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.

Puppeteer

 "Peasants like you are undeserving of names. You are nothing more than slaves, dirt underneath our boots! You don't see the dirt groveling over names, now do you?"

 That's what the nobles said to each and every peasant who wanted to be like any other peasant outside of the castle boundaries. Those outsiders were different, free to do as they will. But the nobles warned them that the outsiders were also savages, murderers, wild like the wolves and bears in the forest. People that nobody should aspire to be.

 No, the best peasants were busy ones, working as slaves as they worked at the few factories the nobles acquired from the great Shark God. The conditions were filthy and horrible, almost unbearable with the little time they had to eat, sleep, and spend time with their families. But it was better this way, so the nobles said.

 The child had no name. He had worked much like his parents and their parents and the ancestors before them. They were assigned to the windmills, told to turn the great big wheel so that the fan could move and this wonderous "electric energy" would power the castle. Of course, they had no choice. It was either do as the nobles said or get fifty lashes of the whip and no dinner. It was grueling, boring work, pushing a wheel around and around with thirty others, in the hopes that the windmill would generate enough energy to please the nobles.

 As he grew up, though, his magic began to develop. He found himself with strings around his fingers, which moved around almost on their own. It made the day's work easier, as the strings carried the weight of whatever they held, taking the pressure off the small boy's hands and body. He used them whenever he thought the watchmen wouldn't notice, sometimes even taking the place of two other slaves as they took a rest.

 He was not lucky forever. One of the watchmen noticed what he was doing and reported it. He was allowed to continue, but as a result, none of the other slaves got food. "No work, no dinner," the nobles said. The boy protested over and over, but the nobles would not budge. If he wanted to do all the work, fine. However, the others would starve, and that wouldn't be very good, would it? The boy became more and more desperate in his pleas until, in a rage, he lashed out with his strings at one of them.

 The strings attached to the noble's arms, legs, head...whatever they could reach. And like a puppet, the boy controlled the noble's every move until he gave in. The slaves would be allowed to have a break, as long as the boy took their place for however long they rested. Pleased, the boy accepted the proposition, eager to see things improve.

 Someone had other ideas.

 It was easy going, for a time. The boy's power grew as he did, the strings handling more and more weight on their own before snapping. He could control little dolls, and he did so to keep himself company at night while his parents worked. He would always pretend that they were having adventures out in the wild, saving villages and slaying demons. The boy longed for freedom, just like the outsiders.

 The nobles caught wind of this and offered him another preposition: if he could control at least one slave, he would be free in a week's time to do whatever. Naive as he was, he accepted and did so, helping out with work indirectly. It was harder to control a person and took more energy, but it was alright, right?

 One slave became two. Two became five. Five became ten. He was made to control more and more, and he noticed that afterwards,  not only did he feel exhausted, but the other slaves had no memory of what happened. He wanted to argue against the nobles, but they had his parents, ready to slit their throats if the boy didn't do what they wanted. The boy was forced to control all the slaves at the windmill so they would never ask for sleep or breaks, just work mindlessly until the nobles were pleased. The sheer strain of it all left the boy extremely tired, yet he could barely get a wink of sleep. Watching as his own friends walk around as complain of headaches and unable to remember much terrified him, as he knew he was to blame. Their misery was his pain.


 When he could take it no longer, the boy snuck out in the middle of the night and ran, ran as far as his legs could take him. Far, far, far away from the windmill, the farms, the factories, the castle. Far away from the life he was forced into.

 The boy lived off the land after escaping, picking berries and making tools out of what he could gather. He stole cloth and sewing materials from nearby towns so he could make his own puppets, each developing a personality of their own. He had no money to his name, no place to stay. Not even a name.

 Now, though, the Puppeteer performs for others, leaving the past in the past as he does silly little ditties with a little red devil. The coin it brought wasn't much, but as long as he had food, the Puppeteer cared not. Word on the wind was that a trial in the Netherworld would begin soon, and people who succeeded in them would be rewarded handsomely. The puppeteer thought about how much gold that would be, and imagined a grand feast, like how fairy tales decribed a victory celebration for a great triumph over evil. That would last him a lifetime!

