This is an original story that I was working on a while back, forgot about, and have finally picked back up. As this is not Touhou related I was unsure about whether or not to post it here.
My aim when writing this was to take elements from anime and manga and fusing them with western fantasy. Likable characters with good development, cool fight scenes, and also an plot with political intrigue and war. Whether or not I succeed in that is anyone's guess, as I haven't really figured out the complete story yet.
Anyway, on with the story!
Witch Hazel
Chapter 1
Autumn meant rain.
First the climate would change from the dry heat of summer to a wet cool mist that clung to the air, leading the plethora of wildlife to seek shelter in the caves of the surrounding hills. Then the dark storm-clouds would roll in like great steel drums, and the rain would follow - sometimes for entire days without respite until one’s feet sank into the ground directly and the streets of towns flooded, the drainage ditches soon powerless against the non-ending onslaught of rain. By the time the storms had passed, the dirty, rust-colored residue left on buildings by the factories had been washed away, and the cities emerged from the dark cocoon of coal soot and ash as though reborn.
It was on one of these days that a man was running though the dense and vast forests to the east of the riverside town of Mercia, his heavy boots making deep troughs in the mud. He was wrapped from head to toe in a well-worn sable cloak, which he had made watertight by tying a pair of ropes around his waist and another under his arms. The collar of the garment was tall, protecting his face from the elements, and on his head he wore a drab, waterlogged tricorn hat. In his arms he carried a bundle wrapped in a heavy blanket - the occasional cry rising from within.
A flash of lightening illuminated the path, revealing a fallen tree that the man had nearly overlooked, and he leapt over it just in time, keeping the bundle safe within his protective embrace. As he landed, a sharp pain in his leg caused him to loose balance and stumble, but he quickly recovered. Then he saw the road split another flash of lightening revealed a sign - on the left was a road to the Westgate Columns, and on the right was a path to the sanctum of the botanist monks who tended the forest, known as the Shepsgale Monastery. Beneath the collar of his cloak the man smiled weakly. "Almost there..." he muttered reassuringly, mostly to himself but also to calm the child nestled at the center of the blanket.
"Those monks will never turn away a lost or abandoned child... it's not in their blood." He looked up. "They will take care of you... and maybe when you're all grown up, this war will be over." he laughed disdainfully and straightened his collar with one hand, the bundle still secure in the other. "Wishful thinking, indeed."
As he took a step towards the eastward path, he realized he was no longer alone; a shadow had been stalking him from off the path and a sudden flash of lightening illuminated his figure perched atop a rock, hunched over like a humanoid gargoyle. But this creature was of flesh, not stone.
"Bloody manticore!" The man hissed between clenched teeth, hugging the bundle closer.
The manticore; a human chimera... a grotesque combination of man and beast created by the Alchemists of Viyar, the Brass City of the distant South. This one had a pair of leathery bat wings (currently folded at his side) and his fingers were unnaturally long, ending with hooked claws, iron, crusted with dried blood. The manticore laughed over the storm and looked down.
"You didn't honestly think you could have lost me with a wound like that, did you?" the manticore said, pointing at the man's leg. "I've been shadowing you for the past thirty minutes... I ain’t too keen on killing kids, y’know, but a job's a job and I got a reputation to uphold."
The manitcore unfolded his wings and swooped down from his rock, splashing down into a muddy puddle and drew a curved sword from its sheath.
The man sidestepped the ensuing attack, unable to bare his own weapon without abandoning his charge, and caught his foot on an upturned root. He looked up with a start and then all he could see was a flash of white followed by a burning sensation over his brow. He felt something warm trickle down his forehead and into his right eye; grasping at his face, he pulled away his gloved hand to find it reddened with his own blood.
He turned to face the manticore now behind him, readying another attack, pulling a pair of circular throwing blades from his belt before hurling them with a yell of triumph. The man watched as the blades flew towards him, cutting swatches through the rain and was at a loss for words at what happened immediately thereafter.
The air around him seemed to grow dense, the light and color bending as though filtered through a lens. Raindrops fell around slowly and then stopped entirely, and he mused for a moment on whether he should try to reach out and swat them away. He had heard it said that one's perception of the flow of time slows down moments before one’s death, but he had never taken it as being literal. But as he watched he saw now a pair of bullets cutting a path though the rain to intersect the oncoming blades, and he was snapped out of his trance by the twang of metal ricocheting off of metal, and now the blades were spinning away... away from him. He blinked, uncertain of whether he had seen wrong, but his sight was confirmed by the sound of a dull thud as the blades lodged themselves into a tree.
