witchhunt-taleofobsessions

[witchhunt-taleofobsessions]

00.4

They glared at each other as the first time they met. 

A split second of surprise and confusion, then ruthless determination for survival and success. A hunt in all glory and visceral instinct. timeless dark dance, something old, something deep in their bones. 

The fight was rushed, an ambush at dusk, the Forest looming around them as ominous backdrop, the last rays of light painting them in golden red. the hunter came prepared, potions and ammunition aplenty with sharp sword and armour in place. the witch held her ground, familiars at her side in an instant, wolves and crows swarming the man, wines catching after his shadow.

The flames licking up the small hut was the first crack in the stoic hold of the witch. the second her garden catching fire. the third the spooked buck running at them seemingly without sight. the fourth never came. 

by the time the buck reached them, it got tangled, its antlers wrapped in the burning remains of some cloth thrashing wildly. the witch tried to reach it but the hunter was faster.

[witchhunt-taleofobsessions]

00.3

The man’s grin never faded as he started to hum again, voice low and slightly more in tune, or he just gave up singing the old song he apparently knew not the melody of. Amusement and something wicked dancing on his lip, glinting in his eyes as he stared back at the woman.

‘hate to admit, love the scenery.’ After a long moment of silence he snickered. ‘bound and harmless, even with the blood you are quite a sight.’

‘are you planning on boring me to death before your inquisitor friends arrive?’ the woman’s voice raspy and crooked was laced with black hate and the man laughed loud.

‘wouldn’t that be quite a feat!’ shaking his head he tried to still his laughter into small chuckles, eyes burning into the other with a bit of cruelty. ‘no, no, I have my own questions I have in mind.’ The woman groaned in desperation and tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling. The man’s chuckle turned a bit darker. ‘but I’m not sure I’ll remember all of them with… distractions like this.’

Emerald eyes glance down to see him lick his lips.

‘lusting after the prey is a new level of fucked up.’

‘tell that to your coastal friend- Oh wait. She’s dead.’ .

The woman sucked in her breath in fuming rage, only the pain of her movements stopping her from snapping her head towards the man.

‘don’t. you. Dare.’ She seethed between clenched jaw which only fuelled the other’s ugly mirth. She sighed in deep – her chest visibly trembling with something crushed in her side – feeble attempt at calming herself.

‘so…’ with grin in his voice and head resting against the bars behind him, looking down at the woman with a bastard smug smile the man let his eyes roam the sight before him. ‘anyone ever told you blood is your colour? Goes wonderfully with your eyes.’ With no response he marched on, unbothered and clearly well entertained. ‘also matches your new bruises, a wonderful palette. Almost a masterpiece. Almost… But something’s missing still.’

His mock deep thoughts earned a glare most foul from the woman. Tilting his head, his grin morphing into a genuine soft smile, his voice barely a whisper. ‘ah yes. The mountain of corpses in your wake. The reason why people burn witches.’

Resting his head on his knuckles as one admires a painting or a gentle scene, he beamed at the woman across. The other merely hitched a breath as she tried to shuffle even further away.

‘and here I was hoping the alcohol would knock you out.’

‘to marvel at my sleeping form, I know. But I have much to ask of you, dearest witch-queen.’

‘you know that’s nonsense.’

‘oh is it?’ his voice shifted back into sharp and cruel. ‘is it nonsense when calamities swipe across kingdoms in the wake of a single woman?’

‘don’t be ridiculous. Some things are coincidence.’

‘ah, you must be thinking of the time the capital of the neighbouring kingdom burnt down. On accident. When a lone woman marched across it.’

‘how would you know, you weren’t even alive.’ A disbelieved, but cautious nerve resonated in the woman. The man leaned forward, his own handcuffs jingling with the sudden movement.

‘so it is true, then. Cause you were there.’ It’s not even a question, it’s a simple affirmation for himself. ‘Many survivors saw you though, their descriptions were impossible to coordinate. A long lost queen, a mad woman, a beggar, a child, a witch… ‘ Ruby red eyes burned into dark and stormy green. Searching for any sign, any recognition, any admittance. ‘ .. a fairy.’ 

An ugly, choked sound left the woman and her caution morphed into disgust. A sharp smile and eyes that could kill glared back to the amused hunter. 

‘wonderful story. What does it have to do with me?’

‘wouldn’t that be a twist.’ ruby red eyes twinkled gleefully. 

‘what.’

‘what reason would a fairy have to do such harm?’

Something hurtful and cruel flashed across the woman’s eyes but she remained silent. The hunter looked on with searching eyes, at times pausing on her lips, bruises and eyes.

‘that’s what I thought as well, only a witch would be so cruel and needlessly destructive.’

This earned him a scoff but no response still.