 Eager to do these trials, the puppeteer headed toward the Netherworld with his puppet. Eager to escape the past and break free of Fate's strings...
 

Heavy Artillery

 Every day, music.

 Every night, music, with a bit of sleep.

 Music, music, music.

 Belinda prefered more bombastic pieces to play out in public. The brass, the percussions, the strings and the woodwinds, all blending in harmony to inspire hope, to excite the heart, to leave people with a feeling of confidence or accomplishment. It was her greatest joy to see both nobles and peasants together, together like melody and rhythm, listen to her outdoor songs. They marveled as, with a wave of her baton, instruments would fly out of her case and somehow be played on their own, as if ghosts or poltergeists cooperated for the sake of putting on a show.

 Sometimes, all she needed was a piano. She would have to go into Regalt Castle to play the grand piano, but it wasn't too far from where she lived. Belinda begged that peasants should be allowed to listen in. The king disagreed at first, thinking them as worthless wastes of space that would ruin the atmosphere of the castle. He relented, however, after her more charismatic friend pulled a few strings and got on his good side. And so, lower and upper class could see her walk upon the stage, her head of red hair tied up in neat bun, her black and white dress trailing across the ground as she walked, her head held up high as a smile played upon her lips.

 Every day, her music would soothe the hearts of men, take away their worries as her fingers gracefully moved across the piano keys, her own heart beating like a ticking metronome. One with the music she made.

 One day was different, though. The piano echoed through an empty auditorium as Belinda played alone, practicing for her next performance. When the doors burst open, she expected her charismatic friend to come by to say hello.

 Sadly, she was greeted with blades, guns, and magic. At the head of this unexpected audience was the King, holding a scepter tightly in his hands and looking all the world as if he were about to pop a blood vessel. "You witch!" he hissed, venomous hate seeping through his tone. "You snuck your way in here to try to spy on me! To ruin my relations with the Great God Yursarsh! You dare stand in the way of his grand vision of greatness, rebel scum?!"

 Belinda played on as if she didn't hear him.

 "Answer me! You're part of that underground rebellion, seeking to destroy the one thing that gives us prosperity, are you not?! You and your little friend!"

 Notes still echoed on. The king held onto his scepter ever tighter,  gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow hard.

 "Perhaps a little punishment will loosen your tongue! FIRE!"

 The gunners aimed at the elegant woman and fired all at once. As they did, the king smirked. Not even a giant could survive so many bullets at once, nevermind a plain old piano player. He thought of all the praise and rewards he would get for killing a high ranking rebellion officer; a little spy of his own caught wind of how deeply she was involved. This punishment would show her-

 An absurdly loud chord rung out, taking the king and his knights off guard.  The playing stopped, but their ears were still ringing when they looked at the piano. For a split second, they saw a barrier of sorts, bullets stopped in midair before they dropped uselessly on the floor. The pianist stood up and turned the piano towards the group and smiled.

 "I'm sorry," she said sweetly, a hand reaching up to her bun and letting her hair out. "I couldn't hear you over all the noise. Now, what was it that you were talking about... Ah, yes, rebellion. What of it? Only thing I am for is turning that dissonant god away and replacing his dischord with lovely melodies and consonance. I will not let that harsh noise, his words, reach out to any more people and turn them towards darkness."

 "You insolent little-"

 A light blast of wind smacked him in the face. "Don't talk while I'm talking," Belinda said sternly before sitting down at the piano. "Now, where was I?  Oh yeah, you serve a dark god out of greed. Such a shame that you went down that path, but even people who were the best of men can turn to darkness. A king Alex and Xavier once trusted, until you ratted them out and crushed their chances of defeating Yursarsh. Such a shame..."

 "They offered me nothing! Their little team of ragtags couldn't even offer me treasure or prosperity! Yet Yursarsh, he offered me everything: Power, riches, prosperity beyond my imagination! And who can I trust more: some filthy, foolish ragtags, or a god?!"

 The room was so quiet, one could hear the tension between the king and the musician. Only when the musician sighed loudly was the silence broken.

 "Dissonant from the very beginning. Wonderful."

