The Silencing [Druidic Trial]

[Gnomeh 470]

 

[!] This information is only accessible to read OOC, unless it is told otherwise through RP.

 

Spoiler

 

Something to listen to whilst you read <3

 

 

𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒮𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒩𝒞𝐼𝒩𝒢

 

A duty had been given to the Witch of The Wyld Creed. Her guide had tasked her to hunt, and silence, a predator of the wilds, a task far out of her comfort zone, yet it was a duty she acknowledged as necessary, and would not oppose, and as she had heard the Yasu-Tori, Botsugo, say an ‘eve prior, "Failure is a reminder” but she also knew that failure was a lesson. Before the dawning of the luminous sun, she had begun to make preparations, thinking carefully on which predator would offer her a challenge without the possibility of death. With a beating heart she journeyed into her own instincts of survival, ruling out anything that would be too large and dangerous, and anything that would be too simple and meek. Anticipation channelled through her, carried by anxiety. Sitting by the warming flames of her camp, she delicately bundled various herbs within masterfully woven twine. Each one uttered over with a hushed blessing to the Lord.

 

 

“To the Horned Lord,  Our blessed Lord of the hunt, May thou shine thy strength upon me,  Offer me thy swiftness and precision, So that I may silence the blessed animal of thy kingdom With the respect that it deserves.”

 

 

 

 

Golden rays began to seep through each branch within the surrounding forest, heralding a new day and the beginning of the hunt. The warming glow eased her anxiety lightly, recounting everything that she had prepared beneath the gleaming cover of moonlight.  The morning winds began to whistle, carrying leaves within as the Witch began to set off. She began to head westward, carefully treading through fields of grazing cows and amongst the soggy marshlands around Junmura.  Each step was taken with caution. Each adjustment of her gaze was precise. Her attention was drawn to every sound. The wheel continued to turn, as hours continued to pass without finding many opportunities, she began to rest down for the evening. A welcoming fire was lit amidst a grassy plain to allow for rest and warmth, the winds grew colder with each minute. The witch panned around her surroundings, silent rumbles were felt through her stomach, an aching hunger. Through necessity she decided to forage a variety of berries, scattering them around her fire and patiently waited. A lone, solitary, jackrabbit hesitantly hopped around the witch, picking at each berry that had been scattered. She watched on in her seated position, carefully eyeing her prey with each movement it took. Each of her breaths were slow, and steady. The air condensed with each as she waited. Time slowed as the jackrabbit continued its feast. The witch slowly turned a crude, ritualistic knife within her hands, the sharpened blade shaped from steel, fastened onto a short handle carved from the trunk of a willow tree. Time had almost stopped now, as the prey locked eyes with its predator, they each exchanged a knowing feeling between them. The witch lunged forwards with precise movement, the sharpened blade, held tightly within her hand, bound by duty, towards the neck of the rabbit, piercing it quickly and successfully. Nature stilled as the prey was silenced, and once again the witch offered a prayer.

 

“To the Mother-Maiden, Our blessed Lady of life, May thou shine thine peace unto this silenced animal, Offer it thy protection as it joins thee beyond the hedge.”

 

 

The witch began to carve away at the rabbit, each action taken with intention. The hide was washed within the river, stored for an intended purpose. The meat was rationed, half cooked and eaten, half salted and preserved. The blood bottled within a leathery vessel. That which was not used was buried beneath the fire, waiting to be claimed and returned into the soil. The wheel turned once more. A new day broke past the horizon. Satiated with the food blessed by her most recent hunt, and well rested, the Witch sought to move quickly during dawn as an appropriate plan came to fruition within her steady mind, filled with a rush of adrenaline. She knew what her duty was. She withdrew the salted meat from the dusk before and set it upon the roots of a tree. Herbs of chamomile, sage, and thyme were scattered ritualistically around the meat, not for seasoning, but for luck, prosperity, and courage. Another prayer, to the Horned Lord, was uttered above the baited meat, pouring the blood of the slain jackrabbit was quickly poured around it, accentuating the aroma, reaching for an animal's hunger. Hastily did the witch seek to ascend the tree, gripping the most suitable of crevices amongst the splintering bark until she had met a steady branch in which to perch herself, above the bait, silently. 

