Hag's Territory

Those in 0. To be Organised/Malifaux who would willingly ask for directions to Zoraida, the Hag, and her territory deep within the Bayou are more often than not answered with the cryptic whisper, “Follow the toads.”

The Hag’s territory has no defined borders to delimitate how much of the Bayou she calls her own. In fact, many believe that she lays claim to all of it as her personal demesne. Many claim that the heart of the Bayou is where she resides, but no sane individual has attempted to learn whether this is true. What is agreed on is that locating her once in that humid maze of sluggish waters, sandbars, and less savoury flora is no simple task. She is wont to choose almost inaccessible sites within the Bayou to set up her shack and await visitors seeking a boon. An ever-present annoyance, the bullfrog’s incessant croaking is a constant nuisance to visitors. For some mysterious reason, the number of toads one encounters increases the closer the curious or foolhardy come to Zoraida’s shack. The same cannot be said for their rough voices. The closer to her dwelling a visitor approaches, the quieter the Bayou and the toads become, until the silence is only broken by the lap of cold, dark water against whatever punt or flatbottom visitors arrive in. The oppressive silence of the place has driven some half-mad with fear, but on that edge of sanity is where the Hag and her shack, Hut really, are to be found.

Ah, the Hut. Few have seen it and lived to tell the tale. It resembles little more than a rickety shack when seen from the distance, a single light peering out from grimy moss-ringed windows, perhaps the occasional trickle of smoke climbing from a crooked tin pipe passing for a chimney. But upon closer inspection, it feels as though the Hut is watching the visitor. It tends to list slightly, almost imperceptibly, giving an unsettling feeling that clutches at the spine when, once the Hag’s visitor is settled inside, the entire Hut shifts as if it was uncomfortable in its previous position. The Hag, it is said, remains nonplussed during this movement, often absently halting a swaying lamp or stack of crockery before it crashes to the floor.

What is even more horrifying are the brief glimpses of something enormous rushing through the Bayou’s waters with a lurching, almost chicken-like gait. This glimpse comes accompanied by the whine of rusting machinery that tears through the thick air like a sawblade, silencing the hoots and calls in the shadows. Some claim to have seen the light of a lantern high atop the lurching shadow, illuminating the Hag’s leering face, as if enjoying the hellish ride toward the heart of the Bayou. No one has successfully followed the Hag and her clockwork Hut to their destination, fearing what awaits them in that darkest part of a dark and lonely place.