Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

“Arise.”

Sara could feel the reverberations of the voice through her bones. The command was simple, yet demanded so much of her.

Without a thought, she slowly stood from where she laid. However, looking around brought her curiosity back to her.

She found herself within a nebulous void much like when she died.

A shock slammed her chest as the experience returned, but instead of hearing the witch’s high pitched voice, it was as if the rumbling of thunder above spoke to her. Wherever ‘up’ really was.

As panic began to set in, she noticed a small white light in the distance. Just as Sara tried to squint to get a closer look at the only point of intrigue within her perception, the sky around her feet lightened.

She stood upon a sphere.

The gray sphere beneath her was smooth, a polished ball made of some kind of matte material floating amidst the endless void all around.

“Where in the twelve hells-”

In the blink of an eye, the bright light suddenly streaked over, forming a tail above that quickly disappeared. The light screamed forward, now split into five rays rather than a singular shot.

The five comets began to rapidly orbit around the drab orb at her feet, splitting and independently circumnavigating the sphere nearly three times a second. Each pass added more definition to the now rocky surface below. Water began to fill the spaces between landmasses, dividing the space between them. Greenery began to form on all but one of the now five continents.

“The origin of the world…” Sara let slip.

Quickly blinking, she became aware of herself. It was the first time she dreamed since she was brought back to life. However, whatever scene that unraveled before her felt too real to be a figment of her imagination.

Looking down at her hands, they were formless. One angle produced her familiar long nailed dainty brown hands while another caused them to shift to an even more recognizable worn pale mitts of the man she was before.

“View.”

The thundering voice pulsed once more, reaching from the vast edges of her vision and into the very fiber of her being.

Suddenly her perspective shifted, quickly yanking her forward until she stopped.

Adjusting her eyes, the smell of soot filled the air as low rumbling filled her ears. Looking around, she stood amidst a burning town. What was left of the buildings appeared foreign, yet the trees in the distance were like those she spent her lives surrounded by. The scene was all too similar to various points in her life, most of which were orchestrated by her: she stood within a ransacked Alzahett city.

While the architecture was unlike any she had seen on the continent, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt this scene unfolded before her upon the very land she had nearly seen the entirety of through the slits of a helmet.

“Is this a memory of my past life?”

As if to deny her answer, a loud crash nearly knocked her off of her feet. The gust of wind flattened whatever buildings once stood against the fires of war all around her.

Looking up at the culprit, she saw yet another familiar thing: a giant sword slammed in the ground. But instead of the point thrust into the earth, the edge of the blade was jammed into the city square. Following the weapon up, only the vague silhouette of a man stood at the other end, his eyes were literally burning.

“That was a close one!” A feminine voice rang out nearby, causing Sara to look up from the ground she was sprawled out upon. The likely culprit stood tall, looking at the man in the distance. Her pale hair hung nearly past her knees as it glowed softly like moonlight as her eyes burned much like the subject of her apparent ire. A shawl she wore dimmed and brightened in a way that could not even be explained through magic as it appeared more natural than just the manipulation of the elements. “Need any help up?”

“Uhhh… Yeah.” Sara held out her hand, something the fellow woman gladly grabbed before quickly lifting her to her feet. “Wh-where are we?”

The efflorescent woman revered her with incredulity, “Did you bump your head or something?” She pointed at the man in the distance wielding the monumental blade, “We’re stopping this tallman from doing something reeeally stupid!”

Sara, someone would be considered an expert at being a tallman at one point or another, followed the sword once more to it’s owner, “H-how?”

“How what, dummy?” The woman smiled, each tooth was pearlescent, “We just kill him!”

The confused succubus’s face narrowed at such a simple answer. But before she could ask anything else, the girl grasped her hand and lifted her up into the air. Pulling her along the edge of the now moving sword faster than she initially recognized, the air quickly filled her lungs-

-and caused her to open her eyes, looking up at the familiar roof of her guest room.

- - - -

“Ah, miss!” The barkeep shouted over the noise.

The Earl’s Crossing was even more boisterous than when Sara had last visited the little bar in Thistlebrook. Something about the winter always drove Alzahettians to drink as the snow piled higher than most of their buildings.

Disguised as herself, but this time with both hands, she drew near to Mr. Timns, the elderly barkeep, “Hey, what’s going on?” She leaned in to the man across the bar.

“That Gildroy boy has been coming ‘ere everyday for nearly two weeks tryin’ to talk to ya! He tol’ me to keep an eye out for ya!”

Sara could only roll her eyes. The dumb lordling took her for a whore during their last encounter, an insult even if she actually worked as one. “Tell him I’m not interested!” She shouted over the crowd.

“Ya sure? He got money!”

She understood Timns was just looking out for this girl on the street, possibly giving her a way out of either working the wash bins or the streets, but the comment felt insulting. Especially after what the young lord had said before.

“Goddess be damned, no!” She shouted. Without much else, she stomped back to her spot in the corner, this time in properly fitting clothing made by Faruzad while they were out. Despite only one elf making the dress versus the gaggle who made the ball gown before, this one had a much more comfortable fit.

Even with the constant ogling of docks men at the bar bored from the lack of riverboats from the frozen river, none dared to approach her.

Finally at the bottom of her cup, a familiar voice rang out over the crowd, “Sara! Sara Elezar!”

In the blink of an eye, the golden haired man appeared before her, panting with excitement. “It’s you! It’s really you!”

“Ugh…” She made no effort to hide her displeasure from Gildroy. “Fuck off.”

