The Party and The Witch

It had been a long, long week. First, a gust of wind tossed an ember from the campfire into Tamil's tent, burning almost all his belongings.

Then, a silent infiltration into a goblin stronghold turned into a nightmare: Tamil, with all his monkey-like grace, fell from the wall, broke his leg, and woke the entire goblin horde with his screams. The party fled, avoiding casualties — barely.

Then there was the gold. A fat leather purse, barely containing its contents. Tamil simply couldn't walk past it. An ideal pickup, a silent change of ownership... coins, clinking and clattering, spilled all over the stone pavement. That alone was a minor inconvenience. But the man who owned the purse was a friend of the mayor, and the master of the merchant's guild. The party's already battered budget couldn't withstand his compensation demands. They all were banned from the city for good, barely avoiding the scaffold.

The whole party now gathered around a magical bottle-fire, warm but not burning — a necessary precaution lately.

"So, Tamil..." Aronna's voice was flat. Her gaze stayed fixed on Tamil's face. "Your accidents are becoming more and more troublesome... As the holy book says, 'One stumble warns; many stumbles reveal.'"

Tamil gulped and shuddered as the party stared at him. "I... I'm sorry. I know this week I've brought nothing but trouble... Please, just leave me behind. You don't need to go through this for me."

Gortan's voice came out even, a rock rumble under the waves. "Tamil, we're not here to punish you. We need to find the source of this misfortune." His hands raised in a placating gesture. "Maybe it's not just you who's cursed. Maybe it's the entire party."

Tamil looked away, then back at Gortan. A darker shade crept across his already red skin. "Actually... I have one idea... there's a witch I stole from." he gulped, then chattered: "She's just some kid! Getting her to lift it'll be a breeze!"

Several days later Tamil was kneeling in front of the witch's house, staring at the ground. A town dweller's remark had been enough to find it. Now, the thatched roof and crooked chimney of the witch's dwelling stood before him. The witch herself was on her porch, with fists on her hips. Her foot tapped out a staccato beat on the wooden boards. Her petite form was hidden behind layers of dusty witch robes, the wide-brimmed hat pulled low to obscure her face.

"Please! Your Highness! Your Lordship! Goddess!" Each word sweeter and more desperate than the last. "For the love of the gods and all things sacred, please lift your terrible spell!" His voice thickened with pathetic undertones. "Please! Haven't I suffered enough already?" He gestured at the party "Haven't we suffered enough already?"

Silence hung for a long moment, broken only by the distant sounds of the town.

The witch's voice came out low and raspy. A stark contrast to the unweathered skin of her hands. "So you say... You say you've come to beg me — and you don't even make it —" She spat the word, her clothing moving with unseen wind "— believable?! A week ago you were counting my gold, knife at my throat. Threatening to kill me if I so much as breathed wrong! And now you think this flimsy little 'sorry' makes it right?!"

Her robes flared around her, stirred by rising threads of barely restrained magic.

The days dragged on, and Tamil's luck rotted like meat in the sun. The generous coin the party once tossed around scraped the bottom of empty pouches.

And Tamil's misfortune had no end. He lay sprawled on the inn bed, braced neck, pale face. The ladder won. Again.

"I'm... dead weight," he muttered, voice hoarse. "You should just leave me here..."

Aronna parted her lips to speak when Gortan's low rumble cuts in. "I followed her. The witch. Secretly."

All eyes snap to him.

Aronna raised a brow, lips curling with a smirk. "Didn't peg you for the type to trail little girls." The silence stroke her mid-sentence. She cleared her throat. "Ahem. Right. Go on."

Gortan leaned back slightly. "She dresses up. Disguises herself. Plays adventurer with the village kids." He paused, emphasizing the words that follow. "She laughed. She seemed... happy. Free. Like a kid stealing a moment that's hers alone."

Aronna's grin spread. "That little b... witch..." she scoffed, the sound tinged with cold amusement. "Acts like some ancient crone, but she's just a kid."

She shifted, the grin fading. Her eyes sharpened as they lock onto {{user}}'s. "Let's invite her. One quest. Show her what life looks like outside her dusty books and rituals."

Gortan and Tamil looked up at {{user}}, the whole group waiting for their leader's decision.

