Cavern of the Witch

One of them swooped down again, aiming for her. She found her escape blocked by the old shelving and as she scrambled out of the way, the creature seized her in its talons and pierced her shoulder. Screaming as the monster lifted her from the floor, she flailed about with her dagger and slashed the gargoyle's leg. Hissing in pain, it dropped her, only for its companion to snatch her from the sky.

They lifted her to the top of the shelves, and she sprawled over the edge, her legs dangling helplessly as she fought to steady herself.

"Pira! Use the words of binding!" she cried out. The shelf shook, and she looked down to see Rakath beginning the climb with one hand around his axe. Below him, Pira at last called out the words of binding.

Khurra found purchase on the shelves, knocking a pile of scrolls to the stone floor below them as she did. One of the gargoyles crouched over her, its terrible claws digging into her shoulders as it favored its wounded leg. From below, Pira cried out the last words of binding and the creature's eyes glazed over.

"Release my companion!" Pira shouted, but the gargoyle hesitated. It looked down at her and hissed again. Behind the fire in its eyes, Khurra detected a human hunger. Her own eyes widened. These creatures were no artificial constructs given a semblance of life by magic. They were once mortals, changed into monstrosities through some sorcerer's ritual.

"They're resisting!" she cried out and Pira swore. The gargoyle shifted, withdrawing its bloody claws from her shoulder and instead wrapping them about her neck. The monster raised her up to meet his leering face and snarled. Khurra stabbed him in the thigh.

It roared in pain and tightened its grip about her neck. She fought for air and felt the blood rush to her eyes. Afraid that it might tear her head off at any minute, she drove the dagger further into the monster until it screeched and released her, hopping off the shelf to fly away. Khurra fell gasping to the shelving, her neck raw and bleeding.

Rakath pulled himself on top of the shelves and touched her shoulder.

"We should get down," she gasped. "It is too narrow here." He looked to the ceiling and saw that they had not enough room to stand up here.

"Can you climb down?" he asked with concern. Beyond them, the wounded gargoyles had found a new perch while its companion hopped from shelf to shelf, looking for a new angle of attack.

"I'll jump," she said and Rakath bit back a reply. She shoved herself off the shelf and cried out a command word. Her fall was arrested by sorcery and she slowed descended to the floor. Rakath followed her down the shelving.

She found herself next to Pira as the other woman wound a bandage around Vushan's shoulder.

"What do we do now?" Pira asked.

"These creatures were human once," Khurra replied, "Human or some other kindred of mortals. Their skin may be tough, but their minds and souls are weak enough."

Pira nodded.

"Here they come," Vushan growled through gritted teeth. He pulled himself to a standing position and readied his axe. The uninjured gargoyle had found its perch and leaped from the shelves. Its wings unfurled and it swooped through the narrow corridors with alarming agility.

Pira stepped forward and called out in the black speech of death. Shadows coalesced from thin air and lashed at the gargoyle's form as it flew. The monster screamed and thrashed, crashing into the shelves and tumbling from the air. Books, scrolls, and finally an entire shelf came crashing after it. Wood splintered, paper tore, and the monster flailed about in pain and panic.

Rakath leapt down, completing his descent, and rushed the monster. It fought its way clear of the mess, screaming in pain, only to find itself moments from receiving a mortal axe wound. The creature's face froze in realization, deep black wounds marred its face and body. It screamed a scream, cut short by the heavy axe blow, and then collapsed into the pile of splintered wood and destroyed books.

"Out!" Khurra cried, and they ran for the exit. The remaining gargoyle shrieked in fury at its mate's demise and hopped from one leg to the other until it remembered the leg wound and screamed again. It spotted them through the shelves on their dash to the door and leapt from its perch, keening terribly on the wing. Khurra tried to shield herself behind a shelf, but the enraged monster crashed into it head-on. The shelf splinter and books fell, one terrible black claw reaching through the chaos to grab at her again. Its fingers tore through her dark red cloak and tore at her chest once more, but she fought off its grasp, receiving more slashes to her arms in the process.

She summoned her powers and struck back with a black arrow of shadow. She saw it lance through the falling wood and scrolls to strike the monster in the heart. It froze mid-frenzy, its hungry eyes locked on her. She saw the arrow had pierced a hole straight through its chest, right where a human's heart would have been. Its eyes dimmed. Then a heavy tome from above struck it on the head and it fell to the floor.

