Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

It had rained exactly 30 times that night.

Normally on Alzahett, the sound of thunder heralded around a few hands of flooding in even the driest of places, not this quick breeze-through that disappears as quickly as it arrives.

Sara sat at the edge of the encampment, her tired eyes finally seeing the sun arise. The slime gripped her thumb with two tendrils, resulting in the wrestling game the two had made in the middle of the night. For some reason, it drew near her after her return to the camp.

The witch resumed her temper tantrum, silently laying on her side, facing the rock wall of the alcove. Whether or not she slept, Sara was not sure, but she could not trust the witch anymore after her surprise fingering the night before.

Something she almost wished the witch would do again.

With the last embers of the fire having died out a few hours before sunrise, there was no need to remove the circle of stones she set around it. Aside from that, they had little else thanks to the impromptu nature of the trip.

Without so much as a word, the witch picked up her hat, dusted off her decorative robes and left for the same mountain Sara set them on a course for yesterday.

The succubus swore at Ashara before picking herself up and following her.

After thirty minutes of walking, Sara decided she was the one who was going to break the silence, “So you’re not willing to speak with me unless you own my damned soul?”

The witch continued her trek, failing to even heed her former familiar’s words.

“Don’t you fucking keep giving me the silent treatment, you bitch! What do you even want me for? Why in the twelve hells did you rope me into your damned demonic schemes?” Sara found herself yelling, suddenly becoming impassioned about the witch’s sulkiness.

“You can’t just finger fuck me and demand my fucking soul for it!”

Ashara finally stopped.

She turned, holding a darkened expression, “Is that what this is about? You only decided to say something after I pleasured you?”

The taller woman’s brow furrowed, “What? No! Why would I-”

“Wow. I am amazed.” The witch cut off her former familiar, “I never thought the experiment would work so well.”

“You are 100% a whore, a succubus now.”

The words felt like a slap across the face. Sara clenched her fist, “Shut the fuck up! You made me like this!”

Ashara only shook her head before turning around and continuing towards their temporary goal.

“Get the fuck back here, you damned whore! I am not done talking to you!”

- - - - 

Easily seen from a distance, the lone mountain stood above the trees. Seemingly cleared from the base of the mountain, the dense jungle brush and trees were cleared from about half a mile out from the foot of the mount. As the foliage grew lighter upon approaching the landmark, a trail began to emerge, subtly at first, but quickly led into a cleared footpath offering reprisal from the snagging plants that called the underbrush home.

As the two approached the base of the mountain, the path before them leading up it was clear. Compared to the darker basalt that was loosely collected at the bottom of the landmass, the trail was much more carefully manicured, a line of selected stones marking the sides of the path before vanishing into the bellowing mouth of a cavern just a few dozen hands up.

As the wide clearing within the earth grew dark, Sara switched her perspective to her main body, having to take the backwards walk she had done before. Ashara, however, appeared to cast a spell which allowed her to see in the rapidly dwindling light filtering in from the outside, still silent as the two traversed downwards.

At the base of the downward slope, a large exit gave way to an immense room.

Magelights hung betwixt stalactites, glittering yellow as their light particles twinkled down to the ancient city below. Sara’s eyes glowed as the great dwarven city stretched below her, nearly filling the beneath space of the mountain’s base. It stretched for miles below, the buildings were carved from the very stone excavated millennia ago.

Presumably illuminated underneath, a shimmering blue lake tantalizing glimmered partway through the city, most likely collected from the copious amount of rains that fell upon the surface.

Finally free from the potential of being rained on, the slime returned to the usual shape it took, wrapping around the succubus’s fingers.

Without even stopping to take in the sights, the witch continued her path down the slope and into the dwarven civilization. As they descended down the trail, Sara had opted for a dwarven disguise, much similar to the one she had taken up when first visiting Thistlebrook with The Eternal.

Approaching the monoliths, Sara could not help but be in awe. The buildings were functional above anything else, the utilitarianism of their culture demanding the attention of those outside of it. She had once heard that many dwarves inhabit a single building, mostly due to the constraints of residing under limited space beneath any mountain.

As they soon found themselves just outside the outermost buildings, the first few dwarves gawked at the two newcomers.

Thankfully, Sara had seen her share of dwarves as Alzahett was home to the immensely dimorphic race. The men stood anywhere between eighteen and twenty-one hands tall, towering over the supposed “tallmen”. Lean and prone to building immense musculature, their ghastly white skin and red eyes led them to be notable at just a glance.

Conversely, the women were short, no taller than a pre-pubescent teenager. Their build was much similar to the typical tallman female, but their breasts were immense in size, to the point of almost looking comical. Their unbranched horns were just as impressive, grand cresting displays of ivory that emerged from their skull into wild shapes from more caprine to bovine in nature.

The tiny witch drew more attention than her buxom companion, both smaller in stature and in secondary sex traits than the typical citizen of the city they were now within.

“We should probably find someone who knows a thing about witches around here…” Sara whispered, putting aside their conflict for the moment.

Ashara paused to take in the input before continuing on deeper into the city.

Watching the large hat of the witch bounce away, Sara could do nothing but sigh. Pointing at a dwarven woman also watching the silent witch stroll away, the disguised succubus called to her, “Hello! Do you mind telling me what city we’re in?”

