The Witch's Apprentice
My Greatest Apologies....
It appears The Witch's Apprentice is in dire need of reorganization. I regret to inform you that all capsules of this story will be closed, until further notice.... (5/16/2017)
PS: Starting on May 19th, 2017, I will begin my reorganization of Trent and Greta's story, with a more direct path to lead these characters.... RAL
By: Rachel Luckow
Long ago, in the swamps of Craftoria, a lonely witch was tending to her garden of nether warts. She was about to climb the vines into her tiny hut, when a strange rustling was heard from behind her.
"Who's there?" she cackled. Her shaking bones ached. Her legs wouldn't move. A kid zombie with a broken leg had crawled from the bushes. The witch had no idea he was a zombie, for her eyesight wasn't as clear as it used to be. "You poor thing."
The witch gave him a potion, which happened to have changed the zombie into a young villager. Close up, the old woman could easily see the face of the young, blonde-haired boy. "So fragile. Where did you come from?"
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He grabbed his throat in surprise. "You must still be in shock, young one. My name is Greta. I am the Apothecary of the Swamps." She turned to her furnace and pulled out a hot bottle of tea. "Drink this," she offered.
Reluctantly, the boy drank the sweet broth and smiled. "Good, huh?" the old woman cackled, pleased to see the color coming back to his face. "There's a ladder to go upstairs to the bathroom. Feel free to clean up. With that, she began picking up around the house.
The young boy drank the last of his tea as he looked out the window. The moon was now high in the sky. A blanket of shadow filled the land. Something silver suddenly glistened beyond the tree lines. He let out a gasp loud enough for the witch to hear, as she poked her head out of the window to see. "Looks like it's time to bring up the invisibility cloak," she calmly sighed, as she pulled a lever. "This world's really dangerous. I'm not sure what had happened to you, but you're lucky the players didn't find you."
"Pl-players?" the boy whispered out, grateful to be having his voice back again. He put his cup into the sink and walked up to his savior.
"Indeed, my child," she replied, continuing to tidy up her house. "They are strange beings that kill everything in sight. Trees, villagers, witches, you name it. I used to live in a village, way back when I was a young girl. The first one I saw burned down my house while I hid in the horse barn. My parents were burned alive."
The boy looked horrified. "Greta, that's horrible!" Quickly, he then cleared his throat. "Thank you so much for helping me get my voice back. I am forever grateful for your charity."
The old woman blushed. "You are indeed a noble young lad," she smiled, patting his head. "By what name can I call you by?"
"An intelligent name. And where might you have come from?"
"I-uh. I don't know, ma'am."
The old woman studied him. "So let me get this straight, young man. You state that you are forever indebted to me. However, I need no slave, but I am rather old. I could use an apprentice."
"What's an upper-"
"An apprentice, my dear, is an assistant. You would do small things like helping me around the house. In turn, I help you gain knowledge in the arts of magic. My strengths may be in potions, but I've read all sorts of magic."
"How do you gain magic?" the boy asked, intrigued. He hoped he could spit fire, turn into a dragon, perhaps even make weapons and armor magical.
"Lots of practice, my boy. So," she sighed, pointing to the stairs. "Bathroom's upstairs, and so is the guest bedroom. I'll see you in the morning."