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

[Lena Wolf]

Chapter 6

The White Wolf

7 Sun's Dawn, 4E195 - The Butcher of Blaviken

The Butcher of Blaviken opened one eye and looked at the man holding the heavy tapestry of his tent open.

"King Foltest requires your presence, Sire," the man said without much conviction on the word "Sire". He looked at the red-haired woman on the luxurious bed in this tent fit for royalty, then dropped the tapestry, turning to leave. "The witch got what she wanted," he smirked to himself.

Geralt sat up in bed, he was having one of those dreams again when the man woke him up. An uprisal of humans against non-humans, and he, a witcher that should have stayed out of politics, just couldn't see elves, dwarves and halflinks being slaughtered. Not that they didn't put up a fight - one dwarf can easily take on three humans, size notwithstanding. But there were far more than three humans for each non-human in that mob in Blaviken. And so, hearing shouts "Mutant!" once again, Geralt joined the fight. He later learned with  surprise that "the Butcher of Blaviken" was what people took to calling him after that. Everyone, human and non-human.

He couldn't remember how the fight ended. He didn't see piles of corpses sliced in two with his razor sharp meteoric steel sword. The screams faded. The lights dimmed. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, saw a long wooden handle protruding from it - a pitchfork? Then - nothing.

That was half a year ago. Not only could Geralt not remember the fight, he could not remember almost anything that happened before that day either. What he knew of himself today, was what his friends and enemies chose to tell him. He was having strange dreams like the one he just woke from, he guessed they were flashes from his memory, but they were too vague to make anything out.

The red-haired woman turned languidly on the bed, waking up too. Her perfect body was craving attention, and Geralt paused his glance on her for longer than he had wanted. She smiled, confident of her charm.

"The king has summoned us," Geralt ripped his gaze from Triss' body. "Well, me," he corrected himself. "You can go back to sleep."

"I'm awake now," Triss smirked, letting the covers completely slide off and stretching her hand to lightly caress Geralt's many scars. "Foltest can wait." Her voice was expectant.

"Not today." Geralt got up and started getting dressed.

Triss was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he ever met. Red-haired and green-eyed, with perfect feminine curves, there was nothing that Geralt didn't like. Except when the dreams came. The dream made it all feel wrong somehow, and Geralt's desire for the redhead in his bed suddenly dwindled. He couldn't put his finger on it. If only he could remember!

...

"This is the day of the big assault, and with you as my bodyguard, nothing can go wrong!" The king asserted confidently seeing Geralt approach.

"Witchers don't mix in politics," Geralt reminded him. "I should not be here at all."

King Foltest smirked at that. How could Geralt not be there! It was he who saved King Foltest from an attempted assassination, and from that moment on, Geralt became attached to King Foltest's court. What better bodyguard than a witcher! Especially one whose memory had been wiped and who, therefore, could be made to believe anything the King wanted.

"When this is over, I am leaving," Geralt said in no uncertain terms. "It is not my place to be at any king's court. I should be out there fighting monsters."

"Well, if you must," the king conceded with a sigh. He knew he could not hold Geralt forever. "And with you I'll loose my Court Sorceress as well."

"You think she'll come with me?" Geralt's eyes lit up as he thought of Triss.

"Of course she will!" The king laughed. "The woman is infatuated with you, can't you see?"

...

The battle that followed was bloody as battles go, with Geralt having to do most of the butchery. Why him? He was no soldier. But he was able, and that was enough. Strangely, a dragon appeared in the end, and there indeed Geralt's skills came into their own, even though a single witcher, no matter how skilled, is no match for a full-grown dragon. Witchers don't fight dragons, in fact. And dragons rarely bother with people either. But this one attacked, probably woken up by the noise of the battle, or something equally mundane. Geralt fought it, trying to annoy the giant creture and make it fly away, not having any illusions about killing it. He wedged his silver sword in the dragon's mouth. That did the trick! The dragon roared, spit fire and took off, all with the annoying silver toothpick in his mouth.

"Let's not wait for it to return!" Someone urged the king to seek shelter.

Again, Geralt had to do most of the work clearing a route - the king wanted to find his children, his illegitimate children that he fathered with the local baroness. The children were the reason for the assault, as the king wanted to legitimise them and take them away to live with him, while the baroness... well, let's just say she wasn't keen on either losing her children or becoming the official king's consort (marriage wasn't offered). Hence the stand-off and the battle.

They found the children in one of the towers of the baroness' castle that they had been trying to storm. They looked frightened, which wasn't surprising.

"You must wipe away your tears and look danger in the face," the king cuddled his young son. "You will be king one day."

"The children are safe with me," a voice came from a corner. A blind monk gently nudged the king's daughter towards her father.

"But you are blind!" The king protested, taking his daughter in his embrace as well.

Geralt looked out of the window - the noise outside was getting stronger, the battle was far from over.

Then... swift movement out of the corner of his eye... He turned, leapt...

It was too late. King Foltest lay dead in a pool of blood with his throat slit, while the blind monk was leaping out of the window, having thrown off his monk's robes revealing well-fitting leather armour underneath. A witcher's armour. Only a witcher could have mastered a jump from such a height as well.

The next moment the guards ran in, attracted by the screams of the king's daughter, rightly horrified seeing her father being murdered right in front of her.

Geralt was arrested for murder.

...

"So, do you expect me to believe it?!" Vernon Roche slammed the table with his fist. He had been interrogating Geralt for a few hours already, examining and cross-examining every word. Geralt was tired, hungry and "well-seasoned" with many new scars and festering wounds. Temerian Special Forces did not joke.

"Believe what you like," Geralt shrugged. "I might be the first witcher to be executed rather than die battling a monster, but I've had enough."

Vernon snapped his fingers, the door opened and a very attractive female operative came in with food and drink. She put it on the table, smiled engagingly, caught Vernon's nod and left.

"I didn't know you had women in your outfit," Geralt smiled at his old friend. "I never met her."

"Ves is a jewel that we like to keep under wraps," Vernon smiled back. Whatever Geralt might or might not have done, an old friendship forged on the battlefield wasn't easily quashed, even if Geralt didn't remember it. Vernon did, and Geralt felt it. "Ves has been with us for a long time already," Vernon looked towards the door. "She is the only woman, and what a woman..." he sighed. "It's almost too easy, works every time. If you ever see her without her clothes, it will be while she's slitting your throat."

Both men stared at the door for a while.

"Anyway, duty calls - I've got paperwork to do, all your stories need writing up," Vernon grimaced. "Help yourself to the food and drink," he smirked as Geralt rattled the chains firmly cuffing his hands behind his back. "The road ahead is long and perilous, and you're on your own," Vernon added in a whisper, dropped a small key onto the table, got up and left.

...

"Geralt, this way!" Geralt heard Triss' voice from one of the boats on the river. Someone somehow had a boat ready and waiting. How long did it take him to unlock his cuffs, gulp down the food and drink, overcome the many guards in the castle dungeons, all armed with nothing but his bloody fists? It felt like hours, it probably was hours. Geralt was exhausted.

"This way, come on!" Triss' voice was urging him on. "We've got to cast off while it's still dark!"

Geralt shook his head to clear his vision somewhat, then picked his way among the crates and barrels littering the pier, trying not to fall.

"Finally! What took you so long? I was starting to wonder!" Triss helped him into the boat, someone whistled, the ropes where cut and the sails caught the wind.

"I was busy," Geralt retorted, feeling annoyed rather than grateful. "How did you know?" He looked at Triss with suspicion.

"She didn't," Vernon approached, handing Geralt a mug of beer. "You are still the kingslayer, make no mistake," he added grimly. "And your girlfriend here was about to be burned at the stake for treason for good measure."

"But..?" Geralt looked up at him, momentarily switching his attention from the sausages brought by Ves.

"But I believed you," Vernon sighed. "My trust in you is not enough to clear your name though, especially given our history," he shook his head. "You still don't remember, do you? Never mind, others do. But that's not why I believed you - I would have executed you myself if I thought you killed King Foltest. Instead, I and my Special Forces are on the run assisting a fugitive, all in the hope to find the real kingslayer." He smirked again and looked away.

They were sailing East, towards the pink horizon, but all Geralt could think of was sleep. He was spent and not ready for any new beginnings.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is the prologue of Witcher 2, seen through my eyes, the eyes of "my" Geralt. A fair warning: my Geralt is "all wrong". I haven't read the books, I haven't seen the movies, I only played the video games - Witcher 2 and 3. The games allow you to make choices which are not necessarily what the original author would have chosen. There are many among the hard core fans who say that the games "break" Geralt - make him "all wrong". Such as Geralt that you will meet in this story.

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: May 13 2024, 05:24 PM

[Renee]

Nice, glad to see you are continuing IALW. I'll catch up to a back episode later this week.

[macole]

That was an engrossing suspenseful chapter. Thoroughly enjoyed it.

