Swamp Magic

[DungeonMaster]

There was a small and run-down shack deep in the Black Bayou at the end of a trail half-washed away that everyone believed to be uninhabited. An old rocking chair was the only sign of life there, and for all anybody knew it had just been left there. At any rate, the shack was far from uninhabited, being home to one of the most evil hermits in the land. They called him a witch, and because he was a practitioner of swamp magic, he was glad to take the title when they started referring to him as the Swamp Witch. They of course blamed him for everything bad that ever happened, and that was indeed due to the fact that many of the bad things that happened in the nearby towns were due to his magic. The path was a hard one to follow, weaving in and out of the swamp water and vanishing for miles at a time only to reappear randomly with no sign of which direction to go. Swamp Witch Jarred knew which was the proper way, but he never had reason to walk it, so he never had reason to clear the path, and even if he did walk it, he'd have left it just as it was to keep travellers from finding his shack.

He liked the run-down wodden shack with the caved-in roof that kept the second story offlimits. He liked the gloomy half-light that always loomed, even in the darkest, deadest night. But most of all, he liked his privacy. He was content to live alone, and many days, he found himself wishing that even the wildlife would shrivel up and die. This was one of THOSE days. he walked around the outside of his shack, counting the spiderwebs and moss-covered trees to see if he had to summon more spiders to make it more pleasant. He really didn't like the spiders so much as the webs, because they killed the delightful moosquitos and they were always such a bother to travellers, though not even the alligators were stupid enough to cross Swamp Witch Jarred.

One day, it's rumored, Swamp Witch Jarred ran into an alligator, and they had a staring contest. Of course, Swamp Witches all had the innate ability to use the Evil Eye, and it nly took a minute before the poor reptile ran away in fright, dying of the curse bestowed by the Evil Eye only a day later. Swamp Witch Jarred left the body outside the nearest town, trying to drive the people back out of the swamp, and this is where our story begins...

"Well," Farmer Laurence drawled, "I'm guessin' this must be the doin' of that there Swamp Witch from that ol' shack!" He spat noisily on the ground, his spit merely a wad of green viscous goop. "Well if she's a-thinkin' of scarin' us off... she's gon' have'ta do better 'n than. Ain't that right Johnny?" He asked, turning to his son, John Laurence, a handsome, robust young farmer who had a nice tan and short black hair.

"Well, I'm supposin' it is, Pop, but you listen here. I don't want none of this Swamp Witch nonesense gettin' to your head and havin' the town vote on sending another search party out to get her... the last one never came back." John demanded, recalling the last group of men to attempt to find the shack, "And if anyone goes, no more men... they fall under her spell, Pop, you know that. You gotta send a woman... make her look beat-up and outcast... then maybe the Swamp Witch'd take her in. Maybe she'd find out what happened to the other people who went out there some 20 years ago when I was just a small boy. I sure would like to know what became of those good folks." There was muttering of respect for these lost people through the crowd. Their loss had been terrible, as they had been the town's strongest and bravest men. They were the best of the fathers and the most professional of workers. The town had only gone down-hill since they went to go search for Jarred's mother Hattie out in the swamp.

She'd left a note for them, warning them not to return, and all it had said was, "Don't come lookin' again..." in scrawl that even the most well-educated professor at the school could barely make out. That was Hattie's last action, and the last time Jarred had seen his old hag of a mother, she'd been poling away in a flat-boat headed out towards the sea. He knew that was what Swamp Witches did... and when they died at sea it was said that Poseidon would raise them back as Sea Hags. Jarred smiled, sitting on the rocking chair on the front porch and singing an old familiar tune written for his mother by Jim Stafford, "But the whispers were shackled by the howls and the cackles from the bowels of the Black Bayou...." He was cut short by just such a sound, and he smiled in recognition. "I know, mother... I'm singing about you again. Don't you like that song? I'm not even to the good part yet..."

"No..." the voice wailed, "I come to you today from the Sea. I speak to you today through the water of the swamp." Nearby water began to bubble and a small bottle came up out of it, "This is your task, my son. Do it, for it is time... for a rain..." Jarred looked up at the rolling clouds coming inwards from the sea and picked up the bottle, smashing it open on a stump and reading the instructons. It was how to turn any normal sea storm into a disease-ridden rain. He laughed, remembering the song.

"One day brought the rain and the rain stayed on, and the swamp water overflowed... the skeeters and the fever gripped the town like a fist..."

His mother whispered from the bubbling noxiousness on the ground, "Doctor Jackson was the first to go."

