The Gator and the Witch: Intro and Chapter 1, Part 1

QuickSilver Gators. One of the rarest creatures in all of Wenheim. One such gator once resided within the Roden Bog, snapping up fish with massive jaws. All who managed to see it would notice its silver sheen, how it leaves a trail of quicksilver wherever it goes, how it is as huge as some of the older oaks and treants, with legs as thick as stumps. All who saw it could only stare in awe as it devoured its enemies in the heat of battle.

Legends speak of this Roden Bog Gator and how, out of boredom, it wandered off from its bog in search of excitement. Several accounts speak of how it crushed the heads of Balrogs, fired silvery missiles at succubi, and tackled dragons the same size at it was. Historians today argue over whether or not it was truly out of boredom, but rather out of duty, it went out and defeated the monsters plaguing the world. Regardless of the outcome, the truth remains the same: an alligator, more than once, defeated several fiends that threatened kingdoms and saved princesses.

There are even records saying that princesses had actually married the gator! And they seemed quite… pleased? How does one go about marrying a gator?

Ahem! Anyway, these days, nobody has seen head nor tail of this gigantic, magnificent creature. Rumors say it has gained the ability to take a human form and simply disappeared. Others say that he returned to Roden Bog to live a peaceful life, more suited to a gator. Others still say that he has ascended to another plane of existence, long lived as he was.

And that is where our story begins…
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“This seems like a good spot, doesn’t it, Tori?”

In the town of Sleepy Vale, a woman set up a little tent out by the forest, allowing her bird steed to go scour the forest for food. With a dreamcatcher necklace dangling around her neck, colorful, metal bracelets clanking together around her wrists, and a robe dyed in hues of blue, purple, and green, she unloaded the packs she carried with her and brought it into the little tent. Frog eyes, Slime goo, and hawk legs, all stuffed in jars, started to fill the little bookshelf she brought in. She dug a fire pit with her own hands and set up her pots, pans, and small cauldron before she considered that her job was done. 

No, wait!  She did forget something. With a wave of her finger, little orbs of arcane power shot from the tip before floating in midair, changing colors slowly as it provided some source of light. With a sigh of relief, she sat on the ground, smiling to herself. “Hope this town has more to offer than a mob with pitforks and torches,” she said to nobody in particular. “That was a nasty run in, jeez. One moment, I’m putting a healing balm on an injured woman’s arms; the next, I’m on Tori with all my things, trying to avoid being burned at the stake. Bah, the things I do to help others.”

The woman sighed again before tying up her long brown hair in a bun and going outside. The sun shined brightly down on her and her plain ‘ol tipi, a cool breeze ruffling the skirts of her robes. She turned toward the town and put her hands to her hips. “Well,” she said to herself, “First thing’s first: Introduce yourself to your potential customers.” 

She strolled casually into town, although she soon realized that it might have been better to change into something more… plain. Especially when you’re wearing colors in a sea of brown. The townspeople, most dressed in tattered, poorly made cloth, stared at her and whispered amongst themselves. The woman rolled her eyes before coming upon a well-dressed man, speaking with another man, who looked all the world like he hated his job, writing down whatever the well-dressed gentleman had to say.

“-and so, if they vote for me, I promise to bring twice the wealth our current mayor brings to Sleepy Vale, and I shall do my best to employ the finest clerics this town has ever seen!” the fancy man said, puffing his chest out  and stroking his brown stashe. The reporter didn’t look down at his notes as he wrote, just nodding and going along with the flow. “As they should say, ‘For a better tomorrow, vote Christopher Aldrin!’ Yes, yes… Do you need me to repeat that?”

The reporter stopped writing for a moment and looked down at his notes. “No, not at all, Mr. Aldrin. Thank you for your, uh, spectacular commentary on Vale’s upcoming elections.” For a moment, he looked away from the candidate and right at the woman. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “You new here?”

The woman took a step back and smiled. “That easy to tell?”

“As Sleepy Vale’s only reporter, it’s only expected that I know everyone here,” he replied, tilting his head a little. “So, are you a tourist? A new resident, perhaps?”

