The Witch's Bounty (Part 1/3)
A Play Report Turned Short Story
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“The Witch’s Bounty” evolved from a tabletop roleplaying game solo play-report into the short work of fantasy fiction you find here.
PART ONE (You are here.)
Part One
A Familiar Feeling
Scarlet Robes Speak
Herald of Dark Powers
A Strange Confrontation
Two New Players Emerge
Near a swaying pine Nathander huddled in the stygian dark, his breath unfolding in the cold. A familiar feeling lingered in his gut, a churning spark of uneasy warmth. Nathander knew it well.
This is gonna bring trouble.
Behind him the town of Havensgard settled in sleep, torch flames and cooking fires punctured the night.
I should head back.
Nathander returned his focus to the forest, pulled down the hood of his threadbare capelet. It caught shadows on the sharp features of his face but did little to block the chill. His body was all elbows and angles. Lean. Hungry.
Trunks towered around him, indifferent to his presence. Everything was bathed in the pale moonlight of Balor’s Eye as it roamed amongst the stars.
Distant steps crunched on pine needles. A figure appeared: Hadwin Fiegler, an aged apothecary.
The hunched man closed the distance between them. Nathander could make out wispy red hair tied in a precarious topknot, an empty basket swinging in the crook of an arm.
Hadwin moseyed by without seeing him, humming a tune.
Begging in the streets of Havensgard, folk often walked by Nathander without a glance. Even if they threw a coin his way. He was simply part of the cobblestones, the store foreparts, the steaming filth. He was accustomed to it. At times it even proved an advantage.
But it always set his teeth on edge.
He watched as Hadwin disappeared deeper into the woods. Nathander rose and followed.
He was on the hunt for a witch.
A few days ago, strangers wearing scarlet robes arrived in Havensgard, warning of the “scourge of witchcraft.”
They gathered townsfolk in Market Square with the clamor of merchants hawking wares, the calls of fishmongers, the strike of blacksmith’s hammers. All of it died to a hush broken only by a cough or a murmur between neighbors.
Nathander had only meant to use the distraction to snag a bit of Mrs. Ebba’s bread. But he was drawn into the crowd, another wary face.
One scarlet robe stepped forth. Her raven-black hair slithered down her back in a single braid. She wore no harness, carried no shield, but any fool could see what lurked behind those hard features. Violence.
“Witches are among you,” she declared. Her undeniable voice overflowed with venom. “They walk in plain sight, twisting your fate. Heralds of dark powers seeping into every innocent corner of this realm.”
She gestured to a gilded chest. Two more scarlet robes upturned it, letting loose a flood of coins and jewels.
Nathander’s eyes followed the treasure as it tumbled and rolled to a shimmering stop.
“Bring me a witch,” she said, her thin lips expanding into a mirthless smile. “Dead or alive. And this bounty is yours.”
Now, deep in the forest, Nathander could still hear that jingling song of gold as he observed Hadwin shuffle through the pines ahead.
If the drunks outside of the Ten Horseshoes spoke true, this frail apothecary was a witch who wandered the woods at midnight, gathering strange herbs, whispering incantations to the spirits.
He watched this “herald of dark powers” bumble through some underbrush and curse loudly.
Is this man really a witch?
Did it matter?
Thanks to the scarlet robes, Havensgard was gripped in fear. Nathander would turn suspicion into opportunity. Profit.
Nathander ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, paused to scan the dark while the cold welled up in his boots. He watched the old man meander into a clearing. Baylor’s Eye painted a soft light on the swaying meadow grass and scattered wildflowers. Hadwin was scanning the ground.
Nathander crept closer, easing around an ancient trunk.
Twenty strides away.
Now ten strides.
His eyes stayed fixed on the old man’s bowed frame.
Five strides.
A hand on the dagger at his waist.
Almost time.
And that’s when Hadwin Fiegler started shouting.
“Ah… There it is! Ha! Yes! I’ve finally found one!” The apothecary kneeled in the grass. “Oh, yes. Yes! Thank the gods.” He was pressing tall weeds aside. Threadbare rags of wool clung to his bony shoulders. He worked, resuming his joyful tune.
Nathander covered the last few steps, boots rustling in the scrub. Blade in hand.
Hadwin didn’t even look up.
This man… is a witch?
Nathander got that feeling in his gut again.
This is gonna bring trouble.
Hadn’t that feeling saved him from knocking on the Black Door time and time again?
I should forget this. I should run.
