Bargains in the Bog

The grotto was a damp, sprawling cave, its walls slick with moss and pulsing with the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi. The ground squished beneath my boots, uneven and wet. Trinkets littered every surface—bones, vials, and relics oozing bad magic.

Ethel led the way, her steps light as if she were strolling through a garden. She paused a few paces in, then without ceremony, her bones started cracking, her skin rippled—and the pleasant old woman unraveled into a grotesque swamp hag. Warts bubbled across green, sagging skin. Yellow eyes gleamed beneath lank strands of hair. Her mouth split into a grin full of jagged, rotting teeth. Her claws glistened in the darkness.

“Boo,” she rasped.

I didn’t flinch. “There it is.”

She pouted, hand on hip. “No gasp? No scream? Not even a little puddle of piss?”

“I figured you’d drop the act before the tour.”

Ethel gave a gurgling laugh. “Oh, petal. You’re no fun.”

She gestured grandly toward the cavern beyond. “Come then. Let Auntie show you her collection.”

The glow grew stronger as we moved deeper. Now I saw them—her trophies. Several figures stood frozen mid-motion, twisted in grotesque poses, their wide, hollow eyes locked in eternal terror.

“My treasures, pet!” she said, sweeping a clawed hand. “This elf begged to see his future—now he’s caged with mirrors showing his ****, every wretched second!” She giggled and pointed at a dwarf. “This one wanted to live forever, so I turned him to stone. As eternal as he asked for.”

As she spoke, I let a thin ripple of charm magic spread outward—my daily dose, subtle and carefully measured. I wasn’t sure if it would work on a hag, but it couldn’t hurt to tilt things in my favor.

“Neat collection, Ethel,” I said, tone steady. “But I’m here for business.”

Her grin twitched, a touch of annoyance breaking through. She didn’t like being interrupted.

“I know the full deal with Mayrina,” I said, stepping closer. “You lured her in with false hope—promised to raise her husband if she handed over the baby. Then you kept her, fattened her up, to plump up the child nice and juicy. You never intended to bring him back to life—just raise him as a mindless zombie and hand him over like it was an act of mercy. And to top it all off, you killed him yourself to set the whole thing in motion. I want that plan moved to the Druid Grove, near the Idol of Sylvanus—somewhere in a grotto like this.”

Her brow scrunched, claws tapping her chin. “That’s it, dearie? Not gonna wag a finger, toss a holy threat? Just... let Granny go about her business?”

“Yes” I said calmly.

Her brow scrunched, claws tapping her chin. “And why should I drag my work to that leafy pit? What’s in it for me, petal?”

I leaned in, voice low and certain. “All the babies you could want. A steady stream. No eyes on you, no holy types poking their noses in. You’ll have more raw stock than you know what to do with.”

Her yellow eyes flared with interest, and her grin returned, stretching unnaturally wide. “Ooh, you’re a wicked one! That’s a bargain I can sink my teeth into.”

I raised a hand. “Not done.”

Her grin faltered. “Greedy toad, aren’t you? What else?”

“One potion of youth,” I said. “Early adulthood.”

She cackled, snatching a vial off the shelf. “This’ll do! One gulp and you’re spry as a daisy!” She shoved it toward me, green liquid glinting inside.

I didn’t move. “No tricks. No mental regression, no curses. Pure and clean. Brew a real one.”

Her grin curdled. “Picky, picky! Fine. A clean one takes a week to stew. No fun in it’s mind, this one.” She snatched the vial back, muttering.

I gestured to the stone dwarf. “Bring him to the Grove. Call it decoration.”

Her jaw dropped. “What, you starting a gallery?”

I shrugged. “It’s a nice piece. Purely ornamental.”

She snorted. “Sure it is. I’ll haul him along. What else, you magpie?”

“Hag hair. One strand.”

Her gaze turned cold. “You cheeky little worm... You know too much.” Still, she yanked a greasy strand from her scalp and flicked it at me. “One. No more."

“One last thing,” I said, pointing to the man-sized cauldron at the center of the room. “That. I want it.”

Ethel blinked. “What, you fancy yourself a witch? Planning to cook folk in my pot?”

I smiled. “No. I just think it’s neat.”

She stared, then barked a laugh. “Neat, he says! You’re an odd one, petal. Fine, the cauldron’s yours. But you’ll drag it yourself. You’ve bled me dry, boy. No more games. Meet me in the Grove in a week, keep your end, or I’ll pluck your eyes and pickle ‘em for my shelf.”

I nodded. “Deal.”

She waved a claw. “Out, pet. You’re stinking up my air.”

As I turned back toward the hearth, I couldn’t help but glance once more at the hag’s collection. That was a lot, I thought—not bad for one charm spell. Maybe it had worked on her. Then again, I hadn’t dared push too hard. The last thing I needed was to accidentally seduce a swamp crone. Her grin alone would haunt my dreams for weeks.

I stepped out of the grotto, back into the main room. The hearth still glowed faintly. I walked through. On the other side, the teahouse looked untouched—warm, quiet, like nothing had happened. But they were there. Shadowheart. Lae’zel. Karlach. All of them waiting, watching.

Time to talk.

PS. Auntie Ethel doesn't kill children, but turns them into hags.