A wicked witch!

[no_fastolfe]

[OOC: For heroes who've heard of the wicked witch of the west woods, for lost damsels and innocent young things... for those wood nymphs she's feuding with... make yourself at home.] In the Dark and Dangerous Woods outside of the city, there is a Dark and Dangerous Path that leads off into the west wood

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[systmadmin]

Somewhere within the forest, the sound of carriage wheels were overlaid with the heavy noise of horse hooves plodding against the warm earth. After a few moments, a carriage rounded around a cluster of trees and came into view. The horses that pulled it clopped a few more feet forward, then slid to a slow and uneasy stop a short distance away from the cottage, hooves stamping nervously against the soil. The driver that sat atop the carriage harrumphed to himself--his head swiveling back and forth as he scanned the dark, forested area--then climbed down to knock against the carriage doors.

Seconds before the man had touched the carriage, however, the doors were unceremoniously flung wide open from the inside. A chestnut-haired man poked his head out in curiosity, then leapt down and struck a (very ridiculously Disney) pose. His attire suggested nobility, if not royalty--a fur-lined cape rested over his shoulders, fastened to a velvet doublet that sported puffy sleeves and was dyed a deep maroon. His boots squashed into the damp, leaf-strewn forest floor as he took a stately step forward and surveyed the area. For those who would know him, it was King Charles the XXII, King of the Kingdom-Next-Door, brother to the King of Ravin.

But in other words, CLU had fallen off the ship.

"Gervais! Where are we? Why did we stop?"

The driver, Gervais, after having finished bowing an excessive amount of times at his King, produced a huge map from his belt and held it out in front of himself. "Sire, apologies!" Fumble, fumble, fumble. "It seems--it seems--" More fumbling with the map, as the driver rotated it several times and then squinted very hard at it. "It seems we may... be lost!"

Charles touched a leather-gloved hand against his jaw, thoughtful. Then his blue eyes brightened. "No fear, servant! Look, over yonder!" He pointed a leather-gloved finger. "There is a cottage there, we shall ask for directions!"

And so with confident strides, Charles headed towards the witch's cottage, his driver stumbling--map in both hands--behind him.

[no_fastolfe]

"Ooh really?" Rathlina said, as Arnettle piped its report, a happy babble about horses and kings and carriages. But the witch had grown used to picking the meat out of their innocent chatter, and had gotten 'royalty' at least. She cracked the shutters and hissed out a command for all of her homonculi to settle down and lie still a while.

When the king and Gervais approached, they would find a happy little cottage, over-run with tempting, juicy grape vines, with a happy little vegetable plot and nettles and thorns growing in a most innocent and plantlike way along the borders of the forest. The only sign that things might be amiss was the number of brooms, lying still as brooms do, buckets of water abandoned near them.

Rathlina was waiting outside, with a peasant hood over her head. She asked, in a feeble and quavering voice:

"Hark and welcome, handsome Lord
To the comforts this humble hut affords
What princely task or dukely chore
Leads you to Rathlina's door?"

This port. It makes me lol.

[systmadmin]

The noise of their chatter would reach Rathlina before they actually did. Gervais had tucked the map beneath one arm, and then sputtered on--as they ventured towards the cottage--about how this place made him feel uncomfortable, how there were 'way too many brooms over there, no one needs that many, why are there so many?', about how the forest was too dark around them, and how they should turn back and try to find their own way to the city.

A good portion of it went completely ignored by Charles, and the bits that were acknowledged were brushed off with a obviously-not-paying-attention 'mhm' or a 'What are you babbling about Gervais the cottage looks pleasant, be silent.'

The two came to a stop near Rathlina, and for a few moments, both of them silently attempted to pick out her face from beneath the hood. Then Charles took a step forward and rested one hand against the pommel of his sword, while Gervais lingered back and peered over Charles' shoulder at her, uncertainty visible in every inch of his body.

