Monstergirl Definition: Witch
Old Ermor Medical Classification: Theratofemina Sortiarius (the nomen Maleficarus voted against 127 to 120)
Description: The Realm of Monstergirls and their essence called Demon Energy can have strange effects on humans. Used pragmatically by dark elves to control, satisfy, calm, and heal their human slave population, the monstergirl demon energy can have other unforeseen effects, such as transforming human women into succubi if the victim is overloaded, giving them temporary or permanent monsterish mutations, or even changing human women into monstergirl species according to temperament and nature. Rarely used due to being a monstergirl dooming the person into consuming human essence throughout their lives, this subtle variation of mamono, namely "Witch" is barely tolerated in human lands. They are often hunted in big cities but respected and feared in isolated villages.
The Witch.
A normal Human female using magic is *not* a witch, and killing one is considered murder even by the most xenophobic, monster-hating Lescatian polities: everyone has standards. Ever since the Monstergirl Transformation event cast by Agrat to save mankind by tying the fates of monster folk to humanity, witchdom has become something entirely different.
Extensive magic use has its risks, the myriad waves of mana across the planet correspond to many concepts, from mundane to profane, from erotic to prudish. Therefore, human lands and laws tie magic to strongly regulated schools, rituals, and elemental devotions.
Sorcery not adhering to the laws of Ars Hermetica written by the Lescatian Empire, or its global equivalents like Zhong Guo's Five Elements, or Bharati Sadhana practices are dangerous: such unorthodox sorcery practices (derogatorily named "witchcraft") tap into unregulated paths of magic, some of them tied to erotic arts and Agrat's manipulation of sexuality, life-strands, and gender. And eventually, the human women using them become slowly "corrupted", changed with uncontrolled, chaotic energies of ether touching, or skirting Agrat's Global Sexual Monstergirl enchantment. Men become warlocks, derived from the old Ulmisch word for "deceiver" and get treated with the same hostility as witches.
Said human women may lose their humanity, waking up one night as witches, or may deliberately become one.
The Monstergirl Empire of the Reik embraces these women as equals and gives them full rights, allowing human women in their lands, even slaves and prisoners to study for joining if they wish. It takes a studious, sexually libertine, yet disciplined mind to become a witch, so many prisoners of war cannot, or will not consider; even slave labor is preferable to losing humanity for some. Such sorcerous mamono stay in the Reik, use human essence by having sexual intercourse with men, or siphon essence from prisoners and overweight slave women for a quicker method, the latter being beneficial to both if the witch has no qualms about buying slaves from dark elves.
Since they are the closest to baseline humans, some charitable and kind witches venture and stay near human lands to help their fellow once-upon-a-time-kin, often in terms of herbology, apothecary arts, and potions. Always hiding from clergy and Inquisition who hunt demon energy presence relentlessly, witches pity and dominate ignorant peasants who need a healing potion, help in childbirth, or other medical issues about women.
After all, ignorance and fear lead to hatred. Perhaps "the witch", an old word for "wise woman" may alleviate it in a hamlet overlooked by human feudal reach of healers. And perhaps, in some generations, the "Wyche" may be tolerated, or at least, understood.
*-*-*-*
Anon remembered the ugly duckling. Once upon a time, the village had a newcomer family. An ugly, intelligent, yet kind daughter came with them. Anon thought she was somewhere between six and seven years old, ignorant peasants never having counted the children's ages. She was clever, yet awkward, slightly hunchbacked, and had a hole on the right side of her mouth.
They had cast her out of the village for being a bastard, an ugly girl with a big nose. Boys and girls loved to pelt her with rocks and fruit. The village treated her with disdain, little more than a slave, and beatings were common.
Anon hated it. When he tried to interfere, he was also beaten and bullied.
Not many can accept in the world that children can be monsters, perhaps more monstrous than the Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Lamia, Arachne, and Dark Elves they detested.
She didn't last when her parents disappeared. One day she was gone, some say dark elves took her, or even the villagers sold her to the wandering dark elven lady who looked down on humans yet visited them occasionally with her orc and Red Oni bodyguards to trade. Anon knew the village sold criminals, widows, and orphans to her to be slaves.
Some solidarity for humans it was, claiming to be anti-monster yet sacrificing their downtrodden to monsters.
*-*-*-*
It had been two decades.
Anon was a grown man now, yet the village's ever-not-so-present healer was surprisingly not around. Who would bother with such a village after all?
He needed a potion for his ailing mother, who couldn't stop coughing. It is unnecessary to discuss the anxiety and pain following such a sickness in Anon's household, nor to describe it.
And he had learned that there was a "Wyche", a "woman-who-knows", who had arrived from the West, cavorting with devils and monstergirls, who became like them, lewd, beautiful yet "evil".
They said she charged people of their souls and lifetimes for power, for magic, power, or eldritch medical powers.
Old women and spinsters spat and made signs to avert evil when he asked. So he set off into the forest, with his leather militia armor, a short sword, and what little money he had, to look for her.
