Mogon

Mogon the old hag is a gifted a witch and chosen by The Minstrel as one of his Greywardens. Her skills with magic and potions are seen as the best in the lands.

 Tales of Mogon 

As the cold winds of winter blew across the Great Wilderness they gathered dust and weeds in their path, drawing them in and sucking them up before casting them away in a spinning dance, only to be picked up by another gust moments later. The only movement in a desolate barren plain being the lonely chaotic ballet of a hundred tiny fragments of life, fragments that had lost the battle and been ripped from the bare soil that could no longer sustain them.

The lifeless earth extends many miles in every direction bereft of any signs of habitation- except for one thing. Out there, where even insects never venture, was a small hummock of patched colours. On closer inspection, the hummock is actually a tent, a tent made of ancient and worn animal skins. It is possible that you may already be imagining the smell of that decaying, rotted leather. If you are then let me assure you that you are not even close to realising how awful the stench actually is.

Inside the tent is an old woman. She is stirring a pot over an open fire. If you are thinking that it’s a bad idea to have an open fire inside an enclosed space, then you have obviously forgotten about the smell. Eye-watering smoke is actually an improvement here. As she stirs, she mutters. A low droning litany on the injustices of her life, and what she would like to do to those responsible for her current situation.

This woman is obviously a mad old hag, you are thinking. You are right, of course, she is mad- but not crazy. She is very, very angry. She is angry at being forced to live out here, she is angry at the events that led her here, and she is hell-bent on getting out of here and getting her revenge.

That’s what the pot is for. It has taken many months for her to gather all the ingredients, and cost her the very last of her precious resources. But it will all be worth it soon. She rubs her hands and cackles, the very picture of a stereotypical evil witch (even though she’s not). She cackles because that’s what her laughter sounds like, and she laughs because she is happy for the first time in what feels like an age.

The mixture is ready. She spoons it carefully into small glass vials. This is the potion that will allow her to slip between worlds. Once she is away from here she can start to rebuild her life, and maybe one day she will be strong enough to seek out those who tried to destroy her. She drinks the first bottle…

‘Where does it take her?’ you ask. That is a silly question. You know where it takes her. It takes her to your world.