Orin the Great

The Witch At Devil's Crag

After the passage of several days, Orin the Young found himself deep in the woods, and aiming his bow in the direction of a nervous and skittering, but so far unsuspecting large, brown squirrel. His hunting prowess was among the worst of his skills, and already, the young man had lost all but two of his precious arrows. His attention was so focused on his target, and on the constant rumbles from his empty stomach, that he did not become aware he was being watched until it was much, much too late.

Orin frowned, for he'd put himself in a tight spot. Assuredly, the moment he began to swing his bow around to try and pinpoint his watcher, said watcher would have ample opportunity to strike him with the first blow.

He exhaled a long breath. "I know someone is there."

The loudness of his voice caught the attention of the squirrel, which summarily fled across the branch and higher into the tree it had been foraging on. The morsel was soon lost among the shrubbery.

"Are you a man of honor or a man of dishonor?" Orin asked.

"Is that the manner in which you always greet others?" He heard the soft chuckling of a man from close by.

Orin turned, at once spotting a familiar face. "Bartram! Why are you here?"

"I have followed you, young Orin." The older man admitted, as he stood with his back against the trunk of a tree, and his arms crossed casually. His bow was leaned against the tree as well, and the man's small pack of provisions rested on the floor next to him. "I imagine I could have pitched a tent and started up a campfire here, and you wouldn't have noticed my arrival until the flames started licking their way up your backside."

Bartram laughed again.

"But I haven't eaten ever since I left Dunnidale!" Orin said, in frustration. "My stomach has been churning for a day and half of another day, and I've had no luck in the hunt! These woods must be cursed!"

"It's not the woods that are cursed, young Orin." Bartram grinned. "It's your mastery of the bow that's been twisted up by the Devil."

Orin lowered his bow. "Why would you follow me, anyway? I'm far enough from the main road that I thought I would be able to drop my guard for a spell. You had to go far out of your way to get here."

"Your trail was simple enough to find, as you did not go through any great pains to conceal it." Bartram told him. "I was curious to see what had transpired at Dunnidale, and so I set off to find you a couple of days after you left the brothers and I. I thought I would run into you as you returned from Dunnidale, but I did not. You did not use the same road to depart the village."

"I'd already traveled that road, and seen what little there was to see on it. I decided to go south and see new things instead."

"As the residents of Dunnidale informed me." Bartram nodded. "How is it that a young man such as yourself bested the demon there, when so many before you had not?"

"I cannot say."

"You cannot?"

"I will not." Orin stood defiant. "There was much horror that I witnessed that night, when I vanquished the demon of Dunnidale. I am afraid that were I to give you a full recounting of it, you might find yourself becoming insane. It is for your own safety that I dare not speak about it."

Bartram watched him closely for the next few moments. "The townspeople seem convinced that the demon is truly gone."

"And so it is." Orin confirmed. "I was sleeping by my campfire at the foot of the cave, when the townsfolk came by and found me the next morning. There was wailing through the night, but as I've said, I've driven the demon away, and there will be wailing in that town no more."

"You seem sure of yourself."

"I am. The demon is gone, you can be certain of it."

"But how did you defeat it?"

"Why did you come so far to find me?"

Bartram smiled. "As I've said; to see what became of you. I was greatly impressed when I came to Dunnidale and the people there told me of your success. I had to seek you out for myself and see the truth of it, and so I have. You know they've named the cave after you. They're calling it Orin's Wonder now. The local bard sings a tale of a great horned demon doing battle with you for an entire night. You yourself have said, that it's better to see a matter with your own eyes, instead of relying on the account of another man. So I've come and I've found you, and I only wanted to hear it from your own mouth."

"The demon is gone." Orin remained as elusive as ever. "I know they named the cave after me, and they gave me a good meal before I set off, but there was no coin in it for me. It seems that anyone with a vested interest in seeing the demon gone has long since departed this world."

"And what it is that you seek to do next?"

"Why, travel wherever the wind will take me, in search of more adventure."

"I would travel a spell with you, if you would not mind my company."

"I prefer to go it alone."

"Towns and villages are few and far between, young Orin." Bartram reminded him. "It would do you well to have a seasoned hand to come along with you."