Anon wandered for a long time, following the tracks of secretive women scurrying home from a particular trail clutching potions and poultices. Women from nearby villages passed him by, faces covered. He could swear some were the women who scorned him for asking about a "witch"
Hypocrites.
Shaking his head, he kept walking, and by dusk, had found the "wych"'s lair.
It was a house, set in a clearing after passing what seemed to be a mountain of brambles and tight treelines which seemed to hide a glimmer of light. Anon pushed the last branches aside to see a clearing that seemed magical.
Anon found a hut with what seemed to be chicken legs sprouting from its sides which seemed to be curled up as if the house was a roosting hen, surrounded by patches of fluorescent mushrooms, wisps, and tiny sculptures of gnomes, surrounded by a wall of trees that seemed to be almost alive, acting much like a curtain.
It was peaceful.
Surely that wasn't a witch's dark home?
Were witches even dark?
What were they? Healers? Traders of magical artifacts?
Anon had to know. There was a witch, a "Wyche", or in old human tongue, "Woman-Who-Knows", and her abode was right before him. He approached gingerly, with nowhere to hide, all he could do was avoid windows' lines of sight.
Quietly crawling, for there was no open door, no light saying "open for business" he decided on sneaking in to take a peek.
Anon reached the outer wall of the witch's hut, and very quietly, raised his head to line his eyes up at the bottom of the window to look inside.
The living room was lavishly decorated and had many small vials, beakers, and bottles lined up in cupboards.
In one corner, he saw the witch.
It was a small woman, wearing an oversized, black wizard's cap...
...
...and not much else.
She was dressed either like a luxurious prostitute, or a noblewoman ready for a tryst with her lover. It made no sense: she lived in the middle of the forest amongst ignorant bumpkins, ripping them off for magical potions and poultices, often about childbirth, health, and sexuality.
The witch lounged on a strange, wide divan, her back turned to him. The furniture had no armrests on either side, and a small table before she had a book, a bowl of what seemed to be snacks, and a small candle set under the metallic teapot sitting on a small silvery pedestal.
The witch wore a luxurious set of lingerie, her robes and cloak hanging from a small wooden pole with wide beams to prevent wrinkling. Anon could see from her back that she wore a black corset (presumably with a bra), and underwear that was too revealing from behind; he didn't know what a thong was. Probably devil-women of the night wore such revealing underwear to bewitch men.
Her erotic lingerie also had garter belts, if he could name them in his ignorance, straps that held thigh-high stockings to warm her beautiful legs.
And Anon could not stop staring. Her ass was right in his line of sight, round, toned, two cheeks hugging the triangular silken thong as it disappeared between those two, dimpled, beautiful asscheeks like sacred chalices.
If he only knew how the witch's features slowly twisted from amused indulgence to an annoyed frown as she slowly pretended to turn a page, mumbling an arcane syllable. She felt his presence.
*-*-*-*
One of the spells a witch employed was "voice manipulation". It was a handy spell, a combination of aerial and earth spheres to blast soundwaves into a specified location.
Properly chanted, it could also hold a short sentence on delay, to be blasted on command.
So as Anon screamed in abject horror and jumped back, the witch didn't even turn back, chuckling to herself.
When Anon was staring at the witch's beautiful bottom, revealed in all its glory, he was caught unawares as the witch's beautiful, yet incredibly loud voice boomed in his ears, and his ears only, loud enough to make his head ring for several minutes and blur his vision.
"DIDN'T YOUR PARENTS TELL YOU IT'S IMPOLITE TO STARE AT A WOMAN'S ARSE WITHOUT HER PERMISSION, IN HER HOME'S PRIVACY NO LESS?"
With a horrified shriek, Anon flailed around, trying to find out if someone snuck up on her. The witch on the other hand kept chuckling without looking back, ignoring the screaming Anon rolling on the grass outside as she refilled her cup.
She twirled a finger as if drawing a rune and muffled the next blast of sounds, making it more tolerable for his ears.
"Might as well come inside, male. And don't think of running: I can turn you into a frog or a newt. And no, you won't get better."
After an awkward, quiet minute, the witch turned with a bored look regarding the unwelcome intruder. Gesturing with her fingers in an arcane gesture, she started talking to an unseen audience.
"Seriously? Etrigan? Bethrezem? Belial?" She kept addressing things he couldn't see, her gaze focused behind him. "A pervert sneaks into my window and keeps a nice peep-show at little old me and my arse for a good half an hour, and you guys don't even warn me?"
"Sorry!" Came a chuckling, amused male voice from the tree line, as the trees swayed and bent as if apologizing.
The witch kept talking with a resigned voice. "So much for bargain forest daimons. Should have used ruby dust rather than red clay dust with silver, but Agrat's big blue arse, they cost a fortune." She waved a wand in the air, spraying the room with pink glittering magical dust and blowing it outside with a puff.
"Is that because I'm not paying you guys enough mana? Seriously, next time a man like this intrudes, it's back to a tree with squirrels shitting on you!"
"We said we're sorry!" Came another voice from the trees, now sounding hurt rather than amused. "He had no aggressive aura. Not even a pink heart around his crotch-"
