A Distraught (Former) Maid

Occurred during Festival of Dancing Monsters during the Second Age.

Story
In the lands of Hazet, the celebrations were even more dramatic- if that's even possible.

Hardly surprising, this being one of the biggest rituals of the year.

In the city of Zotamar, capital of the Magocratic Empire, the celebrations could not have been more cartoonishly extravagant, baring a sudden outpouring of diamond rain.

The Sorcerers flew high above in the air, in chariots and astride winged steeds. Their parties were the things of legend, each one costing more than the income of a thousand of the lower classes. In their palaces and towers and, in a few cases, flying castles, these extravagant affairs explored as many acts of hedonistic indulgence as money and company could allow.

In a castle high above the ground, a banquet was in progress. Foods from across the world were served. Carefully prepared fish from the Northern depths, the fruit and wines of Boquabia, Great Beasts from the Outer Reaches, fine spices from Spectropolis.

While the aristocrats dined, servants were whipped into a flurry. The kitchens might as well have been a battle zone, dozens of wait-staff being send off periodically to battle the appetites of hungry nobles. Heat, steam and the smells of the food mixed with sweat and panic.

One of the waitresses snatched a wine pourer and began hustling out of the kitchen. She was a short, plump human woman with a frazzled air. Delma Nettle by name.

She really didn't want to be working here. Not in this place or this city. Not today or for the next week.

But at this point, the choice was no longer really hers. Delma was to frightened of talking to the head of staff about taking a vacation. She doubted that would happen, all things considered. As far as most of the people here were concerned, the staff was lower than dirt. Lower than worms.

As she shuffled down a hallway, trying to avoid tearing the ridiculous uniform she was forced to wear, she regretted only being able to send a letter back to her Mam on the coast. But that had been all she could afford.

Still lost in thought as she entered the vast banquet hall, her body went on auto, taking drinks and pouring them. Careful steps, smiles, pour, take empty glass, no eye contact, ignore drunken attempts at groping, let me get tha-

Delma clashed into a fancily dressed draemar man as he stood for a toast. Wine splattered all over his finery.

Her mind flew into a state of panic so pure that no thoughts could materialize.

Fury flashed across the man's face. His eyes burned.

A cold invisible hand seemed to grip Delma by the throat and lift her up to the man's height. She gasped and choked.

Pain rippled suddenly across her body, spasms and fury. Far off, she could hear the laughter of the assembled party goers.

After a very long minute, the pain ceased and Delma found herself flying backwards, slamming into a wall. Every part of her body ached.

Not a single bit of this terrified her more than when she looked up and met eyes with the man sitting at the end of the table. The owner of the castle.

While the others had gone back to not recognizing her existence, She could tell he was simply waiting for the party to end to deal with her personally.

Delma limped upwards, half-crawling to a door. The other staff members gave her the widest berth they could, flowing away from her like a river fleeing a firestorm. She held back loud sobs, only allowing a few to slip through.

The trip back to her apartment was agonizing and full of half-thoughts and panic. She knew she had to leave the city. Now. There would be time for her to cry later.

As she painfully dashed into her cramped apartment, she was already considering where to go. What little she still had was stuffed into a large cloth bag.

The Witches. They no doubt knew about escaping angry sorcerers.

Witches were a common sight back on the coast. They lived in house-boats and carriages and living-wagons. Endless wanderers in so many shapes and forms. Some human, some not. All that linked them was their silver eyes. Like stars. Her Mam had gone to them an awful lot after Father.. passed. Delma had gotten to know plenty of them.

She also knew that there was a little painted living-wagon near here. While she'd never met the witch that owned it, she remained hopeful. It was the only choice she had.

Steeling herself for the walk, Delma stepped outside and looked at the city for one last time. While the streets here were grimy and uncared for, the heights above gleamed. Living fireworks danced in the sky with flying carriages. It was a beautiful place.

But not worth it. She moved as quickly as she could through the maze of streets. Normally, she took a hover-bus but now she had no time to worry about being mugged. Worse things were going to happen to her if she took her time.

As she burst out of an dirty alley, the Wagon resolved itself. It stood out like a sore thumb, a wooden covered wagon, carefully painted in conservative purple-blue tones, with a silvery symbol on the side. The sheer cleanness of it was alien to the streets around it.

Delma was banging on the door in no time flat. A small window opened, barely enough for her to see silver eyes and shadow.

"Iz clozed for Feztival. Come back, three dacez. Now? Shoo." Said a woman's voice in some odd accent.

"Please. You have to help-" Delma began, desperation making her voice catch. The awful reality of the situation took hold and she sank into the door, sobbing.

A muffled hissing sound emerged from door and mixed with the sounds of opening latches. The door open smoothly, without a creak or squeak. A womanly figure held out a hand to help her up.

"In, In. Juzt no zobz." She reached for the proffered hand without thinking and manged to suppress her surprise when she felt scales.

She was hustled inside. The wagon was decorated with comfort in mind, cushioned and rugged as much as possible. She could see many drawers and charms hanging from the ceiling. Off in the rear of the wagon, two beds were built into the wall, one over the other. A table that had been nailed down was positioned near the front, with a few cushiony chairs sprinkled throughout the narrow place. It was noticeably warmer than outside and smelled of an odd mixture of herbs.

Delma was carefully seated in a chair before she finally got a chance to see the witch.

By the standards of Witches, she was likely not terribly odd looking. A tall woman with black-scales for skin and a mane of long flowing snake heads. Dressed in slightly strange flowing garments, she tinkled when she moved from bracelets and rings.

Occurred during the Festival of Dancing Monsters during the Second Age.

Story
"Thiz one iz Gabi." The witch said as she took a moved over to a teapot, pulling a cup from a shelf as she went.

"Have tea. Iz good for nervez." Gabi had a seat across from Delma, holding her steaming cup in both hands.

"Now. Why zo upzet?"

Delma began to explain her situation as the witch watched passively. When Delma finished she watched back hopefully.

Gabi sighed, "Tough Zituation. I help, az other roadz lead bad wayz. Guilt or murder. No good choice." She stood, looming well over Delma. "I call zizter and brother. They come, we go."

She swept her way over to a large basin on a shelf, leaving Delma in the chair. She could have cried from relief. It had actually worked. She.. she... could be somewhere else.

The witch returned after a moment, startling the girl from her thoughts.

"We ztart move now. You, zleep. I no do for free. Later, you help pay for lozt profitz." Gabi helped the girl up and patted her on the shoulder, "But now, poor girl, you zleep away zhock."

Before she could object, Delma was helped to change and put in one of the beds. As the wagon began to move, she drifted off.