City of Sinister Angles

Ruminations On One's Place In The Universe

Batilde Grimthorpe struggled through the ancient ruins of one of Thule's lost neighborhoods for hours. Not even gangs of brigands nested this deep into the ragged maze of collapsed, dilapidated buildings. This was the wilderness of the island-city.

Batilde squeezed into a small opening in a pile of black marble debris. It took several adjustments to clear her entire body past the entrance and she had to abandon her cloak after it became caught. She crawled backwards for several minutes before she came to an area with enough space to turn around and see where she was going.

To a given value of "see", that is. It was already dark on the lower levels of Thule, and what little light there was had to be filtered through layer upon layer of crumbling ruins.

Batilde crawled forward for a good while longer before she sensed a presence. Several, in fact. Weak minds. Inhuman.

It was a warren of mutated albino giant rats, their hides riddled with some exotic pox, who hissed and foamed as she breached their inner sanctum. Batilde silently asserted herself, unfurling the fullness of her power, and the beasts instinctively fled. She continued crawling across the accumulated filth and bones of the rat warren, barely registering the encounter.

At last Batilde emerged on the other side of the tunnel, and wriggled free. She felt at a scratch on her neck and her hand came away bloody. She absent-mindedly licked the blood.

A spicy smoke hung in the air, and Batilde sniffed until she determined the direction it was coming from. Following the scent Batilde came upon a small primitive 'mud' hut, seemingly made from the debris of the ruins. In front was a hunched over shape stirring an old, worn copper cauldron that hung over a fire that burned without light.

Batilde waited to be acknowledged for what seemed like forever, before she finally broke the silence.

"Are you the witch called Annis?" she asked.

"Aiblins by some," the old crone croaked, a grin spreading across her cracked face like a cut.

Batilde fell to her knees, and bowed low enough for her forehead to touch the ground.

"Mistress Annis, with all respect and humility I dare ask that-"

"Dornt waste mah time wi' city blaither. Whit dae ye want?."

Batilde raised her head, the awakening of her pride written across her face.

"I want power," she said.

"Power ainnae cheap, lass."

"You don't know what I had to do to find you. Whatever the price is I'm willing to pay it."

"Th' ye foond me shows ye hae potential. Ah micht be able tae teach ye a hin'. Ye woods be in mah debt, o' course."

"Of course," agreed Batilde. She held her hand out to shake.

"Och 'at willnae be necess'ry," said Annis, as she seized Batilda's head in both hands with sudden force and intensity.

Her half-dead, boney arms possessed animal strength and Batilde screamed her vocal chords bloody. Batilde felt like her head was going to be ripped from her body. She tore at Annis's invulnerable grip as her scream withered into a desperate gasp. Annis twisted and tore, finally decapitating the young woman. Batilde's eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth gasped wordlessly, and the torn remains of her throat tangled from her neck. Pain was all she could think of, all she could conceive, but somehow she wasn't dead.

Grasping Batilde's severed head by the hair in one hand, Annis stepped back inside her hut. She chuckled to herself. She might have even conceded to describing the laugh as a "cackle".