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Considering the nature of his lover, I don't quite think he'll appreciate the stealth pun that comes with her title.\n\nIf anyone can tell me what the pun was then I'll give you a cheese.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "A commission from Howling howling91.sofurry.com/ wherein a man's ex-lover ends up crashing his wedding day. Considering the nature of his lover, I don't quite think he'll appreciate the stealth pun that comes with her title.

If anyone can tell me what the pun was then I'll give you a cheese.", "writing": "John walked through the halls of a resplendent cathedral with a knowing swagger in his step. Red carpet against his fancy and colorful shoes, a thick black dress suit adorning a masculine form. Along his hands were gaudy rings, and about his neck were none but the finest hanging jewelry. Ruby necklaces and gold encrusted quartz. Today was the big day. \n\nToday was his final wedding ceremony, after a year of love with the wonderful little Marry. \n\nHe walked in first, flanked on one side by his father’s family. Rich investors or well off traders, people with connections and friends who simply had to be there for the wedding of the decade. On his other side was the bride’s family, royalty and nobles with both titles and land. Kings of some small holding, or barons from far away regions come to witness a grand union. By looking between wealthy traders and pampered princes, one could scarcely tell the difference between each family. Such was the time honored nature of wealth. \n\nStriding across a red carpet and standing before the brightly lit podium, the soft thrum of a piano playing in tune to his steps. John stood before the priest and breathed deeply, accepting the taste of sweet lilacs as a flowery aroma hung through the air. Light from a stained glass window shone dazzling colors onto the center floor, the ceremony timed to take place at just that perfect moment for the setting sun. \n\nJohn stood to the left, took up a dignified pose with his arms in front of his waist and his chin held high. \n\nMarry was next to enter. \n\nFace covered in a white veil to hide her beauty, the flowing white dress trailing behind her like a river of lace. Her footsteps were dainty and slow, unconsciously timed to the regal music that washed through the entire proceeding to give this whole event an air of magnificence. John had known many different women in his life, but this wedding was the biggest break he’d ever gotten. \n\nMost women of power, true power, were well versed in wielding it. Be they a princess who knows who to marry, a queen who holds sway within her castle and presides over domestic affairs, or the trained soldier who knows exactly where the pointy end of the knife can go. Marry was different. \n\nShe was gentle in every way, fearful of even the tiniest mouse. She spoke in whispers as if nervous that drawing attention to herself would evoke some grand ire, and not once did she dare contradict another speaker. This a woman who seemed ashamed to use any of her power, preferred to follow orders or manage simple tasks over thinking for herself. And of course was happiest with a strong man to lead her around, something she’s obviously been used to her entire life. \n\nMarry was the daughter of King Trenway of the Mordan Fields. And that man famously kept a tight control over everything he was involved with, this wedding included. \n\nNaturally it wasn’t a marriage of love, for affection to one another was but a fleeting concern for all parties involved. Marry simply did not wish to be considered barren and unwed in her old age, she needed to find a man while she was still worth something and her looks had not faded. John merely wanted a trophy who would service him in bed, someone who wouldn’t think to get in his way or disrupt the rest of his life. Preferably someone who could take care of any children on her own, but if not they could always hire a nanny. \n\nFor John and his family this was becoming a member of the royal elites, opening up gateways to owning land and becoming a lord in their own right through Trenway’s influence. For the king, this was selling away one of his daughters while she was still useful in order to buy influence into trade lanes and oversea routes into kingdoms beyond his control. To say nothing of the greater insight into what taxes should be levied he might get from such a union of the government bodies and successful businesses in the area. Trenway could all but double his sphere of influence if he made proper use of these caravan highways.\n\nTo make matters even better, Marry was an adorable sweet thing with looks that were to die for. A petite and mousy frame, a kind look in her eyes and a timid nature. Contrasting John’s bombastic assertiveness and oozing charisma. As a match, these two were perfect for each other. \n\n“Here comes the bride.” A man said, as Marry stepped over the red carpet with flowers being tossed into the air by children and servants. Approaching the podium with her head low and face covered, her arms holding a set of puffy white roses to her chest. \n\nShe stood on the far right, a priest standing between her and John with a holy text in one hand and a golden staff in the other. His voice commanding but respectful, an air of intense judgment and ultimate kindness. A holy man who radiated power through his very core. \n\n“Do you, John avastway, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” words that were asked with such an intensity it felt as if they were driving into your soul.\n\n“I do.” John answers immediately. \n\n“Do you, Marry Trenway, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” in the exact same tone, breath for breath and all but word for word. Marry could feel herself shrinking under the gaze of so many people, all waiting to hear her voice.\n\n“I … I d-do …” she stutters out in barely a whisper. \n\n“To those us gathered here today.” The priest all but casts a glare into the audience, daring anyone to speak over him. “Do any of you harbor objections to this holy union between John and Marry. If so then speak up now. If not, then forever hold your piece.”\n\nThe priest didn’t even bother waiting to hear what people said, he was already moving forward and his words starting into the next part of this ceremony … but a voice rose to object. \n\n“I have several objections.” Feminine. Confident. Shouted from the far back of the room, directly in front of closed doors. \n\nThe crowd seated all so neatly through the pews didn’t so much gasp as they did guffaw, angry that any of them would dare speak out. When they realized who was saying the words, they grew angrier still that this lowly woman who wasn’t even invited would force her way into a ceremony where she so clearly did not belong. \n\nJohn new the woman however. Recognized her face and her dress all but instantly. And in that moment he alone was terrified, knowing what was to come.