Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

Aldrius sat on his throne.

As the debonair and genteel lords and ladies either danced or made light conversation below him, he felt like he was miles away.

Such simple people could never bear the weight he did. Even Lancell, his very own heir, dancing like a fool before a duke’s wife, caused him concern about the future of the kingdom.

Of his life’s work.

On one hand, he was grateful to provide a time of peace and carelessness to his people. But on the other, it was something he rarely got to partake in himself and was unsure if anyone could step in to continue to ensure the future of.

With a sigh, he looked to his sides. His retinue continued to shrink as the years sped by, first Martinet, then Samuel, then Merle and finally Brutus. And those were only after the most recent war. The dwindling resources he had for leadership would soon bear its own fruit, one who’s seeds could very well sprout over the rest of the kingdom.

“Your lordship?”

Aldrius clicked out of his daze, looking at the young man. Armed in the king’s personal armor, he appeared more noble than the king even did. If he had that boy’s youth then he would-!

“Apologies, I was just lamenting the loss of some of my Shroud…” Samuel would have hated it here, but Martinet and Merle would just be glad to be out in public for once.

The young man smiled back once more, all his teeth were present, “Of course, your lordship. This would be a very different party if some of those passed were still around.”

The woman beside Aldrius spat.

He had tried to love Brunhe, a negotiation from one of the allegiances formed. But every day she seemed to make it harder and harder, a challenge she undertook every day since they first met. “That Merle is a schemer, let him rot with the rest of that church.”

Having spent years under her thumb, the King of Altalour had grown quite skilled at subtly rolling his eyes when she was not looking.

“Unfortunate that the rivers of time choose not only to erode away the stones beneath our feet, but at our very lives as well…” With Alzahett undergoing it’s winter season, the most recent snowfall was nearly as tall as a dwarven man, something that would have repercussions once spring arrived.

“Yes,” the young man started, his eyes glazed over, presumably looking towards a future Aldrius would never be privy to, “but those very rivers give us life. They give us a means to build a means to better this life as well.”

The king was more restrained than his wife. Who was this whelp spouting platitudes?

Slumping further in his seat, he shifted his gaze back to the crowds beneath him. He wondered if the God Emperors in the days of yore had to sit through such boring parties. One thing was for sure, they most assuredly did not have punks attempting to offer advice to them.

His mind took him away from the uninspired people below.

There were a few people a king could trust. His hard work, his well deserved power earned from a pile of corpses drew in flies, hungry to feast on the sacrifices necessary so no man had to raise a sword as he did. A man with such power was like Most played lip service to accomplish their own selfish goal or to pay off debtors that managed to catch them.

But Merle was an exception.

Already a Bishop upon joining with Aldrius to unite Alzahett under Altalour’s flag, the man wanted little and needed less. His jovial attitude was a candle in the darkness, a rallying banner to bring people together regardless of their creed. He shunned titles and fame, finding his enjoyment in his own lived experiences.

But what he had been proposing these past two years? Preposterous.

However, they had accomplished a preposterous goal before. Nearly uniting the 12 warring kingdoms, currently just two short, had only been achieved back during the era of the God Emperors.

An era they wished to bring back.

“My king?”

The voice brought Aldrius back to his dull reality once more. Looking down from the throne once more, all the party guests were nowhere to be found. All the tables were cleaned and were being put away once more until the next sordid affair.

“My lord, you seem to have fallen asleep amidst the festivities. Shall I take you to your room to retire for the night?” The young man showed genuine concern, his expression like manure to the elderly monarch.

Incredulously trying to piece the sudden shift in reality, Aldrius scratched his balding scalp, dry and wrinkled with age. “That… Might be for the best.” Such occurrences were growing more and more frequent.

“Right away, sir. I shall call for the chambermaids to prepare.”

Finding himself alone in the ballroom, the King of Altalour silently wept. He needed to act quickly, lest the kingdom will fall.

The sweet scent of flowers filled the space, even something Aldrius’ failing senses could unmistakingly pick up. Sounds of high heeled shoes drew closer to the man. “There is no need for tears, my king,” a voice called sweetly, “we are working diligently to accomplish your goals, for you are the only one who can truly save the world…”

He refused to lift his head and meet her gaze. He lost himself when speaking to this woman. “Please…” He muttered.

“Oh, my dear Aldrius, I will personally see to-”

“No!” The old man shouted, hoping to scare off the intruder, “Leave me! Depart from me foul devil!”

 

 - - - -

 

Going back to Bila’s house to pick up one specific thing, Sara returned to the Abraj Al Bait tower to await for The Eternal’s return to claim her reward.

Tempted as she was to explore the town below with this new boon, she remained in her room, not willing to take the chance if the spell had a short duration or some other sort of drawback.

Instead, she opted to continue to ponder over the tome gifted to her by the Sage and the sphere given to her by the witch.

Both were strange.

Never in her past life was she given such esoteric items and were expected to figure out what to do with them.

A sword had a singular purpose. A shield was the answer to that purpose. And along with the ability to lead those who wielded them, those are what gave Samuel purpose.

As her eyes began to sink along with the sun behind the horizon, a faint knock alighted across her doors. Saying something in elvish, she took it to mean The Eternal had finally returned and was ready to detail the results of her actions. Leaving the book and tucking the sphere away in her pocket, she was ready to head out the door.

 

 - - - -

 

“The plan worked flawlessly, Succubus Sarakiel!” The masked man clapped his hands together. Echoing through the study in which her dress was made, it felt strangely empty without the gaggle of elves or Mujad.

Sara tilted her head, “You mean it took all day for the hearing to be called off?”

