It was a tranquil night. The lords of twilight had long since cast their spotted cloaks across the sky, and the foothills near the eastern edge of Estolad lay bathed in silver starlight. Small creatures accustomed to the darkness scurried through high grass, darting this way and that to avoid the attentions of larger things; things that bit, tore and gouged. From the eastern horizon a faint wind blew, carrying with it the cold air of faraway lands and a more familiar, cloyingly strong scent of pine.

Joachim was slowly picking his way up the slope of a tall hillock, ignoring the dull ache in his legs and the bitter chill slowly seeping into his bones. He was almost there. Brushing back a few strands of dark brownish hair, the northman hunter used a gloved hand to steady himself as he half-leapt over a small boulder. The village was just on the other side. There would be a bed there, and perhaps a mug of spiced wine to drive this infernal cold from his toes.

The journey here on foot had taken the better part of some two months, and Joachim was now grudgingly beginning to reconsider the wisdom of moving across country. His feet were sore, his fingers calloused and bleeding from picking his way through the stiff undergrowth. In several places the scrubbed leather surface of his boots had torn away, leaving his soles open to the myriad wind-sharpened stones which littered the ground like hairs on a boar. Within the limited dimensions of his purchased map the shortcut had seemed a reasonable option, but after his fifth climb the boundaries of the cartographer's craft had started to become glaringly obvious.

In a few strides Joachim finally came to straddle the crest of the hill, his eyes falling at last upon the end of his journey. Estolad was a middling village - and barely that - made up of a few low-roofed homesteads of solid wood huddled close around a central square. Windows were scarce and uniformly small, with thick shutters secured across their breadth. One or two of them hung loose, rattling on their hinges in the wind, and Joachim could see the glow of candlelight spilling from within a few of the houses. A single road ran through the village, winding like a dirtied vein into its midst, and the houses were built wall to wall, any gaps in the construction boarded up with thick, sturdy planks.

It was a deliberate design, Joachim knew, and common to settlements of its kind. Should the village be attacked, the bell in the square would be rung, and the people would flock to the center of the village to hold their ground until the looters had taken their fill from the undefended houses. Bandits were commonplace, and sometimes even darker things would spill from the forest. In the borderlands, where the long arm of the king maintained its grasp with little more than the skin of its fingertips and where human artifice met the untamed chaos of the wild, the darkness had become a living, breathing creature. At the edge of things, the night had teeth.

Enter Joachim Mormont; killer of the unkillable, hunter of the things which roamed in nightmares and fed upon the blood and flesh of man. Armed with sword and ingenuity, it had become his trade to travel between villages such as these and rid them of whatever threats they could not meet with their scythes and pitchforks. Fear would often make them generous, and the gold they gave him was sometimes enough to secure his livelihood. More often than not however, the real coin came from the deep coffers of the high merchants, the lords and the priests who saw their interests threatened by the presence of a beast.

For this reason Joachim carried at his belt a series of cases, filled fit to burst with scrolls of various shape and design. All were scrawled with lines and lines of ink, and most were pressed with wax seals to prove their authenticity. They made for a most curious menagerie of coats and symbols, where the crests of great houses thronged next to the ecchlesiarchal god-signs of most of the greater faiths.

They were his writs of passage; edicts issued to grant him safe passage and to solidify his right of claim to the various bounties he collected. As essential to his craft as the sword he kept slung at his hip, they ensured that he would live even when the gains of the hunt were meager. Such documents were a great boon to men of his kind, but they brought with them the burden of responsibility. If called upon, he was duty bound to offer his aid if it fell within the borders of his competence.

His journey to Estolad had come at the behest of a highborne merchant whose caravans frequently plied the routes bordering this region. Recently they had begun to take the path around Estolad, which cut into both the merchant's profit and the caravan's ability to reach Lómëdor in time for the great autumn market. The rumors said that a witch had taken up residence in Estolad. They said that the village was cursed, and that any who ventured within its walls flirted with malediction. Concerned - for his gold, Joachim ventured, rather than for the people of Estolad - the merchant had equipped Joachim with a bounty notice and a rudimentary map before setting him on his path.

Feet quickening at the prospect of rest, Joachim began down the other side of the hillock. He would need to find a room, and food to settle his stomach. At worst he could sleep in the woods, but he did not relish the thought of another night spent looking for a safe place to rest. In the morning he would put the townsfolk to question, and weed out the root of the rumors, witch or no.

