Witch of Fear [Mild horror, Isekai High Fantasy]

Many a horrid tale spoke of the perils of splitting a party. Some of which Autumn had experienced herself. Twice, in fact. 

Yet lo, the party hath been split once more.

After they’d woken and gorged themselves on an overpriced breakfast in the safety of their rooms, Autumn had divvied out a healthy portion of their wealth. She had made sure each of them had some necromancer coinage on hand. Just in case. And, with their permission, she’d whispered a tether into their minds. Autumn refused to call it a mind worm. 

Edwyn and Nelva found themselves a table in the common room and ordered a few plates of finger foods and beer. Their job was to watch over their gear, taking turns in the adjoining stable or otherwise listening for rumors in any language they understood. 

The rest were to head out into the dark city in search of supplies. Out they strode, clad in dark robes and bones. All the while watched by greedy eyes. Around the room, shady individuals vacated shaded tables with furtive movements and hurriedly exited the back of the inn for places unseen. 

Autumn blinked as her eyes adjusted to a new gloom. 

The dark streets unveiled themselves before the witch’s dark eyes. At this hour, there were few individuals lurking on the streets, even in a sleepless city. 

With nary a word, the two groups separated. Liddie and Pyre headed south in search of alchemists and artisans while Autumn, Nethlia, and Eme went north. Their task for the day was to investigate the northern exits to the city and secure enough supplies for however long they had left in the Feywild. Not that any of them knew how long that was. 

Regretfully, given the place they’d found themselves, and the image they were projecting, Autumn could not hold the hands of either girl.

As they walked along the desolate streets, they were eyed by the armed drow guardsmen lining the streets. 

Nethlia eyed them back, her eyes glowing through the slits of a death mask proved the greater intimidation. Effortlessly, she hefted her pole-hammer to rest upon her shoulder. In a low tone, she spoke so that only the two girls beside her could hear.

“Keep close and don’t dawdle. What do we need to buy exactly?” 

Autumn fell into step with the demoness’ long strides.

“Supplies mainly. We need more rations, rope, and spare clothing; my socks and boots are in a shocking state, even with my magic. We might as well get the others a pair or two while we are at it. Theirs aren’t far from scrap leather, anyway. Also, Eme needs a new pack as hers got washed away.”

The catgirl blushed beneath her hood.

“If we can swing it, we might want to look into getting some better armor. I salvaged some parts of her bone cuirass, but the stomach section was completely shattered. If they have some chainmail better than this black-iron stuff, that’d be good. Do you think we could get one of those crossbows the guards have?”

Eme eyed the guards as they passed them by. She subtly shook her head. “I doubt it. That’s the sort of thing guards like to keep to themselves. Especially from outsiders.” 

“Probably,” Autumn hummed. “Although, I bet they ‘lose’ a few to the local gangs and come into sudden wealth.” 

Nethlia snorted. “I ain’t taking that bet. Heads up, there are a bunch of guards up ahead. Best look lively, or deathly, in this case.”

The district of coin sat ahead of the party, massive in scope. From the northeastern gate at the city’s edge, it rolled down the Street of Iron towards the largest of the three sisters and out towards the river’s bank. Buildings of harsh-edged stone, twisting metal, and murky glass glinted in the gloom of bioluminescent streetlights as they cowered beneath the shadow of the largest column-like building. The enormous tower took up an entire block, ringed by a fortified wall and patrolled by equally well-armed drow guards.

Shivering slaves stood in the gloam, cautiously, yet desperately, trying to incite customers into the shops. Others futilely swept at the grime clinging to steps and stones.

Merchant’s eyes glittered with greed. They watched like savaging vultures as the crowd grew.

Eme leant towards the group as she whispered. “Do you think that’s where the clan matron would be? In the massive tower?”

“Seems likely enough,” Autumn replied. “Best not to look too long. Nor linger. Let’s get to shopping; I think I see a wholesaler.”

“A what?”

Autumn smiled secretly.

For the next few hours, she led them on a meandering path up the Street of Iron. Into and out of various shops, they dipped. Looking for and ultimately buying anything and everything they need. And whatever caught their eye. All the necromancer’s horde needed spending somewhere, best to spend it where it’d not get more than a second look.

Frustratingly, Eme was right. None of the local blacksmiths or weaponsmiths would sell them anything beyond knives, daggers, or the odd handaxe. No matter what price was offered. For guardsmen use only, they said. 

Still, it wasn’t all bad news. 

