~Hebi Terumi~
Active member
Awards
Just a little FF I came up with, hope you enjoy ^_^
The sky was black as sin. Not even a breeze rustled the sylvan landscape near the quiet village, which was after a long, seemingly endless day was in it's resting period. The village ,while not particularly sprawling with excitement or people for that matter, was a very tight-knit place, where one villager knew if a virgin who had just been wed, was in the act of giving up that virginity to her esteemed husband and vice versa, where a new face was easily noticed among the scrutinizing eyes of the villagers.
The architecture of this quaint, quiet little village resembled the Gothic style of Paris, though to a lesser extent as to not draw too much attention to their rather bland area of living.
Leading to this resting, small, and trite village was a dirt path, which had a hint of cobblestones here and there. Parents of the naive, but interested young ones of Creek Hill Village, that the cobblestones placed in the path are meant to warn the residents of outsiders, or in most versions witches, who have come as a simple peddler, to sell goods and gain the trust of her customers.
Once, she had done so, she would find a nice little area outside the village, in the forest, where no one would tread. The area of the scheming and malevolent witch would be littered with the carcases of deceased, emaciated chickens and decapitated goats, with the innards of their abdomen revealed to the open air for all to see.
Underneath the sacrificed beasts, whom had no chance standing up to the supernatural abilities of the heathen that had used them, was a triquetra that was used to channel the dark magic that the witch would cast upon the oblivious townspeople.
Some versions imply that the witch went through with her plan and climbed upon the scaffold in the town square, when the sun was at the highest point in the sky. The scaffold, which was associated with wrong doing, evil, and most importantly sin, already alluded to the pious village folk, that the woman, whom they thought to be no more than a peddler that sold necessities in the town square, was actually a witch who ascended the scaffold to cast her spell upon the poor unfortunate souls that lie below her. Governor Nottingham was brave enough, to brandish a knife and strike the hideous heathen, with it, ending her life before she got the chance to utter a single word, not even a syllable passed her lips.
The body of the woman, whom had signed her death warrant when allying herself with the Black Man (Devil), was burned at the stake, in front of the rejoicing and excited crowd of villagers, who praised Nottingham as a Saint and hero.
But what of the other versions you ask? Well, those which are more difficult to get a handle on, usually have the same premise as the other one. The sickly woman, who dabbles in witchcraft enters the town as a peddler and assimilates herself among the townsfolk. She finds her area in the Devil’s Playground, and after signing her name in the Black Man’s book, she indulges in the craft and casts her spell from the forest instead of ascending the scaffold. After she finishes, she disappears, never to be seen or heard from again.
The magistrates of Creek Hill always thought to tell the first version because it glorified their victory over a follower whom was in cahoots with the Devil.
And so, on that monochromatic cobblestone path, walked a figure clad in a deep-black cloak, face partially covered by a hood, shrouding the other side of her angered face in shadows, except a green glow that emanated from her left retina. It may have also been in her other eye from her other, but that part was hidden from view. As the cobblestones beneath the figure’s feet crunched, as she walked forward, she caught view of the little town Creek Hill. Her fists clenched in anger as she arrived at the entrance of the town, she headed, as if in a trance, towards the scaffold located in the heart of the village.
Yes, the very scaffold that the witch was executed on as told by the mouths of the wiser ones, is where the figure stood. As the removed her hood, the villagers exited their homes, with lanterns in the women’s hands and pitchforks in the men’s hands. Their reactions as they saw what stood upon, were those of fear, cowardice, and disgust.
Now, what they saw exactly, is not exactly what truly is, but only what they perceived in that very instant. As the figure upon the scaffold, after removing her hood had a countenance of anger swept across her face as she eyed down the villagers.
The sky was black as sin. Not even a breeze rustled the sylvan landscape near the quiet village, which was after a long, seemingly endless day was in it's resting period. The village ,while not particularly sprawling with excitement or people for that matter, was a very tight-knit place, where one villager knew if a virgin who had just been wed, was in the act of giving up that virginity to her esteemed husband and vice versa, where a new face was easily noticed among the scrutinizing eyes of the villagers.
The architecture of this quaint, quiet little village resembled the Gothic style of Paris, though to a lesser extent as to not draw too much attention to their rather bland area of living.
Leading to this resting, small, and trite village was a dirt path, which had a hint of cobblestones here and there. Parents of the naive, but interested young ones of Creek Hill Village, that the cobblestones placed in the path are meant to warn the residents of outsiders, or in most versions witches, who have come as a simple peddler, to sell goods and gain the trust of her customers.
Once, she had done so, she would find a nice little area outside the village, in the forest, where no one would tread. The area of the scheming and malevolent witch would be littered with the carcases of deceased, emaciated chickens and decapitated goats, with the innards of their abdomen revealed to the open air for all to see.
Underneath the sacrificed beasts, whom had no chance standing up to the supernatural abilities of the heathen that had used them, was a triquetra that was used to channel the dark magic that the witch would cast upon the oblivious townspeople.
Some versions imply that the witch went through with her plan and climbed upon the scaffold in the town square, when the sun was at the highest point in the sky. The scaffold, which was associated with wrong doing, evil, and most importantly sin, already alluded to the pious village folk, that the woman, whom they thought to be no more than a peddler that sold necessities in the town square, was actually a witch who ascended the scaffold to cast her spell upon the poor unfortunate souls that lie below her. Governor Nottingham was brave enough, to brandish a knife and strike the hideous heathen, with it, ending her life before she got the chance to utter a single word, not even a syllable passed her lips.
The body of the woman, whom had signed her death warrant when allying herself with the Black Man (Devil), was burned at the stake, in front of the rejoicing and excited crowd of villagers, who praised Nottingham as a Saint and hero.
But what of the other versions you ask? Well, those which are more difficult to get a handle on, usually have the same premise as the other one. The sickly woman, who dabbles in witchcraft enters the town as a peddler and assimilates herself among the townsfolk. She finds her area in the Devil’s Playground, and after signing her name in the Black Man’s book, she indulges in the craft and casts her spell from the forest instead of ascending the scaffold. After she finishes, she disappears, never to be seen or heard from again.
The magistrates of Creek Hill always thought to tell the first version because it glorified their victory over a follower whom was in cahoots with the Devil.
And so, on that monochromatic cobblestone path, walked a figure clad in a deep-black cloak, face partially covered by a hood, shrouding the other side of her angered face in shadows, except a green glow that emanated from her left retina. It may have also been in her other eye from her other, but that part was hidden from view. As the cobblestones beneath the figure’s feet crunched, as she walked forward, she caught view of the little town Creek Hill. Her fists clenched in anger as she arrived at the entrance of the town, she headed, as if in a trance, towards the scaffold located in the heart of the village.
Yes, the very scaffold that the witch was executed on as told by the mouths of the wiser ones, is where the figure stood. As the removed her hood, the villagers exited their homes, with lanterns in the women’s hands and pitchforks in the men’s hands. Their reactions as they saw what stood upon, were those of fear, cowardice, and disgust.
Now, what they saw exactly, is not exactly what truly is, but only what they perceived in that very instant. As the figure upon the scaffold, after removing her hood had a countenance of anger swept across her face as she eyed down the villagers.