As he rounded the corner of the first house, Joachim spotted the swaying sign which marked a building further down the road as a wayrest; a place where weary travellers might find shelter. Steering his path toward the door, Joachim took his first few steps into Estolad, not quite sure of what he would find therein.

The village of Estolad laid sleeping, nestled together in a tranquil night. Not all was well in this place though, for something evil rustled in the night. If one were to follow a beaten path that would lead just outside the village, they would come across a lone house. This was the home of Anika Moore.

Anika had taken up residence in the village when the residents of the home as a servant girl to the owner and his wife. When the two "spontaneously" became ill it was a horrible misfortune indeed, but when they passed Anika became the owner of the home.

She posed herself as a midwife for the village, but the truth of it was she was a dark enchantress, her powers mixing with that of the evil Lich that had possessed her. She had found it quite easy to charm these simple boys and lure them away into the the thick forest that surrounded this village. From there she would weave her dark rituals and offer them as sacrifice to her god of shadows.

Currently Anika was burning the midnight oil. She turned to a table littered with herbal ingredients and alchemy tools. She began to burn a few herbs, stir a large cauldron, which would later be a love potion, and cork some vials of already finished products. Her works always made the house smell of rich herbs and earthy magic. The smell found its way out the chimney and towards the village. They always knew when Anika was working. Most of them however bought her herbal works. The wives bought raw ingredients for cooking, special teas, incense, and balms to ease the pain of their family. Men bought perfumes for their love, repellents to ward off bugs and beast from their farm land, and potions to encourage the mating of their livestock.

Anika tried as best she could to hide her dark ways. She tried to be as friendly as possible whenever she had a customer or whenever she was helping deliver a baby. It was not hard, for she still remembered when her own soul was in power, a good soul. This new evil spirit that sought shelter in her young body, however; made it difficult to resist the evil he demanded from her. Nobody could hide the fact that people were disappearing. Anika being the newest resident in town, being the farthest out and shut out person, not to mention a potion mixing midwife, would be the prime suspect for black magic, no matter how big she smiles and how cute and innocent she tries to make herself look.

Dry mud and old, shrivelled leaves crunched under Joachim's boots as he walked through the small village. A disquieting stillness lingered in the air; a deep, funereal silence which steeped the quaint farms and homesteads in an eerie sense of dereliction. Nigh all of the windows were shut tight, and though candles burned within a few of the houses they did little but put the surrounding darkness into greater relief. Nothing moved. Even from within, Estolad seemed nigh-abandoned.

Witch.

The word weighed heavily upon Joachim's mind. Like some graven specter it had haunted his journey, and when'er he thought to have escaped it it something would stir his memory and bring the cursed thing back to the forefront of his thoughts. Joachim did not fear magic; he had seen too much of it to share the common superstitions regarding the arcane and its practicioners. He respected its power, as did most who were not fools or madmen, but it did not frighten him as it once had.

Dust shifted around Joachim's feet as he stopped under the inn's wooden sign. A small torch burned vigorously beneath it, and a twisting wreath of inky soot and firelight made the simple fox's head carved upon the sign shift and glare as if possessed by some life of its own. Kaima. Fox, in the old language. Joachim felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle, and he drew his cloak tighter about himself as he pushed through the small gate and into the courtyard.

Witch.

Women who practiced the magicks of the earth, whose words were decrees that stirred the slumbering agencies of root, stock and stone. At first this had seemed such a simple task, a mere trip into the countryside for good pay to disabuse some frightened peasants of their paltry suspicions. A poor crop of apples, a batch of soured milk, the family horse going limp; it did not take much to stir the first whispers of witchcraft in the houses of the small. Joachim had thought little of it, even as the rumors began to grow more and more dire.

Witch.

The merchant who had paid Joachim to come here had said it with no small contempt. Like most people of the cities, he paid little heed to the old legends, and they meant little to him. However, the closer Joachim drew to his destination, the more frightening it had seemed. From the lips of peasants the word had been imbued with a terrifying darkness; a primordial fear of what lurked beyond the safe haven of your fields and fences. With time, even Joachim had begun to feel a familiar shudder creep up his spine even at the mention of it.