 

 

The sun glistened higher within the turning sky, her feet becoming numb as they rested against the harsh grain of the branch. Waiting. Anticipating. A sound caught the Witch’s attention, the cracking of sticks and the crumbling of foliage beneath a plush paw. Her head was static, not wanting to make any noise of her own, even her breaths slowly became less frequent. She was statuesque, becoming one with the tree, and the tree was one with her.

 

 Silken, stone-greyed fur crept through the thicket. 

Amber eyes, fireflies against the dawning sun's radiance.

 

 Unkempt claws dragged through the untilled soil of the forest. 

 

A solitary wolf, from the legions of Morea, measured at one-hundred and thirty inches in length, and sixty inches in height. The largest hound the Witch had ever witnessed, panic began to curdle within her. She felt watched. The beast drew ever closer, sniffing the dew-laden air, salivating between its broken, dirtied fangs, as a meal had been presented before it. The predator began licking against the blessed meal with its spiked tongue, with the Witch continuing to watch above. The overwhelming sense of anxiety coursed throughout her, beginning to shake each bone. Her sweaty grip tightened around the handle of her dagger. Her thoughts clouded her mind, against this unfamiliar foe, she shifted her weight to fall over one side of the branch, the point of her blade aimed directly towards the wolf’s neck as she sought to ambush it from above. Her own, careless, reaction notified the prey of her intention of duty, its agile neck twisted around to snap its maw towards her, its body thrashed against the shrubbery as she landed against its thick hide. The steel edge of her blade sunk within the beast’s neck, its thrashing scored a wound around, and  along its side and ichor began to stain its coarse fur.

 

 

 

 

The Witch withdrew the blade from its tough flesh and scrambled to shift herself quickly through the dry dirt beneath as the canine swiped against her movements, a gnarled claw caught her cheek, grazing her petrified face and drawing crimson ichor, its other pinned her, restrained her movement, before its jaw snapped forcibly towards her. Laying against the forest floor, her usually clean attire now sodden, torn and stained with the blood of both predator and prey, her duty continued to remind her of her servitude. Through persistence, her leg stretched outwards towards the beast's chest, stunting it slightly so that her dagger could slice the hazy morning air and across the maw of the wolf, each action fuelled by intent, a devotion to the triumvirate, struggling past her striking fear. The predator's jaw hung loosely, and weakly, its harsh whimpering brought about spouts of blood that fell upon the witch. Its strength began to fall, lightly releasing its paw from her chest, ferrous blood ran from her own wounds, the Witch that was weakened herself sliced her dagger downwards on the wolf’s front leg that had her pinned, it slowly began to scuttle back, wounded and crying. The Witch gathered her breaths that were taken by the wolf’s trap, the sun now hung in the sky as a spot light, gracing her hunt. Her glance moved over to the wolf, it now laying against a fallen conifer, blood pooled around its fading vessel with each weep, its strength had been lost to avenge itself against the Witch. She rose, but tears began to fall with each shaky step she took towards it, holding her bloodied blade, understanding her duty. Silencing it with intent. The Witch stood above it as the lids of its eyes drew to a close, its last breath eternalised in the mist of dawn, and its pure soul carried beyond the hedge, she uttered a final prayer.

 

 

“To the Crone, Our blessed Guardian of Rebirth, May thou claim this soul, Transform it and pass it onto a new life, Place it back upon the material plane and set it free.”

 

 

With the hunt concluded, she sat beside the corpse, stroking its bloodied fur with each word of the prayer, her voice accompanying its soul, easing the transition from life to death. The Witch procured a small satchel, pulling from it a cloth to hold against her own wounds, and various herbs to ease her pain and coagulate the blood that seeped from them, draining her strength. Moments soon passed, and she revitalised, beginning to scatter the site of the hunt with bundles of lavender, blessing the wolf’s spirit with peace and purification. Her eyes continued to weep. The animal silenced, the forest was silent, and so too was the unheard song of nature, silent.

 

The sun hung isolated, directly above the forest, enshrouding the now ritualistic site in a golden aura of tranquillity. The crickets now thrummed once more as the Witch regained her energy, lifting herself against a tree to once again approach the corpse, grasping its legs to tie with woven twine and dragging it onto an unfurled rug of dry leather to bring simplicity to the journey back. The Witch’s back was gently warmed by the sun as she slowly travelled back east-ward.

 

 

Spoiler

Just a simple post for my druidic trial. I enjoyed writing it but it can definitely be improved, regardless I continued when I wasnt working on my uni work.

I hope you all enjoy reading it :)