If he could, he’d bury himself there too and fill you with his seed directly.

As it is, he’s not nearly done with you yet. No, not when you’re starting to shake so badly that all you can do is grip onto him for support. Your clit is rubbing against his pelvis each time he bounces you to meet him. An object built solely for his pleasure.

“I’m going to - no, no, you can’t,” you hiccup, tugging and pressing closer, closer, closer. Your hips are twitching of their own accord. “You shouldn’t get to—”

He doesn’t even need to coax you over. A final shiver wracks your body as you clamp down. Head falling back, you scream to the ceiling, fingers twisting in the short hair at the back of his head. He rocks you through it, steady, until you finally go limp against his chest.

There’s a sharp pinch to his shoulder - you’ve bit him. When he eases your head away, your mouth is smeared crimson. At first he thinks you’ve managed to break skin; then he notices the bead welling up on your bottom lip.

“All that just to avoid my name,” he tuts, amused despite himself.

When he leans in to lick at the wound, you sigh softly. “I-I’m going to kill you.”

He grins against your mouth. Kisses you one last time as he pulls you off his cock. You whimper, sensitive, arms barely able to lift over his head. He lays you down gently, follows to ghost his lips and tongue over the marks he’s left all over your skin.

“Now, then,” he says, sitting back on his haunches. “Once more.”

Your eyes fly wide and panicked as he turns you onto your stomach. 

“Absolutely not,” you gasp, scrambling away.

“Ah, ah.” He catches your hips and yanks you back. The force of it knocks your trembling and still-bound arms out from under you. “I’m not done with you yet, little witch.”

Chest against the mattress and hip high in the air, he has a perfect, unfettered view. And what a view it is. Your pretty little cunt is puffy and red, visibly stretched, and the sensitive little button above it is swollen with abuse. Slick drips and drips from your entrance, entreating his return.

John nudges your knees wide and fits himself between them, the dripping and flushed head of his cock slipping over your folds.

“Get that away,” you snarl, “you’ll fucking break me!”

You try to wiggle away, but he just holds you firm, waits you out. And when you pause to catch your breath, he plunges inside.

“If you don’t recognize God, then there’s really no need for ceremony, is there?” he muses.

You make a questioning noise, the best you can manage when he’s forcing the air from your overworked lungs.

“My little witch wife,” John croons into your ear, “what pretty children we’ll have.”

It’s suffocating, how tight you get around him, even as you buck and swear. Your voice breaks when he tilts his hips just so, torturing that spot that’s already tipped you over once already. It’s such sweet music to his ears, protests cut off on long, rapturous moans, each time he bullies your overstimulated walls.

“I’m going to keep you.” John adjusts his bruising grip on your hips. Widens his own stance and presses his chest to your back. “I will be your god and your devil. My name will be amen.”

He drives home especially hard, and your voice breaks with a sob. His groan twines with it, divine harmony.

“We’ll form our own covenant, you and I,” he rasps. “I will give you everything, and you will be mine.”

His end is coming. Balls drawing up tight and hard, sparks crawling up into his stomach. A ragged grunt leaves his chest as you spasm around him, leftover of the last orgasm or forewarning of the next. He shifts to one arm and wraps the other around your hip, reaching for your clit to ensure it’s the latter.

“My name, love,” he breathes, “that’s all I need.”

“You’re awful,” you cry, “I hate you, John.”

“I know, little one,” he moans, shuddering. “Show me just how much.”

You reach your peak with his name on your tongue, loud and clear. His ears ring with it. Hips tilted back to get him as deeply as you can, John finds his end in the rhythmic, coaxing pulses of your cunt. His cunt.

He buries as deep as he can, hips stuttering roughly against your plush ass. Hopes he’s gotten you pregnant on this first try - perhaps your baby will be born on Samhain. You’re cooing softly when he comes back to himself, so sensitive you can feel the last feeble twitches of his release.

“Easy does it, now, darling.”

He supports your hips as he slowly pulls out and your knees collapse. The sounds you make are truly pathetic, he shushes you half-heartedly while he pets at your sweat-sticky back. He doesn’t let you drop; that’s no way to treat his new wife.

John lowers you gently to your stomach, then reaches over your head to pull the knot of your binds loose. You make a noise as he rubs at the red marks left behind, kisses at any raw spots.

“I-I have a salve…” you murmur, “upstairs.”

“We’ll get it in a mo’,” he assures, pushing tangled hair back from your face.

You nuzzle into his palm, lips skimming his fingertips. Not quite a kiss. “Don’t pretend to be kind now.”

He chuckles, exhaustion leaving the sound mostly in his chest. “I’m not the one who pretends between the two of us, little witch.”

You huff. “I’m not a witch. Witches aren’t real.”

“Of course, love,” he huffs, “and neither is God.”

[pocket-leaves]

HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT ANIMAL CROSSING FANWEEK THAT WILL BE TAKING PLACE June 2nd - June 8th 2024??? More info under the cut, or found in my pinned post.

June 2nd Day 1 - Animal Crossing Pride. Since this event is in June, we're kicking things off with a bit of LGBT pride! Any build, room, or custom design that are pride themed are welcome. Even fanart or cosplays depicting the characters of the game sporting pride flags are welcome! Whatever way you celebrate pride in Animal Crossing!

June 3rd Day 2 - Shooting Stars. We all love meteor showers in game. This is prompt is anything relating to wishing on stars. Screenshots of your game, star gazing builds, art of the characters, or even fanfics pertaining to wishing on stars or star gazing are welcome! Whatever way you can get creative!

June 4th Day 3 - Favorite Villager. This one is self explanatory. Who is your favorite villager? Let's share the love for our favorite neighbors!

June 5th Day 4 - Museum Date. We love the museum! Want to share your museum progress, a drabble about visiting the museum, or even meeting up with your friends and neighbors? Anything relating to the museum is welcome!

June 6th Day 5 - Favorite Season. What is your favorite season in Animal Crossing? Feel free to share screenshots of your game in your favorite season, art, fic, anything you can think of! Are you a summer enjoyer, cherry blossom lover, or is autumn more your speed?

June 7th Day 6 - AC Deco! An excuse to show off any of your favorite builds or room designs in any of the Animal Crossing games. How do you like to decorate your town/island/campsite? Alternatively, any fun animal crossing decor in your real life you want to share? Go for it!

June 8th Day 7 - Island Life. What does life look like on your island? Got screenshots of your inhabitants fishing, hanging out, or otherwise living their life? Share them! This doesn't have to just be New Horizons, any glimpse into what life is like in your Animal Crossing world is welcome, whether it's Pocket Camp, New Leaf, or any other game.

*All Animal Crossing games are included in this! I know it's very New Horizons themed in the way some of the prompts are worded, and the graphic here, but this extends to any and every Animal Crossing game! Yes, even Happy Home Designer, and Amiibo Festival if you are so inclined.

[captaincake13]

A new biome perhaps?

I think we need a biome in Minecraft that’s pure autumn vibes. Like you can get orange grass from this places, I’m calling it reapers grass or reaper weeds. You get sugar maples and willow trees from this biome with reddish and orange leaves. You can find creeping ivy on tree trunks or on big rocks that litter the landscape. You can find abandoned cabins dotted around, along with alter ruins from witches.

