Everybody hates that old witch; he had always wondered if anyone had ever tried to be nice to her. Redmon was a positive and optimistic young fellow and was sure that Rubonello, the witch-mage of the north eastern tract of Dayron, had a heart somewhere deep under the layers of dark mystery that shrouded her legend.

For instance, tales are told of how she destroyed the little village of Sunny Glen with fire and ice. Sunny Glen was located on the border of the northern tract and her territory. The small settlement on Bunyip River, the natural border of the two tracts, started as a way station for river travelers and had been steadily growing.

Some inhabitants began building houses on Rubonllo’s side of the river. The witch turned a blind eye to it for a while as it was only a minor irritation to her and she didn’t feel it necessary to waste the time stamping out some ants. She could put up with a little infringement, there were only a dozen or so structures, if it didn’t get out of hand. Only it did get out of hand, at least to her, when they began to build a bridge across the Bunyip. Encroachment is one thing, invasion is another.

She sent her familiar, Exeter, a large (45 pounds, 20 inches tall at the shoulders!) black cat to deliver the eviction notice to the trespassers. He could make satisfactory dinner out of humans but had a taste for elf. The cat, an eloquent creature, asked the squatters quite politely to go back across the river where they came from. They replied with sticks and stones, driving the sleek animal into the bush and away.

Rubonello was furious over this insult to her autonomy in her own lands and responded by raining fire and brimstone down upon not only the transgressors on her side of the river but the town of Sunny Glen itself. After she saw that every blazing structure had crumbled to ash she bombarded the smoking ruin with baseball sized hail, freezing rain, and snow, freezing anything left alive in what was once the thriving little village of Sunny Glen. “The only way to be sure,” she is reported to have said to Exeter as he purred and rubbed up against her leg.

Many similar stories abound in Dayron regarding the vindictive cruelty of Rubonllo and it was widely accepted that she was . . . not to put too fine an edge on it . . . evil.

Now Redmon was a fine young elven-human halfling. He had optimism oozing out of every pore of his body. Dayron was growing and the north eastern tract was good land, timber and long, wide valleys just right for farming. Until now Rubonllo had “convinced” people to stay out of her lands but Redmon was determined to change her attitude. No one can be that evil!

He carried a red, blood red rose that he meant to give to Rubonllo as a peace offering. The flower was beautiful, fresh, flush, and bursting with springtime vigor. He knew that the flower’s beauty would melt the wicked heart of the old witch and was determined to prove it.

In her vision crystal Rubonllo saw Redmon carefully picking his way through the ruin of Sunny Glen, she saw him cross the river in a canoe and continue into her lands, coming in her direction. A bold one, she thought. She sent Exeter to investigate. Closer, through her familiar’s eyes, she spied the rose Redmon was carrying, holding it before him like a candle in the dark. It was truly the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. She decided to let him approach.

Redmon entered the witch’s castle, stone and iron, grey and moody. “Rubonello,” he called out. “I have brought you a gift.”

Rubonllo appeared before the halfling with a soft pop and a cloud of smoke. “I see,” she said, “is that rose your gift to me?”

“Indeed, it is,” Redmon said as he offered her the bloom.

Rubonello took the blossom and brought it to her nose. The fragrance, tantalizing, sweet, and delicious, stirred emotions in the old witch that had been still for a long time. She sniffed the redolence once again and thought of days of happiness and light, summer afternoons and lovers, long forgotten pleasures.

Then she pricked her finger on a thorn. “Oh!” she exclaimed. She looked at her fingertip and a tiny crimson dot began to grow on it. It was the first time she had seen her own blood in ages. She stood there a long time contemplating the drop of blood as it slowly began to track down her finger. Redmon stood there with his mouth open, aghast.

Rubonllo finally turned to Exeter and said, “Dinnertime!”