I am Lena Wolf, Lena's life as it happens Options

[macole]

Geralt drank the potion and braced for visions.
...
Geralt opened his eyes.

Intriguing read, gave me a strong feeling that everything between these two lines was the vision. If that was the intent, then it worked. If not, then I'm lost.

A sprig of wolfsbane, now what could that mean? Beware the creatures of the night.

[Lena Wolf]

Geralt drank the potion and braced for visions.
...
Geralt opened his eyes.

Intriguing read, gave me a strong feeling that everything between these two lines was the vision. If that was the intent, then it worked. If not, then I'm lost.

A sprig of wolfsbane, now what could that mean? Beware the creatures of the night.

Sorry for the confusion. But Geralt is so confused at this point! He too finds it hard to separate reality from visions.

There are several visions in this episode. The first one where Geralt drinks the visionary's potion, is not actually described. Sorry about that. It's because it was rather... err... too graphic for this website. It was a phallic forest - you can imagine the rest. I kid you not. Witcher is an adult game!

So where Geralt tells about it to his friends, that's reality.

Next Geralt crosses the fog of war and starts looking for the artefacts. When he's finally tired three days later, he finds a quiet spot for meditation. He falls asleep and dreams of the wolves. The fragment between two ... lines is the dream. May be I should have put it in italics. But may be not, because it takes Geralt a while to figure out it was just a dream.

So this means that talking to the wraith previously was NOT a dream!

Then Geralt goes back to the army camp, crossing the fog of war again. There Vernon tells him about that figurine resembling Triss, and in the end Geralt meditates on the beach again. The raven is the dream. Or is it? What's with the sprig of wolfsbane?

If you're confused, you know how Geralt feels.

[Lena Wolf]

28 Rain's Hand, 4E195 - More visions

"I just don't know what's real and what's a dream any more," Geralt was saying to Lena. He had to talk to someone, his head was buzzing, and not with ale. Too many visions and dreams within a short period of time left him confused. Add to that the ever-present feeling that he was wasting his time, that he should be doing something entirely different, something far more important than even clearing his name... but he could not recall what it was. Fog was clouding his mind and his judgement akin to the fog of war on the battlefield. And yes, it made him see red.

"You are not alone in that," Lena said softly. "Dreams are just as real, but they take place on another plane. What have you dreamed about lately?"

"Wolves," Geralt remembered his recent dream. "Grey wolves chasing a deer, then white direwolves pushing back... Nothing unusual in that, just go North, you'll see it in the mountains. But... I think I was one of them."

"Not surprising, really," Lena tried to speak calmly. "The wolf is important to you, to both of us, it's in our name, it's your witcher's school, it's on your swords and in your potions, how can it not be in your dreams? I would not worry."

"It was more than that..." Geralt was looking into the distance. "The direwolves were werewolves, I reckon."

"And?"

"And... it makes no sense, I know," Geralt shrugged. "But there were crows... not in the dream, I think. In the forest where I sat meditating. They stayed with me. And one was a raven. It looked me in the eye... I don't know why I find it important!" He exclaimed defensively, even though Lena listened without responding. "And wolfsbane. You know it?"

"A useful herb, indeed," Lena nodded. "What of it?"

"That raven came back later. Brought me a sprig. Why?" He paused, but Lena didn't answer. "And that scent... Lilac and gooseberries... Ravens are not supposed to smell of lilac and gooseberries..!"

The sat in silence for a while, looking onto the river before them.

"I don't know, Wolf," Lena said softly. "But you do. You will recall it in time. And yeah, I know, it doesn't help you right now."

"Don't say anything to Dandelion, he'll make a ballad of it and I don't want the entire Northern Realms singing about my private life," Geralt smirked. "It's not like that other vision - you know, the first one - that was just stupid. This is serious."

"This goes through your heart," Lena nodded. "I know the feeling."

...

Dreams aside, Geralt had work to do. He had collected all the artefacts required to lift the curse from the battlefield, except one: a protective charm worn by a priest who led a lot of soldiers out of the danger zone. The priest himself perished, not being saved by the charm, but the king still believed in the charm's irrefutable power. And that faith what was made it so important for lifting the curse. The problem was however that the king refused to part with it.

"Does he want that curse lifted or not?!" Geralt could not understand the king's stance when the court sorcerer told him about it. "I need that charm to lift the curse! I've got everything else ready!"

"The king is not the most rational of people," the sorcerer nodded. "Although I've seen worse. You'll have to do him a favour first."

"A favour?" Geralt was stunned. "What favour can I do for a king?"

"Well, you could extricate him from that curse, you know," the sorcerer seemed to have given it some thought already. "Just so that he feels safe, not being affected by it."

"But he isn't affected by it anyway," Geralt shook his head. "If the curse was supposed to kill him, he would have been dead ages ago."

"Ah, but there's still doubt... and his recent troubles with fathering children again... it all adds up."

"All right, all right!" Geralt rolled his eyes. "Don't start. I suppose I could come up with a ritual and make it sound convincing. The sorceress' ghost must still be around, we could use it... I'll have the king release it, good for the ghost, good for the king," he concluded with satisfaction. "That will take a lot of fairy dust though," he grinned, leaving the sorcerer take care of that sticky matter.

...

"And now you've been absolved from the curse!" Geralt declared quite theatrically when the ghost of the sorceress was finally released. It wasn't as simple as that, the king had to draw runes on the ground at the site of execution, then stand in the circle with wraiths swarming all around it. It didn't matter how strongly Geralt had stressed that the king must not leave the circle, he still panicked and ran out when the ghost of the sorceress appeared, right there at the stake, and she started reciting the curse with an eery voice from beyond the mortal realm... The panicking king broke the circle and wraiths started pouring in. But Geralt was ready for them, having half expected something like that to happen - regular folk were just not used to wraiths and ghosts, especially talking ones. It was a long dance for Geralt, but eventually the king had overcome his fear and stabbed the ghost of the sorceress through the heart. That ended the ritual.

"Phew! Is it really over, witcher?" The king was shaking all over. "Am I free from the curse?"

"It is and you are," Geralt smiled. "Your life and your manhood are your own again."

"Well, that calls for a celebration!" The king was radiant. "Come to my tent tonight! You'll have the charm for your other ritual when you're ready to start."

Hearing that, Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. Now he was getting somewhere!

...

When Geralt came to the king's tent in the evening, he didn't expect having to fight or having the save the king's life again, this time for real. But there was an attempt on the king's life and Geralt found himself confronting the attackers, for there were two assassins to deal with. It was a tough battle, they were unusually skilled... they were fast and agile, those were not mere men... no, those were witchers. "The other two that came with Letho," Geralt remembered Letho mentioning them. "And they know me from before... we know each other... except I cannot bloody remember! Arrghhh!!!"

However, the assassins were attacking, and would probably kill him, so Geralt had to fight back, although he tried to wound them rather than kill... wait... it seemed they were doing the same... When the battle was coming to a close, one of the assassins was singed with a bolt of lightening and fell, dead. The other made his escape. Sile had joined the fight.

The king was as grateful to Geralt for saving him again as he was furious at the assassins. The court sorcerer offered to extract the dead assassin's memories in order to learn who they were and why they were there, and the king immediately overruled any and all objections regarding necromancy being forbidden. "I want to know everything! Do whatever you want to do!" He exclaimed and stormed off. The sorcerer started his preparations.

...

"Now, you will need to drink a few fortifying potions to get your heart beating at top efficiency, otherwise you won't survive it," the sorcerer greeted Geralt shortly afterwards.

"What? Me? Why me? What do you need me for? Can't you do it yourself?" Geralt stumbled - he didn't like where it was going.

"Well, see here, Geralt," the sorcerer tried to explain. "This man was a witcher. The ritual will make a living person relive the last day or so of the deceased, and no regular person could possibly do what witchers do for that long and survive! Our metabolism is just not up to it. And since there are no other witchers around, you'll have to do it." He paused, but noticing Geralt's less than pleased expression, he hastened to add: "Oh don't worry - your chances of survival are quite high. You are, after all, a witcher! You'll have some visions, that's all. It's not that bad."

Visions? More visions? Oh, that was bad! But did Geralt have any choice? Truth be told, he didn't, and not because the king had ordered to get to the bottom of that assassination attempt. The dead witcher had known him. Geralt had to have his memories.

...

"You were thrashing like a fish! What happened?!" The sorcerer was trying to prevent Geralt from rolling off the table.

"I relived some of the man's memories," Geralt shrugged. "What did you expect?"

The visions were not spectacular, if you don't think it's spectacular in itself to be in someone else's mind. The sorcerer must have done it right because Geralt was never in any danger, apart from the danger of rolling off the table. The dead man's memory simply showed the path to their hideout. Oh, there were some creatures to fight along the way, but nothing more. It also did not reveal anything new about Geralt, so he was rather disappointed.

