Witch of Fear [Mild horror, Isekai High Fantasy]

“So…uh…what do I do?”

Nethlia stood nervously within the art studio of the House of Blooms, waiting for Autumn to direct her. Despite having lived in and guarded the bordello for some odd ten years, she somehow had avoided being subjected to being a model for the occupants.

Autumn contemplated her vision. Even though she’d be mainly using her magical sight, she still wanted to compose the scene properly.

“I’m going to be painting a character portrait. Just let me think for a moment about how I want you to pose.”

“What’s a character portrait?” Nethlia asked.

Autumn hummed for a moment as she thought, circling the berserker to gauge an angle she’d like.

“It’s a style that’ll depict your personality just as much as how you look. For example, as a berserker, I’d want you to look either aggressive or confident, emphasize your muscles and weapon.”

“Oh, okay.”

Nethlia replied as Autumn manipulated her into various poses. One moment Autumn had her looking to the side whilst her body faced Autumn, pole-hammer held towards the floor. In another, she was tilted side on with her head tilted back dominatingly. Again and again Autumn shifted her till Nethlia’s head grew dizzy.

“There, hold that pose. I think I got it.”

Nethlia stood before Autumn now, her body facing forward but at a slight angle. Her head had been tilted back so that she’d look down domineeringly. One elbow rested upon the head of her pole-hammer as she leaned against it, her other hand clenched into a fist at her side, making her muscles stand out.

“This kind feels strange.”

“Just relax a bit into it. You need to look confident and relaxed, but still with a bit of tension. Think of it like you’re waiting for a fight to break out or something.”

Nethlia blinked as she wrapped her mind around a familiar concept.

“Oh, I get it now.”

Suddenly, what had once been a rather awkward pose now coalesced into one of absolute self-assurance and overwhelming danger. The air itself seemed to hold its breath as a fanged grin sprouted upon Nethlia’s lips and butterflies ran havoc in Autumn’s stomach.

“R-right…like that.” Autumn squeaked.

To distract herself, Autumn rushed about the space to direct the hover arcane orbs where she liked. Some she tweaked to cast a soft light across and behind Nethlia’s broad form, while others she strategically placed to cast harder lights to define her muscular body and pick out the details of her apparel.

“Perfect,” Autumn whispered.

Autumn retreated behind her blank canvas with charcoal pencils in hand. Behind her, in one of the prop chairs, Saphielle plopped herself down alongside a still-dozing Floriris.

Soft charcoal marks began tentatively appearing on the creamy white. Stroke by stroke they grew more and more confident in their application and started resolving into hard lines and curves of a dense muscular frame. While Autumn was tempted to just create a charcoal drawing of Nethlia, she resisted as this was just to prepare for her magical vision.

With a few final flecks, Autumn had the proportions of Nethlia laid out and shadows outlined. Now it was time to draw upon her magic and see what colors she’d need.

Closing her eyes, Autumn submerged herself in the black canvas. A familiar trickle of magic flowed from her hat downwards to pool about her eyes. Opening her eyes, she took in Nethlia before her. Unbeknown to her, as the magic swirled within her eyes, the whites darkened till they were pure orbs of black.

With open eyes, Autumn took in Nethlia’s multi-hued soul.

Beside her, a palette of golds, blues, and reds formed infused with magic.

With confident strokes, the paintbrush caressed the canvas. Flecks of wayward paint gathered upon fingers and pale skin. Time flew by as Autumn fell into a trance, uncaring of anything but the breathtaking image before her.

Swirls of joy and excitement warmed the ruby-red skin. It glowed upon her pole-hammer and played across her furs. Beads of sweat glistened under a golden glow. The cooler blues of sadness and grief painted the edges and corners of her eyes, contrasting and enhancing the golden light. Burning reds filled out her form and flickered across her eyes, a rage contained.

More and more Autumn painted. She painted the empty hole where fear once reigned, its edges bleeding with a comforting melancholy and affection. Every emotion had its place in the tapestry of her, flowing together to form the berserker Nethlia.

An Omen Hammer.

Taking a step back from the canvas, Autumn relinquished her hold on her magic, the outsides of her eyes becoming white once more.

Before her stood a painting that brimmed with magic. It radiated the emotions Autumn had painted, giving a glimpse at what she had seen. Few before her had captured such sublimity. It looked so real that one felt they could reach out and feel the heat of the model’s skin, feel the roughness of her furs, or the weight of her gaze.

Autumn swore that she saw that the painted form of Nethlia was breathing within.

Blinking away the dots in her eyes, Autumn turned to Nethlia, who was patiently but nervously waiting.

Autumn applied one last detail to the piece, her artist’s mark. In all her other works, she had simply written her name, but right now she felt like doing something different. In the lower right-hand corner, she made a few swift strokes of black and orange. Much like a Wiccan mark of old, there in the corner sat a dark triangle brimmed with autumnal leaves.

“It’s done.”

Nethlia awoke from her posturing trance. Her wild hair shook as she stretched out her cramped muscles.

“Really? Can we see?”

“Sure.”

Autumn backed away from the painting. Turning around, she saw that while she had been lost in her artistic fugue, Stacy had arrived and now was gazing with interest at her painting alongside Nethlia, Saphielle, and a now awake Floriris.

“Woah!”

A ripple of surprise and wonderment passed through the group as the full effects of the magic washed over them. Autumn nervously awaited their judgment to the side, absentmindedly she rubbed at the paint upon her fingertips.

As she stood before the painting, Nethlia bore witness to an unfettered vision of her soul. A self-reflection of her emotions as Autumn saw them. A soft exhalation escaped her lips. She was the one paying to have her fear taken away, but she wondered who exactly gained more from this experience.

Or perhaps that was the wrong way to look at it.

