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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[darknessb4me]

Arthas had been minding his own business by the brook when he'd spotted something moving in a way that an animal generally shouldn't be, with the wrong silhouette for a person - he sat up and watched it, frowning. An enchanted broom. Were there elves here? More importantly, was there a Quel'thalas?

[no_fastolfe]

No elves, not in the little clearing the broom toddled back to. Just a standard dark forest, and a menacing little cottage surrounded by thorns and poison mushrooms and a worryingly pristine little vegetable garden.

...well, menacing until some of the nettle plants took one look at their visitor and burst into a happy dance.

It's so hard to find really evil minions anymore.

[darknessb4me]

Lashers. He kept an eye on them. Oh, sure, they're dancing now.

Without turning his back on the plants, he craned his neck and called towards the cottage. "Hello?"

[no_fastolfe]

Another visitor! Her cottage was becoming quite the social gala. Well, more than she wanted it too, anyway.

This one looked like... well, an elf, maybe. With the pretty long hair. It wasn't wavy and glossy enough for a hero, but then some of them did show up in disguise. Rathlina decided to play it by ear.

"Welcome, traveller, to my humble home.
It's far in the forest you've chosen to roam."

[darknessb4me]

"Was that just off the top of your head, or did you practice?"

[no_fastolfe]

She gave him a suspicious look. Banter. Often the telltale sign of a hero.

"What's it to you, blondie? Any crone worth her salt can speak in rhyme. Absolutely necessary for spells and dealing with magic mirrors." She crossed her arms.

[darknessb4me]

"I was just wondering." He sounded defensive.

[no_fastolfe]

"You come to Rathlina, the witch of the west;
A dangerous journey for even the best.
If it isn't her verses you're wishing to test-
Then what is your mission? What is your quest?" She said, a bit defiantly. Asking her if she practiced her rhyming. Of all things.

[darknessb4me]

"I just followed your broom. Broadly speaking, I just arrived from somewhere else and am trying to assess the situation here. Are you elven?"

[no_fastolfe]

...the newcomer must be confused. Perhaps he'd hit his head on a low-hanging branch or something.

"Some elves are short and spritely." Rathlina held a hand out even lower than her own stooped height. "And some are tall-" her arm lifted as high as it could go, "and graceful and lovely. I'm a crone. Two hundred and ninety years old, sir, not a single one of these wrinkles is from a potion," she said proudly.

[darknessb4me]

"Point taken." Anasterian had been nearly five thousand when Arthas had killed him, after all, and still looked somewhere in the neighborhood of forty. "Brooms are usually their thing, though. Not fond of doing any work themselves that might break a nail."

[no_fastolfe]

"Someone else's got brooms?" the hag demanded, a bit offended ."I'm the only one with homonculi this side of the woods. Don't know how they do things in Far Far Away. Hmph. Elves. Brooms. Bah."