"I can manage my way through the wilderness, as well as any man."

"Can you?" Bertram teased. "Is that why you haven't caught a morsel in a day and a half?"

Orin blew out another long breath. "I am not a good archer!"

"But I am." Bertram replied. "And I am a good teacher as well."

Eying the older man's pack of provisions, Orin said. "Give me something to eat and I will consider it."

Bartram leaned over and scooped his pack off the ground. He threw it near Orin's legs. "You're welcome to take a fair amount of what I have. When strangers meet and make it a deal to travel together, it is customary that they become as brothers until they each go their own way again."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that if I have a good day at the hunt, I will share my catch with you." Bartram explained. "And if we camp together, you will not steal my belongings while I sleep."

"I will not steal from you!" Orin said, feeling as if his integrity were being questioned. "I am a man of honor. I will pay you for whatever food I take from you. I have coin!"

"I don't want your coin." Bartram shook his head. "I only want your word that you are as you say you are, a man of honor."

"And so you have it." Orin approached him, holding out his arm. "Let my handshake serve as a bond between us, and let us travel as you say, as brothers on the road."

Orin was surprised to find Bartram's grip as strong and firm as that of any other reputable man he'd come across. He was not the simple vagrant Orin had initially taken him for.

"You'll find cured venison and cheese in there." Bertram motioned at his pack. "Take enough to ease your hunger, and no more, as we've still a good walk until we reach the next place. It will do us no good to squander what we have too early. Let me see your bow, if you will."

Reluctantly, Orin glanced at his bow, as if he might be holding it for the last time. It was his most valuable tool.

"I won't steal it from you." Bartram joked. "Go and look over mine, if you wish. See how tight the draw is on it and gauge it's weight. I've a feeling your bow might need some tweaking of a sort."

"I made this bow with my own hands." Orin revealed, as he handed it over. "It's the only bow I've ever owned."

"Maybe that's the problem, then." Bartram laughed. "If there is one thing you don't want to keep as you get older, it's your first bow."

Orin frowned, but he was hungrier than he was insulted. He dug into Bartram's pack, found what the man had to eat, and he took out only modest portions for himself. Bartram watched him closely, but he seemed satisfied that Orin hadn't taken too much. At the same time, the older man was inspecting Orin's bow.

"I'm afraid this bow has outlived its usefulness." Bartram admitted. "The limbs have too much give in them, and the string is much too loose, as if meant for a child's pull. It's no wonder that you wound more prey than you kill. You've given some unfortunate animals a long and arduous death because of this bow, young Orin. I can make an adjustment or two on it, if you wish, but my suggestion is that you replace this bow with a better one, as soon as you can afford to."

"Make your adjustments, man." Orin grumbled back.

Once he had wolfed down his light meal, Orin went over to study Bartram's bow. It was definitely heavier than his, more rigid, and the string did require more strength to pull.

"It's made of strong cedar, and attuned to my personal requirements." Bartram told him. "If we run into ample game, I may even allow you a try at it. It's a true archer's bow, as opposed to a simple hunter's bow. You should become accustomed to handling one like it."

Orin took to grumbling even further, as Bartram unstrung his bow and restrung it, placing upon it more tension than it had before. He did not relish the thought of another man setting his hands on his most prized possession, something that he himself had made and had put his heart into, even if that man was trying to teach him how things were properly done.

The evening grew long around them and deepened into a cool night. The two travelers made a campfire there, in the thick of the woods and far enough away from the main road that they did not expect any bandits to come prowling after them. Bartram related what he knew of the small towns that lay to the south, but it was little, as his travels in that direction had been few and far between. He did not know if adventure would welcome them there or not, and this, of course, was what the young and daring Orin was hoping to find. Eventually, however, the conversation drifted back to Dunnidale, to the demon that was but was no longer, and to the precise means Orin had used to dispatch it.

"You ask too many questions, Bartram." Orin said firmly, as he sat and warded the coolness of the night with the fire they'd built. "Perhaps the answers I give you will not be to your liking."

"I have seen a few strange things in my travels, young Orin."