\n\n“N-no …” the groom stuttered, taking in her features. A pale white that one could be forgiven for assuming the skin was bleached, skin that rarely saw the sun. Tight and healthy despite it’s barely natural coloring, a thin frame and tall, almost lanky form. The woman stood head and shoulders above most others, as tall as a man if one could believe that. Black, shimmering hair that flowed down her shoulders, a glistening sheen that reflects off as light passes over it. \n\nAbove her ear was a single red flower, bright as blood and with ghastly black thorns the woman seemed heedless of. Wrapped around her neck, one could all too easily assume it was just a green scarf, but through its coiled loops there was a distinct tapered point on the tail end, and the flattened puppy dog face of a snake on the other. It’s eyes listless and alert, it’s tongue lapping through the air every few seconds. \n\nDressed in regal black with white trimmings, a gown that only went down as far as her knees and was evidentially made for one to move about in. None of the frilly undergarments and six layers of corsets that some of the finer noble women were obligated to wear, but rather flashes of bare flesh along her legs and thighs any time the loose hems were kicked up high. \n\nHer entire body radiated an air of unnatural beauty, an almost unhealthy attraction that left people staring at her for one of two reasons. Those enraptured by her form, and those who could tell something was off but couldn’t quite place what it was or how it factored in. \n\nThe woman’s face was anything but pleased at the moment, and her gaze centered directly on John.\n\n“Nooo …” the groom whispered to himself, taking a small step back. \n\n“We can see you haven’t forgotten my promise, John Avastway. So that must mean you didn’t believe I would follow through with it.” As she spoke the words, that snake on her shoulder hissed. Her expression hard and judgmental, yet alert and studious. She looked and acted as if she could read the groom’s very soul, and didn’t care for what she saw. \n\n“I can explain Elezareth, there’s no need to- …” and then before he could say another word the king exploded into outrage.\n\n“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!?” Trenway burst onto his feet, a face beet red and his boots stomping on the wooden floors. \n\nThe intruder turned up her nose, one hand pulling back to pet the snake’s head. \n\n“You see, little king, that man ha- …” she too, found herself interrupted. The king all but stalked toward her with his fists clenched. \n\n“OUT! I want you OUT you insufferable hag, BACK to the streets with the other miserable whores! GAURDS! Remove her, remove this woman at once!” \n\nThere were but four guards here, each armed with a halberd slung under the shoulder and a sword serving as their sidearm. Weapons drawn two came up from behind, another two moved to flank their king. The priest in the far back, with a mixture of both worry and anticipation in his eyes, positioned himself just behind a podium at the very center of the church. All light from the dying sun aimed squarely on his white robes, shimmering green and red and blue and yellow as the stained glass windows filter everything into a myriad of rainbow colors. \n\nThe woman in black responded with a disapproving scowl, and …\n\nA flick of her wrist? \n\nBlack fires sprung up from the masonry in front of the entryway doors. The guards in front of her balked alongside their king, the guards behind her kept marching. \n\nStep.\n\nStomp.\n\nStep. \n\nClatter? \n\nWithin moments, to the shock of everyone watching, two men in full armor and with considerable weapons simply, decintegrated. Leaving only their clothes and protection behind, falling to the ground in heaps and clangs, one helmet bouncing against stone as the other rolls to a stop at the woman’s feet. \n\nIn the center of this magery, just between a flopped pile of regal looking shirts and pants all wrapped over iron boots, were two cockroaches. Two very confused cockroaches who couldn’t tell what direction to scramble. \n\n“Witch!” came an alarmed cry from the priest in back. \n“Why yes, thank you.” The woman turned her chin up with pride. “Now wh- …”\n\n“Remove yourself from these hallowed grounds, or face the wrath of the burning star! We will not have your foul stench ruin the sanctity of our church!”\n\n“I’ll get her out myself!” King Trenway announced, as to the astonishment of everyone he lunged forward with a haymaker swing. A soft thud. The sound of bone on flesh when his fist connects to her skull, the witches’ head rocked to one side and blood starting to pour from her nose. \n\nTwo men on either side of the king step forward with swords drawn and aimed, positioning them near the woman’s arms as if trying to stop her from casting.\n\n“N-no …” John whispers. Taking a step away from center stage. Eyes wide, lips quivering in understated fear. \n\nAll the witch needed was a flick of the wrist and …\n\nClatter, clang, thud, fromp. The sound of clothes and armor and weapons all cluttering the ground in a noisy heap rang through the halls. By now everyone was on their feet and stepping away from the pews themselves, giving this strange black garbed woman as much room as they felt safe with, some already looking for exits. Others noting the black flames in front of their only door with a fear that comes from understanding. \n\nThe witch points a single finger at the pile of clothes on the far right. The sound of fire whooshing through an enclosed tunnel. All of the cloth and metal turned to dust, revealing a crawling earwig, silver chitin and wide spread antennae. \n\nShe aims at the far left, that same sound all too similar to a roaring blaze trapped inside a bottle, and an explosion of dust revealed a tiny little grasshopper smaller than a nickel. \n\nLike a gunslinger on the draw she points her finger at the center pile. The sound of lightning wrapped up inside a forest fire, the woosh as clothing and jewelry and a regal crown alike all evaporate before her very eyes. Revealing a tiny, thin little fish. A guppy with silver scales and wide eyes, a gaping maw as it flops in place atop a red carpet. \n\n“My name.” the witch states in a casual speaking tone while whipping the blood from her jaws. She wasn’t going to shout, if they wanted to hear her they would all just have to pay attention. And right now, everyone was. “My name is Elizareth Dawnstar. And I am here to fulfill my pact with John Avastway.” \n\n“Your name heathen, is as meaningless as your infernal magics. If you will not leave of your own accord, then the might of the gods will force you!” The priest had no objection to shouting as loud as he could manage, bathed in light from the fading sun. He held his golden staff in one hand and a holy symbol in the other, pointing the weapon toward Elizareth and focusing his own power. \n\nJohn stood behind the priest, and marry seemed rooted in place. Teary eyed, confused, and staring at the floppy little fish that used to be her father. \n\nThe witch stands tall and proud before the brilliant display of the church, her chin high and her eyes offering only a disapproving stare. \n\nFlash.