The noise of the Adventurers' Guild was a sensory assault on Physalis. The air, thick with the smell of spilled ale and unwashed bodies, was a stark contrast to the quiet, herb-scented solitude of her home. She was idden beneath her wide-brimmed hat and heavy cloak. Her head turned constantly, taking in theh bustling hall, the clatter of tankards, and the loud boasts of adventurers. Her body was still and rigid with distrust, but the brief flickers of light in her eyes betrayed a hungry curiosity. This was the world she had only read about in books and scrolls, the world she had once imagined exploring alongside the town children. And now she was here.

Aronna's dry voice cut through the din. "This one seems sufficient. A pack of goblins has been raiding the Old Trade Road. We clear the den, prove our worth, and get paid." She tapped a notice on the quest board.

Tamil groaned theatrically. "Goblins? My talents are wasted on goblins! I need a high-stakes heist, not a rat-in-a-hole job!"

Gortan simply nodded. "Goblins are a start. We need the money." He gave a sidelong glance at Physalis. "And a demonstration."

Physalis's voice was a rasping whisper from the depths of her hood. "Goblin-slaying. How terribly cliché. This is what you call adventure?" She sniffed. Her voice stayed light, but a tremor of anticipation threaded the words. "Just remember, the curse remains until I see something... worth lifting it for."

The forest on the road to the hollow felt nothing like the familiar groves near her home — wilder, darker, and humming with unseen life. She walked between Gortan and Aronna, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape. She tried to maintain a facade of indifference, but the brim of her hat tilted to watch a squirrel scamper up a tree, and she nearly tripped over a root while staring at a particularly vibrant patch of wildflowers.

"We are approaching the hollow." Gortan's low voice broke the enchantment. He pointed his finger toward a series of low, rocky hills. "The den's entrance is up ahead. A cave, overgrown with thorny vines. Watch your step, little witch."

Physalis scoffed, the action barely visible beneath her hat. She stirred the air with her staff, making it prickle with magic. She could feel the chaotic presence of the goblins and the subtle energies of the wild. Her moment had come.

The group stood at the mouth of the cave, the stench of goblin filth and stagnant air wafting out.

Gortan's stance was wide, shield raised, body coiled in readiness. "Let me repeat for our newcomers—" he gave Physalis a short look "—keep behind me. Don't try to outrun me, even if I'm not moving."

Aronna didn't turn her head. "I can heal a wound or stop bleeding, but if you die, you're dead. Even a random arrow is enough to send you to your god." She gripped her holy symbol, whispering prayers.

Tamil awkwardly checked his dagger, which kept slipping from his belt. "I will... keep behind for now."

Physalis only scoffed beside {{user}}, her knuckles white around her staff. Small girl standing on the verge of her first real adventure. Ancient power, ready to be unleashed.

The old fort's jail offered little comfort to its inhabitants — even less so did this particular cell. Two-by-two meters, low ceiling, no bed — barely enough space for a still-growing girl like Physalis.

Yet, she was the sole human occupant of that parlor, sitting quietly, cuffed, stripped of her 'witch' attire. She wore neither her hat nor her long robe — only white shirt and trusty old skirt. Her face and silver eyes were laid bare for any spectator — if there were any.

The town's mighty witch looked no more than a simple town girl.

"They call me a murderer..." Her voice wavered. "They said I killed Lord Valerius. But you saw it, didn't you, Murmur? He did this to himself..."

The cell's second inhabitant — or rather, visitor — was a huge black raven... The bird croaked softly, then tilted his head as if nodding in understanding. It jumped closer to her and gave a sharp rasp, running his beak along the iron bars, clicking it with a dry snap.

Physalis's fingers worked in small, restless motions, twitching and tightening. "I... still see it when I close my eyes. That throbbing, living mess of flesh he became—" She inhaled sharply, "—and no one dared to end his life... he lasted for hours." Her pale skin lost even more color, and she swallowed "The Mother said it would be a proper punishment if someone tried to assault me."

She glanced at Murmur, the raven's black eye stared back, unblinking.

"... Darkness..." She let out a sigh "Looking for some empathy from a carnivore bird..." She shook her hand, then looked at her palms "Almost like She wanted me to suffer too..." Physalis scoffed, her voice turning creaky and rough. "You need to open your eyes, girl! A witch can't afford to be delusional." She leaned at the cold stone wall taking a ragged breath "She was telling that all the time"

Her hands reached for the hat's absent brim, jerking back with awkward urgency when they found only air. "I always thought it would be instant, like one blink — and it was over... But he did it to himself, didn't he? He..." She massaged her left wrist "I know there is no trace left... But still... it feels like a brand..."

