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Evil is often mistaken for an entity. An outside force, maleficent in nature, born out of hatred and contempt. A power that wishes to corrupt us, lead us astray from good.

Yet we are all born with a true evil inside us. A monster inside our skin. It is our choice whether we feed it.

The Scarred Scoundrel stands half-sunken into the murky waters of the swamps, barely discernible from the ruins around. The inn, however, has an occasional flicker of light skimming through the windows. I bat my palm flat against the back of my neck, trapping the mosquito-like parasite that had dug its needle into my bloodstream. The creature buzzes, too resilient to squash like any of the insects I am accustomed to from the woods, my fingers twisting and tugging until the stinger finally loosens. A warm trickle of blood seeps down my skin, the sting acidic and painful. The insect- a prickler- is about the length of my index finger, though half of its body is made up of the stinger alone, still glistening crimson. With a huff of contempt, I squeeze my thumb up against my index until the creature turns to smithereens, a fluid of grisly yellow oozing down my palm.

Truly, the swamps of Tel'Kolath were infamous for its biosphere of parasites, bugs and diseases that would naturally ward off any sane soul, adventurer or otherwise. "You seek your death, seek faithless Tel'Kolath" or so the saying went. I wipe my hand clean on my coat and continue my journey towards the structure at the end of the road.

"Appealing" is the very last word I'd use to describe the remains of the inn. Its wood is foul, the beached riverboat already partially reclaimed by vines, roots and critters. A few rooms have been built onto its bridge, bolstered by a few support beams that seem to have only been propped up in haste. The swampy waters around the odd structure are greenish-grey and slithering with parasites I had only heard of in stories before. At least the road appears to be somewhat intact. The Scoundrel would be no one's first choice, or second or fifth for that matter. Here, half-sunken in the humid and bug-ridden swamps of Tel'Kolath, any traveller comes as a beggar. The Scarred Scoundrel stands, or so I have been told, as the only outpost of a receding civilisation on the verge of collapse.

My fingers slap another prickler out of the air before it manages to latch onto my skin. The bite on my neck is still burning, the resulting headache making itself known with a perpetual knock to my skull. I rub my gloved hand across my scalp and head inside through the heavy door shielding the inside from the many stingers, worms and other vermin of the swamps.

This book, I decide as I take my first huff, can be judged by its cover. The Scoundrel has a scent of stuffy sweetness of a room that has long been left unventilated, the stink of mould mingling with sweat, ale and exhaled breath. I feel it wear down on me almost immediately, but I head towards the counter, ignoring the few curious eyes gazing and glaring at me from across the room. There are a few individuals scattered about, most of them resorting to their own tables, faces dipped down into ale or pages of maps, while some have their attention drown both in liquor and the revelry of their companions. The rambunctious cackles suggest a not-so-subtle state of inebriation. A few, however, are outsiders much like myself; those who had not provided a distraction of their own prefer to follow me with their gazes and inspect me like a bag of goods. I decide to heed them no mind.

The proprietor of this wretched establishment is a stout brute of a man, even more rugged than the walls around him. His face weathered beyond youth. Whatever beauty once resided in his cheeks was long diminished by the passage of time, the deep scars carved across cheeks and scalp a harrowing testament of the brutalities he had survived a long time ago. Some were crude, parts of his forearms singed by fire or acid, whereas other surgical cuts suggested the inflictions to have been of humanoid nature. Their architects, as the blade above the bar suggests, had not lived to tell the tale.

"Ale?" he huffs and his eyes wander down to inspect me from top to bottom.

"Please and thank you," I respond and reach beneath my cloak to produce a sufficient amount of coin. I decide to push my luck," and a private room, if you have any to spare." I lay the pieces of silver down on the worn counter, the barkeep sliding them towards himself without breaking eye contact.

"Aye."

His face remains stoic; he would be good company for a game of poker, I'm sure. After sliding the silver beneath the counter into what I assume to be a drop safe, he begins pouring from the keg on the counter and sets the stein down before me. The beer has a colour like prickler fluid. I suppress a grimace, take the mug into my left hand.

"So," he accentuates the 'o' like a Northener," what brings you to The Scarred Scoundrel?"

I grind my teeth and feel my fingers clench in the soft glove.

"Business."

Speckled with dissatisfied unbelief, the innkeep raises a brow at me.

"Business, eh? No one ventures out into these swamps to conduct business."

"And what business is it to you?" I ask and take a sip of ale. Not the worst horse piss I've had on the road. Its taste lingers long after it has passed down my gullet. The bartender watches me in short amusement, stroking the scraggly beard he has grown beneath his chin before setting both hands back down onto the countertop.