\n\nBurn. \n\nLight. \n\nRaw power and a burning radiance burst from the priest’s staff, washing down above the red carpet and spilling into the pews. So bright it hurt to look at, so wide it enveloped the witch’s entire form. A sound all too similar to wind chimes on a gentle summer day mixed with the snap and crackle of a flame eating through bone. Just as suddenly as the magical attack had came …\n\nIt ended.\n\nRevealing Elizareth standing in the center just as tall and defiant as before, both of her arms outstretched as if warding off a spray of water. Her hair slightly singed with tiny little flames still nipping at the stray ends, still caught along the edges of her clothing. The fish and insects were all unharmed, albeit aquatic life could only hold out for so long without water. \n\n“Lovely.” The witch tsks. “The setting sun really is the perfect backdrop for you fall, little holy man.” \n\nWith one arm she pats down a burn along her shoulder to keep the flames from spreading up her dress. With her other arm she offers the priest a casual wave, sending yet one more spell his way. The sound of a wave smashing against stone, and to the witch’s surprise his holy symbol glowed, the air around him sparkled with purple specks in a sphere that perfectly encircled him. And by the end of her magics the priest was still standing. And still human. \n\n“The setting sun is when my power is at its highest. BEGONE!” The man bellows. Holding his ground, leveling his staff, and unleashing a flurry of bolts. A rapid spray of palm sized balls of golden flame, splashing against the walls and punching into the witch with a harsh smack. Her arms raised to defend herself, but she was still being pelted in the waist, stumbled backward when beams smack against her legs, the occasional welt on her face as the swarm of bolts started to overwhelm. Any that didn’t hit her explode harmlessly into the stone walls or spread like water over the top of a pew.\n\nJohn cowered at the back of the church, silently hoping Elizareth is killed and that this whole problem resolves itself quietly. Marry was on her knees, having no idea what to do or how to act, realizing her father was in great danger but also knowing the priest holding their sermons was the best equip to handle things. Sit back and let someone else do the work while she worries. That’s what she was used to at least. \n\nSmacksplashsmacksquishsplashsmack. \n\nThe witch started to get frustrated as hits kept landing through, but took note of how the sun kept falling, and the priest seemed to tire. One hand lashes out to send another spell, once more breaking in a field of purple sparks before it ever touches to the man’s skin. Wildly, Elizareth waves her arm the other direction, most of her attention focused on protecting her snake. Keeping her neck well covered even if it means the brunt of several blows go directly onto her head. \n\nA shower of sparks, obvious lack of results, and a resumed pressure from the priests spray of attacks. \n\n“You’re magic holds no purpose here, witch. You are outmatched! Where once you had the chance to escape, now I shall no longer allow it. You will die here on hallowed grounds, and may your ashes be mixed into the mud!” his staff held outstretched, and the symbol to his deity clutched tightly in the other hand. So tight his fingers were turning white and the symbol seemed to dent. \n\nA flick of the wrist … \n\nWithin the span of time it takes most men to blink, that same holly symbol flitted across the room, yanked bodily from the priest’s hands and coming to rest within Elizareth’s. A splash of white and yellow, a steady stream of ball sized globs of divine energy exploding at the edge of a purple field of sparks. The witch now stood there, holy symbol in hand as casually as anything else, watching as all the magic from his staff harmlessly bounces off the air in front of her.\n\n“N-no …” John mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. \n\nThe priest bellows wildly. “You will burn for this heresy, none but the high clergy may hold those artifacts! BURN!” and yet even as he spreads the field wider and envelops the air around her in a golden light, it just bounces off the ward with nary a scratch. Elizareth stands there, taking it, palming the gold and silver trinket in her hands with some light amusement …\n\nAs the sun fades. The shadows it casts grow deep, longer, ever so noticeably sharper. \n\nAnd the power released from the priest’s staff grows weaker, and smaller, and ever more pitiful. Until the darkness of twilight hung over the cathedral and the most his magic could offer was a narrow little tinkle of light. \n\nHe kept on firing, right until the witch waved her hand a final time. The clatter of gold falling onto a hard floor, the frumph of so many clothes trailing away. \n\nAs if her finger were a six shooter she points at the podium and jerks her hand back, some invisible recoil washing through her arm. The box of wood and stone all decorated in trailing lines of holy text exploded outward in a shower of light and shrapnel, before disintegrating into a hanging sprinkles of dust. Another aim of her finger, the roaring bubbly sound of a furnace being doused in mud, and then the piled up cloth of the clergy vanished just as quickly as anything else.\n\nIn the center of the room, caught between dimming lights of the setting sun, lay a wriggly little earthworm all slimy and pink. Blackness cast a grey shade over the doorway entrance, lighting up Elezareth’s back and showing deep contour lines along her face. \n\n“Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge me?” she asks of the speechless room, met with the harrowed gaze of so many people who simply couldn’t believe what was happening. \n\nElexareth scowls, turning toward Marry atop the upraised steps. The girl’s head hanging low and her veil touching the floor, her elbows against her waist she weeps quietly. The bride had no idea what to do from here, except hope that whatever fate befell her father doesn’t come for her next. Be quiet, go unnoticed, and don’t make any move that would draw attention.