Sunday, 22 February 2015

Day 53

[from Aura of Chaos]

Xeron was woken later that night by a commotion coming from outside. There seemed to be a number of people talking and shouting. Slowly sitting up, he began to listen, to see if he could make out what the voices were saying.

"--kill the Witch!"

"Burn her!"

"She's over this way!"

Xeron, still half-asleep, wondered at first whether the villagers had mistaken some poor innocent soul for the strange hooded figure who had attacked him in the cave earlier that day. If that was the case, he should ideally set them straight before an innocent woman got burned at the stake. If it actually turned out to be the hooded figure - which was unlikely as Xeron was certain they were male - they would be no match for it, and so he had better warn them away from attacking it. Either way, he needed to intervene.

Xeron slipped out of bed, put his armour back on, and lit a candle to light his way through the darkened inn. Holding it in one hand, he grabbed his spear in the other hand and headed off down the hallway. The inn seemed completely deserted, and he did not meet anyone on the hallway, nor downstairs in the tavern area. Presumably, everyone was either asleep, or joining in this supposed witch hunt.

With a growing sense of foreboding, Xeron left the inn. It wasn’t just there that was empty: the entire village seemed to be deserted, even more so than one would expect at this time of night. Xeron began looking around for torchlight, as a large angry mob such as this would no doubt have at least a few torches. He soon located the fiery glow, off to the east and slowly moving away from him. With a pang of horror, Xeron suddenly realized where the mob was heading, and who their target was.

"Tara!" The mob must have leapt to the same conclusion that he had: that his recovery had been too fast and too complete, and consequently must have been the result of witchcraft. However, unlike him, the villagers weren't willing to ignore the laws on witchcraft. All magic was forbidden. All Witches had to die.

In an instant, Xeron realized he could not let this happen. Tara had saved his life, and now it was time that he returned the favour. Tossing the candle aside, he began to sprint towards Tara's house, cursing the heavy weight of his armour that slowed him down slightly. By the time he reached her house, it was already surrounded by at least two dozen villagers, wielding torches, pitchforks, and even small swords. The mayor himself stood before Tara's front door, brandishing a torch of his own. "Come out, you wench!" he cried. "Face your punishment!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" cried Xeron as he reached the mob.

"Ah, Xeron," said the mayor, turning to face him. His jovial smile suddenly seemed a lot more threatening. "Did you realize that this woman was a Witch?"

"She's not a Witch!" declared Xeron. He had no way of knowing this, of course, but surely they had no way of knowing that she was? "Let her go?"

"Of course she's a Witch!" said one of the other villagers. "I saw you when you were being carried out of the cave, you were on death's door! There's no way you could have recovered this fast without a Witch being involved!"

"And there you have it," said the mayor. "Now stand aside."

Xeron stepped in front of Tara's front door, blocking the mob's entry. "I won't let you hurt her!" he said.

The villagers were undoubtedly confused by Xeron's behaviour, until the mayor suddenly grinned. "I get it," he said. "I see what's going on. She's bewitched you. She's put some kind of spell on you so you'll protect her." The other villagers began to nod and mutter in agreement; to them, this logic made perfect sense. To Xeron, it was unprovable nonsense. "Don't worry, Xeron," said the mayor, "we'll free you from that wench's spell! Men: attack! But be sure to leave him alive!"


Xeron didn't want to fight these men, but as they advanced on him, weapons raised, it seemed that he had no choice. Suddenly glad that he had thought to bring his armour, he spun his spear round so he was fighting with the blunt end rather than the point, and prepared for battle.

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