Nestled between the back of a tanner's workshop and a large peasant's home, the Kaima's courtyard was little more than a patch of badly cobbled dirt connected to a small stable and a rickety-looking outhouse. A stout, brown horse stood tethered by the entrance to the stables, and it whinnied anxiously as Joachim walked past, dark eyes flickering this way and that as it tried to edge closer to the feeble light pouring from within the inn's windows. Even the animals seemed to sense that something was amiss.

Approaching the inn's front door, Joachim's eye caught upon a small object driven into the doorframe. It was a small, black nail of cold iron, crudely wrought and seemingly driven into the old wood by hand. A peasant's ward against evil, though sorely misplaced. Cold iron was the bane of spirits and fey creatures; it would serve poorly against the trespass of a dark magician. He left it there, still. Hope would serve the town's citizens better than any talisman.

Anika hid herself away in the safety of her four wooden walls. She had no work to set her mind on, so she let it wonder freely. She found herself staring blankly out a dirty window, peering deep into the dark nothingness that enveloped her house so far away from the rest. The black did not send her heart spiraling into depression and loneliness. It actually made her feel warm and safe, as if it had been her home for so long. For the longest time now the day had seemed so pale and uninviting, and the night wrapped its arms tight around her like a mother would her child. When had this happened! Oh she could not remember.

Her mind decided it would be best to bathe in memories from the past. She remembered how she used to live as a gypsy. She remembered when she traveled the world for no reason at all. The freedom of the outside world had appealed so much to her. When did she give that all up? Oh she could not remember. Anika was one day dancing barefoot down the open road in her colorful dancing veils, and the next she was stripped from her jewelry, save the black ring she always wore around her finger, stripped off her bright gypsy outfit, replaced by an elegant black dress, and stripped of her love for the outside world, locking herself away in this ill begotten house. She had once seen the beauty in plants. When she would come across flowers and raw ingredients, she saw balms, remedies, and elixirs. Now she could only see vile concoctions and poisons. When had her outlook on life changed so drastically?

Little did Anika know that her young fragile body housed a raging war. That ring around her finger had been enchanted by black magic. It opened a door into her heart and something foul had entered. The Lich had been feuding with her own spirit ever since that day and it was winning. Currently her soul was weakened and pressed down to nothing more than a whisper. All the while the Lich was screaming evil deeds. To Anika however the voice seemed nothing more than the thoughts in her head. When had the thoughts become so terrible?

The Lich was evil, and was dependent on this young girls body, but he did bring some benefits of his own. In return for her committing his unspeakable deeds he gave her power and the confidence that came with it. He gave her life purpose, taking her off the path of an unknown and unloved gypsy to an aspiring priestess that would hopefully lead a black congregation in the name of the shadows, like the Lich himself once did. He told her that her sorrowful past was not her fault, and as a result she had stopped hurting herself and began to eat again, regaining her natural youthful beauty as a result. The Lich seemed to be leading Anika's life better than she ever could. It did not matter to her that she was spiraling into darkness and abandoning her roguish life in the light, for she was happier now than she had been in a very long time.

Heavy, pungent smoke stung Joachim's nostrils as he stepped through the door, and he recoiled from it as if struck. The scent was strong enough to make his eyes water. It smelled of old moss and pine sap; almost pleasant on their own, but somehow made acrid and sickly sweet like a cheap perfume. It was almost visible - a faint, pale-grey mist - in some places, where silver starlight spilled into the room to give the shadowed corners further texture.

Blinking against the tears that crowded at the lip of his eyelid, Joachim brought his gloved hand to his face, trying in vain to wave off the worst of it. But for himself the common room was empty. Simple, wooden chairs and roughly hewn tables stood unused, void of the hustle and bustle that was normally associated with such places even at these late hours. Perhaps it was just the stench, though Joachim doubted such. People were avoiding this place. Rumor and reputation had bled this inn dry.

Above the small counter, suspended from the ceiling by a slender chain hung a globe of beaten brass. It was about the size of Joachim's head, and through furrows and slit in its sides seeped the wispy strands of smoke which permeated the air. A censer, unusual at an inn, and the likely source of the strong smell. The closer he got to the counter, the more Joachim came to realise the reason for the redolent smoke. Another smell lingered beneath; weaker though impossible to put aside once you had noticed it. It was the stench of rot, the gangrenous, nauseauting fumes of decaying flesh. Something had died here. By the smell of it, somewhat less than recently.