\n\nA shame for her, the witch had come for the girl specifically. \n\nShe stalks forward, careful to step over scampering cockroaches. With a dainty bend of the waist, her rump is all too plainly exposed by how marvelously skintight that dress hugged around her hips. A pluck. Snatching up the tail of a little guppy between two fingernails, letting it flop uselessly in a back and forth slide as it struggles for breath. \n\nNo one was running of course. Few wished to try shoving their way through black flames and hoping they survived whatever witchcraft was at play. \n\nJohn, he hung back at the far wall looking for someone, anyone else that could take the fall for him. None of his own family dared to speak out, most hoping they could be simply left at the wayside if none get in this woman’s path. John scrambles for any sort of back door, some exit, a window low enough that he could smash through and climb his way out. \n\nThe only windows were high, built into the walls so that people wouldn’t touch them or smash them by accident, and with individual panes fitted snugly into an iron fitting. If John were an apt enough climber he might make it all the way to the top, hanging onto outcroppings and digging his feet into chiseled pictographs. And once there he might smash the glass itself through either fist or object, perhaps take a book, maybe he could snatch up that holy staff and bash a window with it. \n\nBut even then he’d never make his way past the iron rings that held the glass in place, as those might as well be intricately designed prison bars. Locking him inside an ornate cage with a woman who was more snake than human by his reckoning. And a form that had once been beautiful in his eyes, however hauntingly so, now held that air of sinister ickiness one associates with other crawling, slithering vermin. \n\nAnd just like a snake with a mouse, that look in her eyes wasn’t one of compassion or mercy. \n\n“You are the girl who wants to take my man?” the witch asks. To John’s relief not looking at him, but at Marry. Yes, if that bride can buy him a little more time … \n\n“Y-yes?” The crouched woman sobs out, scarcely able to bring herself to look up. Closer and closer the witch stalks, one hand idly petting her snake’s forehead to keep it calm while her other stiffly and gently holes the fish. \n\n“Your father was warned. Whether or not he believed me isn’t my concern. And yet you two still tried to finish this farce of a ceremony anyway.” Elezareth states with a cold perfection. Her voice not quiet, but also not booming or attention grabbing.\n\n“Y-yes …” Marry admits, lowering her head in mute, shivering acceptance. She knew whatever judgment the witch passed, nothing she could do or say would change the outcome. \n\n“Hrmph …” the witch tilts up her nose, offering the scornful glare of a woman staring at a caged vermin. “John Avastway and myself were pledged to one another, his life and soul bonded to mine by deed and contract. Yet even as we lay in bed together each night, he slipped away like the little snake he is to chase mousey little things like you. I can say now that you weren’t the first, nor was I, that man never could be held down to one girl.”\n\nMarry feels something catch in her throat, eyes watery and her chest heaving. It was hard for her to breathe. The dress, the clothes, the piles of finery, it all seemed to constrict around her. The bride worried it was a spell, something to choke her breath and strangle her on the spot, but … she breathed. Slowly, painfully. Coming to realize it was just her own fears overwhelming her, words sinking in like barbs through her mind. \n\n“I’m s-sorry …” Mary all but squeaked. Elezareth didn’t seem moved by even a genuine apology.\n\n“As you should be, quivering little mouse. But you see I’m not entirely without mercy. John himself will get his own punishment, you meanwhile will have the privilege of looking after your father.” \n\nThe bride tiled her head back, looking up and out through the cover of a veil, hope in her eyes that this would all turn out for the best. \n\n“R-real- …” she never manages to finish her sentence. \n\nA flick of the wrist, the sound of clothes falling to the ground as a twirl of white and gold and rich royal finery all come to rest in a pile. Elezareth stands tall over the ruined remains of what was once a human, listening for that scattering. Hearing wild panicked squeaks. \n\nWithin moments a tiny little mouse all white and shiny and clean, poked it’s head out of one sleeve and stared up at all the people around. Another squeak, a desperate scamper …\n\nShe got all of three hops before the witch saw fit to twirl her fingers. The tiny rodent’s paws lifted off the ground, and with a gentle sway she was levitate up toward the witch’s face.\n\nMary shrieked and flailed, her tail lashing against the witch’s chin, her whiskers shaking wildly as her paws scramble against dead air. A snatch, fingers curled around her form, Elezareth able to feel just how soft and squishy a mouse really is. The index finger curls up behind Marr’s head, the thumb presses between two jaws to hold them open at the base, ignoring any weak attempts to bite. \n\n“Now now marry, your father needs plenty of water. I’m sure there’s some spit he can breathe in your stomach.” The witch states calmly, and with her free hand the fish is dangled over a rodent’s open mouth.\n\nNo one says anything. No one tries to stop it. Save the wet flops on dry air from a distinctly terrified fish, and the shrieking chirps of a little rodent that very much wanted this all to be a bad dream, the room was completely silent. No one breathed, no one spoke, no one dared look away from this otherwise minor event.\n\nDrop.\n\nSplat. \n\nThe moment Trenway was placed atop his daughter’s tongue, Elezareth uses two fingers to force the mouth shut. Holding her nose pinned with the most effortless display, making sure to look down her nose at the vermin and soon to be snackfood. A flail, a wriggle, the mouse shoves it’s paws uselessly against those fingers each thicker than the rodent’s entire am. It’s tail curls over the hem of a dress, or dangles off the edge as if trying to tickle a witch’s boobs. \n\nGulp.\n\nAnd just like that, the rodent’s mouth was empty and its belly was full, the fish hardly causing a bulge on its way down and entirely invisible once gobbled away by the most harmless of little creatures. \n\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "John walked through the halls of a resplendent cathedral with a knowing swagger in his step. Red carpet against his fancy and colorful shoes, a thick black dress suit adorning a masculine form. Along his hands were gaudy rings, and about his neck were none but the finest hanging jewelry. Ruby necklaces and gold encrusted quartz. Today was the big day.