Still, he now knew where they were hiding. In fact, he recognised the place because he'd been there a few days before, simply by chance, when he was exploring the environs of the camp. The door had been barred from the other side then, so he hoped it would not be barred now - it was a very solid stone door, nothing that he could force. He went to the hideout immediately hoping to find the other assassin there, the one that escaped.

...

"We didn't want to fight you, we tried not to kill you..." The assassin was lying in a pool of blood. The door to the hideout had not been barred, and although Geralt ran into a couple of gargoyles and a golem along the way, he had no issues finding the wounded assassin otherwise. "We didn't want to leave you behind on the Hunt either... But the Hunt was stronger... We tried... We could have rid the world of that eternal shadow of war... We weren't strong enough..." It seemed he had so much to say, yet not enough life force to say it. "Sile... she helped us a bit... not that it made any difference, the king still lives... but she no longer needed us now, so she killed us... tried to... not well enough... I wonder why..." He paused, gathering strength. "We used her too. We used a lot of people in order to murder the kings... All for our own purpose... Be well, friend..."

Geralt was kneeling by the dying assassin... a dying witcher, rather. A snake medallion around his neck started vibrating. "School of the Viper," Geralt thought. "The same as Letho, the same as the dead assassin back at the camp. Three of them working together, that makes sense. Sile... well, sorceresses are always involved in one intrigue or another... nothing unusual there. She's long gone now, of course." Geralt wasn't interested in Sile's role in the king's assassination attempt, and neither was he surprised that she tried to kill her old accomplices. "It was all deliberate, a sorceress like Sile does not make stupid mistakes. If she had wanted to kill him, he'd been long dead. No, she left him here to talk to me. It was I who inflicted those wounds..." He straightened out the dead witcher's body, laying him to rest. "What did he say about the Hunt though? They didn't want to leave me behind but the Hunt was too strong? If only I could..."

And then a memory washed over Geralt. He remembered the Hunt, but he was alone. Months upon months tracking through the forests and mountains in pursuit of the Hunt, and never quite catching up with them. The wraiths would appear in small villages, they would descend from the sky and freeze everything in sight. They would then kidnap young people, kids in their teens and twenties, kill the rest, or not, they didn't seem to care, and vanish into the sky again with their captives. Yennefer had been the only captive far older than early twenties, but Geralt thought they took her because she was a sorceress. He had been in pursuit of the Hunt in order to find Yennefer. Was that his only purpose? "We could have rid the world of the eternal shadow of war..." That's what the dying witcher said. Yes, finding Yennefer was not Geralt's only objective. Ultimately he was after the Hunt.

"I must be mad," he shook his head. "I cannot possibly do it alone..."

He was still kneeling by the dead witcher, holding a vigil.

...

"I didn't do it alone," Geralt realised some hours later. "I still don't remember this witcher, or the other one from the camp, or even Letho... yet we had fought the Hunt together. Was that before or after the part that I recalled? It doesn't really matter, I guess... I must continue, but I need to remember more."

Finally Geralt turned to leave, his vigil over. He checked the witcher's body once again, and an old notebook fell out of his pocket. Should he take it? Or should he leave the man's private notes buried with him? Considering that it wasn't a grave, Geralt took the notebook. One entry attracted his attention.

He seems different, but in reality is so similar. Our paths have been the same: we survived the Trials, endured the same training and have slain so many monsters that we no longer keep count. So many men, also. The difference is in the details – when I see him moving in combat, I want to laugh, but I also see that he is just as effective, if not more so. There is, however, one critical difference I cannot describe adequately. He has a goal, he is committed to something. He doesn't wander the world as if blown about by the wind. I believe he feels emotions at a level I cannot attain, yet these emotions are not typically human. Is it an illness of some kind? I think he teeters on the brink of instinct and emotion, and that he uses up a lot of energy to maintain his mental health. I hope I get a chance to know him better and learn from him. Nothing specific – just life.

[Renee]

Wolf time. 🐺 And then maybe afterwards I'll be doubly-inspired for some TES4!!

Lena's pondering whether she should consider herself as immortal or not. Good question. Technically she's immortal (right?) but there are times she thinks like she's mortal, I suppose. Hmm. But then the story says she's

. "When it relapses, it makes my eyes go red and makes me hungry for blood, but still it doesn't give me real immortality.

Huh. Okay, so maybe she's not immortal, yet she could be at any time...

Right, I was just reading about Sanguine not long ago for some reason. He's supposed to be the Prince who is most involved with mortal affairs, from what I gathered.

This is fascinating, all this talk about the Daedra's involvement into Mundus.

Okay, so she's narrowed the father down to two guys, maybe Sanguine as well.

Yeah, the idea of a vampire child. I don't think it'd be as simple as keeping bottles of blood in a cupboard, knowing how children can be a lot of times it'd be more complicated than that.

edit: whoops... http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338930

This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 2 2023, 11:04 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Lena's pondering whether she should consider herself as immortal or not. Good question. Technically she's immortal (right?) but there are times she thinks like she's mortal, I suppose. Hmm. But then the story says she's

. "When it relapses, it makes my eyes go red and makes me hungry for blood, but still it doesn't give me real immortality.

Huh. Okay, so maybe she's not immortal, yet she could be at any time...

Confusing, isn't it? I still cannot figure it out. Vampires (normal vampires, that is) are supposed to be undead, and yet they can be "killed" in battle. The same as wraiths and skellies. But come back to the same dungeon three days later, and sure enough, they've risen again. Necros too, and bandits... err... no, those are different guys... I think.

But back to vampires. So, you can defeat them, but they rise again after a time, since they are undead. Thus they are immortal. But what about silver weapons and incineration? Or what about if our player character is a vampire? They can die, no issues. Not very immortal then. A little immortal? Does it come in degrees? Can you be 50% pregnant?

Recessive vampirism makes it even more complicated. When Lena's vampirism is in remission, she is not a vampire. She does not require blood, has no fangs, her eyes are not red, etc. So, during that time she must be mortal too. Dangerous if you like playing with swords. Does it mean that she also ages during that time? Probably.

But then when her vampirism flares up, she becomes a vampire, a proper vampire, so probably also immortal. She isn't willing to try it out and see what happens. Does she also age while being a vampire? Umm... no, I guess. Like I said - it's complicated.

[Lena Wolf]

5 Second Seed, 4E195 - Lifting the fog of war

"It's time to go about lifting the curse from the battlefield," Geralt stood in the sorcerer's tent again. "I've got everything I need, and the king had promised the charm. Any last minute advice?"

"Indeed," the sorcerer fingered a few books. "I've been wondering what that ritual would actually be like... but none of the books had any answers. I must warn you however that I felt a new presence on the battlefield - there is a new ghost amid the wraiths." He paused, lost in thought. "Oh, and here's the charm. You're all set now."

"You have no idea what to do, do you?" Geralt smirked. "I know the new ghost, I've seen it. It is the spirit of war."

"You... you've seen it?" The sorcerer couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "But it wasn't there when the fog erupted and we were all trapped in it..."

"And I've been a few times through the fog since then," Geralt reminded him. "I've seen it. But I am not certain that fighting it would lift the curse."

"Just go," the sorcerer sounded more convincing now. "You have the artefacts connected to the curse. The wraiths bound to them will find you in the fog... But whether or not you have to fight them, I have no idea. I am no witcher."

"Aha..." Geralt shook his head, leaving.

...

"I am going into the fog of war in the morning," he was telling his friends at supper that night. "I've got everything I need and there's no point in delaying."

"But you have no idea what to do exactly," Lena said softly. "It's plain to see."

"Every curse is different," Geralt nodded. "And this one is complicated because the ghost of the sorceress who cast it, is actually separate from the curse itself. We've released her ghost, but the curse is unchanged."

"So what are you going to do?" Dandelion was getting confused. "Do you have a plan?"

"Take all the artefacts, wear the best armour I've got, and go in," Geralt smirked. "And hope to survive it, whatever takes place inside." He paused, then looked at everyone at the table in turn. "And none of you is to go after me," he said menacingly. "You hear me? None! You will spoil the exorcism."

...

"So, let's see now..." Geralt entered the fog of war. The wraiths were fighting each other, but none of them seemed to even notice Geralt's presence. That was certainly new. He wandered around the battlefield a bit, parading the artefacts and waiting for something to happen. A wraith approached... and without a word, went right through him.

"Don't just stand there - go! The fighting is over there!" Someone shouted into Geralt's ear, he turned to look - it was a wraith of another soldier, a commander by the looks of his armour. Something felt strange, Geralt had different armour on, his swords were gone and he wore a helmet...

