CONTENT WARNING: mild alcohol usage, discussions of witch-hunts, discussions of violence, misogyny, bad language
[ Excerpt from Katlego's diary]
After having arrived at the shores of a strange, rather-cold country after a long voyage, I took a walk to find other people- and more importantly, somewhere to eat. Nia has been a little restless. I must say, this country so far is quite beautiful.
NOTE TO SELF: STILL NEED TO THINK OF A BOAT NAME...
Will BOATY do? - probably not
I am spending the night in a town named Finchwick. It is a town that fits somewhere between quaint and snobby. The women in the fanciful frocks turn their noses up at me as I walk past. I return the favour, and their faces turn to expressions of pure horror. However, some have taken to giving me quick guides of the area, which I appreciate. I am currently in Henford. I have surprised people with the fluency of this particular branch of Simlish; I'm even better than some of the locals. Some of these people manage to turn a whole sentence into one long, slurred word. I feel as if this place is a little depressing, somehow. The cobbled floors and fancy houses will outdo all of the lush forests, the flowers and the animals. What a sad world we are living in.
When his back was turned, I fed a little of the dish to Nia. I have never heard her hoot in such a solemn manner before.
I asked about local places and events. In the small town of Withernham, apparently west of here, there is a Peteran monastery (No idea who this 'Peter' is) and also a marketplace- brilliant news! The perfect start to selling my arcane wares across the seas! Today I am merely a chatty tourist- tomorrow, a dominator of the market.
NOTE TO SELF: Do not drink too much tonight!!
[The next paragraph is practically unintelligible, and mostly full of vulgar possible names for the boat.]
After a drink too many, I am in my quarters and the Sun has risen? Already? My discussion with the man from yesterday is almost a blur. Don't even remember what he looks like. There is a book on herbalism in here, but nothing I don't already know. I'd share my knowledge, but my mother taught me that my gifts like those should not be shared, should someone eventually try to use them against me. On top of that, uniqueness is a great selling point!
I must rest well for the markets! I have a few arcane wares stuffed in a sack ready. In the meantime, boat names...
- Transportalate? Golden? Star? Golden Star? (!!!)
* * *
Gideon
I've never worked for someone so high-profile as Lord Eduardo Volpe. The plus side? This lot have fat pockets. I can raise the quote a little, put some more food on the table. Maybe something a bit posh for the kids. Could even get them some toys. The minus side? These power-hungry little shits forget how this job works.
"My Cordelia, she says she saw some women just outside the forests by this mansion performing a kind of ritual. She fears for her life, the poor girl. Hasn't gone anywhere for months."
She's gone on plenty of excursions with her sea-faring pirate darlings, though, hasn't she? - but he doesn't know that. I've seen them about with her, crowding around her like she's about to announce the secret to eternal life or something.
"Okay. Where abouts did you see them, specifically? What clothes were they wearing? Anything that particularly identified them as witches?"
"I saw them dancing in a circle. Laughing, even. What kind of trustworthy woman dances and laughs, Mr. Reyes?"
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
"Rule Number One of my services, Lord Volpe- don't drag me into your problems with whole communities. Rule Number Two: I need proof, not just hunches."
"My darling Cordelia says she saw these witches with her own two eyes, just a few nights ago, and I will do anything to make sure she is happy. "
"That's not proof, Lord Volpe. Could be any woman in the damned country. Quit wasting my time."
"One moment! I'm getting there- My Cordelia tells me that they were all wearing fanciful white dresses, and that one of them had dark hair, somewhat tall, in some kind of updo. They looked an awful lot like town folk, that's what she said to me. You will help me, yes?"
Why can't the 'brave' Lord Volpe do this himself, I wonder? Are all rich men as pathetic as him?
"Two hundred Simoleons."
"Goodness me! Two hundred?! Just for this?!"
"Three hundred if you keep complaining. Half now, half after the job is done. No negotiations."
Once he gives me the okay, I write up a contract and make him sign it. Dark hair, in an updo, somewhat tall, white dress- and likely some kind of witches' mark. When I return home, I will plan ahead, clean off Magesbane, and get to work. Maybe I'll get a chance to read to my children before I leave for work.
Katlego
Still groggy from the drinks at the public house from my first night, I have found the small town of Withernham. So far, Henford has been equal parts vibrant and dull. The cloudy weather doesn't help. Does the sun ever shine in this part of the world? Is that why everyone looks so perpetually glum? There's an echo of singing voices from the large building in the corner of town. That must be the monastery I was told about.
Most of the people who bought from my stall seemingly bought my wares for the 'exotic' nature, as they called it, rather than their arcane properties. It seemed people in this corner of the world came in two flavours: wildly curious about anything and everything from other countries, or entirely surprised to learn there were other countries at all.
However, one customer in particular surprises me, asking me about the properties of a particular gemstone. I feel an odd energy coming from her. She too must be a sorceress.
