Astrid's Hut
See: Witches/witchcraft.
Home. Threat. Guardian. Outcast.
Astrid the witch is the most notable resident of the Forbidden Forest - and its longest termed one. Residing in the stump of a massive tree that has grown back to life with lichen and mushrooms and moss and sprouts of this tree and that, the hut is as diverse as its owner. It squats itself in the middle of a small clearing, fern-like ground cover leading its way up towards the vacuous opening.
Around the clearing is a small garden that grows some of the rarer herbs the witch might need, and a nice fruit tree for making fruit cider - or mixing with the Starberry gem and some local honey, for a deep refreshing mead. This clearing marks the centre of the lands protected by the witch, and the zone that those of the demons under Xylos are not allowed to go.
To those of the city of Natare the hut represents the outcast - they have their city witch in Avaga, and the strange fey woman is not welcome inside the walls, with her bubbling cauldron over the fire-blossom, her floating candles and her dress of almost rags. Those that have visited the witch that come from Natare have wondered how she survives - everything feeling like it is seeped in a lazy kind of decay, mess and disorganisation and a languid vitality as vines grow too and fro. Marks of the world lay upon the hut, a fire scar here, a rotting bark there, and beneath it all - the massive crack and char of a lightning storm, the trunk shattered like nitrogen-frozen stone, a great magic happening here whether natural or impulsed upon this very spot. Hints of bulging around one side of the trunk hint at a cellar beneath it all, but the vibrant witch will never admit to anything.
To the towns closer to the river, and around the edges of the forest, the hut marks safety and an ear in need. One can always trade for strawberries here, and a Bone Turner can ply their trade to the witch of the forbidden forest. Astrid is also available as midwife and relationship counsellor - both when it needs to continue, and when it needs a sudden stop. It is women who mostly use her services from these towns, the chaos in her workings a little too sudden and abrupt to the men-folk, no matter how hard a Grandmother might press them to do the smart thing. Still, if you are invited past the front, pushing the lattice wall you too might see the witch's whirlwind of a hut, the mismatched shelves, the stray fauna that has come inside for the warmth. A keen eye might even see the mess of pillows that make up her bed, for the hut is one big space divided by books and lattice and strategic use of the bulk of her possessions. For what is a witch but chaos?
To those of the city of Natare the hut represents the outcast - they have their city witch in Avaga, and the strange fey woman is not welcome inside the walls, with her bubbling cauldron over the fire-blossom, her floating candles and her dress of almost rags. Those that have visited the witch that come from Natare have wondered how she survives - everything feeling like it is seeped in a lazy kind of decay, mess and disorganisation and a languid vitality as vines grow too and fro. Marks of the world lay upon the hut, a fire scar here, a rotting bark there, and beneath it all - the massive crack and char of a lightning storm, the trunk shattered like nitrogen-frozen stone, a great magic happening here whether natural or impulsed upon this very spot. Hints of bulging around one side of the trunk hint at a cellar beneath it all, but the vibrant witch will never admit to anything.
To the towns closer to the river, and around the edges of the forest, the hut marks safety and an ear in need. One can always trade for strawberries here, and a Bone Turner can ply their trade to the witch of the forbidden forest. Astrid is also available as midwife and relationship counsellor - both when it needs to continue, and when it needs a sudden stop. It is women who mostly use her services from these towns, the chaos in her workings a little too sudden and abrupt to the men-folk, no matter how hard a Grandmother might press them to do the smart thing. Still, if you are invited past the front, pushing the lattice wall you too might see the witch's whirlwind of a hut, the mismatched shelves, the stray fauna that has come inside for the warmth. A keen eye might even see the mess of pillows that make up her bed, for the hut is one big space divided by books and lattice and strategic use of the bulk of her possessions. For what is a witch but chaos?
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