The Witch-House

The inside of the hut was as messy and ramshackle as the exterior and the clothes of its inhabitant might suggest. Shelves stacked with various bottles and jars containing unnamed ingredients, pots and pans, and a variety of battered, dog-eared tomes lined the walls up to the low ceiling. The far end of the single, central room was dug into the side of the hill and thick roots extended into the living space, with a small hammock suspended between them. Lines of rope criss-crossed the ceiling, with a disordered mish-mash of clothes and herbs hung out to dry suspended from them. The room was lit by a crackling peat-fire in one corner, as well as by a number of lamps and candles deposited in whichever alcove or niche would hold them.

"You can hang your cloak up if you can find space!" the witch called out, turning to stir a large cauldron over the fire, "Or just throw it wherever. Soup´ll be ready in a bit, so make yourself comfortable."

Removing as much of my soaking clothes as to still be decent, I turned to survey the bookshelves with some curiosity. I was actually quite impressed. Though the collection was for the most part the typical mix of local herbological and meteorological manuals, basic magic and outright superstitious nonsense one would expect of a borderlands witch, there were some genuine grimoires lining the shelves, some that even I had never seen. Looking closer, I noted with a sharp intake of breath, copies of the "Thaumaturgia Borealis", "Deeds of the Angra" and what seemed to be an unabridged copy of the "Tome of Subhuman Necrolatry" tucked safely away in a corner, bound tight with string and sealed with a powerful sigil as befitting of such a vile manuscript.

I turned to the young witch with a new-found respect. "Quite a collection you´ve got here, Miss...?"

"Solmina. Just Mina is fine." came the answer "And thank you. Those were my Nan´s. I´ve read most of them, except the ones where I can´t read the letters." she turned back to the pot and continued in an exasperated tone, "...Not that I actually get to use any of the _real _spells that often... Most of the folk down in the valley just want me to get rid of warts or give some old tosser a potion to cure his poxy worm or to cure their arse-pains... I tell them to stop digging so many wells near the shitpit, but they never bloody listen..." grumbling under her breath, she stirred the pot angrily.

Taking a seat by the table, I took a closer look at my foul-mouthed host. She had taken off the thick fur cloak and I could make out the details of her frame. She was actually very beautiful, if a little skinny and untidy, with thick, glossy hair and smooth skin. The dress of patched-together rags clung to her body, allowing me to make out the curves of her hips. The dangling strips of cloth occasionally parted, offering me a glimpse of her long, slender legs, encased in a mismatched pair of long stockings. It´d been almost three whole weeks since I´d last set eyes on a beautiful woman and well over a month since I´d last lain with one. Out in the wild, my mind had been focused on my mission and on staying alive, but now, in that blessed moment of respite in a warm, cozy hut alone with this sweet maiden, I couldn´t help but feel my long-neglected cock twitch and stir...