Out of the Frying Pan

In a single day, the lives of the people of Brooksill were upturned.

The end of the hamlet’s peace did little to dishearten the townspeople. For the first time in the history of Brooksill, its people felt excitement. The earlier fear brought upon by the uncanny rogues had completely subsided, and the villagers seemed to have forgotten that their granary was still aflame. The Brooksillians hungrily watched the knight and the witch stare each other down, savoring the tension between the two.

“Oh, could this day get any worse?” moaned the sole surviving man in black.

My thoughts exactly, creep. Atrina noticed that the shadows of the people and the buildings had stretched considerably. Night time was near, and she had no intention of sleeping in a place where people despised her.

Atrina spoke to the knight, “I was just passing by. Let me get out of your hair.”

The knight flashed a pearly-white grin. “‘Just passing by’ my foot. I saw what you did to that last fellow, and I have a pretty good idea of what happened to the other two.” Atop her mount, the armored woman advanced through the mob towards the sorceress. With each clop of the mare’s hooves, the knight’s shining shell clanked loudly as she steadily approached Atrina.

Crap, crap, here she comes! A million courses of action raced through Atrina’s mind in an instant. The witch considered incapacitating the rider or her mount with a non-lethal spell. Though it would have left a bad taste in her mouth, Atrina had decided that she would defend herself at all costs.

But, Atrina could sense no ill will emanating from the knight. The holy warrior’s smile held strong as she came closer, adding to the witch’s confusion on how to handle the situation. What the hell am I doing? She’s just another knight! All I need is one quick spell, and I’m out of this dump. Atrina moved her hands into a spellcasting formation, but the paladin was already at her side.

Atrina watched as the knight clumsily hopped off her mare, seemingly impeded by her armor. The knight stood a full head taller than the sorceress, yet another reason that should have convinced Atrina to put her guard up. The paladin, whose cheeks were beet red from the inelegant dismount, cleared her throat and addressed the witch, “Brave caster, with your great abilities, you have saved the people of this hamlet in the name of righteousness. I commend you wholeheartedly. I must know your name.”

“...It’s Atrina.”

“What a unique name! I’m Valerie of the Holy Knights, serving under Captain Eurielle. Pleased to meetcha!” Any illusion of the knight’s aplomb faded as she clasped Atrina’s shoulders in a firm grip. The gesture was meant to convey respect, but the witch only felt great discomfort. The observing Brooksillians whispered their dismay at the spectacle.

“Look, that brave knight grabbed that awful witch! Heavens bless her, for a witch’s touch brings a cursed future.”

“I hope that paladin cleans all the garbage from our hamlet.”

Atrina winced at the cruel comments, but Valerie did not seem to notice. Instead, her attention was solely on the witch and the three men she had taken down. “While I don’t really approve of the way you handled these rogues, I’m sure your heart was in the right place. I can’t imagine what these cultists would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

Atrina glanced at the cloaked man who was still kneeling on the dirt. So, these bastards were cultists? I wonder what they wanted from this town. Well, it’s not really any of my business. I’m done helping here, so it’s time for me to move on.

The witch opened her mouth to excuse herself, but Valerie cut her off. “You do know about the recent rash of cultists attacking different places in the region, right?”

“Can’t say I do, but I don’t really ca-”

“Ohmigosh! You don’t know? Let me tell you all about it. There’s a lot to go over. I’m hungry. Are you hungry? We can discuss this over dinner. We need to get some food first…”

A villager chimed, “Fair knight, if we may, we’d be delighted to serve you dinner for coming to our rescue. We serve the best fish stew this side of the river. Please, stay for supper, and you’ll see why we are proud of our staple dish!”

“Well, if you insist,” Valerie accepted with a cheery grin. Like moths to a flame, the townspeople swarmed around the knight, probing her for stories of knighthood while pouring out their adulation. The witch was swept up in the crowd, simmering at the knight for foiling her departure from Brooksill.

The crowd took a few steps forward before Valerie stopped in place to ask, “Wait, what about that fire?”

“The one who started the fire should be the one to put it out,” advised the village elder.

The townsfolk glared at Atrina, and she cursed them under her breath in response. With a quick chant and a flick of her wrist, the witch in green drew all the water from the town’s well, channeling the unnatural flow towards the burning granary. 

For a brief moment, Atrina fought the urge to whip everyone with the water she controlled. The urge subsided, and she poured the water onto the burning ruins. Steam hissed from the clash of water and fire as the flames were reduced to nothing.

Valerie clapped her hands childishly at the display. “Whoo! Bravo, bravo! Let’s hear it for Atrina everyone!” None of the villagers cheered with the knight. Only one piped up to complain, “That was all our drinking water. Now we don’t have any.”

Atrina rolled her eyes and moved through the crowd towards the man in black. He was shaking violently despite not having received any injuries. Atrina stood with her hands on her hips while Valerie squatted down by the cultist’s side, cocking her head at him. The knight asked, “What is it? Shaking before the hand of justice?”

The cultist’s head darted towards Valerie, holding her in his bug-eyed gaze. The cultist pleaded in a quiet voice, “You have to help me. He’ll kill me because I failed.”

Atrina narrowed her eyes at the man. “Who will?”

“Him...My master.”

-

Deep within a forest, far from from Brooksill, lay a cavern known only to those who obeyed the will of a single man. In the dark heart of that cavern, barely illuminated by the dim glow of a half-burnt candle, the man spoke to a follower kneeling before him, “Your underlings have failed to acquire the artifact from Brooksill, Slender. Do not disappoint me as they have.”

“Of course I won’t, my lord,” Slender reassured. “It seems that this task must only be handled by a wizard of the highest caliber.” The follower could not see any part of his master except for his eyes and their cold gaze. Slender’s hairs stood on the back of his neck despite his bravado.

“Your confidence has always been one of your admirable qualities. Do not let it be your downfall.” The menace within the master’s voice was not lost on Slender. He continued, “Take a Nightmare and fly to Brooksill. If I do not have the artifact before daybreak, I will have your head. Now go.”

“Consider it done, master.” Slender hurried away, convincing himself that he was only rushing towards his destination.