[Lena Wolf]

Thank you! I figured we needed a little background for Geralt before we get into his adventures in Tamriel. Also, I fancied another game of Witcher. So here it comes.

[macole]

I played Witcher I & II so I Know a little bit about it. I did enjoy both games.

This post has been edited by macole: Oct 11 2023, 04:40 AM

[Lena Wolf]

12 First Seed, 4E195 - Flotsam (again)

"Come on, jump!" A voice jerked Geralt out of his slumber. He never liked boats - they made him queezy, and they'd been sailing on this one for several days already. Why did it move so slowly? But it seemed they finally arrived somewhere. Any land was going to be better than this. "Come on!" The voice was urging him on. "The witcher's ass is going to get wet!"

"I'm getting too old for this," Geralt muttered, getting up. He wasn't sure how old he was exactly - he couldn't remember it, and his friends couldn't agree whether he was just turning sixty or already pushing hundred. He certainly felt like the latter. "All right, all right, coming!" He shouted back. "Where are you, anyway?"

Vernon and Triss were waiting on the shore. The boat - or was it a ship? - was too large to come close, and the river had shallow shores, so yes, there was no way around it - he was going to get wet. "Soggy boots and soggy leathers yet again," he cursed under his breath, wading to the shore.

"This is Flotsam," Vernon made sure that Geralt was following.

"What? Where..? No! Not again!!" Wading through water was bad enough, but wading through water with flotsam was something that Geralt hated with a vengeance. He didn't need to remember that, he felt it from within.

"Not that, the water is fairly clean," Vernon laughed. "This charming town is called Flotsam. Just beyond that bend." He pointed at a path running along the shore and set off.

"I don't like this," Geralt squinted at the high cliffs along the path.

...

"Vernon Roche!" An arresting voice came from above. "I scour the land for you, and here you are walking onto my turf!" An elf with a dirty bandana covering half of his scarred face appeared on a cliff ahead.

"You are aiding the kingslayer, Iorveth!" Vernon was as enraged as the elf. "I've seen your boats waiting under the walls of the castle!"

"A crowned dh'oine is still a dh'oine," Iorveth spat.

"We're here for the kingslayer, we have no quarrel with you," Geralt joined in, although he didn't think it would make any difference. The stand-off between Iorveth's elves and Vernon Roche's Special Forces was an old and hot one. Iorveth bared his teeth like a cornered wolf, raised his hand, and a dozen arrows were silently released at the three travellers below.

"You bastard!!!" None of them carried a shield.

"No, you don't!!" In a blink of an eye Triss built a sphere of flames around them. The arrows were deflected, for now. Triss collapsed to the ground.

"Whaa--??" Geralt was spinning in place. Was Triss dead? It didn't seem so, her protective sphere still held. Just fainted. Vernon drew his sword - the elves were coming for them on foot, as the sphere couldn't stop people. Geralt drew his sword too - but what about Triss?

"I am not dead," a remarkably lively voice said from the ground. "But I can't walk. One of you must carry me to Flotsam, the sphere will follow."

"All right." Vernon sheathed his sword, picked up Triss and started walking. "You deal with the elves, Geralt."

"Get your hand off my ass!"

"Shush!"

As they rounded the bend and looked back, a muscular figure of the kingslayer appeared next to Iorveth.

"Do you know this witcher?" Ioverth asked, not taking his eyes off Geralt.

"Oh yes, I know Geralt, but he doesn't remember," the kingslayer nodded with a sigh. "I know Geralt." He paused. "I know his weakness."

...

"Come on, we don't want to miss the hanging!" People were rushing towards the town square - there wasn't much entertainment to be had in Flotsam.

"Who's being strung?" Geralt asked.

"Oh, a couple of thieves, a dwarf and a dandy like," a woman laughed, rushing past him.

"Geralt!!! Help!!!" A very urgent voice was coming from the gallows.

"Dandelion!"

Dandelion and Zoltan Chivay stood on the gallows with nooses around their necks, right next to two thieves that the woman mentioned. A dandy of a bard and a dwarf craftsman... both Geralt's friends. This had to be a mistake!

...

"Phew, that was too close!" Zoltan was massaging his neck after Geralt and Vernon between them managed to "talk" the guards into seeing sense. Two thieves had to be enough for the crowd's entertainment. "Tavern! I need a stiff drink." Zoltan turned towards the tavern, with the rest of them following - it was high time to catch up.

"Well, watch where y're going!" A shrill female voice rang in Geralt's ear. So shrill, that even Geralt's amulet started buzzing - a witcher's amulet enchanted to warn of magic or danger, for often they were one and the same. "Keep your swords to yourself, you..!" The woman suddenly stopped yelling. "Pardon me, Master Witcher," she continued in the sweetest of voices. "But would you be so kind as to assist me with, ah, a delicate matter? After hours? I am the healer here, my practice is in that house just across the square. Please come and see me after dark."

Geralt nodded, she smiled and walked off.

"I wouldn't mind a bite of that ass myself, but she's not that kind of a healer," a rough yet educated voice said in Geralt's ear. "Come and see me after dark, we have matters to discuss."

That was the mayor of Flotsam, and he wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

The town square suddenly fell quiet, with everyone returning to their chores. The sun was still high on the horizon, the pigs had resumed rolling in the mud and the crows started assembling by the gallows. Geralt stood in the middle of Flotsam, deciding what to do next. For a sleepy provincial town, Flotsam appeared to pack a punch.

Strangely, he did not feel like going to the tavern to catch up. His friends would still be there later. Triss didn't seem the worse for wear - "Sorceresses!" - he smirked; you never quite knew where you stood with them. This was undoubtedly a shady town and he just got himself into a load of shady business, he thought. After dark! What was he supposed to do till then?

...

"Well, well, well, look who's here," a voice said in his ear as a bulky half-naked fellow appeared from a doorway blocking his way, his fists clad in heavy steel gauntlets. "You're worth more to me alive, but I'll settle for your corpse if I have to, kingslayer," he smirked. "There's good coin in that."

"Oh let's get it over with!" Geralt drew his sword. A leisurely stroll through town might not have been the best way to while away an afternoon in Flotsam, after all.

...

"Now I'll need a healer," Geralt spat out a tooth. The six fellows that ambushed him were no weaklings. "Kingslayer," he shook his head. "Of course. There's a price on my head. I should be more careful. Now, where did she say she lived?" He returned to the town square looking for the healer's house, as the sun finally set.

...

"Geralt of Rivia, at your service," he greeted the young woman as she answered the door. "You said you needed assistance."

"Indeed," she smiled. "Please come in. We don't want interruptions," she added, throwing on the bolt. Geralt's amulet started buzzing again. Magic or danger? Or both?

...

"Where is Geralt?" Dandelion was getting impatient to embrace his friend who, for some reason, did not follow them into the tavern. "It's nearly dark already!" He hiccupped and called for another mug of ale. "Oh look - there he is! Hey..!" But Geralt walked right past the tavern and knocked on the door of the house across the square.

"Healer," Zoltan followed Dandelion's glance out of the window. "He looks pretty beat up too."

"Well, I could have healed him!" Triss watched him enter the house, saw a young woman's face behind the door, and didn't like any of it.

"When was the last time you actually brew an ointment for him, Sorceress?" Vernon squinted.

"Lena Wolf is a decent healer," Zoltan concluded the conversation. "I go to her every time I need my head cleared after a night of drinking - her stuff works! Nothing wrong with that."

"And by the looks of things we'll all be needing those potions tomorrow," Dandelion added as the waitress delivered another round of drinks.

...

"I am Lena Wolf," the young woman introduced herself when Geralt entered her shop. "A healer. I brew potions and know some spells. You need healing."

"And I am a witcher," Geralt smirked. "I heal myself. This will pass, it isn't the first time. What did you want to talk about?"

That didn't start well. They stood facing each other, their eyes locked, their wills also.

"Very well, we'll return to this later," Lena looked away and smiled. The most radiant smile you could ever imagine. Geralt shook his head - was he being charmed? "Your other name is 'The White Wolf', is it not?" He nodded. She nodded too, as if consulting with herself, then pulled a medallion from under her clothing. A wolf amulet. A witcher's amulet just like Geralt's, and it was buzzing in her hand. "Does yours buzz as well?"

"Where did you get this?" That was all that Geralt could think of. Witcher's amulets were rare but not impossible to find, but they would never - never! - respond to anyone besides the person for whom they were enchanted. "You are not a witcher!"

"No," Lena shook her head. "This was given to me..." She started, then interrupted herself: "But please, let's sit down. This will be a long night."

...

Lena and Geralt talked for hours. She told Geralt about an old witcher who came to her shop some months ago looking for herbs. His wounds were severe and she convinced him to stay in her little clinic for a few days. Days turned into weeks, and despite all their combined best efforts, the witcher succumbed to his wounds. When he could no longer get up, he gave her his amulet and said to always wear it and to look out for a white wolf with the same sort of trinket - that wolf would make her complete.