Every new biome deserves new mobs. Maybe crows that can be heard. And I’m thinking gargoyle that come to life at night, or trolls. Maybe a new villager variant or something.

It’s definitely gonna need abandoned campsites and gardens. Very spooky vibes. Or cozy autumn depending on what you build.

It’s got to rain all the time in this biome, maybe the leaves fall as it rains.

Maybe some new foods as-well. Pumpkin like plants called gourds that if placed over campfires dry out and can carry water or potions, but like 3 bottles worth of water or potions. Maple syrup is a must from the sugar maples, so maybe pancakes. We are gonna need tea to keep away the cold. Some soups would be good too.

I want it so badly.

[cosmetichorror]

Hi yes I’m writing the requests but I’m just now getting out of burnout so take this wip of a rewrite

——👻

Ghosting

——👻

The fire crackles joyfully in the late evening, its flames lick and dance at the cool autumn breeze. A soft tune wafts through the campsite alongside the smell of fried greens.

Sky’s fingers pick perfectly at his lyre so effortlessly, a relaxed look on his face that says he might not even be trying. Wind taps his feet impatiently while Warriors chuckles and ruffles his hair, telling him to keep patient. The rancher brushes Epona, letting her fur fall back into its rightful place after a long day of riding in the sun, all while Time and Four work on sharpening everyone’s swords to pass some time. Hyrule and Legend seem deeply engrossed in a conversation, and Wild thinks it should theoretically be a rather calming day. No monsters so far, just a little ways away from Twilight’s Ordon village, and a nice meal in the pot. Of course, calm is quite the opposite of how he feels.

There's a vice gripped tightly around his soul, squeezing and restricting, making his head feel heavy. His joints have grown stiff and his skin far too tight to his liking. He resists the urge to dig his nails into his flesh to alleviate some pressure. He sighs as he stands and excuses himself,

“I’m going to patrol the perimeter.”, standing and walking off before anyone can protest.

Leafs and sticks crunch and snap underneath his boots as his tense chest longs for ease. As the forest clears up, he finds himself in a nice little area that would have done well for a second camp. Sitting himself down on the ground and letting out a breath as he lets the tension slowly release.

Much like the flames of the campsite bonfire, blue flames lick and dance at the air surrounding him in a somber tune. A breath he didn't know he was holding lets itself out of his rotten lungs as he lets his head lolled back.

Being a ghost is easy in some aspects– but only when you’re alone and not surrounded with other people who aren’t aware of your special conditions. Wild finds himself feeling guilty for

Hiding such a big secret from these people who became like family. But how would one even explain such a thing? How do you tell your brothers that you’re dead? The very prospect makes his head spin more than it already is.

Wild sighs and pulls his knees up to his chest. With every aching day he can feel his body fading away, and it's painful in more sense than one. Death is a prospect he tries to avoid in what's left of his life. After all- he's only half dead. The idea of being fully dead makes his chest feel tight, as if death himself had grabbed hold of his lungs and began to squeeze with his boney fingers.

He lets his head fall atop his knees as he tries to change the subject at hand. He won't disappear soon– right? Of course, the what if still lingers in the back of his mind. What if he disappears in the middle of the night? What then? What will the others think?

A groan falls out of his mouth as he falls back onto the grass and spreads his arms out, staring up at the evening sky. The sunset is rather soothing this evening. And as the clouds float ahead he fruitlessly reaches his arms up to the sky as if to grab hold of one, his eyes illuminated with a slight glaze. He feels timeless in this moment, until a small, shaky voice called out to him,

“...Champion?”

And he could have sworn what's left of his soul left his very body as he jolts up, yanking his head towards the source of the voice, his eyes falling immediately on Wind. The sailor looks conflicted, as if hurt but not entirely surprised.

[powerfar]

The Eight Great Grasslands Of "Hulunbuir" Hidden In Guangdong

Do you know? It turns out that you don't need to go to Inner Mongolia, you can see the big "grassland" in Guangdong. I thought Guangdong only had seaside vacations, but I didn't expect there to be beautiful prairie to check in. Today, I would like to recommend a few grasslands where you can check in and camp in Guangdong. Let's go, let's go to the prairie together. Go and experience the healing scene of "the wind blows the grass and sees the cattle and the sheep".

Shaoguan Luokeng Grassland

One of the top ten beautiful campsites in China is undoubtedly the small "Zhangjiajie" in Guangdong. Luokeng Grassland is a grassland surrounding the lake. The large grassland formed after the water level of the Luokeng Reservoir dropped is a small prairie. Here you can see a large starry sky, paddle boards, underground caves, submarines, and bonfire roast sheep. At the same time, it satisfies the three major playing methods of camping, water playing and caving. Address: Luokeng Town, Qujiang District, Shaoguan City, Guangdong Province

Yingde Tianmengou Grassland

Yingde Tianmengou is undoubtedly a scenic spot worthy of vigorous development. There are countless waterfalls, unique tree houses, and a rare alpine grassland in Guangdong--Bainiaotang Prairie. Here you can enjoy the wild, alpine camping, horseback riding and grazing. Flying a kite, walking and running, this is undoubtedly a paradise for wild camping. Address: Shimentai Nature Reserve, Babaoweizai Village, Shigutang Town, Yingde, Qingyuan City, Guangdong Province

Yangchun Chicken Coop Top Prairie

The chicken coop top prairie of "three cities with one foot" has the largest prairie in the south. It has a paradise-like beauty, natural grass skiing fields, golf courses, bright sunshine, negative air ions, and clear streams. In April and May every year, you can also see red rhododendrons all over the mountains and plains. Address: Qixing Village, Shuangjiao Town, Yangchun City, Yangjiang City, Guangdong Province

Xinxingtianlushan Prairie

The scenery here is different in four seasons. There are cold plums in winter, rhododendrons in spring, green hills in summer and terraced fields in autumn. From time to time, cattle and sheep pass by on the mountain, and azaleas bloom here every spring. There are also plum blossoms, sparrows, pomegranates, camellias and unknown wildflowers. Not only is the mountain towering, surrounded by clouds and mist, but also negative air ions, a natural oxygen bar. Address: Tianlu Mountain, Lidong Town, Xinxing County, Yunfu City, Guangdong Province

Renhua Wanshi Mountain Prairie

This is the prairie on the first peak of the three provinces of Guangdong, Jiangxi and Hunan. It belongs to the alpine valley grassland and stretches over 10,000 mu of alpine meadow in the three provinces. There are three province boundary markers on the top of the mountain, so you can visit three provinces. Here you can not only enjoy the snow in winter and spring, but also camp in summer and autumn. From the foot of the mountain to the top of the mountain, there are seas of clouds, grasslands and rhododendrons. Address: Wanshishan Grassland, Changjiang Town, Renhua County, Shaoguan City, Guangdong Province

Xinyi Tianma Mountain Grassland

The Tianma Mountain Prairie, known as Guangdong's "Shangri-La", is undoubtedly "the most beautiful rural tourist area in Guangdong". There is no severe heat in summer, no severe cold in winter, and the four seasons are like spring. Grasslands, forests, canyons, waterfalls, clear springs, and flowing water make this place slowly become a paradise. Here you can not only see the natural landscape full of wild interest, but also experience the unique Miao customs. Address: Wangjiang Village, Beijie Town, Xinyi City, Maoming City, Guangdong Province

