Witch Quest: Story Only

So, being it's reached the triple digits, it just seems logical to condense all the story together, and cut out all the voting, bickering, speculation and discussion.

Granted, story flow might not make perfect sense without all that involved with it, but it's neither here or there.

In any case, refrain from replying or voting in this thread, 'K?

Tropes Page

More pic storage, because you can apparently only put 20 in a post.

Squirrely sama-



















Rask-

This space reserved for the excellent artworks~

Lillithium-







Squirrely sama-























Rask

"Make a contract with me, and I can grant you any one wish."

It had seemed so clear. Such an obvious choice.

"Eh, is that the wish? Alright then."

For years, your family had been growing apart, angrier and full of hatred for one another. It was like war.

"Wh.... what is..."

It had seemed like a dream come true.

"It's forbidden for us to give advice, about what a wish should be."

It had been too good to be reality, though you only understood after it was already too late.

"Did I misunderstand what you asked? Or was it that you didn't think carefully enough about your wish? Are they not at peace, now?"

It was, possibly, the fastest transformation into a Witch that had ever been.

And maybe the quietest as well. Consumed with grief and despair, you did not lash out at the world, but drowned yourself deep beneath the earth, slumbering and gazing up at the world you had rejected.

Until the day came that you were too hungry and pained to continue lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

And then, having sought a suitable despair to feed upon, you died, and your existence was used to purify one who understood nothing.

And then you lived once more, staring up into the world you had rejected.

And died again, when hunger drove you to rise.

And once more you lived.

The cycle continues.

You have begun to think that something very odd is going on.

No matter what you do, and how you die, will you continue to live?

You're not sure you minded dying that much. If it had just been the once, it would have been one thing...

You are Rochelle. The witch of Regret. A damned huge spider, or something really close to it. You never really liked arachnids, so you kind of regret what you've become in more ways than one...

You are staring up from your 'Bed'.

You've died more than once. But let us call this, for the sake of narration, life number one. The first, at least, that you have begun to think about how you keep dying, and then later, not-being-dead.

---

[ ] Is there anything you want to do?

[x] Web.

In fact, you have a web.

It's actually your bed.

And also, your false reality, where you would lure people to die if you had ever tried that without immediately being crushed like an insect.

The threads look like normal spidersilk, but they drip slowly into a yawning expanse of nothingness beneath, and if you listen carefully, you can hear sobbing.

It's a little creepy.

But it's a nice bed, all the same.

---

[ ] ???

[x] The not-spider.

You try, fervently, to no longer be a giant spider of some sort.

It seems less than successful. You think there's probably more to it than that, if it's even possible.

You bitterly regret your failure.

[x] Sobbing.

You are alone. The sobs are coming from the web itself. It seems to be a byproduct of their having been produced by a giant, magic spider of despair and bitterness.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Hugs!

Somehow, you hadn't really considered going to the surface when you weren't desperately hungry, before.

Much less leaving your altered Reality behind to do so, instead of luring people in.

But this seems like an okay idea, after no thought whatsoever. You proceed out of the imaginary spiderweb and take a look around.

There's a lot of people who seem to be stunned into silence by a spider as big as a large bus or very small building.

You select one, a businessman in a suit, and hug him with your spindly forearms.

"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD, FUUUUCK!" he yells in response, as people start screaming and running.

[x] Song!

You have trouble vocalizing... anything, really, given that you are a spider.

You try to hum a few bars of what you think was a popular tune when you make your contract.

It comes out "KRIIIII-KIKIKI-RIKKKKKII!"

The salaryman seems to have soiled his suit.

[x] Familiar.

You can create one per person you've killed, you somehow instinctively know, and once they've killed ten people they can become a Witch themselves.

You haven't killed anyone, though.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Souvenirs!

You have enough trouble just carrying this one guy around with your forelimbs, without squishing him into paste. It's harder to walk on just six than you'd expect.

You regret not having thumbs.

[x] Communication!

You could smear paint on things with a foreleg or something?

You suppose that would work.

You dance your way over to a home improvement store, your new friend screaming all the while, and burst right in through the front doors and a fair section of the front wall.

More screams erupt from the shoppers inside.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Homeward?

You amble your way over to the paint aisle, toppling shelves as you go, and sending customers in a riotous mass toward the exit.

Once there, you pick up a can of paint.

Or try to, anyway. Your poisonous fangs aren't exactly the most dextrous appendages available.

You regret not having thumbs, as you bite through more than a few cans before managing to finally loop a fang through the handle.

Then you head home.

"Tiro."

.... or try to, anyway. Where did all of this ribbon come-

-----

Life 2.

You are staring up from your bed, at the world you have reject- wait, no.