"I didn't take his words seriously, you see," Lena smiled with sadness. "I thought he was delirious. He was on his deathbed, after all," she sighed. "But I took the medallion in his memory and wore it ever since. It never buzzed before." She raised her eyes to Geralt's, smiled and opened another bottle of Cyrodilic Brandy.

"Why is your name 'Wolf'?" Geralt was puzzled too.

"My father's name, I believe," Lena blushed a little. "I have not known him. My mother died when I was four, and my adoptive grandmother - when I was sixteen. She said I was named after my father, she knew who he was but could not tell..." Lena took a sip of her drink. "All in all, I know about as little of my parents as you of yours."

"But I know nothing of them!" Geralt protested. "I was given to the Witcher School of the Wolf at a very young age. This damned amnesia... But even without it, no one seems to know a thing. Give me your amulet," he stretched out his hand. As Lena passed the amulet, it kept buzzing in Geralt's hand. As did his in hers.

"Well?" She looked at him expectantly.

"It must be..." Geralt's brow furrowed. "What else could it be..?" He paused, then said decisively: "You are my sister."

[Lena Wolf]

12 First Seed, 4E195 - Siblings

"How old are you?" Geralt squinted at Lena, taking in her appearance. "You look... twenty. But you are not."

"Perceptive," Lena smiled. "I've lived some hundred twenty to two hundred years."

"You don't know?"

"It depends whom you ask," Lena shrugged. "Time passes differently in other Realms."

Lena already told Geralt about Tamriel and how she boarded the biggest ship in Anvil that was bound to the Realms Beyond the Great Maelstrom. They docked in Novigrad and from there Lena made her way to Flotsam, not specifically having it as a goal but simply looking for a town that wouldn't be questioning her accent twenty times a day. Flotsam was a port on a river that crossed many kingdoms, it changed hands so often, that people got confused who the current king was. As such it belonged to itself first and foremost, a place where everyone was from somewhere else. Lena fitted right in.

"All right," Geralt tried to make sense of things. "So we can't compare calendars. But if you are my sister, are you younger or older? And by how much?"

"Younger. By just a few years," Lena said with conviction. "Mum died when I was four, remember? And grandma said..." she hesitated. She couldn't quite remember what her grandmother had said about her parents, but decided to go with it anyway. "Well, I don't know exactly. But I think it's just a few years."

"Fine." Geralt decided to accept it. "Are you a sorceress? How come you are still alive? And why do you look so young?" He squinted at her.

"Not a sorceress," Lena shook her head. "Well, I'm a mage, that is, I know some magic, but nothing like the sorceresses here. More like a hedge witch," she giggled.

"So?" Geralt wasn't going to let it slide.

"Well... err... I'm still alive because..." This was going to be painful. "I used to be a vampire."

"WHAT?!" Geralt looked up, puzzled, and Lena was suprised at that. He wasn't shocked or revolted, just puzzled. "Vampires are beings from another Realm. They are what they are, they cannot stop being vampires and change into something else. There's no 'used to be a vampire'." Geralt shook his head.

"Umm..." Lena was puzzled too. "No... Vampirism is a disease... No, wait. It's not the same thing," she brightened up. "In Tamriel vampirism is a disease, all humans, elves, beastfolk, even most animals can catch it. It makes you undead... There is usually no cure."

"But you got cured."

"Yes," she nodded. "It was hard to obtain. May not have worked fully either..." She looked sideways. "Sometimes I feel..." She paled. "But no, I am NOT a vampire. Not any more," she said defiantly. "I do NOT require blood."

...

The discovery that he had a sister was a bit of a shock for Geralt. He didn't know anything about his parents, true, and therefore it was not inconcievable that he could have a sibling; but now that it appeared he had one, he struggled to assimilate this news. The woman before him was his younger sister, he was her big brother, what did it mean? What was he supposed to do? What would she expect him to do? Why did she have to be so pretty? (That thought made him shake his head violently.) It was much easier with Ciri - his adoptive daughter. She was but a child. He simply assumed responsibility and tried to help her grow up as best he could. But a sister was an entirely different matter.

"I don't know what to do with it," he finally said. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Nothing," Lena smiled. "No - wait." She got up and brought a jar of ointment. "Take off your shirt - you are bleeding."

...

The dawn was already breaking when Lena declared that it was time for bed. Lavander oil in the burner did the trick and Geralt allowed her to make him sleep in her clinic. The number of revelations that descended upon them during that night was nearing the number of empty bottles of brandy under the table, and it became obvious that neither of them was in any shape to face the shining rays of day. Lena's practice stayed closed.

"He stayed there all night!" Triss was fuming, looking at Lena's door. Vernon smirked and walked off to nurse his own hangover.

...

When Geralt eventually left Lena's house, the sun was already setting again. Wasn't there something he had to do after dark? He struggled to remember. Oh yes, visit the mayor. Well, that could certainly wait, so he went to the tavern instead. Dandelion and Zoltan were still there, having spent the last twenty four hours drinking, it seemed.

"A day late, but there he is at last!" Dandelion jumped up to greet Geralt and miraculously managed not to fall over.

"Getting into fights and beds as usual, I see," Zoltan patted Geralt on the back. "Barman! Vodka!"

"No, no vodka," Geralt shook his head a bit too violently and winced. "I'll tell you later."

Triss had just walked in, and for some reason Geralt didn't want to talk about the big discovery of last night in front of her. Not just yet, anyway.

"Ah, there you are," Triss said coldly, joining them at the table. "What's the matter? Your head hurts?"

"Lay off him, Triss," Zoltan shot her an angry glance. He didn't dislike her, but sometimes she did get on his nerves. "So what's that with the king's murder that I hear?" He turned to Geralt, changing the topic.

...

"Save yourselves! The beast attacks the harbour!" Someone rushed in, for where better to hide from a dangerous beast than in a tavern.

"Someone is casting spells," Triss seemed to be sniffing the air. "Let's go see."

The harbour was just outside the door, and the air was charged with lightning. A giant tenticle shot out of the water and slapped across the pier knocking out one of the fishermen. A powerful lightning bolt coming from nowhere shot at the tentacle making it retreat. No, not from nowhere - an elegantly dressed sorceress came forward from the mist, the air still buzzing with discharges around her.

"Sile de Tansarville," if Triss' tone had been cold at the tavern, it was now glacial. "Here to hunt some rare ingredients?"

"Triss Merigold, sharp as ever," Sile replied coolly. "Indeed. Toad's gallbladders, chicken livers and virgin blood - all the things we love to throw into a cauldron come Sabbath."

"Virgins are a dying breed indeed," Triss glared. What was all that about?

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" Sila smiled at Geralt.

Triss rolled her eyes.

"Sile de Tansarville, adviser to the Queen of Kovir," she said. "Here to hunt the river beast, I presume."

"And I suppose we know each other?" Geralt was searching Sile's face hoping it would jog his memory. It didn't.

"Yes," Sile nodded. "But let's just say, I've heard of you."

"Aha," Geralt gave her a long look. What kind of a history did he have with the woman? But neither she nor Triss wanted to bring it up, so Geralt had to settle on treating Sile as a new acquaintance.

"I am here to hunt the river beast, as you say. I already got the contract." She got down to business. "And I'm not sharing the reward. You'll have to negotiate your own payment if you want to join in. Some of the merchants here should be willing to splash out, seeing how the beast is blocking the river and preventing them from moving on." She paused watching Geralt's reaction, then smiled noting relief. Geralt was all too glad to just stick to the matter at hand. "I am staying at the tavern, upstairs. Find me when you're ready."

"The tavern is also a brothel, you know that, right?" Triss put in with a snigger.

"Well, thank you for the warning," Sile answered politely, said gooodbye to Geralt and walked off. The tavern was the only inn in town anyway.

"Don't go with Sile," Triss turned to Geralt. "I don't trust her."

"Is that why you went all pale when you saw her?" Geralt squinted at Triss.

"Oh, that was just..." she paused searchingly. "I'm just still a little weak from casting that shielding sphere the day before. I don't jump into the first bed I see in a new place!" She glared.

"What..?" Geralt was confused - he hadn't even been to the brothel yet! "Oh..." Lena. Of course Triss was talking about that. "Never mind that now," he cut off. While Triss' jealousy was flattering, it was also annoying. "I better go ask around about that beast. I hear there's a ship wreck nearby that might have been its victim. And other things too," Geralt hoped it was enough.

"I'll come with you," Triss smiled pleasantly.

Triss' idea of accompanying Geralt did not actually involve walking. She opened a portal and teleported straight to the ship wreck leaving Geralt to make his way there on foot and deal with monsters and bandits along the way. Geralt didn't mind - he hated teleports.

At the scene of the ship wreck they found some deliciously decomposed mucus of the river beast, along with a group of drowners, as was to be expected. These bloated bodies of drowned people were a particularly nasty variety of zombies, and like all zombies, they were strong, toxic and hard to kill.