Thanks to Autumn’s firm grasp of the local dialect, and the trio’s collective intimidation, they got all of what they needed for a steal. Much to the local merchant’s grumbling.

Over Nethlia’s broad shoulders, they slung a collection of packs filled with dried foodstuff and gear. For the past few days, the group’s meals had been rather lean. Their supplies weren’t in dire straits just yet, but it didn’t hurt to be safe. As such, she’d bought enough food to last their group of seven a few months if rationed properly.

She doubted they’d be in the Feywild that long. Well, she hoped they wouldn’t, at least.

Eme’s gear was easy enough to replace. With only a little gold, the catgirl had a neat dark-leather waxed pack full of all the things an adventure might need. A fresh bedroll and blanket, mess-tin, tinderbox, torches, a couple of waterskins, and the ubiquitous 50ft of hempen rope.

Thankfully, she hadn’t lost her ID in the wash. Autumn had heard somewhere it was a pain to get reissued. 

Now, regarding buying new clothes for the party, the trio ran into a few issues. Namely, the fashion sense of the drow. It was eclectic, to say the least. Everything they found in the local clothiers consisted mainly of leather and boasted an unnecessary amount of straps or was of a sheer silk. If it was only that, Autumn might’ve lived with it until she, or someone else, could tailor it, but the drow had a penchant towards providing as little coverage in their designs as they could get away with.

Secretly, she did buy a few racier pieces for herself…and maybe for Nethlia and Eme. 

However, the drow’s fondness for leather proved a boon when they visited the local cobblers. Her original boots were a tattered mess. Not even magic could save them. So, without hesitation, she bought two pairs of dark leather boots for both herself and the rest of the party. 

Nethlia heaved a sigh as they were added to her arms. 

While Autumn wasn’t an armorsmith or tailor, she had some fun ideas rattling around in her brain. With the remaining dragonbone, she hoped to create a set of shinguards for herself and Nethlia and Eme. And, if she had enough, a pair of vambraces. 

Guiltily, she guessed Eme would only need one. 

In hindsight, she might’ve spent longer collecting dragonbone if she’d known Nethlia wasn’t that far away. Maybe they might’ve made Nelva a full set of plate out of it? No use thinking about it now, Autumn said to herself. 

Once their shopping was mostly done — and piled upon Nethlia — the trio wandered further north. As they pushed through the growing crowd towards the gate, they kept up a veneer of shopping. 

As they drew near, Autumn cast her gaze over the gatehouse. 

It was shut, tightly so. 

Heavily armed drow lingered outside the gatehouse, turning away any who sought exit from the city. None too kindly, by the looks of it. 

With a furrowed brow, the witch caught the arm of a passing local. At their annoyed look, she tipped her hat in the direction of the gatehouse. 

“What’s going on with the gate?” 

The drow woman looked over briefly. “What’s it to you?” she asked suspiciously. 

Autumn released her arm and took a gold coin from her robes. “Information is a wealth unto its own.” 

Avarice glinted in the drow’s eyes. She reached for the coin; Autumn tilted it out of the way. 

“Info first.”

The drow woman huffed. “It’s the Wild Hunt; the outskirts of the city are too dangerous.” 

“You can do better than that,” Autumn said with narrowed eyes. “How is it dangerous?”

She narrowed her eyes back, but continued anyway. “The space warps and twists. Grotesque monsters spill forth from the realm’s wounds. There is a war going on, almost. Happy? I’m quite busy.”

Autumn handed over the coin and the drow woman swiftly vanished into the crowd. 

“Problem?” Nethlia asked. 

“Yeah. Bad news, they’ve locked the gates up tight. We’ve got to find a new way out. But the good news is that we are close to home. If the Coblynau’s words are to be believed, the Wild Hunt and the hag’s abode should be in the same place, somewhere beyond those walls.”

“Great. Let’s head back. Not much else we can do here.” 

Nethlia turned away from the gate, heading back down the Street of Iron. Autumn and Eme hurriedly caught up.

“Wait,” Autumn called out. “We should go have a look at the watergate. I’ve an idea about how we can get out.”

A grimace stole over Nethlia’s face. “That’ll be in the direction of the slave market.”

“I know, but we need a way out. Besides, we could use them.”

Eme blinked. “How so?” she asked. 

“Best not to talk about it out here,” Autumn whispered to her. “We’ll go over everything once we get back.” 

Eme nodded nervously, casting her eyes about the crowd. As they drew closer to the slave bazaar, more guards lined the streets. Cruel whips adorned their hips alongside heavy iron manacles. 