"I don't wear helmets," Geralt thought, taking a closer look at his attire. "Wait... I am..."

"Well, come on, move it!!" The commander was getting agitated. "That way! The battle is that way!"

He wasn't talking to Geralt, he was talking to the helmet-wearing soldier. Which was Geralt. "Possession," Geralt realised. "Oh, that's just great!" He swore, but followed the commander's orders and joined the battle. Why did the wraith of that soldier took possession of his body? Was he carrying an artefact bound to it? Who was that wraith even? So many questions... Geralt had no clue, but somehow knew what was expected of him, of the soldier within him. Not having any better idea, he joined the fighting.

He need not have worried, because the wraiths could not harm each other. The course of the battle had been pre-defined, it seemed. "They are re-enacting what really happened," Geralt guessed. "Something important will occur, and hopefully then... err... we'll see."

Possession stopped as suddenly as it began. Geralt was himself again - his armour was his own, his swords were on his back and he wore no helmet. The fog of war didn't change either though. Something else had to occur.

Four more times Geralt was possessed by different wraiths from both sides of the battle. Once or twice he understood the connection to the artefacts he was carrying, other times he wasn't even sure those were the "correct" wraiths. It didn't matter though because none of those possessions led to anything decisive.

And then he saw it: a wraith of a fearless commander was preparing to fight the spirit of war... "A wraith cannot fight the spirit of war, it will be defeated," Geralt thought. "And as that did not happen in real life, the re-enactment will start from the beginning. This is the cycle that I need to break."

The problem with fearless commanders however is that they don't like to back down, whether they are still of mortal flesh and blood, or already turned into a wraith. Geralt tried talking to the wraith of the commander, but it simply refused to back down. Laughed, too! It really took all of Geralt's persuasion skills to get it to see sense. He did it by saying things exactly as they were: "You are a wraith, the same as all of your soldiers, stuck here in this fog of war, reliving your final day. If you fight that spirit of war, you will lose, and the re-enactment will restart from the beginning. You have to let me take your place, I am a witcher."

The wraith was taken aback, it seemed it didn't realise it was a wraith...

Geralt faced the spirit of war.

That battle was tough. There was every possibility of Geralt being defeated and dying. Contrary to the wraiths, he would not get up and restart the battle from the beginning. He had to survive it, and he had to win.

"Quen," he thought, considering his options. Quen, the shielding sign, was the only magic likely to be of use against the spirit of war. It was made of fire, so Geralt's usual tactic of incineration wasn't going to have much effect... "And let's hope that this sword holds," he unsheathed his blue meteorite silver sword. "I don't want to have it snap or melt or something... I just got it!"

The fight was on. More of a dance of evasion than a fight really. Quen was a shock shield, so all Geralt had to do was keep casting it. It absorbed the blows and delivered a shock to the attacker, and to Geralt's surprise the spirit of war seemed to be quite sensitive to that. The real danger for Geralt was in the huge fireballs falling from the sky, fire arrows shot by the surrounding wraiths impersonating archers, and fire gouts emanating from the spirit of war itself, as well as its massive claymore, shield and fists. (How the spirit of war managed to use both its claymore, its shield and its fists would remain one of the secrets of that curse.)

...

"Phew! Finally!" Geralt stood over a huge pile of armour and weapon pieces that just a moment ago were the spirit of war. The battle was over and Geralt had won. Yet the fog was still covering the battlefield and the wraiths were still fighting each other around him... Did he misjudge the crux of the curse?

"Follow me!" He heard someone call, then noticed a priest walking towards him with some soldiers following. "I'll lead you out of this battlefield. I've got a protective charm."

"The charm..." was all that Geralt could think before the wraith of the priest possessed his body. "I'll lead you out of the battlefield," he heard himself say to the soldiers. Indeed, that must be the way out. All he had to do was allow the wraith possessing him to lead the soldiers and himself out of the fog. Would the possession end in time or would the wraith pull Geralt onto the other side with it, and into death?

...

"Thank goodness you are finally awake!" Geralt stirred and opened his eyes. Dandelion was standing over his bed, playing his lute. "Three days! You've been unconscious for three days! Plus however long you'd been lying there before the fog was finally lifted."

"The fog was lifted?" Geralt squinted - the fog in his head had definitely not been lifted yet.

"Yes, the fog - the curse, remember?" Dandelion squinted too. "You lifted the curse, witcher."

"Aha..." Geralt sat up, looking around. "Then why are we in a brothel?"

"I thought you'd be pleased," Dandelion grinned. "They have the best beds, that's why. When the fog lifted, we waited for you, but you didn't appear, then we went looking and found you there unconsious in the ravine. That was three days ago!! I thought you'd die on me here!!" Dandelion looked rather cross, but also relieved.

"So, it worked then," the fog in Geralt's head started to clear as well.

"You wouldn't believe the things that happened while you were lying there!" Dandelion took a deep breath ready to fill Geralt in on every latest sensation, but Geralt had had enough sensations for one day - it was still the same day as far as he was concerned. He stopped Dandelion's tirade, turned over and fell asleep.

...

Geralt was having another one of those memory dreams. It was about the Wild Hunt, he was chasing the wraiths and never coming close enough to face them. He came quite far North, up into the mountains where the larger and more dangerous creatures made their nests. Creatures, monsters, it wasn't always easy to tell the difference, and it didn't always matter. He saw flashes of magic between the trees, fire perhaps, he heard sounds of battle - someone was battling something large, very large. Geralt dashed, sword at the ready. It was a manticore, a huge, majestic animal, powerful, poisonous, fast and nearly impossible to defeat... Three witchers were battling it, all three badly wounded and heavily poisoned, but the manticore too was already on its last legs. Geralt joined in and together they killed it.

The three witchers were Letho, Auckes and Serrit. Auckes was the dead assassin whose memories Geralt had recently relived; Serrit was the one he talked to and laid to rest; and Letho was the kingslayer. Three witchers from the School of the Viper. Witchers turned assassins. But why? It still remained unclear.

After that fight against the manticore, the four of them pursued the Wild Hunt together. Months upon months, with pretty much the same result as before - always hot on its trail, never coming quite close enough to face them.

...

When Geralt woke up, he remembered the dream quite vividly. He now had the confirmation that Letho was a friend, the same as the other two witchers had been. At that moment Geralt knew that come what may, he would never kill Letho.

As interesting as that memory was, it still didn't reveal anything that Geralt hadn't known already from other people. At best, he now knew that his feeling regarding Letho was right, but that was all. He could not remember when, how or why they split up, whether they managed to catch the Wild Hunt at least once, whether they'd already rescued Yennefer, what gave Geralt his amnesia or how he ended up in gentle care of Triss six months previously.

"That is really strange," he was trying to make sense of it. "Triss said I lost my memory when I died... nearly died... from that pitchfork at Blaviken... But that was before the Wild Hunt... No, in reality I lost my memory later... And those events are still unclear. I wonder what Triss will have to say to that."

[Lena Wolf]

21 Second Seed, 4E195 - Crazy few weeks

When Geralt finally dropped to his knees to meditate, he realised that he had not slept for three days. "I am getting too old for this," he thought, shaking his head.

...

Past couple of weeks were beyond crazy. Once the curse over the ravine was lifted, Kaedweni army marched into Aedirn, and heavy battles renewed. Kaedweni king, now free of his personal curse, decided that he no longer needed to tolerate Vernon Roche's Special Forces camping near his own army, and ordered them hanged. They were lured to a "feast" and taken without resistance. Ves was spared, having received the king's special favours as he was eager to double-check his virility. He claimed she enjoyed it, but Geralt and Vernon were sceptical. Vernon wanted to slay the king where he stood when he got the opportunity, but Geralt reminded him that regicide was a double-edged sword and that they were hunting a kingslayer already. As history had shown later, it ultimately made no difference to anything besides Vernon's conscience. But they could not have known it then, of course.

Time was short however and the king could not advance very far into Aedirn - he was due at the peace summit to end all wars. No one believed in it of course, yet everyone attended.

The summit was held in an ancient elven city of Loc Muinne which had been reduced to ruin already many centuries ago. Although most walls still stood, buildings no longer had roofs and rubble blocked most streets. This had its advantages however as it allowed to keep various delegations truly separate from one another with just a few working doors linking different sections of the walled city.

When Vernon and Geralt arrived in Loc Muinne, the nobility was already assembled.

"What are you planning to do?" Geralt suddenly realised that he didn't understand why Vernon was there. "Since Letho killed your king, the country had been in turmoil with the barons tearing it into pieces. The king didn't leave an heir, not a legitimate one anyway... so what now for Temeria?"

Vernon looked very somber.