"Ugh, I don't know what I like less - drowners or river beasts," Geralt was muttering under his breath trying not to inhale as he was splitting the drowners' skulls open and removing their watery brains. As unpleasant as it was to perform this surgery, he was not about to forgo collecting ingredients. In the meantime Triss examined the mucus of the river beast.

"The beast is ill - it is dying," she declared.

"How soon?"

"Soon! A couple of years, no more!" She looked pleased with herself.

"Not soon enough!" Geralt swore.

"And it is therefore exceptionally toxic at present," Triss continued radiantly. "A single drop of its mucus would kill you outright!" She concluded triumphantly.

"Err..."

"So leave this to Sile."

Ah. He should have known. It was, then, about Sile rather than the river beast. Just what sort of history did he have with that cool and composed sorceress? He wondered again, but couldn't remember, and Triss wasn't telling.

"Mongoose," Geralt turned to Triss. "Perfect poison resistance - you know the potion. I'll use that."

"Well, if you must," Triss sighed, giving up. "I know you can't resist going after this beast, but for gods' sake, don't go with Sile!"

And with that she turned around and stepped into a portal, leaving Geralt to finish off a few drowners and do the right thing and not go with Sile. Of course by that point Geralt made up his mind to the opposite.

...

All this running around took another day, and it was once again nearing sunset. Geralt needed an uncommon herb for the Mongoose potion, a herb that could only be found in dump gloomy caves usually infested with monsters. That would normally not be a problem, but he felt tired from everything happening at once again and him not knowing who he was. Only having half a year worth of memories when you had supposedly lived for a century, just wasn't enough.

Ordinarily in such a situation Geralt would have gone to a brothel - that always made him feel better. But here in Flotsam he had another option, and he knocked on Lena's door. A bowl of hot stew, a delve into her memories, then restful sleep with lavander incense burning brought peace where even the best brothel would have struggled.

...

"I see you hadn't gone to Sile," Triss greeted Geralt in the morning as he was leaving Lena's practice. She finally got a grip on herself and no longer looked terse, even though she was boiling with jealousy inside. She remembered that arguing with a man was not the best way to his heart and decided to play it cool. Even though Yennefer could argue with him all day long and he would still... But no, he didn't remember, Triss smiled to herself. "Have you found that herb for the Mongoose potion?" She asked pleasantly. "Is that why you went to the healer?"

"I..." Geralt stared at her. Of course. He never even thought to ask Lena about the herb, but Triss was right - as a healer, she probably had it in stock. He turned around and went back to Lena's shop. Triss sneered and walked away. The women in Geralt's life were proving problematic.

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Oct 15 2023, 10:15 PM

[Acadian]

"It depends whom you ask," Lena shrugged. "Time passes differently in other Realms."

Lena already told Geralt about Tamriel and how she boarded the biggest ship in Anvil that was bound to the Realms Beyond the Great Maelstrom. They docked in Novigrad and from there Lena made her way to Flotsam, not specifically having it as a goal but simply looking for a town that wouldn't be questioning her accent twenty times a day. Flotsam was a port on a river that crossed many kingdoms, it changed hands so often, that people got confused who the current king was. As such it belonged to itself first and foremost, a place where everyone was from somewhere else. Lena fitted right in.'

- - I very much like how you handle moving across time and worlds. I only play one character so we have to do much the same thing as she moves through the different eras of Tamriel and even to other worlds (games).

[Lena Wolf]

Thanks, Acadian! Time is a tricky thing, and easily distorted by things like The Great Maelstrom... whatever it is. Sounds dangerous.

[Renee]

Lena's still in Kvatch, that's where I'm up to anyway. Ah, she's supposed to be looking for Nocturnal's Cowl, but has gotten WAY sidetracked!

Sounds like this 'merchant' is rather shady. He tries to sell her property which isn't even there? Whoa, he claims to know all about every, uh, murder Lena has committed. Who in oblivion is this guy?

Okay cool. She's got the cowl. Very strange.

and the abundance of construction in Cyrodiil after the Oblivion Crisis was infectious

I totally look at it this way. After the OC a lot of things expand and change, etc.

That's really cool she gives the cowl back to its rightful owner. Maybe this is how the quest goes as Bethesda wrote it, I haven't a clue. Never did any of those Daedric Shrine quests, unfortunately. Either way, I'm sure Nocturnal's appreciative to have this rare unique possession back.

The 4 Bravil mods you added are more ergonomic than Better Cities (which I've got installed). Just.. tidier, from the looks of them. Alright, one more chapter. It is now Last Seed 4, Year 202.

As it was, he attacked every rat and mudcrab inside the ruins with exceptional ferocity,

Ha ha ha, so true. I mean, a lot of NPCs in the game go nuts when it comes to combat, but Modryn Oreyn is particularly ferocious. My elf archer had him as a follower for a while.

Wow, Recessive Vampirism by Lena Wolf! Very nice, my dear. If I ever roll another vampire I'm getting this one, for sure.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338615

This post has been edited by Renee: Oct 17 2023, 05:10 PM

[Lena Wolf]

The story with Nocturnal's Cowl and the contract on Corvus Umbranox are a part of my yet-to-do-properly mod on Dark Brotherhood. A remake of the second half of the DB quest line which gives you choices. If you choose not to purify the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal, you enter my alternative quest line which unmasks the traitor, cleans up the Brotherhood and promotes you to Lachance's Silencer. It then pits you against the Thieves Guild. The culmination of that is that you obtain Nocturnal's Cowl, and if you choose to return it to Nocturnal, the "Nightingales" quest line begins.

However, it is still a very big question whether I shall ever release any of it. I features Lucien Lachance quite heavily, and I have received some very unpleasant emails in real life promising me a nice hot fire down under for allegedly admiring the guy. Ugh, I don't need that kind of bother.

However, the story will be told in full as it unfolds in this thread.

[Renee]

Very nice, I like the sound of that. When my DB vampire did got to Purification she couldn't go through with it. No way was she going to do that to all of her guildmates; she'd become especially fond of all of them, even the rude Khajiit who often insulted her, she'd gotten to the point that she looked forward to his taunts and insults! -- She actually tried to kill Lucien instead. Found out where he'd been staying, and then tried several times to off the guy. Wasn't happening.

That was on PS3, though. So if I ever do the DB again (this time with mods) I'd look forward to whatever alternative could be. It's been my idea to try Dark Brotherhood all over again, writing it as a story here in Fan Fiction perhaps. No pressure, though. I want to finish Joan's tales first, so we're talking 2024 or 2025, since I'm such a slow gamer.

[Lena Wolf]

15 First Seed, 4E195 - The river beast

Sile was very professional. When Geralt went to see her at the tavern, she gave him some very precise and useful information about the river beast. She had examined the mucus previously and also concluded that the beast would die in a few years, but since the river couldn't remain blockaded for that long, she thought it irrelevant. Instead, she noted that it was vulnerable to lightening and lightening-based traps, which was one of the few spells that witchers used often. If Geralt were to practice his Yrden Sign before battle, as well as take a magicka-enhancing potion in addition to the universal antidote, he would stand the best chance of surviving that encounter.

"Oh don't worry, I won't let you die," she smiled. "I was joking. I do joke sometimes." She busied herself with the magical equipment on the table, momentarily turning away from Geralt. Was that... was she blushing?

"Sile," Geralt decided to be direct. "I don't remember what went on between us, but I can feel we have a history. Tell me, please."

"Oh..." Sile gave him a long look. "Not the same kind of history as you normally have with women," she smirked. "Our paths crossed quite a few times, which is not surprising. There are so few witchers and sorcerers around, that we all know each other, all our paths cross sooner or later." She paused, watching him, weighing what to tell him. "You..." She shook her head. No, she wouldn't tell him, not yet, anyway. "Your memory will return. How long has it been? Half a year? May be a few more months then, without help." She paused again, choosing her words carefully. "I don't know why you didn't get help. May be there was a reason."

She stopped talking - she would say no more. Geralt felt it was pointless to insist, and he rather liked her cool and aloof manner. She wasn't treating him like a child, she gave him some information expecting that he would work out the rest. So he thanked her and went to prepare for the battle with the river beast - they agreed to go the next day.

...

The battle was spectacular. They went to the spot of the ship wreck since the river ran in the shallows there and there was no danger of drowning. They dispatched the drowners easily enough, Sile's fireballs nearly incinerating them outright. Then, when the area was clear, Sile summoned the beast.

The folk in Flotsam would have you believe that it was Sile who summoned the beast into that river in the first place. But then folks didn't trust mages, always blaming them for any and all misfortunes. In truth, the beast had always lived there, as the local elves would have told you, if you had even considered talking to them. They had been watching that beast for the past five hundred years at least. It started out small, it grew larger, it almost filled the river bed, and yet there had never been any trouble. Until it got ill. And now it was in pain and it was dying, and taking it out on the rest of the world. Killing it would be a merciful thing to do, for all involved.