"See these scars?" His head dips down far enough to display the scorch marks, acidic burns, bites, stitches, dents and perpetual discolorations beneath his skin that litter his body from fingertips to scalp. This body is a canvas. "Every single one is a... trinket I've acquired from explorations into the swamps. I may not have chartered as deep as the most daredevil tomb fool, but these lands are no longer foreign to me. I took a scar so that you won't have to. Now, what is it that you seek?"

I linger in silence for a moment and take another sip from the tankard, licking the bitter remnants off my gums and swallow. Mhh, still tastes like piss though.

"I seek Dragon's Bane."

"Dragon's Bane," the bartender raises his head in thought, running his fingers through the tangles of beard beneath his chin. "Dragon's Bane... Dragon's Bane... Oh, yes, of course! Common ailment against Ancient Pox, that one. Though you're not afflicted with the pox; what do you need it for?"

"I need you to pour ale, innkeep."

"My business is that of trade, traveller. And I may trade the whereabouts of the nearest cluster of Dragon's Bane with you. If that information has any worth to you, that is."

My glove squeaks softly as my nails dig into my palm. I slide a gold coin out of my satchel across the counter, which attracts another curious eyebrow raise from the noble ruffian. Gold loosens every tongue.

"A pressing matter?" His voice has a hint of urgency.

"I did not pay for an assessment."

His head lowers into a terse nod while the coin disappears beneath the counter.

"Very well. It's a day's march East from here down the beaten path. Avoid the waters, don't stray and keep heading East. You can rest by an abandoned caravan if you have to."

"I won't."

"Very well. Dragon's Bane grows at a lake nearby. Once you're at the caravan, follow the water up the stream. Mind your step."

A sudden thud makes my muscles tense, but I suppress a quiver. Still, the bulky figure grins at me before glancing down at his hand, which he has slammed down onto the countertop. Beneath his colossally pudgy fingers, almost shielded from my view, lies a small key.

"You'll have the room for one night. First of all, the windows are to remain closed at all times, unless you fancy bunking with pricklers, march moths and other critters." Then he lifts his hand from the counter.

The key is a miniscule iron gadget, which would suffice to ensure privacy from prying eyes, though its uncomplicated design suggests the lock would yield to any amateur's lockpicking attempt.

"I thank you," I reach for the key, when suddenly the innkeep grasps my wrist. His grip is firm enough that I felt it through the thick glove.

"Secondly," he continues, keeping my hand pinned to the countertop," take that ale of yours and join the folks in the corner." He nods over to a troupe of companions, who are sitting near the entrance, laughing louder than the other guests. A feline and two humans, the former of the three the loudmouth I had heard when I had entered. None of them rouse any interest in me though and they seem to return that favour. All except one. Pointy ears turned to me, a hood obscuring his ageless face. An elf.

"They are better off on their own," I respond and turn, taking a deep swig of my ale while the innkeep's grey eyes scrutinise me once more.

"You do not trust them?"

"I have my reasons, innkeep."

"It's wise to distrust the unknown, traveller. The UNknown. The Boogie Man of Tel'Kolath. The still water by the roadside. Even seasoned travellers have not seen every creature that has made these swamps its home, but seasoned travellers can tell you that none of them are chummy. These, however," he gestures at the room," are people. Out there it's people versus the swamp," the innkeep chastised," People are not born as orphans. Out there you'd best remember that." His eyebrows twitch upward.

A knot forms in my stomach and I feel a sluggish growl of annoyance boil in my chest.

"I paid in advance. If I do not return, what do you care?"

Instead of an immediate answer, the innkeep inspects me anew and huffs.

"Return customers pay more than once."

I grind my teeth for a moment before my wrist is finally let go and I slide the key towards me. Once more I glance over my shoulder at the trio sitting at the corner table before I bring the tankard to my lips and down the rest of the rancid liquor in a few deep gulps. A gentle throbbing pulses through my lower jaw.

---

_Many of us find our hands reaching, our eyes gazing at a higher power. We trade devotion, obedience for guidance, answers, a helping hand. But I enjoy the quiet. Solace in prayer. A serenity from the world and order to my thoughts. In moments of crisis, it is a silent companion, my confessor, a friend. Someone who is always there.

And I am here.

My name is Talion Underwood.

I am here.

And where are you, Yara?

You wonderful creature. Blessed I am for having met you. I pray every day that you are safe. I pray the woods watch over you. Let the leaves guide you. My beautiful you. If my journey is a success, we may see each other again. In another time.

For time is of the essence, Talion._

My eyes open slowly to the sight of my room.

