Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

The bar was quite loud that evening.

Samuel would have had no issue getting rowdy alongside them, but Sarakiel, opting just to hide her horns, tail and demonic eyes, sat in a corner, gingerly sipping the mead in her hand. Begetting only rumors, none of the people she spoke to knew what happened at Proudmane Manor, making her stomach churn with hunger and unease.

Men certainly saw her and came up, but she had felt the need to politely decline each and every one.

In her past life, Samuel showed little remorse in jumping from bed to bed with various women, but something was stopping her from acting the same way. Not only was having to come up with a plausible excuse as to why someone disappeared if she overindulged herself, but just the idea of picking one of these guys, some of which she knew, felt off…

“I guess I’ll figure something else ou-”

A cold breeze slid into the room as a tallman entered the room with two less noteworthy men behind him. Dressed in a pristine puffy white shirt and sheer black breeches, he tucked back his hood, unveiling straight shoulder-length blonde hair, each a thread of gold, shimmering in the dim magelight. Looking around the wooden room, his sharp gaze fell and judged each and every person in the bar, most returning his look with concern. His sharp aquiline features lorded themselves over every commoner in the room, lingering on Sara in the corner for just a moment longer. He was young, haughty, handsome and he knew it.

The perfect target.

Striding across the threshold, he took a seat at the bar, his cronies filling in beside him. Slowly coming back to life, the people in the establishment grew louder as the young noble spoke a few words to the barkeep before turning back to his friends.

With a final sip of her whiskey, Sara leaned against the corner. Gildroy Olson, his family played vassal to the Proudmanes to the tune of mayorship over Thistlebrook. A notable clan before the rise of the Altalour kingdom, they tried their hardest to maintain their legacy during the transition, but failed to have a notable heir during the key time of King Aldrius’ ascension.

“But it appears they found someone now…” She grinned. If she had to pick a man, he would have to do.

Hiding her maimed arm within the shawl draped over her shoulders, she scrambled to remember how women won her attention before.

With some careful positioning to be squarely in his sights, the succubus decided to hop to the seat facing the corner instead, making her intentions clear.

“Okay, now I just lean in, put these on the table…” She felt awkward, trying to accentuate her butt and breasts, coyly throwing her hair over her shoulder to appear tempting, yet hungry for the chase. Teasing her fingers with her lips and turning ever so slightly to lock eyes with him, the look was complete.

She held the pose for ten minutes.

When Sara finally locked eyes with the noble, he flagged down the barkeep before saying a few words to him and pointing at the woman.

Sara cheered internally, her attempts at seduction successful.

A moment later, the barmaid strode over, drink in hand, and placed it on her table. A young brunette, she tried her best to accentuate her diminutive curves and youthful visage but the bags under her eyes implied this was just one hour of many throughout the day. “This is from mister Olson at the bar.” She explained flatly.

With a glance at Sara’s tits, she returned to the bar in a huff.

“Okay, this shit is easy!” Sara knocked back the light ale before getting up.

The world shifted beneath her.

Like a cruel prank, it moved quickly, trying to throw her off balance. Sounds of her real stomach curling and the rapidly spinning room turned this into a mission of survival. Making the mistake of trusting one step more than she should, the last thing she saw was the edge of a table.

- - - -

“She’s alright, she just had a little too much fun this evening…” As if being quickly lifted from a pool of water, the sights and sounds of the bar slowly eased into place. Out of habit, Sara tried to rub her face with both hands, with only one actually making it there. “Whoops, don’t move too much. You took a nasty spill!”

As the back of her head felt supported and as her vision slowly came back, she saw the blonde man looking back down at her.

Glimmers from the magelight descended onto his gilded locks. The youthful sheen crested downwards towards her as his eyes, green and full of concern met hers. While his features felt antagonizing from a distance, up close, they were gentle and inviting.

With a smile, he looked up at the crowd around them, “She’s alright, I’ll take her home once she gets up.”

The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving only the dark-skinned woman and the golden haired man.

Sara felt his legs shift beneath her, realizing where he propped her up. Thankfully, nothing hit her neck or shoulder, but it was still quite warm.

“Are you alright?” Glancing down to look at her, the way his straight hair almost curtained his face caused her heart to skip a beat.

“Y-yeah…” A feeling of confusion and comfort washed over her. “Sorry about that, I guess I don’t know how much I can have…”

The heir rubbed a gloved hand on Sara’s forehead, his finger causing her to wince, “That’s probably got to hurt. I’ve never seen someone fly head first into a table like that before!”

Her head swam, still treading water from the impact and the liquor that led to it. “Yeah, sorry… I guess I didn’t eat enough.”