 "I care not for your backtalk. Your end is here!" The king pointed his scepter at her. His knights charged in and attacked, ready to claim her head. Again, a chord rang out and this time, they could clearly see the barrier of sound she made as their weapons, bullets, and magic bounced off.

She still had her smile as she opened up the piano completely. Slowly, cannons arose from within the piano, all pointed at the guard. As Belinda shook her head and ruffled her hair, she smirked.

 "Is that all you idiots got?" she laughed. "Well, if ya'll got nothin', I'mma give you what you deserve: a big serving of karma!"

 Belinda started to play the piano again, much like she did at her performances. However, she channeled her magic through the keys, through the strings, over to the cannons. And with each key she pressed, particular cannons would fire off note-shaped energy balls and lasers, wrecking whatever and whoever happened to be in their way. The knights panicked, unsure of how she got a hold of such technology, nevermind managed to fit cannons in a piano.

 She couldn't be approached from the front or the sides, what with those weapons firing off every second. The King used the seats as cover as his knights took a magical beating. He got closer and closer and tried to sneak behind her, pulling out a knife from his belt and lifting it up, ready to strike her heart.

 The music stopped abruptly, the cannons smoking with magical energy. The auditorium was in ruins. Knights, mages, and gunners alike were knocked senseless or unconcious.


 And the king?


 His face was smacked with an instrument case, nose broken with the force behind it. Belinda, standing upright, put her whole weight into pushing him back and using the case to smash his abdomen repeatedly.

"NEVER."

 SLAM!

"SNEAK."

SLAM!

"UP."

SLAM!

"ON.

SLAM"

"A LADY, YOU FILTHY COWARD!"

 After knocking all the wind out of the poor king's lungs, Belinda stopped her smashing and slung her case over her shoulder, breathing heavily after that little outburst. Just in time for her expected visitor to stroll in.

 He looked at all the carnage before staring right at Belinda. "What happened? Did someone kill your pet poodle or something? Or did they insult your dress?" he asked, eyes wide in shock.

 The virtuoso dusted herself off before walking over bodies to get to her friend. "Oh, I just couldn't take the fact that this man sold his soul to Yursarsh just for some power. So I gave him a taste of my own. Got a problem, Mr. Lyon?"

 She could see Juan shiver as she smiled. Juan grumbled, "You could at least go easier on these guys. They're scared senseless... And fear doesn't have very good results most of the time."

 "Well, if they can't handle me, they can't handle Yursarsh. Not the kind of allies I'd like to make," the musician snorted. "Besides, I don't want friends who sided with a cowardly, stupid king and never tried to talk sense into him." She sighed before shrugging and saying, "Well, what's done is done. Can we go back now? I'm tired and I could use a little friendly fight with Edwardo."

 "By fight, you mean arm wrestle, right? You know you keep losing, barely. And I don't think you should be arm wrestling after expending a lot of your magic."

 Belinda sighed dramatically before strolling out, Juan following behind her. "Well, whatever. I just want to be near nicer people. People who won't sacrifice friends for power."

 And as the virtuoso and the empath left, the virtuoso took a flute out of her instrument case and played a more hopeful tune, hoping that the rest of the nobles and the peasants in town would take that to heart instead of sweet, yet dissonant promises of power.

Witch

 Tea. Tea was all she wanted. Maybe a bit of biscuits and cheese to go along, but drinking tea in the middle of town, outside a three star restuarant on a sunny day? That was a blessing. Brother was probably keeping an eye out somewhere, just in case. Sonia didn't have a care in the world, though; she just basked in the sunlight, Maple draped around her neck like a fuzzy, warm, purring scarf.

 It was a shame that even while she was having tea time, men pointed their swords and knives at her like she was some sort of criminal. Men bigger than she was, wearing vests of wolves fur or iron armor, grinning. Good to see they were as happy as she was, but she would have to wipe their smiles off their faces, no? Maple yawned and turned her head, glaring at one of the men. When he spoke, his breath reeked, as if he had recently devoured a skunk.

 "Oi, wee witchie," he said, "how long are ye gonna ignore us, eh?"

