He had heard, through reliable sources, that there were kin in the swamp who produced fermented drinks. Having been immediately unwilling to go out and procure some for himself, he had sent his sons -- Not Alone and Stand Your Ground, two of the more hardworking of the bunch -- to get some for him. They had returned several days later carrying several gourds between them, filled to the brim with a fragrant liquid that had sloshed over the side and stained the gourds bright red. It smelled of fruit and some herbs and it was love at first sight. Not Alone had remarked to his siblings that his father's eyes had lit up -- his father, who was normally so removed as to be almost ice cold. His face had actually lit up, Not Alone had said.It was delicious. Murkwood had a head for the beverage, but perhaps too much of one, because in a moonturn's time he had drunk nearly all of it. Some had been been put aside for his children to sample, of course, and the others in his part of the swamp -- those that had curried favor -- but of course being out of it would just not do.
Having left his sons in charge, Murkwood himself actually left his small corner of the swamp, making his way to where Stand Your Ground had mentioned meeting the acha. Having a slight predisposition against, well, anyone else, meant that when Murkwood finally found the little acha he drew himself up, standing a few paces apart from her, watching her with his serious blue eyes, brows drawn together over them.
Patmos of Endtimes
good luck, Tipsy.