You grimace, and the dream seems to shift again -- you thought better about drinking the potion, tempting thought it was. You'd no way to know that devious allure was only a hint of what was to come. Not yet.
Time passes in an instant, and you find yourself walking along a winding path in the forest south of the tower. You had a spring in your step, spear resting easily on your shoulder and a satchel heavy with loot on your hip. A good haul, even without the potion. But there was no way you'd be satisfied with mere coin now. Lucky you, you knew a witch who lived alone out here in the wilderlands, same as you. She kept a cabin in the woods, which now slowly materialized through the trees as you walked.
The heavy, echoing sound of axe-blows on wood greeted you when you stepped into the little clearing around the cabin. You raised a hand in greeting, drawing the attention of the woman working in the yard. She turned to you with a welcoming smile, leaving her axe embedded in the tree stump at her feet.
The witch was younger than her self-given title would have you believe. You'd pegged her at just over twenty years, raven-haired and dressed in a low-cut black dress that fell in lacy skirts around her knees. More temptress than wizened hag. A pair of cat-ears stood on the top of her head, perky and alert, matching the slitted blue eyes and tiny fangs gracing her smile. She was a sphinx-born, a catfolk.
"Remielle, it's been a while," she said, tracing her fingers along the haft of the axe. "What brings you back to my neck of the woods?"
You drew the cerulean potion from your bag, waving it like a treat in front of her. "I found this under an elvish ruin. It's still potent, but I can't make heads or tails of it. Was hoping..."
"Want me to take a look at it?" she finished for you, pushing off the axe hilt and taking a long-legged stride towards you. "Come on inside. You know I'm always interested in old magics. Wouldn't be much of a witch if I wasn't."
Her deep blue eyes shone hungrily as she stretched out an expectant hand. You hesitated a moment, just long enough to make her smile fade, before surrendering the elixir. Without another word, the witch turned on a heel and walked inside, leaving you to follow in her wake.
Only when you reached the threshold did she say, almost as an afterthought, "Of course, there's always a price for a witch's service, you know."
Time passes in an instant, and you find yourself walking along a winding path in the forest south of the tower. You had a spring in your step, spear resting easily on your shoulder and a satchel heavy with loot on your hip. A good haul, even without the potion. But there was no way you'd be satisfied with mere coin now. Lucky you, you knew a witch who lived alone out here in the wilderlands, same as you. She kept a cabin in the woods, which now slowly materialized through the trees as you walked.
The heavy, echoing sound of axe-blows on wood greeted you when you stepped into the little clearing around the cabin. You raised a hand in greeting, drawing the attention of the woman working in the yard. She turned to you with a welcoming smile, leaving her axe embedded in the tree stump at her feet.
The witch was younger than her self-given title would have you believe. You'd pegged her at just over twenty years, raven-haired and dressed in a low-cut black dress that fell in lacy skirts around her knees. More temptress than wizened hag. A pair of cat-ears stood on the top of her head, perky and alert, matching the slitted blue eyes and tiny fangs gracing her smile. She was a sphinx-born, a catfolk.
"Remielle, it's been a while," she said, tracing her fingers along the haft of the axe. "What brings you back to my neck of the woods?"
You drew the cerulean potion from your bag, waving it like a treat in front of her. "I found this under an elvish ruin. It's still potent, but I can't make heads or tails of it. Was hoping..."
"Want me to take a look at it?" she finished for you, pushing off the axe hilt and taking a long-legged stride towards you. "Come on inside. You know I'm always interested in old magics. Wouldn't be much of a witch if I wasn't."
Her deep blue eyes shone hungrily as she stretched out an expectant hand. You hesitated a moment, just long enough to make her smile fade, before surrendering the elixir. Without another word, the witch turned on a heel and walked inside, leaving you to follow in her wake.
Only when you reached the threshold did she say, almost as an afterthought, "Of course, there's always a price for a witch's service, you know."