The young lord disregarded the dismissal, continuing to excitedly chatter, “I’m really really really sorry for what I said the last time! You just came off as incredibly experienced and it was a magical time I would never forget! I mean, I don’t even look at other women anymore, you far outpace them as far as beauty, intellect, wit and intrigue! I play that night on the riverbed over and over in my mind nearly every waking moment and was hoping to see you again! It’s just-” He finally took a breath, “I can’t get enough of you.”

Sara’s jaw hung open.

She expressly remembered how she chose not to charm the now panting golden haired man and yet…

Looking him over, it reminded her of when she had met Stella in her past life. He too, a young troublemaker who bedded more women than a hotel, went head-over-heels when he accidentally bagged the woman that locked him down for the rest of his life. Something about Stella more than just clicked. Even though he was not sure he was going to live week after week hopping from battle to battle, he found himself imagining a future with the woman. He found himself wanting to do more than just booze and bed, he saw something he could not have with anyone else in this world other than the eccentric heiress of a minor lord.

And now this lordling wants the same with her.

Still holding her glare over the man, she lifted the finger of her restored hand to her chin, “I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”

“It is!” He blurted out, losing all tact he seemingly had during their last encounter, “I- I can’t stop thinking about you, Sara…”

Her main body responded to his vulnerability. The saddened look in his green eyes almost made her want to pity the man. Hold him close and then- “The barkeep already told me you come here everyday to find me. Is that true?”

“Yes!” He looked over to Mr. Timns who was whistling as he wiped down a mug before putting it away. “I’m sorry if I’m coming off too desperate but I-”

Sara put her hand on his, causing Gildroy to clam up.

“Honestly…” She smiled, “I like desperate.”

- - - -

The Olson manor was just as she remembered it.

Paintings of men long dead in fanciful situations, which after her past few weeks, she was more open to believing. The foyer in which she stood far exceeded what was necessary, making her own Proudmane manor appear closer to a shack than a lord’s mansion. The elaborate geometry of the hanging magelight and crystal chandelier hung above, far too elaborate to not draw attention too. The family must have spent a total of ten years of riverboat income just in the opening space of the home alone.

“Hold on.” Gildroy whispered. Sneaking over to the large entrance on the side of the hall with the singular staircase which led to the alcove above, he poked his head over to what she assumed to be the common space. After a momentary glance, the young lord gestured for her to draw closer.

With a grimace, she strode forward heedless of the sounds she made.

“Shhh!” Gildroy shushed, just about as loud as she was on her approach, “We can’t let my dad hear you!”

“You still live with your parents?” Sara almost considered leaving upon hearing that. Pity may not change the way he tastes, but it certainly could ruin the eating experience.

“No, but my father wanted to stay over during the hunting season instead of his villa.”

Samuel had only met the elder Lord Olson a handful of times, despite being neighbors. The lesser lord only held dominion over Thistlebrook which was just a place for the Duke of Steel to lay his head when not on campaign. He was an eccentric, but nothing too untoward to leave his wife and daughter around. Besides, with everyone intimidated by the Arm of Altalour, the slightly younger lord only interacted with Samuel in the few times he had to.

“Well, he shouldn’t hear us, right?” Sara leaned in, breathing on the golden haired boy’s neck, causing goosebumps to rise.

He quickly stood up straight, flustering heavily, “N-no! He’s a sound sleeper! B-besides, he might be out right now anyways!”

Perfect.

Pulling the man closer, her lips met Gildroy’s. At first, he shivered like a leaf, but soon found his rhythm. The two quickly warmed up from their time in the immense snowfall, thankfully having an already cleared path that only nobility could afford.

The young man groaned, something she was not far along enough to ignore. Lifting his shirt over his head, the two entered the common room attached by the lips, separating only long enough for the lord of the manor to light the fireplace within in only a single strike of flint.

Sara rested upon a fine pelt rug, watching the man work as quick as possible. It appeared to be made from direwolf, something she reveled in slightly, the nub of her arm tingling slightly, despite the shapechange spell she currently had up.

“So…” Sara crooned, taking off the simpler dress made by Faruzad which left her bare against the pelt, “How about we pick up where we left off?”

---

World notes: House Proudmane

Like all fixtures in the newfound kingdom of Altalour, House Proudmane had little notable attributed to it until what scholars are now calling the Ascendency War.

Originally a lesser home of the quickly declining Kingdom of Sopra founded upon the northern valleys specializing in the trade of animal pelts, Orthwell Proudmane was one of the first tallmen to maintain amicable relations with the dwarven kingdoms due to his near perfect memory of their rules and regulations in regards to what they referred to as "Perfectly Mutually Beneficial Trade", a controversial regime that those outside their kingdoms found too tedious to maintain and those within found too lax. Lord Orthwell had begotten three daughters and one son: Sasha, Surrey, Summer and Samuel, the last of which would become instrumental in House Proudmane's role in the upcoming Kingdom of Altalour, an upstart dominion that quickly rose to power due to the military and diplomatic powers it exercised over the continent.

Over the past 40 years of Altalour's growth and ambition to conquer Alzahett from shore to shore, House Proudmane became the third most powerful influence within the kingdom, the king's own House Altalour arguably tied with House Recks, the latter of which is rapidly on decline since the passing of their patriarch. However, much like House Recks, the lack of heir apparent and sudden passing of Lord Samuel has done all but spell doom for the warmongering house, causing a power vacuum as the "Founding Generation" ages out and the new "Fledgling Generation" seems to have been passed down the same ambition and strength the kingdom was founded upon. Without a suitable heir of his own, King Aldrius Altalour himself appears concerned over the future of the kingdom.