A man arrived at the eastern gate of Almerra, clad in masterfully constructed mail armour and bearing a similarly fine sword on his waist, with a well-woven cloak in the colours of the Church around his shoulders. He was young man, tall and strong, with unruly hair and a rough beard of deep chestnut. The man wondered, as he approached the open gates, why it was manned by Church soldiers instead of a regular town watch.
“Hail,” he greeted the two guards.
One of them warded him back with an outstretched hand. “Name and business, sir,” the other one asked him.
He quirked a brow. Towns weren’t usually this guarded during the day. “Gideon Farrin, Paladin.” He pulled up his necklace to show them; the holy symbol of his order, two angelic wings of silver cradling an immaculately cut ruby. “I’m just passing through.”
The eyes of the Church knights widened in awe as they looked at his symbol. They stood up a bit more stiffly, one of them bowing his head, while the other saluted Gideon with a hand flat on his chest. The gesture was supposed to imitate the wing of an angel. “Dreadfully sorry, my lord.”
He waved them off, and they appeared to relax. “No need for that. I’ve barely finished my initiation. Now, what’s with all the security around the town?”
“That’s a bit of a story,” the first guard replied. “Apparently one of the nobles in town had been practicing demonic magic. She’s hiding somewhere in the city, but we’ll smoke her out eventually.”
“That sounds dire. Are you going to need any assistance?”
“I’m not thinking so, but it wouldn’t hurt. The town’s church is just that way, if you want to get a bit more caught up,” the watchman said, pointing at the structure that rose above the hovels surrounding it.
Gideon nodded his thanks at the guards and passed through, making his way at a leisurely pace towards Almerra’s church. He had traveled through the town previously, but had never had reason to stay in it, so he wasn’t acquainted with any of the their priests. As he walked through the double doors of the church, however, he was surprised to hear a voice that he recognized.
“There’s no guarantee that the witch hasn’t escaped from the city, Father,” the rough voice growled. “We should start sending soldiers to the outlying towns and make sure we find her before she spreads her vile ways among the commoners.”
“The gates have been watched since yesterday morning, and this town is stretched thin as it is, Sir Anselm. There aren’t the soldiers to spare sending them outside the walls.”
“Then send me, at least-.”
“Hunting witches again, Anselm?” Gideon asked the first speaker. He was a man several years Gideon’s senior, with a slightly leaner physique than Gideon and wild, black hair. Like Gideon, he wore the holy symbol of a Paladin around his neck. He was standing in front of the church’s altar, arguing with an older, graying priest.
Anselm grinned upon seeing Gideon and stepped down to clasp his fellow Paladin in a friendly embrace. “They just keep showing up, Gideon. I swear, something is going out of its way to teach them. Not that I particularly care,” he shrugged. “I always welcome an opportunity to smite those who would dare side against our order.”
The priest walked down, forgotten by Anselm, and cleared his throat. “Oh, of course. Gideon, this is Father Emeric. He runs things here in Almerra. Father Emeric, Gideon Farrin, the pupil of Sir Ilbert.” Emeric nodded in recognition. When he had still been fit enough to travel the land, Sir Ilbert had been a renowned Paladin.
Gideon extended his hand to Emeric in greeting. The old priest shook, his grasp still surprisingly firm. “So what’s the story about this witch on the loose?”
“Oh, yes,” Emeric responded. “A woeful tale. Lord Elwin came to us just last morning, saying he discovered that his daughter Clara had procured some infernal text and was corrupted by its magic. She fled his house the night before, just after he found out. Some of our soldiers encountered her yesterday afternoon, but she managed to escape them. We think she’s still in the city.”
“He thinks she’s still in the city,” Anselm chimed in. “I think that she’s found some way to escape into the countryside. She could already be in Rebrook by now, as we sit around turning the city over to find someone who’s already gone.”
Emeric shook his head slowly. “Regardless. What business have you in town, Gideon? It’s rare to see two of your order in the same place.”
“I’m just passing through, regrettably. I’ve just completed a task for Sir Ilbert, and I must return to him.”
“Our church is open to you if you need to rest before you leave.”
Gideon shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but I want to be back to him as soon as possible.” He started to turn away, then asked, “What does that Elwin girl look like? I’ll spread the word to keep a lookout for her.”
“Her father tells us she’s a young woman with noble features and long, black hair. She stands about this high,” Emeric motioned with his hand, “and according to the knights who encountered her, she should be dressed in fine clothes. Though I doubt you will find her outside of Almerra, angels’ grace be with you and safe travels. Give my regards to Sir Ilbert.”