Fenghuangxia Xunhuang Prairie

Fenghuangxia Xunhuang Prairie is undoubtedly a rare prairie in the south. Located in Phoenix Lake, it covers an area of hundreds of acres, surrounded by 138 green islands and vast grasslands. Inlaid in various poses and with different expressions in the center of the lake, forming a natural landscape painting. Address: Xunhuang Village, Fenghuang Gorge, Duanfen Town, Taishan City, Jiangmen City, Guangdong Province (Xunhuang Grassland Farm)

Luoding Bapai Mountain Grassland

The Bapai Mountain Grassland is located in the Bapai Mountain Scenic Area. The Bapai Mountain Scenic Area includes eight unique mountains, so it gets its name. The heavenly top of Bapai Mountain is a natural grassland, which is the Bapai Mountain Prairie. Grasslands, forests, rhododendrons, strange rocks, and clouds complement each other, making it ethereal and beautiful like a fairyland. It's like being in a paradise. Address: Bapai Mountain, Chuanbu Town, Luoding City, Yunfu City, Guangdong Province

Stepping on the grassland, the breeze rushes towards you, but what you see is the poetic, romantic and picturesque scenery. There is no city noise and car horns here. There are only cattle and sheep, the sound of birdsong, and the fragrance of flowers and grass. Pass through the vast grasslands and have a warm embrace with nature. Enjoy endless peace and comfort on the vast grassland, let the natural scenery and grassland beauty heal our restless hearts.

When camping on the grassland, you have to bring a camera, as well as simple picnic tools and camping equipment. And these equipments are big power consumers. There is no power supply on the grassland. At this time, there must be an outdoor power supply with unlimited battery life to power these devices. Here I recommend Powerfar outdoor power supply, one of the top ten domestic brands.

This power supply has a large capacity of 1065Wh, built-in 13 output ports such as 220V AC/QC3.0/DC/car charger. The continuous output power is 1000W, and the peak value can reach 2000W. This outdoor power supply can power ventilators, disinfection machines, drones, electric drills, small appliances, kettles, cameras, and computer equipment. It is suitable for scenarios such as long-distance self-driving, emergency assistance, geological survey, and vehicle power supply.

Don't worry about running out of power, it supports solar charging, and there is electricity when there is light. There is Powerfar outdoors, full of safety, full of battery, and freedom like home.

Bring all the above equipment, and then come to the grassland to be a "herdsman" for a few days.

Tips: Summer goes to autumn, so the temperature difference between day and night gradually increases. Friends who are going camping, please remember to prepare for the cold at night.

[hellohikerss]

What to Expect: Kedarkantha Trek for Beginners

Kedarkantha Trek: A Journey into the Enchanting Garhwal Himalayas

Nestled in the heart of the Garhwal Himalayas in Uttarakhand, India, the Kedarkantha trek is a gem that beckons nature enthusiasts and adventure seekers alike. Renowned for its pristine beauty, snow-covered landscapes, and mesmerizing views of towering peaks, this trek offers an unforgettable experience for trekkers, regardless of their expertise.

A Winter Wonderland: The Beauty of Kedarkantha

The Kedarkantha Trek is often hailed as one of the most scenic winter treks in India. Starting from the quaint village of Sankri, the trail takes you through dense pine forests, open meadows, and charming hamlets, all blanketed in glistening snow during the winter months.

One of the trek's highlights is the summit climb, offering panoramic views of the Himalayan ranges, including Swargarohini, Bandarpunch, and Black Peak. The serenity of the surroundings and the sight of the peaks bathed in golden sunlight during sunrise make the journey truly magical.

Who is the Trek For?

The Kedarkantha Trek is ideal for:

First-time Trekkers: With a moderate difficulty level, it’s perfect for beginners looking to explore the beauty of trekking.

Experienced Trekkers: The summit climb adds an element of challenge, making it rewarding for seasoned adventurers.

Nature Lovers: The trek is a haven for those who wish to immerse themselves in the tranquility of untouched nature.

Key Highlights of the Kedarkantha Trek

1. The Summit

The Kedarkantha summit, standing at an altitude of 12,500 feet, offers a 360-degree view of the snow-capped Himalayas. Reaching the summit at sunrise is an awe-inspiring moment that stays etched in memory forever.

2. The Scenic Campsites

The trek features some of the most picturesque campsites, such as Juda ka Talab, a serene lake surrounded by pine trees, and the Kedarkantha Base Camp, offering a perfect vantage point to admire the starlit skies.

3. Local Culture and Traditions

Passing through charming villages, trekkers get a glimpse of the rich culture and traditions of the region. Interacting with locals and experiencing their warm hospitality adds a unique flavor to the journey.

4. Flora and Fauna

The trail is rich in biodiversity, with pine, oak, and rhododendron forests teeming with wildlife. During the trek, you might encounter Himalayan monals, foxes, and other fascinating creatures.

Best Time to Visit Kedarkantha

The Kedarkantha Trek is accessible year-round, but the best time depends on the experience you seek:

Winter (December to February): Witness the trail blanketed in pristine snow, creating a true winter wonderland.

Spring (March to April): Enjoy blooming rhododendrons and lush greenery.

Autumn (September to November): Experience clear skies and mild weather, ideal for photography.

Itinerary Overview

Day 1: Dehradun to Sankri

Drive through scenic routes and arrive at the base village, Sankri.

Day 2: Sankri to Juda ka Talab

Trek through dense forests to reach the serene Juda ka Talab campsite.

Day 3: Juda ka Talab to Kedarkantha Base Camp

Ascend to the base camp with stunning views along the way.

Day 4: Summit Day

Begin the early morning trek to the Kedarkantha summit and descend back to Sankri.

Day 5: Sankri to Dehradun

Drive back with unforgettable memories.

Preparation Tips

Fitness: Build stamina with regular walking or jogging a few weeks before the trek.

Gear: Pack warm clothing, sturdy trekking shoes, and essential gear like trekking poles and headlamps.

Acclimatization: Spend time at Sankri to adapt to the altitude.

Embark on this incredible trek and let the Himalayas weave their magic around you!

Unveiling the Kedarkantha Trek: A True Himalayan Adventure

Nestled in the lap of the Garhwal Himalayas, the Kedarkantha Trek is a dream come true for trekkers and nature enthusiasts. This trek, often referred to as the "King of Winter Treks," takes you on a captivating journey through snow-draped forests, scenic trails, and awe-inspiring views of the Himalayan peaks. Whether you’re new to trekking or a seasoned explorer, Kedarkantha offers a unique blend of challenges and rewards, making it one of the most sought-after treks in India.

Why Kedarkantha Stands Out Among Treks

Unlike many other treks, Kedarkantha is accessible and offers a balanced experience that combines moderate difficulty with breathtaking vistas. It is especially popular in winter, as the entire region transforms into a snowy paradise, offering trekkers a chance to experience nature in its most pristine form.

Iconic Summit Climb: The final ascent to the Kedarkantha summit is a thrilling experience that culminates in panoramic views of Himalayan giants like Swargarohini, Kala Nag (Black Peak), and Har ki Dun Valley.

