Romancing the Witch Queen
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Zeitgeist on 16-12-2008, 00:43:07</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeitgeist</strong> on <strong>16-12-2008, 00:43:07</strong>
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				This thread is closed to CassandraNova and I.<br><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">Characters/Players</span></strong><br>Vella - Zamdrist<br>Rosabella - CassandraNova<br><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">Non-Player Characters</span></strong><br>Thorne - Rosabella's dance partner<br>Willam - Dance troupe leader/musician<br>Ellistra - Willam's wife and musician<br>Robillard - Singer and member of dance troupe<br>Zelma - Proprietor of Zelma's Herbs<br><br><strong>Premise</strong>: Witch Queen seeks the consensual affections of a village girl<br><br><strong>Orientation</strong>: Lesbian<br><br><strong>Tone/Flavor</strong>: Darkly erotic, intense. Mild vulgarity in-line with theme and feel.<br><br><strong>Setting</strong>: Gothic castle Arges and village by the same name, possibly others.<br><br>(http://www.2and2.net/files/49432a70ef390.jpg)<br><br><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">Romancing the Witch Queen</span></strong><br><br>The head of blond hair buried in Vella's lap stirred. Vella, the Witch Queen of Arges, parted the young woman's hair from her eyes and the concubine looked up adoringly at her Queen. The girl was a quick and enthusiastic learner and Vella was quite moist and enjoying the girl's efforts. The girl continued to nurture Vella's swollen lips with a lapping tongue. Vella turned her attention to another girl beside her, who was carefully and dutifully nursing at Vella's nipples. She held the Queen's breast in the cup of her small hand, and tentatively licked a nipple. With a finger the girl swirled the moistness around, stiffening Vella's nipple like a ripe berry. A third concubine also in bed with the Queen sat nearby watching. The girl was eating fruit from a bowl but her eyes were glued to the scene before her, juice from the fruit ran down her chin as she watched with her mouth open. The concubine's free hand was under her green shift, stroking her own moist vagina. The Queen's bedchambers were dimly lit with only a few candles, their intoxicating smell adding to the erotic mood about the bed. While tones were hush and quiet, the quickened breathing of all the women was heard as well as Vella's pleasureful moans.<br><br>Vella laid her hand on the concubine's head, the girl between her thighs. The Queen's black painted nails dug into the girl's blond scalp as she guided the girl's motions. Vella's hips rose and fell, following the girl's lapping tongue. Alas, despite the girl's efforts the Queen would not be sated. Snarling in frustration Vella pushed away the girl. The other at her breast squealed in fright, pulling away and scraping the Queen's nipple between her teeth painfully. Angry, Vella smacked the careless girl, nails scratching the unfortunate girl's face. The third girl scampered off the bed spilling the bowl of fruit. The erotic moment was shattered and the lit candles flared dangerously, echoing the Queen's anger.<br><br><em>"Leave me! Now!"</em> Order the irritated Vella. The girls scrambled off the bed and departed the room, half naked in rumpled green shifts.<br><br>Vella exhaled in frustration and got out of her bed to look out the window. The Queen leaned her naked form against the portal's stone frame. The cool stone felt good against her warm skin. She looked out at her realm. Vella was Queen of all she could see from her dark castle perched above the village of Arges. It was mid-eve and cool. Torchlight and lamp lights burned below in the village. The skies were darkened with ominous storm clouds on the horizon and heading her way. For more than four decades Vella the Witch Queen ruled over this realm. She was a tough and hard ruler, and ruled with fear as much as competency. The Queen's advisors, servants and captains were also competent and loyal, as much as out of fear of the Witch Queen. Her temper and arrogance was as well known as her dark witchery and appetite for young women. The common villagers of Arges also feared their ruler. Yet Vella kept them safe and fed and despite their fear they were quite proud of their Witch Queen. Vella stood there awhile in thought. Her pale porcelain skin contrasted against the dark sky out the window. Her witchcraft and skills with ointments and herbs kept her figure lush and womanly despite her years. A silky and shiny mane of dark hair spilled part way down her back. Her full bosom rose and fell as she smelled the wet air out the window, ripened nipples still at bloom with the cold air. While her face often reflected a serious and hard appearance, it was beautiful too with emerald eyes, thin black brows and dangerously lush lips.<br><br>She came to a decision, knowing that the rains would come sooner rather than later. She intoned an incantation effortlessly and her form began to shimmer and blur, then dissipate. With the spell completed the Queen's form was gone, and replaced by a large crow with wicked talons clutching the window sill. With a piercing cry it launched itself into the night air on swooping wings. She often found it easier to think, high above her realm looking out on everything, giving her perspective. Vella had a secret, among many secrets all witches of her power might have. This secret however was different. She loathed weakness in any creature, and most of all herself. Yet soaring on the winds above the village she found herself jealous of the commoners simple lives. Most of all jealous of the love they shared, and notably consensual love. While Vella enjoyed numerous lovers and concubines over the years, it had become old. She longed for a consensual partner and lover, yet in this position of rule there was no such thing. It was always obligatory or out of fear. There would be no point in merely using a spell of charm, it had to be borne of free will. The beginnings of a plan however started to take form in Vella's scheming mind. If she did this right, her problem might be resolved yet. She dipped one crow wing downward turning sharply in a tight circle, heading back to the castle. Lightening struck in her wake, thunder clapped and the rains followed closely on her tail wing.<br><br>The crow flew into the bedchamber in a flurry of flapping wings and impatient squawking. A startled servant who had been cleaning up the spilled fruit fled in a fright. Vella transformed back to her womanly shape and grabbed her velvety green robe, setting off deeper into the castle with determined steps.<br><br>There were potions to brew.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CassandraNova</strong> on <strong>18-12-2008, 02:50:11</strong>