Joachim was just about to investigate when a man appeared through a door to his right, seeming most careful to close it shut behind him. The innkeeper was a short man, and portly, his face drawn with both age and worry and his matted, curly hair seemingly whitened ahead of his time. Dark eyes alighted on Joachim's foreign shape, and though he looked surprised at first he soon composed himself, releasing his hold on the doorknob.

"It's late," the innkeeper said bluntly, glancing once over his shoulder before moving toward the counter. "And an odd time to be out and about, at that. Not many've come to Estolad of late."

And not many will, Joachim thought, ere I finish my business here. "Aye. I travelled through the night," he said by way of explanation, sweeping his broad-brimmed hat from his head. "Joachim Mormont; a hunter. I've come about your problem."

In the space of a heartbeat, a wide range of emotions played across the innkeeper's broad features. Almost naive hopefullness came first, followed by suspicion and finally a kind of guarded reticence. "You are not the first. The last one you can still smell, regardless of my best efforts."

There had been hunters before Joachim, then. Perhaps nothing more than boys of neighbouring villages, looking to earn themselves cheap fame and glory. Nonetheless, such a death lent credence to the rumors. Joachim had never known wolves to kill with such deliberation. "They say a witch dwells on your lands," he said conservatively, choosing modesty before rash conclusions. "Is there some truth to that?"

The innkeeper snorted derisively, nodding toward the door through which he'd entered. "Ask him," he said, bitterness tainting his voice. "He's the blacksmith's apprentice, Yugar's son." Picking up a rag, the man began to wipe at the counter, though it seemed to have found little use for some time. "We found him this morning, after the foxes had picked their share. Had all manner of strange things carved into his skin - made me afeared, I've no shame of that. Couldn't leave him out there though. Dark magic was afoot in his slaying. Can't be too careful."

Joachim nodded. There would be time to investigate the body later - perhaps it would help make some sense of this. "A wise precaution, though not one likely to help your business."

"Bah!" Raising a hand, the man waved off the sympathy. "Haven't had a tenant for a forthnight. Even a dead customer might be better than none." Dark humor. Sometimes it helped to make light of tragedy. "You'll be staying, then? You've your pick of room - they're all empty."

Nodding again, Joachim plucked a pair of coins from a fat pouch at his waist. The gold was cool against his fingers, the weight of it somehow reassuring. The merchant had equipped him well, at least. "I will be staying until I am finished here." He placed the gold on the counter, keeping his fingers pointedly curled around the oblong discs. "I take my supper at last light, and will be expecting answers to any questions I have tomorrow."

Eyes now fixed on the coin, the innkeeper nodded mutely. Poorly masked avarice was plain on his face as his hand slipped into the inside of his vest, fishing out a small key and placing it on the countertop. "Aye. Aye - was there anything else?"

Releasing the coins, Joachim shook his head and took the key. "No, that will be all. For now, at least, do not burn the body of your blacksmith's apprentice. It might prove valuable."

The portly man nodded again, though more apprehensively this time. "I... see. Of course, my lord. It shall be done." He snatched up the coins, rubbing them against his apron before dropping them into his pocket. "Your room is right across the hall once you reach the second floor. I hope it is to your satisfaction."

Dismissing the man with a curt goodbye, Joachim turned toward the stairs, only too eager to find his room. Idly running the tip of his thumb across the small key, his mind began to churn, working at distilling the events of the day into a more manageable form. Setting his boot upon the first step leading to the second floor, Joachim thought of witches. Tomorrow he would begin. Tomorrow the hunt was on.

Anika broke away from her dreaming, reeling her mind back in. It was time now for her to step out into the quiet city and hunt for any fresh meat. Mothers have long since hid there young men away from the streets, but Anika knew first hand of youthful rebellion and how they flirted with danger to make their dull lives a bit more lively.

Anika moved to the table and took a few of her potions before opening the wooden door with a creek and pressing onward into the warm spring night. She moved silently down the road with her eyes peeled, always searching for a worthy sacrifice.

