Faces in the Mirror
Author: Sthrissa
Summary: In a land torn asunder by two tyrannical armies, whose people are distorted shadows of what they could be and good intentions have been twisted into dark ends, the world burns. Examines various individuals within a Mirror Universe discworld - the 'Shattered Disc'. Inspired by this thread: http:/ /forum. rpg. net /showthread. php ?413172-Badwrong-fun-Shattered-Disc
Disclaimer: Ideas heavily borrowed from the posts in the above thread. Can't really claim much as mine. This world was just too compelling and I couldn't resist playing around a bit.
The Crone
She was the best. She has known that as a fact since she was barely more than a child.
She had desired magic and dared to claim it as her due, her will wresting that power from the universe. She had looked upon the wrongs across the land and dared to assume responsibility to see them righted. She had power enough to change the world and she worked tirelessly to perform her duty, to better lives and mend her people's ills. In her steading no harm would be allowed, no darkness would touch her people. She would see that the right thing was done, whatever the cost.
She would be the greatest witch the disc had ever known.
They came to her whenever something went wrong, when their joints ached or when infection ate into their skin. When their crops wilted or their children became ill they would always come to her begging for aid.
But after the ills were healed, after they had left their payments of used rags and excess food, they would walk away and quickly their ephemeral gratitude would be replaced by resentment and fear. As she laboured for them, they would wonder whether she was the one who made their joints ache, the one who sent the boil demons to gnaw on their backsides. They would talk and some swear that they had seen her lay a hex on their livestock and curse their children. Whatever she did, however hard she tried, as soon as she was no longer needed their dislike of her would return.
And they would gossip with their neighbours and in their pubs, muttering their ignorance and poison within the false safety of the dark and warm rooms. With alcoholic courage in their veins they would complain and would hate what they could not understand and would wonder at her knowledge and her abilities, their words fuelled by envy and fear. They would spread their uncertainty and allow their discontent with their dull lives and shattered dreams to find a focus in her.
And as she toiled to save their livestock she would always hear them. She would see their fear turn to resentment as she coaxed their crops to flourish. She would bear their anger when things went wrong as a result of their foolishness. She would find herself blamed when she failed to prevent catastrophe and resented when she would succeed.
And she would think, "How dare they."
When the Cunning Man came to her bringing pitchforks and flame, she would hear his whispers and she would rage.
And she would think, "If only they did as I said. If only they were made t'do as I said. Most of 'em are still alive only because of me. I deserve their gratitude."
She was the one who had all the power. How dare they.
When the Cunning Man came bearing his weapons of ignorance and hatred, intolerance and fear...
...she brandished her pride and unleashed the power of her magic.
She dealt easily with all the witches who tried to stop her, her power far greater than theirs, and amongst the countless lives she would come to destroy, only one death would ever give her pause. The very first and last life she would regret taking was that of a fellow witch and childhood friend, whose skull she would carry with her through all the years of her hegemony, humming an endless lament of bawdy songs.
The Lancre crown was the first of many that she would seize with the power of her magic.
All hail Esme, Crone of the Ramtops.