Dusty corners, cracked windows, a bed that creaks on its own as well as a candle on the bedside table that had burned down well beyond its pale stature; these are my only companions in the decayed remnants of wood and nails. The air reeks aged like an unkempt, mildewed wine cellar. Actually, it smells like that prickler ale. So this is what a few silver will get you far off from the capital. At this rate, however, I am grateful for a bed that's not made of grass at the roadside. I can use a long rest.

The establishment is too ragged to afford something as lavishly superfluous as a mirror, but the milky windows allow a crude glance at my reflection. Touch my face, touch my hair, mention me in your prayer.

Time is of the essence, Talion.

I pull my hood down before I slid the rest of my battered cloak off my shoulders. The person gazing back at me looks freakish by design. A foreigner in the glass. _If I don't recognize myself, would Yara? _Why look at my own reflection if it's a stranger who stares back at me?

Not a stranger. A monster.

It had started as a bruised discoloration of my wrist. A bar fight that had gone out of hand, I had assumed at the time and wore my arm in a sling for the remainder of that day. If I had gone to see Yara right away, could this have been averted? Let me see it, Talion.

Time is of the essence, Talion.

I sit down on the bed, which groans even louder under my weight, as I pull the backpack off my shoulders and rummage around until I find the small tin can in the front pouch. The poultice is worn from my frequent use of its remedies, but it has a little more to spare. A little more is all I need. With gentle care, I tug on the fingers of my glove before removing it entirely. My breath quickens. The corruption has spread far from its origin. My hand is black as pitch, the skin cool to the touch and hardened like cured leather. The fingers are longer than those on my other hand. I pinch my palm, hard, but the skin remains unpierced. At least it should allow me protection from any more insect bites.

You're indulging your corruption.

The tips of my fingers end in sharp claw points, edged like the axe adorning my belt. Holy Divinity, save me. _Darkness runs down my forearm to my elbow, where the skin has turned a purple motley. It aches with every throb of my heart. That's where I apply some of the healing salve. _If it were a healing salve, the corruption would not spread. Unbuttoning my shirt reveals no grown onset of corruption yet, but when my fingers trace along my spine, I feel hardened scales that I had noticed first when I had departed towards the swamp a few days ago. Now they have spread along the ridge of my back, coming short below my neck beneath the still burning prickler bite. I fear what the corruption will do once it reaches the top end of my spine. If I can't find Dragon's Bane, my fears will become inevitable fate. The poultice, at least, provides a soothing sensation along the affected parts. _Yara would never have left. _I chew a small bit of Yara's root paste, peppered by the strong bite of zingiber root, to numb the pain.

Time is of the essence, Talion.

A glance out of the window reveals the sun nestling between the gnarled vines and shrubbery out beyond, the outside bathed in a shade reminiscent of blood. It can only be moments before sundown and already now thick wasp-like insects began thumping their milky bodies against the moss-crusted glass of my abode. A few moments later they begin devouring one another as the glowing orb descends past the horizon. Even the swamp itself seems keen on feeding off its own life force. It would be wise to wait come morning.

Time is of the essence, Talion. Say another prayer.

I examine my wretched hand once more, flexing my fingers and watching the foreign appendage form into a fist. Leprosy would have left me weak, paralysed. The Red Plague would have left me blind and bleeding. But this... this disease- frustrated anger flashed through my system- is worse. It did not only taint my body. As I crush my fingers into a fist as hard as stone, my breath quickens, the taut skin bulging from the bulk of muscle tensing beneath. As I hear a joint pop, the resulting crackle of pain stirs a grumble from the depths of my chest. I relax my hand. No, the perverse affliction rouses a primal madness in me. At first, the thoughts crossed my mind only in the matters of short convenience. Lifting a satchel that had proven to be burdensome before became little more than a light nuisance. It was only once fondness of strength was consumed by a sudden lust for power that the severity of the disease became fathomable to me. The disease is changing me- body and brain- piece by piece.

When my fingers trace over the prickler bite on the back of my neck, the soft skin is no longer sensitive to the touch. Cold and lifeless. My eyes focus back on the indistinct reflection in the window and for a moment I struggle remembering my face in the glass. Sometimes, the stranger in my reflection is the human.

Time is of the essence, Talion.

By now the sun has fully laid itself to rest, the gloomy crimson yielding to a coat of lilac. She would love that view. I light a candle and set it down before me and kneel once more in front of the flicker in the darkness.

My fingers fold into one another and I close my eyes for prayer.

The eventide has turned. The darkness deepens beneath my skin. I recognize my mind as my own. Help me remain on the path of reason. Let Yara be at peace.

Sometimes, I believe to feel the subtle weight of a hand on my shoulder.