Today was his final wedding ceremony, after a year of love with the wonderful little Marry.

He walked in first, flanked on one side by his father’s family. Rich investors or well off traders, people with connections and friends who simply had to be there for the wedding of the decade. On his other side was the bride’s family, royalty and nobles with both titles and land. Kings of some small holding, or barons from far away regions come to witness a grand union. By looking between wealthy traders and pampered princes, one could scarcely tell the difference between each family. Such was the time honored nature of wealth.

Striding across a red carpet and standing before the brightly lit podium, the soft thrum of a piano playing in tune to his steps. John stood before the priest and breathed deeply, accepting the taste of sweet lilacs as a flowery aroma hung through the air. Light from a stained glass window shone dazzling colors onto the center floor, the ceremony timed to take place at just that perfect moment for the setting sun.

John stood to the left, took up a dignified pose with his arms in front of his waist and his chin held high.

Marry was next to enter.

Face covered in a white veil to hide her beauty, the flowing white dress trailing behind her like a river of lace. Her footsteps were dainty and slow, unconsciously timed to the regal music that washed through the entire proceeding to give this whole event an air of magnificence. John had known many different women in his life, but this wedding was the biggest break he’d ever gotten.

Most women of power, true power, were well versed in wielding it. Be they a princess who knows who to marry, a queen who holds sway within her castle and presides over domestic affairs, or the trained soldier who knows exactly where the pointy end of the knife can go. Marry was different.

She was gentle in every way, fearful of even the tiniest mouse. She spoke in whispers as if nervous that drawing attention to herself would evoke some grand ire, and not once did she dare contradict another speaker. This a woman who seemed ashamed to use any of her power, preferred to follow orders or manage simple tasks over thinking for herself. And of course was happiest with a strong man to lead her around, something she’s obviously been used to her entire life.

Marry was the daughter of King Trenway of the Mordan Fields. And that man famously kept a tight control over everything he was involved with, this wedding included.

Naturally it wasn’t a marriage of love, for affection to one another was but a fleeting concern for all parties involved. Marry simply did not wish to be considered barren and unwed in her old age, she needed to find a man while she was still worth something and her looks had not faded. John merely wanted a trophy who would service him in bed, someone who wouldn’t think to get in his way or disrupt the rest of his life. Preferably someone who could take care of any children on her own, but if not they could always hire a nanny.

For John and his family this was becoming a member of the royal elites, opening up gateways to owning land and becoming a lord in their own right through Trenway’s influence. For the king, this was selling away one of his daughters while she was still useful in order to buy influence into trade lanes and oversea routes into kingdoms beyond his control. To say nothing of the greater insight into what taxes should be levied he might get from such a union of the government bodies and successful businesses in the area. Trenway could all but double his sphere of influence if he made proper use of these caravan highways.

To make matters even better, Marry was an adorable sweet thing with looks that were to die for. A petite and mousy frame, a kind look in her eyes and a timid nature. Contrasting John’s bombastic assertiveness and oozing charisma. As a match, these two were perfect for each other.

“Here comes the bride.” A man said, as Marry stepped over the red carpet with flowers being tossed into the air by children and servants. Approaching the podium with her head low and face covered, her arms holding a set of puffy white roses to her chest.

She stood on the far right, a priest standing between her and John with a holy text in one hand and a golden staff in the other. His voice commanding but respectful, an air of intense judgment and ultimate kindness. A holy man who radiated power through his very core.

“Do you, John avastway, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” words that were asked with such an intensity it felt as if they were driving into your soul.

“I do.” John answers immediately.

“Do you, Marry Trenway, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” in the exact same tone, breath for breath and all but word for word. Marry could feel herself shrinking under the gaze of so many people, all waiting to hear her voice.

“I … I d-do …” she stutters out in barely a whisper.

“To those us gathered here today.” The priest all but casts a glare into the audience, daring anyone to speak over him. “Do any of you harbor objections to this holy union between John and Marry. If so then speak up now. If not, then forever hold your piece.”

The priest didn’t even bother waiting to hear what people said, he was already moving forward and his words starting into the next part of this ceremony … but a voice rose to object.

“I have several objections.” Feminine. Confident. Shouted from the far back of the room, directly in front of closed doors.

The crowd seated all so neatly through the pews didn’t so much gasp as they did guffaw, angry that any of them would dare speak out. When they realized who was saying the words, they grew angrier still that this lowly woman who wasn’t even invited would force her way into a ceremony where she so clearly did not belong.

John new the woman however. Recognized her face and her dress all but instantly. And in that moment he alone was terrified, knowing what was to come.