She interrupts me in the middle of my passionate tirade to tell me I shouldn't be talking so loud, and that I should find something 'more suitable' to wear.
"I beg your pardon? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?!"
"No, no, I didn't mean it like...You're not from around here, are you?"
I don't say anything. I just raise an eyebrow at her. As she talks, her voice grows quieter.
"Around here, people are not kind to us, my friend. As beautiful as your tattoos are, they're a dead give-away."
"I've been in this country for the good part of nearly three days and people are already asking me to 'cover up?'"
"Please, Miss, don't take this personally," the customer says, holding up her hands. "I wish you and anyone else could live in complete freedom, but we're not there yet. You're a very knowledgeable lady, and your knowledge would be wasted if they were to find you...You know what I'm trying to say."
Why? Why would people here want to do harm to sorcerers and sorceresses? We only used our powers for good, to help others and protect ourselves and our loved ones. Where I am from, we look after each other, whether you're a friend, family member, or someone in the local community. What are these people so afraid of?
I feel I have no reason to distrust her, and those magical notes of the arcane craft around her tell me more than any of her words ever could about what she's been through. I almost feel sick. I hoped to find myself somewhere welcoming, yet here I am, in a country that might kill me just for what's in my blood.
"If you want my advice? Find yourself friends, quickly. Female friends, I may add. In fact, I myself have a shack that I still own not far from here, but I never use it myself anymore. My days as a cunningwoman are long behind me. I think someone like yourself may get some use out of it for the time being."
Either I slept outside in the cold and the dark, in a country that might want me dead...or I trusted this fellow sorceress in the hopes of shelter. If anything goes wrong, I have my own magic. I tell her I may take her up on that offer to be polite- but first, I must pack up shop and head back to the boat. I do not want to stay here any longer. She says she will be in town most afternoons for a week or so.
* * *
After heading back to Finchwick, I feel my heart sink from my chest right down to my feet. The boat is no longer sitting on the River Glimmer, and all that is left is a sack with a hole in it, and a few of my crystals. I don't know whether to cry or scream. Without my boat, when do I get home? How do I get home? I told my family I'd be back within a few months, and although I made some decent coin, it's definitely not enough to get back home with, and it won't be enough to stay at the public house again for a long period of time.
A lifelong urge to see the world, dead in three days. Stuck on a small and pointless island, with no sunlight, where people apologise for everything except for poor behaviour and bread rolls seem to have a different name on every street you walk down.
Once I finished mourning my boat and my chances of returning home, I let myself wallow in my rage before heading back to Withernham to find that customer. I needed somewhere to stay, but now I'd have to find some other kind of long-term employment now half my stock was completely gone. She did mention she was a cunningwoman...I wonder what that entails?
I harshly scribble out all of the possible boat names in my diary, and Nia opens her wing behind my head to comfort me...
Gideon
Finchwick was a good local place to look for someone who might be in a luxurious dress. Most of the rich flocked here for the various festivals, though after searching, neither me nor the man helping me could find anyone of the sort. We would ask at the pub next- barkeeps have eyes everywhere. They are always watching, whether you know it or not. There's nothing they don't see. They were the true Watchers, I once joked to a Jacoban. It didn't go well.
"I've had a look around; I can't find anyone like that around here. We might have to try some of the more rural towns and villages. She likely would have fled from a busier place like Finchwick."
He makes a good point. Trying to judge the psychology of complete strangers was difficult work. Some fled to hide, others froze in fear and didn't move from their obvious place of comfort- their home, or their hometown...The trial-and-error of finding witches was always a puzzle, but they kept my aging brain sharp, at least. Finding women was always harder than finding men. The men always assumed they could stand, fight and win. The women knew where to hide, and when to strike.
"What else should I be looking for, then? The handbook says something about moles, but it's hard to tell what's bullshit and what isn't sometimes." This would be a much easier job if he'd accompanied me before taking the Rite of Dissolution. It was a risky procedure, one with a fairly-high fatality rate, and yet many still took the risk. He was one of the lucky ones.
"They can be. Warts as well. Experienced witches are generally very pale. Magic is an incredible stressor on the body, so any signs of potential unwellness could point us to our witch."
So I was looking for a pale woman, dark hair, updo, potential warts or similar impurities, possibly sickly-looking. That at least narrowed it down, I suppose.
"We'll go to the Gnome's Arms and ask around. And for goodness's sake, keep your lips sealed. Let me do the talking this time, Brádach. You have the charisma of a tree stump."
* * *
I left Brádach to socialising with other guests for now.
"Afternoon, Miss. I'm Gideon, a local witch-finder. I wanted to inquire about a suspected witch in the vicinity? Pale, dark hair in some kind of updo, a fanciful white dress of sorts. May possibly have some kind of wart on her face?"
