Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

A blood curdling crunch echoed throughout the cave as the sword found its way through the creature’s skull. With a slight tug, the blade slid free, ready to resume its onslaught. The caverns leading up to the two knights of the King's Shroud were soaked in blood from various horrid monsters that have grown restless in the past few weeks.

“Nice to be back in the swing of things, huh Sammy?”

Samuel Proudmane was by no means enthused by battle any more. A tall figure, clad in battle-worn iron plate armed with an already dull broadsword, he plainly loathed the duty of clearing out these caverns. His armor was hard, but his expression was harder, already gray in the remaining tufts of hair he had that wasn’t his full beard, as various well-worn battle scars cratered his face.

Stepping over the bodies of cave goblins, he scowled, “I hate the smell of monsters.”

Merle was a bit younger, but not by much. His square jaw held more liveliness than the few auburn shocks of hair that survived the lines of grey streaking through his close cut. Tiny glasses sat on his flat nose, more for aesthetic purposes than practical use down here. His crimson ascetic robes donning the crest of the kingdom of Altalour somehow remained spotless during their excursion through the monster infested caverns.

Merle had spent his most of his years doing clerical work for the kingdom: healing the sick, exorcising demons, and tending to the wounded. As he ascended the hierarchy of the church, currently sitting as the High Bishop of the kingdom of Altalour, the frontlines of battle grew more and more distant, save for an all out war or invasion.

“Cheer up, Sammy!” Merle did another cursory glance around the hallway-like cavern, “It might not be your favorite, but word says that if these monsters continue to grow in number, they might get out of hand and try to attack the city.”

The holy knight sat on a suitable rock and pulled out a rag to clean his blade, “You almost make it sound like you want that to happen.”

“And you sound like you don’t.” Sitting opposite of him, the cleric brushed off a similar stone and sat, the magelight from his staff illuminating the musty cavern, “Sammy, you’re an old dog that lives for the battlefield. Don’t you find all the politics and negotiations boring? Duke Varnell’s accent is only funny for so long.”

“Heh.” Finally cracking a smile, Samuel sheathed his sword, “You’re right. That bastard can’t tell the difference from a hat and his ass.”

Drops of water echoed through the cavern. As they continued their turn on the routine patrol further into the well-traversed natural structure, the ambient noise grew quieter and quieter.

“I don’t think I like fighting any more.”

Merle almost spit out the water he took from the skin, “You what?!” The man quickly adjusted his tiny spectacles, “You, the Duke of Steel himself? Did you hit your head somewhere on the ceiling?”

The old man rubbed the back of his neck, “My bones are getting tired… You don't feel it too?” His skin felt leathery even through his thick gloves, “Besides, sometimes old steel is meant to sharpen the new stuff fresh out of the forge. I kinda like the youngsters those dipshit lords send me to ‘make their kid proper’.”

“You can’t be serious!” The High Bishop of Altalour’s voice echoed through the halls, “You can’t be getting old on me now!”

Samuel jumped up. “Keep it down, you old codger!” He raised his hands placatively, his expression strained, “What’s got you fucking riled up? Can’t a man put away the blade and make peace with what little life he has left?”

Merle looked down at his hands. He too, stood, “You don’t get it. Altalour is not complete yet.” His fists clenched, tightening into large, yet doughy mounds, “We set out to grow this kingdom, to unify this land.”

“Yeah, but that was decad-”

“Don’t you throw your life away without seeing this through! What would Alandriel, Marnius, Serziel, Berthus and Heldrio think? How would they feel their lives were wasted so you can sit around and watch toddlers hit each other with sticks?”

Samuel’s face grew hard. Those were names he had not heard in quite some time, but nonetheless thought about nearly every day. The tone of the bishop's voice did him no favor as well. A younger Duke of Steel would have cut him down where he stood. “You have grown sour in this peace.”

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, the holy knight continued deeper into the cavern, “Come on, cleric. We’re almost done here.”

- - - -

Few creatures stood up to the two afterwards. The two members of the King’s Shroud fell abomination after abomination as they ventured further into the expansive cavern. Few words were spared as their weapons sang through the air, slicing and bludgeoning whatever unfortunate being crossed their path. As the end of the cave drew near, Merle finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry I got upset with you.” His voice was tight, letting out as little sincerity as possible.

Samuel felt not to trust him, but years of friendship softened him.

“It’s fine.” The old man took the minute to shift around his plate armor, something that a less skilled man would deem more like a detriment in such close quarters, but had saved him a few injuries during this excursion.