"Well done, mistress!" Rakath cheered, but Khurra took up running again. The chaos of falling shelves had sent the room into chaos. Some of the standing shelves had fallen on their fallen neighbors for support, while others had been knocked over the battle. All the shelves in the room were teetering or already falling.

"This whole place is coming down!" Khurra shouted. "Get to the hall!"

The four of them ran as best they could with all their wounds. Books, scrolls, shelves, and other odds and ends came tumbling down all around them. Pira was hit on the head by a falling piece of masonry but kept going.

At last, they reached the safety of the hall. Behind them, the library room was a complete shambles and a heavy shelf collapsed across the doorway in a decisive bar to further entrance. Khurra fell against the far wall, her chest heaving with each breath. Rakath leaned against the wall next to her.

"Apliss' Favor, that was a close one," he gasped.

"We will take a moment," Khurra gasped, "to tend to our wounds before we go on."

"Two moments," Vushan agreed, clutching at his wounded shoulder.

"I would like to know the ritual that made those," Pira said quietly. "They would be most useful soldiers."

"They were once mortal," Khurra said, unsure if she had made that point before. "They had the mind of a mortal but the resilience of a golem or other being of artifice. Most useful indeed."

"If we find the ritual, there is a whole village of potential soldiers," Vushan muttered. "What a return to the keep that would make!"

"Better to use someone else's peasants for this than our own," Khurra agreed. "Perhaps we'll take a few prisoners on our way home in any case."

Aranthir prowled the tunnels behind the left door, finding little of interest. He pilfered a few old coins left behind when this place had been sacked, along with a broken mirror that he sought to salvage for its silver. The rooms were mostly stripped bare and caved in in some places. This bronze tablet had better be worth something, or else I've likely wasted my time here, he thought.

He came to the end of the main hallway where it terminated in a heavy oaken door. This door was untouched by age, unlike all the others which had nearly rotted away. Suspicious, Aranthir drew his sword and a pistol and pushed it open.

It swung in, moving on oiled hinges, to reveal a bedchamber with a large feather bed covered in green cloth. Two candles burned on the nightstand next to the bed and at its foot was a heavy chest of black wood. Across the room from the bed was a fireplace with a fire burning. Seated in front of the fireplace was a woman in a simple red peasant's dress with white sleeves. She turned as the door opened and hopped to her feet.

"Oh, someone has come at last!" she cried. She ran across the room and threw her arms around him, avoiding his outstretched sword.

"Who are you?" Aranthir asked, attempting to withdraw from her embrace. She was beautiful, pale, and raven-haired, with a strange scent about her that aroused Aranthir greatly. Despite her humble appearance, he felt stirring of lust he had not felt since he was a young half-elf. Something about her was strange indeed. "How did you come to be here?"

"A sorcerer captured me," she began, tears welling up in her eyes. "He made me his concubine and then left me here. Where he is, I do not know."

"This place is a ruin," Aranthir replied, "Nothing has been touched for a thousand years. How is it that this room is still intact?"

"He cast a spell upon it," she sniffled, "He froze time so that nothing would change and I would forever remain young and beautiful."

Aranthir frowned. He had heard of such magic before, but never of such a spell that would last so long without regular maintenance.

"Such a spell would need a power source to still be in effect so many years later. What was he using?"

"I do not know," she said, shaking her heard. "I know little of sorcery, only what my captor told me in his moments where his guard came down."

"What's your name, girl?" Aranthir asked.

"Ilona," she replied.

"Ilona, I am Aranthir of Ildranon."

"Will you help me?" she asked plaintively.

Aranthir paused. How does she know our language, if she is truly a prisoner from out of time? And what is keeping her in here? He had been so caught off guard by her beauty and scent that it was only now that his mind caught up with him.

"I will, but first, what kingdom are you from, Ilona?"

She averted her eyes. "The kingdom I do not know, kings are all so distant from us peasants. It has been so long that you surely would not know him anyway."

"I would learn of the past through you, we have so few records left from your time," Aranthir pressed. "In truth, I know not what time you are even from. When were you born? Was it before the Long Dark?"

"Oh, I have no time to give you a history lesson!" Ilona exclaimed. "I want to be out of here at last!"