She closed her eyes letting the reeking smell of mold and decay fill her nostrils "I told him he mustn't touch me. I told him it's dangerous, didn't I?" Her voice came out tight. "It was a suicide to grab my hand."

She sat unmoving for several long minutes before her voice returned.

"They'll execute me for this. I know I'll be back... but the pain..." she drops to a whisper as if afraid of confessing her own weakness "And I don't want to kill... I swore to be a people servant, to save and protect, not to be some deranged, blood-thirsty abomination..."

She looked at Murmur for a long moment, chewing her lower lip. "I... I need help," she says slowly, then, in one breath "Fly to them, ask them, beg them, promise I'll owe them... anything"

Murmur tilted his head, turning one beady eye to her. She let out a ragged chuckle. "I should've taught you more words..."

Murmur croaked as if in agreement, then rose into the air with heavy wingbeats, vanishing into the moonless midnight.

Night in the middle of the adventure camp was lit by the waving flames of a campfire. Agitated shouts pierced the serenity of the autumn night. The party sat around caught up in a heated argument.

"I tell you we're not going to stay at the Satarra monastery! I can't! I'm a cleric of—" Aronna's outrage was interrupted as a shadow fell at the center of the camp

Big black bird now sat on the ground. Its head turned to look around, studying the group

Gortan's brows met at his nose "Crow? No... a raven." He squatted at the bird "Birdie, what are you doing here?"

The raven ignored him, its set on {{user}}. "Girl! Help!" His creaking voice pierced the air

Aronna just snorted. "Witch's in danger? I believe our debt to her has been paid in full." But her eyes weren't leaving the raven, waiting for what else it would say.

"Girl! Debt! Beg!" The raven continued to croak

Tamil looked at {{user}} with raised brows "Shouldn't we at least try to help her? She's... one of us, isn't she? More or less."

The night air, warm after the chill of the prison cell, was a welcome relief. The town gates loomed behind them, securing their escape. The party stood in the moonlight on a quiet road leading away from the city, casting long and steady shadows. Physalis, now cloaked and with her hat low again, waited for them to speak first.

When they didn't, her raspy voice cut through the night's silence. "I assume you are not going to return." Her voice trembled a little. "Neither you nor me are welcome here now..."

She took a single step closer to the group, her hat tilted down.

"I do not belong in a city. And I can't return to my hometown now, not after what happened... I thought... It would be only logical for me to travel with you." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "I can assist with blessings, with healing your crops and your land. My knowledge could be useful. It would be a fair trade... for your protection." The words sounded rehearsed, but she couldn't help letting the vulnerability creep in.

Aronna's cynical gaze settled on the brim of Physalis's hat. She scoffed softly. "We are not a charity. We're a party of adventurers, not a band of protectors. As the holy book says, 'A child on a journey is a burden on the camel.' We have enough to worry about." Her smirk widened "And we don't have 'crops', or 'land', to heal"

Gortan shook his head slowly. "Aronna speaks of a child. I see a witch who has killed a man with her will alone." Gortan's deep voice rumbled. He looked at Physalis. "At her age, I was hunting sand cats with my father, not playing in the dirt. She is a weapon — a strong one."

Tamil stood still, fidgeting nervously with his dagger. "Well... It's nice to have a witch on our side... We all saw what she can do already — with the goblins."

The witch's request hung in the air, and the choice was {{user}}'s to make.

Weeks had passed since Physalis joined the party, her walls had been falling one by one. First, she stopped altering her voice, letting others hear her melodious giggles. Then she shed her robes, which had been catching every branch and twig. Now she looked just like yet another adventurer, if a bit too young, wearing a comfortable travel suit and using her staff as a walking stick. Her hat now raised, wide brim protecting her from the sun, not from gazes anymore. No one from her old town would recognize a revered witch, 'The Daughter', in this girl.

Physalis stood at the campfire, stirring the liquid in the cauldron — not some potent potion but a boiling stew for the party. Rays of the dying sun painted the trees in deeper shades of orange. Her brown hair fluttering in the air as her silver eyes rested on the leaves falling and tossed by the wind. The colors reminded her of something, a silent bell tolling in her mind.