The slave bazaar of Naurin was a grand affair. Where in any other city lines of stalls would proclaim their wares, here were only lines upon lines of cages. Where barkers would try to sell exotic goods and spices, here they only sold flesh. Humans, Elves, Beastkin, Minotaurs, and Harpies, there were innumerable species on offer at this ghoulish market. 

Despair was heavy in the air. Like a fog to the witch’s senses. 

It was not only humanoids caged and on sale either, for beast cages lined the stalls too. Some Autumn had never seen in person. A hydra roared futilely from its many caged jaws. Wyverns beat their bleeding wings against their heavy chains while massive, hunched crocodilian beasts glared. Wendigos paced and Hellhounds bayed. And within bars of iron, a myriad of Fey-beasts lay in anguish.

In the very center of this grand, horrid bazaar, bolted to the ground like a prized trophy, sat a giant. Fifteen feet of muscle and rage, bound by scars and chains. Matted hair draped over intelligent eyes that swept over the crowds with disdain, fury, and hunger.

Autumn cast her cold gaze over the crowd. 

To her dismay, they were mostly human. To her, they looked Greco-roman, dressed as they were in flowing togas of reds and whites, while they armed themselves with bronze weaponry. Great plumes rose from their guards’ bronze Corinthian-style helms while polished muscle-cuirasses donned their bodies. However, there was far more skull iconography upon them than she was used to seeing from Earth’s history.

“Those are the Southern Humans,” Nethlia whispered into Autumn’s ear. “How in the hells did they get here?” 

“Maybe the same way we did? Just from another direction?” 

“Nah, they brought slave-ships with them.” Nethlia nodded toward the harbor, where a fleet of galleys bobbed with the river’s flow. “They knew what they were coming for. And look at what slaves they are buying; war slaves and war beasts.”

Autumn blinked. “Are you saying they have a way into the Feywild?”

“Seems like it. Or at least just to here.”

“Umm, why does it matter if they are buying up a bunch of war slaves? Not that it’s good or anything, but I thought they were always doing that?” Eme asked. “That’s what my Okasan always said. Oh, no offense meant, Autumn.” 

Autumn shrugged. “It’s alright, they’re not my people. I come from…far away.” 

“It matters,” Nethlia growled, fists tight, “because that’s a war hydra, and if they bought a giant…and could control it? …I fear the passes might fall.” 

Autumn stared out over the slave bazaar, taking in the frightened people being bought and sold for a handful of coins. Her icy gaze swept over towards the two bastions bordering the river and the massive length of chain strung between them. She looked at the giant and met its roaming gaze. 

A plan fell into place in her mind. 

“I might have a solution, or at least, a spanner to throw in the works.” Autumn took in their blank looks and elaborated. “Err, a spear to put in their spokes? Fuck it all. I’ve a plan. Let’s head back before I get nauseous; there’s too much fear in the air here. I’m getting a head rush.”

The trio picked their way around the slave bazaar, making for the alleyways heading back towards the Darkmare Inn.

Nethlia, last to leave, cast one last look back at the market and its bound slaves. Within the cages nearest to her, an odd collection of humans within gave the demoness looks of fright. Nethlia eyed them disdainfully, for she was the last person they had to fear. They were an odd bunch, dressed in tattered apparel of short tunics bearing strange emblems and distressed pants of a rough blue material.

Still, she turned away, leaving them to their fate.

Halfway back to the inn, having wandered through a twisting maze of back alleys, Nethlia stilled, halting the other girls. She heaved a sigh as she placed their shopping off to the side.

“I suppose they couldn’t resist their greed in the end.”

Autumn blinked. “Who—” she began to ask, only to stop as a group of four drow emerged in front of them and another four behind.

They were slavers. Each bore with them wooden clubs, ropes, and iron chains. The male drow nervously arrayed themselves to block the exits out of the dingy alleyway, their courage buoyed by strength of numbers.

“Do you think you girls can take the back?” 

Autumn gulped as she glanced at the four blocking the way back. Beside her, Eme shook with uneasy energy.

“Yeah, I think we can. Will you be alright on your own?”

Nethlia grinned behind her mask, rage creeping into her voice. “Sure thing. Don’t you worry about me. They’re about to have a really bad day.”

The berserker turned back to the four slavers advancing on her. Whatever they had to say was lost in her roar and the swing of iron. Blood began to flow once more into the dread-city’s streets. 