When at last she found herself on the main road that would connect her to the rest of the town she stopped. The entire town had long since become weary of Anika. They had stopped talking to her, letting her into their homes and farms to help with birthing, and even recoiled away from her on the streets when there was the risk of crossing paths. Everyone thought she was a witch. She could hear the whispers of the town and she could feel the hostility they felt towards her. They were all quite cold to her until misfortune sprung up. When the insects came back to claim the crop. When a child fell deathly ill. Then Anika was not a evil witch. Then she was just a single girl whose cooking her ward troubles. Even then they came in the dead of night, so that they would not catch any of the contempt Anika was receiving.

Because of this Anika needed to hide herself when hunting. This was easily done with a simple glamor spell. She ran a soft hand over her face and when it left a stranger stood where Anika once was. black hair was replaced by golden locks. Gypsy skin replaced by fair flesh that the sun had not yet claimed. Her miscolored eyes had been replaced by a pair of ocean blue orbs. Her black dress had been replaced by a white cotton one in a style common amongst the village. The scars are her inner arm were had also vanished by the result of her spell.

After Anika was satisfied with her appearance she made her way through the village once more. The passed a few farms first. She had long since gleaned off the farmhands, and none had returned to replace them with all the talk of witchcraft. After taking a few of the boys the owners of the farm had made quite sure that none of their other children would be taken. They had all their children under lock and key.

The next place she passed was the inn. She had visited that place in the past, but as of recently she did not go near. Something about it recoiled her and made her feel strange. Besides it has not held a customer for far to long. The only person in there was that dirty old innkeeper. He was not worthy of dieing in the name of Xoco.

Finally she found herself amongst the tight knit houses. She moved silently between them, peering into the windows to see dark rooms and villagers rustling in an uneasy sleep. It was getting harder for her to find proper sacrifices. When she had started it has always been easy. She knew the boys that were wild and they were the first to go. Now what was left were the well mannered boys tied close to family life and the ones that learned to be given the recent activity.

She continued on from house to house until she found her man. A young lad who had recently married, left his family, and was starting a new and exciting life with his young bride. Quickly Anika used her polymorph spell again, this time to give herself the appearance of the man's bride. She then cast an illusion spell in the man's bedchamber, keeping his true lover hidden from his sight.

Then she shadows of night wrapped tight around her and she faded into nothingness. When she reappeared she was in the man's bedroom. Locks were no use when one could teleport. She moved to her sacrifice's side and shook him gently, whispering into his ear " Wake up! I need to show you something!" She put a delicate finger over her pseudo lover's mouth to indicate not to speak. She slid her soft hand into his own, rough from the trials of work. She then led him silently out of the house with a playful smile.

When she were getting farther from the town he became a bit worried " Where are we going love?" Anika just smiled playfully and gave him a kiss " I thought it would be fun if we went to play in the woods. I thought it would be exciting. And I am sure you can protect me from any scary old hag." She ran her grip along his arm, giving it a squeeze to emphasize his muscles before giving him another kiss to seal the deal.

Anika led him on through the woods, taking many turns. She then let go of her grip on the man and began to run playfully, giggling as she made her way through the woods. She acted as if it were a game and the man eagerly played along, awaiting his prize once he caught her.

When Anika had reached her destination she allowed the man to catch her. Where they stopped there was a large flat stone. hidden away by trees and bushes. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss as she pushed him unto the stone. He laid back with a smile " Care to join me love?" Anika could only laugh at his foolishness " But what if the witch finds us in her forest!" He flexed his arms " I can handle any ugly hag that might show up." Anika waved her hand and chains appeared around the man's arms and legs and latched onto the stone, keeping him in place. He instantly struggled and panicked. Anika looked her sacrifice in the eye with a toothy grin " Old hag huh?" She took off the glamor spell to reveal her true form. The man caught his breath and his eyes went wide at the sight of Anika. His lungs swelled up and he tried to scream " Wit...." was all he was able to get out as Anika casted her silence spell, taking away his voice. She then took out her ceremonial dagger and began her dark ritual.

When she was done she waved her hand over the disfigured body and the chains disappeared. Even now animals formed around the outer ring. The carnal hunger outweighed their fear of the horrible aura that tainted this area. Besides Anika was always happy to feed her forest friends. There was no need for the body once the ritual was done. She just rounded up her supplies and moved silently back to her house, enjoying the beautiful night. When home she washed the blood from her supplies, her clothes, and herself. After the chores were done she laid herself to sleep, eager for the next morning.