‘the descriptions. The memories. All witness testimony jumbled up can only attest to a witch as well, changing appearance, deception and seemingly random method. A truly cruel old hag. To kill without reason, to kill without provocation-‘

‘why do you tell me this?’ she shifted in her seat, a tired tilt of her head.

‘why indeed.’ The man leaned forward, one elbow heavy on his knee, his hands deceptively loose in his chains. A smile so sharp it would bleed a lamb dry. ‘Don’t you feel the itch to know? To understand how a witch could be described as a fairy?’

Cold, cold gaze froze up the air between the jail cells.

‘and?'

'HA! and? she asks!' he scooted closer to the bars separating them. 'and who else would know the answers than the witch in question? Tell me!'

For a moment true curiosity met with sage silence.

'no.' the woman turned to shift into a somewhat comfortable sleeping pose. The man rushed to grab onto the bars, chains chiming in his haste.

'you'll have to confess for your crimes, witch, better tell me now, before my goodwill runs out.'

'real charming, coming from a bound hunter.' 

'bound but not harmless. And the inquisition is on its way. You will speak.'

'you'll get what you wish to hear later, leave me be.'

'i'm offering you a civil conversation, hag.'

The woman's snort was ugly, tired and wet from blood still in her broken nose.

'this is how you see civil conversations now? in a jail, bound, beaten and broken?'

'this is much more than any witch could dream of getting, hag. Be grateful my thirst for knowledge is greater than my hate.'

'oh how noble.' a saccharin sweet smile flashed across bruised lips. 'was it your thirst that left me with my life as well? should i kiss your feet for sparing my miserable life?'

'if you insist. You will answer for all your crimes, all your curses. But now you only have to answer this' the hunter's voice was low, slow and laced with something ancient, something that ate up countless wise and sensible man before, something from before time itself. 'why would anyone describe you as a fairy. What did they see? How would they know?'

'how would i know?' real irritation snapped in the dusty cell. 'how would i know others' memories, less their perception of anything?'

'an elusive witch like you had to survive. I know your kind can read others' thoughts.'

'and.'

The man stared at the almost bored woman across him, so far out of reach yet at last so close. His wrath brewing with alcohol lulled him into dreams of torture but decades of searching and growing list of questions won out again. The adrenalin and glory still coursing in his veins probably played up as well. 

'and i offer you a last civil conversation before the inquisition. A last chance to speak rather than confess. A last chance to answer as… something human.'

'must be a new trend, teaching threats before manners.'

'oh i can do manners.' wolfish grin spread across his lips. 'but no hag of your calibre deserves it.'

'than what of this last chance? You know what? don't answer. You're drunk. and i want my last sleep.'

'and you think i'll just stay put?'

'not much you can do with those chains.'

'more than you can with those ropes.'

The woman passed an unimpressed glance at the man and shifted again, still searching for a sitting pose that would let her sleep. A moment later her eyes snapped open as a small burning shock ran through her side, her crushed bones crying for relief. She looked back at the man chuckling, holding out his hand with sparks dancing around it. His wrists smoked a bit under the chains.

'you're an idiot.'

'almost a praise coming from a fallen foe.'

'so what now? you're gonna annoy me with pranks?'

'you'll answer me.'

'where did that civil offer go?'

'you did not take it.' he shrugged, rolling his wrists, quickly checking his skin under the cuffs. 'i have absolutely no problem with torture.'

'you sick fuck.'

'such foul language on such pretty lips.'

'such childish determination.' she turned back, biting down on her pain when another sharp spark danced across the room. Heavy silence and something dark swirled in her glare. 'if you think this will get you anything you're an absolute fool.'

'not the first time i hear it. and look at yourself. this fool got you here. This fool will hear your answers.'

'this fool will hear my answers when the inquisition arrives.' 

'i have different questions.'

'too bad.'

'and after hearing so many pleas from wretches of your kind, i kindly offer the last chance to hear out the other side. take it if you still claim innocence or misunderstanding. i, with great difficulty, offer to hear your side.'

'should have offered this generous ear to those who pleaded for their life.' poison green eyes gleamed like snakes in the dark and the man groaned in frustration. 'i want my last sleep.'

'and i my answers.'

'too. fuckin'. bad.'

[witchhunt-taleofobsessions]

00.2

Two figures sat in two adjacent cells. The drunkard man scooted a bit backwards so he could rest his back against the bars, legs lazily crossed before him, cuffed hands idly drumming just below his knee. His tattered shirt hanging loose from his shoulders with an open neck, blood spatters and slashes across the sleeves now rolled up to his elbows. His pants covered in similar stains told about decades of use on the field with different stitches at different parts. His boots looked the most well, no visible holes or patches, only mud and blackened blood covering them in intricate patterns. A belt missing from his waist, the coloration of the fabrics and their creasing a telltale sign. His hands were covered in cuts and bruises and slight coloration from power rarely used but frequently dealt with. Mischief played in his crimson eyes, the glee of a kid finding his favourite toy after a long search. His blonde stubble barely visible on his pale skin, his hair dishevelled and covered in sweat, booze, dirt, smoke and some blood and ash, his features playing between boyish and roguish, similar scars lacing it in fantastic patterns as his palms and arms.