Kicking back in his chair once more, The Eternal nodded, the beak of his bird mask exaggerating his head movement, “Of course, that’s how elven politics work! We awaited Bila’s return for six hours and then spent the next four planning on when to reconvene.”

The succubus shook her head. She might have done the world a favor by removing one more exhaustive cog from the world’s most inefficient machine. ”So what was the hearing even about? It sounded like they were getting ready to spit roast you and throw you over an open fire…”

A silence overtook the room.

“Never you mind, Sarakiel. It’s none of your concern.” The masked man was cold in his response. Sara felt a slight betrayal, but ultimately, she decided it truly was none of her business.

“Now…” The Eternal returned to his position, leaning back in the chair, his feet propped up on the desk, “I believe we struck a deal, you kill a senator, I get to tell you how to learn spells even faster. The question is: do you already have that information?”

Sara looked down at her still missing arm. While the spell she enhanced from Bila’s mana replaced it and made it fully functional, much like the senator’s genitals when they changed sex, maintaining the casting was a constant drain on her mana reserves.

“I most likely do, but I want you to tell me regardless.”

Taking a moment in his spot before a deep sigh of resignation, the masked man stood. “Fine, fair’s fair.”

Not even a second after hearing the Sage’s signal of him clapping his hands, Mujad entered the room, carrying the tome nearly as thick as his torso.

“Mujad, here, has been taking expert notes on you, as I am sure you know, Succubus Sarakiel.”

“A little too ‘expert’, some may say.” Sara flatly replied.

Looking at the boy, The Eternal continued, “Right. Well, that was not necessarily for our exclusive benefit, but for me to understand how to approach your education, monster.”

The last word stung, but held true in that Sara was no longer human anymore.

“This is also to ask a question that I believe you may not know the answer to as well: why were you created?” The Eternal placed his hand under his chin, eager for a reaction.

And in response, he only received a muted one, “Well, it’s to collect mana for my ‘master’, as with any familiar.” She remembered the explanation she heard straight from the witch’s mouth.

“Right,” The Sage began to pace around the room, still in his pondering, “but what if there was more to it? See, I understand you lived a life before becoming… this.” He flashed momentary disdain for her form, something she felt the need to cover up from, “But why a being so complicated? A succubus I understand, efficient mana collection and all that, but why give you the capability to use magic yourself? Why request my assistance to teach you more than just disguise magic, but instead spell theory as a whole?”

Sara crossed what was left of her arms, “You have a point. I took it as good will from the witch to my plight, but that would not benefit her. If I were to serve a single purpose, then there would be no need for further investment as I already did a sufficient enough job in the caves…”

It was true she held a kind opinion of Ashara. She had raised Sara to life and provided some guidance in this whole new world, but a witch was still a witch. “So what do you think it is, Sage? What is our little friend going after with me?”

The Eternal shrugged. “Unsure. But all I know is that you have some unseen level of magic adaptability and according to Mujad, a mythical level of mana compatibility. One is good, two is excellent, but five mana you can fully manipulate? Frankly, I have never had so much envy before.”

“Right, but at what cost?” Sara looked down at her hand, human-like, but a mere imitation used to drain the life force of men. “I’m no better than a witch, trading their humanity for power.”

Stopping his pacing, the Sage stopped to turn towards his student, “That is where you are wrong, Succubus Sarakiel. An abhorrent witch willingly offers her soul for a shortcut to learning parlor tricks with dark mana, you still have your humanity.”

“But I offered that a long time ago.” The exhaustion of fighting hit Sara. As an old knight, she had blamed her advanced age for wanting to end the ceaseless slaughter of life she committed in her past life, but now she could see there was more to it than that.

Despite the so-called ‘honor’ or ‘justice’ she had fought for to raise the Kingdom of Altalour, Samuel was a monster long before he became a succubus.

“Regardless,” The Eternal started up again, bringing Sara back from her memories, “you may not have asked for it, Sarakiel, but take advantage of the situation you have now. An opportunity to be one of the greatest wielder of magics not only in this realm, but in all others has fallen into your lap, and as the most brilliant spell crafter alive, I refuse to see such an opportunity be squandered through your incorrect misgivings.”

A fluttering began to form in her fake stomach, “Fine. What do we need to do then?” Sarakiel asked.

“Simple.” The masked man patted Mujad on the back, “We test out some theories.”

---

World notes: Martial Combat

At first glance, magic practitioners seem to have the upper hand in both combat and warfare. Being able to control the very elements would be entirely far more useful than swinging a sword or lifting a heavy object with one's own body. And while this is true, it should be noted how rare true spellcasters are in the world: about 1-in-5. In addition, being able to cast truly impactful spells takes years of practice, study and invention as compared to anyone who can pick up a sword, spear and/or shield to harshly maim another person.

Developed over countless millennia, histories and cultures various forms of martial combat styles and weapons have emerged. Halflings, for example, prefer to fight with knives due to their versatility and ease of carry when moving with their nomadic societies. Taking advantage of their small surface area, they are masters of dodging and utilizing feints before getting in and often leaving multiple stab wounds. Many differing techniques have been iterated upon: more traditional styles from the open plains that takes advantage of more vertical movement, a closer, tighter combat style developed in the cities built by other races or the rarest of all, a true low-to-the-ground fighting style that involves staying as low as possible to stab the sensitive ankle muscles of other humans.

Monster Hunters rarely rely on magic due to many notable creatures resistant to various spell effects, but only a few can take a steel blade. As such, many disciplines can always use a magic caster, but outside of the universal need for healing magic, few find the ability to cast spells to be necessary.