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				(http://images.epilogue.net/users/dark-spider/ninfa2.jpg)<br><br>A troupeleader with two brain to rub together would have given the realm of Arges a wide berth.&nbsp; A troupeleader with even one brain rattling around in its lonesome in a strawpacked head would have been especially careful not to put the troupe in Arges less than a month before the onset of winter.&nbsp; Willam, Rosabella therefore concluded in a loud tone of voice that she was certain carried to the head wagon, had not a single brain to keep the straw company.<br><br>It was not that she had anything against Arges or its Witch Queen.&nbsp; Indeed, for all that she joked that she had been hidden away in the wagons by the Fair Folk, Rosabella had been born in that kingdom twenty years previously, and knew the hospitality of that country was certainly not the worst in the world.&nbsp; But roving players like her tended to be the objects of rumors (whether fairly or not) that even the best of them was on his best of days a black-tongued liar, swindler, ready to rob a man blind, ravish his daughter, make off with his last pair of pennies.&nbsp; And the stories she’d heard about women in her occupation made them worse than the men at times.&nbsp; Mayhap in the privacy of the troupe, it was safe to laugh about the superstitious glamour townsfolk attached to their wandering ways and the wild stories that grew about their proclivities, but rumor had it that the Witch Queen’s sense of justice was draconian at best, and the last thing they needed was an accusation of theft that began in whiskey and ended in manacles.<br><br>“It’s going to rain,” Rosabella said, with an overly theatrical sigh, and pulled the shutters closed.&nbsp; The cold night breeze was like a palm on skin that was flushed from the glow of the tavern’s fire, and the exertions of her craft from which she had been given a brief break.&nbsp; She turned just in time to artfully dodge a pair of thrown stockings lobbed at her heat by her roommate and fellow performer in Willam’s troop, a shapely woman of dusky skin and pearly teeth that was known as Thorne.&nbsp; Rose and her Thorne, and hadn’t Willam laughed when he dreamed of pairing the two of them together.<br><br>“There are babes yet unborn, who will be born deaf, dumb, and blind, who nevertheless have divined what you have stated as fact, Rosie Red,” Thorne mocked with an actresses’ elocution.&nbsp; She was naked but for a thin dressing gown that clung to her voluptuous curves with the sweat that glistened against her dark skin, and Rosabella felt the simultaneous flush of desire and stab of envy that made up the sum of her emotions towards her partner.&nbsp; That she should lust for her was a matter of course; few women were as lovely as the exotic beauty with her mocha tresses and coppery skin, and the envy came from the knowledge that her own looks, while not unpleasant at all, only seemed to serve to make Thorne seem more elegant, more beautiful, more shapely.<br><br>Without missing a beat, Rosabella struck the “Saucy Wench” pose she would use in a pantomime.&nbsp; “And since the misfortune is mine is to share bed and board with one born without the sense of a child deaf, dumb, and blind, I must explain even such things as ‘water is wet,’ and ‘it is going to rain.”&nbsp; She laughed, a light, fair sound like the ringing of delicate bells, and hurriedly stripped her own skintight costume.&nbsp; Thorne diplomatically turned to the wardrobe and retrieved a clean outfit for her partner. <br><br>Rosabella continued.&nbsp; “I will forgive your ignorance on account of being a hopelessly ignorant foreign wench of no repute, hopeless ignorance, and shameful makeup skills.”&nbsp; Thorne all but darted to the mirror to see just what Rose was insinuating, causing Rose to laugh again and dance across the room to steal Thorne’s spot in front of the wardrobe, which was also, conveniently, the warmest spot from the drafty window.&nbsp; “But it is well known that the last rains in Arges fall without wail within a week of the first winter snows.&nbsp; All the mud and muck we hauled ourselves through the last tenday to get here will ice up and break into pots and ruts like….like…”<br><br>“Yes, go on…” Thorne prompted.<br><br>Rosabella tried a few more words that fell flat in her mind, before shrugging as she folded her arms nearly double behind her back, lacing up the costume with blind expertise born of long practice.&nbsp; “Like something so extraordinarily potted and rutted that you cannot drive wagons across it.&nbsp; We are wintering in Arges, Thorne.”<br><br>“It doesn’t seem so bad,” Thorne said.&nbsp; “Fortune has favored us these last few months; and the innkeeper seemed glad to have us.&nbsp; I bet we earn our keep and more besides if we enjoy so warm a reception once word spreads.”<br><br>“Perhaps,” Rosabella said.&nbsp; “But the Queen of Arges is a…” she lowered her voice.&nbsp; “A witch, so they say, and –“<br><br>Whatever she had been about to say was cut off when a ham-handed knock rapped at the door.&nbsp; “One minute!” called Willam, who as usual managed to convey in those two words that the inn was very much in danger of catching fire, his wife Ellistra in danger of succumbing to the plague, that the world itself would end, if she and Thorne were so much as a second late.<br><br>Rosabella made a minute adjustment to Thorne’s costume, and Thorne did the same for her before the older woman left the room, brushing past Willam with a coquettish laugh.&nbsp; Rosabella looked at herself in the mirror for a half-second longer, unclenching her thighs and trying not to look like a besotted calf.