“Just a nomad, making my living off the misery of others,” she joked. “Name’s Dorcha. Witch Doctor, here for your every pain and ill!” She paused, putting a finger to her chin as she thought for a moment and added, “And before you ask, I don’t boil children in a pot! That’s just gross. I do boil goats in a pot, though… Meat’s pretty tender and all-“

Before she should continue, the would-be mayor yelped and hid behind the reporter, while the reporter raised an eyebrow and began to write down more notes, square rimmed glasses slipping down to the tip of his nose as his green hat nearly slipped off his head. “So you, Miss Dorcha, are a Witch Doctor? How odd. Just a minute ago, Mr. Aldrin was speaking of needing more clerics-“

“I meant actual clerics and healers!” Mr. Aldrin squeaked pathetically, trembling and gripping onto the reporter’s shoulders tightly. “Not…not… WITCHES! They aren’t to be trusted! They’re evil! Satan spawn! Monsters!”

Dorcha snorted. “What’s your deal? Did a witch eat your second born child or something? I’m not like that at all. Hexes are more for little wizard girls who get jealous easily. Spiteful gals.” With a shrug, she stared at the reporter, who was running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Anyway, you’re a reporter, right? Mind spreadin the news that I’ll be around to heal stuff? I’m over by the forest. Can’t miss me, I have an ostrich sittin by my tipi.”

“You’re just going to hex whoever comes inside before making them pay high prices, you monster!” Aldrin hissed. “You’re greedy, you want our power, you want to curse our town-“

Dorcha tuned him out, continuing to stare at the reporter. The black haired man had his eyes closed, possibly deep in thought. When he opened them again, the witch could have sworn she saw a little spark in his eyes. “Eh, sure, why not?” he said. “You should have your first batch of customers in the evening. Although…” The witch stared as he looked her up and down and added, “You might not want to wear something so colorful next time you’re out here. People get scared by things that don’t conform to their standards, much like Mr. Aldrin here, you see?”

“They’re goin’ to have to deal with it then,” Dorcha snorted before turning away and heading back to her little home. If that reporter was right about getting customers, she’d better get ready. Making salves and potions doesn’t take too long, unless you have to make a big batch for a lot of customers! She hummed to herself, daydreaming about a whole town bragging about her great abilities.

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Turns out, she didn’t really need that much salve anyhow.

The sun was just beginning to set when her first few customers came in, confused, along with the reporter. They must have saw her shelves of jars, Dorcha thought, and assumed she was a real life, hexy-hexy witch. The reporter looked as bored as ever, even as he wrote down everything that went out. The first request Dorcha got was not one she expected from a young girl:  “Could ya make my brother’s feet all moldy and covered in shrooms? He broke my dolly!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Dorcha replied with a frown, “I can’t do that. You’d have to deal with the godawful stench afterwards!” The girl looked disappointed for a moment before Dorcha winked and added, “I can fix your dolly, though. Can I see her?

 Reluctantly, the girl pulled out her red-headed rag doll, one arm torn off at the seams. Dorcha gently took the doll from the girl’s hands before examining the damage more closely. The customers gathered around as the witch dug through her items and took out the wool of a golden sheep she found years ago while hunting down a fairy. She also took out some thread and made an intricate spell circle, putting both wool and doll in the middle of it. The customers took a step back in shock as the witch spoke in a language they could not understand. As she chanted, the doll and wool began to float in midair before the wool turned into thread and wrapped itself around where the doll’s arm should be. There was a great flash as the witch finished her chanting, the customers forced to close their eyes.

When they could see again, they saw the little ragdoll with a brand new arm, albeit one that was made out of gold. The crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘aaahed’, clapping as the little girl got her dolly back. She stared it, then back at Dorcha before giving her a great big hug and giving her a few gold coins. “Thank you very much!” the girl said with a smile. She then made her little ragdoll bow down and wave goodbye before zooming out of the tipi.

Dorcha smiled back before looking at the rest of her customers. “So, who else has a problem?”

