DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

INSIDE THE MAD WIDOW YMAE'S HUT (ALDRIC, ANORA, DUFGAL)

"Strangers three, come to see lonesome me," Ymae's voice sounds in the shadowy distance as Aldric, Anora, and Dufgal all make their way into the widow's cottage. The thief sees as he moves inside that the daub fill in the walls, in-between the wooden lattice wattle, looks unusual. Commonly made from sand, dung, straw and other loose materials held together by clay or some other binding agent, the man sees that the hovel's daub is permeated with what looks like... hair.

Anora notes it as well as the priest leads the way through the narrow passage that connects the front door with the middle of the home, where Ymae awaits. But she further notes that this is no normal hair binding the daub together; rather it is infused with some kind of magic or mystical energy.

The witch -- for she must be so, Anora reckons -- says nothing in response to their greetings until the trio comes to stand in her workshop, such as it is. The ceiling is low, causing Aldric and Dufgal to stoop, and the sights and smells of the place are beyond overwhelming. Racks and shelves, piles and stacks -- the room is bursting with baubles and beads, feathers and dried plants. Jars of things pickled but still moving... bones and bits of decorative wood, draped fabrics, dried husks of rodents and huge roaches. The whole places seems much larger than should seem possible, but the mind is not given long to linger on that matter.

At the center of the space, near a lively fire burning in a pit at the center of the earthen floor, the so-called Mad Widow sits with spindle and distaff, spinning flames from that fire into what appear to be glowing, golden threads. She does not look away from her work as her guests come into the room, but a fat, mottled cat, perched high on a shelf, watches the trio with shining eyes.

"Tell me," Ymae says to Aldric she she spins, focused on her craft, "why you trouble yourselves with the village of Hirot and its doom? And why I should help you face something you do not even understand..."

The blessing Pelagia has graced Aldric with pains the man in this place. Little of it can be described as evil, but there is much that is... wrong, that is unnatural. The flames, especially, seem to swell the man's balls achingly, the closer he gets to the fire. There -- there something sinister does lurk, but it still seems distilled somehow, distant or veiled.

INSIDE THE MAD WIDOW YMAE'S HUT (ALDRIC, ANORA, DUFGAL)

"So it was coin that first motivated you," Ymae says with what seems like satisfaction after Aldric explains, then adds, "and now you've encountered a horror that your intemperate and unpredictable goddess insists be put down. Pelagia's will be done!"

Finally turning, watching as one of her guests attempts to pet the cat, and another remains quiet despite the judgements reflecting in her eyes, the old woman ceases spinning for a moment as she looks finally at the bedraggled priest.

"I have no desire for you to do this work, or any other! This place is full of wretches, many of whom deserve what the Fates have in store!" When a mild and strangely compassionate expression crosses the craggy, heavily lined features of Ymae's face, she amends, "Not all of them... but most. And most certainly some. The idiot Justicar has that right at least, if nothing else."

Licking her dry lips, the crone's watery, yellow eyes flick from person to person as she continues. "This is no mere mortal beast that haunts Hirot, know that. No, tis a primordial chaos spirit! A spiteful, hateful thing born in the reeking depths of the Áereth, long before man or woman trod its fields and vales. They roamed these lands, such spirits, until the hardy folk who once worshipped them hunted them, slew them, drove them away. It's been generations since one has been seen... this Hound? It's ancient, and it's been loosed upon the land somehow."

Starting to spin her glowing thread again, she hums a moment, then smiles. "Your implements and methods are insufficient to stand against such a beast... which only reforms should you manage a killing blow. Surely the watchmen who aren't dead have told you this. You need to bind the thing in its lair, and strike it true with a spell-graced weapon. Only then will the beast go howling back whence it came."

INSIDE THE MAD WIDOW YMAE'S HUT (ALDRIC, ANORA, DUFGAL)

Ymae turns and puts a glowering, bloodshot eye on Anora when the woman finally speaks up, and it looks like the witch is about to respond in turn when suddenly Dufgal is blurting what he is. He is also reaching up to pet the cat as he reveals what the bard told him, but rather than fur, his hand strokes coarse and bristly, twitching hairs... and what feels like... chitin?

There's a sound from the cat and a flurry of motion which sets the Widow off.

"KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF! DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING IN MY HOME!" she shouts at the man, pointing at him with her spindle, spitting a mist of droplets into the room as she barks at Dufgal, furious!

The cat hisses, chitters and bites at Dufgal before it scrambles down from the shelves, but the thief is quick to retract his hand before he suffers a bite. The bulk of the thing becomes evident when several knick-knacks, mugs, and other items are knocked to the floor, where several of them smash.

"IDIOT!" Ymae growls, stepping away from the fire, moving towards Dufgal at a lurch. Alric sees from his vantage that the woman is barefoot beneath her ragged shift, and that her plump and fleshy toes are swollen and discolored, looking more like like tiny, bruised crabapples than digits.

"You've upset him! Out, boy -- get out!"

The fury seems to drain out of the crone when Anora steps in front of her, and when her old eyes dart to the woman's hand -- on her sword. Dufgal and his gaff seem forgotten as she smiles slightly, planting her feet in a wide, balancing stance.

"You threaten to draw a weapon here, in my abode? After I invited your friend here? After he approached me for help?"

The inside of the hovel seems to shudder as the two women face-off. Tiny amounts of dust and debris falls from the ceiling; glass tinkles, wooden charms and trinkets rattle. A large set of leather-bound, hand-scribed books shifts, nearly falling from their shelves, and the interloping wizardess can sense the magic in the air, the energies building around Ymae.

"I see you are a practitioner yourself. An apprentice or abecedarian or the like, yes? Witness, Anora the Blue, wild and true magic!"