A Beginner-Friendly Adventure: Its well-marked trails and manageable altitude gain make it a perfect choice for first-timers.

Four Seasons of Beauty: From snow-covered winters to the blooming rhododendrons of spring, the trek showcases the Himalayan landscape in different hues across seasons.

An Immersion into Himalayan Life

The Kedarkantha Trek is more than just a physical journey—it’s an opportunity to connect with the vibrant local culture. As you traverse through the rustic villages of Uttarakhand, you’ll encounter welcoming locals, traditional architecture, and age-old practices that have been passed down through generations.

Sankri Village: The starting point of the trek, Sankri, is a picturesque hamlet that serves as a gateway to the enchanting world of Kedarkantha. The village is surrounded by towering pine trees and offers a sneak peek into the region’s rural charm.

Local Cuisine: Savor authentic Pahadi dishes like Aloo ke Gutke, Mandua Roti, and Buransh (rhododendron) juice, which provide a delightful taste of the local flavors.

Unique Highlights of the Kedarkantha Trek

1. The Mythological Connection

Kedarkantha holds a special place in Hindu mythology. It is believed to be the site where Lord Shiva meditated and later abandoned due to a disturbance. This adds a spiritual dimension to the trek, drawing not only adventurers but also seekers of serenity and peace.

2. Adventure Meets Comfort

While the trek offers a sense of rugged adventure, the availability of professional trekking guides, cozy campsites, and warm hospitality ensures you’re always comfortable. Whether it’s camping under a starlit sky or waking up to the sight of snow-clad trees, every moment is memorable.

3. Night Skies and Photography Opportunities

The clear skies of Kedarkantha make it a haven for stargazers and photographers. With minimal light pollution, the night sky reveals a blanket of stars, perfect for astrophotography or simply gazing in wonder.

Challenges and Thrills: What to Expect

While Kedarkantha is a beginner-friendly trek, it still demands preparation and respect for nature:

Weather Conditions: Winters are extremely cold, with temperatures dropping as low as -10°C at night. Ensure you’re equipped with insulated jackets, thermals, and sleeping bags.

Summit Day: The final climb is steep and requires determination, but the reward is worth every step. Starting early ensures you reach the summit in time for a mesmerizing sunrise.

Altitude Adjustment: At 12,500 feet, altitude sickness can be a concern. Staying hydrated and acclimatizing properly is crucial.

Why Kedarkantha is Perfect for All Seasons

Winter Wonderland (December to February)

The snow-covered trails and frozen lakes create a magical winter trekking experience. It’s ideal for those seeking a snowy adventure.

Spring Bloom (March to April)

Rhododendrons and wildflowers blanket the landscape, offering a colorful trekking experience with pleasant weather.

Monsoon Mystique (July to September)

Though less popular during this time due to rains, the lush greenery and flowing streams make the trek equally mesmerizing.

Autumn Glory (October to November)

Clear skies, crisp air, and golden hues of the forests make this season perfect for photography and serene trekking.

How to Prepare for the Kedarkantha Trek

Physical Fitness

Start building your stamina and leg strength a few weeks before the trek. Activities like brisk walking, jogging, and climbing stairs can help you prepare.

Packing Essentials

Sturdy trekking shoes with a good grip

Warm layers (thermals, fleece, and down jackets)

Waterproof backpack and rain cover

Trekking poles for support on steep trails

High-energy snacks like dry fruits and energy bars

Documentation and Permissions

Ensure you carry a valid ID and any necessary permits required for trekking in Uttarakhand. Most trek operators assist in obtaining these.

Conclusion: An Unmissable Adventure

The Kedarkantha Trek is a perfect blend of adventure, natural beauty, and cultural immersion. Whether you’re chasing snow-clad peaks, seeking solitude in nature, or simply looking for a rejuvenating escape, this trek promises to leave you inspired and refreshed.

Take the leap—explore the Kedarkantha Trek and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[amanktreks]

Nag Tibba Trek: An Extended Trip is a Better Choice Here's Why!

For those who seek a perfect blend of adventure and tranquillity, the Nag Tibba Trek is a hidden gem. Situated in the lower Himalayan range of Uttarakhand, Nag Tibba, with an elevation of 3,022 meters, is the highest peak in this region. Known for its picturesque beauty and invigorating trekking experience, it is a must-do for adventure enthusiasts and nature lovers alike. Although a one-day trek is popular, an extended trip offers a far richer experience. Let’s explore why opting for an extended Nag Tibba Trek is a better choice for you!

Nag Tibba Trek Distance: A Journey Worth the Effort

The total Nag Tibba Trek distance is approximately 15 KM. Though a one-day trek is feasible for those looking for a shorter adventure, an extended trip truly allows you to immerse yourself in the wilderness. Completing the trek over two days lets you savour the journey without feeling rushed. 

You’ll have more time to explore the surrounding landscapes, enjoy the changing views, and capture unforgettable memories, making the extra time worthwhile. The Nag Tibba Trek km count across the two days ensures you fully experience the region's beautiful terrain and flora.

Why an Extended Nag Tibba Trek Is a Better Choice

1. More Time to Enjoy the Scenery

   Nag Tibba is known for its majestic views. An extended trek allows you to savour each moment as you trek through lush forests, charming meadows, and rocky paths. Spending another day gives you more chances to stop, rest, and take in the panoramic vistas. 

2. Increased Flexibility and Comfort

   While a one-day trek may seem like a quick fix, it can be physically demanding, especially if you're not accustomed to high-altitude trekking. An extended trek offers the luxury of more breaks, allowing you to pace yourself and tackle the terrain comfortably. 

3. Chance to Experience Local Culture

   The extended trek also offers the opportunity to experience the rich culture of the local communities. On a one-day trek, you might rush through the journey, missing out on the traditions, lifestyle, and warmth of the villages along the trail. 

4. Relaxed Trekking Experience

   One of the primary benefits of an extended trek is the slower pace, allowing you to truly connect with nature. You can take in the forest's sights, sounds, and smells, explore hidden spots along the way, and enjoy a sense of peace that you wouldn't get on a rushed one-day journey. 

Nag Tibba Trek Best Time: All Year Round

The Nag Tibba Trek best time to embark on your adventure depends on the experience you desire. While the region is beautiful year-round, each season offers its own unique charm. 

Summer (March to June) is the best time if you want to enjoy pleasant weather and escape the scorching heat of the plains.

Monsoon (July to September) offers a lush, green landscape, but it can be challenging due to slippery trails.

Autumn (October to November) offers clear skies and a chance to witness the majestic views of the snow-capped peaks.

Winter (December to February) turns Nag Tibba into a snowy wonderland, perfect for those seeking a winter trek with pristine snow and a chance to experience a real Himalayan winter adventure.

No matter when you go, the trek offers something beautiful to behold, and an extended trip lets you explore the region in greater depth.

Nag Tibba Trek Package: Affordable and Convenient

For those planning an extended trek, there are several Nag Tibba Trek package to choose from. Here are two popular options:

1. Trek from Pantwari to Pantwari (1 Night and 2 Days): ₹1999 per person  

   This package allows you to experience the Nag Tibba Trek at a relaxed pace, taking in the beauty of the trail while spending a night at a campsite before heading back to Pantwari.