"Things are bad, indeed," he nodded. "I don't think we can hold Temeria together. But we can try! The king had two children with a local baroness, and he wanted to legitimise them - you know, you were there. We have to act as if it had taken place."

"I don't think it will work..." Geralt shook his head, but Vernon interrupted him.

"This is the only path for me. I have to try to keep the country independent. And those two kids need taking care of anyhow - there bound to be numerous attempts on their lives. I am here to find them and to make sure they stay alive." Vernon paused, not taking his eyes off Geralt. "I could use your help."

"I'm with you," Geralt nodded.

"But what about Triss?" Vernon couldn't believe how easily Geralt agreed to help him.

"Triss should be here somewhere," Geralt squinted. "If that figurine was indeed she, then she's been kidnapped by a powerful mage, or by a powerful group who had a mage among them, such as a Royal Court. She'll manage, she's good with royal courts." He scowled, and now it was Vernon who squinted.

"Something's on your mind," he said slowly. "Another memory? Why such change in attitude towards Triss?"

"Yes, another memory, but no new information," Geralt nodded. "A change in attitude? I don't feel it like that. My attitude towards Triss in the past six months had no background. She is a beautiful woman, she's interested in me, what's there not to like? But her behaviour in the last month or two had been odd, and what I learned and remembered contradicts some of the things she said, so I would say I am simply gaining experience and can see a little past her charms. And yes, I am disappointed."

"Have you recalled anything about Yennefer?" Vernon asked cautiously.

"She is important, very important somehow, I can feel it, but can't remember the details," Geralt sighed. "Was I involved with her? No one is telling me anything..."

"You were trying to free her from the Wild Hunt after she was kidnapped," Vernon reminded him, but Geralt remembered that part. What he rather wanted to know, was whether he was doing it simply because any person kidnapped by the Wild Hunt deserved to be fought over, or whether there was something more about Yennefer in particular. He felt there was more, but he didn't trust himself. "You need to recall it for yourself," Vernon said firmly. "You don't want other people to tell you what to feel."

...

Helping Vernon meant getting thrust into court intrigue, and although Geralt really disliked it, he realised it was necessary under the circumstances. Of the two children in question, one was already dead and the other one was kidnapped and held hostage by the Kaedweni king, the very person whose troubles Geralt had been solving the past month. This was a small world indeed.

"What about the kingslayer?" Vernon asked at some point. "You are still a wanted criminal in the whole of Northern Realms, there's still bounty on your head, and that still needs to be cleared up officially and once and for all. Shouldn't you be chasing the kingslayer instead of helping me?"

"Yes, and I am doing it while helping you," Geralt smiled. "From what I remembered about Letho, he will not be found until he wants to be found, and he is here somewhere too. I don't need to search for him, he will find me. My name will be cleared, I have no longer any doubt. Now, let's focus on finding the girl and getting her out of captivity."

Walking from court to court and talking to various officials was very boring indeed, although occasional attacks on Geralt by various heavily armed gangs did spice things up a bit. Yes, there was still a bounty on his head! Whether the gang leaders believed in Geralt's guilt or not, they didn't care as long as they got the reward. Geralt had no choice but to kill them. "They just never learn," he shook his head, turning over another pile of bodies. How could they learn when they were already dead?

...

"Roche!!" A very angry young woman pulled on Vernon's sleeve as he and Geralt were crossing the central square, absorbed in their conversation. "Don't you turn away from me!!" She had a very shapely and attractive countenance, and Geralt had to raise an eyebrow - why would Vernon want to turn away from someone like that? But Vernon suddenly exploded with anger.

"You!!" His face contorted with rage. "Boussy is dead and Anaise kidnapped!" He hissed, trying to keep his voice down, rather unsuccessfully. Those were the two children of the late king of Temeria. "You were charged with their safety! You failed!!"

"Only because it was an impossible mission!" She retorted, matching Vernon's rage. "What can a nanny do when the kids are travelling in separate carrages without any armed protection and the convoy is getting overwhelmed by bandits?!"

"What..?" Vernon's rage evaporated as suddenly as it rose. "An ambush? That means... there's a traitor in the court," he concluded grimly. "And why no armed escort? That's just madness!"

"You mean... that wasn't the plan?" The young woman softened her tone too, and Geralt reflected that her shapely curves originated in sword training rather than lazy pampering. She was one of Vernon's agents. "All right, I'll tell you what happened," she said amicably, "after Geralt escorts me out of this city and sees me off to safety," she added with a smile. "I have arranged for transport, but I expect several ambushes along the road to the rendez-vous point."

Since Geralt had already agreed to help Vernon, he had no choice but to escort the young lady to her rendez-vous.

...

"That's a fine mess you got yourself into," Geralt shook his head after they defeated yet another group of heavily armed men. "How much further? How many more ambushes, I wonder? And why did you not tell Vernon what happened? I would have helped you anyway."

"Vernon needs to learn to take care of his agents," the woman retorted. "He needs to think it through better. Two kids should mean two nannies! Not just one. Ves could have helped, but no, Ves gets to go play with soldiers, while I am stuck minding young royal brats!" She fumed. "And now the one that was in the other carriage is dead, the poor boy stood no chance. And I wasn't even able to save the girl - too many bandits, they completely overwhelmed us, we had no armed escort, and I was told not to carry a sword to maintain my disguise!" She shook her head in desperation. "Vernon should not have trusted the others to make arrangements for that convoy!"

"I'll tell Vernon to be more careful," Geralt said soothingly. "Come on. There's bound to be more ambushes ahead."

...

"Well, that was your transport," Geralt knelt over a dead fisherman at the rendez-vous point. "At least the boat is still in one piece. Will you manage?"

"I'll have to," the young woman shrugged. "Here, take these letters to Vernon. Tell him what I told you about that convoy, this should be enough to... well... I don't know. There is a traitor, possibly traitors, and these papers clearly show it, but who it is, is another matter." She handed Geralt the documents. "Thank you, witcher."

She got into the boat and rowed away. Geralt stashed the papers and turned to go back to the city.

...

"Hey, look, a cave," Geralt was walking back through the woods, enjoying the nature around him, free of ambushes this time. He felt the need to do something different than talking to court officials. Perhaps he should clear this cave of monsters for a change? Forest caves usually had monsters in them. And so he went in hoping for some entertainment.

The cave didn't disappoint - a group of nekkers made a home there, not a threat for a witcher, as long as he didn't let them surround him. He didn't. Then, as he went deeper in, his medallion began to buzz. "There's something other than nekkers in the depth," he thought. "Something far more dangerous." Geralt proceeded with caution.

The cave passage twisted and turned, then Geralt noticed reflections of a campfire and felt a breeze of fresh air. The tunnel opened to a cavern with an open sky. The moon was rising. A man was sitting by the fire, watching Geralt come in.

"Hello, friend," he said amicably. "You look tired. Please, rest here. I am Dorian."

"Geralt," Geralt introduced himself, eyeing the man. His medallion kept buzzing, but there was no one and nothing else there. Yet, he was tired, and so he dropped to his knees by the fire. "Are you living in this cave? All by yourself?"

"Aye, a man's got to live somewhere," Dorian smiled. "Oh, you mean nekkers in the passages? They don't bother me."

The moon was now clearly visible through the opening. The night was quiet, with just a few animal noises coming from the forest. Geralt's medallion stopped buzzing. Did the danger pass? What was it in the first place? "I'll have to have it checked over," Geralt thought. "Can't have it give out false alarms like that. Perhaps the enchantment got corrupted."

It is only then that Geralt realised that with all the running around, he hadn't slept in three days. "I am getting too old for this," he thought, shaking his head. He could not be sure that Dorian was as peaceful as he appeared, but there was no reason to confront him either. Geralt needed to rest, and Dorian's cavern was as good a place as any. He would not be any safer in another part of that cave or in the open forest, he reckoned, or, certainly, in Loc Muinne.

"You can sleep here, it is quite safe," Dorian must have noticed Geralt's hesitation. "I am no threat to you."

Why did Geralt believe him? He did not know, but he closed his eyes and sank into meditation.

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Dec 9 2023, 02:11 PM

[Lena Wolf]

21 Second Seed, 4E195 - The silver light of the moon

Geralt's meditation resembled sleep, and he even had dreams. Yet he remained sitting upright, propped on his heels, his legs folded. Keeping his head high allowed him to hear every minute sound and feel any change in air flow, all without waking up. If any of it was alarming, he would awaken - such was his training. Perhaps for this reason he did not hesitate too much to start meditation in a cave with its owner sitting next to him - a man that Geralt had only just met.