“You apologize way too much, did you know that?” The young man chuckled, lifting her up slightly. “I’m Gildroy Olson, by the way.”

Taking the prompt, she finished sitting up as well, needing a second or two to find her balance, “I’m… Sara. Sara Elezar.” She came up with the fake name on the way to town, still keeping the pointed ears and tanned skin she usually had.

“How exotic!” He cooed, “Sounds like you’re not from around here?”

Sara rubbed her face once more, trying to keep up with the conversation, “Kinda. My dad’s an elf, so I guess I’m half.” At this point, she was improvising.

“I figured…” Gildroy looked her over once more, his eyes hovering over a few notable features, “You don’t look like any elf I’ve seen!”

“Right. My mom’s…” Her head throbbed, either from the day she had or the need for mana, “My mom’s a dwarf.” Coming up with a story on the fly did not help the headache either.

“I see…” The young lord stood up before reaching a hand down to her, “You are quite the interesting individual! I would love to learn more about you, Sara.”

Catching his eyes once more, she felt a stirring. “O- of course. Why don’t we…?”

“Get out of here, yeah?” Once he got her onto her feet and leaned her against the table, Gildroy walked over to the barkeep, covering the tab.

With the moment of freedom, Sara’s mind spun. The young Olson was apparently quite the prominent figure in town, she would have to be careful with him. At the very least, he was not unattractive. Her brain still battled with the idea of men and her body’s reaction to them. But it seemed like things were quickly moving out of her control.

“Ready to go?”

Before she knew it, Gildroy returned, holding out a hand to her. Daintily taking it, he led her out into the open night.

- - - -

Thistlebrook was slumbering as the two hit the town.

Sara was not sure where the heir was taking her, she was just along for the ride, conflicted on whether or not she should take initiative to get what she wanted.

“You don’t mind if we stop by the river real quick?”

Gildroy’s words snapped her from her musings. The cold night air sobered her up slightly, as the full moon hung above. “That’s fine. I’ve got nowhere to be…”

Still holding onto her hand, he briskly led her from the paved cobblestone streets and onto the grass. The only real bar in town was not too far from the riverbed, a smart call for bringing in sailors and deck hands. Waterwheels grew closer but sat motionless, unusable during the low tide.

“So tell me more!” He chirped, picking his steps down the hill to the waterside, “Tell me where you’re from! What you do for a living!”

The headache returned.

In addition to magic lessons, Sara figured she would need to pick up improvisation skills as well, “Well, I’m from… Georges, originally.”

“Okay. Wow. Just down the road?”

“Y-yeah…” It was hard walking downhill with her visual disruptions. Being drunk did not help as well. “I am a… uh…”

Thankfully, Gildroy was holding onto her, or else she would have fallen again. “It’s alright, take your time!”

He finally got her on flat ground. Thin grasses grew between the rocky riverbed of the Prizar River. At low tide, it was still quite the notable feature, tearing through the temperate forests, but grew much more serene beneath the moonlight. The gentle waters bubbled and gurgled as it flowed by, the singing of frogs and crickets harmonizing alongside it as they did nearly every night when it allowed. Almost like little stars, fireflies danced above the shallows, moving between the tall reeds that took the opportunity to poke out over the relatively gentle waters.

“I always love it this time of year…” Gildroy was already sitting, patting the loose rocks beside him, “My family’s been by the Prizar for centuries, you know?”

Joining her new friend, she was almost taken aback by his friendliness. “Really? I did not know that.” She tried to feign interest at something she already knew.

“Yeah! It’s quite the interesting story, but probably a bit too long for you.” He leaned back, propping himself up with his arms.

“Well…” Sara saw the opportunity to slide her hand over his. Her womanhood twitched slightly at his warmth, the drunkenness opening the way for her to be a bit more forward. “I have all night… And besides, we’ve been talking about me, let’s hear about you…”

She leaned against him as he regaled her with the tales of the Olson clan. Stories of how Ulfric Olson slayed a dragon at the behest of Lady Alzahett. How the first kings of Sopra danced for their mighty warriors to curry their favor. How their axes absorbed the moonlight provided by the goddess, only to be turned against her due to the underhanded methods of the God Emperor.

Being lightheaded and already growing tired helped her through the overtly detailed myths he continued to rattle on about. By the time he reached an hour into the twentieth generation of the Olsons, turning against the 3rd generation God Emperor, she decided to commit.

Pressing her breasts against his shoulder, she stroked the side of his face. Wide eyed, he suddenly stopped his stories, meeting her request.

The two locked lips as she shifted her leg between his, leaning in on his defined chest.

It appeared she may have her meal before the night was over.