<br><br>She was twenty years, but in her face and in the diminutive frame of her body was the look of a much younger girl.&nbsp; Only her bosom, made more ample than it was by nature (not an inconsiderable amount) betrayed that she more than just a girl on the threshold of womanhood.&nbsp; Dark red hair the color that some call auburn fell from her face, plastered still against her temple and brow by dark strands wet with her sweat.&nbsp; She brushed those strands back over her ears, but then let it hang loose beside her face again.&nbsp; Tucking it back only emphasized the sharpness of her chin.&nbsp; More lipstick?&nbsp; Her lips were a pale pink color, but should she draw attention to her mouth, perhaps with a red from Thorne’s collection?<br><br>“No time,” Willam said, tapping his foot.<br>Rosabella sighed, and gave her dancer’s costume, tight and suggestive against her chest, loose and flowing with a many-layered skirt on the bottom, and cut sweetly along the sides from her ankles to her thigh…she did not delude herself into thinking that the value she brought to Willam’s playing was based entirely on her skills as a dancer.<br><br>“Ready boss,” she chirped as she followed Thorne down the stair to the dining room.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeitgeist</strong> on <strong>18-12-2008, 05:39:17</strong>
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				Vella swept down the narrow spiraling stairs, deep within the bowls of the castle. Buried beneath even the dungeons of the castle was the Witch Queen's coven. Although in her kingdom there was only one witch of consequence as far as she was concerned. Here she would practice the darkest of her arts, be it the writing of dire scrolls or brewing insidious potions that might fit her needs. With a simple gesture by Vella torches lined around the workspace flared alive. Instruments for measuring and weighing, flasks, flagons and vials of many shapes and colors were lined up and carefully marked as to their contents. A modest library of tomes and parchment scrolls sit neatly stacked on a bookshelf. There was a writing table with quills and small bottles of inks. To one side, meticulously etched and filled in with the appropriate precious metals and elements was drawn a circle of summoning. What dominated the hollowed out cavern though was an impressive forge and black cauldron, Vella's most important items of her craft. The cauldron was artfully and properly inscribed with magical runes and glyphs her craft demanded, she was rather proud of it. Her work necessitated privacy, and so she shoveled several portions of coal into the forge herself, soon the low burning forge came to life. Cleverly designed vents routed heat to the nearby cauldron necessary for her preparations. She hung up her robe and set about her task nude. Such matters of witchery were best done in this manner, and it suited Vella nevertheless.<br><br>Vella gathered the necessary items and gave thought to her designs. If she were to win the genuine affections of the girl, whomever that might turn out to be, she would need to look the part. However it would not due to look so unlike herself that the potential lover fall for someone she was not. Vella's countenance was not common knowledge about the realm. If on the rare occasion she did appear before her people, it was from some distance and often cloaked. Her dark appearance and hair known but little else. Only the castle residents and her concubines would recognize her. So she did not fear someone might recognize her about the village and outlying areas. The potion therefore need only give the appearance of a younger version of herself. And that too was not a far stretch considering the already lush appearance she maintained. All the while these thoughts turned over in her mind, Vella drew from her supply of ingredients. She added to the cauldron's contents, sprinkling in specific herbs and powders and referencing readings from a tome. The forge's orange glow cast over her pale regal form, nipples excited as her work came together. She intoned the correct words of power, the black waters steaming and bubbling forth. How much time passed she did not take mind to but eventually she had completed a suitably large batch of the potion. With care she doled out several portions into a number of flasks she had in her stock and stowed them in a safe place. One last item was still called for however, but for now she took one flask with her, slipped back into her robe and made her way back up to the castle commons.<br><br>Down the vaulted hall from her own bedchambers, Vella threw open a door, not finding it necessary to announce her presence, much less knock before entering. The dormitory her concubines shared were dimly lit, the young women likely deep in sleep. Not all it seemed, little did it matter. Two of the girls shared a bed, their movements easily guessed under the covers. The girls were startled to see their Queen at their bedside. The musky smell of sex hung about them. Vella took one of the girl's hands by the wrist, neither explaining nor asking permission. With a wicked and sharp fingernail she sliced open the girl's hand, drawing blood. The girl cried out in pain but dared not struggle, knowing full well Vella's temper. She drew out the potion bottle and uncorked it. She squeezed the girl's hand and leeched the blood into the potion. The final ingredient causing the liquid to gurgle and smoke. Satisfied, Vella let go of the girl and stopped the bottle back up. The girl cradled her hand to her breast and looked at the Queen frightened. In a rare, if not unheard of moment of tenderness the Queen leaned over the girl and kissed her sweetly.<br><br><em>"Thank you love. Come with me and keep me warm the rest of the night."</em> The Queen said.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CassandraNova</strong> on <strong>21-12-2008, 00:24:30</strong>
