Devouring of Worlds, Ripple in the Dark

Like most shit stories, this one starts in a shitty little cabin at the edge of the woods. Well, that’s as good a start as you’re going to get, at least. Fuck starting at the very beginning, my start into the world, it was shittier than my cabin could ever be. That is possibly a minor falsehood, but we’ll get to that later.

It’s not much of anything to note, this little cabin, I’ll be it the roof leaks like a well-loved whore, but she holds through the 20 duim snow drifts. So what more would one ask for. Even if I can change it with a snap, why bother? It adds to the motif. Adds that touch of character. Plus, it’s merely a topper to the actual house, so what’s it matter?

Right, we were setting the scene... cause you’re about to meet me. Well, me from eons ago, but shh, got to wait for those bits. Again, like most forests, there’s a small clutch of humans huddled close, eh, close enough for a day trip of hunting but not so close they feel unsafe.

You see, we are a typical world here, filled with monsters and troubles. And in the typical way, humans are fearful of the ‘others’, i.e. us monsters, you know, non-humans. Creatures of magic or spite and hate, allegedly, that go bump in the dark.

Oh, how they clung at learning to hate us, those that can pass at a glance but too shiny of eyes or too soft of skin, and they pick you out like a fresh plum. And sadly, they are not kind to plums in these here parts. Still, I can’t help it. I want to stay, try helping them see that we monsters in the dark are not those to worry about.

Not saying all magically endowed beings are completely innocent, some are nasty bastards, but we’ll get there. This is just bitterness at the stories some humans spin of us. So mean, when they broke first... can’t blame them, can I? Who blames the victim and has any right to do so? No, this is just spite and spittle.

I suppose there is one thing special about this little cabin, or cottage, or shack. It’s never ever what it seems. Like so many other things.

To most passing, a pile of sticks, those looking for help, knowing and not caring of the danger will see a simple hovel, two little windows on either side of a crooked chipped door and ramshackle floor boards, odds and ends really. Cobbled from furniture and fallen trees who spat mean jests through their leaves.

Yes, crooked and creaking, but they will never give way.

Small bushes in the front, nestled between a clutch of trees I planted about a hundred years ago.

Quite simple, enough to avoid inspiring fear or greed.

Only a few have made it to the door to beg for help over the years. Broken bones were the main issue, given so few magic folk and the lack of learning or growth happening in the human settlements. Those were not easily healed, pfft by said humans at least. Once or twice, a fever.

I guess there have been a few horrible instances of stitching some unfortunate humans back together, taking away all their pain as my own. Simple work when it’s purely physical, their poor minds though. I visited their families, thankful that my work was good. They had children and continued on to have seemingly pleasant lives. Some 60 years ago? No, that was the burned one, 90 years ago. That was it. Those brave little souls wondered and found me. So I found the ones who hurt them, who hunted them.

The only good about that night was the walk that followed. Oh and it was indeed a bloody walk. Found the depraved creatures close to my mountains, laughing and playing at magic. A young fae, a young dark elf and another young druid, which the druid surprised me. Sweet dark how I hate some of the young we have now, never did we have such entitled ass holes but again, how can one blame them? Everything taken, families gone, whole damned lines erased. Near extinction for a few races. At least attempted.

How can I judge them truly?

Well, easily, those humans did nothing to them, took nothing from them. Glad I sent them to the dark, glad I took some time on them. Even if they were before their tenth decade, they should have known better.

But I hear you through the pages, but what is it, this hovel, you ancient hag??!! I’m getting there.

It’s my home, I enchanted and built it myself. I’m a witch and not one of them silly star eyed fawns frolicking in the moonlight giggling like school girls, not that it’s wrong, it’s just you can do that but it won’t make you a witch, at least here. Well, I should say ‘not one anymore’ but that admittance would hurt.

We witches are a fancy flavor of humans. That a long long time ago made a pact, a bloodline deal, allegedly. We get the darkness, it’s power, it’s love, it’s fire and hate, we get it all and in return we help, at least that’s what we are taught. But unfortunately for my kind it seems we haven’t been holding up our side entirely. Leading to why an 692 year old witch is not with their people and living in a hovel. Well I’m not sure if I have many of my ‘own’ people left.