Turning to the strangely taller dwarf the woman only shook her head, unable to understand what was said to her.

“Of course,” Sara placed her forehead into her palm, “We’re on a whole different continent. Most people probably don’t speak our language.”

Looking around, nearly every dwarf walking in the street watched the witch, her wide brimmed hat nearly screaming to them she was one, an idea occurred to Sara. Since they were on the tallman continent, the mercantile sort certainly would be able to provide her with more information.

Following the purple hat, Sara caught up to Ashara. The witch was immune to the looks of confusion and disgust that followed her as they walked deeper into the city. As they drew further within the mountain, the more dwarves appeared, each expressing their own opinion of the blatant foreigner. Young children pointed, something parents slapped, old people nearly fainted, and working men bore expressions of either anger or fear.

Finally, someone approached the troupe leader of this impromptu parade down the street.

A muscular man, his uniform appeared tight against his form, somehow even more ripped than the usual dwarf, “What’s all this about?”

His accent was fairly neutral, seemingly well practiced in the language outside of the mountain. “Is this some sort of prank? A witch would not stroll into the middle of town and not expect some form of consequence, would she?”

The man appeared older, certainly having just entered the later half of his life, his white hair almost shimmered like silver, tightly cut against his scalp. The same could not be said about the almost fur-like hair that covered his burly arms. Sara audibly gulped on seeing the man.

Ashara stopped, looking up to the man who stood nearly twice her height. “And what if I told you I was a witch?”

Blinking more than once, the dwarven guard shook his head at what he heard, “I- I think that’d mean I would need to take you in then. Don’t do anything you would regret, ma’am.”

Almost afraid to touch her, the officer appeared professional in his approach to apprehend Ashara. Sliding on two cuffs welded together around the tiny witch’s wrists, he found that even his smallest female cuffs still hung loosely on her. Afraid to let her continue through the city unabated, he instead slid them on behind her and crouched while walking, holding them with one hand.

“Under the jurisdiction of the city of Altenheim, I, Officer Helden, am placing you under arrest and detainment, currently unknown dignitary, for suspicion of the practice of witchcraft and blatant display of malcontent to the city and her occupants pursuant to Section 159 subsection 13a and subsection 15f. You will be taken in for questioning of your intentions and will only be restrained for approximately 3 hours, as per Civil Code article 4, lest further evidence and charges are either discovered, incurred or brought forward. Please do not resist, anything you say and do can be held accountable against you in a public court of law and any spells cast will display an intention of force, in which you will be deemed a threat to the city of Altenheim and her occupants, where the penalty may include, but not limited to, public execution.” The officer finally took a breath before looking down at his detainee, “Do you understand these terms and conditions?”

Upon seeing a simple nod, Helden sighed in relief before following behind the witch, leading her to where she will be interrogated.

A crowd had formed around the two during the man’s monologue, with which Sara had blended in, trying to erase any suspicion the two arrived together. Holding the slime still, none even spared her a glance, as the officer parted the crowd before him.

“What in the twelve hells is that damned whore thinking she is doing?” Sara swore, her headache returning even after not hearing the witch speak for a considerable amount of time.

Thankfully, the two were not hard to follow. With every onlooker gawking at, most likely, the first witch they had ever seen, Sara stayed a healthy distance behind. Before long, the officer had led Ashara to a considerably shorter building even closer to the center of town.

Once the two walked into the structure, Sara took to the alleyway beside it. Once away from any passersby, she reapplied the shapechange spell, this time appearing as the first dwarven woman she saw in town.

Walking back out into the streets, she confirmed she drew no attention whatsoever before following the two into the detainment facility.

World Notes: Altenheim

The dwarven capital on Beluit, the city of Altenheim was build as a result of an early peace treaty between dwarf and dragon. A relatively new city by dwarven standards, it was built after the vanishing of the Ancients and currently holds a population of around 300,000 citizens.

A major exporter of coal, natural gas (often refined into kerosene), and rock hens, while the city is quite small for dwarven standards, it is the largest on the continent and is home to a unique delicacy of Basilisk au Feu, a dish that combines the traditional preparation of rock hen with some of the local cheeses that Beluit is known for and is served over grains, rice, or wheat.

While still a fledgling city, many cultural exports have emerged from the capital. Since the location is one of prominence, but away from the traditional stranglehold dwarven politics hold on the creation of arts, a form of "newwave movement" has taken the world by storm, generating various avant-garde strides in dwarven dance and playwrights. In addition, as an sign of the Beluit dwarven cultural influence and act of rebellion against their parents, dwarven teens have picked up the Beluitian accent, much to the ire of the old guard of dwarven culture. Because of the relative age of the settlement and their ease of reliance on litigation, those in charge of cities in Alzahett look down upon anything imported from the jungle continent referring to it as "just a fad".

Many conflicts have formed the settlement's past, such as Brazen's Uprising, an act of defiance by a young politician refusing to file one tax form out of twenty as a display against the long standing practice of staggered progressive taxation of value added to goods sold, igniting a battle of a few dozen dwarves versus the standing establishment. The city ultimately won the battle, but the few days of fighting is reported to have costed the city around 2 million gold. However, this has resulted in a code change, allowing for one less tax form required when preparing the annualized return, often colloquially referred to the Brazen Revision when discussing the history of tax law.