It was a quiet night and the moon was visible through the opening in the ceiling of the cavern. All was still, and the man next to Geralt seemed to be meditating too. He sat cross-legged, watching the moon. An old diary lay nearby, not used in many years by the look of it, covered in dust and mold.

"Yes, tonight," Dorian was watching a ray of moonlight slowly creeping further into the cavern. "Together we'll get it done." When the ray of moonlight reached his position, he transformed. A black werewolf stood in the cavern, his red eyes glowing.

Geralt twitched his nose - the smell woke him up. Yet his medallion remained quiet, not indicating any danger. The ray of moonlight shifted further, now touching Geralt too. He opened his eyes, watching the werewolf, but the werewolf just stood there, not attacking.

Geralt got up. Not all werewolves became as wild and uncontrolled as their appearance would have you believe. Some preserved presence of mind, although that was rare. The witcher would not slay a werewolf that didn't attack.

The ray of moonlight was now touching Geralt's face.

Surely, it wasn't the first time he was out at night... yet that night something was different. He pulled off his glove and saw long claws replace his nails. He braced for a transformation - but that didn't happen. The black werewolf was watching Geralt, then pushed the old diary towards him. Geralt picked it up and read.

The bite is really burning, but does not fester. What kind of a wolf bite is that?

Werewolf. So this is how it happens. Am I still a man or am I a beast? Do beasts write in their diaries? Do men bite other men?

I cannot go back to the village, not even when the moon is not out. It's too dangerous. I cannot control the transformations, and I have trouble controlling my temper too. Although I know quite a few men who are no werewolves, yet act as beasts.

A witch told me there is no cure. I am to remain a werewolf for the rest of my days - and I am immortal. Nearly. A werewolf can be slain only with a silver weapon, and even then it's not enough - the curse has to be lifted, and then I shall die as a man. I need to find a witcher.

Geralt looked up at the werewolf who was still not attacking.

"You are no beast, I won't slay you," he said.

"You must," the werewolf managed to speak. His voice was hoarse but Geralt could easily understand him. The werewolf howled and a wolf pack assembled outside the cavern, looking in. A large wolf stepped forward, sniffing the air, looking at Geralt. Their eyes met.

Geralt dropped his swords to the ground.

"I will not slay you or your wolves," he repeated, now looking at the werewolf. "But I can lift your curse."

That wasn't what the werewolf wanted to hear. He growled, and the wolves behind him growled too, but didn't step forward. The werewolf tensed, ready to attack.

"All right then, come on!" Geralt bared his teeth and the wolves backed off. He threw off his jerkin that was only restraining his movements. Fire was playing in his hand.

The large wolf howled, and the others joined in. The moon was shining bright when a black werewolf faced a white one.

...

"The witch was right from the start," Dorian lay on the ground, transformed back into a man. "Someone had to take my curse from me. And you did." Geralt was sitting next to Dorian, watching his claws shrink back to human nails. "You are a werewolf now, and I am a man again. Thank you, witcher." He smiled with sadness. "I am sorry."

A raven flew into the cavern, landing on Geralt's shoulder. Its sharp claws punctured the skin, but Geralt didn't flinch.

"I didn't become a werewolf tonight," Geralt smirked. "I am a witcher. We are immune to such things. Your witch had it wrong."

"But your claws? Your fangs? You transformed!" Dorian didn't give up. "I wasn't fighting a man just now!"

"Oh, I get that a lot," Geralt laughed. "A mutant. A freak. A non-human. And those are the nice terms. I am a witcher, I am immune to disease, I cannot catch lycanthropy." The raven squeezed its claws, drawing a few drops of blood from Geralt's shoulder. "What?" He squinted at it. "Yeah, I know, he's right. Claws, fangs... Did I really have fangs?" The raven was watching him with one eye, as birds do. "Claws and fangs are not enough to make a werewolf," he concluded firmly, now talking to Dorian again. "I don't know what happened there. I fought you with magic, that's all. I dropped my swords so as not to kill you."

"The witch was right all along," Dorian repeated. "You are a Prime."

Geralt didn't understand what that meant, but Dorian was already asleep, exhausted after the fight and subsequent transformation. The wolves howled one more time and left. Geralt dropped to his knees and resumed his meditation.

[Lena Wolf]

27 Second Seed, 4E195 - Returning memories

Returning to Loc Muinne city, Geralt got caught up in various aspects of royal intrigue again. However, his choices were easy: he helped Vernon track down and free the little girl who was the sole surviving heir of late king of Temeria. Surprisingly, the other kings accepted her as the legitimate heir. Of course, she was too young to rule, but the youngest of the kings offered Vernon to protect the girl and make her his wife when she was old enough... thus securing himself a reign over Temeria from that point forward. Vernon sighed, but he was out of options - the country needed a king.

All that running around took quite a bit of time, and the peace summit started before Geralt was able to as much as inquire about Triss, let alone go searching for her. Vernon was watching him with a slight worry and a good deal of surprise, but didn't comment. Geralt noticed, but was grateful to his friend for his discretion. Truth be told, he could not explain to himself why he decided to abandon the search for Triss. He simply did what felt right.

At the summit it became obvious that the kings were not the only powerful figures present. A group of sorceresses known as The Lodge was seeking to control "the balance of power", or to put simply, they sought the power to appoint kings, having been behind the recent wave of regicide. The names of the sorceresses were read out: Triss and Sile were among them. Suddenly Triss' behaviour in spying on Sile started to make sense.

The kings were not thrilled to hear the news, however. They banned sorcerers and sorceresses of all kinds, condemning the members of The Lodge to burn at the stake. They had to catch them first, of course, as most of them were not present at the summit. A ban on all magic was thus brought on, and every mage present was executed, along with any herbalists and healers, for good measure. Dark times descended upon the Northern Realms.

But Geralt wasn't done yet. The one person he wanted to find in the burning ruined city, was Letho. That proved easier than he had thought: Letho was waiting for him in the central square, and Triss was with him. Geralt and Vernon approached.

"You took your time getting here," Letho smirked. "You had me take care of your woman again."

"Again?" Geralt squinted. "Oh."

Triss was covered in smudges of blood, but it wasn't her own. She looked tired but otherwise unharmed. But more than anything, she looked crestfallen.

"Geralt..." she started, but Geralt shook his head.

"Not now, Triss." He looked at her without resentment, but also without affection - her charm had worn off. "Letho and I have things to talk about."

"We'll wait for you by the city gates," Vernon pulled on Triss' sleeve. She sighed but followed.

When they were finally alone, Letho looked Geralt in the eye.

"What do you want to do, Geralt? Are you of a mind to kill me? I won't go soft on you this time."

"Got any vodka left in that bottle?" Geralt smiled, and Letho knew that there would be no fight. Geralt wanted to talk. "My memory is not fully recovered yet," he started slowly. "I remember how we met, but not how we parted. Did we ever catch up with the Wild Hunt? Did we rescue Yennefer? Was I involved with her? Tell me."

"Well..." Letho started cautiously. "We did catch up with the Wild Hunt... because I knew where to catch them. I think the witcher School of the Viper had been set up specifically to fight the Wild Hunt. The documents in our archives... you would not believe. Of course, our school had long perished, like most other witcher schools, but as long as at least one of us still lives... You know. We keep going."

Letho was talking, slowly building a picture of the long and arduous chase after the Wild Hunt. Geralt wondered whether Letho was trying to jog his memory... then suddenly he remembered.

They did catch up with the Wild Hunt on several occasions. A cavalcade of wraiths across the sky, freezing everything on the ground. But some of those wraiths could be slain with a sword, they bled and fell - they were of flesh and blood. Elves, but not like the elves in Geralt's world. Tall, powerful, superior. These were very different elves indeed. "They came from another realm," Geralt realised. "They kidnapped people to use as slaves, no doubt."

"They had a particular interest in Yennefer," Letho continued. "One of them said as much."

"Why?"

"No idea. But then they saw you."

"And?"

"You don't remember?"

Another wave of memories washed over Geralt. The elf from the Wild Hunt said with disdain that he would drop that female any moment in exchange for the White Wolf. And Geralt did not hesitate, taking Yennefer's place.

"And this is how you lost your memory," Letho resumed his story. "You remember it now? I thought as much."

"What happened to Yennefer?"

"They dropped her, literally. Exactly as he said. She was very weak, she had complete amnesia, like you six months ago. We picked her up from the ground and nursed her back to health." He paused, watching Geralt take it all in. "She is trouble, that woman. Don't know what you see in her, but there is no accounting for taste. She's got a temper, oh boy! It must have been worse because she was so confused... She'd lost herself... Well, you know how it feels. She did calm down a bit after a while."

"Then what? Where is she now?"

"Then we got caught by the Nilfgaardian Secret Police, taken to Nilfgaard, interrogated - politely, mind - and released. The Emperor made me an offer: slay a few kings in the North, and he would rebuild the School of the Viper... The one thing I could never turn down."