Some 600 years ago there was a horrible war. It felt like eternity as it raged and took many from us all. Some just disappeared, many killed.

The dedcederes, our undead folk, those no longer able to regenerate their essence or even those born as such. Lost millions, even if they could only be fodder. The vampires retained more but still lost many. Necromancers almost entirely wiped out once they were noticed on the fields.

Our fae, the bhati, the people of lights, untold losses, not even counting the raising of the ridge. Once so prolific, now rare. At least I haven’t really heard much of them. Could be keeping quiet.

Melusine, only a few cities remain, heard some made way in the southern oceans but still, so many friends, not just the merfolk mind you, fried or rotted in the seas to the north and west surrounding the human territories. I hope all that work back then helped.

The dwarves, our lithophagous, I can’t imagine, after there were so many cities just abandoned. They helped so much in the Ridge. So few ancients remaining, sacrificing all to help make it happen. Such kindness, such wisdom, all lost. I knew one, a friend’s great-uncle, wondrous fellow, said to have been the strongest in his hay day. I’d say he’s the strongest I’ve seen. A hulking beast that could punch through the rock, no need for a damned drill, wasn’t how he’d learned any ways, such a guttural hum he had. Probably was just scaring the rock out of the way. Bastard promised to teach me, he didn’t make it to that.

So many others, it hurts to try listing them all. Like names being carved into stone, grating and slow, gives one time to really remember. To really feel it and get a bitter, a bit finger pointy even.

Our beloved...sickly sweet...always so kind humans...less than a tenth of them lost. Those lost were the few who didn’t turn on us, those truly were sweet, truly were beloved. Maybe they lost more, now, if you count famine and fallout. However, so many spin stories about how we were the ones who brought it all about. Like the things that go bump in the dark asked to be slaughtered, like we never spent hundreds of ‘others’, of ‘monsters’ lives, to save a single one of theirs...That’s their problem, they forgot and don’t understand, we never saw it as us versus them, it was all of us versus those things.

No, not their problem, it is ours, all of ours, but not for the reason you think.

Why then? How did it get so bad for everyone? If your silly witches have “all the darkness” then how’d this all happen?? Well, it’s just a bloody religion isn’t it, a belief. There are no gods here, us witches, and the other mystique folks of this world who all helped or tried to, we are not perfect and really as a whole, not that high on the food chain but still. How? Oh I’ll tell you, fuckery and cuntery that’s how. Cheating, back stabbing and lying to save their own, even if we cared for all ‘others’ as our own, they didn’t, all while selling every other race down the damn fox hole. Leaked information of evacuation routes, stock locations, safe homes for those displaced. All for what? To be spared. There’s a thing, I wasn’t sure what it was but I bet it started the war. I heard rumors, it spoke of unity and adapting to be more but us ‘monsters’ could smell it.

It rotted with a stench like nothing from this world. Like a gumbled up amalgamation of broken flesh that shouldn’t be, like it slipped out before it could be erased by what ever governs the cosmos, if there were any governess. Or something that crawled out the damned core, finally waking to reap havoc on us all.

Mother said to go to dust the only time I was ever near one and then we all scattered. It sucked the heat from the air but it burned in your throat, your lungs. Like breathing acid while dipped in ice. We can wait on what happened during the scatter, that blast, I’ve felt nothing like it before.

Well, I don’t have a name for it, that thing that took them, yet, but it took up roost in the center of the human territory and went rampant. Almost 70 years of near constant war....so many gone into hiding, so many just gone. Felt endless, tireless, I wished for an end so many times but only helped others meet theirs. A witch with willing dead, well, that’s more potent than blood magic or necromancy on their own. I wonder if there are any true necromancers left. I heard a group was helping escort some poor turned village, ghouls and zombies. What happens to those killed by some of the hounds. I hope they’re managing alright. I wonder if any has really ‘managed’ alright.

