Chapter Text
November 15, 1475
It was the year of our lord 1475. The four of them were wandering through a thick expanse of woods known as the Giantswood. At its center was a small town, not even on most maps, but the church had caught wind of it. A specific purpose had brought them to this rather untraveled corner of their country. They were doing the lord’s work, and ridding evil from this mortal world. The devil’s wickedness deserved no place in the land of men. Night creatures had been spotted here and there, along with other monsters throughout Wallachia, but these were symptoms of the disease. The cause for the plague blighting this country were those that strived to perpetuate evil and hatred. The primary culprits for the poisoning darkness were not in fact human, they were shades of the devil walking amongst them. Witches.
“How much fuck’n farther to go? Me feet are startin’ to fuck’n hurt,” Desmond moaned as they continued along the dirt path. Their party had been walking all night, and morning was nearly upon them. The distant horizon was just starting to turn the faintest hue of orange as the sun was readying to make its ascent in the sky.
“Shut up and keep walking,” Aldus growled. He was the oldest and sternest of their party. Aldus had been a priest for over two decades now, and had sent more than his fair share of evil from this world.
“Oi, look,” Elric snorted with relief pointing just ahead on their path. A small village could be seen, a few of the structures even lit with candles showing signs of life in the early morning.
Elric and Desmond were two brothers, both having served the church for over a decade. Elric was taller and thicker, Desmond was a bit scrawny and missing more teeth.
The last of their group was Morris. He had been with the church for six years now. In a previous life he had been a pickpocket to survive, but he was taken in by the church and grew to love and respect God and all that he did for them. That is why Morris brought witches in to be burned at the stake. Starting as a street rat and seeing the wide breadth of human suffering, he loved God and his children so much that he could not stand any of Satan’s evil horrors tormenting the good people of Wallachia. Morris had the least tenure amongst their group with the church, but he had the most fervent, absolute dedication to their cause, perhaps save for Aldus.
Aldus was viewed as a bit of a hero amongst the lower echelons of the church. He was there when the Bishop had found Lisa Tepes in her home. Aldus had been one of the ones to drag that vile witch from her home full of the devil’s tools and take her to Targoviste to be punished and sent from this world. The stoic priest had told them of the oddly shaped glassware, strange metal mechanisms, and light that wasn’t spawned by fire but…some bizarre form of dark magic that could channel lightning. The lot of it was destroyed, along with the home.
That had been ten months ago, and rumors persisted that the devil himself appeared in the fire Lisa’s body smoldered in. They were forbidden from talking about it outwardly, but they had still asked Aldus one night out of morbid curiosity.
“Yeah, he was there. Her corpse was all charred and broken, still tied to what was left of the pole. Moment later, the fire burst forward, taller and hotter. A face formed in it. Wondering what we did to his wife, giving us one year to leave this country. Well, almost a year later and there’s been no sign of him. Satan could only make himself appear in the fire, he couldn’t bring himself physically here,” Aldus coldly stated as he stared into their small campfire.
“I-is it true? What they say, that it wasn’t Satan? That Lisa Tepes’ husband actually was the Dracula?” Morris stuttered as he mustered the courage to ask.
Their senior leader scoffed at the notion. “Dracula does not exist, he is just a story that the devil wishes us to believe. Evil walks among us, yes, but not some all-powerful vampire. He just wishes to distract us with make believe tales. To distract us from our goal of rooting out witches.”
That was the last any of them had probed on the subject. They had found just over two dozen witches in the last year since they had been put together as a witch hunting group. That is why they were here, in this godforsaken small speck of a settlement on the edge of Wallachia. On very good authority they had received the warning that a witch even more powerful than Lisa Tepes resided in this woods. Their contact was waiting for them in the tavern in town, and would give them more specific direction once they arrived.
It was nearly five in the morning when they finally pushed open the door to the tavern in question. The only signs of life in the bar was an older man passed out slumped against a table in the back corner of the room, and the bartender wiping down the wooden surface of his bar. Pacing towards the counter and taking up seats, the man gave them a momentary once over glance before resuming his work, unbothered by their presence.
“So, ol’ man, we’ve heard stories that some ol’ witch lives here in these woods,” Desmond chimed with a toothy grin.
Not looking up from his wiping, the barman sternly replied, “Bar’s closed, about to close up shop, get out.”