--

I depart in the cover of darkness, equipped lightly for the journey ahead. My hood cloaks my head almost entirely, allowing only my eyes to peer through. The rest is shielded from the hungry surveillance of stingers and all other kinds of roadside vermin. Once I'm out of line of sight of the inn, a short rotation reveals that silence is my only companion and I bury my coin pouch near a patch of sickly white swamp lilies. Assuming you reach a return journey, Talion. _Faces whisk through my mind. Old Tomman. Yori's wife should have given birth by now. He told me they'd name the little one Talion. _Talion won't have an uncle if you don't hurry. _And what about Yara? _I shake my head gently and pat down the dirt over the coin pouch, so that it's somewhat stored away. Now the backpack is reduced to bare essentials- drinking water, a dry chunk of bread and my tin can of ointment- my trusty axe still strapped to the side of my belt. I straighten up, rubbing my hand over the side of my covered cheek and gaze down the twisted path ahead.

Dragon's Bane.

Frankly, I know very little about the plant. Yara had been able to provide me with crude descriptions and a charcoal sketch she had ripped out of the apothecary's book. The plant itself, however, was not part of the old man's stock. I'd have to find it on my own. While she did describe my affliction as 'curiously unprecedented', she also attributed my highest hopes of recovery to the healing properties of Dragon's Bane.

It is an orange blossom with petals long and jagged, surrounding a thin needle of honey-sweet pollen. The stalk is slender, most of its leaves growing straight out of its root. The flower stands alone in a bed of dark juniper green. Even in darkness, she had promised, the fiery blossom will be hard to miss.

The bartender had described a day's march, but if I hurry, I am sure I can halve that time. I must. A green snake slithers out from the thicket of vines nestling across the path, yet neither of us take heed of the other. Its scaled body dips into a shallow pond to my left and the surface ripples for a moment longer before it vanishes out of sight completely.

_These waters are treacherous. _I step over a cluster of roots so intertwined that it is impossible to discern whether they all belonged to the same tree. In-between webbed streaks of moss and dirt, the very ground beneath my feet could be a shelter for any trifling critter. If a snake can so effortlessly slip back into the shadows, what other creatures have perfected the craft of ambuscade? The air is vibrant with the buzz of bugs and I bat a cloud of mosquitoes out of my way. A few latch onto my glove, but fail to find vulnerability on the thick leather and buzz away moments later.

My able hand scratches the irritation along my arm before I stroke over my clothed chin along the jawline. Towards my lips, the skin is overly sensitive to subtle touch. Even my tongue can tickle a growing discomfort out of my lower gums, right around the canine. It's no rarity for a tooth to grow sore and disinfected out in this climate. But not this rapidly. _During my evening inspections, I take note of my ailments, especially now more so than ever. A sore tooth would have drawn attention to itself at the earliest when I downed the ale at the bar. _Did it? This new pain, this throbbing of discomfort, is alerting.

I tighten the straps around my shoulders and pick up the pace into a jog, my arm tingling as my heartbeat quickens. My boots pound deep prints into the saturated dirt. All my life I've been an able man, my profession as lumberjack furthering my athletic aptitude, even if my skill favours strength over speed and endurance. Stamina will keep me going. Strength however will keep me standing. The fight ring has taught me so.

A snap of a branch. _Something heavy. _Most creatures I have observed so far had been trifling creatures that kept a low profile. Off to the distance, a good measure away from me, I watch a hulking black figure splash into the waters of a nearby pond. It dips its massive head into the murkiness and emerges a moment later, a smaller amphibian creature writhing between its teeth. The brute sploshed out of the pond a moment later, shaking to rid itself of wetness.

A bear.

Animals do not frighten me; they never have, even in hideous quagmires such as this one. Observing the beast stirs a sense of... serenity in me. Sometimes after a day's labour, I'd sit and watch the forest interact with itself. Bears, while rare, were no scarcity and completely harmless if observed from afar. Why did the bear choose to live in this swamp though? What do you do here, friend? This bog is not for you. _I frown as I watch it disappear in the distance. _This bog is not for me either.

A stab in my cheekbone cautions me to progress. Now is not the time to dwell on thoughts. At this point, the path before me divides into clumps of overgrown landmass surrounded by sickly lagoons, the colour and stench reminiscent of week-old pea soup. Bundles of cattails and reeds reach up to my waist, their dry stalks hissing whenever they brush against my cloak. I'm careful to avoid the ponds to either side of me, but my boots are slick with muck regardless. The marshlands are more desolate and open around these parts, the thicket of trees receding far into the mists. Frogs croak as I pass by, a godless choir of birds, amphibians and reptiles chirping, snarling and cackling all around me. My forehead is dripping beads of sweat and I dab the back of my glove against the cloth covering my face. Even at night this place is damnably hot.