The Bishop sighed, “No, I genuinely am. I shouldn’t have brought up the guys and I shouldn’t tell you how you need to spend the rest of your life.”

Samuel looked him up and down. Out of the King’s Shroud, Merle was by far the most deceptive, but he appeared sincere for the first time in forever. Knowing him for as long as he has, going into battle to expand their territory under the young king back in their own youth, maybe some of the old cry baby Merle came back. “No worries, I’ve gotten a beating from my wife worse than what you dished out.”

The knight’s hearty chuckle allowed Merle to relax. “I just would hate to see all our work, our kingdom, not reach what it is destined to be.” The bishop’s hand reflexively went to the crest emblazoned on his robes over his heart, “I might’ve played my minor role, but no one will doubt the power of the Duke of Steel. Altalour would be nothing without you, old friend.”

“Yeah…” Samuel bashfully shifted around his shoulder plate. “I just like hitting stuff, is all.”

“No matter your motivation, the Arm of Altalour will go down in history. I’d just hate to see you waste your talents before we see the end of this campaign.”

While some cave remained, the two had reached the end of their patrol route. Samuel looked back, “You’re real emotional today, Merle. What’s got you so nostalgic?”

“Nothing, it’s just all this fighting took me back to our growing days. I’m just afraid this might be my last excursion outside the church.” The cleric took his hand off his breast and breathed deeply. “Let’s continue just a bit deeper, okay? Just a little longer?”

Samuel looked ahead. Not much of the cavern remained, but what has, had not been explored personally by him in well over a decade. With a shrug, he sallied forth.

About only a few minutes of traversal remained, hollow nests of goblins lined the walls, those that were still alive were thankfully smart enough to know the source of the bloodshed and felling of their kin. Samuel wanted them all dead, but those actually experienced in the dealing of monsters demanded they remained untouched to provide their place within the ecosystem. He spit on the nest regardless.

As the end of the cavern quickly approached, Samuel turned to look at the normally jovial cleric. Merle's face seemed conflicted for some odd reason, perhaps due to what he said about being unable to leave the church once they were done here. The old man figured it was better not to ask.

The final narrow corridor opened widely to a circular room. The typically rocky floor was lined with grass as a narrow beam of moonlight filtered in from the rock above, illuminating the room in a way that did not make any sense to him. A narrow path lined with simple wooden fences cleaved through acres of tilled farmland. The walkway looked well-traveled, maintained and led to a tiny wooden cottage with a candle in the window resided.

“What in the twelve hells is that doing here?” The battle hardened veteran whispered, “We should be leagues underground!”

Merle gulped loudly, “Perhaps we found a village of subterranean mole creatures? Whatever it is, it’s civil enough to have a welcome sign up front.”

Samuel had been down this cave a dozen times over the past two decades. Usually shirking the job off to monster hunters and other specialists, his extermination duties took place on an even field, steel versus steel. So while he had not returned recent memory, sure, it surely was not long enough for what looks like an aged villa sitting comfortably in a monster-filled hole.

“I’ll approach.” He whispered, sword in hand.

Choosing his steps carefully up the quaint little path, he kept his eye on the singular window with a lone candle behind it. In any other context, he would have admired the cabin for looking quite cozy, somewhat similar to his childhood home, but not at the bottom of this hell.

A few steps from the door, he turned to see Merle fairly close, mace in hand. “You ready?”

After an affirmative nod from the bishop, he turned to the door, slamming it open with one his bloodstained greaves. “King’s Shroud! Prostrate yourself and declare your allegiance immediately!”

The cabin was quite cozy. A fireplace aflame with a cauldron utop simmered quietly in the corner, rugged wooden furniture dotted the living room and kitchen and a long hallway ended in two rooms ahead. All this, but no sign of its inhabitant.

“Maybe it’s abandoned?” Merle queried over the holy knight’s shoulder.

Loosening his stance, Samuel walked into the room. “Can’t be. That fire underneath the pot would have been cinders by now. It looks fresh.”

Poking around behind him, the cleric gave up all notions of hostility and adopted curiosity instead. He rubbed the top of one of the simple chairs, familiar with woodworking over his years in the monastery. “It's quite amazing, looks like someone was thriving down here.”

Samuel remained on high alert, no longer in a dueling stance, but still aware of any movement, broadsword drawn and ready. His eyes were drawn to the hallway after the front room offered little sign of answers, “Don’t let up now, we’ve still got two rooms left.”

