Witchcraft: Guilty as Charged (Closed: DarkPleasures)

[Knightmare27]

The Devil was weaving his dark net through Bamberg, and Julius von Mespelbrunn, the bishop's special envoy in matters of witchcraft knew that all too well. For a month, he and his men had been investigating leads, questioning witnesses (sometimes rather unkindly) and following rumours. The fruits of their labour were in front of him: Ledgers upon ledgers of witness statements, and a list of names. He had not gotten around to reading them yet (he was not normally this careless, but a sudden and very urgent exorcism on a young, possessed girl had required all his attention). All he knew was that they had finally struck the previous night. Guards were hauling in everyone on the list, or at least those they had been able to catch. Some had fled and would have to be hunted down, but he would get to those eventually.

Be that as it may, he was about to start this largest witch trial in his career in a few minutes, and was mildly curious what the first accused would be like. Witches came in all shapes and forms, and if the shape was particularly appealing, he even enjoyed trying them. He enjoyed it quite a bit. It was an open secret that, when he ordered the "painful questioning" to be applied, the executioner only accompanied him because it was legally required, and was quickly excused. Julius knew that, in this case, the hangman would be particularly thankful for that; contrary to the fevered imaginations of the common people, most executioners were no bloodthirsty monsters. They were craftsmen with a particularly bloody trade, born into the craft by "virtue" of being from a hangman's family, and considered outcasts from birth. They had no choice but to rid the city of its criminal element, and many did not enjoy making people suffer more than necessary. This was especially true of Johann Reichhart, the elderly and rather kindly-looking town hangman. He did his duty, and did it well, but if he was given permission not to take part in a torture, he would take it as gladly as Julius would give it...

Julius was rather young for his high position, but he had distinguished himself in both the quantity and quality of the witches he unearthed whenever he turned up: The previous year, at Dornheim, he had discovered a coven of nearly 30 witches, most of whom were burned. Now in his mid-thirties, thin and dark-haired, with a rather delicate face, he looked much more boyish and kind than he actually was. Oh, he meant no harm at all to the good, pious people around him, but his reputation as a merciless uprooter of all of Satan's work was well-deserved.

The bishop's special envoy looked around the large, round room which was sparsely furnished with the judge's table, some shelves for the trial files (now filled to bursting with the information they had gathered), a small altar with a Bible for taking the oaths of witnesses and the accused, and some chairs for the judge and the adjunct judges (empty; their presence was only required for the final sentencing, and they had other works to attend to). With him in the room were only two guards, who were leaning by the door and looking rather bored. Another door, behind the judge's table, was more ominous, if not in appearance, then in purpose. Smaller than the entrance, it had a heavy iron grate and led down to the dungeons. It was deliberately placed so that the accused would be constantly reminded of the fate of those who hindered the investigation. To his right, narrow stairs led up to the relatively well-lit, roomy cells for contrite witches who would be spared the agonizing ordeal of burning alive.

The newly-built "Witches' Tower" had been built by the Bishop, but necessitated by the Devil, in a way. The area had turned out to be so infested with his evil machination's that the city jails had burst at their seams trying to contain all the followers of the Prince of Lies. Here, in this purpose-built prison for witches, they could be dealt with more expertly. A dark chamber below him was filled with elaborate instruments of pain; the Hexenhammer advised against using torture too readily, but he was still eager to see what his new machines could do to break through the witches' web of lies.

Suddenly, the guards stood upright: The outer door was being opened, and he knew what that meant: The first witch...

 

[DarkPleasures]

Saskia de Wigot, the Norse-Goth half breed, spit on the roughneck who manhandled her. In her native tongue she knew they wouldn't know, the language of her ancestors that was passed down to her from the women folk of her tribe, she said, "Do you know who I am, Peasant? Of course you don't. I am like a God to my people! I am something to fear!"

To the guard, her words were gibberish. The foul movement of her mouth's contents, though, warranted her a brash slap across the face. "In you go, wench!" he spat back at her, throwing her into a dank and dark room.

His modern 17th Century Germanic language was mostly lost on her. There were few words she understood, though his tone reconfirmed the fact that he did not know the ancient language of The Chosen People. She sighed heavily, feeling momentarily defeated. Had he known, had any of those fools within the town of Bamberg known, who - or what - she was they would have respected her. And feared her. Her soul was older than her eighteen-years-of-life appearance it held; making her closer to 350 years old.

Though it was useless, she went on. "My mother was Helga de Wigot. Her mother before her Griselda de Wigot, and before her Bergthora - which means "from Thor" . He is the God of Thunder, you little ant. Bergthora had no surname. She...just was. And while men tend to have little use for our tribe, save for their seed of course, my father is the Gothic War Lord whose name is only spoken in fear and in a soft whisper. That makes me something special. I pity you and yours and the wrath that will come down upon you!"

With that, the heavy wooden door shut in her face. Saskia was angered. She paced in the near-black darkness, clenching her fists in both hands.