“N-no …” the groom stuttered, taking in her features. A pale white that one could be forgiven for assuming the skin was bleached, skin that rarely saw the sun. Tight and healthy despite it’s barely natural coloring, a thin frame and tall, almost lanky form. The woman stood head and shoulders above most others, as tall as a man if one could believe that. Black, shimmering hair that flowed down her shoulders, a glistening sheen that reflects off as light passes over it.

Above her ear was a single red flower, bright as blood and with ghastly black thorns the woman seemed heedless of. Wrapped around her neck, one could all too easily assume it was just a green scarf, but through its coiled loops there was a distinct tapered point on the tail end, and the flattened puppy dog face of a snake on the other. It’s eyes listless and alert, it’s tongue lapping through the air every few seconds.

Dressed in regal black with white trimmings, a gown that only went down as far as her knees and was evidentially made for one to move about in. None of the frilly undergarments and six layers of corsets that some of the finer noble women were obligated to wear, but rather flashes of bare flesh along her legs and thighs any time the loose hems were kicked up high.

Her entire body radiated an air of unnatural beauty, an almost unhealthy attraction that left people staring at her for one of two reasons. Those enraptured by her form, and those who could tell something was off but couldn’t quite place what it was or how it factored in.

The woman’s face was anything but pleased at the moment, and her gaze centered directly on John.

“Nooo …” the groom whispered to himself, taking a small step back.

“We can see you haven’t forgotten my promise, John Avastway. So that must mean you didn’t believe I would follow through with it.” As she spoke the words, that snake on her shoulder hissed. Her expression hard and judgmental, yet alert and studious. She looked and acted as if she could read the groom’s very soul, and didn’t care for what she saw.

“I can explain Elezareth, there’s no need to- …” and then before he could say another word the king exploded into outrage.

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!?” Trenway burst onto his feet, a face beet red and his boots stomping on the wooden floors.

The intruder turned up her nose, one hand pulling back to pet the snake’s head.

“You see, little king, that man ha- …” she too, found herself interrupted. The king all but stalked toward her with his fists clenched.

“OUT! I want you OUT you insufferable hag, BACK to the streets with the other miserable whores! GAURDS! Remove her, remove this woman at once!”

There were but four guards here, each armed with a halberd slung under the shoulder and a sword serving as their sidearm. Weapons drawn two came up from behind, another two moved to flank their king. The priest in the far back, with a mixture of both worry and anticipation in his eyes, positioned himself just behind a podium at the very center of the church. All light from the dying sun aimed squarely on his white robes, shimmering green and red and blue and yellow as the stained glass windows filter everything into a myriad of rainbow colors.

The woman in black responded with a disapproving scowl, and …

A flick of her wrist?

Black fires sprung up from the masonry in front of the entryway doors. The guards in front of her balked alongside their king, the guards behind her kept marching.

Step.

Stomp.

Step.

Clatter?

Within moments, to the shock of everyone watching, two men in full armor and with considerable weapons simply, decintegrated. Leaving only their clothes and protection behind, falling to the ground in heaps and clangs, one helmet bouncing against stone as the other rolls to a stop at the woman’s feet.

In the center of this magery, just between a flopped pile of regal looking shirts and pants all wrapped over iron boots, were two cockroaches. Two very confused cockroaches who couldn’t tell what direction to scramble.

“Witch!” came an alarmed cry from the priest in back.
“Why yes, thank you.” The woman turned her chin up with pride. “Now wh- …”

“Remove yourself from these hallowed grounds, or face the wrath of the burning star! We will not have your foul stench ruin the sanctity of our church!”

“I’ll get her out myself!” King Trenway announced, as to the astonishment of everyone he lunged forward with a haymaker swing. A soft thud. The sound of bone on flesh when his fist connects to her skull, the witches’ head rocked to one side and blood starting to pour from her nose.

Two men on either side of the king step forward with swords drawn and aimed, positioning them near the woman’s arms as if trying to stop her from casting.

“N-no …” John whispers. Taking a step away from center stage. Eyes wide, lips quivering in understated fear.

All the witch needed was a flick of the wrist and …

Clatter, clang, thud, fromp. The sound of clothes and armor and weapons all cluttering the ground in a noisy heap rang through the halls. By now everyone was on their feet and stepping away from the pews themselves, giving this strange black garbed woman as much room as they felt safe with, some already looking for exits. Others noting the black flames in front of their only door with a fear that comes from understanding.

The witch points a single finger at the pile of clothes on the far right. The sound of fire whooshing through an enclosed tunnel. All of the cloth and metal turned to dust, revealing a crawling earwig, silver chitin and wide spread antennae.

She aims at the far left, that same sound all too similar to a roaring blaze trapped inside a bottle, and an explosion of dust revealed a tiny little grasshopper smaller than a nickel.

Like a gunslinger on the draw she points her finger at the center pile. The sound of lightning wrapped up inside a forest fire, the woosh as clothing and jewelry and a regal crown alike all evaporate before her very eyes. Revealing a tiny, thin little fish. A guppy with silver scales and wide eyes, a gaping maw as it flops in place atop a red carpet.

“My name.” the witch states in a casual speaking tone while whipping the blood from her jaws. She wasn’t going to shout, if they wanted to hear her they would all just have to pay attention. And right now, everyone was. “My name is Elizareth Dawnstar. And I am here to fulfill my pact with John Avastway.”

“Your name heathen, is as meaningless as your infernal magics. If you will not leave of your own accord, then the might of the gods will force you!” The priest had no objection to shouting as loud as he could manage, bathed in light from the fading sun. He held his golden staff in one hand and a holy symbol in the other, pointing the weapon toward Elizareth and focusing his own power.

