Enter the Spirits

Well, finally. It has started, the showdown. I was still at somewhat of a loss as to how to handle the witch, so I figured I'd let François have some fun in the meantime. It has become a sort of rule with me; when in doubt, François.

Did I ever tell you guys what he is, exactly? See if you can figure it out.

The shaft of light that held the witch at bay grew brighter as she stared hard at Charlotte. A slight smile twitched at her lips as a visible hunger grew in her eyes. They burned for the book in Charlotte’s hand, her grimoire. All of Charlottes knowledge, her spells and sigils, all the things she used to banish evil spirits was in that book.

François watched them both anxiously. He didn’t like the look in the witch’s eye but the mania in Charlotte’s disturbed him more.  He was used to her calm demeanor, her level headed and cold approach to every situation. And yet, he knew that look. He was sure he was wearing a similar expression himself. He didn’t know how he’d come by it, but he had an acute fondness for fighting, for battle.

He enjoyed the sensation of being powerful; exerting his will and strength over his opponents was, at one time, his greatest joy. He allowed himself a smile at the thought of his more recent domestic joys.

Yes, he knew the look in Charlotte’s eyes and he couldn’t wait to see what she could do. It seemed, however, that he wouldn’t get the chance. The movement was subtle, but unmistakable. The witch, with that small gesture, dismissed the goblins who had resurrected her and started the fight.

“Eh bien, Papa Legba help me.” François ended his invocation and drew a small glass bottle from his pocket. He tossed this on the ground and, drawing a deep breath, smashed it with his heavy cudgel. The mixture of rum and honey seeped into the soft earth of the temple floor. Raising the cudgel in a spiral motion, François called for aid from the spirits that had once sheltered his swamp from prying eyes.

The ground began to tremble. François could feel the earth shifting and his help pushing up towards the surface. He quickly scanned the room and with a flick of the cudgel brought the long buried roots of ancient plants erupting to the surface to ensnare the goblins. Despite the centuries he spent lazing in the swamp, François had quick reflexes and in a matter of moments had all the goblins trapped and struggling against the writhing vines and roots that held them.

François let out his held breath and sent a silent thanks to the spirits. He turned his attention then to the witch who was still staring at Charlotte. Though neither of them was speaking, he could feel the pull of their will, silently pushing and tugging at one another in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

He wasn’t sure what made him think it, but he felt the overwhelming need to introduce a little chaos to their controlled battle of wills. François paused, his hand pausing on the bag in his pocket. Did he dare call on the Baron? Why not, if she is going to raise the dead, why not beat her to it. A wicked grin spread across his face. He couldn't wait to see what the poised and haughty witch thought of the bawdy and shameless Baron of the dead.