"Aha..." Geralt was sceptical about trusting kings and emperors, but something in Letho's tone made him keep his remarks to himself. "Where is Yennefer now?"

"She was in Nilfgaard when we were caught. I haven't seen her since."

They sat in silence for a while, drinking vodka.

"You didn't answer my question," Geralt resumed. "Was I involved with Yennefer?"

"You still don't know?" Letho smirked. "When you died at Blaviken, she gave her life for yours. Somehow she didn't die and the two of you were whisked away... where to? I forget."

"The Isle of Avalon."

"By what force?"

"I do not remember."

"All right," Letho did not insist. "And then Yennefer gets kidnapped by the Wild Hunt, only because you fought too fiercely, they did not manage to get you. You start your pursuit."

"Months and months later I came across the three of you, three witchers fighting a manticore," Geralt nodded.

"Dying to a manticore," Letho corrected him. "Without you, we would have been dead. We were chasing the Wild Hunt as well, for months and months and months..."

"Together we caught it, because you knew where they'd be," Geralt was remembering more and more details. "One of the fights was exceptionally fierce... yes... one of the wraiths... well, he wasn't a wraith, it was armour. He took off his helm - I remember his face! An elf." Geralt paused. "I went with them, so they would release Yennefer. That I remember. From that point on, everything is blank."

"That's because they wiped your memory," Letho nodded. "Drink."

They drank in silence.

"How long?"

"Five years."

"What?!"

"Five years you spent with them," Letho looked somber. "Then... someone dropped you off at Kaer Morhen."

"What?!" Geralt was shocked. "Who?"

"Think."

Letho wasn't going to make it easy, that much was clear. There seemed to be another important person in Geralt's life, someone whom he so far could not remember... And then it came to him.

"Ciri."

"Who?"

"My ward." Geralt paused. "The daughter of the Emperor of Nilfgaard. She... she's got powers. She is of Elder Blood, she is not quite of this world... a bloodline on her mother's side... In a way, she is like the elves in the Wild Hunt."

"Aha..." It was now Letho's turn to sit and listen.

"So, Blaviken... That was... what..? six years ago?" Geralt looked up and Letho nodded. "She was but a child then. I remember. She must be all grown up now."

"Do you think or do you remember that it was Ciri who dropped you off at Kaer Morhen?" Letho squinted.

"I... both." Geralt said firmly. "Not sure. But it is the only explanation."

"Aha..."

"All right, but what then?" Geralt still had gaps in his memory. "Where did Triss come from?"

"Beats me, I wasn't there," Letho shrugged. "But she claims she nursed you back to health at Kaer Morhen... and never let go of you since."

"Hmm... Is that why you said you saved my woman again?" Geralt squinted.

"Isn't it so?"

"No," Geralt shook his head. "My woman is in Nilfgaard. And that's where I'm going."

"I had a feeling Triss was dreading the moment your memory came back."

The bottle of vodka was nearly empty.

"Time to go, Letho," Geralt got up. "No hard feelings. Perhaps we'll meet again."

"Who knows what the future holds." Letho got up too. "But if I may... as an old friend. Don't rush to Nilfgaard. Your memory still has gaps. Go to Kaer Morhen. You are lucky to have your home still mostly intact... not like mine. Go there, spend time with your brothers... if anyone is still minding that place."

"Vesemir should be there at least," Geralt nodded. "He's like a father to us, youngsters... He's pushing three hundred by now. Retired from the Path, but he'll still whip your ass better than anyone, if need be."

"See? You're lucky," Letho said whistfully. "I have no home to return to... I doubt the Emperor will keep his word..."

...

Geralt and Letho parted ways. Geralt took a slow walk through the ruined city of Loc Muinne, now filled with fresh corpses, already arranged on pyres. Even though the place was a ruin, no one needed an epidemic. "They will practically set the city on fire," Geralt reflected, seeing just how many pyres had been prepared. "Wouldn't be the first time."

His mind was on fire too. He was remembering more and more details now. His feelings were confused... he recalled that it had never been plain sailing with Yennefer. They'd known each other for twenty years, they'd argued about everything, they'd split up more times than he could remember, but never for long. They'd always find each other again. And then - Blaviken. "She's got a temper, oh yes," Geralt smirked. "She's got a sharp tongue and she is trouble... She's a sorceress, they are often like that. And she's all I've ever wanted." He climbed to the top of a tower overlooking Loc Muinne. The view was majestic. Burned and ruined and littered with corpses, the ancient elven city still inspired awe. "There's something to say for elves..." Below, by the city gate, he spotted Vernon and Triss waiting for him. "There's Triss... Not just a young sorceress but a member of The Lodge that sought to control the kings... yet she never mentioned that little detail," he thought with resentment. "'There must have been a reason why you didn't get help' - that's what Sila had said about my memory," Geralt recalled. "Oh yes, I can see the reason now. Sweet, tender Triss... half a year of amnesia that could have been avoided."

Geralt didn't hurry, he even considered meditating to calm his inner turmoil, but then he thought of Vernon and didn't want to keep him waiting. "Letho was right - I should return to Kaer Morhen," he thought. "I am not going to sort it all out here and now."

He descended from the tower and walked towards the city gates, then the three of them walked out. They would follow the mountain path together, then go their separate ways. They walked in silence as everything had already been said before.

[Renee]

15-18 Last Seed, 4E202 - Mages Guild - The Old Crow Inn - Corthio---- Arch Mage Traven, exposed as a living lich! 👻

And we'll need to decide what we are going to do about Necromancy."

This is true. With mods (or just pure imagination) deciding to make a change about the whole Ban on Necromancy is certainly up for grabs, pertaining to the decision of the new Arch Mage.

"Necromancy as well as the other schools that Hannibal Traven had cut" - Lena reminded him. "Such as Conjuration, Illusion and Mysticism."

"Mysticism?" - Raminus raised an eyebrow.

At first I thought this was due to the year 202, and no Mysticsm in Skyrim. But as seen, this school is connected to necromancy, somehow. I did not know that. Well, with Soul Trap the connection is obvious...

Interesting she turns down the upgrade toward Arch Mage. I agree. Seems silly we can become the top of the Mages Guild (or College in Skyrim) even with hardly any magic involvement during quests. At least in Skyrim we have to cast a spell just to get into the College in the first place, of course.

This Corthio quest sounds awesome. So Lena tracks the guy down to a shop in the I.C., enters the shop via spell, and now she's confronted by the guy who rented her Corthio's former cellar in the Old Crow Inn!

Is there something which adds this stuff into your world? I'm assuming not any of the Better Cities cluster[CENSORED] of plug-ins, which I'm pretty sure you do not use.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338947

[Lena Wolf]

This Corthio quest sounds awesome. So Lena tracks the guy down to a shop in the I.C., enters the shop via spell, and now she's confronted by the guy who rented her Corthio's former cellar in the Old Crow Inn!

Is there something which adds this stuff into your world? I'm assuming not any of the Better Cities cluster[CENSORED] of plug-ins, which I'm pretty sure you do not use.

No Better Cities for me, thanks. I don't find that an improvement at all. Cortio's story comes from The Old Crow Inn which adds an inn and a few other things, a lovely mod and a permanent addition to my game!

[Renee]

Yikes! Easy there! Wasn't suggesting you should find BC an improvement, just curious what you've got there, is all.

[Lena Wolf]

Yikes! Easy there! Wasn't suggesting you should find BC an improvement, just curious what you've got there, is all.

Sorry if it came over rather strong, didn't mean it that way. I generally find it rather... umm... presumptious... when people call their mod "Better Whatever" because whether it's better or not is a matter of opinion... as is the case with Better Cities.

[Renee]

Yeah I apoligize too. Miscommunication, I guess. The internet sucks sometimes for communication.


This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 22 2023, 09:36 PM

[Lena Wolf]

13 Sun's Height, 4E195 - White Orchard

The Castle of Kaer Morhen was the seat of the Witcher School of the Wolf, Geralt's home of a lifetime. Even amnesia induced by the Wild Hunt could not erase its memory. It was therefore only logical that Geralt should return there once his amnesia was mostly cleared and the events of the past six months or so presented themselves in a very different light. Events and people, too. Geralt had to get his head in order first and foremost.

Kaer Morhen was almost deserted. Like all other witcher schools, the School of the Wolf had been decimated during the past couple of centuries, with no young witchers being trained since Geralt was a boy. Indeed, he was one of the last children to be trained by the school. The castle felt somewhat hollow without the young voices, but witchers still returned home for the winter, but their numbers dwindled with each passing year. Although long lived, witchers were by no means immortal. In the year of our story, only a handful of them remained, and most were scattered too far to return. Besides, it was summer, and most witchers were on the Path anyway, with only Vesemir remaining at Kaer Morhen. He was already nearly three hundred years of age and was starting to feel old. He preferred to retire from monster slaying and to take up masonry instead - the castle was getting old too, and someone had to mind it.

