The White Bone Witch

As soon as he approached this mysterious place, he realised why it seemed so white from afar – each wall, arch and door was made from bones. It was obvious why this castle was considered cursed by the people that lived around this place. Each town and village told their own, slightly different, version of the ancient myth about the L’yor Dranach. Simpletons called it the White Bone Castle, but the initial name given by an ancient elven emissary was more suitable. In the languages of men the closest translation would be the Cursed Bones.
The man walked up to the castle, feeling petrified by the dark, chilling charm of this place and the intricate ornaments laid out if different bones. At first he thought about how many people could have perished to give such an enormous castle so much building material, but then he noticed that it was not only human bones, but also horses, dogs, snakes and other animals and birds used.
The very strange, cracked cobblestones under his feet were very beautiful and reminded him of the ivory he once had the opportunity to see in some high lord’s collection.
Bones were scattered everywhere. Some seemed to be at least a couple of hundred years old, others – almost fresh, covered with remains of rotting or dried out flesh.
The man walked past a big arch, made out of horse skulls, and went into a spacious hall. His amazement with the peculiar architecture grew stronger, as he noticed how complicated the ornaments and frescoes became inside. The castle made a very terrifying impression, but one could not deny it the beauty, even though the chosen material was not typical or even tolerable for many people.
He stepped carefully, trying to avoid any noise, and yet in these halls, filled with bones and rusty pieces of weapons and armour, he felt he was being watched. Someone definitely knew he was there, but he could not say who it was. People told him this place was cursed with the souls of the dead, roaming forever in these walls that were lined with their human remains. And yet, he had not seen a single ghost here. Only wind playing with rotting cloth and cobwebs.
Finally, he walked into a much greater hall than before – this one had skulls plastered to the walls. Hundreds and thousands of skulls looked at him with their black eyeless sockets. At both sides there were columns that were made from skulls and had bone lanterns embedded into them. There were fires burning in them, so the man followed this passage without a single thought, calmed by the luminescence and not questioning who it was for.
He noticed a great throne at the end of this hall, made from bones and skulls. It was massive, making him question to the number of people that were used in making of such a lavish and gruesome seat of power.
“Ah, a guest in my domain.” A woman’s voice sounded, making the man tremble from the pleasant, yet very intimidating tone that seemed to sound from everywhere around him. “Who dares enter my Castle of Bones without an invitation?”
The man gulped, feeling a sudden chill run down his spine, and gathered all his courage.
“I beg your forgiveness, my lady. I am a humble bard.” He said.
“A bard! How intriguing!” the woman, hiding somewhere in this great hall laughed.
Her laugh made him tremble from terror, and he forced himself to bow down with all respect he could muster.
“I mean no disrespect, my lady. If you wish me gone, I will leave at once.” The bard said, looking at his feet, too afraid to look anywhere else.
A drop of sweat fell from his forehead, and he thought if it was seen by the lady of the castle.
“What would a bard want in such a dreadful place?” he heard a few steps made and suddenly noticed that someone was standing right in front of him.
“I… I seek out stories, my lady.” He answered, his voice trembling from fear.
“Stories.” She laughed again, and he noticed her walking away. “Rise, bard. And approach me. You shall have some… stories.”
He rose and saw a woman – tall, slim and with pale white skin, covered by intricate ornaments made in black paint. She was wearing a very strange dress that looked old-fashioned and extremely worn, as if already torn from the decades she had been wearing it. How she managed to reach her throne and sit down without making any noise – he could not say.
The bard tried not to stare at her terrible face – a skull with burning red eyes looked at him from a mane of white hair. Instead, he approached the throne, where she sat with the elegance of a true Queen, and bowed again.
“My lady.” He said, rising up.
“So, bard. Have you come a long way?” the woman touched her face, then chuckled and took it off.
The man gasped at the beauty that was hidden behind the mask he mistook for her face, and found himself at a loss for words.