“Mine too,” Anselm said. “And here’s hoping we find that witch and run her down like the knave she is before she can do any more harm.” He pounded a fist into his palm, the mail of his armour clinking together.
Gideon frowned as he turned away. While he agreed with principle of punishing wrongdoers, sometimes he felt that Anselm took things a step too far.
He made his way through Almerra without any other stops, leaving through the west gate.
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Clara realized that she was lost.
The encounter with the goblins, and the subsequent chase, had brought her far away from the road. How far, she couldn’t tell, caught up as she had been. Though the sun’s light still streamed through the boughs above her, she couldn’t see it well enough to determine its position in the sky, so she was unable to discern her location from that. Nothing to navigate by became apparent to her as she spun around in a slow circle, and she slumped to the ground in defeat.
She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees. She stayed like that for a while, thinking about how wrong things had gone in just the last two days.
Everything was supposed to have been fixed once she found the grimoire. That was what she had believed for so long, that magic would be the solution to all of her and her family’s problems. But that hadn’t been the case.
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Quite the opposite, in fact. It was the grimoire and its magic that had gotten her chased out of the city. The grimoire’s magic that had caused her to go on a wild chase through the trees and become irredeemably lost. She slipped the bag over her shoulder and threw it on the ground, fixing it with an unwavering glare.
Then she had an idea. Maybe the grimoire could still help her. She opened up the bag and pulled the book out, flipping through it. Finding the page she wanted, she set it down and stood to clear off a relatively flat area in the forest’s rich earth.
Using the book for reference, she took a sturdy twig from the forest floor and traced a circle into the ground. Into the borders of the circle, she sketched an elaborate geometric design, as precisely as she was capable of. She mirrored the circle, slightly smaller in form, beside the first. Lifting up the book, she stepped gingerly into the larger circle, careful not to mar the lines.
Staring down at the dirt-inscribed sigil, she hesitated. The magic of the tome had already caused her to act without reason once. What might this ritual result in?
Not that she had much of a choice. This deep in the forest, she could wander forever without finding the road. Or, more likely, the goblins would find her again, and there was no telling that another fight would go in her favour.
She started chanting the spell. Brilliant red light radiated out from the center of each circle, filling the lines with their own radiance. She felt magic being pulled from her into the sigils, opening up a gate into another world. As the ritual culminated, she could sense another presence being tugged into the material plane, and then the magic faded and the gate was sealed off. A faint whiff of brimstone drifted around the ritual area.
Within the circle opposite her hunched a diminutive figure, maybe a foot tall. It was humanoid in shape, with vibrant crimson skin. Its limbs ended in wicked claws and leathery wings sprouted from its back. Small horns adorned the head of the demonic creature. Clara felt its conscious at the edge of her own mind, curious and childlike. It tested its strength against the ritual circle surrounding it, reaching out with one clawed hand, but it quickly acceded, and Clara could feel subservience radiating from the imp through the mental bond.
A feeling of joy at having correctly performed the ritual rushed through Clara, tinged with lingering fear at what consequences her continued use of the magic might cause in the future. She pushed the feelings aside and pointed at the imp in the circle.
“You, demon.” It looked up at her and chittered something she didn’t understand. “Go and find me the road.” The imp chittered again and winged into the air, soon disappearing into the trees.
Clara sat back down in the soft earth and waited for the demon to come back as its presence in her mind grew distant and difficult to read. After a few minutes had passed, she began to fret over whether it had understood her command. Then she wondered whether the creature was truly under her control, and if it had simply flown off to cause mayhem elsewhere. Sitting alone in the woods, every noise caused her head to turn in alarm, and she found herself nauseated from worry.
A few minutes later, the imp soared back into view. It landed in front of Clara and waited. She let out a shaky sigh of relief and stood up, her legs unsteady. Leaning against a tree for a moment, she wrestled for control of her breathing and forced herself to draw in slow, deep breaths. Slightly more calmed, she motioned for the imp to lead the way.
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Gideon walked down the road towards Wayford, whistling to himself cheerily. It was a great day for traveling, not a cloud in the sky, but just breezy enough that the sun’s heat wasn’t unbearable.
He reached the forest with the sun nearing its zenith. Making good time, he thought. His travel continued without incident for another few hours, aside from the curious discovery of a goblin’s corpse on the side of the road. That was the countryside, though. Anywhere not solidly occupied by humans was inclined to have some presence of monsters like these.
