The Ocean And The Witch

You have heard me tell many tales about the sea, and one could say that I am drawn to the ocean as well as to its stories, so here is one more of that kind. I have told you about the Drowned One, the ancient spirit, brought into existence by a desperate fisherman, a ghost that roams the southern coasts around the Bay of Rooe. And I have told you about the whales and tentaclefish that live down in the southern sea beyond the Belt of Isles. But here you have a legend from the west, a story that people from the western coast of the Endless Ocean refuse to tell.

At the time I learned about the Bone Hag and her story, I was on my way north from Rooe, and, due to my affinity for the sea, had taken a route far from the inland trading roads, where wanderstuben and villages line the track and travel is cosy. Instead I chose a route that was not fared often, especially not by the sound-minded, for it led right along the stormy cliffs of the west, or even down by the beach, where sometimes the spray of crushing waves would be blown into my face. But like this, I could always enjoy a lovely view of endless blue and green and grey to my left while travelling northward.

Climate is never beautiful along the western shores in the common sense, rarely a few consecutive days have sunshine all over it, but I do like the harsh winds, the nasty rain and the roaring waves down there, so I knew what was waiting for me. Equipped with enough dried vegetables, canned soups, teas and rum I made for the sea in late spring, only accompanied by the horse that pulled my vaggon and the pig that never left my side, and just occasionally met the usual fisherman or bum between the scarcely scattered fisher villages. When it was possible, I would stay in such a village for a night, otherwise I camped in my vaggon and ate from a fire kindled in the beach sand.

It was in one of those settlements that I firstly heard of the strange weather phenomena that apparently sometimes occur by the shore.
Those people had neither inn nor stable, only five or six rundown huts to stay in; black from seawater, most possibly built from shipwrecks or driftwood, and a few boats and nets of their own. Possibly all inbred folks without much connection to the outer world, they were a bit quaint towards me. I did my usual best not to upset them but not to play someone else as well, and offered them some tea and fruits from the south in exchange for some new coal and stew. I did not ask to stay in their place, for there was no space for a strange old man with tattoos, a pig and a large trading carriage, and told them I would make yet another night by the seaside in the sands and rocks of the beach. That was when one of the fisherboys yelled something like "But don't ya get cought in the midnight storms, old boy!", when one of his uncles, or maybe brothers, shoved their elbow into his side and went "Ey, nobody's gotta know about the midnight storms, stupid one!". Indeed, their rough tone and manners upset me a bit, but the initial warning seemed fair and honest, and thus, not knowing what to expect from this weather thing yet unheard of, I tried digging a bit deeper. "What kinda storms do appear at midnight? I'm not much afraid of ghost stories, but that would be a strange one." "Well old boy," that unclebrother replied, "Then brace for what is common in these stretches of the Ocean." The younger one continued while darning his net: "Between midnight and the rise of the sun above the cliff they appear. Wild roaring storms, never all across the shore, but always just a few hundred metres of the beach. They howl and cry like a mad widow, and they toss ashore driftwood that has been laying in the depths of the sea a hundred years and should have stayed there! And in the morning, some of the strangest things are gone already, cause the Bone Hag has picked them -" his unclebrother did not allow to finish, and between shut teeth he growled "Say naught about that darn Bone Hag, stupid one, or she'll curse ye with her twisted tongue next." That was when the boy did shut up. He exchanged an uneasy look with me, before he whispered "He looks like he'd help her picking if ye ask me!" and broke from his fellas grip to run off and hide in one of the huts. "Don't listen to the stupid one, he knows not what he speaks cause he has a mouth larger than his skull, and he thinks with his tongue if at all." the older one made a horrible attempt of an excuse. I was glad I had my trades already finished, for I was not eager to have another word with these strange people. That name however, the Bone Hag and the awkward things she did at night, that sounded like something I wanted to know more of. Thus, equipped with new provisions, I made back for the beach and hoped to get myself into such a midnight storm.