Sile summoned the beast with a lightning bolt, or may be she knew where the beast was lying under water and struck there. It rose from the depths and started moving towards the shore, throwing its huge tentacles covered in sticky poisonous mucus.

"Yrden, Geralt!" Sile shouted through the crackling of discharges. "Deal with the tentacles one by one!"

Geralt focused on the nearest tentacle, trying to estimate which way it was moving. Yrden was a spell that created a trap on the ground infused with lightning. The plan was to immobilise a tentacle with Yrden, then cut it off with the sword, avoiding touching the mucus. The pitfall was however that Yrden took some time to cast, and with the beast flailing its tentacles in all directions, there was no guarantee that it would actually hit the trap before it fizzled out.

"Well, best get started," Geralt muttered, casting the first trap. The beast shot its tentacle towards the ball of lightening in his hands knocking him over. "Damn!"

"Again!" Sile shouted, sending a massive bolt at the beast's head and practically freezing it for a short time. Long enough for a skilled witcher to cast another Yrden trap!

But Geralt wasn't all that skilled with Yrden, never really bothering with traps and preferring a direct approach - flames and force push was what he used most. But now he needed Yrden.

"Just like a noonwraith," he told himself, trying to steady his hand and muster his magicka. "Don't look into her eyes, she isn't a fair maiden," he smirked, suddenly recalling a rhyme from a textbook he studied so many years ago. This tiny fragment of a memory was enough to boost his magicka and complete the trap. "There!" He jumped back, readying his sword. "Come on, slapper! Over here!"

The tentacle slapped onto the shallow water with a huge splash... and got caught in the Yrden trap. The tip was still wriggling dangerously, but the middle was securely pinned to the ground.

"Quickly!" Sile shouted, preparing another bolt. "It's readying another tentacle!" The heavens seemed to have split as she cast her spell. It was deafening. The beast froze again.

It only took two swings of Geralt's sword to cut off the tentacle. The beast reeled, sending another one straight at Geralt. Geralt rolled away, avoiding the worst of it and getting thoroughly soaked through in the process - they were fighting in the shallows of the river, after all. He clenched his teeth and took a step back to choose a spot for the next Yrden trap.

...

"How many tentacles can there be!" Geralt swore after yet another tentacle was cut off, and yet another had him flat on his face in the water again.

"Eight!" Sile shouted from her position on an elevated rock tirelessly shooting lightening bolts at the head of the beast. "Six down, two to go!"

...

"Are you alright?" Geralt opened his eyes. He was lying in shallow water, his head was hurting, and a beautiful woman was kneeling over him.

"Err..." He rubbed the back of his head.

"You hit your head on a rock," the woman said. "Do you remember anything?"

"Umm..." Geralt sat up, looking around. Slimy chunks of some giant beast were covering the area. He was soaked through, stunk to high heaven, but didn't seem to have any serious wounds. His silver sword lay nearby, he picked it up, wiped it on his trousers and sheathed it. The woman wasn't rushing him. He liked that.

River beast. Sile. Battle. "There must have been a reason why you didn't get any help." "Don't look into her eyes, she isn't a fair maiden." Yes, he remembered.

"Thank you, Sile, I'm in one piece," he smiled, accepting her helping hand and her restoration magic.

"You will need some conventional healing, but this should tie you over," she nodded with satisfaction. "I am going to stay here a bit - those ingredients are best when they are fresh," she smiled. "Do you want me to open a portal to take you back to Flotsam?"

"No portals, thanks," Geralt shook his head. "Hate teleportation. Besides, I like my ingredients fresh too." He flicked a pocket knife and went about filling his pouch. The beast was large enough for both of them.

[Lena Wolf]

18 First Seed, 4E195 - Mirage

After the fight with the river beast, Geralt urgently needed a bath. But where would one find a bath house in a town like Flotsam? Going by the smell around most citizens, there wasn't one. So, as usual, Geralt went to the brothel.

Brothels often provided more than one service, and they certainly had bathing facilities, even if those were usually kept off-limits for customers. But Geralt had a reputation, and so he went straight to the Madam.

"Ugh, you stink!!!" She exclaimed rather sharply as soon as Geralt entered her office. "Out!!"

"Err... Do pardon me, ma'am," Geralt shuffled before the door. "It's about the stench... Would you happen to know where I can find a bath house in Flotsam?"

"There isn't one, as you well know," the Madam rolled her eyes, holding a scented handkerchief to her nose. "And this is why you came to me... Yes, your reputation precedes you," she shrugged. "Very well. But first - river! Get that stench off you, whatever it is you rolled in, I don't want to know!"

Geralt smiled, thanked her and went over to the river bank to wash off the crudest dirt. He didn't bother removing his leathers - those boots and trousers were not only soggy already, but also impregnated with the decay of the river beast, and water couldn't hurt them any longer. "All of this will need to be replaced," he shook his head noting the lack of coins in his coin pouch. "Let's hope the merchant I bargained with, will actually pay up, now that the beast is dead."

Soggy but less smelly, he returned to the brothel and found that a hot bath had already been prepared for him. It definitely paid to be on good terms with the ladies, and he never shied away from providing them with work. Although he felt that in this case the Madam had something else in mind, he pushed away that thought and focussed on enjoying the bath.

...

Geralt was relaxing in a hot water tub set in the middle of a spacious room in what cold have easily been a castle. A circular fireplace in the middle kept the room warm, while an open window let in a gentle breeze of fresh mountain air. Geralt smiled - he was home. It was Kaer Mohen, the castle occupied by the Witcher School of the Wolf where Geralt had lived all his childhood, nay, all his life. For even after he went into the world to fight monsters as a new witcher, he would always return for the winter months to heal the wounds of both body and soul.

He opened his eyes and looked around. The room was as it had always been, one of the few things that he did somehow remember, while everything else was lost. But wait - someone else was there. He tried to focus. A woman with long wavy black hair stood in a far corner of the room with her back to him. She wore travelling leathers in black and white. A faint smell of lilac and gooseberries was drifting through the air.

She raised her arms - she was conjuring a portal. "Geralt..." she said, briefly turning to look at him, then shook her locks, stepped through the portal and vanished. Geralt never saw her face, it was somehow completely blurred... What happened?

...

Geralt sat up with a jerk. Splashes of hot water went everywhere. He was still sitting in a hot tub in the brothel of Flotsam. The warmth had made him relax and fall asleep. It had been one of those dreams. "Who was that woman?" He wondered. He felt that he should have known... that she knew him, that he had to do something, find her... But he could not remember a thing.

He got out of the tub and got dressed. The Madam would undoubtedly tell him what she wanted from him in exchange for the laundry service - Geralt noticed with great pleasure that his linens and boots had been replaced by clean and dry ones. "It must be a big favour that she wants," he smirked, but didn't complain.

Entering the tavern upstairs, he saw Dandelion still drinking, or again drinking, yet not getting drunk... "He's listening in on conversations," Geralt realised. Then said aloud: "I had another one of those dreams... You know, the ones that seem like fragments of memories."

"Oh yes?" Dandelion turned to him. "What about this time?"

"A woman with long black hair, dressed in black and white, with a scent of lilac and gooseberries about her," he said, watching Dandelion's face. "Any idea who she might be? I didn't see her face."

"Oh, she is..." Dandelion smiled, preparing to tell a story, then cut himself short: "You will remember her in time, there's no need to rush."

Triss entered the room.

Geralt wasn't sure what to think, and he didn't like what he could come up with.

...

"I have a proposition for you, White Wolf," someone said softly into Geralt's ear. "Don't let me wait much longer."

It was the mayor, or the Commandant, as he liked to be called. Geralt really had to go see him, and so he went.

"It's quite simple, really," the Commandant started. "You killed the river monster for me, and I am grateful. But there are other monsters around, and you're a witcher. Take care of them... err..."

"If you are paying," Geralt smirked. "Witchers don't work for free."

"Yes, of course, there's payment..." The Commandant nodded. "Also, I did save your two friends from hanging, remember?"

"Yes..." Geralt squinted. "Where are you going with this?" After all, monster removal was his normal line of work which he would pursue without any special invitation. The Commandant had clearly something else in mind.

"You aren't here just for sightseeing, are you?" The Commandant squinted back. "What brings you to Flotsam, Geralt? Geralt the Kingslayer, I should add. I should arrest you where you stand and send you to the gallows, really."

"But you haven't done so yet, so you don't intend to either," Geralt retorted. Now they were coming to the point. "What is it that you want from me?"

"You are a capable man," the Commandant smiled. "And I have an elven problem. Rid me of the elves and I shall help you catch the real kingslayer."

"You know they call me the Butcher of Blaviken, right?" Geralt paled. "I do not kill elves."

"You killed a few on your way here."

"They attacked us."

"They were elves."

"What's your point?!" Geralt was getting impatient. "I am not going to kill every elf in Flotsam!" He was getting angry too, and it showed. The Commandant took a step back.