 "At least let me finish my tea," Sonia replied, lifting the cup to her lips, not even gracing the man with a glare. "A girl has to have her tea, yes?"

 "Ah, a little time to say yer prayers, eh?" His grin widened. "I'll give ya 3 seconds before I cut yer pretty lil head off, lassie. 3... 2... 1!"

 There was the sound of a tea cup falling and breaking. There was also another sound, one that the men could not describe. However, they could probably describe the injury their ally sustained as "a huge bloody hole in his chest". The reeking man fell over like a limp doll, Sonia's head still on her chubby neck.

 Was it her hex that caused the wound? A curse? Witchcraft?! They did not have a moment to think, as Sonia looked up at the rest of them through her spectacles.

 "Seems like tea time is over, much like your headhunting days. Lets get this over with, shall we?"

 Before they had time to run, they heard her rhymes:

 "Heart made of crumbs, brain full of lead,
 Make these men into stale loaves of bread!"

 Screams fulled the air before they were quickly silenced. Where there were men, there were loaves of bread. Maple stretched out and bit one of them before mreowing loudly. Even her teeth couldn't sink into bread that stale. As the pink witch stood up and picked them up, a man much larger than her, clad in paladin armor and carrying a steel cross on his back, poked her in the back. "You alright, Sonia?" he asked her.

 "Almost died back there, but none worse for wear," she replied happily before turning to the dead headhunter. "I think you overdid it with the laser cannon function of your new toy, though."

 Kyoske scratched his head, ruffling his short brown hair. "You expect me to understand how to work weapons made by the Star People? You expect too much of me!"

 "I kind of expect you to ask me, Kyo. I mean, I aaam the only one who manages to ask them for this kind of stuff. I mean, look! Your cross has a laser cannon, a machine gun full of holy bullets, pistols, and even has an additional case to hold all those pancakes Lennard made! I asked them specifically for that. You know how hungry you can get when we're traveling, no?" Sonia winked at him, Maple yawning and curling back up in the sun.

 Kyoske groaned. "I could do without the pancakes, Sonia. Gods know I had enough of them." He turned towards the aftermath of the witch's spell and groaned even louder. "Ugh, must you turn people into food? Last time, you turned them into carrots."

 "Hey, I needed ingredients for my chicken noodle soup!" Sonia retorted, crossing her arms and puffing up her cheeks. "What better way to do that than to turn the headhunters into carrots?"

 "But you already know how much of a bad reputation witches get, and you're not helping it! Hell, I bet you just raised the price on your head again! Haven't you remembered the days where witches terrorized the lands?! The Haruspexes?! You can't keep going out like this and hexing every headhunter you see!" Kyoske held his head before taking a deep breath. His voice quivered as he said, "Don't you remember what you did, that nearly took you away from me, sister?"

 Sonia stared. She remembered. She remembered all too well. The church Kyoske and herself ran away from. Those forcing their religious beliefs and slaughting all who did not follow their ways. How they burst into their home, eager to drag her brother away on a stupid, stupid religious war. How she read the worse hex she could possibly find and...

 "You turned the priest inside out...literally," Kyoske said out loud, in hushed tones. "From that moment, we couldn't return home. You were branded, Sonia. And nearly killed, if I hadn't protected you."

 The pink witch looked her brother in the eyes before giving him a firm hug. "It'll be okay," she said. "I'm a big girl now, you know? I'm not gonna let some stupid headhunters take me out. Besides, that church is rotten to its core and deserved that stupid thing anyway." She paused for a moment, her cheeks turning red. "Er, sorry, Kyo. I'll try not to hex too many more headhunters."

 "Promise?"

 "I can't promise that, you dummy," Sonia grumbled, crossing her arms. She could see people starting to stare at her and whisper. "Let's get out of here, though. I think I caused too much trouble."

 And with another slick rhyme and a meow of protest from Maple, witch, paladin, and cat disappeared, much to the confusion of the townspeople.

 Where would the witch go next? And would anybody be able to capture her?