The other across him, still glaring daggers with eyes dancing from poison to forest green was in a bad shape. Cuts and bruises bloomed dark on her skin, movement slow and jagged with clearly bitten back pain in her muscles. A young woman in simple but tattered clothes, visibly beaten and broken, hands loosely tied together in an intricate knot of a rope, a magical seal for witches. She sat far back in her cell, leaning on the wall, legs stretched before her, hands in her lap. Her short sleeved shirt was similarly covered in blood, once a colourful patterned needlework lost under the grime. Her skirt, probably ankle length before, now teared and ragged as if some monster chewed off its end. Her simple long apron in similar sad state, its only pocket missing its lower half completely, blood ash and something dark splashed across it. Around her ankles a similar loose rope tied with another seal, her shoes missing. Brown wild hair cascading down a slender but bruised neck, covering half of a murderous face. Her lines would probably be considered lovely in other circumstances.

[witchhunt-taleofobsessions]

00.1

The creaking sounds gave away the actual age of the doors in the rarely used jail, singing a mocking welcome. It might as well have been the celebratory concert, as tonight the jail saw more visits altogether than in the past decades in all. Slightly hesitant boots echoed on old pavement and the murmurs of the little village’s celebration washed in as some second orchestra to the keys ringing in the hand of the guards. The wobbly figure in their other hands reeked of alcohol and smokes, his voice proving as the overconfident solo for this nights cacophony of sounds, raspy and off key as most drunkards are.

The guards turned the last corridor all sounds muffled, only their steps and the wasted man’s shrill sang  around them. Something shifted in the last cell, furthermost from the village and the outside, half covered in shadows and dust still resettling from when it was disturbed this afternoon. Two poison green eyes flashed towards the approaching trio and the guards sent an apologetic smile and grimace back.

The man between them, flushed from the booze and his own amusement at some old joke in the lyrics he just butchered, snorted as one guard fumbled to find the right key on the old rusty ring.

‘cannot find the hole there, buddy?’

The other guard tugged on his arms with annoyance.

‘kay, okay, chill, I’m sure you’ll have your turn as well’

With this the cell’s door opened and the guards pushed the snickering man inside, quickly locking up after him. The shadow in the next cell moved again, a weathered, tired voice speaking up.

‘you can’t be serious.’

‘sorry ‘bout this, Miss. He became too much of a handful around the tavern.’

‘can’t you at least place him somewhere… else?’

The guards looked at each other, one scratching the back of his neck, the other glancing at the man still cackling in his cell.

‘the problem, Miss, that no one will sleep if he’s any closer to the front.’

‘I’m sure you heard it as well, we tried, we did-’

‘ONCE a Brave and YouNG PRINCE, thought it to Hi-IIMSELF’ the man started to sing again, the same offkey unrecognisable song for the seventeenth time that night The guards looked at the other prisoner with pleading eyes.

‘we hoped ya could do something about it, Miss.’

‘maybe take his voice away or som’thin’

‘or just curse him with better voice.’

Their tired ideas were barely audible under the screeching performance and the other figure sighed in exhaustion.

‘wish it was that easy.’

‘sorry, Miss.’

‘he did drink a whole barrel though, he might just pass out.’

‘if I make him stop, will you let me go?’

The guards looked at each other again, their eyes creaking with uncertain resolve. The poison green eyes burned them, they couldn’t really look in the prisoner’s face. None of them noticed the singing subduing.

‘Sorry, Miss, the Hunter said you ‘ere a witch. Cannot risk that.’ Came the mumbled answer after a long minute.

‘HA! Wonderful!’ the man snapped with mirth, sitting up to a leisure pose facing the other three. ‘They fear you more than I annoy them! Fascinating!’

Something flashed towards the other cell, something crackled as if a lighting was about to strike. The guards shivered and would swear the temperature dropped as the two prisoners stared at each other for a moment.

‘they fear the reputation of a hunter and their orders.’

A wolfish grin spread across the drunk man’s face, eyes sharpening and their blood red hue glowing with promised nightmares from ages long gone.

‘ay, as a sane man should.’

The deafening silence snapped when the guards closed back the old door, it’s creaking a mocking farewell or welcome to the emptiness it left behind.

[witchhunt-taleofobsessions]

the whispering leaves of the old forest tell a story from begone times. a story of a chase and a hunt, a meeting most strange, of promises and obligations, of beliefs and memories. a story of a hunter, a witch, a fairy, a dragon, a prince, a kingdom, a forest. the whispering leaves tell an old story in the night-shades of this old forest.

care to listen?