"I didn't mean to kill every elf in Flotsam," he shook his head, although it was clear he wouldn't have minded if Geralt had agreed to that. "I mean to kill one particular elf. The head of the militant elven group that made Flotsam forest into its headquarters. They are the ones that aided your kingslayer, and he's staying with them right now." He paused, watching Geralt calm down. Satisfied, he continued. "Iorveth. You've seen the posters around town. There's a price on his head. Only I don't believe that anyone can get to him. Anyone but you."

"I can't get to him either," Geralt sighed.

"I can help with that," the Commandant smiled slyly and Geralt looked up. "Your friend Zoltan, the dwarf, I didn't save him from hanging out of the kindness of my heart. Well, not just out of the kindness of my heart." He smirked and Geralt thought that kindness had certainly nothing to do with it. "Zoltan got his sentence for talking to Iorveth. He can lead you to him." He paused again, watching Geralt, but Geralt could not believe it. "He won't want to. He is not actually with that elf, I know that much."

"But you were still going to hang him," Geralt objected.

"Well. He broke the law, technically," the Commandant grinned. "And he's a dwarf, a non-human, not like you and me."

"I am not human either," Geralt spit, he was getting angry again. "I'm a mutant, remember?"

"Rubbish," the Commandant laughed. "You have cat's eyes and you fight like a demon, but you're human. I don't give monkeys for your mutations. You're human. You're one of us." He smiled broadly, looking very content with himself.

Geralt wasn't sure what to say to this. It was rare to be accepted among humans quite so unreservedly, and Geralt could not help but feel good at the Commandant's words and the firm tone with which he said them. On the other hand, the fact that this acceptance came from a person like the Commandant was also quite disgusting... Confused by these feelings, Geralt brushed them aside and focussed on the matter at hand.

"How is Zoltan supposed to lead me to Iorveth?" He went straight to the point.

"Oh, I don't know... He'll think of something," the Commandant shrugged. "Make him think of something. But he is your lead. Use him and get to the kingslayer, and along the way kill Iorveth for me, that's all I ask."

...

Geralt stood on the crossroads in Flotsam watching a pig roll in the dirt. He felt like he just rose from a cesspit.

"The Commandant has an elven prisoner on that barge," Triss came up to him pointing at a barge in the dock. "Word is, he's near death. We should talk to him before he expires."

"Whaa---?" Geralt spun around. Why did people have to sneak up on him from behind like that? He had heard Triss' footsteps of course, but still...

"We should go talk to the elf," Triss repeated. "The Commandant wanted you to kill Iorveth, right? Well, we should interrogate the prisoner." She said in a very business-like fashion, turned and started walking towards the barge.

"How..?" Geralt started, taking off after her. How did she know? Truth be told, it was obvious. Everyone except Geralt had figured it out already, it seemed, and Geralt had to be told by the Commandant.

...

The elf was dying. He had been in a fight and was badly wounded, he would not survive beyond a day or two. But why would he want to speak to Geralt? He didn't.

Triss cast a spell, Geralt cast another, the world spinned and the elf's pain was lifted, if only for a time.

"I am looking for the kingslayer, the witcher," Geralt started without a preamble. "He is staying with your people, with Iorveth. How can I get to him?"

"Traitor!" The elf spit. "That witcher betrayed us! That's how I got captured! He tried to kill us all! I've never seen anyone move as fast as that! He's a demon!"

"No, he's a witcher," Geralt smiled. "But why would he want to kill you all?"

"He used us to get to King Foltest, and now he no longer needs us," the elf shrugged. "Iorveth should have never trusted him! But Iorveth does not know of what happened. I alone survived that bloodbath." The elf fell back, his pain returning.

"Then tell me how to find Iorveth and I shall warn him," Geralt offered, but the elf only laughed. No, it wasn't going to be that easy.

"The witcher attacked us at the ruined elven bath," he said. "Near the ancient statue where the Roses of Remembrance grow." He paused, bracing his abdomen. "I am certain he will strike there again. You will find your kingslayer there. Iorveth must stay away..." He was growing weak. "I go to the place where the apple trees bloom eternal... but Iorveth... he must live..." The elf fell back to the floor, his life force dwindling.

"...the place where the apple trees bloom eternal..." Geralt repeated softly. "Avalon."

It was but a split second in the real world, but in that time Geralt relived years, if only in fragments. Like pieces of coloured glass falling out of a broken kaleidoscope, his memories suddenly came rushing into his mind. When he had died... when he got stabbed with a pitchfork during the fight in Blaviken, he died... then someone... a woman in black and white, with long black hair, a scent of lilac and gooseberries about her... she brought him back... at the cost of her own life. Then... a swirl, a twister picked both of them up and wisked away to another place, another time... a place outside of time. The Isle of Avalon.

The bliss did not last long. An army of wraiths swooped down on them, covering everything in ice. He fought with all his might and skill, but they were too many. They kidnapped the woman and vanished. He shook off the bliss and found himself back in the real world, a witcher, like before. His purpose in life had become to find the wraiths, find that woman. Yennefer. Now he remembered.

...

"Are you alright?" Triss startled Geralt again. "You seem shaken, somehow."

"I just remembered things..." Geralt shook his head. "Bits... Fragments... Nothing really coherent. But something about some wraiths stealing people and me chasing them... The Wild Hunt, isn't it what it's called? They swoop down from another realm, freeze everything and kidnap people. I remember chasing them and never quite managing to catch them."

"Well, if your memory seems to be returning, then perhaps the Roses of Remembrance can help," Triss looked worried.

"The last thing I need now is a flower," Geralt scowled.

"Those are not just flowers," Triss smiled. "If they are indeed the legendary elven Roses of Remembrance, they hold powerful magic that can help restore your memory. More than just in fragments."

"Well, then perhaps it's worth a shot," Geralt nodded. "I'll get them." Then noticing Triss' protests, he smiled: "I've got to do it on my own, Triss. No offence."

Geralt's memories were his own. If the flowers were going to cause more of them to come rushing in, he wanted privacy. Besides, wasn't it also the place where the kingslayer was laying in wait? Why did everything seem to be connected..?

[Lena Wolf]

23 First Seed, 4E195 - Business as usual

"Boots or trousers?" Geralt was looking over the offering at a leatherwork shop in Flotsam. He already ordered new lightweight armour, and now he only had enough funds for either new boots or new leather trousers, not both.

"I do have these cheaper items too," the craftsman was pointing at a pile of worn out boots and ripped trousers in the corner.

"Boots," Geralt said decisively. "The best ones that you can make. From that smooth leather over there," he pointed at a pile of high quality leathers covered up with much shabbier stuff. "I know you've got the materials," he glared at the craftsman who just a minute ago was complaining of a complete lack of suitable leathers due to monster infestation.

"Oh very well," the craftsman sighed but decided not to argue with an angry witcher.

With the practical matters taken care of, Geralt briefly hesitated where to go next. Should he go in search of Roses of Remembrance that should - in theory - help him recover his memory, or should he go talk to the local troll who for some reason stopped taking care of the bridge over the river. "Troll, really," Geralt smirked. "They employ a troll to maintain the bridge! And now they want me to kill it because the bridge is in disrepair. I don't think so," he shook his head and went to see the troll.

Witchers did not normally kill trolls because trolls were sapient beings. Perhaps not the smartest, but smart enough to learn human tongue and make themselves understood. Smarter than some people, in fact. No, Geralt was not about to just kill that troll.

After an initial squabble, the troll was ready to talk.

"Give vodka or no pass!" The troll wasn't joking.

"You stink!" Geralt covered his nose. "What's with all the drinking?"

"Can't sleep," the troll complained. "Was away fixing the bridge, came back, my woman dead, head missing. Was good woman, cooked food. Now lonely, no food, need vodka."

"Hmm... I don't think you need vodka," Geralt squinted. "Let me ask around."

The troll sat down heavily, sobbing. Geralt went back to Flotsam. "Someone killed the female troll for her head... Why? To stuff it and hang on a wall, no doubt. Someone whose... yeah... too small or something." It was always the same story. "Except that such a someone won't be able to kill a troll."

Walking from house to house, he found a troll's head on the wall of the leatherwork craftsman. "Oh man, I don't want to kill him," thought Geralt. "He's a good craftsman! If not entirely honest... Hmm... He's also too skinny to kill a troll..."

"Where did you get that troll's head?" He asked the craftsman.

"Impressive, isn't it?" The craftsman smiled proudly. "Bought it from a bunch of tough guys. Cost me an arm and a leg, too!"

"And it cost the troll her life," Geralt remarked. "Where can I find these tough guys?"

Something about Geralt made the craftsman take several steps back which put him right against the wall. Paling and swallowing hard, he stummered: "At the inn... some of them at least have been hanging around the inn..."

At the inn it was a similar story. A bulky fellow named Tiny was taking up too much space. He initially refused to tell Geralt anything, so Geralt had to resort to the ancient art of diplomacy. "You heard of Blaviken?" He glared at Tiny. "Start talking or I'll smear your guts on the wall!"