 

[Knightmare27]

The angry shouting and the sound of spitting alarmed Julius slightly - he had rarely heard a witch this angry. Mostly, they pleaded, or tried to curry his favour by being as subervient as possible. Anger was rare, and it normally meant a powerful witch; one against whom all the possible precautions from the Hexenhammer had to be taken.

Eventually, the door to the judgement chamber opened, and the woman was pushed in. She was still shouting in some unknown language, and if she was half as strong a witch as she seemed, she was probably cursing everyone. This woman, so wild and strong, had something worrying about her. He was protected by blessings, holy water and the Lord himself, of course, and he would never doubt that they would see him through this. He was not so sure about the guards, though! They were brave men, but would they stand up to this witch's threats?

He knew that one could not show fear to a witch, so he decided to proceed with the trial as normal. In a booming, steady voice, he asked the first questions of the accused in quick succession:

"What is your name?"
"Where are you from?"
"Who are your parents?"

 

[DarkPleasures]

Saskia de Wigot

Saskia looked at this new stranger with curious eyes. He held the same tongue as the previous man, but his manner of dress and demeanor was different. Though not physically stronger than the other, he seemed to command attention and respect.

She spat in his face.

In a series as quick as his queer language, she spoke, "You fool! You shall regret bringing me here if you are the one responsible." She went on to repeat the words she told the guard, too, talking of her lineage and why he should fear her. Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, until she mentioned the Matriarch.

Were her eyes playing tricks on her? This new chamber was nearly as dark as the previous one she was in; only a few strategic candles were lit. Perhaps her ancestors had begun gathering strength? Whatever it was, she swore the man flinched when hearing Bergthora.

Did he know that name, proper? Thor? Was it possible her ancient tongue didn't fall - completely - on deaf ears?

It seemed an eternity went by in silence...

 

[Knightmare27]

Being spat at angered him, but it was nothing new. Most witches cowered, but some, like this one, got angry. Spitting, hissing, screaming. It was important to pretend it had not happened. It robbed them of their power of influence if one just continued to conduct the trial as if nothing had happened. She would not even be punished for this, so that she would not get the false idea that her petty actions influenced the holy work he was doing in any way.

He wiped the spit away and noted down her answers, without the wild threats she was adding in. They had no place in a proper trial protocol, and were probably lies anyway. He tried to sound bored, but could not help inject a slightly icy, menacing tone as he asked the next questions:

"Are your parents alive or dead?"
"Did they die of natural causes? Were they burned as witches?"
"Where did you grow up?"
"When did you hear people first talk of witchcraft, and what did they say?"

Routine questions which he had asked again and again, he had taken them directly from the Hexenhammer. That last one often yielded interesting answers, and often led to finding that witch's teacher. The teacher would then give up more of her students, and eventually an entire bunch of Satan's brood was ready for the burning. He had a feeling that they had hit the bullseye here: By the arrogant and wild manner she showed, she had to be a teacher herself. A powerful one, so he could perhaps torture the names of a good number of younger witches from her.

A queenly woman. She was of indeterminate age - neither very young nor very old; almost... ageless. Perhaps it was only some spell, but she had a natural air of command about her. Her threats, which would have made the seasoned, cynical guards laugh when coming from some arrogant young thing or a cackling old crone almost made them move away from her a little. Her rage was terrifying, but he could tell that she was probably a stately beauty when she calmed down. If she calmed down. For safety, it was advisable to avoid a witch's gaze, but the short glimpse he had of her coal-black eyes made him shudder. It was a look he had expected from a wild bandit, not a mere woman. Truly, a very powerful witch.

 

[DarkPleasures]

Saskia de Wigot

Idiot! Saskia thought to herself. This man's tone made it sound as though he asked her questions, but she had no answers; not when she didn't know the language. She ignored him, dismissing him as something with no importance.

Instead, she began chanting; a verbal offering to her ancestors. Instinctively, her left hand kept sliding back to a thin cord around her neck and into her garment. In her mind, no one who had been in the room was there now. She paced slightly as she chanted.

Her concentration was strong...

 

[Knightmare27]

A spell! The witch had the nerve to cast a spell in the middle of her own trial! As soon as they saw her reach for that amulet or whatever it was she was wearing around her neck, the guards were next to her. One of them held a knife to her throat, the other menaced her with his halberd. That was it! He had taken her threats and her insolence, but trying to openly bewitch a judge in court was something he had never seen before. Any semblance of carefully studied composure was gone as he barked orders to the guards:

"Bind her! Down to the torture chamber with her!"

Down there, he would have to take all the precautions he knew: She would be stripped naked, searched for more amulets like this one inside and out, and all her hair would be shaved because sometimes they hid things in there also. Even more, she deserved to be punished for this. He had spoken to many witnesses to witches' curses, but he never thought he would become one himself. The nerve! Down to the dungeons with her!