It had been just a few weeks since Geralt's arrival, but the mountain air had already restored his memory fully. He was thinking of setting out for Nilfgaard in search of Yennefer, when a letter from her arrived. It was a short and terse note asking Geralt to travel to Vizima, now the seat of the Emperor of Nilfgaard. Yennefer was there and had something important to discuss. She made no allusions to the past, and Geralt knew that something very serious was indeed going on. He was leaving immediately, and Vesemir insisted on accompanying him.

"If this is the Wild Hunt, you don't want to be alone," he reasoned, and Geralt agreed.

They rode to the village that Yennefer named in her letter, but she was no longer there. Instead, the place had been frozen - an unmistakable sign of a visit of the Wild Hunt. On top of that, the land was torn by the war, as the Nilfgaardian troops marched through, then stalled. It was hard to say which brought more devastation - the war or the Wild Hunt.

"But Yennefer escaped, look here," Geralt picked up a crystal skull of a raven - a remnant of one of Yennefer's spells. "These horse tracks... She rode at full gallop in that direction," he pointed out a path. They followed, they couldn't be too far behind.

...

White Orchard was a small village at a crossroads, and Geralt and Vesemir decided to stop there and ask around. Especially since they ran into a griffin along the way and Vesemir got a nasty cut on the shoulder, although he dismissed it as "barely grazed". Still, it needed cleaning, and so they headed to the inn. Vesemir settled down with some rye whiskey, but Geralt went to look and ask around.

He'd been gone for a day or more, but Vesemir wasn't worried. "Probably found himself a wraith to fight or something, let's hope he's getting paid," he shook his head, calling for more rye.

A young woman in a traveling cloak walked into the inn. She looked around, then asked for food and drink - it was a common thing to do and no one spared her more than a passing glance. Picking up her teapot and mug, she walked over to the back corner where Vesemir was nursing his wound.

"May I squeeze my teapot in between your bottles?" She smiled at him. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"By all means, please do!" Vesemir looked surprised, at least at first sight. "Let me make some room here..." He tossed empty bottles under the table. "Passing through? Or just sightseeing? White Orchard is beautiful this time of year, especially with the modern gallows-themed decorations. The things young people get up to these days..." He joked, watching her sit down and pour a cup of tea.

"I... I'm not sure," she mused. "It depends on what I'll find." She took off her traveling cloak revealing a peculiar sand-coloured robe underneath with a wide leather belt around her waist with pouches and bottles on it. "I am a healer," she offered. "I have a practice in Flotsam. I am... err... here to restock some herbs," she concluded brightly. "White Orchard is beautiful this time of year, just as you say."

"I see," Vesemir nodded, stretched for another bottle and winced with pain.

"That wound needs cleaning," the young healer pointed at Vesemir's shoulder. "Or it will fester. Unless it started to fester already. Take off your armour," she added firmly, fumbling with the bottles on her belt.

"Whoa! Settle down, settle down!" Vesemir laughed. "I've lived long enough, young lady, to handle grazes like that without a healer! I'd rather spend my coin on the rye!" He added, signalling the innkeeper who was just setting a filled plate in front of the young woman. Then, when the innkeeper had walked away, he said quietly: "He's around, don't worry."

"You figured out who I am then?" The young woman looked up from her food. "I didn't lie."

"I know," Vesemir nodded. "But healers don't usually carry swords and throwing knives under their robes," he smirked. "Besides, Wolf told me about you."

"Ah," Lena nodded too. "I thought he might have done. So, where is he?"

"Around here somewhere," Vesemir shrugged. "Making enquiries. Fighting monsters, no doubt. Nothing unusual. Why do you worry?"

"My medallion," Lena pulled a wolf medallion from under her robe. "It's been buzzing like mad for a few days already, which is why I came. There was talk of two witchers searching the battlefields for something, traveling in this direction. Two witchers traveling together - that's highly unusual. You got yourselves noticed. Flotsam is only a few miles away."

"Yennefer had sent a letter asking to meet her quite urgently in one of the villages that had since been ravaged by the war," Vesemir said grimly. "It is not just because she wants to see him... which I am not sure if she does... but that's his affair. Something big is up."

"The Wild Hunt," Lena said softly.

"Most likely," Vesemir agreed. "We tracked her down to around here, but she hadn't been to this village. So Geralt's been asking around to see if we can pick up her trail again." He took a sip of his whiskey. "While I get patched up here. I'm getting old, you know." He looked her over, searching. "Whose medallion is it?"

"Fredrik's," Lena tucked it under her robe again. "He... I was not able to save him," she looked away. "His wounds were too great."

"So... this is how you know so much about witchers and their wounds," Vesemir squeezed his shoulder again. "Perhaps I should have it cleaned, after all. Is that Swallow?" He picked up one of the potion bottles that Lena was diligently setting out before him. "That'll do."

"No, that won't do," the young healer stood up. "That is just a temporary relief. Take off your armour."

"Like brother, like sister," Vesemir smirked, obeying. "Stubborn."

...

With Vesemir's wound cleaned and bandaged, Lena tucked the remaining potion bottles back into her belt and turned to leave.

"You're better off waiting for him here," Vesemir tried to reason with her. "He'll be back, eventually."

But she had made up her mind and would not be talked out of it.

The night had already fallen when Lena left the inn, trying to sense somehow which way Geralt might have gone. His horse wasn't at the stables, so he must have been further afield which made the search all the more difficult. "Perhaps there's a notice board in the village," she remembered Geralt's habit of following up on requests from notice boards. "It's worth a look."

There was a request for a new plough, an order from the local garrison to enlist into the army, a plea for some rat poison, a call on all able-bodied men to go out into the battlefields to bury the dead, another plea to deal with a ghost by the well, and a polite request to help find a missing brother among the many fallen soldiers of the most recent battle. "The last two," Lena decided. "First the well, then the battlefield."

She found the well surrounded by burned down houses; the hovel had been evidently abandoned for many years. Fresh footprints were all around the well, some fresh scorch marks too. "He was here, fought the ghost or wraith by the looks of things," Lena decided. "He prepared this skeleton for burial, but hasn't done it yet. Perhaps he's missing something. He must have gone on to the battlefields next."

She mounted her horse and rode to the field of the most recent battle. It took place just a few days ago, the corpses were still fresh, with crows picking at them. It was already dawning. Low fog hung over the field, hiding blood and corpses from view. All was quiet.

Then Lena heard noises in the distance, at the far edge of the field. She saw fire lighting up through the fog, flashes of it, not a steady light - someone was casting spells. She unsheathed her sword and moved cautiously in that direction, expecting ghouls to surprise her as she advanced. She found ghouls, but they were dead - sliced in two with a powerful swing of a longsword, a witcher's sword. She knew who was the witcher.

The fire stopped flashing and the noises subsided, the fight seemed to be over. Lena was still moving in the same direction but without the flashes she wasn't sure it was right - she couldn't see more than an arm's length in the fog. Then a sizeable explosion shook the ground to her left and various ghoul body parts rained all around her. "You filth," she heard swearing nearby. "That nest is done now." She found her witcher.

The sun was already above the horizon but the air was still grey, although the fog was slowly lifting. A campfire sprung up a little further on, there was less fog there. "A clearing," Lena thought. "Slightly higher than the field. He's there." She sheathed her sword and ran towards the fire.

Geralt didn't like to meditate among dead bodies, in particular dead monsters - the stench was offending his senses. He always preferred to build a campfire a stretch away and on a higher ground, if possible. When Lena finally got to him, he had already dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, settling in to rest and recover. His wounds would close on their own, he had no energy left to tend to them just then.

Lena picked a potion from her belt and poured the contents into his mouth.

"Hello, sis," he smiled but didn't open his eyes.

Lena sat down too, suddenly realising just how tired she was, having been on her feet all night. She could sleep now, the place was quiet, with no people or monsters in sight. Her medallion stopped buzzing.

[Lena Wolf]

16 Sun's Height, 4E195 - The sorceress from Vengerberg

"Mistress Vengerberg rode to Vizima," the commander of the occupying forces in White Orchard finally told Geralt, but only after Geralt took care of a griffin and a number of stray drowners around the village. "And yes, I could have told you this when you first asked. But would you have dealt with the griffin if I did?" He looked at Geralt shrewdly. One could not argue with that.