Pfft I don’t keep hopes high. I haven’t seen an ‘other’ for almost 20 years. Last one was a varkanfigura, wolf walker, driven closer due to the bad winter. They were kind, very funny, the bobble I cursed them with still glows on my mantle, letting me know they still breathe. Then again, I don’t go too far often, as of late. Feels odd, witches are supposed to wish for wandering the lands, the world, venture far and bring home a bit of the splendors seen.

Wish I learned that ‘life alert’ bobble trick a long time ago and yea sure I could try tracking people down but that leaves traces, traces can be followed and then your own magic gone and got you killed. Mmmhhh would have been nice to know during those lighter times, ha, the parties the living held for those gone. Drink and questionable choices one might say, laughter filled the air. If only for a week or two.

Oh right.....my enchanted shack of wonders. Tis a curio of increasingly curious findings, you’ll come to find I’m a bit of a magpie and collect and study as much as I can. This is why my shack has many many...levels? Floors? Dimensional pockets? Now I’m not living like a queen.....well I got meat and fruit’s so maybe I am but it’s no royal pristine estate. I keep my living area, kitchen, general study, bedroom and the frequented workshop simple and on one floor, everything else is storage or testing areas. Well, being so far north I do have an indoor garden but that’s me splurging. I went near 60 years without unrestricted access to fresh produce and I will not do so again.

But why you ask? Why tell us about now? Why not the war? Cause it fucking hurt. And this is a way to ease into it. If I learned anything it’s you got to take time when it hurts. Ahahahaha yes, and to make dirty jokes cause that makes it better too.

Aw there we are, close now, it’s almost nightfall. I woke not long ago after 2 days of pouring myself over my books and bobbles seeing what new things I could create. Modified my old water skin to produce mead, endlessly. It was fantastic. Stumbling out of my quilt filled cove and attempting to locate my honey jar for a nice mug of shou pu-erh. Cause that’s what I needed, a wake n sip....ease the residual whoosh of the mead. Maybe there is a god, maybe their sole blessing was tea, I love how it keeps and keeps as long as it’s sealed up properly. Perhaps, I thought too soon. There is no god, damn the bloody dark!

“Well ain’t that some excellent timing!!!” Yelling into the void of my hovel, hissing and scowling at the half a dollop of honey left “-the damn buggers are sleeping for winter, gotta go get-” I’m huffing to myself, “bloody wild honey it seems!!” I’m filled with both dismay of having to forgo being curled up watching my fire dance but excited to have a mini little excursion, even if it is before tea. I do not mess with my garden bees during winter, even if I keep it warm around their nuc towers, they need their down time. However, those cave buggers. Those make oodles and oodles year round, must be that little cave system under them with all the moss flowers.

I bustle about putting on long stockings and breaches. Simple boots and heavy canvas jacket that has a layer of leathers stitched in. Near impenetrable on the arms, back and front but weak in the joints to allow full movement as with most armor that’s been made correctly, you all should really already know this. Topped with my trusty rusty cloak of “you can’t see me” yes it’s cursed too. If you mean ill will towards any you can’t see me. Well, not until it’s too late.

I can’t go out into the world reeking of magic or a hound might find me, it’s been a while since I seen one so I can get away with a little here ’n there. If I use a bobble then the scent doesn’t stick, similar with some curses, doesn’t leave the same trail but active use, like calling something to you or flinging an enemy away, it’s a blooded beacon. I need to keep it quiet around here for them. For those humans.

I head out planning to be gone most of a day. I collected my original endless skin of water, leaving the mead one for later, and a snack bag of little hard cheese nuggets, bread and cured meat. The fuel of warriors, or at least that’s what a friend calls it. Simple, stable for long periods, and tasty. Lay it out on a napkin and you’re having a fancy picnic instead of eating little still, because I remember. Keep it light, for them. Never harvest more than you can use, or absolutely need. Witches don’t really need much, it’s nice to eat but in a pinch we can go quite some time.