Harpy Harps on Bravely Default, ver. 2.1 (SPOILERS)

 As I near the endgame with most of my classes between level 10-14 (jesus christ Valkrie), I think I can talk mostly about everybody now. And most things. I'll try to avoid spoiling as much as I can, in order to slowly rope in more people into playing this game and working towards WORLD DOMINATION.

Okay, maybe I won't dominate the world. I lack the forces that Eternia has.

For the story, its your usual, typical crystal story: Crystals have turned dark, monsters residing within. Vestals, their protectors, scattered. A chasm opened up right in the middle of a town, swallowing up all but one. Winds have died. The oceans rot. Fires rampage out of control. Earth... I haven't seen much of Earth's influence. The crystals dimmed simultanously, the same day the chasm opened, and a certain Vestal is determined to close the chasm it caused.

 As the crystals dim, the world is in danger of another threat. Eternia, the great empire to the Northwest, surrounded by mountains and home of the Earth Crystal, has invaded every corner of the world. Their influence spreads wide, and not exactly for the best. They hunt the Wind Vestal, as the Crystal Orthodoxy (a religion dedicated to being in touch with the crystals) was banned and every last worshipper was to be exterminated. Unfortunately for them, she's a quick one.

 Soon enough, four would rise to solve both issues:

 Tiz Arrior, whose entire life was swallowed up and lost to the darkness of the chasm.

 Agnes Oblige, who lived her entire life in the solitude of the Wind Temple until the darkness swallowed the crystal up and was forced to live her life on the run.

 Edea Lee, an Eternian Princess who sees the world in black and white, once ignorant of the world around her.

And... Ringabel, who lives an orphaned existance, memories lost to the depths of his subconcious. Ignorant of himself.

These four would laugh and cry together, toil and struggle together. Live. Laugh. Love. All for the sake of the crystals.

 Its a simple story given complexity, as every situation with the crystals is different, and the towns involved having different crisises. Its refreshing, compared to other RPGs. Even those of long days past. Not that you really expect complexity from stuff like the original Final Fantasy. It explores the whole problem of the black and white duality, and man's ego. Each city has their own issues, from greed to narcissism to pride...

 The characters, too, are kind of simple. Sorta.

Tiz Arrior (Dubbed: Sir Tizstroyer) : He's probably the sane one of the group, keeping an even temper and making sure Agnes didn't blatantly give herself up to the enemy. He's the moral support, the determined, the bold. His village of Norende kinda got swallowed up, and his brother went down with it, but buries it under a brave face. He also ends up overseeing Norende's reconstruction.

In my game, he's a melee kind of guy. No enemy stands against him; they all fall to his katana, much like Apollo's arguments are cut down by Simon Blackquill's sharp wit. I wouldn't put Blackquill up against Tiz, though; he might lose his pretty little head.


Agnes Oblige (Dubbed: Tap-Dancing Fire Slinger) (AKA: GET OUT Lady):

The prettiest damn character in the game. I wanna give her a hug.

Oh wait I have to say more, right? Okay, fine. Oblige is a shared last name between all the Vestals, even though they aren't related. She is an important of the Crystal Orthodoxy, offering her prayers to the crystals so they may shine bright. However, those plans went to hell  soon as the darkness swallowed up the Wind Crystal, and she was forced to get the hell out. She's pretty naive, as she lived her entire life within temple walls. She values life over all and dislikes meat, prefering to vegetables and fruit. She also has a terrible sense of direction, so I wouldn't trust her to drive a car. She's sweet and nice, but her confidence starts off at an all time low. That and her naivette almost result in an instant disaster. She wants to carry every burden on her shoulders, in the hopes that all suffering can end...

 Her trademark line is, "Unacceptable." Its so cute, yet firm.  She will not become sex bait for you guys. Nope.

Edea Lee (Dubbed: MRDERERRR) (AKA "Death doesn't mean anything!") :

2cute4me

She was an Eternian Princess who was introduced as an enemy, up until her teammate tried to set people on fire indiscriminately. Then she teamed up with the Vestal to beat his ass and then determined that "hey fuck this bullshit time to be on the best side".  She has a forceful personality
and tends to sort things out in Black and White, even having lists for both. She loves extravagant things, being fashionable, cutting enemies into itty bitty bits, and sweet things. Really sweet things. She'd probably give Sarah a run for her money. She's stubborn and sticks to her guns, even when that means going against her own homeland...