Then, in the far distance, barely discernible from the rotting tree stumps and vines draped from tall dead trees, I spot a sliver of motion. Is it another animal? Instinctively, a short prayer slips past my lips as I narrow my eyes, but the shadow is too far away to discern. Unfocused, I blink two or three times, but the elusive figure is gone. The fog must have swallowed it up. It's an animal. It's just another animal.

Another spike of pain-

"Hngh!"

This time running from my forearm up to my jaw. It summons a deep-chested growl, my fingers curling into such a tight hold that I feel the claws pierce the resilient hide. Not now, Gods, not now, NOT NOW! Holy DIVINITY! _My arm, my unaffected arm, wraps itself around my chest, squeezing the biceps of the other. I can feel it, an icy tumour beneath the skin, convulsing and spreading like an oil fire. I can't focus, why can't I focus? _Close your eyes. Inhale. _Suddenly I feel cold dirt kiss my knees. _Exhale. Has my strength left me? Inhale. I barely notice the intense shaking and shivering coursing through me, were it not for the cramps in my belly forcing me to bow and lower myself. Exhale. _I only feel the pain, the gut-wrenching, burning pain in my arm and cheek. _Inhale. Huddled on the middle of the path, wheezing, I cradle the scourge in an effort to combat the agony, the sickened arm spasming, spasming, spasming.

"Nghh GGRRAAH!"

My scream is stifled by a deafening ringing in my ears. Slaver runs down my lips excessively and I tug down the wrap of cloth to spit into the dirt. The throbs of pain are lessening, yet still persistent enough to keep me confined to the ground. I open my eyes, squinting to get the wetness away. Webbing of coppery spit dangles from my lips and I gather some more fluid and splutter in contempt. It's not saliva, Talion. _In the patch of crude grass between my legs is a splatter of crimson red. The pebbles are doused in it and, _no, one of them-

No. No!

Between the dirt and muck, slathered in my own blood, is a human tooth. Almost immediately a swarm of mosquitos and a young prickler descend upon the droplets, a few whirring around my mouth. Scum! Grunting, I smack them away with the back of my hand and bring both hands down before me and give myself a push... and fall?! _No, no, no! _Dirt cakes the underside of my body, my arms void of the strength I need. What's the matter? _It is exhaustion, you fool. _I face my weakness with a stern grimace and give myself another thrust. My arms lever into the slick mud and my body turns rigid, tense, yet-

slump.

I crash back into the ground, panting. This can't be! Up. I need to get up. Yet even crouched as I am, huddled on my hands and knees, my body shakes strenuously. A growing bulge clogs my throat. Your disease is close to defeat you. Surpass it. _This is not where I die. This is not how I fail. I shall not be defeated by the force of gravity confiding me to this filthy swamp soil! But as I bring my body back up, straightening my arms, I can already feel the intense strain on my muscles. _I can't get up. I can't get up!

Then, I take note of a gentle rattle. Tinke-ting Ke-tinke-ting. Its sound is hollow like a wind chime, almost soothing and reminiscent of my home many, many leagues from here. _The sound, it is man-made. _Swiftly, I tuck my arm beneath my cloak and bring my senses to obey. Focus. My mind, however, is in a sorry state of disarray, my thoughts bucking like a wild stallion. _Focus, dammit! _The beast remains untamed.

"What... is it... that.. you.. are?"

The voice appears so sudden that I flinch. _Focus! _Shifting my attention from the demeaning hurdle of arising, I instead inspect the late-night traveller. She appears through the mist like an illusion, entrails of swirling grey clouds snaking around her feet. The clothes draped around her body are tattered rags, the drag of her patchwork dress frizzled and soaked in the murky brown of the waters around her. Even the cane she is leaning on- which had a few bones, jawbones, tied around its top- seems frail, about to snap, its pale wood gnawed upon by worms and rodents.

Yet her body towers over mine with ease, arms so long they could scrape across the dirt if she stretched them. Her hunch forces her head lowered down to an eye-level.

I wipe some dirt off my chin, binding the cloth back firmly across my face.

"A traveller. Bother me not, witch."

These creatures are no stranger to me. Usually they inhabit woodlands, deserts and tundras. One of her sisters lived near the woods I grew up in. She was a wise and kind soul, until a midnight fire had left her in ashes. This one has chosen a swamp as her domain. Hideous, yet with an underlying sense of cunning and wisdom behind those wrinkled flaps of skin. Only their intentions are shrouded in mystery. Not all witches are kind. One, two, three curt head twitches, mimicking the curiosity of a bird, she observes me. I might be carrion to a predator. One after the other, like a spider extending its spindly legs out of its lair, her fingers all curl around her walking stick. _It's a wand, Talion. _Eyes as dark as ebony, her cracked lips twist into a sneer. I answer her in stoic silence.