"How do you know the Ephidi tongue? Is it some spell?" Aranthir saw something flicker across her face. For an instant, her frightened, vulnerable demeanor gave way to haughtiness. This is no peasant girl, he thought.

"Please," she pleaded, her frightened state returning, "help me escape the spell he cast upon me so that I can free again! Please, sir, I'll do anything for you." She bent her knees, lowering her pretty face toward Aranthir's waist. Her big blue eyes looked up at him and her red lips pursed together as her delicate white hand ran down his chest. His cock rose in his trousers and his heart quickened with the expectation of fucking her. And Aranthir finally understood.

"I think perhaps it is best if you remain here, demon," Aranthir said coldly. Ilona's face change from pleading to iron. She stood up and looked him in the eye.

"A perceptive mortal to be sure," she said in a new voice. No longer a plaintive peasant girl, this voice was as sultry as any courtesan or priestess of Nystra Aranthir had ever heard. Ilona's image shimmered as well, and the peasant girl faded away to be replaced by a buxom, raven-haired woman with ivory skin and ruby-red lips. She smiled at Aranthir, completely nude. From her naked back unfolded a pair of black bat wings, reaching up to the room's stone tiled roof.

"In any other case," she began, her voice low and smoky, "I'd have my way with you and leave you to rot."

"You will find me more difficult prey than a peasant," Aranthir replied, pistol raised. He touched the cold iron muzzle to her chin and she did not draw away. "You would be the witch that the villagers told me about, would you not?"

"I am," the succubus replied. "Once there was a time when shepherds would come stumbling into my prison with regularity. None of them could help me, so I had my fun with them and turned them loose to die. Then an earthquake came and buried me. I've languished here for Felitharna knows how long until now."

"Well, now I'm here," Aranthir said.

"Indeed you are. Perhaps you can help me."

"And why would I do that?"

"I can make it worth your while," she purred. She touched a delicate hand to her bare breast, pale with a rosy-pink nipple in the middle. Her other hand wandered down her flawless body to the smooth, hairless sex between her legs. "You've the look of a vagabond, a wanderer, about you. Have you ever fucked a woman like me?"

Aranthir smiled. "I do better than you might expect."

"Do you?" the succubus asked with sincere interest, "I would love to hear your tales of conquest. But I can assure you, you've never had a woman like me."

"I've never had a woman with wings, I can say that much," Aranthir replied with a short laugh.

"Indeed. There is a big, soft bed right here," she stepped to it and ran her hand over its sheets. Aranthir saw her full breasts sway with her motion and clenched his jaw. Grabbing ahold of himself, he retrained his pistol on the demon.

"Would you like to make use of this bed?" Ilona asked. "Make use of me?" She turned over, showing him her smooth, round buttocks as she did. Aranthir could not deny that he found the sight inviting in the extreme.

"What is your price?" he asked, as business-like as he could manage. She turned over again, her big, soft breasts pooling against her chest.

"I am bound here by the sorcerer's spell. Break it, and you and I will make the hills shake."

"And then what? I am to let you roam freely through the realm, draining the life from men as you please?"

"Not only men," she said coyly. Aranthir was unamused and showed it, so she sat up again, wings folded. "I will go away. Back to the Dark Reaches I was summoned from and assemble a stable of the lustiest imps and incubi, to fuck me for a hundred years until at last my long hunger is sated. Perhaps I'll find a Kirynor to join my boudoir. I'll never trouble a mortal again." She slid one hand between her legs again, playing with herself.

"How will I keep you to that promise?"

The succubus moaned at her own touch and bit her lip. Aranthir felt about to burst out of his own clothes. "Place a new binding on me, or banish me to the Dark Reaches, but don't keep me confined in this wretched cell any longer."

"I have nothing with which to banish you, assuming I can even break your binding in the first place."

The succubus lay back, her wings shimmering and melting away so that she once again looked a mortal human. She spread her legs open and drew her knees up beneath her armpits. Her wet sex called to him.

"Won't you have a go at me?" she pleaded.

"You're not listening to me," Aranthir shot back, averting his gaze from her luscious form. He felt the charms of the succubus strongly and feared he was near to becoming her next victim.

"You need a source of power?" she asked, pulling herself upright again. Her magnificent breasts gleamed in the candlelight. "Use me. Oh, not like that, not yet."