2. Trek from Dehradun to Dehradun (1 Night and 2 Days): ₹2999 per person  

   For those coming from Dehradun, this package offers a convenient option, including transportation to and from the city, so you don’t have to worry about logistics.

Both packages offer great value for money, with camping gear, meals, and the expertise of a guide, ensuring you have a memorable and safe trekking experience.

Conclusion

The Nag Tibba Trek is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful treks in Uttarakhand, and while a one-day trek may seem convenient, an extended trip will provide you with a richer, more fulfilling experience. With the extra time, you’ll have the chance to enjoy the scenery, interact with locals, and trek at a comfortable pace. So, if you’re planning your trek to Nag Tibba, consider opting for the extended package to make the most of this incredible adventure!

[strengervinay]

Kareri Trek: Here's the Perfect Season!

If you're looking for an offbeat trekking experience, the Kareri Trek is your gateway to adventure. Nestled in the Dhauladhar range of Himachal Pradesh, this trek offers a mesmerizing journey to the crystal-clear Kareri Lake. Let’s dive into what makes this trek a must-visit and the best time to embark on this journey!

Kareri Village: The Starting Point of Serenity

Your journey begins at Kareri Village, a quaint and picturesque hamlet known for its lush landscapes and serene environment. This village serves as the base for the trek, offering a glimpse into the traditional lifestyle of the local Gaddi tribe. From here, the trail ascends gradually through dense pine forests and along the flowing Nyund River, providing stunning views of the surrounding valleys. It’s the perfect place to soak in the local culture before you embark on the more challenging parts of the trek.

Kareri Lake: A Hidden Gem in the Himalayas

The main highlight of the trek is undoubtedly Kareri Lake, a high-altitude, freshwater marvel situated at an altitude of 2950 meters. The pristine waters of the lake reflect the towering Dhauladhar peaks, creating a magical sight. The Kareri Lake temperature varies significantly; during the day, it hovers between 12°C to 18°C, making it pleasant for trekking, while at night, it can drop to as low as -6°C, offering a chilly yet exhilarating experience. The lake is fed by melted snow, ensuring its water remains clear and inviting throughout the year.

Kareri Lake Night: Camping Under the Stars

One of the most enchanting experiences of this trek is spending a Kareri Lake night under the star-studded sky. As the sun sets, the temperature drops sharply, and the lake takes on a mystical appearance, surrounded by the silhouettes of the snow-capped peaks. The campsite near the lake is set up on a grassy patch, providing a cozy spot to enjoy a warm meal and share stories with fellow trekkers. The cold night air, the crackling campfire, and the quietude of nature make for a memorable experience. Make sure you pack warm clothing and a good sleeping bag to stay comfortable in the freezing temperatures.

Best Time to Trek to Kareri Lake: The Seasonal Charm

The Kareri Lake Dharamshala region is best visited between April and June, and then again from September to November. During these months, the weather is ideal for trekking. In spring, the trail is adorned with blooming rhododendrons and lush greenery, making the trek a vibrant experience. Autumn, on the other hand, offers clear skies and stunning views of the Dhauladhar range. The winter season, from December to February, sees heavy snowfall, making the trek challenging but rewarding for those seeking a snow-clad adventure.

What to Expect on the Kareri Trek

The trek to Kareri Lake spans about 10 km one way, making it a moderately challenging hike. The trail is a mix of gradual and steep ascents, passing through dense oak and pine forests, rocky paths, and picturesque meadows. The final stretch involves a steep climb, but the breathtaking view of the shimmering lake at the end is worth every step. The journey back provides a different perspective as you descend, with panoramic views of the lush valleys and distant snow-covered peaks.

Conclusion: Embrace the Magic of Kareri Trek

The Kareri Trek is more than just a journey to a beautiful lake; it’s an escape into the raw and unspoiled beauty of the Himalayas. From the warm hospitality of Kareri Village to the breathtaking views of Kareri Lake at dawn, this trek promises an unforgettable experience. Whether you’re a seasoned trekker or a nature enthusiast, the charm of Kareri Lake will leave you in awe and make you yearn for another visit to this Himalayan gem. So, pack your bags and get ready to explore the hidden beauty of the Kareri Lake Trek in 2024!

[theragefulbarbarian]

Sundris - a rageful barbarian who also loves to eat.

Sundris was born under the light of a blood moon, the sky a deep, rich crimson, cradled in the rugged embrace of that which is known as the Frostfire Mountains. Survival was of the utmost importance. Her tribe, the IceFangs, revered stregnth, tenacity and ferocity. It was what made them the terrifying barbarians that they were.

Babes born under the light of a blood moon are destined for greatness or destruction. It is known by the symbol of a dark skull breaking in half - the fang of the wolf piercing it from the top.

Her mother is a fierce barbarian chieftain that instilled strength and a ferocity unlike any other into her. Her father is a shaman with a clever tongue and an affinity for food and cooking. He gifted her the knowledge of cooking a hearty meal that fills you up, tastes great and has healing properties mixed within it.

When she was younger her and her tribe often roamed the lands looking for villages to plunder and people to get rid of. It there in the lands of the IronHowls that she found a little girl, who they named Adris, a few younger than Sundris herself.

Being the shaman that he was, her father took the little one in and nurtured her. Sundris and her mother protected the girl and her father until she was healed enough to travel. Luckily, with a few harsh stares, no one in her tribe spoke out too much. Those that did were swiftly dealt with - usually by Sundris.

As she grew up and matured whispers began about her both within her clan and outside tribes. Even foreigners heard about a young woman warrior slaying her enemies in one fell swoop. The mark upon her cheek makes it that much worse since she can't really hide it. She was cursed to bear it for all to see.

When Sundris was 16 and Adris just 13, Sundris was captured by a neighboring tribe, The StoneClaws. They wanted to use her to rise through the ranks and destroy all of their enemies, her tribe included. It was a rough couple of months. Spring changed to Summer while in their lands. She was given only enough food to keep her strength up and only enough water to make sure she stayed hydrated. It was during this time that she learned to really channel her rage. She had just caved in the head of the soldier that kept watch over her when her mother and sister barged in to rescue her.

Needless to say, after the three of them, the StoneClaws were no more.

The months that followed, Summer turning into Autumn, was one that Sundris regretted terribly.

It started out like any other normal day. Everyone was up and lumbering around the campsite, eating breakfast and gathering wood, preparing a hunting party. The usual.

Adris just finished her chores set about by her mother and Sundris herself was out foraging for whatever she could find, berries, mushrooms you name it. It didn't take long for her little adopted sister to come find her and bug her incessantly about exploring the lands outside their camp. With her Father's permission, since her mother was out hunting, the two barbarians set out. The dragonborn was educating her sister on where the best hunting spots were, how to track an animal and how to stealth about.

"Fear my come knocking at your door— yet resilience must always greet them instead. Your emotions are both a weapon and a shield. Always remember that."

Off in the distance where the trees thinned out and rocky outcroppings began, a marker was placed in the form of many hands upon the tree trunks. It was to indicate when to stop — that anyone who went past it would be put into dangers of the outside realm.

"Never travel past that marker, understood?"

Adris nodded her head and the two turned back to head towards the camp.