The bartender appeared to be in his late forties, a dense gray beard coating his face, and a large gut taking up a good amount of space behind the bar. He didn’t appear threatened or respectful of their presence in the slightest.
With sudden swiftness Elric slammed the point of his dagger into the smooth wooden top of the bar as he sneered. “Listen, old fuck. We’re here as members of the church. Disrespect on us means disrespect towards the church itself. Such rudeness could be considered an attempt at covering up evil. Couldn’t it Des?”
Desmond nodded arrogantly in pace with his brother as the two stood from their seats. “You best start talkin’ ol’ man, or your fingers might be under that knife next time ‘e slams it down.”
There wasn’t a speck of fear in the barman’s eyes as he looked up from his duties to glare back directly at the four priests. “Your god has no power here. You’re in the Giant’s Eye, and there are things here worse than night creatures tha’ good men of the church such as you need worry about.”
“Is that a threat?” Morris hissed, his arms tensed and ready to withdraw the hidden dagger from his own cloak.
Before the encounter could reach a conclusion, the old man that had been sleeping slumped over a table at the back of the room suddenly called out. “Sirs! Allow me to be of assistance!”
The old man slowly stumbled up to them and waved his arm toward the door. He hiccuped twice, and by his gait and face was clearly very drunk. The priests groaned, stood, and moved to follow the drunk out the door. Before making it two steps Elric took his knife and bashed it through several jars of ale, causing shattered glass and good alcohol to dirty the bar and floor.
“Oops, best get to it ol’ man,” he sneered at the bartender as they left the tavern. Once outside, the old man puked a bit across the dirt street before regaining his composure and turning to face the four churchmen.
“I can’t believe you came! The church listened to me!” He exclaimed with a wide, drunken smile.
Aldus leaned in, menacingly whispering, “It better not have been in vain, or your hide will bear the punishment for the deception.”
With a carefree wave of his hands the old drunk chuckled. “Now, now, no need for violence, sir. I found myself in this town early last year looking for work and a good place to drink. Decided to stay when I learned they needed someone to tend the horses, I was once a horseshoe smith for our country’s *Hic* Now, in this time here, I learned of an old married couple that live up that hill there. There’s a small dirty path leading from the town up to it, but no one ever goes there..unless they’re sick. Apparently the woman up there is a healer. People go up, and the next day come down right as rain. I even saw a man kicked by a horse, blood gushing out his twisted arm taken up there.. the next day the man was right back to working with his shovel. There’s something unholy going on up there. Never seen her though, didn’t dare brave goin’ up there on me own. Would look too suspicious.”
The four priests were silent, occasionally exchanging glances as they listened to the drunken tale.
“What do you think?” Morris finally murmured as he turned to Aldus.
“We’ll go, but if this ends up being a waste of our time since you didn’t confirm it, as I said, your flesh will reflect our frustration,” Aldus growled, turning towards the small path at the edge of town the drunk pointed to. Unbeknownst to the entire group, that drunk would only live for another twenty minutes before several of the villagers found him and slit his throat. They did not take kindly to outsiders threatening the balance of life that had come to pass on this mountain.
Wordlessly the others all followed in step behind him, and they began their ascent further up the mountain. Roughly an hour’s hike later, the unrelenting wall of trees to either side of them parted, and they came to a clearing. In that space was a home. It was a small wooden cottage painted green with dark blue windows and shutters. There were some peculiarities immediately evident about the home. Its roof was quite high for what appeared to be a single floor structure, and the large metal doorway stood nearly twice as tall as typical doors. Some bizarre glass building was attached to the rear of the home as well. A tall brick chimney rose up from the opposite side, with smoke slowly seeping out into the open air. Someone was home.
They walked up the cobbled pathway from woods to the front door and Desmond swiftly banged upon it.
“Open up, men of the church here, we just have a few questions for you missus!”
No response. Aldus shirked his head signaling his subordinate to knock again.
“Ma’aaam, beg your pardon! Priests of the church of our Lord are here to ask you some questions! We’d hate for you to have your pretty front door broken down from your lack of action!” He shouted with a smirk.
The four exchanged an uneasy look, their hands reaching into their cloaks for their daggers. As they braced to kick down the door, they heard a loud crash from the yard beside the house. Approaching the cottage they had noticed the garden to the right of the structure, but hadn’t seen any signs of life over the low garden wall. Cautiously stepping to the side, the party went to investigate the noise.