A wave of satisfaction washed over Autumn as her deal was completed, like an itch finally scratched.

“That’s amazing! Look, you can see every ripple of your muscles!” Saphielle said to Nethlia.

As the two marveled at the finished work, Stacy sidled up to Autumn with a keen look in her eye.

“Do you think you could paint the other girls? Something we could hang up in the foyer? It’d be a great draw for our clients, give them a view of who our girls are.”

Slightly startled, Autumn turned to Stacy and thought about it.

“We, as in the House of Blooms, would be more than willing to compensate you for your time and efforts.”

Autumn hesitated a moment. Her confidence in her art hadn’t been all that high as she hadn’t sold any before, but this was different. There was magic in it now, literally. It possessed a near-perfect quality that she couldn’t downplay, even in humbleness.

Still, she spoke about her concerns.

“I’d have to paint what they are. I can’t lie or hide or even exaggerate anything. It wouldn’t work if I did.”

The thought of changing what was painted from what she could see or omitting parts hadn’t even crossed her mind as she was painting. The clear hole where fear had lived within Nethlia had remained, a wound bare to all.

“That’s fine. Honesty wins over more than otherwise. Plus, I’ll let the girls decide if they’re comfortable with hanging them up. This feels more…intimate than anything I’ve seen before and trust me I’ve seen a lot.”

Autumn didn’t doubt that. Finally, she complied. She needed money after all, as adventuring wasn’t cheap.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent, what days and times are you free?” Stacy asked with a notebook and quill in hand.

Autumn froze.

“Um…I don’t really know. I think we were going to head on over to the Adventurer's Guild today, and who knows after that?”

She had forgotten how ignorant she was in all the excitement. Autumn didn’t even know how many days there were in a week, let alone their names. Spying Stacy’s notebook, an idea flashed through her head.

“Say, do you know anywhere I could get a day planner? I’d make it so much easier to work around if I had one.”

Stacy took in the sheepish-looking witch for a second.

“Sure do. Head on over to the Scribe’s Guild once you’re done with the Adventurer's Guild. It’s just across the Guild Square. You can’t miss it. Just look for the symbol of a scroll and ink quill.”

Autumn breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. I’ll check it out.”

Autumn turned back to Nethlia, who still stood in contemplation over herself.

“Nethlia! Shouldn’t we be going?”

Shaken from her thoughts by the call, Nethlia blinked. She stared, confused, before her mind restarted.

“Oh, yeah right. Let’s head on over to the Guildhall and see if there are any applications for members or any straightforward jobs available.”

She glanced down at Autumn’s paint-covered hands that had left smears wherever she had absentmindedly touched.

“First, wash up before we go.”

Autumn followed her gaze before blushing as she realized she had been making a mess. Quickly she disappeared out of the gallery, heading for somewhere to wash off, Nethlia lazily following behind.

Once she’d cleaned off stubborn paints the best she could have, Autumn set off into the bustling city streets alongside Nethlia. In the mid-morning, the streets of the red-light district were relatively calm. Only the occasional tradesperson was cleaning what mess the night before had caused. It was as they moved into the Guild district things picked up. Adventurers entered and exited their guild hall to receive or turn in quests of varying complexity. Scribes in loose robes shuffled bundles of scrolls back and forth between each hall. Merchants in gold and finery counted deals and coins amongst a bevy of hired guards.

All the while, the subtle sounds of music drifted in as bards played.

It was, in a word, enthralling.

The last time Autumn had passed through this space, she had been in a rush, not wanting to be lost within the crowd, and had missed out on checking out the other halls. Now that she had a chance and a desire to find the scribe’s hall, she did so.

Each hall possessed not only a towering height but a large footprint too, given the compact nature of the city. The Guild district was easily larger than the red-light district and the Alchemist’s row combined.

Moving further in, Autumn counted eight guilds, nine if you included the massive mage’s tower that loomed over the square from behind the Adventurer’s Guild.

To her left, as she entered the square, was the Builder’s Guild, denoted by the symbol of crossed hammers upon a shield and wooden border. To her right was the Artisan’s Guild, which boasted a symbol of an anvil, an alchemical flask, and a sewing needle. Next along, tucked back off the main square and closer to the marketplace, was the Performer’s Guild. A rather macabre-looking jester mask with bells included made up their symbol. The open doors allowed mimes, bards, actors, and jesters to play their arts.

Across from the Performer’s and Artisan’s Guilds was the Farmer’s Guild. Above closed doors, a crest bearing the wavy dust grains lay. If it was anything like home, Autumn imagined the inside to be more like a stock house where trades between farmers took place. Directly across the square was the hall she wanted to find. Without even entering it, Autumn could tell it was a library. She had sense for these things. A waving banner bound to the wall by chains depicted an ancient scroll and the infernal symbols of the Scribe’s Guild.

As her gaze moved on as she looked anti-clockwise to the next building, one could forgive Autumn for mistaking it for a tavern. The Brewer’s Guild’s crest looked more like that of a tavern. A tapped end of a banded keg held an overflowing mug. Numerous workers hauled barrel after barrel out and across town, and many headed toward the Adventurer’s Guild. The seventh guild was practically gilded in gold. Situated right next to the Adventurer’s hall was the Merchant’s, most likely there to take advantage of whatever treasures or beasts they brought back. Its symbol was a gilded scale, and a fractured crown upon a golden shield.

Lastly, if one ignored the mage tower, was the Adventurer’s Guild. While Autumn had entered it before, she had missed its symbol outside in her rush. Looking at it now, Autumn saw a shield divided into quarters. In the upper right was a series of mountains, while the bottom left held a windrose compass. The opposing sections only held strips. Place on top of the shield was the amusing sight of a knight’s helm wearing a wizard’s hat.

A motto read “The journey is the Glory. Also, mind the step.”