"Ahh! Greetings peasant, and thank you!" The return in pleasantries came with a cocky, I-think-I'm-charming smile. Charles straightened, and his gloved hand moved to rest against his chest, the maroon fabric beneath it embroidered gold with a family emblem. "I am the humble King Charles XXII--but you already, no doubt, knew this." Then a pause, an exaggerated eyebrow lift. His hand fluttered in front of him, as if to encourage her to perform some action. "Alas, old woman, there is no need to be shy! You may bow to me."

Another grin split his face, but before he could continue any further with that, Gervais cleared his throat behind him, then piped up in a voice that nearly squeaked. "We have travelled off the path, it seems, and need to find our way." Then, added almost as an afterthought: "My lady."

Charles nodded at this, and then his hand lifted, fingers snapped. Gervais, despite his obvious misgivings about getting any closer to Rathlina, stumbled forward and unfurled the map. Charles snatched it from him without even a glance in his direction, and pointed at it. "Would you happen to know the way to the city?"

But why sir it is the most srs of srs ports for srs

[no_fastolfe]

"Oh deary, deary me, my back," Rathlina said, executing a bare dip of a bow that only hunched her a little further than she was already hunched.

Hmph. She'd had some hope about this pompous king; the crones and hags local 501 manual said that three minor offenses to a seemingly innocent old lady-- or one grievous offense-- meant he was fair game for the cursing. But as usual, the servant knew the rules himself and was spoiling all the fun.

"It's been so long since I've been to town, good sirs, so long," she creaked, raising her suspiciously broom-shaped walking stick to trace a shaking and somewhat circuitous path over the map.

"Over the hill and over the dell,
Across the old bridge where the troll used to dwell
The path to the west by the great oak tree
And soon to the kingdom you will be."

It would get them there. It would cost them another half a day of travelling to go her way, and it rhymed, so there was that little comfort. But she wasn't going to risk having those awful good-fairies stick their noses back in her business.

Oh yes, of course! All the srs bizness here

[systmadmin]

Gervais' wide eyes tracked the broom-like stick in Rathlina's hand as she waved it about, while Charles, instead, paid attention to the path that she drew across the map with a great intensity in his expression.

"Excellent!" Charles exclaimed happily, once Rathlina had pointed out the way. He quickly rolled the map back up and shoved it into Gervais' hands; with it returned to his possession, the servant hopped back a few feet away from Rathlina, then clasped the parchment to his body like a child would a teddy bear--as if it would protect him from her.

"You have been most helpful, peasant!" Charles said, as Gervais nodded emphatically behind him. "But may I ask one more favor, before we set out to the Kingdom." His head turned from side to side, checking for something, then Charles leaned forward to whisper, "Would you happen to know where a witch is to be found?" His voice lowered even further, so much so that his servant behind him leaned forward as well to try and hear. "It seems I may be in need of one, at present!"

[no_fastolfe]

"Witches are dangerous, your Highness," Rathlina quavered. "What could you want with one? No, no, it's better to leave them alone." It wouldn't do to jump the broom. She would have to be careful about it. Delicate. Deeelicate. Keeping an eye on Gervais-- who was no fun, it was no fun if it wasn't a surprise, honestly-- she said in her reedy voice:

"I have lived in these woods a very long time
What sort of a witch are you trying to find?" she said, because sometimes you simply had to rhyme. Just a little.

Sorry for slow tags

[systmadmin]

His gloved hand touched to his chin in thought once more. "Hm, dangerous, yes." It didn't seem to phase him at all--in fact, that seemed to interest him even more. "Gervais!" He called, one hand lifted. The servant perked up immediately at his name and bowed. "Go be useful and tend to the carriage." Gervais bowed again at this, then shot Rathlina another suspicious look as he turned to leave.

Then, once his servant had finally gone, Charles straightened.

"There are different types, you say? Very well. I nee--" Oops. Charles paused, then rephrased it. "I know of someone, a friend of a friend, who happens to be of royal blood--extremely handsome, much like I am--who has a pressing need for a witch's curse. Or brew. Or whatever unnatural nonsense witches usually get up to."

Slowtime is the best time!

[no_fastolfe]

Hrrrm. Well, she did need a new cauldron and they didn't come cheap. Rathlina twitched her hand in a signal, and her broomlings straightened up and started to move again, quietly. Arbroomhild, always curious, came over to look over the king's shoulder.