She was young – too young to be called the Old White Hag, like the people called her in the town nearby. And she was very beautiful – more than most princesses he had ever seen in his life. And he had seen quite a few.
“A bard, lost for words!” the woman laughed again. “Come. Sit by me and tell me where are you from and what exactly is it that you seek here?”
The man approached and sat down at her feet, mesmerized by her looks and those captivating ruby red eyes.
“I came from the other end of this world, my lady. I have heard many stories and I wanted to find out the story behind different places, but among all the legends I have heard, yours intrigued me the most.” The man answered truthfully.
“So it is my story you are seeking. Fine. You shall hear my story…” the woman smiled. “But do not dare hope that your life does not lie within my grasp.”
“Of course, my lady.” The bard reached for his bag and froze. “Would you mind if I took my quill and some parchment?”
“Be my guest, bard.” The woman watched him take out his belongings and a book with empty pages that he opened, ready to write. “But before I start… Tell me your name, so that if I will feel like taking your life, I would know what to call your bones after they take their place among those, who had come before you?”
The man gulped again, feeling himself very weak and vulnerable.
“My name is Thoron, my lady.”
“So, Thoron the Bard. Are you ready to hear my story?”
“Yes, my lady.”


* * *
Mankind was never known for its mercy. Humans spend more time quarrelling over something or fighting in devastating wars between kingdoms. Some people can be quite good and fair, and honourable, but they are so few, that in your core, humans can be considered pure evil. You despise other nations, you hate your own kind for being different, you are proud and prone to greed and vanity.
It has always been and will always remain so.
I have seen it, for I belong to a long forgotten people of Ash’Kaina, the immortals that built many roads and temples of the ancient times. We are no more, because humans drove my people to extinction. You slaughtered us – each and every one. Except me.
Why this happened I do not know. Perhaps humans envied our immortality, even though it only helped us not to fall sick or die of old age, we could still be killed. Many of my people fell prey to the hunts that were held by kings and alchemists, claiming that our very bodies hold the answer to how to live gain eternal life. Others were killed for the glowing red eyes people feared and called demonic.
For centuries my kind had been exterminated for different reasons, until all that was left was me.
I was not like my own people and I learned the ways of men. I hid among your kind, disguising myself with trickery and magic. Others were not so lucky or willing to betray our old ways and traditions.
Our kind was always generous and na;ve, but I learned the hard way that this was not the road to my survival. Too much I have lost. Too many perished.
After I found out there was no one else, I did not know what to do. So I travelled from place to place, still being kind and helping, but secretly searching for at least a hint of someone surviving the horrors of men. I posed as a mercenary, a wanderer, even sometimes appeared as an acolyte of one of the temples your people had built from the stones of our buildings.
You settled on our lands, raised your cities upon our own, and I saw this with my own eyes. But I have never again found anyone else like myself.
I have, however, found something else.
Even though I helped people, I often used my natural magic to defend the causes I found just. And yet humans found every effort I made seem ill-willed or vile for some reason. It matters not now if it was envy for my powers or hate for me being different.
For centuries I heard that I was a deceiver, a menace, a bloodthirsty cutthroat, a murderer. So many different names I have gained by simply helping others.
Finally, something in me died, when an angry mob attacked me after I had rescued a whole city from an army of invaders. That very city served as a base for the castle you see today. My first bones came from the enemy armies I have vanquished. More came from the mob that wanted my head. None were spared. I had killed each and every one who was within the city walls. Men, women, children, animals and birds…
I decided that if people want to see me as a monster, I shall become one. And, just like some time ago humans killed all my people – each man, woman and child, I have carried out my sentence without any second thoughts.
To match their names for me I started building this castle, using my magic – wall by wall, floor by floor I have put together with countless bones, ripped from the bodies of those I had killed. You should have seen how terrifyingly beautiful the ground was around this place, covered in the flesh of those that wanted me dead.
And, after all, unleashing my magic did a great thing for me. It sent all humans a message.
