Since I've gotten into fiction writing now, I'm starting to participate in r/writingprompts on reddit to sharpen my skills. Here's my first contribution to that subreddit– from this thread.
As the last word of The Communal Charm of Irrepressible Devotion left Magda's lips, a change came over her opponents.
The ranger, arrow nocked at his ear, slowly relaxed and lowered his bow, returning the arrow to the quiver at his waist. Slowly he began to walk toward the young witch, this time without menace.
The old man with the flowing bear paused in the middle of an incantation of his own, the words dying upon his lips as he stared at Magda in rapture.
Even the barbarian, caught in a frenzied charge, came to a skidding halt just feet from Magda, her twin axes falling from her hands as she fell to her knees and begged the witch's forgiveness for attacking her.
And then there was the guy in the plate armor. Having just dispatched the ensorcelled wolf that Magda had sent, unsuccessfully, to attack the party from its flank, he was well behind the barbarian in his advance.
He continued his implacable advance, shield held before him, sword pointed at the face of his nemesis, tabard swaying gently in the soft breeze the swept Magda's glade.
She narrowed her eyes. Had his battle with the wolf taken him outside the radius of her spell? Did he possess a talisman against enchantment? Or merely a mind as strong as steel?
Her gaze passed once more over the man's tabard, and there she saw the answer to her question: the stylized caged dove symbol of Valarn, Lord of Ice and Harmony. A paladin, and therefore quite immune to enchantments of the mind.
And that meant that the sword even now pointed at the bridge of her nose could only be one of the rare Peaceblades, jealously guarded by the Church of Valarn and given only to its most favored champions. A blade that had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, in its centuries of use.
Magda felt a lump of fear catch in her throat. She briefly considered ordering the ensorcelled three to attack their erstwhile companion, but this idea she discared immediately. If the cognitive dissonance of such an order shook the barbarian out of her amorous trance, Magda would find her head removed from her body in little over a second.
Ignoring the stammered professions of love from the woman warrior kneeling before her, and the please for attention from the wizard and the archer, Magda began the words of a more focused and destructive spell: Reybard's Ruby Ray of Ruination.
Paladins were not, after all, immune to more physical magics. Not even those originally designed by blowhards.
Yet an instant later, the strangest thing happened. As he took in the sight of the barbarian kneeling before Magda, he glanced to his right and saw that his other two companions had likewise given up the fight. And incredibly, rather than being driven to a more desperate charge, the paladin instead ceased his advance, and lowered his sword to point at the ground.
"Peace, dear lady. It would be my greatest shame to kill a woman whose skill with the subtle arts is exceeded only by her beauty."
The words of the Ruby Ray died upon her lips. Had the man been ensorcelled after all? Yet no, he addressed her as an equal, not a worshipper, and his blade had not been dropped, but merely lowered.
"Your words are flattering sir, and it would indeed be a shame to fight. Why, though, would you abandon your quest so readily? That sounds nothing like the action of a paladin."
"Forget him," pleaded the barbarian, "and forget men in general. I am all you'll ever need! Let's just run away together, over the mountains and build a life of our own where–"
"Silence, please," said the witch. "You'll have your turn, all three of you. But let the paladin and myself speak for now." And with that, the barbarian, ranger and wizard all fell silent. "As for you, sir, how am I to believe you no longer wish me dead?"
"A fair and most trenchant argument, madam. But I would expect no less from a siren such as yourself. I have spent my entire life in the pursuit of peace and harmony– both between myself and those around me, and ways to bring peace and harmony to the world."
"With but a few words, you have solved this conflict between us, not with violence, but with peace. You have done what I myself have still not figured out how to do after fifteen years seeking and slaying in the name of the church. Do you not see what we could accomplish together– your magic, and my discipline and faith?"
Magda pondered this for a moment. "That is indeed compelling. It's an alliance you wish, then? How am I to know that you won't simply stab me in the back?"
"I am offended madame, yet I understand that a life as an outcast has conditioned you to think so. I give you my word as a paladin of Valarn, I shall neither harm nor betray you so long as you neither harm nor betray me. I shall, at every turn, do exactly as I have pledged, or may Valarn turn my soul away from the Gates of Eternal Frost. Indeed, I should rather suffer such a fate than see harm come to a majestic creature such as yourself."
At this, Magda felt a flush come to her cheeks. "You do understand, sir, that I cannot so enchant an entire nation?"
"I do, my lady. But you are young and inexperienced yet, and there are artifacts– secret items of eldritch puissance– confiscated and hidden away by the church, which could magnify your reach a hundredfold. We could finally bring the peace and order that the church has long sought– and we could do it together, your hand in mine."
She pondered this for a moment. "I would be your queen then? Your companions may not find that arrangement acceptable."
"There is no law of Valarn that states that love must be shared between two people only; merely the laws of man. And I do love my companions, if not quite the way I love you."
Flushed no longer adequately described how the witch Magda felt, nor surely looked, at this time. After so many years alone, hunted by those who hated her merely for the cantraps she practiced and the potions she sold, she had resigned herself to the notion that she would never be so addressed– at least, not by a man not under the effects of one of her enchantments.
"Who are you sir, who delights a woman's ear with such silken words while plotting to rule over a nation?"
"That is just who I am indeed madame. They call me Sir Frederick the Well-Spoken."
"And I am Magda, but you doubtless knew that already." This said with a small, awkward curtsey. "Sir Frederick, can it truly be as you say?"
"That and more, my love. I shall win you acceptance by first the people, and then the church. We shall bring peace, harmony and prosperity to this land. We shall do it hand in hand, our loyalty to each other and to the people unwavering. Our love shall be as unbreakable as the mountains themselves. This is swear, as a paladin of Valarn."
It sounded too good to be true. And yet, to a woman so long despairing of companionship, it had to be true. "Then come to me, Sir Frederick. As you have sworn to me, so I swear to you: so long as you love me, support me, and serve the cause of peace and of the common people, I shall be ever loyal to you. This I swear by the old gods of the forest. Come now, and let us seal our pact."
And Sir Frederick closed the remaining distance to Magda, and swept her up in his arms, and in a manner not so different from any common man on his wedding day, sealed their vows with a kiss.
In the days and weeks and years that followed, the two of them, and their three boon companions, came down out of the wooded mountains that Magda had so long made her home. They indeed won acceptance for Magda and her magics. They sought power, and they gained it. They pursued peace, and they forged it. And for a time, it was exactly as Sir Frederick had promised.
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