That didn't work out well, for some reason.

---

[x] ???

[x] Preparations.

A thread of sobbing silk would be more useful, you guess.

Yeah, you think you could thread it through the handle a lot easier than a fang. Especially if you aren't carrying someone.

An attempt shows that this works out pretty darn well. You loop several cans of paint onto the thread, ignoring the once more screaming and fleeing pedestrians and customers, and head home.

Except everything goes gray for a split second.

And suddenly you feel a whole lot more ventilated.

"I didn't think any other Witches moved outside their reality marbles. I guess she was telling the truth." One of the not yet witches says stepping forward and-

Hey. HEY NO. What do you think you're doing with that pipe b-

------

Life 3.

You are... oh geeze, that was fast.

---

[ ] ???

[x] One more shot!

You nudge the exit of this reality to be inside the store itself.

Coming out this way means that they won't see you coming, and you should have time to either grab things and leave or write a warning on the- YOU ARE ON FIRE

WHERE DID SHE EVEN GET THAT MUCH NAPALM.

You're pretty sure this store is going to burn down n-

------------

Life 4.

You- Oh damn it.

You're half tempted not to go back up there at all, with how you keep dying.

Let them dig through three hundred feet of dirt and solid rock between the exit of this place and the surface.

.... You're going to get hungry eventually, though. And by eventually you mean 'near future' sort of eventually.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Move reality.

You can't, really. It's everywhere and nowhere all at once. You can change where it comes in and out, but it's still the same place.

[x] Accessorize.

You make a hat.

You regret to discover that you are not good at making hats. It's more of a large, floppy blob of silk tied together enough that it sort of sits on your head.

The cape turns out a lot better, since it's just a flat stretch of something close to cloth.

The message, not so much.

You can read it fine, "Hello, please don't set me on fire." It's just that, at the same time, you're recognizing that it's written in these weird runes that you're pretty sure you've never seen before.

You try a couple more times, in both Japanese and what halting C- grade English you know, but it keeps coming out runes.

Either way, you've eaten up several hours with your knitting.

It occurs to you, that if someone were expecting for you to show up at a certain time, at a certain place, they would now probably be very upset.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Peek out.

Yep, there's that girl, sitting right on the roof, with a very cross look on her face...

She sits up straighter.

By the time she's started to look at where the entrance to your reality is, you've already pulled it safely through the floor, the foundations of the building, and a long stretch of ground.

[x] Manipulation of things.

This comes in one category, and regrettably that is 'ultra-clumsy'.

A bit of sticky silk can make things at the same time easier and a lot more difficult.

You miss thumbs. They were nice.

[x] Dress for Success.

With your new accessories, you are bound for victory!

You exit into the city under the setting sunlight, and make your way around the screaming people, tearing bits of billboard and signs down. With this, you should be able to piece together some acceptable level of communication!

"Tiro!"

Oh, and here comes someone to try it on! It'll just take you a moment to pick throu-

-------

Life 5.

....

Your hat is gone.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Tantrum.

This sucks.

You need to complain at someone.

It takes you a bit, but you find a suitable false reality, and charge right in, full of frustrated annoyance with the world.

The googly thing with the sort of rosebush head rears up and sort of roars at you like an angry animal and sends familiars at you as you try to explain your problems and just how your days have gone, recently.

You get the feeling that Gertrud's not even listening to a word you're trying to say, here.

The bitch.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Educated Discourse

You try to just rant about how much you don't like being set on fire or shot full of holes, or blasted entirely apart, but after a bit the efforts of those little puff balls to stab you to death with scissors gets annoying enough that you give it up and just show your displeasure physically.

The puffs fly apart like... well, like you're tearing apart little puffs of cotton. They aren't exactly durable or strong, you guess it doesn't really take much to kill your average person, if they're suicidal or depressed enough from being in a false reality to not fight back.

Gertrud is tougher.

But she's not that tough either, and doesn't seem to be watching where she's going. You barely have to start setting webbing out for combat use, and she plops right into a sticky mass, and helpfully tangles herself up in it trying to escape.

.... She doesn't seem that bright.

Neither do the familiars, really.

You try both eating and suborning them. Neither seems to work out. You go back to smashing them apart, instead.

You think Gertrud ran out at some point. Well. That's that, then.

She's still stuck in your webbing, though the thrashing is slowly working her free.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Diplomacy?

You go ahead and add some more silk, making it less likely for her to break free.

Then you attempt to facilitate communication.

You don't seem to be able to get your point across with spidery chittering.

Or with woven messages in the crazy-runes.

Or with interpretive body-waggling dance.

Nope, no matter what you do, Gertrud just thrashes there like a wild and angry beast caught in a net.