Sundris paused however when she heard an echoing cry for help and the sound of footsteps on rock. Quick as she could she pushed Adri further into the forest and put a finger to her lips.

Turning back around the large dragonborn cautiously made her way beyond the tree line and to the outcropping where the sound grew louder.

Off in the distance poor traveling merchant was surrounded by a band of... people. She wasn't sure what they were. They wore clothes that she really didn't recognize.

Her common was thick with an accent when she spoke to leave the man alone, to pick on someone their own size.

A bad choice of words perhaps.

These strangers did /not/ play fair. Greedy, sparkling eyes soon turned to her but only one pair stuck out to her. A strong, tall and lean dragonborn from a tribe she could not remember was among their party.

Said dragonborn spoke of how special Sundris was, how she was prophesized to be the one who would bring destruction to your enemies and riches to your lands. Sundris hissed and reached for her blade so that she can strike this traitor down.

In her anger she failed to notice the circle that was forming around her. A big burly man reached out and grabbed her waist from behind while two others quickly went for her arms. It took five more of them to subdue her.

There was a few casualties and her blade glistened with blood by the time she was incapacitated. Heavy iron chains were strapped to her wrists and she was hauled away.

Adris, luckily, stayed around to help her sister if need be. But with a group that big she faltered. She blames herself for not being able to help. All she could do was turn and run back to the campsite where she alerted her mother and father.

They mourned the loss of their daughter and vowed to bring her back.

[kgljjk]

Discovering Dhaulagiri: The Adventurer’s White Mountain

Dhaulagiri, standing tall at 8,167 meters (26,795 feet), is the seventh-highest peak in the world and a must-see for adventure seekers traveling to Nepal. Known as the "White Mountain" for its dazzling snow-covered slopes, Dhaulagiri is part of the Himalayas in Nepal, close to well-known trekking hubs like Namche Bazaar. For anyone passionate about adventure, trekking, or high-altitude landscapes, Dhaulagiri promises an unforgettable experience.

Why Visit Dhaulagiri?

Dhaulagiri is famous not just for its towering height but for its striking beauty and isolation. Unlike the busier Annapurna or Everest regions, Dhaulagiri offers trekkers and climbers a quieter, more rugged experience. Here, you’ll be treated to pristine views of snow-capped peaks, immense glaciers, and steep, rocky terrain that provides both challenges and rewards for adventurous souls.

The Dhaulagiri Circuit Trek, for example, is a demanding but incredible journey, passing through remote villages, thick forests, and glacier-filled valleys. Along the way, trekkers encounter diverse landscapes and cultures, making the journey as enriching culturally as it is physically.

Getting There: Starting Your Journey in Namche Bazaar

Most travelers heading to Dhaulagiri start their journey from Pokhara, but if you're exploring other parts of Nepal, especially near the Everest region, Namche Bazaar is a perfect spot to acclimatize. Known as the gateway to Everest, Namche Bazaar sits at 3,440 meters (11,286 feet) and is a bustling village filled with trekkers, shops, and local culture. Spending time here is a great way to prepare for the high altitudes and rugged terrain you'll face near Dhaulagiri.

From Pokhara, you’ll either take a drive or a short flight to the starting point of the Dhaulagiri trek. Once you’re at the base, the real adventure begins.

The Dhaulagiri Circuit Trek: A Journey Like No Other

The Dhaulagiri Circuit Trek is one of the most challenging treks in Nepal. Lasting about 18-21 days, this trek is for experienced hikers who want to push their limits. You’ll cross high passes like the French Pass (5,360 meters) and Dhampus Pass (5,200 meters), experience icy glacier crossings, and camp under the stars in remote mountain valleys.

The trail passes through charming villages where you'll meet the Gurung, Magar, and Thakali people, each with unique traditions and ways of life. From tea houses to makeshift campsites, the trek offers a raw, close-up experience of mountain life.

Highlights of the Trek:

Stunning Views: Dhaulagiri itself is a breathtaking sight, and as you make your way around it, you’ll see other peaks like Annapurna and Nilgiri.

Glacier Crossings: The Dhaulagiri Glacier and the Chhonbardan Glacier make for thrilling but challenging parts of the trek.

Remote Villages: Some of the villages along the way have retained their original charm, offering insights into the local culture and ways of life.

Things to Consider Before You Go

Physical Fitness: This trek requires good physical conditioning. Make sure to train for endurance and stamina.

Weather and Timing: The best times to visit are in spring (March-May) and autumn (September-November). Winters bring heavy snowfall, making trails nearly impossible to navigate.

Altitude: At 8,000 meters, altitude sickness is a real risk. Allow yourself time to acclimatize properly, ideally in Namche Bazaar or Pokhara before heading out.

Equipment: A sturdy pair of boots, trekking poles, and warm clothing are essentials. Carrying extra supplies is recommended, as this remote region has limited resupply points.

Local Legends and Cultural Significance

Dhaulagiri holds deep cultural importance for local communities. Many Nepalese people believe the mountain is sacred, with a rich history of myths and legends. Some local communities perform rituals before heading out on a trek, seeking blessings from the gods that are believed to protect the mountains. This reverence adds a layer of cultural richness to any trek around Dhaulagiri, reminding visitors of the spiritual ties that bind people to these peaks.

Practical Tips for the Adventure

Acclimatize in Namche Bazaar: If you’re exploring other parts of the Himalayas, Namche Bazaar is the perfect place to adjust to higher altitudes and learn more about trekking conditions.

Stay Hydrated and Rested: The altitude and long trekking days can take a toll. Drink plenty of water, eat well, and take rest days to keep your strength up.

Hire a Guide or Join a Trekking Group: The Dhaulagiri Circuit is remote and challenging, so having an experienced guide can be a lifesaver. They know the trails, how to handle altitude sickness, and how to keep you safe on the glacier crossings.

Dhaulagiri: An Experience Like No Other

Dhaulagiri is not just a mountain—it’s a whole adventure waiting for those brave enough to take it on. Whether you’re there for the stunning views, the challenging trails, or the quiet cultural moments in remote villages, Dhaulagiri offers an experience that’s hard to find anywhere else. From the gateway of Namche Bazaar to the summit trails, Dhaulagiri is a journey that combines natural beauty, adventure, and cultural richness in a way that few places can match.

So, if you’re an adventurer at heart, get ready for an epic journey. The White Mountain awaits!

[pocket-champ]

[tourmyholidayholiday]

"A Beginner’s Guide to Chopta Tungnath Trek: From Planning to Completion"

The Chopta Tungnath trek is a perfect adventure for beginners looking to explore the beauty of the Himalayas. With its moderate difficulty level, stunning views, and spiritual significance, the trek offers a great introduction to trekking in Uttarakhand. If you’re a first-time trekker, this guide will walk you through everything you need to know—from planning and preparation to completing the trek successfully.

Why Choose the Chopta Tungnath Trek?

The Chopta Tungnath trek is ideal for beginners for several reasons:

Moderate difficulty: The trek has a gradual ascent, making it manageable even for those with no prior trekking experience.

Short duration: The entire trek can be completed in 1-2 days, making it perfect for those with limited time.

Scenic beauty: From dense forests to open meadows and panoramic Himalayan views, the trek showcases the best of Uttarakhand’s natural beauty.