"What... is it... that.. you.. seek?" Her voice croaks barely beyond whisper, grating and cracked like a shabby windpipe. _Get up, Talion. It won't bode well for you to kneel before a witch. _Once more I push my hands into the dirt, tucking me knee below my belly and force weight onto my leg. The muscles tense and shudder, a ripple running through my fell.

"That what I seek," I exhort in a resentful growl and feel my fingers clenching, squeezing," is none of your concern. Leave."

But witches do not heed the advice of men. Jabbering, a ghastly laughter spills past her few stilts of rotten teeth and she swings her head back, the many trinkets of bone and severed limbs cackling along with her. They rattle and clatter, shake and shatter, sprinkling across the dirt.

Snorting, she cocks her head as abrupt as before and her body stands still, her fingers wrapping back around her wand. Only for a moment, I glimpse a fleeting miscue of colour fluttering around it; a sickly shiver of toxic green that wafts about her wand, but- in a flicker- the illusion dispels.

"And where... is it... that.. you.. go?"

A knot in my stomach sickens me to the core. My chest quavers rapidly all of a sudden, my instincts foreboding something my senses cannot foretell. _Be discreet and quick if you have to, Talion. _My fingers tap against the reassuring coldness of my axe. A gentle caress strokes my shoulder.

"My destination is mine alone. Begone, witch."

"Begone, witch!" she squawked in mocking mimicry, straying closer and closer until the stink hefting to her clothing came wafting over me," Bold words for someone so... alone."

"Speak for yourself," I growl and attempt to rise once more. This time the strength returns to my limbs and I propel myself to my feet," then speak no more."

"You are but a traveller. A lone traveller."

"And you are in my way."

Cold steel. Even through the glove, the tempered axe head feels like ice. _No, Talion. It is your hand that is lifeless. _The hideous, yellow eyes ogle me through the thick strains of grey hair before the witch steps aside, seemingly weightless, leaving no footsteps in the mood beneath her. My hand doesn't ease down yet, still close on the hilt. But I pass by her, the two of us exchanging a cold glance before we depart from one another. Her bones rattle and clank behind me and, suddenly, there is a cackle.

"Yara. _So it is an _elven _woman? You are doing all this for a corpse?!_"

I stop dead in my tracks. Blood flushes through my cheeks. How did she-? When I turn, I see my answer. Huddled in the middle of the road, the devious creature squats, slouched like an animal on the prowl, her long fingers between her suckling lips. A shiver runs down my back, anger boiling and bubbling in my body. My fingers reach for the hilt on my side, clasping it so tight my muscles throb and ache.

"How _dare _you..."

Her fingers slip out of her dirty mouth, the tooth in her hands suckled clean.

"Traveller, I like the taste of you."

Body crackling and popping as her full size came into play, she stretched herself up onto long, spider-like arms, cackling a hollow laughter. Immediately I pull the axe into my grasp.

"I THINK I'LL LIKE ANOTHER BITE OF YOU!"

Her words were rapaciously spoken, the slick tongue tracking over her lips. Immediately I pull the axe into my grasp. I squeeze it firmly and take it into view.

"I'd like to see you try!" I let the hilt glide over the back of my palm before I grab it at its downturn to fulfil the flourish. With a roar, I plunge myself forward, swinging at the creature's legs. It cackles, staggering backwards into the murky ponds. The eyes have gone all grey, the face showing skull where the skin has rotted away. _Careful! _Blood spews out between crooked teeth. A ghoul! The creature hisses and snarls, sinking beneath the water before I can strike a blow. I'm careful not to lose my balance and join it in the muddy grave. If it pulls me beneath the surface...

Quick, get back, get back! A few steps should do it. I turn, turn again, spinning and scanning my surroundings for any sort of movement. A few bubbles rise in the pond next to me. A zombified witch monster. What's next?