They cackled loudly together, their sound reaching and echoing its way to the border of the town and filling the town. "Hattie's back!" Somebody screamed, and the town started to panic. Jarred, meanwhile, pulled his mother's cauldron out, and grinning, filled it with the necessary ingredients. last time had been a warning they had not heeded. This time the rain would bring death. He began chanting softly while his mother's wild wails and cackles filled the swamp, sending even the nastiest, meanest creatures in the swamp hiding. Hattie had been a name used to scare the small children of this village for all the years since her strange events ceased, though the adults often blamed strange weather or creatures wandering into town on her magic. He name alone would have struck fear into the hearts of some of the young adults, though the sound of her cackling inspired much more than fear... it inspired a need for explanation. Throughout the crowd, teens and young adults were turning to their parents and asking about the events> Eventually a man with a guitar xsat down in the midst of the crowd and began to play a soft tune. When everyone noticed him, he began to sing...

"Black Water Hattie lived back in the swamp
Where the strange green reptiles crawl
Snakes hang thick from the cypress trees
Like sausage on a smokehouse wall
Where the swamp is alive with a thousand eyes
An' all of them watching you
Stay off the track to Hattie's Shack in the back of the Black Bayou

Way up the road from Hattie's Shack
Lies a sleepy little Okeechobee town
Talk of swamp witch Hattie lock you in when the sun go down
Rumours of what she'd done, rumours of what she'd do
Kept folks off the track of hattie's shack
In the back of the Black Bayou

One day brought the rain and the rain stayed on
And the swamp water overflowed
'skeeters and the fever grabbed the town like a fist
Doctor Jackson was the first to go
Some say the plague wasa brought by Hattie
There was talk of a hang'n too
But the talk got shackled by the howls and the cackles
From the bowels of the Black bayou

Early one morn 'tween dark and dawn when shadows filled the sky
There came an unseen caller on a town where road run dry
You'd swear there was found a big black round
Vat full of gurgling brew

Whispering sounds as the folk gathered round
"It came from the Black Bayou"
There ain't much pride when you're trapped inside
A slowly sink'n ship
Scooped up the liquid deep and green
And the whole town took a sip
Fever went away and the very next day the skies again were blue
Let's thank old hattie for sav'n our town
We'll fetch her from the Black Bayou

Party of ten of the town's best men headed for Hattie's Shack
Said Swamp Witch magic was useful and good
And they're gonna bring hattie back
Never found Hattie and they never found the shack
Never made the trip back in
There was a parchment note they found tacked to a stump
Said don't come look'n again..."

He smiled coyly and set down the guitar, "I was there kid..." he said to a small boy who looked shocked and in disbelief, "I saw the note, matter of fact, I'm the one what found it an' sent it up to ol' Jim in the first place." The old man who had been playing looked haggard, tired, and sore, and he rose from the spot where he'd been sitting, walking back to his house, "I remember Hattie, too... the old hag..." He went iside sourly, closing the door as the rain clouds appeared on the horizon.

[DungeonMaster]

"What are we going to do?" One man asked, turning along with half of the town to retreat to their homes and hope the rain stayed natural. The boy stayed where he was, and his mother stood by him, staring at the rain clouds,

"Come on Jimmy."
"No, Mom. You heard the man and the sounds in the bayou. Hattie's not going to let anybody escape this time. Nobody's ever going to know we even existed." He ran crying to his mom's arms.
"Then somebody has to stop her." She said, still staring at the clouds and holding her son.

The man with the guitar stepped out and walked to the edge of town with a shotgun in his hand. "It's me she wants. I know it..." Before they could ask anything, he took of running into the swamp, yelling as loud as he could into the mire, "Hattie! You want me, you sickly hag? Here I am, you ragged old wench! Take my life if you will, just leave the villagers alone!"

His voice was a faint sound by the cottage, but Jarred heard it. He chuckled evilly, strirring the brew that was the heart of the spell. The green vapors rising from it went to the clouds, turning the clouds a sickly green and moving them directly towards the town. He stopped stirring and the brew continued to evaporate and join with the cloud. It was sure to rain death anywhere he decided to unleash it. He cackled for good measure, letting the man know that his coming into the swamp didn't make any difference in the death of the townsfolk.

The man just ran faster into the swamp, pumping his shotgun to ready it and half-raising it to the ready. "What witchery is this?" He called into the black waters of the marsh. "What magic disguises your voice to be a man, evil old crone?" He paused his motion as the realization set in. He hung his head, swallowing hard, and a grim look set on his face, "I'm coming for you, Son." He said softly, raising his head again as he stomped onwards toward the old shack.

He knew the way. He'd been there before all those years ago. He had been wandering, and she had locked him in when the sun went down. She had put a spell on him, and that night, he bedded her, being released on the edge of town the next day, unsure entirely of what she had wanted other than to get laid. Now he knew. He had given her a son. His son. He wondered what his son's name was, but he tried to push his thoughts of parenthood aside for the more pressing issue of the dying townsfolk. He had to save them before the strange green-black cloud got to the town and killed them all. Maybe Jarred's death would stop the spell.