They knew not of The Witch who lived north.
They knew not of the atelier tucked in the woods she called home, crafted of a pumpkin that never rotted. The home that pulsated with pure magic, through and through. The home that had, inside, more magical relics, artifacts, and weaponry than any one person ought to have. Beauty products, cooking ingredients, enchanted faerie dust, powders, wands, gems and jewels. In the end, however, it was all the same. Magic.
They knew not of The Witch's army, which had become quite the melting pot. Animated pumpkinheads roamed and walked, breathed and 'talked' when they ought not to. Undead skeletons clad in blessed armor scoured perimeters, swords in hand, clanking and clunking quietly wherever they went. Ice goblins called upon snow to grant them their own special place within the woods, where snowball fights and fun times were always had. Humans and various other humanoid races endowed with unnatural beauty laughed, mingled, and loitered around The Witch's atelier - their utopia.
They knew not of her courtyard, crafted of solid gold, nor did they know of the artificial sun that burned impossibly bright inside. It was a place of warmth even on the coldest winter night, much as The Witch's home was a glimmer of light in the dark.
They only knew the northern winds carried a scent to them that was indescribably delicious.
They would resist the temptation no more.
They knew not of the atelier tucked in the woods she called home, crafted of a pumpkin that never rotted. The home that pulsated with pure magic, through and through. The home that had, inside, more magical relics, artifacts, and weaponry than any one person ought to have. Beauty products, cooking ingredients, enchanted faerie dust, powders, wands, gems and jewels. In the end, however, it was all the same. Magic.
They knew not of The Witch's army, which had become quite the melting pot. Animated pumpkinheads roamed and walked, breathed and 'talked' when they ought not to. Undead skeletons clad in blessed armor scoured perimeters, swords in hand, clanking and clunking quietly wherever they went. Ice goblins called upon snow to grant them their own special place within the woods, where snowball fights and fun times were always had. Humans and various other humanoid races endowed with unnatural beauty laughed, mingled, and loitered around The Witch's atelier - their utopia.
They knew not of her courtyard, crafted of solid gold, nor did they know of the artificial sun that burned impossibly bright inside. It was a place of warmth even on the coldest winter night, much as The Witch's home was a glimmer of light in the dark.
They only knew the northern winds carried a scent to them that was indescribably delicious.
They would resist the temptation no more.