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				Some hours after dancing her last jig, Rosabella sat in a private dining room of the inn, hungrily devouring the food set before her.&nbsp; Perhaps it was ancestral memory more than anything else, but the plate of sausage and hearth bread the innkeeper served was more satisfying than any meal she could remember eating in the past year at least.&nbsp; But then again, the food she was most familiar with was that which could travel well; jerked meat, hard cheese, dried fruit.&nbsp; A plate of anything hot and fresh would have made her feel like she was being feted at the castle.&nbsp; And besides her hunger, which made of the meal a fine sauce, the black beer really was quite good.<br><br>With her in the room were the members of her troupe.&nbsp; Thorne and Willam, Ellistra and Robillard.&nbsp; The five of them had been together for the past two seasons, since Thorne had joined as a replacement dancer that had absconded with Willam’s cashbox and anything in the wagons that fit the criterion of being small and valuable.&nbsp; &nbsp;Husband and wife, Willam and Ellistra were proverbially night and day.&nbsp; He was fat, she was slender as a willow reed.&nbsp; He had brash manners and a domineering personality; she was subtle and easygoing.&nbsp; The fact that they got along so well, had been through more lean years than plentiful ones, and still remained devoted to each other without so much as a harsh word, Rose took as a hopeful sign for herself.&nbsp; How they managed certain things given the obscene differences in their statures was something she did not allow her imagination to linger upon.&nbsp; Between the two of them they played every instrument the troupe carried, which was a wide variety indeed.<br><br>The last member was Robillard, a man of thitry, who, if ever were an engraving done of him without a caption beneath it, most people would have mentally suggested the words “handsome prince” without thought.&nbsp; Blonde, tall, with piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders, he had both a winning smile and charming manners.&nbsp; But he had merely to open his mouth and speak before shattering the illusion of debonair masculinity, for the vocal tone that emanated from the man was an uniquely soft, high pitched tone, more akin to that of a young boy or a woman than that of a man.&nbsp; In that soprano tone, he sang songs to Willam and Ellistra’s playing that Rose thought akin to those angels sang, but the price for his beautiful voice was a high one; when he had been a boy, his master, a musician of a cosmopolitan city called Mulace, far to the east, had castrated him to protect his youthful sound from the ravages of puberty.<br><br>The addition of Thorne to the troupe and her subsequent discovery of this fact told the story about Robillard’s attitude towards his “alteration.”&nbsp; It would have been more surprising to Rose if the graceful dancer had <em>not</em> set her sights on the handsome singer shortly after joining the group. About a week after they had left Leekin with Thorne in their group, she emerged from his wagon with what were for her pale cheeks.&nbsp; She confessed to Rose that Robillard’s reaction to her horrified questioning following his revelation was blasé more than anything else.&nbsp; “It happened a long time ago; I was so drunk on wine that it didn’t hurt, and as for sex…I don’t miss what I never had.”&nbsp; <br><br>“I’ve spoken to the master of the house,” Willam said, apropos of nothing.&nbsp; Rose turned away from Thorne, who had been telling her about an invitation a local boy had whispered into her ear as she was easing off stage.&nbsp; Rose nudged Thorne’s foot, as if to say, <em>here it comes</em>.<br><br>“And?” Robillard asked in a half-aware voice.&nbsp; His bright blues were on his plate, where he had been using his knife to dissect his sausages and investigate their contents.<br><br>“Well,” Willam began, letting it hang in the air as he took a long, slow drink of beer.&nbsp; “It seems that the merchant caravan left just as we came in is thought to be the last of the season.&nbsp; Before the first of the winter snows.”<br><br><em>Told you so</em> Rose told Thorn with a sideways look, and received an elbow in her ribs for her foresight.&nbsp; <br><br>“Fortunately,” Willam continued.&nbsp; “The innkeep has been so kind as to extend us the invitation to make use of his rooms, with board provided, for our services for two performances daily, with Queensday off each week.”<br><br>“Is there no hope of beating the snow?” Ellistra asked.<br><br>Willam gestured grandly.&nbsp; “If we were to leave now, tonight, we might be out of the mountains before they came.&nbsp; If the gods were kind, and the storms slow, and the oxen spry.&nbsp; I’d not chance it.”<br><br>“Does Arges not agree with you?” Thorne asked.<br><br>Ellistra frowned, drawing her shawl around herself as if a cold draft had invaded the room.&nbsp; “The stories they tell about the Queen…” she said, softly, in a whisper.&nbsp; “Even if half of them were born in the bottom of a cup, they’d shiver the marrow from my bones.”<br><br>“A witch is no different from any woman,” Robillard said, taking a small bite of sausage, apparently finding nothing in it he identified as objectionable.<br><br>“And how would you would either?” Rose prodded.&nbsp; Thorne gasped at the bluntness, but Robillard just chuckled.<br><br>“Oh yes, you would know women better than I would, little bloom,” he said, using the nickname she’d had from his mouth for six years.&nbsp; “I’m certain you could tell us all about witches…what is the truth of Her Majesty Arges the First, may she rule a hundred years, and so on?”<br><br>Rose shook her head, wilting in the face of four pairs of eyes on her.&nbsp; A confidence that was rock-solid on stage evaporated like dew on flower petals at dawn when she was not on stage.<br><br>“Regardless,” Willam said.&nbsp; “We’ll stay the winter, keep our heads down, earn our keep, and send the hat around every show.&nbsp; If the people’s generosity holds, we should be in fine shape come spring.”<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeitgeist</strong> on <strong>21-12-2008, 02:20:51</strong>
