Cholo Tales
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Pocket-Sized Witch
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 01:33:07 +0000 UTCAN: I don’t know much about old/archaic english besides thou and thy and I just know those words not how they should actually be used. So I had to use a web translator to somehow transform the sentences to old English to be faithful to the lore.
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A sharp tug on a strand of his reddish hair sent the Tarnished's attention snapping upward just as the massive curved sword of a Kaiden sellsword carved through the air where his head had been moments before. He sidestepped smoothly, nodding his silent thanks to the tiny witch perched atop his crown.
"'Twas thy own sluggish reflexes that nearly cost thee thy head," Ranni observed, adjusting her miniature hat with obvious irritation. "I merely prevented what would have been a most inglorious end to your tale."
The sellsword's blade buried itself deep in the earth with a resonant clang. Without hesitation, the Tarnished brought his shield down hard against the mercenary's exposed hand, the impact forcing him to release his grip on the weapon. In one fluid motion, he drove his longsword deep into the sellsword's chest. The mercenary let out a strangled growl before dropping to one knee, then collapsing entirely.
Another insistent tug at his hair—this time more urgent—made the Tarnished duck instinctively. A mounted sellsword thundered past, his blade barely grazing Ranni's pointed hat as she sat rigid with indignation.
"The audacity!" she sputtered. "That cur dared to strike at the Moon herself! 'Tis a slight I shall not soon forget, even if mine current form renders proper retribution... challenging."
"At least your hat survived," the Tarnished replied with barely concealed amusement, rising back to his full height. "Though I think it's a bit crooked now."
"Crooked?" Ranni's voice rose to a higher pitch of offense. "My dear Tarnished, dost thou suggest that I, Ranni the Witch, cannot maintain proper attire even in this diminished state?"
He stepped forward and raised his longsword above his head with both hands; the blade angled perfectly as the mounted mercenary wheeled around for another charge. "I'm suggesting you might want to hold on tighter this time."
The sellsword let out a bestial roar, his horse rearing up on its hind legs before surging forward in a thunderous gallop. Ranni watched silently as the distance between them closed rapidly, her four small hands gripping strands of her future consort's hair for stability; though she would never admit it out loud.
"Left," she commanded sharply. "Nay—right! The fool telegraphs his strike most obviously."
At the last possible moment, when the curved blade was descending toward his skull, the Tarnished spun gracefully to his right. His longsword swept in a perfect arc, severing both front legs of the charging horse. Mount and rider crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and steel, raising a cloud of dust and debris.
Before the sellsword could regain his footing, the Tarnished was already upon him, driving his blade deep into the mercenary's chest. The body went still, though they both knew such rest was temporary in the Lands Between.
"Most satisfactory," Ranni observed, though her tone carried a note of begrudging approval. "Though I confess, 'tis rather peculiar to witness such carnage from this... elevated perspective. One might almost mistake it for an elaborate puppet show, were the blood not quite so vivid."
Her Tarnished let out a dry chuckle, wiping his blade clean. "A puppet show where the puppets fight back. I feel sorry for Torrent though—all that dodging around riders can't be easy on him."
"Ah, but our faithful steed knoweth well the burdens of service," she replied, her voice softening slightly. "As do we all, in our own peculiar ways. Though I confess, mine own burdens have become rather more... portable of late."
"Portable and chatty," the Tarnished added, whistling sharply for his loyal steed.
"Chatty?" Ranni's voice carried a dangerous edge. "I'll have thee know that what thou dost mistake for idle chatter is the wisdom of ages, delivered in conveniently sized portions. 'Tis efficiency, not prattle."
Torrent materialized in a shimmer of golden light. The Tarnished took a moment to pat the spectral steed's neck affectionately before mounting, careful not to jostle her.
"To the Royal Capital, then," he said, spurring Torrent forward. "We need to reach the palace first, they might have something useful."
As they rode toward the distant city, Ranni permitted herself a small smile that none could see. Her current diminutive form was indeed the result of dire necessity—that accursed shadow had forced her to abandon her larger vessel for this pocket-sized doll and she could no longer travel between vessels. And the filth of Seluvis didn’t help in the matter either. Yet perhaps there was wisdom in such misfortune.
"'Tis curious," she mused aloud as the wind whipped past them, her tiny form swaying with each of Torrent's strides, "how adversity doth oft cloak itself as opportunity. Mine enemies seek a witch of considerable presence and terrible power, not a mere... ornament upon her champion's brow."
The Tarnished adjusted his grip on the reins, steadying his head to give her a smoother ride. "Then we'll make the most of it. Besides, having you so close means I can't possibly ignore your guidance. Even if it does involve getting my hair pulled."
"'Tis not mere hair-pulling," Ranni protested, though there was a note of pleased satisfaction in her voice. "Consider it a most refined system of communication, perfectly suited to our current circumstances. And far more dignified than shouting, I assure thee."
"Of course it is," he agreed solemnly, though she caught the hint of a smile in his voice. "Very refined. Very... Ranni."