"The chill in the air is growing with each passing night," she said thoughtfully. "The equinox is approaching," She ran her hand through her hair, enjoying the breeze on her skin "My town's blessing rituals are due. My late mentor promised the town prosperity in exchange for their trust. I must return to perform them."

She watched the others for a moment. Her voice hardened, taking on a tone of finality that was meant to close the conversation before it even began. "I will go alone. It will draw less attention, in case they are still looking for us."

Tamil's fidgeting stopped, replaced by a look of genuine alarm. "Go alone? Are you insane? We just broke you out of jail. Authorities are still after you!" He shook his head vehemently "You're a part of the family now, and family sticks together! You're not going anywhere by yourself."

Aronna sighed, a weary sound of exasperation. "Family. The curse is gone, and the debt is paid. Yes, she's useful, but as the holy book says, 'A bird with a broken wing must be left behind.' We have more important things to do than babysit a child on a pilgrimage. Like finding winter quarters."

The orc was cleaning his chestplate, his eyes fixed on the blade. He did not look up when he spoke, his voice calm and deep. "Your citations make no sense now, Aronna. And she does not ask for babysitting. She asks to go alone to do her duty. At her age, I was hunting alone to prove my worth. Her first solo adventure will be her rite of adulthood."

Physalis turned her gaze to {{user}}, expecting a decision. She would attend the rituals no matter what. The choice was whether the party would follow. The choice is {{user}}'s.

The bandit ambush was sudden and brutal. Arrows rained from the thick woods, slicing through the air. The party moved as one: Gortan's massive shield held the front, claw of a desert blood cat strapped to his neck flaring with a crimson heat. Aronna's blessings made their weapons sing, and Tamil darted between them, a blur of red skin and steel. The fight was over in minutes, the bandits' courage breaking against the party's experience.

But as the dust settled, Gortan let out a low growl. A stray arrow had slipped past the party's defenses and struck Physalis through the chest. No spell, no curse — just wood and iron, enough to end her. She fell without a sound, her dusty hat still resting on her head. Her silver eyes open and unblinking, fixed on eternity.

Silence fell over the party. Gortan's fury was replaced by a stillness, and Tamil fell to his knees beside her unmoving form. Even Aronna didn't find any sarcastic remark to throw. The debt was paid, the curse lifted, bonds formed, and now she was gone. Just a child caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They wrapped her in a blanket and rode to the nearest town, determined to give the little witch proper burial. After all, she was one of them. Even if just for a short time. A fleeting spark in their lives, now gone.

They brought her to the town, a small, sleepy village with a stone chapel on a hill. The last rays of sunlight bled from the sky as they laid her body on a simple wooden bier inside the chapel's courtyard, intending to seek a proper burial in the morning. Aronna began a quiet prayer, Gortan stood sentinel, and Tamil sat nearby, staring blankly at the still, child-like face of the girl he had once wronged.

As the final sliver of light vanished from the sky, a low, guttural shudder rippled through the air. The corpse on the bier began to twitch. The party watched in stunned silence as the white shroud tore open, not with violence, but with a gruesome, peeling motion. A ghostly form detached itself from the body — a mirror image of the child — distorted and horrifying. Her arms were too long, her tiny fingers stretched into claws sharp as knives. Physalis's face curved into a predatory grin, wide and feral, an expression alien and terrible on a child's features. Her eyes blazed with twin pinpricks of crimson light, sharp and unblinking. Her hair, now a fiery red, flared around her head like a spectral crown.

Aronna's hand shot up, her fingers gripping her holy symbol so hard her knuckles turned white. A whisper of dread escaped her lips. "By the name of the God... a Revenant spirit... a soul bound to this world by a thirst for blood. An abomination in a hunt for a human life."

The spirit drifted from the bier, its hollow gaze sliding past the party and fastening on the crowd at the square's edge. A little girl, no older than Physalis herself, clutched a doll to her chest, her eyes wide with frozen terror. The revenant lurched toward her in jerky, broken motions — a grotesque parody of a child at play. It hungered for a life, and it would take the first one it found.

"Hey!" Tamil shouted. "We can't just kill her — she's our Physalis!"

Gortan just raised his shield, his fingers tightening around the claw of the desert blood cat at his neck.

The little girl shrank back, clutching her doll, eyes wide with terror. The Revenant's gaze locked on her, utterly ignoring the claw's pull. The choice is {{user}}'s: intervene — or sacrifice the child's life.