A brutal, stabbing agony in my right foot makes me roar. Through the top of my leather boot, drenched in glistening crimson, was the tip of a blade. Talion, no! _The dirt beneath my feet begins to tremble and loosen. The small plants jiggle before something tears through their roots and a skeletal hand rises shakily from the ground. Of course. _Another ghoul! _The mossy rock next to it starts to rattle before it pops from the ground; eye sockets overgrown by moss, only a few teeth remaining on the jaw. It's a skull! _A target. _"HARUMPH!" I splinter the bone with the dull, broad side of the axe head. For a moment, the reanimated skeleton still rises from the dirt before its ligaments submit and it turns back into compost. The blade, however, remains lodged in my foot. The water to my side begins bubbling with more ferocity. Already I can hear the hideous laughter of the creature as it rears its head from the foaming surface. There are no traces of its humanoid form left. The face has twisted, elongated, jagged teeth tearing through rotten skin. _Step back! But- reminded by a cutting agony- dagger remains, pierced right through my boot. Spikes course up my leg, I roar into the darkness. I have to move! Steadily, the witch rises from the pond, cackling and hissing its hideous mockery. _There's no choice! _Yanking my leg up, I feel the blade cut once more. Blood spews across the dirt as I stumble backward, my axe still lifted as the witch spears its spindly legs towards me. Even with its blind eyes, its senses whisper the stink of my blood to her and the maw smacks its rotten lips and teeth together.

Leaving smears of crimson, I hobble away a little further, grimacing, grunting. My foot is in such dreadful pain, bleeding, bleeding that my breaths shorten into growls. She only made eager _to retaliate and shed blood other than my own. My boot digs into the ground before I fling bloodied soil at her. _The pain invigorates you too much.

"Is this what you want, HM?!" I pound my chest with my axe hand. "Come and get a taste."

With a screech, the creature bursts into a sprint. On all fours, the teeth snapping, the hands crackle as sharp bone shoots through the skin. It's a display that of grotesque power, the body seemingly outgrowing its taut rotten hide. As her fingers mutate into claws, I dip forward, sliding to my right and swing my axe. We collide, my weapon finding perch, her bony bladed fingers digging into skin. Too slow, Talion! _Something cold gushes over me. All over me. I can't breathe. _Water?! _Suddenly, I thrash, trying to bring my axe down onto the limb buried into my left arm. But my axe doesn't budge, my tugs and pulls hindered in the water. _Come on, come ON! _My boots find support against its body and I push myself away. With a muffled crack, the axe slips loose and my head bubbles up into the clear. Next to me, close, too close, I can hear the creature thrashing in unbound fury. My fingers reach for a bushel of weeds growing by the side of the pond and I give myself a pull. Soaking wet, I pull myself out of the goop, gritting my teeth as I realize the hurt on my body. Blood seeps down my shoulder. Lots of it. _It is only the left arm. She only hurt the left arm. _Pushing myself up to my knees, I grip my axe harder, but... weakness clouds my judgement. My vision is a blur. _She's going to strike! The creature, however, has once again disappeared beneath the surface. The water is swirling red and black.

She'll be back, Talion.

I ready my axe, swiftly stepping over to solid ground before the witch would unearth another wickedness. _Steady. Steady now. _In the distance, I can hear a bird calling. But my immediate surroundings offer an eerie silence. The fog isnestling closely above the swamp waters, crawling in like a disease. Suddenly there is a gurgle to my right. I glance at the water, the red clouds bubbling and coiling into a maelstrom. Foam gushes, weeds are pulled into the current. Then, the red begins seeping down, all of it engulfed and swallowed by the darkness of the waters before-

BWFOOOM!

In a huge fountain, the creature leaps out. Its lower jaw hangs loose, the bone splintered clear in two. _She must be pissed. _Her lips are caked with blood, my blood, her face twisted into a snarl of madness. Yet she tarries, hissing in her low guttural snarls like an animal. _No, Talion. Animals do not hiss like devilry. _My temples were pounding, sweat pouring down my skin. Suddenly I can feel a drowsiness in me. _No... No... _A dizziness spreads through me as I stagger backwards even further. With the luscious taste of victory in her grasp, the witch cackled, licking the droplets of blood off her clawed hands.

"Death will visit you here." Her voice is vindicated with pride of her work, even if her words are slurred by the split in her jaw. "Just like he has visited Yara." Oil on a fire. I exhale slowly, my affected hand clenching into a solid fist. Anger boils through me. A hideous, hateful rage, my breath quickening before I spit a slather of blood into the dirt. How dare she sully the sacred name?! "He left a message for you, _witch." _I do not recognize the chilling sound of my voice, dark and brooding. _ "_And I. Am. Its. Messenger." Then, I launch into an attack.

A blindness overcomes me. A _fury. _I black out. Yet my blood pumps, my limbs move on their own as I dance forward, flexing brute strength and making my blade sing. The metal whistles through the air -FWOOM- before it connects, splintering through rotten flesh and bone. An insane howl of pain rings through my ears. Red splashes across my face. It is not my own. My tongue traces over the carnage; blood, blood, cold yet beautifully fresh like morning dew. I cannot see, I barely hear, but feel the heavy vibrations reverberate through my forearm whenever the blade makes contact with solid bone and matter.

