Witches are women who practise the art of magic, especially the dark arts. These women were useful weapons during the War of Acquisition and have aided in the building of the Targon Supremacy. These women are easily able to blend in with the populace and can offer services that can bring in information. Love potions is one key example; noble women are always interested in these items, making them quite useful sources of information. A witch’s true genius, however, lies in politics.

History of Witches, written by an unknown scholar before the Arcane War 1180 LP (Light Period)

Raid was still pretty angry with that bleeding witch. “I will show her my magic,” and was all but seeking an excuse to kill something. It was then that he noticed that the rat-sized insects with their pinching mandibles were gone and that the constant whistling sound that had accompanied him throughout the forest from the wind blowing into the forest tree tops had quietened down, leaving behind an eerie silence that only the noise of the carriage trundling along the path interrupted as it creaked forward ponderously. It emitted a groaning noise, filling the forest with its strange sound. Raid knew immediately he should be worried, as there were few reasons a forest would go silent so suddenly.

With a sense of foreboding he picked up the pace of his walking, all the while berating himself for being so stupid. Only he would be so stupid as to shout so loud that it would attract the attention of whatever was in this forest. He had probably made enough of a ruckus to awaken whatever creatures lurk here in the forest that had so far avoided them. He lengthened his strides and easily caught up to Trogon.

His eyes constantly roved around his surroundings, searching for any impending threat. Trogon, sensing his friend’s presence beside him, gave him a curious glance and noted the grim determination splayed out on his face. Slowly Trogon tugged the large battle axe loose from his back and let the axe head swish back and forth beside him, ready to deal damage with its wickedly sharp edge.

Raid, tense at the possibility of battle, touched the hilt of the sword, letting the familiar feel of its cold solid weight give him comfort. Then reluctantly he slowed his pace down to be beside the carriage door. With a grimace, Raid knew he should probably warn his passenger of the danger ahead. Who knows, maybe she had a spell or two that could aid them in the coming fight. Sighing regretfully he gently tapped on the carriage door, heard her reply “Yes” and opened the carriage door to slip inside quickly, ignoring her protests.

He took a seat on the opposite side of the carriage from the witch who was glowering at him, a glower that went completely unnoticed by Raid. He sat on the silky smooth cushions that glowed golden in the dimly lit carriage. He sighed at the comfort the carriage seats provided, not to mention the opulence of the carriage interior itself, with its walls carrying several small paintings of famous warriors, a selection of silk-bound books sitting on an elegantly designed shelf and a table clearly built of Mantorian wood with a dragon head carved into the four corners of the table. On top of the table were slight indentations where a variety of flasks that contained bright, colourful liquids and other alchemical ingredients were held.

The witch sneered with contempt at the peasant’s inability to hide his fascination with the paintings on the wall and spoke harshly. “Well, filth? What is it? Why have you disturbed me again?” Raid, who had been staring with curiosity at the portrait of a short stocky man with pitch-black hair and blood red eyes, ignored the question. Red eyes were a unique trait in the world; it was only given to someone who was cursed with spilling the blood of their family, making anyone easily recognisable and easily remembered. Yet he could not place the red-eyed warrior, and at the same time felt like he knew the man. Strange.

Raid, busy trying to think where he had seen this man before, didn’t hear the witch speak again, until blue fire suddenly illuminated the carriage walls with its blazing light. He turned back to the witch whose fingertips were alight with blue flame.

“I said, what is it, filth?” she snarled. Raid gave one last curious glance at the painting and turned his attention back to the furious witch.

“Something is wrong within the forest.” He looked out the carriage window while still speaking. “I think our little argument may have awoken whatever dwells here; I would prepare any offensive spells or potions, we may need them,” and with that he got up and slipped out of the carriage door.

He dropped softly back onto the foggy surface while scanning the forest and started moving alongside the carriage once more. Abruptly he felt the earth shake underneath him and rumble like a hungry lion, causing him to stumble to the ground and graze his right knee on the hard earth.

Startled, Raid searched around him for the source of these tremors, then he gaped in shock as he saw a giant the size of a watch tower with arms and legs the size of trees push its way through the trees. Its huge arms were knocking trees aside like they were twigs, its thick, tough hide able to endure the scrapes from the bark as it left a wake of carnage behind it. The immense creature was carrying a massive wooden club, hewn from a tree to resemble a hammer, which it swung easily from side to side. Its red fur skin reeked of rotting fish and its beard stretched down to the earth.

The giant bellowed a war cry that reverberated through the forest in challenge at the intruders. Raid tilted his head up to meet the stare of the giant’s oddly small black eyes in its round, fat face. For a moment he was frozen with fear. Never in his life had he ever faced such a creature. Taking a deep breath, he began to sing the war chant of his people and urged himself forward. Attack, he thought; attack and catch it by surprise. He drove his legs forward step by step, till he was charging at the beast, screaming the war chant of his people.

