Paying old debts

[Tannas]

Mortenga, the vile thorn, stews over a bubbling pot of questionable remains. The fire below it sparked with a variation of colors recognizable to very few of those living. The smell of what lay within, had long since become a dull scent to her recollection. Mortenga had made this concoction a few times before and she was only one of three who knew what it took to make it. The only thing missing was the Eye of Amagoth. There was a knock on the door of her cave dwelling, a firm knock of purpose. She knew who it was. The visitor was expected. With a glide in her step and a glint in her eye, she made her way to the wooden door as it opened on its own. There stood a man clothed in brown and tan leather and white linen garb, his sword rest behind his arm in a reverse grip. Mortenga knew his stance, and knew the man. She knew he was there to pay a debt.

Tannas stood back from the door as it opened. A pale, sweaty hag of a woman came into view. Her hair was thin and wispy, her eyes were dark and sharp in focus. She wore a shawl of black netting with small bottles and bones woven in. A warm and humid smell escaped the cave opening. It was foul and burned in his nostrils. Tannas knew he needed to make his time here short. Make no deals and deliver what was promised. There were other things to be done, more things on the list. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow as she came into the light. The witch smiled to him as she pointed a gnarly finger to him in passive gesture. “You have brought me what is owed? You’ve brought my payment?”

Tannas held out a small, blood-spattered, leather bag of medium weight, and the witch reached out to grab it with two fingers. Tannas stayed his stance and lowered his arm. “Are we done here?” Mortenga floated backward into the door without looking behind herself. “Until next time we meet, Tannas. Rest assured; our paths will cross again. That you can wager.” The door closed itself firmly as she entered. Tannas paused for a moment feeling the wind change direction and cool. The humid smell left his nose to mingle with the passing breeze. Then he turned and left.

Mortenga hovered over her bubbling pot as she spilled the contents of the leather bag into her other hand. The Eye of Amagoth lay still as a small bit of light reflected from it into her eye. She chuckled as she dropped the Eye into the pot. Dazzling red, violet, and maroon lights filled the room as heavy black smoke overflowed on to the floor. A small fleshy hand began to rise from the watery depths of the pot. The witch smiled a toothy grin and clapped as she cackled in joy. The echo of her excitement never left her wooden door.

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