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				The young woman slept in Vella's embrace, the girl's hand bandaged with a poultice the night before. Vella used her craft, both magical and mundane to heal the hand so it would not scar or pain her further. Vella lie there watching the night's lover sleep, naked bosom rising and falling peacefully. For that she was glad, she did not think of herself as cruel and more than she might admit did not relish others thinking that of her. Perhaps out of some guilt, Vella was generous in their lovemakings last evening and the girl responded delightfully. Vella too found her climax at last, even calling out her name, Lorelle, affectionately. She began to contemplate seriously her mood and manner. The night before, her excitement and single-minded focus got away from her. If she were to win the affections of another, given freely as she wished, she would need to consider such things. The change would not come quickly or easily however.<br><br>Vella rose from the bed, glad for the warm glow of the bedchambers' fireplace, stoked to a satisfying size by a quiet and mindful servant since gone. The potion, the fruit of last night's efforts rested on her nightstand nearby. She had work to do today and many preparations. Gently she roused Lorelle. She was leggy, and reminded Vella of her younger self. With that thought she retrieved a measuring tape from her belongings and measured her hips and bust. Yes, this may work thought Vella. Alterations could be made if necessary and she could purchase things she might need about the village from a seamstress. She told Lorelle to go gather up her clothes and return to her quickly, the young woman complied without question. There were many details to consider which she made mental note of awaiting her return. On a pile at her feet they were lied and Vella sifted through them. There were a few simple dresses, a flowered tunic, a hooded cloak, one finer bodice, a couple thin shifts and other assorted undergarments. She thanked Lorelle, the young woman nearly in tears thinking she was to be thrown out the castle. Vella assured her that was not the case. She drew from a purse some gold coins and offered them. She hesitated and Vella insisted, and eventually commanded her to take the coins and buy herself new things in the village. The exchange vexed her and reaffirmed Vella's desire to have at her side a partner with the fortitude to stand up to her. Ruefully she reminded herself the situation was of her own making and did not blame Lorelle. Now she required privacy and sent her away with an indulgent kiss.<br><br>At her bedside Vella picked up the flask of her brewed potion. She uncorked the it and put it to her lips. Without another thought she took a long draft of the potion. The taste was unpleasant, they always were but Vella swallowed a good dosage and could almost immediately feel the affects. A Warm rush of feeling emanated from her stomach and flowed out to all her extremities. Her nipples hardened, not surprisingly, as she looked down at her breasts half expecting her them to shrink and her height to diminish. These things however did not happen, with some relief from Vella. The changes were more subtle and not drastic. Vella's confidence in her skills were well placed. She longed to look into a mirror, but ever disciplined she first don one of the handful of dresses she acquired. It was a peach colored outfit, that fit her snugly around the hips and fell to a suitably modest length. At a bronze gilded basin she washed the slight makeup she wore from her face, and tied her hair back with a light green ribbon in a girlish fashion. Her patience gone, Vella stepped in front of the mirror. It should be noted here, childhood fairy tales of witches not withstanding, she did see her reflection in mirrors. The vain Vella would not be without them.<br><br>Vella was immediately pleased by what she saw. The dress, with her hair tied back spoke of a lass in no more than her twentieth year. The change was not too drastic, her womanly hips and full breasts remained. Her complexion was only now more naturally rosy without makeup. It would not due to be without her charms. She turned one way and then another, and looked over her shoulder, pleased with the results.<br><br>Now what Vella saw in that mirror was not what almost anyone else would have seen. She looked more like a young noble woman or of some wealth dressed in clothes below her station. Her hair shiny silky and raven, carefully sculpted thin eyebrows and beautiful porcelain skin without blemish. Her long black lacquered nails, and how she held her chin up with supreme confidence. All these things spoke of someone of wealth perhaps even minor nobility. Still, there was no question she would be mistaken for a second as the Witch Queen of Arges. Vella, cloistered away from common folk was blind to these details, however careful she might think she had been.<br><br>The power of magic it seemed, lie as much in the eye of the beholder, as in the witchery.<br><br>Vella hurried about gathering the other things she would need. She laughed at herself, she had not been as excited or lighthearted in a long time, she was eager to leave the castle. From a loft above her chambers she brought down a pair of high leather boots and satchel. Things long forgotten by Vella, but carefully stowed by her loyal servants. She was glad for the boots, and the heavy hooded cloak she purchased from Lorelle. The weather was turning, the snows would come soon and Arges would be bogged down until spring. The satchel was not big, and Vella was forced to choose carefully the things she took with her. She folded up the clothes and slid them into the satchel. She added some coins left from her purse, and of course the potion bottle. She stood there over the satchel, and looking around taking mental inventory, tapping her toe impatiently. She could come back of course when she needed more of the potion. It would not be unusual for the Queen to be absent days at a time with no word, but again, upon returning she could settle any outstanding matters that might need her attention.