The thoughts and inner feelings of the old witch as new students come to call. Someone to pass their knowledge to, and, perhaps, a new, young apprentice here to take their place when old age finally takes its dues?
Varicelle had taken an overdose in her elder years, and had been looking for cures for old age for millennia. Alas, every fountain of youth had its price. A price too severe for an old witch already cursed with immortality.
There were cures for immortality, but they generally involved decapitation.
Now there were two Elven sorts in her periphery. One fellow immortal and one sad fellow wishing he was. The less said about the Orc and the Bugbear, the better. Both were diligent workers, but only Wraithvine worked as if ze had all the time in the world.
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