Banquet of Kings

’Twas time to feast! Only the esteemed noblemen, the richest merchants, the accomplished leaders, and the powerful landowners of the kingdom and neighboring sovereignties met at the King’s luxurious keep. And a feast there was, unlike any other. 

The woods were bursting with wildlife. The fields beamed with large and tasty crops. The rivers flowed abundant with delicious and easy fish. The men who were seated in the King’s halls were most satisfied when their table was piled to its edges. Pork, beef, duck, pheasant honey, sugar, mint, oranges, strawberries, melon, coconut, white bread, trout--from the best farmlands to the best cooks to the largest tables in the grandest banquet hall. This King was not shy of flaunting. His parties were known well across the seas and hills that crested his land.

The bounties of this land were not shared by all. Often, these men held their peasant’s lot of grain and ale to add to their own stock, or they demanded for contributions from the hard earned salaries of their workers and soldiers, where these working people relented salt, bread, and ale for their lords. A policy to prohibit any sort of hunting in their woods without a license was instituted by most fief holders, which they sold for gold, land, and people, among each other, locking these woods behind an invisible barrier very few dared cross.

One of these forests was of particular remark, for it housed a very suspicious woman. She had been enveloped in the crafts of alchemy ever since a young girl, and has thus used them for her own benefit. She would often, before heading into the city, apply an alchemical cream to her face, changing its shape, in order to blend into a crowd and render herself unrecognizable. She would steal food, clothes, weapons, and ingredients for her alchemy--then she would run, scaling walls with ease with a sticky alchemical putty applied to her fingertips. She’d taken many ventures into the King’s personal keep as well, and has stolen many items of use.

One day, by what she would describe to any poor, curious soul, as “mere happen-chance”, she killed an esteemed hunter of the King, who was hunting game in the forest. “A hunter of the King slaughtered by Witch” hung up on posters on the wall, and within discourse around the markets and taverns. People cried for action, and the King had no intention of seeming weak. The King sent a well known military brute who rounded up men to her cabin, and broke through the doors. There they met the Witch’s mother, while she, herself, was hiding up in the trees, away from her home, watching birds feed their young.

The cabin was lit ablaze after the capturing of the Witch’s mother. Nought could be heard but screaming for hours.

The men sauntered off with blood on their hands and ashes at their feet, accompanied by self satisfied grins with her mother’s head in their grasp, into which they impaled a stick, presenting it at the city gates, attempting to taunt and lure any other band of ruffians, outlaws, or alchemists.

However, a Witch was still quartered in those woods, unbeknownst to most, and any amount of agitation would not shake her loose.

A couple years later, by what the Witch would declare as “mere happen-chance”, a party of two hikers were killed. This time, a stray arrow pierced both of their necks, which proceeded to self disintegrate in the grass as the bodies fell limp. This act dubbed her the title of the “Immortal Witch.” Even though the first hunting party was unsuccessful, she was harassed regularly by knights, men at arms, witch hunters, and small bands of the King’s men, as well as mercenary companies hoping to gain a quick buck. Most bands would end up with a handful fewer men, but nonetheless, the endless search parties pressed on.

In these woods she would spend the days reading books she pilfered from the city, or amusedly hunting game. Her main passion, however, was tinkering with deadly and dangerous potions, oils, bombs, solutions, and creams. All for not, really. She never intended to share her notes with anyone associated with society, but they always kept her a few steps ahead of anyone wishing for her doom, and they gave her boundless enjoyment.

One day though, after the weekly feast at the King’s keep, she noticed a severe lack of deer. No elk, or bear, or squirrel, or rabbit. Fewer berries or nuts--or fruits or veggies. She lived off this land, and was witnessing it becoming barren.

The King was sizing up his dining hall and its tables. He saw a startling lack of meat and fish. “Where has the meat gone!?” he inquired of his servants.

A little servant boy--with blonde hair and freckles--responded in a fearful demeanor. “Th-the meat is all’b hunted outta’ the wood’, sir...” There was an air of silence. The boy dared not look up at the King--but something in his mind was demanding he do.

The King was not often deemed as temperamental or rageful. Around people of import, he seemed altogether collected and charming; well in grasp of his senses. However his servants and esteemed hunters were gravely familiar with his temper.

That little servant boy, with blonde hair, setting the silverware upon the table cloth, was, without hesitation, thrown directly into the dungeon. A dark, horrible place--never once cleaned, and with the only light in sight bouncing from the bones and jewelry of the dead. It had a deeply engraved stink which grew beyond putrid, and caused any sane man to retch upon the smelling its stench.

