Chapter 1 - lesson 001: introducing

The Mother of Modern Witchcraft, it's a significant title, one which carries with it a certain grandiosity I rather enjoyed. I had read it in a tome on the history of magic and it was a funny thing to read about oneself in a history book. The book had done a pretty job of explaining what I had done to warrant the title. In an age where many of my contemporaries focused on themselves and their own personal magical studies. I had regularly taken on many apprentices. To whom I passed on the tricks of the trade while I inducted them into magic. The title was nice, but the real reward was learning the excellence those apprentices would go onto embody. I tended to kick them out of the nest early, so to read of their many accomplishments filled me with a certain odd sense of nostalgia. It had been a while since I had last taken one. I had gotten a tad caught up in my studies for a century or two trying to formulate a particular magical spell. The history book in its own way reminded me that time was still passing while I worked, and more importantly that times were changing. I couldn't help but think that maybe it was time to get out of the old arch mages tower for a change.

Emmie had been my first official Apprentice, a small sort of woman with little presence from a town which suited those traits to a tee. Even with a perfect memory assisted by magic I could hardly remember its name. After several hundred years I doubted even she did it. When I had sent her off, she had been a little rough around the edges, but the general essence of a witch was clearly present. As apprentices went, she was intelligent and daring, and had a certain drive that I admired, a hunger to be bigger than her small-town roots. It helped she matured into a beauty befitting the title of witch. With shimmering amber eyes, and long hair that while a simple plain brown, had a pleasant and luxurious fluffiness. As well as a figure that was slender, but full around the chest and hip. Combined with her all-around beauty, she gave the impression of the sort of girl you'd see by coincidence out on the town one day, but who'd you never forget.

I found myself reminiscing quietly on all the training it took to get to her that point. Despite that aforementioned drive, she had been distractable when I scooped her up. She had the intelligence, but she was constantly gazing out the window. She fluffed even the most basic of magic spells and on a general magical level struggled profusely. I couldn't help but think back fondly on the nights I spent harassing her into studying, honing and perfecting her magical ability. It had been all worth it when she first successfully cast her first spell. A simple transmutation spell to turn a copper coin into a gold one. The poor girl had nearly cried tears of joy, and I had been right there with her. As a fairly fresh witch myself, I hadn't been entirely confident in my ability to teach her. They say you never forget your first. Remembering that moment, the sheer joy of it coupled with one of her accomplishment I had read about in the history book, I knew I just had to pay her a visit. A simple teleportation spell would do the trick. She wouldn't mind if I dropped in unannounced, she was likely deep in studying and wouldn't mind the distraction.

So, you can imagine my surprise, when the first thing that hit my senses after casting a teleportation spell was the smell of cheap liquor. I gagged a little at the scent, I can handle my alcohol, but this was hardly the good stuff, cheap and ill made. Terms which also aptly described the rest of the tavern I had arrived in. It was full to the brim with commoners going about their business getting drunk enough to forget the busy days toiling the fields. It would've been mostly inoffensive, if it wasn't so far away from what I had been expecting. I had briefly considered that I was so out of practice that I had flubbed the spell, till I saw an out of place, woman sitting at the bar. I recognized her fluffy hair that curled at the tips anywhere, as well as the white fur collared robe, that was befitting a witch of true power. I was sure she must’ve been there for research...till I saw her slam down her flagon at the bar. “More” she demanded poutingly, her words slurred in a fashion entirely ill befitting her status or power. My arrival caught the attention of everyone else in the tavern, but she was soon too busy emptying that mug to have noticed my arrival. I briefly considered lobbing a fire ball at her, to express my dissatisfaction with her ill preparedness, but eventually settled on using my words.