Trogon, who had been walking ahead, stumbled as the ground beneath him heaved loudly, and he turned to see the giant too. His lips curled up in a fierce smile of joy and he ran forward roaring, his massive war axe up in the air ready to strike deadly blows. Raid caught up to his charging friend, his feet gliding along the foggy surface towards the giant. The giant’s beady little eyes widened in surprise at the tiny humans rushing towards it.

Raid, his mind a jumble of thoughts on ways to take down this beast, was caught by surprise as four men wearing snow white robes moved out from behind the giant to guard the beast protectively, the tallest of them raising his hands up in the air to halt their charge.

“WAIT, SHE IS NOT DANGEROUS,” growled the man. Trogon and Raid taken aback by their sudden appearance. Halted on the spot, and stared in utter confusion at the four men dressed in robes.

Raid held his blade up ready to strike. “Who are you?” he demanded un-certainly. The man in front of them spoke again, probably the leader of the group, he assumed.

“Guess it’s been many years since you have seen one of our kind,” replied the man gently and pulled back the cowl of his robe to reveal his face. His smooth, unblemished face was pale with a tinge of green. The left side of his face was marked with black ink in the shape of a dragon that Raid recognised immediately. The man’s bright green eyes stared at him knowingly.

“You’re a warlock? Aren’t you?” whispered Raid in an awed voice. Trogon grunted and took a step back quickly at the mention of the cursed name.

“Warlocks are bad luck, Raid; I say we leave before we get entangled in one of their plots,” said Trogon roughly, his purple eyes shifting from the giant to the warlocks.

Raid’s face darkened with worry and he glanced towards the carriage standing in the middle of the path. No movement coming from within. The leading warlock smiled at Raid’s reaction.

“No, we are not here for her. We gave up on vengeance a long time ago.”

“Then why are you here?” he demanded again un-certainly. The man turned his head away from Raid to look around him. “Ten thousand turns ago, this forest was a beauty to rival the land of the heavens, now it is a grotesque shadow of its former self, which in some ways reminds us of our time in power. For we too were once great, honoured and respected throughout the land. Now we hide here in this forest, away from the outside world that no longer welcomes us,” replied the warlock wistfully. “My name is Sorel Deathgrip, once known for my ability to avoid death. Now I guard my surviving brethren here in this forest.”

Trogon shook his head at the warlock’s speech. “Raid, we have got a job to do and that is to guard the witch, we can’t be wasting time here standing around.” Raid nodded his head in reply, but still his curiosity at the warlock’s appearance was not sated.

“What’s with the giant?”

The young warlock patted the giant’s thigh fondly. “She is a friend of ours, who did not want us to enter the forest alone.” Raid’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of the word ‘friend’. Nobody alive in the world would be so stupid as to call a giant their friend. Giants for the most part were carnivores, enjoying the taste of meat.

Raid turned to Trogon. “Go check on the witch, she has been quiet for too long.” Trogon gave Raid a disgruntled huff and glared at the warlocks distrustfully before heading back towards the carriage. Raid stepped in closer to the warlocks’ leader.

“You’re lying about something. This is definitely no coincidence, warlocks showing up at the same time I am escorting a witch through the forest.” The warlock grinned, giving the man an oddly youthful appearance.

“Well, well, well, you are smarter than you appear, Raid.” Raid’s hand tightened on the blade; as if in response to the threat the giant swung her club threateningly in a low arc.

“Or not?” the warlock chuckled dryly. Raid glared at the man, wanting answers.

“The truth, huh?” continued the warlock. “The truth is this,” he snarled. “Me and my brothers are being hunted by a large band of advocates led by that filthy temptress Geleta.” Raid stared into the man’s emerald green eyes and realised that he was telling the truth. His eyes spoke of misery, sadness and exhaustion. Which was quite understandable considering who was hunting them.

Geleta Corbani, the third most powerful witch to sit upon the Divine Council. Rumoured to be the most ruthless of all the witches to sit upon the council, with a particular knack for hunting down the council’s enemies. He had heard stories about her at each and every inn he stopped at. Always the stories spoke of her tearing apart warlock supporters, and their families. She would root them out, kill them or take them to her fortress in Shanzon to be tortured night and day. She alone must have killed thousands in her search for surviving warlocks.

Trogon trotted back over to them, answering Raid’s question before he even opened his lips. “The witch banged her head against the carriage door, she is sleeping.” Raid heaved an unconscious sigh of relief at the news, which felt odd.

“Well, then, we should be on our way,” he said and turned to walk away, when another of the warlocks stepped forward rapidly to join them.

He was a little shorter than their leader, with dead black eyes, sloped shoulders and a wide waist. “Wait a moment, friend,” called the man in a slick voice that grated Raid’s nerves. “Brother Sorel, shouldn’t we receive some sort of payment? For allowing them enter our forest, and leave alive,” hissed the hungry-eyed warlock in dismay.