<br><br>Vella moved to a window and opened the double-wide shutters, a cold wind gust forth. It was sunny and just about noon time outside now. She hefted the satchel estimating its weight, and looked out the window again. She puzzled over the problem briefly, and then came to a decision. She could not just walk out of the castle as she were, not risking the whispering rumors, and unlike other castles this one had no 'back door'. Vella made certain of it, not needing it and not wanting it used against her somehow. Her mind made up she called forth the magic and the dark incantations. Rather than transform to a crow, she chose a larger breed of bird, a blood raven, common to the mountains of the area. Her form shimmered and changed into this bird, large glossy black wings and strong talons. Off she flew from the window, satchel clutched in talons. Quickly she veered off to the right skirting the village, not wanting to draw any undue attention a blood raven clutching a satchel might garner. Satisfied she was far enough away but within reasonable walking distance, she swooped down towards the ground, not spying any travelers about the road leading to Arges. Within moments though it was only a heavily cloaked young woman, satchel in hand that walked up the road, and entered the outskirts of Arges.<br><br>Not long into Arges, Vella made her way through the muddy roadside, her way difficult but glad for the quality boots she brought with. A horse and wagon came rolling along its way through the mud only marginally easier. The man steering the wagon called out.<br><br><em>"Good day there pretty little lass! Hop on and I'll give you a ride where ever you'd like!"</em> Vella looked up at him, he was scruffy looking, unshaven and many years her senior, or at least how she appeared. His toothy grin and salacious emphasis on 'ride' and 'where ever' she would like, revealing his intentions, or rather hopes, clearly to Vella.<br><br>She only glared at him darkly, and without word, continued trudging on in the mud towards the village proper. The unpleasant man only cackled, whipped the horse and hollered forth a husky <em>"Ha!"</em> and the horse thankfully carried the man and wagon off.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CassandraNova</strong> on <strong>03-01-2009, 21:01:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sleep and rest had never come easily to Rose.&nbsp; Not since she could remember, that was.&nbsp; Perhaps at some time before the empty, black stretch in her imagination where the memories of her life before joining Willam’s troupe had been a time where she could pass the night away without dream-terrors, but such a time was at best hypothetical in the face of her difficulties.<br><br>Wine would bring sleep without dreams, but should she take too much she would answer for it in the morning.&nbsp; Too little, and she would find the dreams waiting for her on the far side of midnight.&nbsp; And if they should come upon her before the morning came, Rosabella would toss and turn, call out, even scream wordless invectives in the face of whatever torments lurked in her sleep.<br><br>Some wise women in towns and villages past had suggested various herbs and poultices, folk charms or rituals that she could use to banish her demons, and she had tried most of them.&nbsp; None had helped, some had hurt, but like a man in whose breast beat the heart of the eternal optimist, she had gone back time and time again to search for a new cut of root, a new pressed oil, a new seed pulp that could help her.<br><br>Most of the time, she gauged her intake correctly, as she had the night that Willam told her that they would be wintering in her native country.&nbsp; She slept in past dawn, a luxury she only enjoyed when the troupe was not at travel.&nbsp; Thorne had not come to the bedroom, a fact Rose noted with a glance at the unruffled sheets along her side.&nbsp; It made her wonder what other ways the dark-skinned beauty found to pass the time, which was enough to send a maddening tickle through her center as errant thoughts and images crossed her mind’s eye.&nbsp; <br><br>“Oh you’re a wool-headed cloud-dancer,” she told herself as she rolled out of bed.&nbsp; It and other choice comments regarding her attention span had spilled forth from Willam’s lips in the past, given her habit of being so easily drawn into fanciful imaginings.&nbsp; Early on, it had been wondered if she was simple, for she could stare into a cup of water for hours at a time, or be snatched away into a private world of sensation by the feel of sun on her face or the touch of moss beneath her fingers, giving no notice or heed to the outside world until forcibly retrieved.&nbsp; That she might have been feytouched was a similar concern that went unspoken any time she had given her caretakers cause to whisper about her at the worst of times.&nbsp; But such times had grown fewer as she had grown up, and if she was not quite normal, at least neither was she as dreamy as she had been.<br><br>Her breakfast was a heel of bread and dab of butter, cold slice of beef and wine watered so much it would have been kinder to leave the wine out altogether, and she ate quickly and without pleasure.&nbsp; She must have been the last of the group to rise, for only the innkeeper and the boy were downstairs, the chairs upon the tables and floor newly swept.&nbsp; She did not actually have any duties that she could recall at the moment, and so set out from the inn without a care or plan for where her feet would take her.<br><br>In deference to the weather, she threw over her shoulders a cloak of thick green wool, but her style of colorful, flowing skirts and blouses would not be concealed entirely by such plain conceit.&nbsp; She had a skip to her walk as she wandered Arges, feeling the brisk cool breeze on her cheeks and the promise of a fresh new day upon her shoulders.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeitgeist</strong> on <strong>04-01-2009, 00:36:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Vella plodded along, avoiding the more treacherous mud holes and deeper wheel ruts that riddled her way into town. There were a number of folk about the town, either making their way to or from their destinations or talking amongst themselves. Few gave any note to Vella, some nodded courteously or in simple acknowledgment. This comforted her and she pushed back the hood of her cloak, the dark hair spilling back, her green eyes taking in the sights of Arges from a point of view she had never seen it. Buildings, presumably stores, inns and homes rose at different heights, most were one story some two or three. Most of the people seemed to be of modest means and dress, a few richer, perhaps business owners or merchants of small accord.<br><br>One establishment caught Vella's interest, and struck her with inspiration and the beginnings of a plan. Hanging above a door a sign hung on wrought hooks.