All wet. All muddy. All green. The marshlands really live up to their name. Low trees loom just overhead, slender vines hang off of every branch, thick roots bob in and out of the knee-high water. The bog seems endless. Little light gets through the foliage. Every direction looks the same. Duras marches on at a snail's pace, ever-careful, should an ambush lie in wait. In three days, he has covered as much ground as some would in a day. Each step tugs at his heart, at his resolve. Each step makes him want to turn around and head home. But he can't. He has a charge to fulfill, one he has gotten from a letter. A charge not from a king nor a noble, but from a family of desperate commoners. The letter spoke of their children, of how they fell ill under a hag's influence.
A hag. The very thought leaves a sour taste in Duras' mouth. There's no clean way to kill one, that much he knows. Many have tried to go hag hunting, only a few have returned, and even fewer are willing to talk about their experience. A dark shape is nipping at his heels. A dark wolf. More shadow than animal. Its mouth, a perpetual sneering grin, two dark gashes where eyes should be. It can smell it. Oh, and how it hungers. Oh, and how Duras hungers.
And each step brings him forth, brings him closer to his mark. The closer he gets, the more rancid the air grows, the water becomes as thick as syrup, and the sky is devoured by a canopy of dark green. And yet, amidst this deep nature, nothing lives, and nothing wanders except for Duras. The wind doesn't blow. Rain doesn't fall. Nothing can be heard except for his steps within the water. It's as if the whole world stands still and only moves alongside him. And he moves. And the world moves. Both possessing the same spring a dead man has in his step.
On his back, he carries a small bag, only the essentials for such a trip. A few tools. Two weapons, one upon his back and one at his hip. And, just enough food to get him by. He knew of his mark, and yet, there wasn't much he could do to prepare for such a foe. "Each one is different.", a druid from the east once told him, warning him of their unpredictable nature and wild magic. By the time he reached the center of the marsh, he's tired in both mind and body. The foliage has gotten so thick that no light can pierce it, and the water so high that it reaches up to his chest.
There he lay, face to face with what the letter described as being the hag's home. A large and wide tree with bark unlike anything he has ever seen before. A tree more stout than tall, with what appeared to be a door and a pair of windows carved into its very trunk. A tree with bark as grey as ash, pestered by bulbs and growths that turn and writhe at the seams, as if they breathe just as a man would. He rubbed his eyes before gazing upon it again. A Ruler tree, a decrepit one at that. That was what he was seeing. He knew of them, the mentor of House Trias spoke of them with great reverence, calling them "the very genesis of the world's forests" or something like that.
Duras spent some time perched up in the twisted branches of a tree, gathering his nerves and resting before finally heading for the hag's lair. Truth be told, he didn't want to go inside. He would have much rather set the damned tree ablaze and smoke the hag out, but he knew better. Had he set it aflame, the marshlands would burn with it. Looking at them, it was clear that the other trees didn't fare much better either. The closer they were to the Ruler, the grayer their bark became, the darker their leaves. Duras lay with his eyes closed, embraced by the darkness. He couldn't sleep. The only sound he could hear was the beating of his own heart. Each beat thudding against the deafening quiet. Had he not been wet enough by now, his body would have already by ridden by sweat. His hand lay wrapped firmly around the handle of his blade as he meditated, his breath stiff upon his throat.
Then, he heard it. It was faint but unmistakable. Something was moving in the water. The sound came from his left, far enough away for Duras to consider his situation. He opened his eyes. His gaze was met with sheer darkness, there was no seeing further than just a few feet ahead. The sound persisted, still far away but slowly growing closer. He turned to his right, arm reaching for the lamp he used to navigate the lightless swamp. Lighting it now would lead whatever is out there straight to him. Leaving the safety of the tree would give away his location. He was pinned.
The sound slowly grew louder. It won't be long until it will be upon him. He had to act fast. He lit the lamp, imbuing as much vigour as possible into the tiny catalyst stone that held it together. It shone nice and bright just before Duras tossed it into the water. The sound grew even louder, too close for comfort. He twisted around the branches, drawing his blade and positioning himself just above where the lamp had sunk.
It was here. It slithered around in the water, almost as dark as the darkness itself. It blended in almost perfectly, only its size gave it away. And its eyes. They were so white that they shone through the murky water. It dove only to return with the lamp in its jaws, a gaping mouth with no teeth by the looks of it. The lamp faltered not, spewing orange hues every which way, revealing the creature almost entirely. Its black skin was slick with wet. Its head was long, and its eyes sat atop its snout, scanning the darkness with great patience. Two stout arms seemed to carry its bloated frame, no legs were visible, but Duras was pretty sure it had a tail given the way it moved about in the water.
He gripped the blade tighter. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He took the plunge. Landing on its back, his blade bit into its nape before it could even react. Black blood spew forth, splashing on his face as the beast thrashed around in anguish. Try as he might, his weight wasn't enough to pin it. The damned thing spun in frenzy, tossing Duras aside like a broken doll. Duras got slammed into a tree. He got the wind knocked out of him, and tiny lights were dancing just at the periphery of his vision. The beast was still trashing around as Duras stumbled to his feet, massive three-fingered hands reaching for the blade stuck in its back. Then, it noticed that Duras was still alive. It let its jaw slack, dropping the lamp into the water, blood seeping after it. The thing bit into it from shock, no doubt. All the while, the thing let out no sounds. No breathing. No gasping. Nothing.