In the end, you just eat her.

Surprisingly, you feel slightly less hungry after, though it doesn't sate you the way you somehow know a human would.

The false reality disperses, leaving you sitting on a rooftop. It looks like Gertrud dropped something.

---

[ ]???

[x] Get: Grief seed.

You have some trouble picking the thing up, regretting once again your lack of thumbs, but eventually stick it to some silk, and stick the silk to one of your legs.

Then, spying a flash of yellow on a rooftop some distance off, you quickly retreat and drag the entrance to your retreat deep within the earth below.

You guess there's a reason that most witches don't leave their false realities. You must show up like a giant bonfire or something to whatever searching techniques they use, given that they keep finding you so fast when you're outside.

You stare at the thingamabbob Gertrud dropped.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Taste test.

.... Actually, you aren't sure that spiders have tongues.

But inspecting it, it does seem to... resonate, somehow, with something inside of you. Like you could... do something, with it. Maybe a push? Maybe a pull?

----

[ ] Push
[ ] Pull
[ ] Don't screw with the creepy thing Gertrud dropped when you ate her. Think of something else to do instead.

[x] Push

You shove outwards, forcing 'away' from yourself and 'into' the thing.

It grows blacker, dark as pitch and of night and bubbles as you force... something, out of yourself, and into it.

Your body feels like it's burning. You have ample comparison, and the feeling is just the same.

Everything goes blurry. It warps. It ripples. You heave, feeling your body move in shuddering jerks.

One.

Two.

Three.

... And suddenly, it's all over.

You have thumbs. You do not regret this.

You do, however, regret that you have no clothes.

And that you're awkwardly hanging onto the thread you slipped off before.

And that Gertrud is back.

Hello, Gertrud.

She looks bigger than before. Or maybe it's that you're smaller. She definitely looks angrier, though. You don't suppose she might be upset about being eaten?

You're lucky that you did this in a web, in some ways, because right away she starts getting tangled up in her efforts to squish you.

It does make hanging on kind of problematic, though.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Henshin!

You try to transform into a magical girl!

You never actually did this, even before you were a Witch, but it can't be that hard, just something with the soul gem...

You don't have a soul gem.

You have one of those thingies like Gertrud dropped, only shinier.

Huh.

Transformation doesn't seem to work.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Silk

This seems like it's going to be really embarrassing and ineffective in a body without spin- oh wait they're in the back of your throat?

Blargh.

it sort of works.

Arglarbl.

You end up spitting up far less at a time than you do as a giant spider, though.

Gakkapth.

.... Not doing really much against Gertrud, compared to the massive threads already here. Just a matter of scale?

Also, your teeth feel a whole lot pointier than you think they're supposed to be.

[x] Let's go somewhere not here!

You drop out of this reality.

You are now in.... it looks like a park, maybe? Thick patches of trees and bushes.

You move one leg. Then another.

.... Then you try to move a third and sort of fall flat on your face, arms waving awkwardly.

That's right, you only have two of those now.

For thumbs, you guess you can bear it.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Once-over.

Hm.... you look pretty human.

Your fingernails are sort of pointy and black, though.

It looks like there's something like a tattoo on your navel. An eight-legged ring, surrounding your bellybutton.

..... Your legs are a bit hairier than might be seemly. A razor should fix that right up?

A little test shows that you can talk in proper Japanese! A bit mangled, though. Hard to vocalize, with pointy teeth and spinnerets instead of tonsils, you guess.

You shakily force yourself up to your feet, and manage another few steps before trying to move a limb you don't have, and find yourself face first in the dirt again.

---

[ ] ???

[x] One two.

One Two.

One two.

One Two.

Three.

Damn it.

Giggles arise from nearby as you lever yourself up again. Dirt is not tasty. Why couldn't it taste like chocolate, instead of... dirt? You regret the lack of forethought put into the substance.

You try levering yourself up on all four limbs and moving like that instead, to the sound of further childish giggles. It works for a bit, then you flump into a seated position as you realize you are being watched. By a man and child.

"Miss.... are you drunk?" the child's minder says, uncertainly.

"No." You reply. After a moment's thought, you continue your explanation. "Hwee ahr a Gi-ahnt spy-dahr."

"... Of course you are." He says, smiling hesitantly, and very much not letting the child run over to you.

---

[ ] ???

[x] inebriation?

You consider things for a long moment, adding up the suspicious facts that you are naked in a public place, can't move properly, and can't talk quite right.

"Ahr we drahnk?" You say, allowing the possibility.

"You could be."

".... Did hwee hahv clothse, befoor?" You manage.

"I don't know, really." The man admits. He squints for a moment. "Are you all right?"