<br><br>"Zelma's Herbs" it read.<br><br>Although the depth or size of the establishment could not be gleaned from the street, crammed as it was between a line of other buildings, it appeared small and modest. Through the storefront window, the glass foggy and tinged with age, she nevertheless could see a number of people inside and someone bustling about behind a counter. Vella stepped into the store, satchel in hand. A bell rang as she passed in, and ringing once again as the door closed behind her. No one took note of her entrance, engrossed in the wares being displayed for sale. The woman behind the counter was presumably Zelma. She bustled back and forth hurriedly and somewhat frazzled. She was a round and older woman with her gray hair tied up in a bun and rosy cheeks. Zelma and the customers were all talking at once.<br><br>"Well my husband does not - he no longer..." said one customer.<br>"Tut, tut dear, not another word. Slip a smidgen of this in the his ale."<br><br>"My daughter, she has the most terrible headaches..." said another customer.<br>"Brew this in hot water until it boils, no longer mind you, and make sure the lass drinks it all up mid eve before going to sleep," recommend Zelma.<br><br>Vella approached the gathering of people crowding the counter, which ran almost the whole breadth of the narrow store. Upon the counter were various baskets, bowls and packages of different herbs and plants.<br><br>"My husband comes home from his labors, pulls off his boots, they smell to high heaven!"<br>"Oh my, heavens yes I have just the thing for that. Sprinkle this in his boots and the smell should go away after a few days," said Zelma. <br><br>Back and forth Zelma moved to each customer. She was quite overwhelmed however and struggled to meet all of the customer's needs. Vella cleared her throat and spoke up.<br><br>"Miss? I must have your attention," she attempted. This resulted in no indication from Zelma as she hurried about. Vella tried again, this time louder. "Lady Zelma! Pardon the interruption if you will but - ".<br><br>"Oh my! Watch your tongue dear, lady to some perhaps but I am not of nobility!" With that admonishment Zelma moved on to other customers.<br><br>"My wife, she's a sweetheart but has the most rancid breath!"<br>"Oh bless her heart, the dear, put a dash of this in her tea, no more, and her breath will be sweet as a babe's!"<br><br>Vella imagined this Zelma might make use of her knowledge of herbs and plants, perhaps even taking her on as an apprentice. Vella cringed at the thought of serving another, she had not been beholden to anyone for nearly all her life. Still, it seemed a likely way to meld into the town and it would not be the last time the Queen would have to swallow her pride.<br><br>"My son, he's just baby and colicky, he cries all night and nothing I do will sooth him."<br>"Oh the poor dear! Rub this on his stomach each night for a week. That should do the trick, if not come back to me and I have another salve that may help," said Zelma.<br><br>The crowd of customers began to thin as coin was exchanged and the people moved on. Some stayed behind to look over the blankets and sweaters Zelma knitted and sold along with her herbs. Vella tapped her toe on the polished hardwood floor, impatient to get Zelma's attention.<br><br>"Now lass how might I help you?" Zelma asked of Vella.<br><br>"It looks like you could use help perhaps? I have knowledge of many herbs and curatives and could be of use to you." Zelma leaned over the counter her heavy bust restricting the extent at which she could. Nevertheless she looked Vella over from head to toe, looking decidedly unimpressed. Vella pressed on unbidden to name all the herbs she saw spread out on the counter.<br><br>"This here is horehound or 'marrubium vulgare' used for colds or stuffy nose. This is cannibis also know as 'cannibis sativa', a pain reliever. And this is hawthorn or 'crataegus' for calming the nerves. This is 'phytolacca' commonly known as pokeweed, for sore throats.<br><br>As Vella named all the herbs she saw, Zelma watched the young woman closely. Her eyes widened with surprise as the lass did in fact seem to have the knowledge she claimed. "What is your name lass?". Vella's name was reasonably common about the immediate realm and so she gave her own without concern.<br><br>"And where are you from dear? I know most about Arges and I cannot place you." Zelma said folding her arms atop her bust, her head titled to one side, summing up the young woman before her. This was trickier but Vella had given it some thought. She gave the name of a village known to some but two days travel from Arges.<br><br>With clever guile Vella lowered her head in apparent meekness and shame and went on. "You see, my mother she passed, and my father, well - "<br><br>"Tut, tut dear say no more. Nothing more is necessary." Zelma scooted around from behind the counter to rest her hand on Vella. "If you need a place to stay I have a bed, and we can talk about your apprenticeship later."<br><br>Vella lifted her eyes to Zelma, a twinkle in those green eyes. She was taken aback though when Zelma heartily embraced her and planted a smothering kiss on Vella's cheek.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CassandraNova</strong> on <strong>24-01-2009, 01:25:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Over the next few days, Rosa and the rest of the members of Willam's troupe settled into a routine, as they had in the past when circumstances forced them to remain overlong in one place.&nbsp; Robillard bore the brunt of the labor that put food over their heads and bread in their mouths over the winter, and six nights in seven saw him in the common room of the tavern on a three legged stool, playing and singing in turn to the patrons.&nbsp; Rose and Thorne would dance three times per night, and when they did Willam and Estra would complete the quintet.&nbsp; But for the most part, her duties were light, and her time was her own.<br><br>The fact that it was Arges where they would be forced to winter remained in Rosa's mind.&nbsp; Not in the forefront, but as a nagging constant that she could completely banish.&nbsp; Like a sore tooth that she was compelled to worry with her tongue, she dwelled on the half-forgotten memories of her childhood in the With-Queen's country.