Shaking his head and cursing slightly, Geralt rode back to the village to tell Vesemir that Yennefer had been just a few miles away all this time. The village was filled with people however - a dozen of the Emperor's elite guard were crowding the streets. "What in blazes is going on..?" Geralt didn't like elite guard, besides they seemed to be gathering around the inn, around Vesemir...

"What..?" Geralt started saying, hearing them asking for a witcher. Then a voice he hadn't heard in a long time sent a jolt through his body.

"Hello, Geralt. It's been a while." Yennefer stepped forward and the Emperor's elite guard closed behind her.

...

Yennefer was terse, terser than usual. She asked to delay a proper conversation until they were in Vizima, they had to hurry, she said, and the urgency of her voice made both Geralt and Vesemir fear for the worst.

"Go, go," Vesemir patted Geralt on the back. "I'll return to Kaer Morhen, they are not after me, they are after you. I don't think Yennefer is bluffing."

She wasn't. As soon as they were out of the village, the Wild Hunt decended upon them, and it became painfully clear what the Emperor's elite guard was for. The Emperor wanted both the sorceress and the witcher alive, even at the cost of the guard. They escaped, but all of the guard had perished.

The audience with the Emperor was brief and to the point. He wanted Geralt to find his daughter Cirilla who was also Geralt's ward. How that came to be was an old story, but the fact remained that she wasn't raised at the royal palace but at Kaer Morhen, the only child in a destituted witcher school. Vesemir was the one who actually looked after her most of the time, but Geralt as well as a few other witchers came by regularly as well. However, when Ciri was in her early teens, things changed. Ciri wasn't just an Emperor's daughter, she was also of the Elder Blood through her mother's side - she was not quite of this world. Someone "on the other side" noticed her existance and couldn't permit it, and they tried to reach her through the fabric of space... And that had everything to do with the Wild Hunt.

Although what exactly happened remained a mystery, the danger that Ciri was in, was plain to see. It was then that she decided to leave - to leave this world for another. It wasn't about death, it was about traveling through space into another world. The problem was however, that the Wild Hunt could do it too.

Geralt hadn't seen Ciri since then. Yet she must have been keeping an eye on things because when he died - or nearly died - at Blaviken, it was Ciri who pulled him and Yennefer from there to the Isle of Avalon, and years later it was again Ciri who pulled Geralt from the Wild Hunt, dropping him at Kaer Morhen, alive but without his memory. After that Ciri vanished again. But it seems she didn't go far, because she returned, she was back in their world, and the Emperor wanted her found.

"Why now?" Geralt squinted at the Emperor. "You never cared to show your paternal feelings before."

"It isn't about feelings," the Emperor replied quite dispassionately, not offended by the question. "It is a matter of state. Cirilla has come of age."

Indeed, she was no longer a child. She must have been about twenty already, Geralt figured. All grown up.

"Ciri needs to be found for her own sake, you know," Yennefer was filling in the details for Geralt. She had been looking for Ciri on the orders of the Emperor for months already, she made some progress, but her magic was leaving traces which was what brought the Wild Hunt after her. "I cannot use advanced magic any longer, it will alert the Wild Hunt and all will be lost," she shook her head. "We have to switch to conventional methods, which is much more your area of expertise than mine," she smiled, and Geralt thought that perhaps they could finally have a private conversation.

"You look wonderful," he said. "I missed you."

"They why did you not contact me in all this time?" Yennefer asked sharply.

"I... no, why were you staying away?" Geralt didn't expect that pang of hurt in Yennefer's tone.

"I heard you and Triss made a lovely couple," she definitely sounded hurt. "I didn't want to interfere."

"I lost my memory..." he started saying, but Yennefer cut him off.

"And it made you realise how much you love me, etcetera, etcetera, I do not wish to hear it, Geralt!" She cried out. Then added in a calmer tone: "Perhaps we can talk about it later."

Geralt was watching her thinking that she must be really hurt. Perhaps she just needed some time to heal, now that he separated from Triss. Indeed, perhaps they could talk later.

"We have to part again, my friend," Yennefer regained her composure and assumed a friendly tone. "I shall go to the Skellige Isles to investigate an unusual magic explosion there - I think it may have to do with Ciri, while you start your search in Velen as we discussed. Come and find me when you have some leads. Do you want me to teleport you?" She smiled, although she knew what the answer would be.

"No teleports, thanks!" Geralt shook his head. "I'll go on horseback."

"Very well, then we'll talk later," Yennefer nodded, kissed him, and before he could recover from his surprise, she opened a portal to the Skellige Isles and stepped through it.

"We'll talk later," Geralt repeated after her. There was hope yet.

...

In preparation for his search for Ciri, Geralt collected a number of reports from the Emperor's spies - Ciri had indeed been spotted, and that was where the Velen lead came from. But Velen was quite a large province, and Geralt needed more details. While going through all that paperwork, he came across an old book by Dandelion telling the story of how he and Yennefer had met some twenty years earlier. And here it is.

It all began when Geralt and I were feeling a bit peckish and, unburdened by heavy coin pouches, decided to fish our supper out of a lake. No bites were to be had, but we did not leave empty-handed - my hook snagged quite a lovely little pot. Oblivious to my friend's warnings, I opened it - and in doing so freed a powerful djinn.

Without giving it much thought I set about proclaiming my wishes. Before I could get to three, however, the djinn - irritated, I see now in hindsight, at being issued demands so soon after waking - began to throttle me. Geralt was able to drive him off, but I was left in a sorry state. I acted, the witcher told me later, as though under the influence of some curse. Clearly, the help of an expert in the magic arcana would be needed.

It was our good fortune that Yennefer of Vengerberg happened to be staying in a nearby village. Geralt went to her to ask that she heal his best friend, who happened also to be the brightest star in the North's poetic firmament. Yennefer, however, was more interested in the djinn (which she wanted to trap into magic servitude) than in its victim, and, it should be said, played the witcher like a well-strung mandolin. Yet rather than grow angry at being used in such a calculating manner, he fell white head over muddy boots in love with her.

What happened then... well, I won't go into details, suffice to say that Yennefer's plans hardly delighted the djinn, and without its cooperation she proved unable to tame it. The sorceress would surely have met a tragic end - and taken all of Rinde along with her - had Geralt not rushed to her rescue. For once, he did not need to draw either of his blades: to send the djinn packing, he had but to pronounce the third and final wish. He could have asked for anything: wealth, fame, power... but instead he asked the djinn to bind his fate to that of the arrogant yet intriguing sorceress from Vengerberg.

[Renee]

She's headed back to Skyrim. Back to Falkreath. Yeah, this thing with her father must be weighing her mind.

Ha! The new DB sanctuary's got a pool. 💦 It's pretty cool, all that detail about how things changed in the Brotherhood, and Lena's learning about it all now.

Okay, wow. Lucien does not approve of torture, interesting. He's more interested in doing things clean, and without much fuss. Like an assassin.

Bookmark

This post has been edited by Renee: Jan 31 2024, 05:38 PM

[macole]

... but instead he asked the djinn to bind his fate to that of the arrogant yet intriguing sorceress from Vengerberg.

That sounds like trouble ahead, to me. Imagine the constant "wear a coat it's cold outside", "be careful with that sword, it's sharp", "did you remember your potions", on and on and on, never ending.

This post has been edited by macole: Jan 7 2024, 07:59 AM

[Lena Wolf]

... but instead he asked the djinn to bind his fate to that of the arrogant yet intriguing sorceress from Vengerberg.

That sounds like trouble ahead, to me. Imagine the constant "wear a coat it's cold outside", "be careful with that sword, it's sharp", "did you remember your potions", on and on and on, never ending.

That would be awful, but that's not Yennefer's style. She may be arrogant and willful, but she is no mother hen. It appears that their frequent quarrels and falling out where rather due to Yennefer being at least as stubborn as Geralt and wanting to do things her way, while Geralt, being very similar, disagreed, because obviously his way's the right one... Hmm.

[macole]

... but instead he asked the djinn to bind his fate to that of the arrogant yet intriguing sorceress from Vengerberg.

That sounds like trouble ahead, to me. Imagine the constant "wear a coat it's cold outside", "be careful with that sword, it's sharp", "did you remember your potions", on and on and on, never ending.

That would be awful, but that's not Yennefer's style. She may be arrogant and willful, but she is no mother hen. It appears that their frequent quarrels and falling out where rather due to Yennefer being at least as stubborn as Geralt and wanting to do things her way, while Geralt, being very similar, disagreed, because obviously his way's the right one... Hmm.

I was thinking of the djinn being the harpy trying to keep the willful and arrogant in-line and safe thus ensuring its safety. Unless of course the djinn likes constant danger then he might constantly encourage constant rash behavior. It's one way the djinn can get out of the bind it's in.