Chapter 1: The Heath's Embrace
Evoker Kalo stirred face down in the silt of the stream, his head and body ached, flashes of his fall from the bridge above the cooling tower in the belly of the Dark Kooplings fortress flashing back—the fall into the waterfall and darkness, drifting on a dream until his current circumstances. All along, Sprig, his companion the green asp, watched, helped, and nursed him home to the heath.
Rising groggy and light-headed, the view of the early morning heath took his breath away. He felt whole, and he felt home. The tall grasses bent in the breeze, low shrubbery scattered the land, and the pastel coloring of the heather and granite boulders flooded the horizon. The smells of Mosswood, earth, moss, and dampness were all there.
Pulling himself up the muddy embankment, he regained his bearings. Home, over the horizon, his hill home, the old oak, and his warm library, soft lounge chair, and warm fire called him. Thoughts of the Dark Kooplings and their threat were too much. He needed to think, to heal; they were no imminent threat. They were too busy grinding bones and most probably thought him dead—let them think him gone while he guarded his heath and bided his time.
He moved slowly, pacing himself, that tactile feeling of running his hands through the grass, breathing in his environment. Sprig nestled on his shoulders, always alert and watchful. His broom had shaken itself off, no longer wet and muddy, and darted ahead, a scout in the sky.
His home was still two days' walk. It had been ages since he traveled the higher parts of the heath; the air was cooler and fresher here. It chilled and invigorated. Before the step down to his moor, he skirted the loch—Loch Ceòladh, a beauty in itself. Formed even before the tribe of Kooplings when glaciers dominated the landscape and the heath was shaped by nature, what remained of those glaciers was the massive loch. It stretched out far to the mountains, the afternoon sun shimmering on the foaming waves horses created by the wind that blew across this land.
Kalo was at the highest point that looked out over Loch Ceòladh, admiring its beauty, when he noticed its shadow just below the icy waters. The monster of the loch moved, waves on the surface following after. It was said to be good luck to sight Cailleach'na-Bheith, the serpent, a harbinger of good things to come. Kalo smiled, watched it slowly disappear, and continued on.
As the sun bled into the clouds at the close of the day, he camped under the stars on a bed of grass and quickly drifted off, the toll of the previous day catching up to him at last.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
Chapter 2: The Tree
All through the night, Kalo tossed and turned, restless in his sleep. Sprig, ever watchful, ensured the Evoker was safe, his bright jade eyes never straying far from Kalo’s form. A sound in the distance echoed into Kalo’s dreams—a strange, dissonant chime, like wind chimes caught in an unnatural breeze. Yet, the melody was off, jarring, and it sent a cold chill through him even as he slept.
As dawn neared, Sprig nudged Kalo awake. A strange mist had drifted into the heath, thick and unnatural, and with it, the sound of heavy footfalls echoed from the distance. Kalo stirred, his mind sharpened by the sense that this was no natural phenomenon. His eyes flicked to Sprig, who was already alert. The creature’s posture spoke clearly: something was amiss.
That’s when it appeared.
From the swirling mist, a massive black hound materialized slowly, its fur dark as midnight. It was the stuff of old stories—the Cù Sìth, the legendary black hound of the heath. A guardian, a harbinger, or perhaps a warning. The creature stood unwavering, its amber eyes glowing brightly in the mist. Kalo and the Cù Sìth locked gazes for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken challenge hanging heavy between them. Finally, the hound howled—a low, eerie cry that shook the ground beneath him. Without another glance, it backed away into the mist, which evaporated as quickly as it had come. The first light of dawn spread across the heath, and everything sparkled in its soft glow.
A warning, or a threat? Kalo wasn’t certain. But it was clear: lingering here was no longer wise.
He continued his journey, his mind troubled by the encounter. The mist had dissipated, but an unsettling silence lingered in the air. As he walked, his ears caught a familiar sound—the chimes from his dream, broken and distant, like the wind itself had become twisted. Intrigued, he followed the haunting melody through the open grasslands until he came upon a lone tree, old and gnarled, its branches twisted like the bones of forgotten gods. The tree stood almost bare of leaves, a stark silhouette against the rising sun.
From its limbs hung strange trinkets—handmade twines of wool, effigies, and animal skeletons. Squirrel and badger bones adorned with beads, glass, and scraps of paper bearing red writing, stained with blood. Signs of witchcraft. Willow crosses. Hexes. Someone had laid a boundary of dark magic here, marking this place as no place of welcome.
Kalo’s breath caught. A symbol had been carved into the tree: the hag's mark. Far from her usual haunts. This was no good omen. Old magic was never to be trifled with. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Kalo did not hesitate. He turned swiftly, his heart pounding in his chest, and left in a hurry, determined not to linger any longer.
He traveled onward, his senses alert. He passed through stretches of heath where deer bounded in the distance, and a stag grazed calmly in the growing daylight. Finally, his home came into view—a hill crowned with the great oak tree. He could feel the familiar warmth of the place pulling him forward.
He unlocked the wooden door with a quiet sigh and pushed it open, letting the cool morning air stir the dust in the room. The breeze swept through the windows, bringing with it the fresh, earthy scent of Mosswood. He stepped inside, started a fire, and sank heavily into his lounge chair, the familiar scent of burning wood comforting him. Sprig coiled up at his feet, the soft hiss of its movements a reminder of the bond they shared.
Kalo leaned back, staring into the flickering fire. His mind churned with everything he had seen and felt in the past day—the Cù Sìth, the dark magic in the tree, and the eerie warning that still echoed in his mind. So much to ponder, so much to think over. Yet, the warmth of the fire, the scent of moss and wood, and the silence of his home were an invitation to rest.
Sleep called, and with a weary sigh, he let himself drift. As his eyelids fluttered closed, the fire cast strange, twisting shadows on the walls. Outside, the heath lay still. Yet, from the distance, Kalo could almost hear the hag’s whispers, strange incantations carried by the wind, her voice creeping into the quiet night.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