Yet different humans received a different message, because if ones began truly fearing me, others wanted to rid these lands of me. And so began my reign of blood and bones. I killed armies sent to kill me. I murdered each and every assassin. No matter how many people your kings sent, no matter how determined they were to kill me, I stayed here – alone, unbeaten, alive. And their bones kept piling up, adding to the thickness of these walls or the ornaments around.
I have no idea how many decades or centuries passed before people stopped sending parties here in their thirst for vengeance and their so-called “justice”. But they have, at last, left me alone and unbothered.
When I received this final name of the White Bone Witch is unknown to me. But at least it serves its purpose and most people fear me for who I am.
Every now and then, of course, someone either stumbles upon my castle or comes here in search for lost treasures, but all of them now lay among so many countless others.


* * *
The bard waited for her to continue, but the heavy silence that fell after her last words was overwhelming. He looked at her and noticed how calm, and yet very sad she looked. Even her eyes seemed burdened by the memories of all those terrors she had to live through and carry out.
He suddenly understood her motivation – she was only looking to be left alone and live in peace, unbothered by anyone. Perhaps, she was mad from the long life she had endured, or from the losses she had suffered. But she was not looking to conquer and destroy – only to live without fearing for her life.
“So, Thoron the Bard, how do you find my story? Is it entertaining enough?” the Witches voice tore him out of his thoughts and he found himself frozen at her feet.
“I beg your forgiveness, my lady. But I would not use that word to describe it.” He replied.
“And how would you call it then?” her eyes glimpsed with strange magic.
Thoron took his time to find the most appropriate name for what he had just heard. Human language could not provide the whole tragedy and suffering that was in her story with a single word.
“Heavy.” He finally sighed. “Tragic. Full of pain and suffering. But not in a single moment – entertaining.”
He looked away and shook his head.
“I had no idea how disgusting life can be.” He added, looking at his notes.
The Witch started laughing – so loud, that Thoron turned to her in amazement.
“Oh, you are so young and na;ve, my dear bard!” she breathed out, calming down, but still smiling widely. Her smile made her even more beautiful than before.
“I am sorry.” The man mumbled, lowering his gaze down to the floor.
“Do not apologise, Thoron. Youth will pass, and you will stop being na;ve. Wisdom comes with years that pass by like sand passes through our fingers.” The woman answered.
“My lady…” he gulped again, suddenly realising that she was still free to end his life any moment she pleased.
“What?”
“Might I ask you what do you intend doing now?”
“Hm.” Her voice was pleasant, low and she seemed to return to her thoughts for a couple of moments before answering. “Killing you would be easy. But I have no more use for the bones – my castle is big enough…”
He looked at her, fearing that she would snap her fingers to end his life.
Finally, she sighed, and slowly rose from her throne.
“But I think that keeping you alive would benefit me much greater.” She said, not looking at him. “You are free to leave, Thoron. But never return. And if I learn that you have spread the word that I still live and people will start coming here again… I will find you, be sure of that. And you will not like what I will do to you or anyone who will be near you.”
“Yes, my lady.” Thoron bowed down to the floor, pushing his book and the quill aside. “I give you my word, that I will do my best to keep you from being visited by others.” He said.
“Rise, bard. Walk with me.” Her calm voice made it obvious that he should not waste her time and patience any longer.
He gathered his things is a matter of seconds and followed her to the main gates of the castle, where he bowed to her again, thankful for her mercy.
“Oh, and Thoron…” she called to him, once he turned away to walk back to the road that lead to the closest village.
“Yes, my lady?” he turned to face her once again, terrified that she had changed her mind.
“You will be welcome here, if you wish to return to hear some more stories from the events I have witnessed. But return alone.”
“Of course, my lady!” he bowed once more.
“My name, Thoron, is Ameera. Remember it, but never share it with others.” The White Bone Witch waved to him and the gates closed shut, moved by her magic.
“I will remember you always, my lady Ameera.” Thoron replied, smiling and bowing again.
He was leaving the L’yor Dranach with a new story from old times and his life – to him it was pure success.