A cacophony of loosely scattering rocks broke the deadly stillness of the waning sundown. The sun sat precariously low on the horizon; tauntingly, basking the well-rooted forests and deep-seated lakes with what little excess energy it had to spare. The waters shifted beneath the mottled, greying sky and treetops rusted gently in a few brief moments before deafening silence fell upon the world, fading rays winking across the heavens, slashed with indigo, red and yellow…<br/><br/>She had descended, spurred on by reliable sources, telltale fables of wide-reaching moors and marshes, where the loamy meadow-bottom sprawl with the short, fat stems and tufted leaves of the mandrake in lush abundance. She navigated the restlessness in the winding, serpent-like side paths with a tinge of nervousness gnawing at the back of her head, a flaming curtain of red swirling gently in the evening breeze; a flickering abyss.<br/><br/>The forest had a choking denseness in the air and the soft susurration of branches felt somehow heavy in the ears. At first glance, it was dark and foreboding, but there was an eerie peace in its sullen ambiance unlike even more tenebrous places. There was a sickness in the ancient pitted cobbles of the old road, or so certain ragged indigents would have you believe.<br/><br/>Elisa recalled vividly, many moons past, this raving creature of a man<i>. </i>This filthy, toothless miscreant had barrelled into town and boasted an uncanny knowledge of mankind’s ruin and prognosticated publicly that left unchecked, incomprehensible forces would soon unleash doom upon the world. Any sane person would have shrugged it off as a drunkard’s alcoholic fever dream, but to her bafflement, doing so proved maddeningly impossible.<br/><br/>A vast clearing soon stretched out in front of her, the celestial body of the moon greeting her with its plentiful light, hanging ripely like a great luminous pearl on the radiant breast of heaven. Slackening waters of river spun about the plain, overflowing in sluggish, reed-clogged channels and sedge-hidden pools. Among osiers and alders on a low, mound-shaped elevation, the dull glow of Mandragora readily apparent in the descending darkness, a great oak looming over their bed.<br/><br/>A hop and a skip later, she began the delicate process of extracting its roots. Methodically, she drizzled salt around her chosen specimen in question, three tidy rings circling its centre. Earplugs in place, she began the elusive uprooting with a light tug and tender twists until the fleshly, bifurcated roots of the plant loosened its grip on the clay.<br/><br/>The earthling nary quipped for a moment before it fell silent between her dainty fingers, and she was better off for it. The knot seemed of greater size than elsewhere throughout the sorcery-ridden province and as Elisa turned to advance to the nearest village, she couldn’t help but wonder why.<br/><div style="text-align: center"><br/>
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────​</div><br/>The delightful and flamboyant atmosphere of the town sat well with Elisa as always, the soft melody of babbling voices like a soothing mountain river to her ears. With its ceramic tile rooftops, Redstone walls and flowing swarms of busy people, the place had an almost otherworldly feel to it. She drank in the colours, the aromas and the ambiance like an irresistible elixir.<br/><br/>She thrived on interacting with the stall holders, each one a rare, untouched caricature of bubbly friendliness. They knew her by name and often kept special deliveries tugged away in the back for her; rare and pricey ingredients that she had no chance of recovering herself.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“Oh, you wouldn’t happen to have any cascarilla, would you?”</span>she Elisa quipped, leaning over with leering eyes.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(147, 101, 184)">“Of course, dear”</span>, the man boomed, burly fingers wrapping her wares. She mused in response, then slid onwards<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“Thank you as always!”</span>She was gracious for their kindness, always.<br/><br/>She weaved through the crowds, edging through the dense flood of people with her bags getting fuller by the minute. The air was perfumed with produce, the grounds gritty stone, the air a perfect pre-winter chill with gentle gusts begging the interconnected web of crimson-weaved locks to flutter in a brilliant flit.<br/><br/>It was then that a most obscure sight caught her attention, never before seen to her knowledge. A puppeteering lady was beckoning her little figurines with a lopsided smile of her bewitching face. A small crowd of children and adult alike gathered around her makeshift theatre, obviously deeply absorbed by the display at hand. Against her better judgement, curiosity got the better of her. She scooted over to join the flourishing demonstration with a puzzling glint in the dark of her eyes.