Reluctantly, Autumn turned her attention back towards her own predicament. Drawing her knife and wand from her sleeves, the witch set herself ready for the four foes moving upon her. Beside her, Eme did the same, drawing her sword from its sheath with a dull rasp. Such an odd sound for such a deadly blade, Autumn mused.

Eme was a bundle of nerves as she set her stance. 

“Do you trust me?”

The catgirl bard jumped at the sudden question. She turned her flickering gaze towards the witch who’d asked her such.

“What?” 

“Do you trust me?”

Eme looked deeply into Autumn’s dark orbs and answered simply, “yes.”

The witch smiled and took the catgirl’s fear.

Eme’s limbs stopped their shaking. Her breathing evened out. Solidifying her stance, the Dragonblade Bard turned her hardened gaze back to the drow swiftly approaching. She gave them a grim smile.

“Ready?” Autumn asked.

“Ready.”

The pair sprung into action as the slavers arrived. 

They weren’t total fools, these slavers — they didn’t come at the pair of armed girls one at a time like some video game npcs. Ropes, chains, and clubs descended upon the pair in tandem. However, it didn’t help them at all.

A basic jinx splashed upon the first, freezing his limbs just as a lightning-quick blade sang towards him. Autumn ignored the splash of blood and guts that decorated the streets as the slaver fell in twain. Chasing her last spell, she cast another. The overpowered spell crashed into the next slaver with the force of a giant, sending him hurtling away. And at the same time, a violet shield rippled into being.

The drow’s eyes widened as his club bounced off. 

Autumn smiled viciously up at him. 

Another stunning jinx splashed across the chest of a slaver and there was nothing he could do to block the Dread Knife snaking towards his heart. Autumn twisted the blade. Blood splattered her face. Wrenching it free, she looked over to aid Eme as the body dropped to the bloodied stone, but she needn’t have worried. In the time it took to ward off and finish her foe, the catgirl bard had killed hers. 

A wooden club proved ill-equipped to block a legendary blade.

There was only one left. 

The slaver scrambled on the slick pavement, but stilled as a blood-wetted blade hovered over his throat. 

“Please, spare me!” he begged. 

Autumn crouched down beside the drow, her blade and wand pointed threateningly towards him.

“Who sent you?” 

The slaver’s eyes darted back and forth, but nary a word escaped his lips. 

“Pity,” Autumn said with a sigh, rising from her crouch. 

The drow paled. “Have mercy!” 

“Mercy? I’m afraid I’m all out.”

Violet violence descended upon him. Harmful necrotic magic washed over the slaver’s skull, boiling it away. Screams turned to gurgles. Autumn kept the bile in her throat as it took a while for the drow to die.

Eme puked.

“Sorry, I didn’t think that’d take so long,” Autumn apologized, herself shaking.

Eme shook her head, wiping her mouth. “It’s not that…well, it didn’t help, but I’ve never…killed someone before.” 

“Oh,” Autumn hesitated as the battle finally crashed over her, “me neither. I stabbed someone once, but Pyre lit them on fire. Does that count?” she awkwardly chuckled. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“At least they deserved it, right?” Eme asked her, almost desperately. 

“Right,” Autumn nodded. “Oh, fuck! Net!”

Again, she needn't have bothered. The fight had lasted barely seconds for the berserker. Bodies lay strewn across the alleyway, the last of which she was decorating the wall with his brain matter. The repeated wet thunks as she hammered him into the stonework almost sent the catgirl barfing again. 

Autumn cautiously approached the raging berserker. 

“Hey, Net? You can stop now — I think he’s dead.” 

Nethlia blinked, turning to look at her witch. Slowly, the rage drained from the demoness at the sight of them, safe and unharmed. She let the mutilated body drop from her gore-slick arm. Other than fresh bruises littering her muscular arms, she too was unharmed.

“Right. Sorry about that. You two did well?” She looked past them at the carnage they left. “Looks like you didn’t need my help. I was just about to rush over, I swear.”

Autumn smiled, although it came out shallowly. “I believe you. We’re…this was our first…”

“Ah,” Nethlia exclaimed, a look of understanding washed over her face. “Don’t think too much about it right now; we need to get moving. Eme and I’ll loot what we can. You contact the others, make sure they know what happened.”

“Right.”

Digging into her mind, Autumn contacted the others. 

[Autumn here. We got ambushed by a group of slavers. Regroup at the Inn, immediately.]

There was a pause before Autumn got back a set of worrying messages. 

[Yeah, about that…] [We have a situation back at the Inn.]

Autumn sighed. When it rained, it poured.