Sorel scowled at the warlock for a moment, causing the shorter man to whimper in fear and back away. “Apologies, brother, I didn't mean to interrupt,” whimpered the warlock worriedly. After a brief moment Sorel waved his hand in the air, dismissing the warlock, and returned his attention to Raid.

“It seems Brother Dolet is correct, you will need to pay us to leave this forest alive and whole.” Raid’s hand gripped his blade more firmly, and he unconsciously released a heavy sigh of resignation.

It seems he had no luck today. First he nearly gets blown apart by an uptight witch who hired him to protect her, and now a group of warlock bandits with the ability to control giants were trying to squeeze him for coin. He gazed up into the giant’s baby-sized eyes and watched with fascination as the giant released a hearty growl that reverberated in the air. Raid shuddered uncontrollably at the beast’s threatening stance and switched his gaze back to the warlock who smiled at him confidently.

There was no way he was going to survive this encounter, if this turned into a fight. So with great reluctance his hand slowly went to the concealed pouch hidden within the folds of his black cloak. It was then that he noticed the giant began to sway on her feet. Seeing Raid’s look of amazement, the warlock named Sorel turned to look behind him. Raid, acting on reflex at the opportunity presented, whipped out the silver dagger from his belt and used the hard pommel to hit the warlock hard on the head. The warlock groaned and dropped to the ground with a thump. Seeing their leader fall the other warlocks cursed and released bolts of lightning at him. The air sizzled with electrical currents that shot past him, crackling the air as they passed by. Then the giant fell.

The giant’s eyes dropped shut and she stumbled backwards. The warlocks, terrified of being crushed, quickly began to run. The giant tumbled to the earth, shaking the ground beneath Raid’s feet, as the beast slammed hard into the firm earth, causing for a brief second the fog to dissipate, giving all a glimpse of the hideous trees that the fog had hidden beneath.

Iron Foot, frightened by the noise and sound, took off down the path. Trogon grinned at Raid, thrilled and excited by the danger. “Time to go,” he said, and started running after the fleeing carriage. Raid shook his head in regret, and raced after Trogon, all the while praying inwardly that this wouldn't have repercussions in the future.

After running for what seemed like a full turn of the sun, Iron Foot finally began to slow down. Panting with exhaustion the two men collapsed beside the carriage, breathless. Raid let out a profound sigh of relief. “Well, that was easy,” he commented. Trogon laughed. The witch, still a little dazed, opened the carriage door. Raid smirked at her. “That’s what I am paid for.”

She glared at him in response before replying, “Who do you think put the giant to sleep? Stupid, filthy idiot, I have no idea why I brought you along if all you do is run away.” And she stormed back into the carriage, slamming the door. Raid’s smile vanished. Did she call him a coward? I think she did. He stood up, furious now. No one calls him a coward. Trogon, seeing Raid’s flushed face, intervened. “Don’t. We are paid to protect.” Raid slammed his fist angrily into the carriage's spoked wheels.

“Why are we protecting her, Trog? Her and her kind are the reason the world is dying.”

Trogon gave him a despairing look. “You don't really believe that?” Raid shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“No, probably not, but she reminds me too often of why the world is dying,” and pointed a finger at the carriage. “It’s because of snobby, nose-up-in-the-air witches like her,” said Raid crisply, leaving no room for argument.

Trogon glanced at the carriage door, hoping the witch didn’t hear, and grabbed Raid by the shoulder to lead him a few metres feet away. Gazing at his friend, he asked, “Guess you heard the rumours, huh?”

Raid sneered in response. “They aren't rumours, Trog, it's all true; witches are always experimenting on the world. They started the damn Arcane War, they are the ones who cursed entire cities, to test their disgusting experiments and give birth to freaks of nature; why wouldn’t I believe that they are the reason this world is dying?” retorted Raid crossly.

Trogon scratched his bald scalp, confused at his friend’s fiery outburst. “You’re the one who told me to take this job,” he replied in a sombre voice.

“I know. I thought I could push aside my hatred for the coin. But it is hard, Trog, so hard.”

Another reason he had chosen to take on the job was because of the dream he had. A dream of him taking his family through the sparkling silver gates Sky Bastion. A fortress built with magic to rest upon the clouds in the sky, a place where only the wealthy or well-connected could enter. The puppet ruler Autarch Slone the second had started building it when the witches discovered that there was something wrong with the world. It was designed for the sole purpose of saving the witches, the rich and those who could afford it, in case the world died.

Trogon gave Raid a light pat on the back. “Come on, we got a lot of marching to do.” Raid nodded his head impatiently. Together they headed back to the horse-drawn carriage, which had become quiet. Not wishing to destroy the peaceful silence afforded him, Raid gave Iron Foot a slap on the rump and got the horse moving again. Raid walked alongside the carriage dreaming of Sky Bastion and his family, while Trogon led the way with his axe ready in hand.