, 
There were whispers of a forest where lived a witch of white.
It was said that when the mood struck her, she had the ability to bring those back from the brink of death. Whispers and rumours, for those who were gullible or who had no other options left. Whispers that came from the shadows or on the swiftly passing breeze.
The forest was a dark and scary place, where lived others besides the witch, and hidden bogs that were all too easy to wander into, never to be seen again. It was a place where none but the bravest or most desperate were apt to go. For some it was for the glory, for the chance to hunt monsters or perhaps to bring back the witch. For others it was their last hope. A hope that could be realised, or dashed with a single word. All at the whim of a single being.
Many who risked the forest brought trinkets and tributes, anything that might intrigue the witch and make her amenable to their request. But none knew exactly what price might be exacted for the granting of their wish. All they truly had were fears and hope. A heady cocktail indeed.
It had been quite some time since the last visitor had come seeking her aid. A long time since she had last had the chance to play with the hopes and fears of a desperate soul at the end of their rope. Having made their way through the many twists and turns their path through the forest might take, and the obstacles that would leave them battered, bruised and bloodied when they finally reached her, their strength waning and all that was left to them was the determination to have her grant their wish.
Too long since she had last felt that rush of power when she spoke the word that gave them life, or watched them break in despair as she denied their request, watching as the determination that had brought them so far snapped and they broke from the very depths of their soul, before it reached their physical body.
A dangerous pout crossed her delicate face, and she sighed and stamped one little hoof, hoping to draw the attention of her beloved mate and precious son. It was too long since she last snuffed out a life with her own hooves. And she craved the chance to feel that rush once more. Certainly her boys would not deny her this one little request. But she forgot that her mate had gone out hunting. There was only her son with her now. While she knew Sikkhar would have known her mood and catered to her whim without even truly needing to be told, Alastor still needed her guidance. Needed to be told what she wanted, needed and what was expected of him.
'Alli dear, mama is bored. Won't you go and find some more toys for her to play with?'
Alastor had been preparing to leave, perhaps finally for good, when he heard his mother's soft voice. It was when she was in this mood that she was most dangerous, and he couldn't help the slight twinge of fear. Yes, she was tiny, but he knew probably better than most, just how dangerous she truly was. And she was at her most dangerous when she was bored. His plans now on hold, he nodded silently and turned to leave, heading deeper into the forest to find something that would amuse and entertain his mother.
As he walked, Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The forest was eerily quiet, and the shadows seemed to stretch out around him, almost as if they were trying to grab hold of him. But he shrugged it off, reminding himself that he was the son of the witch of white, and he was not to be afraid of anything. He knew his way around the twists and turns and traps. He knew the paths that would lead him safely from the forest, but where to go from there?
He needed to find new, better toys that would not be so easily broken. As he walked through the forest, Alastor's eyes scanned the trees for any sign of movement. He was searching for any creature that might have the misfortune of crossing his path, not - for once -as his prey, but as messengers to pass along the new whispers and rumours.
But he could not disappoint his mother. He would go as far as he needed to go, and do whatever it took. He had long since used his influence in herds near the forest. There were not that many to begin with and there were not many who would reach that level of desperation. No he needed to find those who were not familiar with the forest, or its inhabitants, the stories and rumours. Perhaps it was time to stop trying to manipulate events from the shadows. It was time for him to act directly and use his not inconsiderable charm, and get his hooves dirty.
WC: 850