Suddenly I'm pushed back. A desperate force, knocking me off my feet and the hard collision with dirt knocks the air out of my lungs. I spit, a fountain of red pouring from my lips as I cough, wheezing, breath evading me. Copper lingers on my tongue. My vision is clouded, darkening, yet flashing bright at the same time, barely revealing the huge hulking figure before me. When it pounces, we both roll further across path, into beaten bushels of weeds and grass. She cackles. I scream before I clamp my jaw down on one of her spindly claws. A twist of the neck, the muffled splinter coaxing a pained howl out of the creature. My body finds foothold against its chest and I thrust her back with a kick. Rolling back onto my belly, coughing, I scramble back up onto my feet. Nausea poisons my core, yet I stand and turn, scrutinizing my enemy. The witch is hissing with malice, one of the claws twisted and broken. "YOU WON'T GET AWAY!" Her slaver, thickly red, squirts from her cracked lips and she descends into a maddening scream, darting towards me with inhuman speed. I muster my final defense. With a flick of my wrist, I tilt my axe upward and launch it forward in a controlled toss.

First, I hear the witch cackle, then scream, crying and hollering when my blade bites down into flesh. My voice is foreign to me, deep guttural gurgles of bestial strength accompanying my assault. I lunge. Growls drowned out by screaming when my teeth find lodging in her shoulder. _Break this creature DOWN! _Claws dig into me, needling my back as I slash across her with fangs and claws. Then, my hands wrap around the soaking wet grip of my steel blade. I pull its handle like a lever, the witch screaming melodies of torment. _BREAT IT DOWN! _It takes my core strength to tear the axe out of its gruesome dwelling deep within the witch's ribcage.

There is a crack and splinter. My teeth rip and tear.

Gurgling, the creature vomits darkness from its mouth, its insanity-laced eyes of vitriolic venom flickering like a dying flame.

"What... are you?"

I huff and spit a chunk of flesh into the dirt. Briefly I inspect the carnage. My body is dripping, red and covered in splintered chunks of unidentifiable organic matter. Before me, slithering back and forth like a disembowelled snake, is the witch, stifled gargles slick with blood. The grisly sight weakens me, a spell of dizziness like when finding prey animal's carcass. I shake my head, baring my teeth with a grave snarl. What have I done?

"What _ARE you?!" _Desperation has seeped into the creature's voice. One step closer. Then another.

"What ARE-"

I let the bite of steel be my answer. It shatters through her skull, spilling rotten brain and splinters across the dirt, drizzling into the bog. A final hiss escapes her throat before the body goes limp. I tighten my fingers around the grip, but my hand only clenches into an empty fist. Ca-thunk. The axe... it... slipped out of my fingers? How? Glancing down at my torso, I feel a sudden chill seep through my body. Torn through the clothes, I see dark red gushing out of a deep puncture below the ribcage. Many more cuts graze the skin like a ship's torn sail. Why is the swamp so cold all of a sudden?

"F-fuck."

I no longer feel my body hit the dirt. Staring up at the night sky, the beautiful sky and its hundreds, thousands uncounted stars, stars so countless, flashing, flashing before they fade out of my peripheral vision. Darkness. It creeps through my body. Is this the end? _You gave your best, Talion. _Cold fingers trace along my spine. My limbs, do they tingle? My chest is heavy, so heavy I can't inflate my lungs. _Breathe. Breathe your last. _What did I do? I stray from my purpose, my self, my...

Until I see her. My beautiful you. I see green around me, the sun shining, her tender fingers stroking along my arm. My arm. _It is no longer human. _ My fingers don't obey me, but my lover, there she is, she smiles, placing a weaved grass crown atop my head. Its flowers, purple in their prime, are wilted. In the sunlight, I shiver.

"Yara... Yara...."

Yet the words do not obey. My lips quiver in silence.

She strokes my hair, my chest, cooing... cooing... I see my hand reaching out, trying to touch her, silent whispers begging for forgiveness.

Yara...

Words fail me. _Footsteps. _The elf strokes my hair and descends into a fit of laughter. I do not understand her humour, rarely have, but my voice answers in a silent chuckle. _Footsteps in mud. Voices shout, muddled and grey. _The elf smiles at me and I find myself returning the gesture. Suddenly, I remember why I loved her so.

"Oh, Talion. What did you do?"

Her raven hair is tousled by the wind. Dark red autumn leaves drift from the parapet of shrubbery above. The sun shines, yet I shiver.

"What did you do?"

Her remaining words cut out in a white noise.

What did you do...

What did you do.