What they were greeted with was the form of an older woman bent over a large, broken clay pot.
“Gods, how could I be so clumsy,” the woman sighed as she began picking up the fractured pieces.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Morris spoke now, the pair slipping their daggers back up their wide sleeves. They all had taken quick note of her use of the plural gods.
The older woman spun around now, her hand braced against her chest in surprise with wide eyes.
“Oh sirs, apologies, my ears aren’t what they once were. How can I assist good priests of the church?,” she chided with a warm smile. The woman appeared somewhere in her sixties. Her hair was silver gray and its wildness restrained in several roped braids with one large ponytail off the back of her head. Feathers and a few other stones and things dotted the silvery bush of hair. She was slim, and her arms covered in an alarming number of faded tattoos and symbols. They also noticed the woman was barefoot, walking about the dirty earth of her garden without care as she grew a bit closer.
“Ma’am, we have it on good authority that you are, in fact, a witch. Your appearance certainly seems to make that suspicion fact. We will be inspecting your home, and if we find any evidence of the devil’s work then you will be coming with us for punishment,” Aldus gruffly threatened. Even if she was a witch, this old woman surely would not put up any fight against the four of them.
Her warm smile faded, and her hunched over stance shifted as she stood tall, no longer appearing to be a feeble senior. The woman was at least six feet tall, and as she shed her weakened mask, her thin arms revealed a surprising amount of toned muscle for a woman her age.
“Look, I’ve got this pot to clean up, a deer to skin and cut up after. I don’t really have time to deal with a few Christian fools today.”
The four churchmen brandished their blades now, and through gritted teeth Elric hissed, “Listen, bitch, I don’t care about your husband or what you’re doin’. You’re comin’ with us and you’re gonna burn.”
The witch smirked at that as she chuckled into the back of her hand. “Why is it that when men wish to insult me they can only come up with ‘bitch.’ Ahhh, but to your gross dismay, as I said, my hands are a bit dirty. But lucky for you, my husband’s are free.”
“Husband?” Morris blinked. Someone else was in the home? They hadn’t heard of a spouse. Well, it didn't matter, even he wouldn’t stand much chance against their numbers.
“My love, are you free for a moment? We have some unfavorable visitors!” The witch shouted with a cupped hand.
Suddenly, the house began to creak. Besides the massive door on the home’s front, there was a smaller, regular sized wooden door ten steps behind them to the left. Unsure of which this husband would be using, they fell back to the clearing in front of the house.
The brothers exchanged a nervous glance as the four of them retreated to the dirt pathway and spread out, to get a better angle on their approaching opponent. Creaks continued to softly echo through the home until the front door shifted. The man that emerged from the heavy, metal door to their left was unlike any mortal they had seen. He stood taller than any of them, with a white beard hanging halfway down his chest. His head was bald, with faded, red tattoos streaking across his bare chest and up over the smooth scalp. A black, leather patch blocked his left eye, while the other golden pupil glared down at them with a steeled, unnerving aura. The man had a chest and arms far too muscular and broad for an elderly hermit living in the woods.
Swinging the iron door closed with a flick of his wrist, he advanced to the corner of the home to come into view of his wife.
“My dear, as you can see I have my arms covered in dirt up to the elbows and simply have to get these replanted before midday. Would you mind dealing with our guests for me?,” the witch plainly stated as she returned to cleaning up the broken pot.
The intimidating man turned from her to look down at the party of four priests, all poised to strike with their daggers out. Without fully realizing, they had back-stepped some fifteen paces as the man had advanced.
“Grrnph,” was all the bald man grunted. One of his hands reached for his belt, withdrawing a hunting knife from its sheath.
“Demon…” Was all Elric could whisper out, in such shock that the dagger slipped from his fingers.
“We are the arms and blades of God himself, you heathens! We have the almighty on our side!!” Aldus roared, bracing to rush forward and strike.
The husband’s fingers loosened, letting his hunting knife slip to the ground. Raising his fists in front of him, he took turns cracking his knuckles, right hand first, then left. His head tilted forward, staring at the four Christians trembling before him.
His bearded lips finally parted to utter, “If your god was truly on your side, he wouldn’t have led you to me.”