"Ah... I've heard of Blaviken... Sliced people in two with a single swing... piles of them..." Tiny paled. "All right, all right, I don't mean any trouble! What do you want to know?"

...

"So the bandits are hanging out at the cemetery," Geralt grinned as he walked back to the village. "How thoughtful of them."

There of course there was a fight since the bandits wanted a demonstration of Geralt's ability of slicing a person in two with a single swing of his sword.

"They never learn," he shook his head, going through their pockets. Some papers were indicating shady activities of the Commandant, and Geralt wasn't at all surprised reading it. He also found a key and decided to look for the bandits' hideout. But first he went to see the troll.

"I found those that killed your woman," he said. "You will find their bodies at the cemetery. Do as you will with them. But please - no more vodka. And fix the bridge."

"I find... at the cemetery... my woman is avenged..." The troll sighed with sadness and relief. "No more vodka, troll's word. Head at peace now."

...

It was getting late and Geralt decided to go back to the inn for the night. He wondered whether he should have returned the head of the female troll to her partner, but that wouldn't have returned her to life. He sighed and put it out of his mind.

In the village there was talk of the troll being busy fixing the bridge again. What with Geralt asking about the stuffed troll's head followed by the slaughter of the local bandits, people quickly figured out what happened.

"Oh thank you, thank you! You did us a great favour!" One of them approached Geralt. "We are all in your debt!"

"Are you now?" Geralt smirked. "Then pay me. There was a price on troll's head, you know, and I missed out on that."

"Err... Umm... Ah..." The peasant blushed uncomfortably. "As it happens... we are... err... a bit light on coin right now..."

"Oh forget it, should have known," Geralt laughed. He'd just have to get his payment in another way.

The bandits' hideout was on the other side of the swamp a short distance from the village. "Why do bandits always choose unhealthy places to set up camp?" He wondered. And then, having been attacked by half a dozen of them, he wondered again: "Why do people attack an armed witcher? Do they have a death wish?"

The hideout yielded some good items, but not enough, Geralt felt. So he returned to Flotsam and collected some tax from loose items lying around the docks. Those dock workers should really be more careful.

With that accomplished, he finally had enough funds for both the trousers and the boots. "And even gloves, although that leaves me skinned again," he smirked.

With the orders placed, he had one last self-imposed errand - to pay a visit to his newly found sister.

...

"Busy?" Geralt put his head through Lena's door. It was late afternoon and the market was growing quiet. He hoped she didn't have customers. Lena was busy grinding down herbs for her potions, and she waved him in.

"This is for you," Geralt put a nice silver ring with a ruby before her. "Sorry about the blood. But this was the only decent thing that I found... that... you know... I thought I could give to a woman..." He fiddled with it uncomfortably. "Err..." he coughed. "I really don't know what to do with this whole sister business."

Lena smiled and picked up the ring - it was clean, there was no blood on it at all, although she realised that Geralt got it from some corpse. But she wasn't exactly squirmish. She put it on - lovely.

"Thank you, Wolf," she smiled. "I like it."

There was an awkward pause, then Lena served stew which diffused the situation greatly. After the meal she moved her chair right up to Geralt's, facing him.

"Tell me," she spoke and lightly touched his knee. "What is it that you really want to talk about?"

...

"I remember, but not enough!" Geralt told Lena what he remembered about the Isle of Avalon and Yennefer. He also told her about the dream he had in the bath tub a few days before. "Yennefer is obviously important. She gave her life for mine... But why? And I feel... I feel there is more to it! I feel like I'm missing something even more important, although what could be more important than that?"

"But you haven't gone for the Roses of Remembrance as Triss suggested," Lena pointed out. "Why? They could help answer these questions."

"May be..." Geralt's brow darkened. "Sile said I didn't get any help with my memory... How did she put it? 'There must have been a reason you didn't get any help.' Triss has been my loyal friend and confidant since... well... for as long as I remember, which is six months. Things just don't add up, Wolf!"

"No, they don't," Lena agreed. "And Triss had been the only sorceress around you until you met Sile here, right?" He nodded and Lena nodded too. "You need to get those roses. See what happens. It's time you remembered more about everything."

They sat quietly for a while.

"Why do I find it easy to talk to you?" Geralt asked, looking straight at Lena. "We might be siblings, but we didn't grow up together. Our life experiences have been completely different. I kill for a living. You are a healer."

"Well..." Lena smiled and blushed for some reason. "I am a healer here. But in fact... I am an assassin."

The conversation that followed was most bizarre. The two people answering to the name "Wolf" had more in common than they knew. Lena suspected it, since she was the one with the memory still intact. They both used blades, although Geralt was clearly stronger and better with them than Lena. They both used magic, although Lena was better at some of it. They both brew poisons and potions, blade oils and elixirs. They were both self-sufficient, never relying on anyone else. They both grew up without parents from an early age. They had both lived far longer than their fellow humans. They were both shunned by men and mer alike - in Geralt's world elves, like humans, didn't trust witcher mutations, and in Lena's world no one liked vampires... ex-vampires... it didn't matter.

"I want to see you use a blade," Geralt grinned. "Sister." His mood was visibly improved. "We should go hunting together. I'll protect you in case it gets too much."

"I don't go after big multi-legged animals, you know," Lena grinned too. "Just two-legged walking upright, mostly. And I strike from the shadows, trying not to get hit at all."

"Which is what I was suggesting," Geralt nodded. "Do you think I just walk into the middle of a nest of endregas and let them get me? I'd be dead on day one."

A discussion of battle tactics followed, and again they found they had much in common.

"Didn't that elf prisoner say that the kingslayer was going to strike near the ruined elven baths?" Lena sat up, suddenly looking determined. "The same place where the Roses of Remembrance grow?" Geralt nodded. "Well then, you'll get your wish, brother. I am coming with you. I feel you'll have a chance to watch me use a blade."

She got up and left the room before Geralt could protest. He heard some drawers being open and shut, some trunks moved, things retrieved from the back of cupboards, etc. He didn't want Triss to come with him to the elven ruins, but then again he didn't tell Triss about his memories either. Perhaps he wouldn't have to face it alone after all, whatever it was...

Geralt was tired. He realised that he had skipped sleep the previous night, the nerves kept him going. And it was once again 3 a.m. When Lena finished rummaging in her trunks and cupboards, she found Geralt asleep on the bed in the treatment room, but she was ready for what was to come.

[Lena Wolf]

28 First Seed, 4E195 - It's complicated

The ruined elven baths were peaceful. Geralt picked a flower from a rose bush and hoped that this was the famed Rose of Remembrance. It didn't make him remember anything and he didn't feel any different. He shrugged, disappointed.

"Perhaps Triss needs to make a potion out of it or something," Lena gently touched his elbow. "Put it away and let's go. The kingslayer isn't here either." She too sounded disappointed.

Returning to Flotsam, they went to the inn wondering where Triss could be, but for once she was right there. Heads turned to look at Lena, known as the town's healer, dressed in an altogether different attire and with a sword on her hip. Heads turned again when people realised she came with Geralt.

"I have one of those roses," Geralt went straight to Triss. "Is that the right one? I don't feel anything."

"Yes, this is the right one," Triss nodded, also somehow disappointed. "But it doesn't work like that. It is meant to be used in a ritual... I'll need a few days to get it ready. Say..." She looked over Geralt's shoulder noticing Lena behind him, and measuring her up with a glance. "Interesting..." She took a step towards a more private corner beckoning Geralt to follow. "This business with the kingslayer is weighing on you," she started, suddenly looking quite serious, and Geralt realised she had something weighing on her, too. "The most important thing now is for you to regain your memory, and this ritual with the roses will help with that. You will have a whole new perspective on life. You don't need politics, this is not who you are."

"But I can't just tell Vernon Roche to stuff it," Geralt shook his head. "I'm in it already, like it or not."

"Why can't you tell him to stuff it? You don't owe him anything," Triss looked stern. "Just drop it. Leave. I'll come with you, anywhere you wish to go. I shall be a king's sorceress no longer."

This was rather sudden, Geralt thought, but it did clarify a few things. So this was what Triss really wanted - him. He should have been glad... but he was only flattered. Something didn't add up and he felt being pressured into running away with her. But running away from what? He wished he could remember!

"A life on the run is not a life, Triss," he shook his head. "I have to clear my name first, I have to catch the kingslayer. Let's talk again once that is done... and once I remember a bit more."

Triss smiled, hiding disappointment.

"I'll get to work on that ritual," she nodded, not taking her eyes off Lena who had joined Zoltan and Dandelion at the table, allowing Dandelion to make a pass at her.

...

"I must say those black robes are quite unusual for a healer," Dandelion was putting on his most charming smile. "To say nothing of the sword! Is that the real thing or a fashion accessory? You carry it well!"

"It's a fashion accessory," Geralt joined them, with Triss following. "That, and an assortment of throwing knives, a few daggers and a short blade that she hides under her robes. We expected some company at the ruined baths going by what that dying elf told us on the barge," Geralt turned to Triss. "But no one showed up."