For the manticore, too, it took a moment to comprehend the events which had transpired, but he quickly altered his course and landed on the high branch of a tree overlooking the path. He peered through the wall of rain, trying to find the cause of the phenomenon while the man desperately did the same, wrapping his arms protectively around his bundle while blood flowed across his eye freely. The manticore saw it moments before the man, with the aid of his bat-like senses - a petite, cloaked figure standing in the middle of the path, slender arms holding a pair of blunderbuss pistols. She lowered her hood, revealing a delicate face wreathed with long red hair that was plastered to her skin by the rain.
"Forgive me..." the woman said in a quiet voice, barely audible over the rain. With a blast of smoke, the expended cartridges were ejected from the sides of her weapons, the click of an internal mechanism sounding to tell that replacements had been loaded. "...but I cannot allow you to desecrate this ground with innocent blood."
"None of your concern witch!" The manticore snarled, though there was evident fear in his voice Even an animal knew when it was outmatched. "Move along, or you will share in his fate!"
"Violence is anathema in these woods." The gun-wielding woman continued. "However I will use force to remove you if you refuse to desist."
"Wait!" pleaded the man. "Leave me and escape with this child!"
"You don't think I'd just sit here and let that happen, do you?" The manticore laughed. He yanked down on thin, invisible strings attached to his throwing blades, dislodging them from the trees, and sent them spiraling towards the woman. With blinding speed, she holstered one of the guns and lifted a hand, causing a dome of light to form up around her body, stopping the blades in midair.
"So. That is your answer." The witch muttered, with a hint of sadness in her voice, as she took aim with her other pistol and fired, scoring a direct hit on the branch which held the manticore. There was a loud crash as the beast tumbled wildly to the ground, trying frantically to right himself in midair. Spreading his wings at the last moment, he landed awkwardly on his feet and drew his sword, but the witch was no longer present. When he sensed her attack coming, he hardly had the time to feint before the air around him was pierced with gunfire. The witch dropped in front of him, and with a flip of a lever a blade sprung from the side of both her pistols and snapped over the barrel. The manticore swung at the witch, who blocked it effortlessly by forming a cross with these bayonets and caught the sword between them. The sound of blade clashing resounded through the waterlogged forest once... twice... three times, never once did the witch show any sign of fear or fatigue, even against the powerful swings of the manticore. The manticore, growing impatient, made an attack at the first opening he saw, realizing too late that it has been a feint. The witch countered with one hand, and then with a dancer's grace she sidestepped her opponent and pivoted to flank him, cutting down onto one of his wings, through the bone, severing it from his back.
The manticore howled in pain, but turned to meet this new attack, only to witness his sword-hand being cut off at the wrist and fall to the ground, still clutching onto his weapon. The woods were flooded with his earsplitting screams.
"Bitch!" He hissed between clenched teeth, holding the bleeding stump close to his body. "I will have your head for this! Mark my words!" He then hobbled into the night, throwing curses behind him as he went.
"You may have to settle for disappointment," The witch said, retracting the blades back into the sides of the pistols and slid them back into their holsters. She turned to the man. "Are you alright?"
"As well as can be expected." said he, "Though I fear this be not the end of my pursuers, and I cannot fight them as long as I am burdened as such. I beg you, take this child to the Shepsgale Monastery, see to it that no harm befalls of it. I no longer have the facility to protect."
The witch was so taken by surprise as the man held out the bundle he had been guarding with his life moments before, as well as the tone of desperation in his voice, that she took the child without thinking.
"And this sword..." From within his cloak he produced a long sword, beautifully crafted, its thin blade encased within a scabbard of beautifully crafted silver. On the hilt was a bronze two-headed bird, its outstretched wings forming the crossguard. The witch recognized it immediately.
"This crest!” She gasped “You are a Rosgottan knight!?"
The man nodded weakly. "There was a coup d'etat... Duke Alarin of Glascon, backed by alchemists from Viyar, levied an army to overthrow the throne. The city was taken in a matter of hours... His Majesty has fallen in battle, but still we fight on." He closed his eyes. "More will come searching for me... you have to hurry!"
“You should come as well… at least to have your wound tended to”
The knight shook his head, wiping the blood out of his eye with one hand. “There is no time… this war has but started. We knights will regroup and seek aid from our allies. Go now, before something else picks up my scent.”
The witch took the sword as it was handed to her and secured it to her belt so she could take the child with both hands. Before she left she turned back to the knight to ask him his name, only to find that she was alone on the path. The distant rumble of thunder brought her to her senses, and she took flight down the path to the Shepsgale Monastery, the child held snug in her arms.