The Little Hut on the Shore of the Lake

The crackle and pop of wood slowly burning filled the room with it's gentle symphony as the flames cast shadowy dancing figures across the walls of the modest little hut on the shore of the lake. A bubbling cauldron of iron, engraved and decorated by the richtus grins of myriad skulls, hovered above the licking flames, stirred slowly by a large old wooden spoon. Bits of this bits of that and things best left unmentioned roiled and swam through the boiling mixture within, the reflection on the surface showed the Old Troll Witch Doctor who stirred the mix with such care, pale lifeless eyes narrowing under a brow creased with concern as white painted lips muttered ancient dark words. Something was happening, something danced in the shadows of that modest little hut on the shore of the lake.

A slim almost boney hand dug into a pouch near the cauldron withdrawing a white powder, dramatically the dust was cast over the bubbling mixture resulting in an explosion of white light that rose above the smoking cauldron and hung in the air like smoke. Pale eyes narrowed as the center of the smokey cloud darkened revealing a wizened old face staring back at the Witch Doctor. Long moments past before the phantom apparition spoke, it's voice as deep and rumbling as a stone sarcophagus being slid open "Why have you called on me my most loyal servant?". Jutting his painted chin out a moment the old Witch Doctor slowly bowed his head in reverence to his master "I seek a favor master", the apparition nodded slowly and responded "A favor say you? Ask it". Clearing his throat the old Troll answered "A terrible Darkness grips my Tribe, a sickness..affliction weakens them, I see them coming to you my master...soon" nodding the apparition responded "Yes this I see also, the leaves drift from their branch day by day...but I sense there is a specific request you have, yes?". Narrowing his eyes the old Troll nodded "The children master.." cutting him off the apparition frowned "Ahh yes..you my servant are entirely to soft when dealing with the young...you would be wise to accept that life ends when it ends..but I will listen". Knowing time was short for the communion the Witch Doctor cleared his throat and quickly spoke "I entreat you to take who you may in due time, but I beg you to spare the children...when and if their time comes...turn them back at your lands, return them to life, and let their branch ever grow". Long moments past as the apparition considered this before finally nodding to his servant "Very well, I will refuse entry to the children..they will live their lives...but their care is yours...contrition must be made". With that the apparition faded as the smoke slowly fell back into the cauldron, leaving the Witch Doctor alone in his hut...eyes downcast to the cauldron.

Letting out a rattling breath from an exhausted body the old Witch Doctor slowly drew his hand across the floor, fingers sliding over the familiar wooden and leather handle of a wickedly barbed device which lay exposed on the soft skins of his hut. Gripping the device with stoic determination, he drew the scourge into the light, holding it aloft before the cauldron, his words drifting from his lips and filling the hut with their reverent tone he intoned "For the Sins of youth, I take them onto my shoulder...for the Sin of Life Spared...I take them onto my shoulder...let the branch of life be bent to thy will master, for this I take the sin onto my shoulder, blood for blood, pain for pain...accept my contrition". With that, a white knuckled fist gripped the scourge and swung it violently over his shoulder, a loud SLAPP! of leather and metal barbs hit skin, bruising and tearing it where it struck. Struck again and again it did, the unfeeling stinging leather guided by faith and will tore, ripped and stung exposed flesh with every lash. Like a macabre droning drum beat the lash rose and fell, creating a brutal staccato that the shadows of the cauldron lept and danced to. Late into the morning it continued, until blood pooled at the Witch Doctors feet, bone exposed and arms so weak from strain that they could no longer lift the scourge. Falling to his knees, the body had failed but the will still forced the scourge to twitch in hands numb from exertion. Collapsing on the floor..his cheek kissed by the pool of his own blood, the Witch Doctor closed his eyes for but a moment and listened...hearing it on the air, joy cried the sun, youth called the wind...the laughter of children came to his ears, their laughter poured down upon his pale form warming him as sun shone down through the windows illuminating the small smile thattugged on painted lips before the darkness of sleep took him. Love...love of life had shone through the darknessof that night, and something had grown from the pain of those grim early hours...hope danced in the shadowsof that modest little hut on the shore of the lake.