"Don't call me that." Orin made a face. "I am not a young man anymore. I am now a grown man. If you must add words to my name, do as the people of Dunnidale have done, and call me Orin, the Slayer of Demons."

"Did you really slay the demon, then?" Bartram asked. "You can trust me with your secrets, Orin, as then I will be able to trust you with my own. I have seen things with my own eyes, that can make a man's bollocks cringe into his body with fear."

Orin laughed. "Have you?"

"Will you tell me what transpired at Dunnidale or not?" Bartram demanded.

Orin sat there thoughtfully for a few moments. "Do you promise not to tell another living soul if I do tell you?"

"I give my word that I will not."

"It would be better, perhaps, if I show you." Orin drew out one of his customary long breaths, as he pulled his own meager pack of provisions to his side. From it, he dug out a small bundle. As he unwrapped the worn cloth from around it, he revealed to Bartram the box he had found in the demon's cave, and soon after, the straw doll that lay within it.

"A witchery, is it?" Bartram asked, as he stepped over and peered close at the items.

"It is, but I know nothing of it." Orin divulged. "All I know is that after I removed this box and this doll from the cave, the wailing ceased and the demon was vanquished."

"Was it that simple?"

Orin stared hard into the eyes of his newfound friend, before he answered, "No. There is more to this, but you would think me a madman if I told you the truth. You will have to see things for yourself. Promise that you won't harm this doll, and I will lend it to you to sleep with tonight. The spirits that dwell within it will show you the truth of how the Demon of Dunnidale came to be."

"To sleep with, you say? Is it evil?"

"No, not evil. But it is... something rather unexpected."

"Tell me what."

"It is enough to make many an adventurer run away without telling a single soul of what he has seen, and enough to make the young men of Dunnidale run away from their families to rebuild their lives elsewhere. This I can personally attest to."

"But you look none the worst for wear because of it. You, a young man of so few years, bested this demon when many hard men could not!"

"That is all I will say." Orin shrugged. "Sleep with this doll tonight, if you dare, and all may be revealed to you in the same manner that it was revealed to me. If you cannot, you are not to say another word of it, for you have had your chance to prove your mettle against the curse of Dunnidale. That is all I have to say on the matter."

Begrudgingly, Bartram closely studied the strange doll, with its costume of half a man and half a woman. He could make nothing of it. In the end, he relented and set the box and doll just beyond his pack, which he was using for a pillow.

The fire was doused to only a half of what it was originally, still strong enough to ward off any curious animals. Both travelers took sides across from one another, and lay their bodies down for the night.

Despite their gentleman's agreement, it seemed that both men were wary of their companion, for they each kept a close watch on the other until the day's fatigue got the best of them. At about the same time, they both fell asleep.

It was much later in the night, when Orin was disturbed from his sleep. Across the fire from him, Bartram was tussling about and groaning. The young man knew that his new partner was having a very strange dream...

Bartram was entirely disconcerted. His back was pressed against a cold, hard surface. As he shifted his head to see what this was, his eyes came upon a wall of hewn stone, which he knew was an expensive thing to build, for the services of a stonecutter did not come cheap. This wall stretched up to a good height above his head, and was rounded about to form a small chamber with a single door and a few openings that allowed a bright sunlight to stream inside of it. The top of this wall, of this building, was made up of flattened planks.

As he looked about further, Bartram discovered that he was inside of a windmill. He could see the great beams and wheels of the contraption before him, and the stairs leading up to a door mounted into the ceiling, for the purposes of allowing a wealthy man to climb up their length and to gaze upon the countryside.

What was he doing in this place? Bartram wondered. He stepped closer to the wooden machine that took up nearly the entire inside of the mill, watching the gears slowly rotate, and gauging the wind to be lax in its duties. He saw the bushels of wheat to one side, and the sacks of flour to be filled on the other, and he wondered where the tender to the mill would be found.

Bartram heard a light chuckle, as if someone were watching him. Again, he scanned the interior of the mill, and he even poked his head outside of it, but not a soul was to be seen.

Oddly, his movements weren't as fluid as he'd expected from his light clothing. Bartram glanced down and nearly went into hysterics when he realized he was wearing a woman's smock and apron.