"I haven't seen anyone like that around here, I'm afraid. Might be worth having a look along the roads, or towards Withernham. I think some the butchers had a marketstall there this morning. Rich ladies love their expensive meats. There's also a cunningwoman somewhere near Withernham, I believe, on the outskirts in the countryside."
A cunningwoman? I suppose there's an idea- I'd have to pay her some of my earnings, but for a witch that may not be easy to find, I may have to rely on a few outside sources now and again. I thank the lady at the bar for her time, slipping a few Simoleons into her tip jar.
Katlego
Cunningwoman, hm?
The moment I hear the word, I call out to the gentleman at the front, telling him that I could possibly help him. Unfortunately, I do this before thinking exactly what I'm going to say to him. It won't matter; I am a master of charisma.
"I see. And you are?"
"Katlego Anansi, a cunningwoman from across the oceans," I explain to him. Nia hoots at him. "They do not call me a 'cunningwoman' where I am from, but it is more or less what I do. Herbal remedies, witch-finding, healing, that sort of thing. I hear that you are in need of assistance?"
So far, he seems intrigued. Eyebrows raised, confidently sipping from his glass. I have him lured like a fish already! Some folk are so incredibly desperate to justify their hatred that they'll latch on to just about anything.
"I would be, but the lady at the bar has told me-"
"The local cunningwoman? Why, you are sitting right in front of her!"
...Oh, dear. I'd have to find the customer quickly if this is to work...let's hope it takes him forever to find this witch.
"You are? I see. And where abouts exactly are you located?"
"As the lovely lady at the bar said- just on the countryside outskirts of Witherlam!"
"Withernham."
I cough in my throat. "I apologise. I am not yet entirely fluent in this branch of Simlish." That was a lie. I speak this language better than half the people I've met here.
"So you can't be more specific, then?"
"Of course not, good sir! My services are top-notch. Only for the finest of men! I can't have just anyone coming to me, can I? And you certainly don't look like just anyone to me."
He chuckles in his throat. "Well, maybe you'll know a few tricks that the locals don't." Oh, I most certainly do!
"Great minds, my good man! Great minds. When you think you've found your witch, bring her to me. I'll verify it for you. Together, we can get rid of the scourge that is witchcraft, yes?"
"I like your attitude," he replies, patting me on the shoulder. "I'd be grateful for any help you can give me."
Just like that.
* * *
Thankfully, I'd managed to find the customer from the other day lurking about the streets of Withernham on the afternoon, as she said. I was sure to be ready to use my magic if I needed to, but so far, she seems to be legitimate. Her name is Esme, and she, like me, is a herbalist at heart.
The small home was rather cosy. Esme had made a decent enough living off of her work that she'd bought a better home up in Withernham, and she admitted to me that the charm of the town had left her disconnected from rural life. She considered it a kind of retirement. I considered it hiding in fear of what these 'witch-hunts' had evolved into over time. I understand. It's comforting to rework your fears into strengths when you need to.
"Just in time," I tell her. "I'd just told a witchfinder that I lived in the countryside and would help him 'find a witch'...Of course, I plan to do no such thing."
"You ought to go careful, Katlego," Esme replies. "You mess about with people too much, they'll find out."
"It's no worry. I plan to everything else by the book. Sick people with little coin deserve my help. Witchfinders deserve a molten-hot iron rod shoved where the sun doesn't shine. Still, if people hate witches so much, why do they rely on cunningfolk? Killing some people for magic and not others makes little sense to me."
"Many of the cunningfolk these days are like you. They seek to help the general public with healing and divination, and thwart witchfinders at any opportunity. However, that has not always been the case. Cunningfolk were also witches who decided to turn on their friends, family, lovers...all to lure themselves away from any suspicion. Those without magic in their blood lapped it up.
Witches who had reworked themselves to fulfill the goals of those in power- that's what they became. I sought to try and take cunningfolk back into the hands of good-hearted witches."
I shudder at the thought. What was it worth? An extra few weeks of living under the thumb of the people who would have you executed the moment you stepped out of line? It seems people in Henford and the surrounding country have some sort of obsession with being recognised by the worst humanity had to offer. I don't understand it myself.
I have to try and at least think positive for a moment. A cosy place to stay has put my mind at rest a little. I'm still mourning my boat, my poor, unnamed boat, but I have warmth, shelter, and a way to make Simoleons whilst I'm here. With any luck, I can make enough to get a new boat- and a nice one, not some dingy old discarded pirate boat.
"I wish you well, Katlego. I'll see if I can spread the word that there's a new folk healer in town. Those who can't afford Annorin's extortionate medicines will be truly grateful."
That's a thought- not everyone around here was from Finchwick, and likely would not be able to pay much. I am considering starting out by not only taking monetary payment, but also whatever someone may be able to spare- some food, maybe, or whatever useful things someone may be able to spare. Help build up a good reputation.
Now, to await Gideon's eventual arrival...
CREDITS
- 'Golden Star' and 'Transportalate' boat names were mightysprite's idea!