But the feast which followed was surely grand! Men of high status eating and drinking so much as to fill their stomachs! Thrice fold! Despite this monstrous grandiosity, the King still remained adamant in his unsatisfied standing.

The next week, even less meat was placed upon the tables. The King exploded in outrage at the prospect of needing to buy meat from hapless nobodies across the kingdom. He sent a hunting party, thirty men strong, to slaughter and gather any game and bounty they happened across. The current supply was not nearly adequate, for when placed upon the tables, it built up to be only chest high. As his oversized stomach growled and snarled, “He gazed upon the land. His grin crawled itself as wide as the horizon.” He could only fantasize about a room with food amassing up to his chin! Nay--his ears! and him scoffing it all down with boundless flows of ale and wine.

The Witch, presently stalking a wild doe in the woods, bow in hand and traps prepped, was interrupted when she heard the bumble of conversation, and the footsteps of men... many men. She prepared her defenses, rushing back to her home while weaving between trees and rocks and traps laid out. She climbed on and into a tree, threw some al-metal dust upon her clothing and face, and her clothes and skin began morphing into dark green color--similar to the leaves and branches wrapped around her body.

When the men came closer, she noticed they carried no polearms or shields; no crossbows or warbows--wore no plate or mail. She saw plain clothes--with knives, rope, axes, and hunting bows. They must have been a hundred or more strong.

Peaking over the branches, marking their faces into her mind, she witnessed them let loose three arrows straight into the body of the doe she was once stalking. It screamed in pain and fell abruptly into the grass.

She stalked them for the rest of the evening. She observed them pull apart whole berry bushes, tear off entire branches from fruit trees, shoot at anything that moved or breathed. They left a trail of blood and felled trees in their wake.

Entering her guarded perimeter, she sat and watched, high up in trees interlinked. The men took quite a long while getting into her perfectly set traps, but once she felt them in the palm of her hand, she clenched. At that moment the woods burst alive. Men screamed bloody murder with missing feet or hands. Other men came rushing in to save, only to end with a similar fate. They dared not encroach further into the Immortal Witches wood. She and the hunters left the corpses to be eaten by the woods

The raid of huntsman ended up leaving with an innumerable count of carts filled with food. The Witch gathered together her knife, and some of her most important potions. One for disfiguring her face, one for softening the falls of her feet, one to climb... and one that she had never dared to use on another living soul..

The Witch followed the caravan. She made a point to stay far away and in the bush. They were spread out largely and left little room for error on her part. From her observations, the caravan stretched at least a mile long. By the time the city let their gates open, she could barely see the walls. She continued trailing until she came to a road which led to the gates. She applied her alchemical cream to her face, rendering her face unrecognizable from the average person--and especially from the mal-drawn posters of her likeness presently hanging from the stone walls and upon wooden fence posts. She pulled out her hand mirror to make sure it worked--it spooked even her how well it worked... It was a new concoction of hers, and she quickly grew quite proud.

Along the streets, she saw food marts and stalls marked with elevated prices, accompanied by beggars lining the streets or surrounding the hospital, as well as handfuls of kids scrambling around the streets trying to scam the next newcomer their poor souls set eyes upon. One such group set their sights on this witch, whose face they’ve never once before seen. The kids approached the Witch and eagerly spoke.

“Ma’am,” they said, “Ma’am, ‘ould you kindly consider purching’ one of our jewls’?”

The kid held out his hands. The Witch kindly looked down at the boy’s hands. Cupped within his palms were rocks. They were green, gold, silver, and blue--clearly painted, with a little shine to them too. Beyond the stones, she could make out several cuts, scrapes, and calluses littered on the boy’s hands--the kinds of which one normally saw on the hands of a laborer.

“Ma’am?” His little voice raised queasily, “These jewls’ er’ found in very secret holes in the earth, found by, erm, magical... alchemy, Ma’am! That’ what make’ these a cert’a sort a’ special, that...”

The Witch kneeled down and felt the stones. The kid’s face brightened. The stones were coarser than they appeared, and, oddly, smelled of vinegar--or was that a polish? She looked into the boy’s eyes. His face was uplifted and smiling, but his eyes were a certain sort of gloomy. He looked gaunt and skinny; innocent as well.

“Yer’ ver’ pretty, Ma’am...” She pulled out of her pocket two silver coins, handed them to him, and took the stones.

“Thanks, Ma’am! If ye’ wish fer’ mer’, ye’ know where me t’ find!” He smiled and scrambled off. Him and his friends started chatting amongst each other with some excitement about them.