Picking up his blade, fresh from his time in these tunnels, he moved down the hallway, ready to strike anything that lurched towards him. Shoving open the door on the left revealed a bedroom. If the room at the entrance was modest, this bedroom was enviable to the young princesses’ back home. Massive down bed with comforters and more pillows than he could count. The room was carpeted, plush with well made stuffed animals and well crafted painted furniture. A sheer pink veil fell from the bedpost, matching the gaudiness of the room. A magnificent chandelier emitting runelight looked like a masterclass of metal and magic working. But no sign of its owner.

“Clear.” Samuel muttered, trying to piece it all together.

Staring at the room long enough, he turned right around to the last closed door of the cottage. Whoever lived here must be behind this door.

With a gulp, he raised his sword arm and grasped the doorknob. With a quick twist, he shoved the door open before completing his stance, “King’s Shroud! Prostrate yourself and declare your allegiance immediately!”

What laid behind the door scared him. Jars filled with sickly colors of fluid suspending alien creatures lined the shelves covering the room. Some palm-sized, some fit to hold a grown man. Dim lights shone from behind, causing the color of the room to be bathed in a pale green glow, still heavy with shadow. Endless shelves lined the wall in a room he could not even see the end of. Whatever could look at him did, as suspended eyeballs, severed heads, unformed fetuses, and developing creatures stared at the intruder as if expecting his arrival.

“What in the twelve hells is this…?”

In all his years, Samuel the holy knight of the King’s Shroud had never seen such a sight.

“Oh? You finally made it in?”

A young female voice sang out nonchalantly from down the room cloaked in shadow. The dimensions of the room seemed impossible seeing the outside of the cottage.

Emerging from the darkness, a young woman appeared, possibly in her late teens. Her cheeks were painted with bright red circles, and her long, flawless black hair glistened in the dim green light emitted from behind some of the jars. Her robes were simple, an almost too basic purple that seemed too big for her tiny frame. But the real tell was the large black wide-brim hat that ended with a point: a witch.

“Damned demonic whore!” Samuel shouted, “I should have guessed this structure would have belonged to a traitorous bitch such as yourself!”

The holy knight had fought witches only a few times, women who had either sold themselves to or had become demons, and each time brought him closer and closer to death. In their quest for power, they forego their humanity, be it their emotions, their reasoning, or their sense of desire to gain forbidden knowledge of the arcane. More power than humans should be allowed.

With a high-pitched yawn and a bit of a stretch, the witch sauntered closer to the two, appearing child-like with her mannerisms. “Ooh wow! A knight!” She admired how his armor reflected the dull light, “I never thought I’d ever get the chance to see one so close again!”

“And it will be the last thing you ever see!” Samuel dashed forward, sword aiming for her vitals. A battle with a witch needs to be decided immediately, lest they gain the upper hand and could use their magicks in ways he could not comprehend.

With a few brisk steps between them, he prepared a decisive thrust through her chest, something that if she had not offered herself too much for her power, should hit either her heart or lungs. “May your soul be forfeit to whatever damned creature you soiled yourself with!”

---

World notes: The Kingdom of Altalour

Located on the western half of the continent of Alzahett, and direct descendant from the ancient kingdom of Sopra, the Kingdom of Altalour is currently the largest kingdom on the landmass, while their neighbors, the Mulane Republic and Holy Shuraig Theocracy are rapidly losing ground.

Known as "The Land of Extremes", each weather pattern on Alzahett is said to be at least as three times as impactful as one would find anywhere else in the world. This is due, in part, to an unusual amount of water mana located in the atmosphere above, amplifying any storms or freezes that afflict the country. Those with religious affiliation claim it is a curse tied to the death of the Goddess Alzahett (which the continent has been named after) who has been said to have been slain by the First Emperor of the previous Sopra empire with the same massive blade, the Sunsword, located in the capitol square of the same name.

Founded and led by King Aldrius Altalour, the kingdom has risen to it's current state during the current generation, known for its ruthless conquests across the continent. Every citizen is expected to serve in the country's military for 5 years, thus leading to it's dramatic rise on the world stage. This has translated into the culture of the kingdom, where power is respected above all else in society be it through money, military or social status. Contests are regularly held for possession of another's home, land and other assets. The recipient of such challenge are the ones who choose the form the contest will take, be it debate, magic duel or martial combat.

Seven knights are currently seated on The King's Shroud, considered the nation's finest swordsmen, mages and clerics who have devoted their life to the continued expansion of the Kingdom of Altalour. Each is said to be as strong as one hundred men and has been said to have sacrificed an aspect of their humanity for such power. The subjects of many a myth and legend, it is unsure which are dramatization and which are true.