John stood behind the priest, and marry seemed rooted in place. Teary eyed, confused, and staring at the floppy little fish that used to be her father.

The witch stands tall and proud before the brilliant display of the church, her chin high and her eyes offering only a disapproving stare.

Flash.

Burn.

Light.

Raw power and a burning radiance burst from the priest’s staff, washing down above the red carpet and spilling into the pews. So bright it hurt to look at, so wide it enveloped the witch’s entire form. A sound all too similar to wind chimes on a gentle summer day mixed with the snap and crackle of a flame eating through bone. Just as suddenly as the magical attack had came …

It ended.

Revealing Elizareth standing in the center just as tall and defiant as before, both of her arms outstretched as if warding off a spray of water. Her hair slightly singed with tiny little flames still nipping at the stray ends, still caught along the edges of her clothing. The fish and insects were all unharmed, albeit aquatic life could only hold out for so long without water.

“Lovely.” The witch tsks. “The setting sun really is the perfect backdrop for you fall, little holy man.”

With one arm she pats down a burn along her shoulder to keep the flames from spreading up her dress. With her other arm she offers the priest a casual wave, sending yet one more spell his way. The sound of a wave smashing against stone, and to the witch’s surprise his holy symbol glowed, the air around him sparkled with purple specks in a sphere that perfectly encircled him. And by the end of her magics the priest was still standing. And still human.

“The setting sun is when my power is at its highest. BEGONE!” The man bellows. Holding his ground, leveling his staff, and unleashing a flurry of bolts. A rapid spray of palm sized balls of golden flame, splashing against the walls and punching into the witch with a harsh smack. Her arms raised to defend herself, but she was still being pelted in the waist, stumbled backward when beams smack against her legs, the occasional welt on her face as the swarm of bolts started to overwhelm. Any that didn’t hit her explode harmlessly into the stone walls or spread like water over the top of a pew.

John cowered at the back of the church, silently hoping Elizareth is killed and that this whole problem resolves itself quietly. Marry was on her knees, having no idea what to do or how to act, realizing her father was in great danger but also knowing the priest holding their sermons was the best equip to handle things. Sit back and let someone else do the work while she worries. That’s what she was used to at least.

Smacksplashsmacksquishsplashsmack.

The witch started to get frustrated as hits kept landing through, but took note of how the sun kept falling, and the priest seemed to tire. One hand lashes out to send another spell, once more breaking in a field of purple sparks before it ever touches to the man’s skin. Wildly, Elizareth waves her arm the other direction, most of her attention focused on protecting her snake. Keeping her neck well covered even if it means the brunt of several blows go directly onto her head.

A shower of sparks, obvious lack of results, and a resumed pressure from the priests spray of attacks.

“You’re magic holds no purpose here, witch. You are outmatched! Where once you had the chance to escape, now I shall no longer allow it. You will die here on hallowed grounds, and may your ashes be mixed into the mud!” his staff held outstretched, and the symbol to his deity clutched tightly in the other hand. So tight his fingers were turning white and the symbol seemed to dent.

A flick of the wrist …

Within the span of time it takes most men to blink, that same holly symbol flitted across the room, yanked bodily from the priest’s hands and coming to rest within Elizareth’s. A splash of white and yellow, a steady stream of ball sized globs of divine energy exploding at the edge of a purple field of sparks. The witch now stood there, holy symbol in hand as casually as anything else, watching as all the magic from his staff harmlessly bounces off the air in front of her.

“N-no …” John mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

The priest bellows wildly. “You will burn for this heresy, none but the high clergy may hold those artifacts! BURN!” and yet even as he spreads the field wider and envelops the air around her in a golden light, it just bounces off the ward with nary a scratch. Elizareth stands there, taking it, palming the gold and silver trinket in her hands with some light amusement …

As the sun fades. The shadows it casts grow deep, longer, ever so noticeably sharper.

And the power released from the priest’s staff grows weaker, and smaller, and ever more pitiful. Until the darkness of twilight hung over the cathedral and the most his magic could offer was a narrow little tinkle of light.

He kept on firing, right until the witch waved her hand a final time. The clatter of gold falling onto a hard floor, the frumph of so many clothes trailing away.

As if her finger were a six shooter she points at the podium and jerks her hand back, some invisible recoil washing through her arm. The box of wood and stone all decorated in trailing lines of holy text exploded outward in a shower of light and shrapnel, before disintegrating into a hanging sprinkles of dust. Another aim of her finger, the roaring bubbly sound of a furnace being doused in mud, and then the piled up cloth of the clergy vanished just as quickly as anything else.

In the center of the room, caught between dimming lights of the setting sun, lay a wriggly little earthworm all slimy and pink. Blackness cast a grey shade over the doorway entrance, lighting up Elezareth’s back and showing deep contour lines along her face.

“Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge me?” she asks of the speechless room, met with the harrowed gaze of so many people who simply couldn’t believe what was happening.

Elexareth scowls, turning toward Marry atop the upraised steps. The girl’s head hanging low and her veil touching the floor, her elbows against her waist she weeps quietly. The bride had no idea what to do from here, except hope that whatever fate befell her father doesn’t come for her next. Be quiet, go unnoticed, and don’t make any move that would draw attention.

A shame for her, the witch had come for the girl specifically.