Spiritual significance: The trek leads to Tungnath Temple, the highest Shiva temple in the world, adding a spiritual dimension to the adventure.

Planning Your Chopta Tungnath Trek

Before setting off, proper planning is essential. Here’s what you need to consider:

Best Time to Visit

Summer (April to June): The most popular time for trekking, with pleasant weather and blooming rhododendrons. The meadows are lush, and the skies are clear.

Autumn (September to November): Post-monsoon, the weather is crisp, with clear skies and stunning views. This is an ideal time for photography and a quieter trekking experience.

Winter (December to March): If you’re seeking a snow trek, this is the time to go. However, the trail becomes more challenging, and the Tungnath Temple may remain closed due to heavy snowfall.

How to Reach Chopta

Chopta is easily accessible by road from major cities like Rishikesh, Haridwar, and Dehradun. Here are the ways to get there:

By Air: The nearest airport is Jolly Grant Airport in Dehradun (about 220 km from Chopta).

By Train: The closest railway stations are in Haridwar (about 200 km) and Rishikesh (about 209 km). From these stations, you can hire a taxi or take a bus to Chopta.

By Road: Chopta is well-connected by road, with regular buses and taxis available from Rishikesh and Haridwar.

Preparing for the Trek

Physical Fitness

While the Chopta Tungnath trek is considered easy to moderate, it’s important to be in good physical shape. Beginners should focus on building stamina and leg strength before the trek. Regular walking, stair climbing, or jogging can help prepare your body for the ascent.

Packing Essentials

Here’s a list of essentials to pack for the trek:

Trekking shoes: A sturdy, comfortable pair of trekking shoes with good grip is crucial, especially for navigating rocky or snowy terrain.

Warm clothing: Layered clothing is essential as temperatures can drop, especially at higher altitudes. A good fleece jacket, thermal wear, and windproof outer layers will keep you warm.

Rain gear: Carry a lightweight rain jacket or poncho in case of unexpected rain.

Backpack: A comfortable, lightweight backpack with a rain cover is ideal. It should be big enough to carry your essentials like water, snacks, and extra layers.

Water bottle and snacks: Stay hydrated and carry high-energy snacks like nuts, energy bars, or chocolates.

First aid kit: Pack basic medicines, band-aids, and antiseptic ointments.

Headlamp or flashlight: Especially useful if you plan to start early or return late in the day.

The Trek Itself

Day 1: Arrival at Chopta

Chopta, the starting point of the trek, is a scenic village surrounded by meadows and alpine forests. Upon arrival, you can spend some time exploring the village, soaking in the tranquility, and acclimatizing to the altitude (2,680 meters).

You’ll find accommodation options in Chopta, ranging from budget guesthouses to campsites. Staying overnight allows you to start the trek early the next morning.

Day 2: Trek to Tungnath

Distance: 3.5 kilometers Duration: 3–4 hours Altitude: 3,680 meters (Tungnath Temple)

The trek to Tungnath starts early in the morning from Chopta. The trail is well-defined, with stone-paved paths that meander through meadows, rhododendron forests, and panoramic vistas of the Himalayan range.

Pace Yourself: As a beginner, it’s important to maintain a steady pace. Don’t rush; enjoy the journey, take breaks, and hydrate often.

What to Expect on the Trail: Along the trail, you’ll be greeted by sweeping views of the mountains, including the famous Nanda Devi and Trishul peaks. You’ll also pass small shrines, adding a spiritual touch to the trek.

After 3-4 hours of trekking, you’ll reach the ancient Tungnath Temple, the highest Shiva temple in the world. This thousand-year-old temple is an architectural marvel, with its stone walls and peaceful surroundings. Take time to explore the temple, offer prayers, and enjoy the serene atmosphere.

Optional Ascent to Chandrashila Peak

For those looking for an added challenge, you can trek another 1.5 kilometers from Tungnath to Chandrashila Peak. This section is steeper and more demanding but offers a panoramic 360-degree view of the Himalayan peaks. The final ascent to Chandrashila takes about 1–1.5 hours.

At an elevation of 4,000 meters, Chandrashila Peak rewards you with breathtaking views of snow-capped peaks and the vast Himalayan landscape. Many trekkers aim to reach Chandrashila at sunrise or sunset for a magical experience.

Tips for the Chandrashila Ascent:

If you’re feeling tired after reaching Tungnath, consider resting for a while before continuing.

Dress warmly, as it can be windy and cold at the summit.

Be cautious of the terrain, especially if it’s snowy or slippery.

Return to Chopta

After enjoying the views from Tungnath or Chandrashila, begin your descent back to Chopta. The return trek usually takes less time (2–3 hours), as it’s mostly downhill. Be mindful of your footing, especially on rocky or steep sections of the trail.

Once you reach Chopta, you can relax and enjoy a well-deserved meal. If you have time, spend the night in Chopta to savor the peaceful ambiance before heading back the next day.

Post-Trek Tips

After completing the trek, give your body time to recover. Drink plenty of water to stay hydrated and rest your legs. You can also explore nearby areas like Deoria Tal or extend your stay in Chopta for some more scenic walks.

Conclusion

The Chopta Tungnath trek is the perfect adventure for beginners who want to experience the magic of the Himalayas without taking on too much difficulty. The combination of stunning views, easy-to-follow trails, and spiritual landmarks like Tungnath Temple makes this trek a memorable and enriching experience.

By following this guide, planning carefully, and packing appropriately, you can enjoy a safe and fulfilling trek to Tungnath and Chandrashila. This journey will not only introduce you to the beauty of trekking in Uttarakhand but will also leave you with unforgettable memories of the Himalayan wilderness.

[pocket-leaves]

Animal Crossing Fanweek 2024!

Let's celebrate Animal Crossing together!!! During the first week of June, I will be hosting an Animal Crossing fan week, where we all share our love for the franchise.

Each day of the week has a specific prompt! You don't have to participate everyday, but it's encourage of those who can or want to! I will be reblogging any post tagged #acfanweek2024 to share the love and connect with the community, and it's encouraged for those participating to do so as well (but deff not required)

A quick rundown of the prompts, and explanations of what they mean:

June 2nd Day 1 - Animal Crossing Pride. Since this event is in June, we're kicking things off with a bit of LGBT pride! Any build, room, or custom design that are pride themed are welcome. Even fanart or cosplays depicting the characters of the game sporting pride flags are welcome! Whatever way you celebrate pride in Animal Crossing!

June 3rd Day 2 - Shooting Stars. We all love meteor showers in game. This is prompt is anything relating to wishing on stars. Screenshots of your game, star gazing builds, art of the characters, or even fanfics pertaining to wishing on stars or star gazing are welcome! Whatever way you can get creative!

June 4th Day 3 - Favorite Villager. This one is self explanatory. Who is your favorite villager? Let's share the love for our favorite neighbors!

June 5th Day 4 - Museum Date. We love the museum! Want to share your museum progress, a drabble about visiting the museum, or even meeting up with your friends and neighbors? Anything relating to the museum is welcome!

June 6th Day 5 - Favorite Season. What is your favorite season in Animal Crossing? Feel free to share screenshots of your game in your favorite season, art, fic, anything you can think of! Are you a summer enjoyer, cherry blossom lover, or is autumn more your speed?