Ringabel (Dubbed: Sky High Valkrie. Boss Slayer. Judgement maker. Mr. Suave. ) :

His name's not really Ringabel. Or at least he doesn't remember. He's an amnesiac, so I can't say
much about his past. He just shows up in town and swoons the ladies and tries to find out about himself, with only a prophetic journal with him. He's suave, a bit of a doofus, and the resident
womanizer. Its blatantly shown that he likes Edea, but whenever he goes on to say something terribly pervy, Edea is the first one to tell him to shut up. At first I didn't like him, then he grew on me. He made puns! PUUUNS.

I also like him because his Valkrie attacks pretty much fucking crits everything. He sees the damage cap more often than even Tiz. Its a tradition with me: Spear wielders will fucking demolish EVERYTHING.

Hmm, am I forgetting someone? I don't think so-

"Hey!"

Oh, oops, I forgot someone. But you can find out more about her in game! She's pretty much a stubborn, hot headed fairy. She got sass, ya'll.

I really like the dynamic the four have together, and with other minor characters. I wish Ringabel's personality was expanded on more aside from "Suave Womanizer", but... If you check the journal...

Well, was he supposed to exist? Is everything in this story as black and white as it seems?

Well... Pick up a copy and see for yourself!

Discussion Time: RPG Gameplay

 So, my humble beginnings with RPGs started with some Final Fantasy game, I can't remember which. It soon went into a downright spiral of SNES RPG love: I played Chrono Trigger. I played FFIV and V and VI. I played SMRPG, I played... a bit of Breath of Fire? Can't say I got too far because I was too impatient as a kid. My elder brother, Elvin was the gateway to those games, and I am very thankful for it. Without it, I doubt I would even be here. I'd probably be in some Ivy League school and being a haughty little shit about my career. Video Games? HAH! I turn my nose up at thee and your filthy presents, NERDS!


 Okay, I doubt it would entirely end up like that.

 RPGs are kind of hard. You have to have patience and grind, grind, GRIND until you're a decent level to handle everything. You have to think before you act. Equip the best damn things you could afford and hope to god something drops enough gold to line your pockets for days. I can understand why most people don't feel like dealing with them. Over the years, though, they've become more vibrant and complex. Sometimes, more than they need to be. And they tend to have some sort of story behind them. You can't just slap on a story in a platformer! Nobody will care!

 So, my question to you guys who play RPGS: What do you look for in an RPG? And how do you normally play them?

 Typically, these days, I don't really care about the grinding. I have more time than I can use watching all those youtube videos. Grinding is just a reflection of life, of doing mundane things constantly until we finally achieve a "level" and a big fat paycheck. Okay, maybe not, but there's really no way around it. Minimal grinding is nice, but balance is tricky. I mean, go look at Pokemon Gen II. They have the absurdly lowest level curve ever, and it is easy enough to overlevel and trash most of the gyms. Except Whitney. You might get EXPLODED on.

 Innovative gameplay? Eeeh, you can't really stray too far, although I don't mind REAL LIVE ACTION COMBAT HOLY SHIT. Turn based gives you a chance to think before you act, so I kinda gravitate towards those. I prefer RPGs with lots of customization in terms of things I can do. There's something about combining the powers of two classes into one that makes me happy. I also tend to blow things apart if I get the right combo. Booyah, bitches. If you also put in team attacks, my god I will love you forever. RPGs need more team attacks like Chrono Trigger. Those were nice and usually had awesome effects. Maybe team attacks based on affection? I dunno...


 Story? Yes, please. I want something meaningful, something to draw me in. Sure, I could possibly go back and play FFI and II and not really care much about the lack of story, but its an added bonus. I'd also like to be given hints as to where to go rather than stuck in one place with no NPC telling me what I need to know to go kill their villain. Compelling stories are part of my blood, and if an RPG has one, its... Well, it might win me over, if everything else is in place. You kind of can't have a good story in a game that's otherwise  complete shit with gameplay elements. It turns people away and frustrates those who somehow stick with the janky controls and the absurd level curves.