She stalks forward, careful to step over scampering cockroaches. With a dainty bend of the waist, her rump is all too plainly exposed by how marvelously skintight that dress hugged around her hips. A pluck. Snatching up the tail of a little guppy between two fingernails, letting it flop uselessly in a back and forth slide as it struggles for breath.

No one was running of course. Few wished to try shoving their way through black flames and hoping they survived whatever witchcraft was at play.

John, he hung back at the far wall looking for someone, anyone else that could take the fall for him. None of his own family dared to speak out, most hoping they could be simply left at the wayside if none get in this woman’s path. John scrambles for any sort of back door, some exit, a window low enough that he could smash through and climb his way out.

The only windows were high, built into the walls so that people wouldn’t touch them or smash them by accident, and with individual panes fitted snugly into an iron fitting. If John were an apt enough climber he might make it all the way to the top, hanging onto outcroppings and digging his feet into chiseled pictographs. And once there he might smash the glass itself through either fist or object, perhaps take a book, maybe he could snatch up that holy staff and bash a window with it.

But even then he’d never make his way past the iron rings that held the glass in place, as those might as well be intricately designed prison bars. Locking him inside an ornate cage with a woman who was more snake than human by his reckoning. And a form that had once been beautiful in his eyes, however hauntingly so, now held that air of sinister ickiness one associates with other crawling, slithering vermin.

And just like a snake with a mouse, that look in her eyes wasn’t one of compassion or mercy.

“You are the girl who wants to take my man?” the witch asks. To John’s relief not looking at him, but at Marry. Yes, if that bride can buy him a little more time …

“Y-yes?” The crouched woman sobs out, scarcely able to bring herself to look up. Closer and closer the witch stalks, one hand idly petting her snake’s forehead to keep it calm while her other stiffly and gently holes the fish.

“Your father was warned. Whether or not he believed me isn’t my concern. And yet you two still tried to finish this farce of a ceremony anyway.” Elezareth states with a cold perfection. Her voice not quiet, but also not booming or attention grabbing.

“Y-yes …” Marry admits, lowering her head in mute, shivering acceptance. She knew whatever judgment the witch passed, nothing she could do or say would change the outcome.

“Hrmph …” the witch tilts up her nose, offering the scornful glare of a woman staring at a caged vermin. “John Avastway and myself were pledged to one another, his life and soul bonded to mine by deed and contract. Yet even as we lay in bed together each night, he slipped away like the little snake he is to chase mousey little things like you. I can say now that you weren’t the first, nor was I, that man never could be held down to one girl.”

Marry feels something catch in her throat, eyes watery and her chest heaving. It was hard for her to breathe. The dress, the clothes, the piles of finery, it all seemed to constrict around her. The bride worried it was a spell, something to choke her breath and strangle her on the spot, but … she breathed. Slowly, painfully. Coming to realize it was just her own fears overwhelming her, words sinking in like barbs through her mind.

“I’m s-sorry …” Mary all but squeaked. Elezareth didn’t seem moved by even a genuine apology.

“As you should be, quivering little mouse. But you see I’m not entirely without mercy. John himself will get his own punishment, you meanwhile will have the privilege of looking after your father.”

The bride tiled her head back, looking up and out through the cover of a veil, hope in her eyes that this would all turn out for the best.

“R-real- …” she never manages to finish her sentence.

A flick of the wrist, the sound of clothes falling to the ground as a twirl of white and gold and rich royal finery all come to rest in a pile. Elezareth stands tall over the ruined remains of what was once a human, listening for that scattering. Hearing wild panicked squeaks.

Within moments a tiny little mouse all white and shiny and clean, poked it’s head out of one sleeve and stared up at all the people around. Another squeak, a desperate scamper …

She got all of three hops before the witch saw fit to twirl her fingers. The tiny rodent’s paws lifted off the ground, and with a gentle sway she was levitate up toward the witch’s face.

Mary shrieked and flailed, her tail lashing against the witch’s chin, her whiskers shaking wildly as her paws scramble against dead air. A snatch, fingers curled around her form, Elezareth able to feel just how soft and squishy a mouse really is. The index finger curls up behind Marr’s head, the thumb presses between two jaws to hold them open at the base, ignoring any weak attempts to bite.

“Now now marry, your father needs plenty of water. I’m sure there’s some spit he can breathe in your stomach.” The witch states calmly, and with her free hand the fish is dangled over a rodent’s open mouth.

No one says anything. No one tries to stop it. Save the wet flops on dry air from a distinctly terrified fish, and the shrieking chirps of a little rodent that very much wanted this all to be a bad dream, the room was completely silent. No one breathed, no one spoke, no one dared look away from this otherwise minor event.

Drop.

Splat.

The moment Trenway was placed atop his daughter’s tongue, Elezareth uses two fingers to force the mouth shut. Holding her nose pinned with the most effortless display, making sure to look down her nose at the vermin and soon to be snackfood. A flail, a wriggle, the mouse shoves it’s paws uselessly against those fingers each thicker than the rodent’s entire am. It’s tail curls over the hem of a dress, or dangles off the edge as if trying to tickle a witch’s boobs.

Gulp.

And just like that, the rodent’s mouth was empty and its belly was full, the fish hardly causing a bulge on its way down and entirely invisible once gobbled away by the most harmless of little creatures.


", "pools_count": 0, "title": "The Familiar Witch Chapter 1", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/rtf", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "2", "name": "Nudity", "description": "Nonsexual nudity exposing breasts or genitals (must not show arousal)", "rating_id": "1" }, { "content_tag_id": "5", "name": "Strong Violence", "description": "Strong violence, blood, serious injury or death", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "50" }