For once, the witch found herself without a cutting retort, instead allowing a moment of companionable silence as they rode toward whatever challenges awaited in the academy ahead. Even in her smallest form, it seemed her bond with this most peculiar of consorts remained as strong as ever—perhaps stronger, given how literally close they had become.
Though she would never admit it aloud, there was something almost... comforting about this arrangement. After all, from her current vantage point, she could ensure he never strayed from their path, never missed her counsel, and never faced danger without her watchful gaze.
Even if it did require the occasional tug of his hair to keep him properly focused.
They rode for what felt like hours across the sprawling fields of Leyndell, the golden city gleaming in the distance like a mirage that never seemed to draw closer. The light hung low on the horizon, painting the grasslands in shades of amber and crimson as shadows began to stretch long across the earth.
When they finally reached the main road, her Tarnished guided Torrent onto the worn stone path. The spectral steed's hooves found sure purchase on the ancient stonework, each gallop carrying them swiftly toward their destination as twilight began to settle over the Lands Between.
But their route took them through a place where hope had long since died.
The battlefield stretched before them in grim testament to the futility of war—a vast graveyard where multiple armies had clashed for dominance over the capital, achieving nothing but mutual destruction. Broken banners hung limply from splintered poles, their colors faded and torn. Carriages lay overturned and rotting, their contents long since claimed by scavengers or time itself. Bodies in various states of decay dotted the landscape—some impaled on crude stakes, others crucified as warnings that no longer held any meaning for anyone.
The only sounds were Torrent's hooves against stone and the whisper of wind through rusted armor. Ranni held her tiny hat with both upper hands as they passed through this monument to ambition and folly, her ethereal gaze taking in every detail of the decay.
"The Greater Will's grand design," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "'Tis naught but brother pitted against brother, kingdom against kingdom, all for the promise of false glory. Each corpse here bears witness to why I chose to defy such madness."
Her words carried that familiar melancholy, but her attention was caught by something that made her small form go very still.
There, amid the chaos of fallen knights and soldiers, stood the unmistakable crimson manes of Redmane soldiers. Even in death, they maintained their formation—spears raised, shields locked, faces turned toward the capital they had died trying to reach. Their dedication to duty had transcended even death itself, leaving them as eternal sentinels in this forsaken place.
Though her doll body had no need for breath, Ranni felt something catch in her throat. These were Radahn's men—her brother's loyal followers who had marched to war at his command and never returned home.
For a long moment, she stared at those proud, defiant figures. Despite everything—despite the conflicts, the bitter words exchanged in Carian halls, the fundamental disagreements that had torn their family asunder—these were remnants of her blood. Her brother's legacy, frozen in eternal unjust service.
And Radahn himself... still out there, wandering Caelid's rotted wastes like a mindless beast, consuming friend and foe alike in his madness.
"We must go to Caelid," she announced suddenly, her voice cutting through with unexpected force.
The Tarnished pulled gently on Torrent's reins, slowing their pace as he glanced upward. "What did you say?"
"We must go to Caelid," Ranni repeated, her tiny hands clenched into fists despite their size. "And put an end to the suffering of Starscourge Radahn. He deserves better than to wander those poisoned lands as naught but a rabid beast, devouring all who venture near. 'Tis not... 'tis not how he should be remembered."
Torrent came to a complete stop, and her Tarnished turned in his saddle to look back in the direction of those distant, scarlet-tinted lands where the very air was said to burn with rot. Then he looked forward again, toward the golden spires of Leyndell that promised answers to their current predicament.
"Ranni," he said carefully, his voice gentle but pragmatic, "it would be faster to finish what we started here before we make such a detour. Your business in the capital, the shadow hunting you—we should deal with that first, shouldn't we?"
But she had fallen silent, her small form motionless atop his head, four tiny hands now gripping his hair as if anchoring herself against some internal storm.
The silence stretched between them; the choice was still there. Ranni remained motionless atop his head, her tiny form wrestling with the conflict between familial duty and their urgent mission.
But before she could voice her decision, her gaze caught something that made her entire being go rigid with alarm.
"Lights," she whispered sharply, then raised her voice to a commanding tone. "My dear Tarnished—there! To the south!"
He followed her frantic pointing to see torches flickering in the distance like fallen stars, moving in perfect formation across the broken battlefield. The organized procession could only mean one thing.
"Damn," the Tarnished cursed under his breath, quickly pulling the reins. Torrent reared up on his hind legs with a startled neigh before pivoting and launching into a full gallop in the opposite direction.
The deep, resonant blast of war trumpets echoed across the plains behind them, and Ranni's sharp eyes caught the true danger of their situation as dozens of lights began approaching at impossible speeds.
"'Tis not mere knights!" she called out, her voice tight with urgency as she focused on the massive forms thundering toward them. The golden gleam was unmistakable, as was their tremendous size. "Tree Sentinels!"
"How many?!" the Tarnished shouted over Torrent's pounding hooves.
"Run faster!"
He struck the reins hard, urging Torrent to greater speed, but the mechanical thunder of their pursuers grew ever closer. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their massive steeds.
Suddenly, Ranni yanked hard on his hair. "Down!"