 My gameplay style is more focused around magic. Yes, did I ever mention I fucking love mages? LOVE EM. My entire RP roster is mages. All of them. Er, anyway, you usually see me with a party of two mages: one focused on support, one on offense. Summons are a plus. I always have a physical fighter in the group, and ALWAYS a tank. Then its all a matter of finding the particular weaknesses a monster has and nailing them with it hardcore. For bosses, it varies, but the whole strategy is the same: find weaknesses, boost physical defenses and magical defenses, study the boss patterns, then go out to town. I do not try to let the battle linger, in case the boss has an ace up its sleeve when it gets down to low HP. In other words, I play cautiously and really aggresively, because the last thing I want is for me to look like I'm winning, only to be nailed by like some bullshit Ultima up the ass and wiped. And if I don't win? I back off and go grind until I have the proper skills to handle it, and try again. And if that doesn't work... well, what other choice do I have but to try to figure out what's wrong with my strategy?

So guys and gals, tell me about your RPG experiences. Bad, good, weird, whatever. Maybe I can reccomend a good game? (haha as if i played enough RPGs to reccomend a few outside of the whole mainstream stuff)

Performer and Shapeshifter

 Hans. John. Tisel. Ronald. James. Jacob.

 Kristel could hear all of them hooping and hollering as she walked out onto the stage, clad in a silk blue dress, a satchel amongst her hips,  her colorful hairpin in her black hair, shoes tapping across the wooden floor. They worked themselves into a frenzy, hungry for action. She knew that they didn't come all the way over to the Golden Goose for their food and drink. No, they came here for the dancers, the performers. The swans keeping the tavern afloat.

 With every graceful move she made, their eyes followed. With every word she sang, their ears were perked. She figured that if she wore perfume, one would be daring enough to come close enough to smell it. For now, she ignored them, taking solace in her dance, her own song calming her nerves. The world around her meant nothing to her, fading into the background. She was the star, and she would not let anyone distract her from her role.

 At least, until a man yelled, "Ey, pretty girl, come and dance on daddy's lap, won'tcha?"

 Gracefully, she twirled and pulled a knife from the satchel and tossed it as casually as a poker dealer dealing a hand. The knife got stuck in the wooden table, ever so close to the rude patron. She smiled as he stared in shock and disbelief. When the dance and song was done, she could barely hold in her laughter as she bowed and walked backstage.

 Kristel sighed as she saw the other performers getting ready. "Be careful, girls," she said, slipping the satchel off. "There's a pervert in the audience. I wouldn't reccomend getting too close.

 "I bet its Hans again, that creep," one girl squeaked. "I remember when he grabbed my ass just as I was on waitress duty."

 "You think that's bad?" said another. "He was brazen enough to grab my breasts!"

 "I gave him a warning," Kristel said with a giggle before sitting down and changing her dancing shoes into boots, her dress into shorts and a blue shirt. "He wanted me to give him a little dance. Even called himself 'Daddy'."

 "You should have shapeshifted and tore his tongue out, Krisy!"

 "He's not worth the trouble. I have more important things to worry about, like, you know, building up a resistance group?" The girls giggled before she continued, "Anyway, my shift's over, so go out and knock 'em dead! Literally, if Hans tries fondling any of you!"

 The dancing troupe waved goodbye as she picked her satchel up and ran on out, ready to take on the world.


---------------------

 It was a long way from the Golden Goose to Juan's house, about five miles away. Walking that far made her feet hurt, so Kristel always made sure to shapeshift into a horse to make things easier on herself. She galloped and galloped, eager to say to hello to a longtime friend and his big, stupid dog. She pondered for a moment if he bought enough dog food to satisfy Jasper. Wait, Juan wasn't stupid enough to not buy about two or three packs for that giant beast. Probably hunted some extra meat, too, to satisfy that big doof's cravings for raw food.