<br><br>"There are no haunted places," went a line in a song Robillard had taught her.&nbsp; "Only haunted people."&nbsp; Even if the rest of the song never quite stuck in her mind (like so many things that people had tried to teach her over the years), that one did, and the ghosts were with Rosabella through her days in the village and her nights when thoughts of Thorne failed to keep them away.<br><br>She occupied herself in solitary exploration.&nbsp; After a day or two exploring the village, Rosa began to walk the trails, the rocky and frozen arteries of the mountainous kingdom.&nbsp; Bundled in as many layers as she could manage without losing mobility altogether, Rosabella blazed ahead along goat paths and hunter's ways, delving into the black heart of the woods and the spiny overlooks without fear.&nbsp; She would often become lost, but without the pressing urgency of now to drive her into a panic, she somehow always found her way back to the village before it was her time to prepare for her dance with Thorne.&nbsp; <em>Feytouched</em>, she told herself every time she lost herself in the cold woods and found her way home.&nbsp; "Feytouched," she told the stableboy, and laughed at his puzzled look.&nbsp; She tossed the word a half dozen times more, not believing it, wearing it like a charm.<br><br>But for it all, sleep was not easily had even as the second week in Arges passed, and the snows had settled on the valley.&nbsp; And so the young woman decided to forgo her odyssey into the wilderness and visit the herbalist.&nbsp; She could not read the sighn that named it as Zelma's, but a herbalist that did not show signs of the craft in the window was a poor one indeed.&nbsp; And there was the <em>smell</em> of the herbs and plants, roots and spices, strangely cured hides and rank brews that would point it out if nothing else...<br><br>The sky was gray and heavy with the promise of a fresh fall of snow as Rosabella pushed open the door of her herb shop.&nbsp; The same motion that swept the scarf from her head and freed her long auburn curls from their confines tilted her face up into the light as she smiled at the little ringing silver bell overhead.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Romancing the Witch Queen</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeitgeist</strong> on <strong>24-01-2009, 08:20:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Over the following days Vella set in with Zelma as comfortably as the accommodations could be. The space she provided Vella was modest indeed, less so than Vella afforded her concubines. Suppressing a crinkled nose she merely thanked the old woman for her generosity and made do with it. She was afforded a comfortless narrow cot with a trunk for her clothes and things underneath. There was some privacy with a curtain around her space she could draw around but that was it. The two women shared facilities down the hall. Behind Zelma's store was a good sized greenhouse where she grew most of her herbs and roots. Others she needed and could not grow herself were harvested in the appropriate seasons throughout the year about the outlying areas, and stored appropriately inside.<br><br>Zelma very meticulously showed Vella where all of her supplies and tools of the trade were kept. She went over pricing of the measurements of herbs and curatives provided. The woman was nothing if not organized and Vella had little trouble catching onto her system. Vella continued to impress Zelma with her knowledge of herbs and their uses and names, drawing curious looks from the woman.<br><br>Vella spirited away that evening back to the castle and collected some additional clothes as well as a cache of the important youth potion. She stashed these away in the borrowed trunk under her cot and made sure she was taking a dosage of it each night.<br><br>The following day Vella was watching the front of the store while Zelma was in the back fussing about and mumbling to herself. With the snows coming fewer people were out and about the town, the first blanket of powder chilling the citizens. That would change as they accustomed themselves again to the reality of many months&nbsp; of much more of the same. Winters in Arges were long and arduous but the stock of people hardy in these parts. Out from behind the counter Vella busied herself with mundane chores, chores she had not done, really forever. She wore a shopkeepers' smock over a forest green dress, her hair tied back in a pony tail with a red ribbon. She could not recall a time she had ever picked up a broom to sweep a floor, but there she was, Witch Queen of Arges, sweeping up the floor at Zelma's Herbs.<br><br>A blast of cold air gust in as the store's front door opened, the wind scattering the once neat pile of dust and fine dirt Vella had carefully gathered. She looked up to see who had entered through the door. Most of the women that came into the store were much like Zelma, or very young girls led by their mothers. Thus far Vella had seen few women that seemed likely prospects for realistic romance.<br><br>The entrance of this woman however caught Vella's interest. The auburn hair was unique in these areas, and while not unheard of rare. Most were colored in black and brown shades or various hues of darker blond, the red coloring was eye catching. She was quite pretty and seemed to have a wistful air of wanderlust about her. Her auburn curls cascaded over her shoulders, her skin, what was exposed in this unforgiving weather, was fair and flushed with the health of youth. Her eyes were equally alluring and bespoke of lighthearted merriment as well as sincere thoughtfulness. Vella was a good judge of character, having hand picked all over her close advisors, having an eye for intelligence, maturity and loyalty.<br><br>The woman looked back at her curiously as Vella seemed lost in momentary thought and had yet to greet her.<br><br>"Welcome young la-", Vella began, blinked and restarted, "Welcome to Zelma's miss, perhaps I can be of assistance?" Vella felt her cheeks flush and warm.<br><em><br>I'm blushing? Blushing like a love-crossed girl, that is just splendid.</em> Vella berated herself silently.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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