He didn't question, flattening himself against Torrent's neck just as a volley of holy light missiles screamed overhead, striking the path ahead and leaving smoldering craters in the ancient stone.
"There!" Ranni pointed frantically to their left with all four tiny arms. "A spiritspring! Make haste!"
The Tarnished spotted the shimmering updraft just as the first of the Tree Sentinels came within striking distance, their massive golden halberds gleaming in the twilight.
"Hold on!" he shouted, giving Torrent one final, desperate strike with the reins.
The spectral steed grunted with effort and made a desperate sprint toward the spiritspring, the Sentinels' weapons whistling through the air mere inches behind them.
At the last possible moment, the Tarnished pulled hard on the reins, and Torrent launched himself into the updraft.
They soared high into the air, leaving their pursuers far below as the wind rushed past them. For a few precious seconds, they had a panoramic view of the entire battlefield—the golden army spreading out like a glittering plague across the land, the distant spires of Leyndell, and the endless fields.
Then they landed with a solid thud atop a high cliff, finally safe from the remnants of the Golden Order's forces.
"Good work, boy," the Tarnished said breathlessly, dismounting to scratch and pat his loyal steed. The spectral steed grunted and snorted, clearly exhausted from their harrowing escape. Reaching into his pack, her companion produced a handful of raisins—Torrent's favorite treat—which the steed quickly devoured with appreciative chomping.
"How perilously close that was," Ranni observed. "And yet our faithful steed delivered us from certain doom. Truly, there is no companion more loyal in all the Lands Between."
She paused, her tiny form settling more comfortably atop his head as they both seemed to catch their breath.
"'Twould seem the choice between Caelid and Leyndell hath been made for us," she added quietly, gazing back at the lights still swarming the battlefield below. "The Golden Order's remnants guard the capital's approaches most jealously. Perhaps... perhaps 'tis fate that points us somewhere else."
Without warning, the Tarnished reached up and plucked Ranni from her perch by the collar of her tiny dress.
"Unhand me this instant!" she sputtered indignantly, her four small limbs flailing in the air as she struggled against his grip. "What manner of discourtesy is this? I am not some trinket to be seized at thy whim!"
"Just wanted to check on you," he said with barely concealed amusement, watching her miniature form twist and turn in futile protest. Her magic was so drastically hindered in this form that she couldn't even summon a proper glintstone shard to teach him respect. "Make sure you weren't hurt."
"Damaged? I am perfectly intact, thou insufferable—put me down immediately! This is most undignified!"
Instead of returning her to his head, he gently placed her atop Torrent's neck, between the spectral steed's ears. Ranni immediately steadied herself with all four hands, her tiny hat sitting askew from the ordeal.
"There," the Tarnished said with a grin, "now you have the best view. Consider it a promotion."
"A promotion?" Her voice rose in offense. "From respected advisor to... to steed ornament? 'Tis hardly an improvement in station, and I shall have thee know—"
"You're not an ornament," he interrupted gently, swinging back up into the saddle behind her. "You're our… navigator. Our strategist. And apparently our early warning system."
Torrent snorted softly, ears flicking with what might have been amusement, before beginning a steady trot toward the eastern horizon.
"'Tis undeniable that approaching Leyndell would be folly with such forces abroad," she admitted grudgingly, her tiny hands gripping Torrent's mane for stability. "The Golden Order's remnants guard their prize most jealously, and we are... ill-equipped to face an entire company of Tree Sentinels."
"Especially with our secret weapon being pocket-sized," the Tarnished added with a deliberate, playful tone.
"Secret weapon?" Despite her earlier indignation, there was a note of pleased curiosity threading through her voice. "And what manner of weapon might I be, pray tell?"
"The kind that saves my life. Make this long journey pleasant."
For a moment, Ranni fell completely silent, her small form going still atop Torrent's head. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves against earth and the whisper of wind across the plains.
"I... I thank thee for thy words," she said, one hand adjusting her hair. "And for heeding my counsel about Caelid, even when 'tis surely folly to chase after such... personal matters when we have more pressing concerns."
The man guided Torrent along a winding path as the last light of day faded behind them, painting the sky in deep purples and golds. Ahead may lay the scarlet-tinged wasteland where the scarlet rot had spread madness and decay, but for now there was only the gentle rhythm of their journey and the small witch who had entrusted him with her most vulnerable form.
"Lost causes seem to be our specialty," he replied softly. "Besides, everyone deserves a chance at peace. Even those responsible of the shattering."
Ranni's grip on Torrent's mane tightened imperceptibly. She had not spoken of her true lineage, had not revealed that the beast they rode toward was her own blood. Yet somehow, his words seemed to understand her plight.
"Perhaps," she murmured, so quietly that her voice was nearly lost in the wind. "Though some peace must be... earned through letting go."
The path ahead wound into darkness, but for the first time since taking this diminished form, Ranni felt something other than frustration at her reduced circumstances. From her new place, she could see everything; the road ahead, the dangers that might approach, and the face of the man who had somehow made her feel less alone in her impossible quest.
Even if she would never admit such sentiment aloud.
