The Dichotomy of a Witch Hunt [Goddess x Bishop]

His end was rapidly approaching, he knew. He had been warned not to go about this alone, yet pride and stubbornness trumped caution. Lands such as this, wrought with danger and looming threats, were not meant for a man to traverse alone, regardless of skill and discipline. Yet Victor had been too blinded by past victories to see the danger, and it seemed this mistake would result in his death.

The skirmish had ended almost as quickly as it had started. He was set upon by a trio of ne’er-do-wells, thieves brandishing the mark of one of the local tribes of delinquents. They traveled in droves nowadays, hounding caravans and passerbys that dared the roads north of Lundral. There was talk that they were under the control of the witch, the mysterious woman who called these swamps her home. It was her that Victor sought, yet not for counsel. He sought to sink his blade into her heart, to put an end to the madness of these attacks. He sought to bring peace to the city. Yet it was he who fell victim to a blade instead.

Three corpses surrounded the paladin, their blood mingling with his own in the murky waters of the swamp. The first two had fallen to his sword with nary a chance, yet they provided ample distraction for the thirst to run him through. His blade was thrust through the paladin’s ribcage, slipping past the breastplate and piercing through the chainmail. Fortunately, the second thrust was parried, knocking his killer off balance and allowing him to strike a fatal blow across the man’s windpipe. The crunching sound of the metal collapsing beneath the blade is what the most horrifying part was. It still rang in his ears, deafening the death gurgles of his assailants. And they would soon be followed by his own.

It was foolish of him to think he could commence this journey without assistance. Vastly outnumbered, he should have known the overwhelming difficulty of actually making it to the cottage at the heart of these lands. Hells, he wasn’t even sure it existed. He would never know now.

He had managed to prop himself up against a nearby tree, the waters rising up to veil his legs beneath their surface. The bodies were half hidden from sight, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before all corpses were dragged off by beasts, including his own. He had imagined his death to be celebrated by masses. Victor Belond, Sworn Shield of the Moonlight Priestess. A life dedicated to the preservation of innocence led to a death that would be forgotten by he had sworn to protect. What had it been for?

As his life’s essence leaked from his wounded side, the world began to fade. The feeling in his fingers and toes waned, all sensation escaping as his world fell into nothingness.

Trudging through the waters in a small boat, Elana knew the bayou better than anyone. Plenty of people traversed these wetlands looking for her, some seeking her help and other seeking her death, but locals always knew better than to cross the woman of a thousand years with the droopy hat. So many local legends talked about her, and the elders of the tribe remember when they were children, capturing frogs in the swamp, and seeing her not age a day, like their fathers before them remembered. Some said she drank blood to keep young or had discovered the secret of immortality, others thought she was not of this world or just that good of a witch. Most of all, the locals knew better than to mess in her affairs, so if anyone came to town looking for her, they would just be pointed her way to their death or salvation.

Despite the legends about her age, Elana looked to be somewhere in her 20's or 30's, but no more than that. Her skin was still rosy, with a bit of a tan in her cheeks and hands from her many hours spent fishing under the sun, and she wore loose cotton robes with a leather belt and boots. The biggest mark of her witchery was her hair, fiery red, tied in a braid and mostly hidden by her droopy leather hat. Her eyes also were hidden by the hat, a bright and clear grey like a cloudy sky.

On the distance she heard the sound of fighting, probably the remainder of the bandit troop she was kind enough to show mercy after they went after her head. It was unlikely to be the locals, for the remaining bandits were few and most knew better than to travel alone in these perilous wetlands, but nonetheless she decided to check in case some poor soul ended up needing her. It seemed that it was in one of the more annoying areas of the swamp, the areas that were too shallow to boat, though it beats her why they would travel by foot in these lands.

The fighting seemed to be over, so calmly she tied her boat to a nearby tree and tied her robes a little higher, allowing her better to walk. Climbing off the boat with a light splash, she called, "Hello, is there anyone alive 'round here?"