But then he recalled the woman in the scarlet robe, the bounty, the gilded chest. That ringing song of gold. With dagger before him, he moved to stand over Hadwin. “I know what you are, old man.”
Hadwin straightened slowly, his wrinkled face creased in an expression more of curiosity than fear. His eyes flicked to Nathander’s weapon, then back to his face. A soft smile appeared. “Ah… you’ve found me. Now, what’s all this?”
“I know you’re a witch, Hadwin Fiegler.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m handing you over to those scarlet robes.”
“Hmm… ”
“Listen. We can do this the easy way,” Nathander raised his blade as evidence, “or the bloody way.”
“Is that so?”
“They all say you’re a witch!” Nathander stopped to swallow the desperation in his voice. “So I’m handing you over.”
The apothecary didn’t seem so sure. In fact Hadwin returned to his work, cupping something delicate in his hands.
Nathander leaned closer.
Is that… a flower?
Off to the South a twig snapped. And both men turned to the sound.
Nathander froze. A shape navigated through the trees.
Some beast? No. Two legs. Townsfolk?
Yes. A man.
Another silhouette emerged to the South. A hand reached out, wrenched away a branch. There was a flicker of long, blond hair beneath a hood. A smooth face was illuminated then covered in darkness once more.
A woman?
The man, a giant of a man, stepped out from the edge of the grove. His toothy grin was lit with a blue-gray that matched the glint of steel in his hand.
From the other side the woman emerged, crisscrossed by shadows. She entered the clearing with a crossbow held at the hip, casually aimed at Hadwin.
Who are they?
Nathander’s heartbeat quickened with realization. Perhaps others had heard the rumors of Hadwin Fiegler’s witchcraft? He thought of the scarlet robes in Market Square, the crowd of townsfolk enraptured by the potential of heresy.
As the figures grew closer, their faces materialized from the darkness.
Nathander’s heart ticked up a beat. These two he knew all too well. Every street urchin and back alley thug of Havensgard did.
Tankred Weber.
Olga Baumann.
Shit.
Tankred sauntered towards them, a wall of muscles with meaty fists. Beneath a crooked nose, his mouth broadened into a sadistic grin. “Well, Well, Well… What ‘ave we ‘ere?”
Olga gave a small, humorless smile. Her faded blue kirtle dragged behind her in the muck. She kept a bolt trained on Hadwin. “Looks to me, Tankred, like two witches making dark pacts in the forest. Aye?”
The apothecary stopped wrapping the flower in a scrap of cloth. Then he cocked his head to the side, like a hound struggling to make sense of its master's words.
Nathander’s shoulders slumped, breath misting quick plumes of vapor in the cold. Once again the old familiar feeling bubbled up in his gut. That churning spark of uneasy warmth.
This is gonna bring trouble.
His gaze traveled back and forth between Tankred’s blade and Olga’s bolt.
Nope.
Trouble’s already here.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
This story started as a tabletop RPG solo play report for Warhammer Fantasy RPG (Cubical 7 Games). For the past three years I’ve thought about turning it into a short story. So I decided to give it a shot.
I imagined it would be easy to fix up and publish. Most of it’s already written! How hard could it be?
Nope.
What Did I Find?
There was too much narrative weirdness that made sense as a solo play report but otherwise made for poor storytelling. Fixing that (while maintaining everything else) proved to be a real challenge.
I believe it might have been easier to start from scratch!
Do you write solo play reports? Link your latest post!
Who’s The Artist?
I’ve enjoyed collaborating with artist Leon Earl. Until now, Nathander, Hadwin, Tankred, and Olga have been just ideas and images, kind of, wandering around in my head. It’s been amazing to see an creator visually bring these characters to life.
On the art for “The Witch’s Bounty,” Leon writes:
I tried to capture the feel of someone being pursued from the shadows. The style itself is inspired League of Legends splash art.
Check out Leon’s Instagram and his newsletter: Dystopian Meditations.
What’s Next?
Overall, it’s been a worthwhile experiment.
I’ve been using the project as an experiment to strengthen my writer’s craft—specifically story “beats” and narrative pacing.
By simply focusing on this one aspect, I’ve learned so much.
Let’s see what I can do with Part Two!
How do you make your narrative flow from one scene to the next?
wow! this was great and really kept me reading! love the imagery you create throughout! the way you described Nathander painted him so clearly in my mind! looking forward to reading more of your work!
Interesting read! Well done!I like the way solo rpgs invite you to write them up in narrative form.