 She traveled by the River Solis until she came across a small shack. A variety of flowers grew out in front, while a little plot of land had crops in the back. Kristel shapeshifted back into a human and knocked upon the door. She didn't have to wait long before the door creaked open and Jasper greeted her with a tackle and big, sloppy kisses. "Woah there, Jaspy," she laughed as she tried to get up, petting the black lab on the head. "Calm down! I'm here, I'm here! Back from work, at any rate! Is your master here?"

 "You don't even need to ask," a voice called out. Kristel smiled as she walked into the little shack and took a seat. There he was, sitting right in front of her and reading a book: Juan Lyon, Spirit Summoner. He didn't turn his eyes away from the pages as he asked, "Guess if you're visiting little ol' me, you wanna talk?"

 "Is that a crime all of a sudden? Of course!" Kristel replied, whistling and beckoning Jasper to sit beside her before she turned her attention back to Juan. "Work was fun today, but Hans was being a perv again. Sometimes I wish I could turn into a golem and smash him."

 "I would reccomend against that," Juan said casually, turning a page in his book. "Did he touch you?"

 "He said something really disgusting. 'Ey, pretty girl! Come and sit on daddy's lap!' He probably smells of pork blood. Doesn't he work as a butcher?"

 "Last I remember, he does. Sensed some sadness from his wife whenever she's around him. I'm guessing the marriage isn't turning out too well."

 "Really? Awww, man. I feel sorry for her. All he does is come to the Golden Goose after work and oggle at all the dancers. Its creeping all of us out and we can't really do much about it. Probably pays the owner a pretty penny."

 "Unfortunately."

 Kristel sighed before giving Jasper some scratches behind the ear. "And what about you, Juan? Found some recruits for our cause? Probably someone who knows how to deal with a shapeshifter?"

 She could hear a groan escape his lips. "I wish," he grumbled as he shut his book tight and slumped in his chair. "All of them were good canidates, up until they took the trials and failed to deal with a magical rabbit."

 "They underestimated it?"

 "Judging by the fact that someone got their arm charred black after taunting it too much... Yes."

 "I wouldn't want to be that guy," Kristel said with a shiver. "And none of them have dealt with a shapeshifter before?"

 "I doubt it. After your little fiasco, most people are afraid of shapeshifters." The tall man sighed and slumped even further into his chair. "I really wished I wasn't the only one capable of handling them aside from you. It gets kind of hard to deal with if they're a powerful monster and rapidly losing their minds to instinct."

 Kristel froze. For a moment, her mind was clouded. Her body shuddered as she recalled her masacre. The screams, the cries... the blood. She looked into his eyes, lip trembling. Her voice suddenly increased in volume when she asked, "D-did you have to... did you have to deal with another case like that? I- I thought.. I thought I was.... I thought I was the last one...!"

 A cold nose pressed against her leg, snapping her out of her state. Juan straightened up in his chair  and reached out to her, taking her hand in his. "I'd die before I let another case like that arise on my watch," he said, conviction in his voice. "I'm not letting you get back to that state... nor will I let anyone else get there, if I ever find out about it."

 The performer took a deep breath, clearing away all her thoughts before she spoke again. "S-sorry... I just... when I hear that you're still the only one who knows how to put shapeshifters to sleep for a little while... I get...scared."

 "Its fine, Kris." His grip tightened around her hand before letting it go and standing up. "Should I make you some tea? You could probably do with some."

 Kris smiled, putting her hands together. "Please." Pause. She put a finger to her chin and asked,  "Also, why hasn't Edward learned about that technique? He's probably strong enough to wrestle with a shapeshifter."

 "He'd probably wrestle them until they got too tired to fight back and keep up their form. That's the way he is. Didn't you forget?" the empath replied as he head toward the kitchen close by, opening the cabinets and rifling through his tea selection.

 "Oh, right! He says he wants to suplex a dragon one day, didn't he? I want to see that. Gods know I can't suplex a dragon, but I can probably take those selfies with one! And make friends with one. Ah, bonding over dance and song... Sounds like a pipe dream, doesn't it?"

 "Not much of a dream if you can make it happen," Juan replied happily, pulling out a tea pot and summoning Undine.

 And as he prepared to make tea, Kristel relaxed at last, finally feeling right at home.