"Any old potion? Or a particular potion?" she asked, setting her broomling-stick down to fluff out its bristles and get back to work. Suddenly, she was all business. "What do you need it to do?"

[systmadmin]

Suddenly the brooms in the area perked up and moved, which caused Charles to blink hard in surprise. "You're a witch!" He remarked, pointing out the obvious. The slightly shocked look on his face melted away, and a wide smile replaced it. "Fantastic, then! That saves me a trip."

Then, down to business: "This other person, who is most definitely not me, needs the potion to put another person--who may or may not be royalty--out of commission." And here both his hands lift to do a massive air-quote when he says 'commission', hoping she'd get his meaning.

"Do you have such a potion? I will pay handsomely for it." And to emphasize his point, Charles pulls out a small, ornately decorated coin purse and shakes it. The heavy sound of coins jingling inside it would be enough to hint at the great amount.

[no_fastolfe]

"My potions aren't often for people," Rathlina said, with a scowl of though, tapping her bottom lip with a long talon of a nail. "No, I'm more the enchanter type. Now, if they don't have to be-- " she drew the nail over her neck and made an unpleasant squishing sound, "I could enspell their doors to never let them out. Or their carriage to take them to the next kingdom over. Unfortunately, some wretched fairy's laid a curse on me, and I can't make anything that's going to hurt them."

She sighed. "And the last decent warlock we had in these parts has gone all native in the village. No, from me it's a sleeping draught or a living house. Fresh out of poisons of all kinds. But you know, a little foxglove goes a long way. Eh? Eh?"

[systmadmin]

"Oh, I see." Disappoinment fell over his face at that; perhaps this would not be as easy as he'd assumed--and wanted--it to be. But, really, Charles didn't have the time to search high and low for other witches around the area, so it looked like this one would have to do.

"Perhaps a sleeping draught, then? How long does that last?"

[no_fastolfe]

"We-ell, with the quality of moonlight glimmer and midnight oil we've been getting, I can only promise you ninety-two years," Rathlina said, tapping her long fingernails together. "Still, who's going to notice the extra eight on the side. Very reasonable price. Fifty gold pieces for ninety-two years, that's more than a year a gold piece, sir, that's a bargain."

[systmadmin]

"Hmmm. That should suffice, I'd think!" Another wide grin. "I accept." It was, really, more than enough. Charles held up and shook the coin purse once more, then lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "I have enough gold coin for it in this. Now where is the potion?"

[no_fastolfe]

"Needs to be made, sir. Needs to be made." Rathlina crooked a finger at him, beckoning him into the cottage. "Come, my florafiends!" she said, and her flowery minions perked up and started to dance into the house, in suspicious unison. A musical number was about to begin.

Musicals! Oh I love musicals

[systmadmin]

"Ohhhh yes! Got it!" Charles tucked away the coins, rested one hand against the pommel of his sword, then went to follow her into the cottage--careful not to trample the strange little flowers once he'd noticed them move. As they danced ahead of him, his head tilted a bit, both eyebrows raised in bafflement.

Odd creatures, these witches. And odder still the company that they kept.

Put'm together and what have you got?

[no_fastolfe]

The music that came from absolutely no-where didn't surprise or even strike the notice of anyone; the brooms and florafiends danced in choreographed circles around the pot as Rathlina chanted her potion making song-- waving for this broom to toss in The laugh of the creek! The sigh of the wind! and that flower to drop in the string of the web of the spider that spins. Even the pet rock nudged a bottle of willow-tears in.

She wrapped up with a stirring Powell-us Donovan Calvin Ascenion HIGGLETY PIGGLETY BOOM-! and the cauldron erupted in a skull-shaped cloud of green smoke.

That kind of show is how you know you got the good potion.

"Heeeere," she said with a cackle, ladling some into a vial. "This will make them sleep! Sleep like the dead!"

All the homonculi turned to look at her.

"But just sleep," she grumbled, and they cheerfully went back to work. She held out one hand for the coins, bottle clasped in her other hand.