And so, for the next hour or so, Dorcha applied salve to overworked men to soothe the muscular aches and pains, whipped up a cream that would heal up wounds quick and easy, and even shared her recipie for a chicken noodle soup so good, anybody who tried it while they had a cold or a flu would feel fine within a few days! All her customers left with their hearts at ease and a smile on their face, while Dorcha was pretty pleased herself with the fine work she did. “Damn, did I miss doing this job!” she said to nobody in particular, stretching her arms out and yawning. “Being on the beaten path for a few months was tiresome.”

“It netted you a tidy profit too, didn’t it?”

Dorcha raised an eyebrow and turned towards the source. There he was: the ever bored reporter. “Is there nothing that excites him?” she thought to herself. Out loud, she asked, “You’re still here? Ya need something, or are you just tryin to make a book about witch doctors?”

“It doesn’t look like I’m anywhere else, does it?” he retorted with a shrug. Dorcha groaned before the reporter finally turned to her, looking right into her green eyes. “I do need something…”

“Don’t tell me: you need a cure for heartache, eh?”

“No.”

“Fine. Stomachache?”

“Stomach’s working just fine, thank you.”

“Have an embarrassing tattoo?”

“Ha ha, very funny. But no.”

Dorcha crossed her arms and glared. “Then what the ever lovin’ feck do you want? That’s sensible, mind you!”

The reporter closed his eyes. Lost in thought again, Dorcha assumed. He stayed that way for a few minutes before staring at her quite seriously and asking, “You don’t suppose you have a cure for boredom, do you?”

Dorcha stared, dumbfounded. Couldn’t he have just said so from the start? With a grumble, she went through her shelves of jars. Phoenix feathers? Yep. Wolf fangs? Got those. Spider venom sacs? Those were pretty hard to get considering how easy it is to ruin one, but she had plenty. Rattlesnake rattles? Pig tails? Behemoth bile? Basilisk venom?

Wait. Basilisk venom. She was completely out of that since last year. Used it all up in making a counterspell to some asshat’s curse on a poor young boy who treaded in the wrong flower garden. She quickly dug through a box and pulled out a book that has seen better days, flipping through the pages until she found what she needed. “Here it is…” she said to herself again before reading right out of the book. “Basilisks, hatched by a rooster from the egg of a snake, tend to lurk in the deepest, darkest parts of caves, injecting venom into whoever comes too close and waiting for them to die before eating them whole… And last I remember, there was a pretty deep cave on the way here!”

Apparently, she didn’t speak too softly at all, as when Dorcha turned around, she found the reporter’s face dangerously close to hers, the reporter grinning like a loon, eyes shining with curiosity. “What, what?!?” he asked, unable to stand quietly in one place. “You need to get a basilisk?! Gotta go to a cave? You gotta tell me these things! Please? Pretty please?”

“Back off a little, will ya!” Dorcha chuckled before pushing his face away. The reporter kept grinning, adjusting his square frame glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “You ever faught a basilisk before?”

“Nope, not in all my life!” the reporter replied happily. “It’s a giant snake though, isn’t it? Big, bad monster type, right?”

“Damn right. I faught one before and barely got out of it alive. Had to put that big guy to sleep before I could open its mouth and collect the venom. Too bad I only got a jarful before it woke up and was ready to eat me.” Dorcha stared at her companion for a second before asking, with a huge grin, “Wanna help me out?”

Dorcha could have sworn that he was vibrating so fast, he was going to explode. “Are you kidding me? Beatting up a giant snake is more exciting than reporting in this boring town! Like, geez! I knew it was sleepy, but not this sleepy! Oh, er, I almost forgot…”

“Forgot what?”

The reporter winked at her, holding his hat down with one hand. “The name’s Henry, and I am mooooore than pleased to help you out, Miss Dorcha!”

“Cut the ‘miss’ crap, Henry. I ain’t no lady, and I’m never gonna be,” the witch chuckled before holding her hands together and pulling them apart, a blue staff with an opal at the the tip appearing between them before she grabbed it with her right hand. With a snap of her fingers, she extinguished the mystical lights before heading out with her new companion and, after placating her ride with food, helping him up onto Tori the Ostrich before getting on herself and riding towards the caves.