While he tread down the road he thought, as he often did, about the duty of his order. Sworn to the angelic host, and given power in return to protect humanity from the many forces that threatened it. Monsters like goblins, orcs, the beastmen of the north, and most reviled, demons, were just scratching the surface of what Paladins such as he defended the masses from.
It was why they stayed on the move, rarely settling down except when forced by necessity, like Sir Ilbert. Even this close to a major settlement, humanity’s foes lurked in the shadows.
Letting his mind wander made the trek seem that much quicker. Eventually, though, he was brought out of his reverie by a sight he did not expect.
A tiny demon flitted out of the tree line into the open air of the road, followed by a human woman. She was clothed in what would be fine garments if they were a bit less dirty, and black locks trailed behind her in the breeze.
It seemed Gideon had found his witch. He didn’t feel he needed much more confirmation, but he nevertheless reached for his holy symbol and breathed a prayer, closing his eyes.
When he opened them again, the world had taken on a hazy appearance, as if viewed through a foggy window. Through this sight, the demon emanated a bright aura of deep red that flickered as if ablaze, shot through with tendrils of black, as Gideon knew would be the case. He turned his gaze on the woman, whose aura was mostly pure white, marred by a core of black and red, similar to the demon’s.
Without a doubt, this was Clara Elwin.
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“Halt! Clara Elwin, you have been accused of crimes against the Church and crown. Surrender peacefully and submit yourself to fair judgment, or face it here.”
Clara spun towards the voice, staff coming up defensively. She could almost cry at how terrible this day continued to get. Her eyes wandered over this new foe, an armoured man bearing the symbol of a Paladin around his neck.
“I don’t want a fight,” she said in a faltering voice.
“There doesn’t need to be one,” the Paladin replied simply.
Clara shook her head. “You know as well as I that submitting to the Church’s judgment is as good as tying a noose myself.” As if to prove her point, the imp settled on her shoulder.
The Paladin shrugged. “Should you submit peacefully and the Church still find you guilty, your soul will be cleansed and freed of all sin. Would you rather go to your end with the stain of corruption marring you?”
“I would rather not go to my end at all. I’m sorry, but I have too much at stake to accept your judgment.” Clara finished the sentence with the incantation for a curse, the dark haze streaming from her fingertips to collect around the Paladin.
He seemed to be affected by the curse for the barest moment, gritting his teeth and taking his holy symbol in his hand. The necklace glowed with a pure, brilliant light and the curse melted away in its radiance.
Clara stared on in astonishment. It was the first time her magic had simply been negated in such a manner.
The Paladin, finally done with words, drew his blade and advanced purposefully towards Clara.
Clara drew up more energy and hurled a bolt of hellfire at the Paladin. He simply reached a hand out to intercept it, the spell dissipating into nothing more than a plume of thick smoke.
Her most reliable spells providing nothing more than an inconvenience to the Paladin, Clara began to look around in panic, slowly backing away from the oncoming warrior of the Church. She needed something to stop him, something that he couldn’t simply shrug off.
There was one such spell that she had seen within the grimoire, but she hadn’t practiced it. It had seemed complex, beyond her ability at the time.
But she didn’t have anything else to resort to.
She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally shoving away all of the distractions around her - the Paladin’s footsteps, the rustling of leaves, the imp’s weight on her shoulder - as she tried to remember the exact incantation. She began to recite it, as well as she recalled, so fast that she was certain she stumbled over some of the words.
Sensing something amiss, the Paladin sped up his pace.
The scorching power of the hells below flowed through Clara, gathering in her palms. As she completed the incantation, it formed into shimmering orange links of chain. The power, incorrectly channeled, seared her hands and caused her to yelp in pain, but she kept both arms outstretched as the sorcerous chain snaked out.
She opened her eyes to see the bindings wrapped around the blade of the Paladin’s sword, the tip of it held in place the barest distance away from her heart. The chain yanked the blade down, driving it into the earth, before continuing to wrap around the Paladin in an instant to hold him in place. All he could do was look on in disbelief as he was immobilized. The metal of his armour hissed and blackened under the chains.
Clara turned away, cradling her burned hands. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes at the pain. It was preferable to the certain death the Paladin’s blade promised her, at least.
The imp started to chitter and point from her shoulder. She looked up, wondering if the Paladin had somehow gotten free. What she saw was worse.
Advancing from the surrounding trees was an entire host of goblins.