"What the devil is this?" He asked, as he raised his hands up, and saw, not his own harsh and calloused fingers, but a woman's plump and gentle hands instead.

"What the devil?" He repeated, as he glanced down at his chest.

It started to sink into his head that he had a bosom, and that his breasts were prominent and heavy. Bartram shuddered. This was Orin's doing, he thought, Orin and that cursed doll of his. Somehow, he had been spelled into the body of a woman. He felt like screaming.

"Shush." A woman's voice said.

He glanced about him again, and again felt that he was not alone.

"I am Rohanna." The disembodied voice said. "And I know one of your most guarded secrets."

"Are you a ghost?"

"I am." The voice replied. "I will tell you the full of it, before I allow you to leave this place. In the meantime, you are to... frolic."

She giggled.

"I don't understand." Bartram said. "What will happen to me?"

"Hush, dear Bartram." Rohanna said. "My lover comes. It would not do well to spurn him, for he has taken a great risk by visiting me here today. Do be kind to him."

"Your lover?"

"Rohanna?" A man's voice called out. "Are you here?"

"There is no one to be found here but a few ghosts." Rohanna announced, teasingly.

A man's form darkened the open doorway. "So you are here."

"Where else would I be?" Rohanna flirted.

Bartram wore a woman's body, and this man who had just arrived, he stared in Bartram's direction as if he were a love-struck man. He lusted openly at the twisted creature Bartram had become.

From his headwear to his shoes, this new man's attire, for a person of Bartram's simple means, looked exceedingly extravagant. His cap was of black felt and feathered, his jacket a becoming shade of red, belted by a black leather belt and a silver buckle, and his leggings were of a soft blue with stirrups hidden within short leather boots. His name, Bartram somehow knew, was Silas, and he could be considered a handsome man.

"You seem... rather distant today, my love." Silas commented. "Is something the matter?"

The body Bartram found himself encased in turned away, and took a few steps toward the grinding wheel. Apparently, there was nothing he could do to control it, for he felt the woman's body leaning over to pluck a handful of wheat stalks and carelessly toss it under the track of the wheel. Then, the body merely leaned over a wooden rail and watched as the massive stone wheel slowly did its rounds.

"Should I go away?" Silas asked.

The body of Rohanna began to wiggle expectantly. Bartram could feel his womanly cheeks blushing. And this Silas, Bartram could readily admit, was a rather attractive man.

"I do hate when you ignore me like this." Silas sounded as if he were becoming exasperated. "Tell me, love, should I go away or not?"

"What have you come here for, Silas?" Rohanna asked.

He heard Silas' soft chuckle.

"Tell me truly, or I will indeed send you away."

There was a warm hesitation from Silas. "I came here to make love to you."

"Then speak no more." Rohanna said. "And do to me what you came here to do."

Bartram could feel the man's approach behind him, and as well, he could sense Rohanna's reaction to him. Her breath came in increasingly halting volumes, while her breasts tingled with excitement. Her insides yearned for this man, moistened for him.

The hands of Silas clasped Rohanna's waist, but only momentarily, as if the young man could harbor his want no longer. Those hands climbed up her sides until they surrounded the expanse of Rohanna's breasts. There they squeezed and drew a trembling mewl from the woman's mouth.

The man's form leaned close to hers, his breaths warming her hair. "Will you let me kiss you, love?"

"We've not the time." Rohanna replied. "Tarry too long and you will be found out. No more words now, only give me your love quickly, as you came here to do."

Bartram felt his smock being lifted, and his legs, Rohanna's legs, being exposed to the slight draft coursing through the mill. The folds of fabric slid past his knees, past his thighs, and even past his buttocks.

"Hold your garment." Silas said tenderly, as Rohanna directed her hands to it.

The man's hands caressed her buttocks, giving Bartram the idea that they were as plump as the rest of her. There was a brief moment, where Silas could be heard fumbling with his own garments, before he pressed close again. With firm hands, he leaned Rohanna over the rail. His hands slid up and down her vulnerable backside a few times.

"Silas, you are to do things very slowly today." Rohanna was heard to say. "I know how pressed for time you are, but you will pander to me, won't you?"