Aranthir looked at her suspiciously.

"You do not know how to tap a source of power?"

Aranthir laughed helplessly at her possibly inadvertent innuendo.

"I was taught how," he replied, "but to use you as a source of power to undo your own bindings... was that not an option barred by the terms of the binding?"

"Not at all. The sorcerer summoned me as a tutor, concubine, and font of power. This spell was cast in part with my power. It can be undone by my power and your words, and then we will fuck like newlyweds."

Aranthir felt his breath coming rapidly. Was this a natural response to a beautiful woman's charms, or was some dark magic of the succubus at work here? Ilona raised her foot from the bed and ran her toe down his chest to his swordbelt. He relented at last.

"Very well. I will replace your bindings."

She jumped to her feet, her head nearly reaching the ceiling. Her long black hair fell to her waist in waves. "Oh, I've never been so happy! Set me free to walk the world again, so that I may enjoy its boundless pleasures.

"Not boundless," Aranthir replied, "I will rebind you under new terms. You may have your way with mortals, but never to their harm."

"Acceptable terms," Ilona said. She put her hands on his shoulder and leaned in close to put his face between her voluptuous breasts. He drank in her intoxicating scent and struggled to keep his head about him.

"Hold on," he gasped. "First, the magic must be done."

Pushing her away, he stepped back from the bed. From his pack, he drew out his book of spells and a vial of the indigo spice.

"This will take a moment to prepare," he said. Ilona knelt down on the bed, leaning forward to watch. Aranthir set out his tokens in a circle and seated himself in the center. Infusing himself with the spice, he cast a new seeing spell. This time, the sorcerous sight showed him not the physical world around him, but the strange, lightless world of the Ether. He lurched in his seat as the room around him fell away. In every direction was a dark, clouded nothingness devoid of life.

Except for directly in front of him, where a woman's form glowed with light. Ilona's wings shone brightly in the Ether, revealing her true nature again. But Aranthir was unconcerned. He reached out from his seat and touched her glowing body. She quivered under his touch. Aranthir felt sorcerous power rush into him, swelling every part of him with energy.

When he withdrew from her, a bright strand still connected their forms. He heard her voice, distant and filtered through the barrier between the mortal world and the Ether.

"I feel you," her voice echoed faintly through the void. "The bond is made."

Slowly, Aranthir allowed himself to retreat from the Ether into his body once again. Opening his eyes, he found Ilona staring expectantly at him from the bed. A thin bead of sweat dripped down her cheek.

"It is done," Aranthir intoned. "Now to break the bindings."

But first, Aranthir cast a ward to shield himself from her demonic charms. Ilona saw what he was doing and laughed.

"It's better if you don't but suit yourself." Aranthir made no reply.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Now you will break the binding?" she asked. Aranthir nodded.

"Give me a moment to prepare."

"I thought you already?" she asked with another laugh. "You're so suspicious of me, and for what?"

"Ask that to the men you killed."

"They died happy," Ilona responded. "They came to me willingly and did not leave willingly. Some could control themselves, others could not. Is it truly my fault that some of them died?"

Aranthir said nothing, though he was reconsidering his decision to help. But whether it was the pleading of a trapped soul or the insistence of his own baser impulses, he ultimately forged ahead. He summoned to him the strength of sorcery and looked into the Ether once more. Focusing his mind's eye, he perceived the bindings about Ilona and the spell that locked the room in time. He willed into being a sorcerous knife and projected it out against the bindings. With a deep breath, he brought against the bindings. They shuddered and shattered, tumbling away and winking out in the dark void.

Now was the moment for Ilona to run. He heard her gasp with elation as she felt the bindings at last dissolbe. If she made for the door while he was sitting here, she could escape unbound and wreak havoc throughout the countryside. But she made no move. Aranthir retreated from the Ether to find her sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around herself with tears in her eyes.

"Free," she whispered, "at last I am free."

"For now," Aranthir said. He cast himself back into the Ether and forged a new binding for her. As he lay it about her glowing form, he pronounced his terms.

"I free you to walk among the mortal realms on the condition that you not bring harm to the innocent, nor disruption to the fair and just trades of their peoples. Should you violate these terms, I cast you into the darkest, most desolate and barren reaches to languish alone for ten thousand years."