Its eyes remained glued to him, but it moved not. Good. Duras wasn't ready to move either. Not until the little lights stopped dancing. Then, one question hung in the air. Will it advance slowly, or will it try to rush him down? His heart grew even more erratic at the thought of being chased by the damned thing. Still, he measured his actions. The creature was the first to move, bringing one arm before the other, dragging itself through the water. The water was too high for comfort, no easy way to move around. No easy way to fight either. He was at a great disadvantage, but Duras would have no retreat, despite his shaken spirits. It stepped forward again. Duras did too, his hand slowly reaching under his mantle, reaching for his secondary blade, the one Donaris Venerat had given him just a few days ago.
It sprung forward, its great body smashing against his, smashing him against the tree, pinning him completely. Totally helpless. Or so he would have been had it not been for the blade. All the beast managed to do was impale itself on the short steel. Duras pulled on it as hard as he could, splitting the thing's gullet wide open, showering him in black blood as its life slowly faded from the white bulges on its snout. Looking down at it, the sword given to him by the saint of Aurelthia just saved his life. A pity. To see such a fine blade squandered on someone like him. He spent a few minutes looking at the fell creature. He couldn't tell what it was. He gave it a few stern pokes before returning to the comfort of his tree.
He didn't get much rest. The swamp fell silent, his heart stirred still, beating with unrelenting pressure. His back ached, pain slowly pulsing outwards. It wasn't all bad however. He was still alive. Duras was grateful. But that feeling wouldn't last long. No, his mind would soon be busy thinking about a much grander threat. If Duras struggled with whatever that thing was, he had little hope of walking out of the hag's lair alive. He gazed up with half-closed eyes, staring into the darkness of the leaves, his body tired beyond measure, his mind more lucid than it had ever been.
Come some time later, when he deemed that his body had regained its strength, Duras saw fit to finally make his way inside the Ruler tree. He approached the door of the lair with careful steps, under the cover of darkness, blade in hand. Getting a closer look at the door, the way it had been carved and set into the trunk of the tree was horrid. Bark pulsed around the hinges, and it creaked loudly as Duras pushed it open. The bark pulsed around the glass of the windows as well. It was strange. Normally, these trees would grow and cover any obstruction in their way, but this one didn't. Or, perhaps, it couldn't.
Beyond the door, there was only darkness. The air was even more humid than it was outside. Duras couldn't see anything. He couldn't carry the lamp either, his hand was preoccupied. Duras stepped forward, just about ready to curse his crippleness when the room grew suddenly bright. A myriad of lamps were lit at his approach, revealing a room of unexpected size and comfort. It was big. Bigger than what seemed possible from the outside. Well furnished too. Below his feet, a hardwood floor of red planks mixed with brown ones in a pattern that made his head spin. A large table, clothed and set and surrounded by chairs on all sides. To one side, shelves carved straight into the trunk, endless rows of books neatly stacked one by the other, cushions on the floor so one may sit and read. Just beside it, a large desk, quill and ink and paper on it, a grand, comfortable-looking armchair in front of it. One book upon the desk.
On the other side, a wall mounted with all kinds of creatures. Duras didn't recognise most of them. Just further ahead lay what seemed to be a pantry, filled with sacks and crates, the smell of damp dirt in the air. Beside it, a small kitchen, a wine rack with a large assortment of wines, just by a small smoking house. Duras recognized a few of the wines by their labels. "The blood of Dythir" caught his eye. A favorite of House Trias. Extremely rare. Just as expensive too.
He returned to the entrance. His investigation revealed nothing, but he grew accustomed to the place, his heart finally steadying itself. There was no way up nor down, and there was no hag here. Then, he felt it. A strange feeling. Like something was watching him. He approached the shelves but found nothing. "Hey...", a whisper made him jump, drawing his steel with shaking fingers. For a second, he thought he might have just imagined it, but upon listening closer, he heard something. With his heart finally steady and his mind clear, Duras heard something akin to shallow breathing.
He moved about slowly, trying to identify where the sound was coming from. It was the loudest near the desk. His eyes fell on the book. It was a strange thing. Cream in colour, needled with black twine, thick and cumbersome, Duras felt dirty just looking at it. Stowing away his blade and picking it up, he couldn't help but drop it in shock once he turned it over. His gaze was met by two glassy eyes and an open mouth, and it fell to the floor with a loud thud as it slipped from his fingers.
"Hey, what are you doing, man?", it spoke after it hit the ground, face grimacing in pain, "Don't pick people up if you are going to drop them! Don't you know babies can die from that?".
He couldn't believe his eyes. His words were stuck in his throat, and all he could do was pick it back up with uncertain fingers. "What? What are you looking at? Never seen a talking book before, fool?", it continued while grinning. Its cover seemed to be made out of skin, and its breath stunk.
It continued, voice raspy and aggravating, each word interrupting his train of thought, "Say, fool, why have you come here? You want to end up like me? 'Cause if not, you better get out of here before the wench returns!".
Duras spoke slowly, doing his best to steel his eyes, his gaze passing right through the book. "I take it that you once were human. How did you end up like this?".
"Why should I tell you?", it jested, eyes filled with joy. It must have been a long time since it had someone to talk to.
"I'll toss you into the water outside if you don't answer me.".
The book's expression changed, as if wondering if Duras really had what it took to do that. He responded, after deciding that taking the risk was not worth it, "I took a deal with the hag of this house. I was sick.".
"And what did she ask in return?".
The grin slowly faded, "All she asked of me was to remember all the things that she would forget. She writes in me, from time to time. What exactly? I don't know.".