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The men of the convoy quietly murmur to each other around the campfire as the smell of roast beast rises into the clear night air, wearily discussing the events of the day as the babble of the nearby river threatens to lull them to sleep.
Towards the corner of the camp a heady mix of incense and otherworldly lights lure those nearby towards the enchantress’s camp Little is known of this strange being’s origins before the caravan left the town, and since the beginning of their travel all who have spent time in her presence have left with a changed look in their eyes.
In the darkness something shifts amongst the underbrush, possibly drawn to the camp by the scents and sounds, or by the fey magics emanating from the enchantress. The shape rests downwards, the occupants of the fireside are still too active and the night is long, it can wait for its moment.
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Neil Silverman
2022-04-28 14:05:03 +0000 UTC