June 7th Day 6 - AC Deco! An excuse to show off any of your favorite builds or room designs in any of the Animal Crossing games. How do you like to decorate your town/island/campsite? Alternatively, any fun animal crossing decor in your real life you want to share? Go for it!

June 8th Day 7 - Island Life. What does life look like on your island? Got screenshots of your inhabitants fishing, hanging out, or otherwise living their life? Share them! This doesn't have to just be New Horizons, any glimpse into what life is like in your Animal Crossing world is welcome, whether it's Pocket Camp, New Leaf, or any other game.

*All Animal Crossing games are included in this! I know it's very New Horizons themed in the way some of the prompts are worded, and the graphic here, but this extends to any and every Animal Crossing game! Yes, even Happy Home Designer, and Amiibo Festival if you are so inclined.

I do hope this made sense! I'm posting this so far in advanced so people have time to figure out what they want to do, and get their creativity flowing! And plenty of time for people to get their posts ready if they prefer to prepare things ahead of time. Thank you so much for reading this post, and I hope we can all have a fun community event with this fan week!

[bloggersammy]

Kedarkantha Trek: A Winter Wonderland Adventure

Trekking through the pristine snow-capped mountains is an experience like no other, and the Kedarkantha Trek offers exactly that. Nestled in the Garhwal region of Uttarakhand, this trek is one of the most popular winter treks in India. Known for its stunning views, peaceful trails, and a sense of adventure, the Kedarkantha Trek by Hello Hikers is a perfect introduction to the world of Himalayan trekking. Whether you're a seasoned trekker or a beginner, this adventure will leave you mesmerized by its beauty.

Why Choose Kedarkantha Trek?

The Kedarkantha Trek is often referred to as the "Queen of Winter Treks" for good reason. Its beauty lies not only in the magnificent snow-laden peaks but also in the journey itself. The trek covers approximately 20 kilometers, making it ideal for first-time trekkers looking for a challenging yet manageable adventure.

With the trek's highest point sitting at 12,500 feet, you are guaranteed breathtaking 360-degree views of the majestic peaks like Swargarohini, Bandarpoonch, and Black Peak. Every step of the way, you’ll be greeted with sprawling meadows, dense forests of pine and oak, and vast stretches of untouched snow. And thanks to its beginner-friendly trails, it’s accessible to almost anyone who wants to dive into the world of trekking.

The Best Time to Embark on Kedarkantha Trek

Timing is everything, especially when it comes to the Kedarkantha Trek by Hello Hikers. While the trek is open throughout the year, it truly comes alive in winter, from December to April, when the landscape is covered in a blanket of snow. During these months, the forested paths turn into a snowy wonderland, creating a magical atmosphere that is unlike any other season.

However, if you prefer trekking without the snow, the summer months from May to June also offer an excellent time to visit, with blooming wildflowers, clear skies, and pleasant weather. The autumn months are perfect for those looking to experience the serenity of the mountains with crisp air and clear skies. No matter when you choose to go, Kedarkantha promises unforgettable views.

Highlights of the Kedarkantha Trek

The Kedarkantha Trek is full of highlights that make it stand out from other Himalayan treks. One of the most notable moments of the trek is the view from the summit. Reaching the summit of Kedarkantha is a triumphant moment for every trekker, and the view from the top is simply breathtaking. As you stand at 12,500 feet, you’ll be rewarded with panoramic views of Himalayan peaks stretching as far as the eye can see.

Another highlight is the beautiful Juda Ka Talab, a picturesque lake that freezes over in winter. It’s the perfect spot for a break as you enjoy the serene surroundings and reflect on the adventure ahead. Additionally, the trek passes through quaint mountain villages where you can experience the hospitality and culture of the local people, adding a personal touch to your journey.

What to Expect on the Trek

The Kedarkantha Trek by Hello Hikers is a well-organized adventure that ensures you have a safe and enjoyable experience. Starting from Sankri, a small village in Uttarkashi, the trek takes you through thick forests, open meadows, and snowy ridges. The terrain is varied, but the difficulty level remains moderate, making it perfect for beginners and seasoned trekkers alike.

Trekking in the snow can be physically demanding, but it is also incredibly rewarding. As you ascend, the crisp mountain air, the sound of crunching snow beneath your boots, and the magnificent views keep you motivated. The campsites are equally impressive, often set against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and open skies, perfect for stargazing at night.

Preparing for Your Kedarkantha Trek

Preparation is key when it comes to making the most of the Kedarkantha Trek. Due to the cold, especially in winter, it is important to pack appropriate clothing, including layers, thermal wear, and waterproof jackets. Good trekking shoes with grip are also essential, especially for navigating through the snow.

Fitness plays a role too, as you'll be trekking at high altitudes, so a bit of endurance training beforehand will go a long way in making the trek more enjoyable. The team at Hello Hikers ensures you are well-prepared with a detailed itinerary, safety measures, and experienced guides to lead the way.

[rvtravellife]

Travel Guide For Camping in Banff National Park Alberta

by Lacey Stenson Banff National Park is an incredible natural getaway located in the beautiful province of Alberta, Canada. It's a perfect place for an RV road trip..... Banff National Park, nestled in the Canadian Rockies, is a destination that consistently tops travelers' lists worldwide. As Canada’s first national park, established in 1885, it is a protected natural wonder that offers jaw-dropping scenery, endless outdoor activities, and abundant wildlife. Banff is a paradise for those looking to experience nature at its most pristine, from the turquoise lakes reflecting the rugged mountains to its dense forests. Whether you're an adventure junkie, a family seeking a fun vacation, or a solo traveler in search of serenity, camping in Banff National Park is an unforgettable experience. This guide will walk you through essential tips for making the most of your trip, where to stay, what to do, and how to ensure you don’t miss out on the region's culinary delights. Buckle up, and let’s explore the ultimate Banff camping guide! Traveling Tips Best Time to Visit Banff National Park offers different experiences throughout the year, making it accessible and exciting for any season. Deciding the best time to visit depends on the type of adventure you seek. Banff Temp Precipitation (Metric) - Summer (June to August): This is the prime season for outdoor activities such as hiking, kayaking, and camping. The days are long and warm, perfect for exploring the trails. However, summer brings the largest crowds, particularly in iconic spots like Lake Louise and Moraine Lake. If you’re planning a summer trip, book campsites early. My personal visit during July meant perfect hiking weather, but we had to arrive at Lake Louise before 6 AM to secure parking. - Fall (September to November): If you're after cooler temperatures, fewer crowds, and the stunning spectacle of fall foliage, then autumn is your best bet. The wildlife is particularly active, and the landscape becomes even more picturesque as the leaves change color. Early October is ideal for those hoping to catch the golden larches in bloom. - Winter (December to March): While most people associate Banff with summer hikes and turquoise lakes, winter transforms the park into a snow lover's paradise. Activities include skiing at Lake Louise and Sunshine Village, snowshoeing, and even ice skating on the frozen lakes. One of my most memorable experiences was skating on Lake Louise, surrounded by towering snow-capped peaks—a magical winter wonderland. - Spring (April to May): While the higher elevations may still be covered in snow, the valleys begin to bloom with wildflowers..... Read More... Read the full article