“Emerith?” I asked her my voice slicing through the ambiance of the tavern as I approached and took a dainty seat next to her at the bar. “Ah, blasted hells" she cursed almost choking on her ale as she glanced to me. I communicated mostly through my disapproving glare. “Ah, Mistress, it's been far too long since we last had a drink together, I know it's stronger than what we’d usually drink but how about a mug for you as well” she asked slurring her tone. Her covering was bad to begin with, but even if it had been good, it couldn't have hid the physical evidence. Her outfit was typically high class, a white corset and robe combo popular amongst witches of her generation who liked to flaunt a bit. But for as well made as it was, it had gone slightly scruffy. A slightly stain here, a tautness to the fabric there. It didn’t help her breath already smelled of booze, and her hair was ruffled to the extent I wanted to attack it with a hairbrush. She glanced at me with a premptive wince and chugged the rest of her mug in a display of gluttony she wouldn't have been capable of back when I had trained her. Clearly, she had been trying to finish it before I really started laying into her. “I don't suppose you'd let me have another one before we...” she started to say. “Absolutely not” I interrupted her.

“You're a mess!” I informed her. Leaning in I ran my hands through her long hair in an attempt to straighten it out, my chest pressing into her side. “I'm just taking a break and got a little tipsy, while I know keeping up appearance is important for women of our status, I think you're blowing such a temporary issue out of proportion" she protested shimmying in place in an attempt to avoid my ministrations. As we tussled in a slightly unseemly fashion, a certain fact became apparent. “Temporary?” I asked her annoyance bleeding into my tone. “Oh, bloody hell" she whined like a kitten. I wrapped my hands around her waist, feeling them sink into a layer of soft fat, the pressure of my roving fingers dislodging an undignified belch. It was clear all over her, though she was good enough at looking pretty to conceal it. A bit more heft to her chest, a more womanly curve to her hips, an almost cute roundness to her cheeks. It was actually rather pleasant, but the truth was buried beneath her corset. “Emmie, you've gotten soft!” I told her flatly. “I’m going to need another drink” she complained to the bartender.

In spite of my protestations, she got what she wanted and started sipping on some cheap brew. All the while avoiding eye contact with me. I could see a hint of a blush creeping in, shame was unbecoming of a witch, especially one of her status. But I couldn't help but feel that in that instance it was probably a good thing. At least she knew she was acting beneath her station. I returned to toying with her appearance but did so more gently. “So, did you finish up that project?” she asked me, with her mouth still half in her mug. “No, but I wanted to stop in and congratulate you for being selected to host the Witches Ball, it's a tremendous honour” I told her scrubbing a stain on her outfit in a fashion that caused her bust to wobble. I was somewhat surprised she was paying for her own drinks. “That was several years ago” she pouted. “That's hardly that long in our time” I rebutted her gently.

“More drinks!” she requested, and I sighed for the umpteenth time that evening. I figured I wouldn't be getting much more out of her that evening, so I silently watched her overindulge herself. It was an incorrigible thing to see from a fellow witch. Let alone one I had trained to be better. The increasing slurring of her tone. The sloppiness of her drinking and it's gradual marring of her appearance, booze dripping from her cleavage. The unladylike noises she’d release while she overdid it. Where such an appetite had emerged from, I had no clue at all, as she certainly hadn't possessed it when I finished training her. Of course, eventually it was time to stop, or so said the inn keeper. “ Its time to pay up” he told her extending grubby hand. “Ah yes...just let me get my coin purse” she informed them, stuffing a hand into her cleavage. I awaited her paying so I could escort her home, but the longer she took the more suspicious I became, till it struck me what she was doing. “Teleport!” she proclaimed, and a flash of copper light engulfed us both.

We fell briefly, and then there was a rough thump of our two bodies striking the ground, a belch pushed from Emmies lips. As the cold air caressed me and I straightened myself up I realized we were on a roof. The full extent of the small town visible below us. It seemed she had been aiming for her home and had missed. At some point during her indulgence, she had been forced to let her corset out a little. Her bulging overfilled belly, big, round and bared to the world. It's bearer borderline unconscious from booze. It was beginning to strike me, that my little apprentice, had a big problem.