"?" You say, eloquently, rising up to your feet only for your stupid, illogically bending ankles to twist up on you and plop you back on your posterior. You try to blink away the tiniest teardrops before they're visible, but you think he might have seen.

"... Looks like we're going home early today, Tatsuya." He sighs, trying half-heartedly to cover the child's eyes.

It's a bit of a tangle, but he gets beneath your arm and sort of manages to help you hobble along, feet flopping along the ground as you sort of work out how walking goes, properly. Bystanders stare, but with a frown and a glower and a cheerful wave from the child, they turn aside and mind their own business.

You find yourself in the fancy bedroom of a fancy house, later.

"I think you might be Junko's size, roughly." He mumbles. "Do you have a name, I can look up contact information?"

"Hwee ahr Rochelle." You answer obligingly.

".... Family name? No? No phone number or adress?" He tries, as he drops a large and fluffy towel over you.

----

[ ] ???

[x] Return to sender, address unknown?

After confirming that there's nothing you can give him, the man leaves the room, grumbling, to go see if he can search names alone, to find people named Rochelle in Japan. 'There can't be too many', he mumbles to himself.

You stumble around the room a bit, working out the details of balance when toes get involved. Heel-toe, heel-toe. Toe-heel. Hm. Takes some getting used to. But you've stopped trying to walk on legs you don't have, by this point. Just having two eyes gives you a bit of a headache, though.

[x] Wardrobe Adjustment.

You tear up and redo the towel some, not for a moment stopping to consider that, technically, it's not yours.

You have to use your silk in some places, but in the end you have a sleeveless vest/coat thing made of a towel, hanging down past your hips. It's pink and fluffy. The child laughs at it, but you kind of like it.

It's pretty obvious that you used spider webbings in it though, considering how it looks and that there's not really any other kind of thread in this room.

And you think the kid watched you fix it.

[x] writing!

Not so much available here, just lipstick and toiletries.

The child has gotten bored of you, and he's playing with a ball, now. Throwing it high in the air, to bounce on the ground. Thump-ump.

You try to scribble something on the counter witht he lipstick anyway.

Thump-ump.

Nope, no good. Just the crazy-runes.

Thump-ump.

It might be kind of a problem. You can still read Japanese though, even if you can't write it by hand.

Thump-ump.

..... That's actually really annoying.

Thump-ump.

You wait for him to throw it again, and...

Thbppt.

The child squeals and claps his hands at the trick, and you realize belatedly that this might not have been the best of ideas, as the man pauses in the doorframe.

".... Uh." He says, uncertainly and hesitant.

You consider how to respond to this.

".... Hwee ahr a gi-ahnt spy-dahr." You say after a moment, pointing this out again.

"I see." He says flatly. "... Well, Rochelle didn't turn anything up. I guess, I'll look up... Jorogumo instead? Ah, it's time for your nap, though, Tatsuya."

"Noooo, don't wanna nap." The child complains petulantly.

---

[ ] ???

[x] Name!

"I'm Kaname Tomohisa." He responds to your mangled query, seeming to take you more seriously than when you were the drunk naked lady in the park that couldn't stand up straight.

You nod, thoughtfully, as he ushers the child out to its naptime.

[x] Drawing.

.... This actually works a lot better. You aren't 'writing a character'. You're 'drawing a picture of that character'.

.... It still takes over a minute to draw a single character, and more for complex ones, and the end result looks too fancy to be used normally. Bold-faced and artistic, with swoops and curls.

Well, at least it's proof that you can produce legible text, if only painfully slowly.

[x] Typewriter?

You aren't familiar with a 'Computer', but it's what Tomohisa directs you to when you ask for a typewriter.

He nods when, after you stare at the contraption, keyboard attached to a large television screen, you mumble something about having been underground for a long time. The thing must be horrifically expensive.

You panic, a little, when one of your fingernails pierces a key, but he re-affixes it without trouble, once it's been removed from the offending digit.

In any case, you can produce legible text this way as well. No reason to expect otherwise. All you're doing is pushing a button, and the correct character appears in the correct place in response.

Your typing speed is apparently painfully slow, though. Or possibly 'pitiably'. One of the two, or maybe some combination of both.

Checking the 'search engine' reveals a whole lot of stories of Witches and magical girls, usually not intertwined, and apparently all fictional. The name of your contractor doesn't appear, when you try it.

[x] Make a hat.

It takes you a couple hours, sitting in the lounge.

But you make an awesome, floppy silk beanie with a little knob of silk on the top. It's completely white, obviously, and the sound of weeping is muted enough that you can even pretend you don't hear it at all!

You're sure the kid will like it.

---

[ ] ???