"So for the better, dying would be counter productive just now!" Triss laughed. "But why bring a healer if you expected a fight? You didn't even want me to come along!" Hurt and offence was clearly audible in Triss' words, and Geralt wanted to say something nice, to make her feel better... but at the same time he didn't want to make any promises or take on any kind of a bond before he was ready. He needed to regain his memory first, he felt it more and more acutely.

"Do you mind?" He turned to Lena.

"No, I think it's time," she smiled.

And just as Vernon Roche was entering the inn, Geralt announced that Lena was in fact his newly discovered sister. Fortunately, that announcement had enough sensational value to it that everyone stopped wondering why Flotsam's healer was armed to the teeth.

...

"So the kingslayer wasn't at the baths, eh?" Vernon turned the conversation away from the fifth retelling of how Lena and Geralt discovered that they were siblings. "I wonder... did the elf lie?"

"Probably not," Geralt shook his head. "But he didn't say when the kingslayer would strike, only where. All we know now is that he isn't planning an ambush for me personally."

"You have to speak to Iorveth," Zoltan said, suddenly growing sober. "All right, I'll take you to him."

"Are you..?" Vernon's eyes were ablaze, drilling through Zoltan.

"No," Zoltan shook his head. "Not like that. Not a traitor and no, not with the elves. Not helping them either. But I do have a connection, for my own needs. It's complicated," he sighed, but it seemed to be enough for Vernon. That was too much politics for Geralt, his head started to spin, and he was sure it wasn't because of vodka.

...

Geralt was asleep. Or rather, he woke up but didn't open his eyes yet. His head was about to explode and something was pinching at his back. The pinching got into a sharp pain, he reached to it, grabbed something... still not opening his eyes. "Ouch!" Now his finger felt like it was cut in two. "Gerroffme!!!" But the mudcrab wasn't about to leave without its lunch. Geralt was lying on the beach in the docks of Flotsam, wearing only his underpants and his sword belt, without the swords. "Thank goodness for the underpants," he thought, finally shaking off the mudcrab.

"You were one pretty picture last night," a dock worker grinned at him. "You don't hold your liquer, witcher!" He laughed heartily.

"What happened?" Geralt asked a rather pointless question since it was obvious what had happened. What he really wanted to know is what he'd done with his stuff.

"You got drunk," the dock worker raised an eyebrow. "You and some of Vernon's lads." And he walked off, still laughing.

Geralt was straining to remember what happened the previous night, and this time he could not blame any catastrophic near-death events for his amnesia. He could drink three potions at once, each of which would have killed a man outright, but no, he could not hold his liquer.

...

"Here, take this key, I locked up your stuff until you sobered up," Ves smiled at him when he finally thought of going to Vernon's barracks.

"What happened?" Geralt accepted the key with gratitude and found all of his things securely locked away.

"You and the lads here were celebrating," Ves shrugged. "Something about you getting a sister? Is that true?" Ves giggled, watching Geralt pulling up his garb in front of her, not needing privacy for that. He figured she'd already seen more than she might have wanted to the night before. "Well, and then you went galavanting through Flotsam and you started pulling off your stuff and throwing it around, and I figured you'd want it back later... so I picked it up," she continued matter-of-factly. "Couldn't stop you from getting a tattoo though."

"A tattoo?" Geralt sat up. "Where?" He feared the worst.

"On you neck - right there," Ves pointed it out and Geralt jumped up to a mirror. "You're one of us now - one of Vernon Roche's Blue Stripes Special Division," she giggled again.

"Is that what it is?" Geralt strained to make out the picture in a blurry mirror. "A naked woman with big boobs brandishing a sword?!" The look on his face made Ves explode with laughter. "How come you don't have such a tattoo? You're Vernon's best agent!"

"I might have it where you haven't seen it yet," Ves grinned. "But no, I also don't get drunk and throw my things around."

Geralt gave her a long look. Ves might have played the role of a whore on more than one occasion, but her "clients" never lived to tell the tale. She was a guarded woman, and a good friend, too.

"Thank you for looking out for me," Geralt smiled, wondering whether he had enough funds for a skin clearing salve that would rid him of his tattoo.

...

"When we go to meet Iorveth, it has to be just you and me," Zoltan looked at Geralt sternly. "Your sister cannot come with us," he added watching her getting water from the well in the town square.

"She won't and she will," Geralt smiled. "You'll see."

The meeting was to take place on a clearing some distance from Flotsam. Geralt and Zoltan arrived there first, or rather that was how it looked. Geralt knew that the elves were already in position, hiding in the trees with their arrows poised at them. "I can hear them breathe," Geralt shrugged. "One of them has a cold - he whizzes."

Eventually Iorveth appeared, surrounded by his archers. A conversation took place, a negotiation of sorts, and Iorveth said that the kingslayer was staying at the ruined elven baths.

"But how can it be?" Geralt squinted. "I was there just yesterday, and the place was deserted!"

"Well, he is in hiding, obviously," Iorveth shrugged. "He won't come out unless I ask him to."

Things were making no sense at all, especially considering that the dying elf on the barge was saying the opposite. The only way to resolve this dilemma was by following Iorveth to the ruined baths and then seeing what would occur. Geralt had a bad feeling about this.

Arriving at the baths, things turned even more bizarre.

"We need a pretext," Iorveth said, turning to Geralt. "I shall play your prisoner. You'll bind my hands and take my sword, and lead me to the baths. The kingslayer is there already, you will surrender me to him, and that will allow you to kill him. But beware: my archers are watching you, so no wrong moves!"

"We'll play it by ear," Geralt nodded.

They entered. The kingslayer was indeed sitting there, looking bored, waiting for something. A conversation followed, with the only meaningful bit being the kingslayer introducing himself as Letho and saying that he and Geralt had met and fought together, and that Geralt had saved his life. And now they had to fight each other, because evidently Geralt wanted Letho dead in order to clear his name... the kingslayer had to be slain, surely, and Letho could not allow that...

As Geralt was trying to make up his mind about the situation, Iorveth kept interrupting them, proclaiming that the charade was now over, that Geralt must untie his hands, that his archers would have them all skewered in an instance... He finally raised his voice and indeed half a dozen elven archers jumped out of the bushes ready to turn both Geralt and Letho into pincushions... Geralt looked around, drew his sword... But the elves fell to the ground one by one, each with a crossbow bolt sticking out of their foreheads... Vernon Roche's Blue Stripes commandos appeared on the scene, with Vernon himself running towards Iorveth.

"Give me my sword!" Iorveth screamed, his hands no longer bound.

"No, that was one treason too many." Geralt punched him and turned to Letho, but Letho attacked...

"I cannot let Vernon have me too," he said. "I don't want to fight you but I must. Defend yourself, witcher!"

Letho was a large, muscular fellow. It was suprising just how quickly a man of his size could move, but he moved like a cat. Incredibly strong, agile and skilled with magic, he was in every aspect superior to Geralt.

But Geralt wasn't about to give up easily. "Dying just now would be counter productive," he smiled at Triss' phrase. "I've got to live, I've got to remember what went before. And I don't want to kill Letho."

The paving under their feet gave way and they fell into the lower chamber of the ruined bath, which now became their arena. Geralt versus Letho, a witcher against a witcher.

"You still know how to fight," Letho noted with satisfaction after Geralt rolled away from harm and landed a few hits of his own.

"My memory is gone but my muscles still remember," Geralt grinned. "You made me take the blame for your kingslaying!"

"I didn't; it was you who got stuck to the king's behind," Letho retorted. "That's no place for a witcher!"

"Witchers don't kill kings!"

"I am a witcher no longer!"

At that moment Letho threw away his sword and started casting a spell, a shield at first, which grew stronger, then exploded with an incredible force, throwing Geralt against the opposite wall. Geralt blacked out. Letho picked up his sword and sheathed it.

"You must remember what went before," he said when Geralt came to. "You will not understand what happened today without it. We fought together, you saved my life - you saved us all. I won't kill you." He smiled, hesitated, then added, looking at some shrubbery coming through a breach in the wall: "No, really, sister. I don't fancy the poison on your blade."

Lena stepped forward, her weapon sheathed.

"I didn't think Geralt was ever in danger."

"All right," Letho shook his head, then turned to Geralt. "Is that witch of yours any good at magic? I need her to teleport me. I promise not to hurt her if she behaves."

He nodded and left. Vernon walked in, missing Letho by less than a minute. Geralt was still sitting against the wall where he fell, his legs felt heavy, his head was spinning, all sounds seemed to slur, lights dimmed... "Come on... Triss... he's gone after Triss!" He heard Vernon's voice in the distance. "We've got Iorveth, it makes all the difference!" ... "Some lads dead... Some elves also! It was a good fight..!" ... "Wake up, witcher!"

But Geralt didn't want to wake up. He didn't think that Triss was in any immediate danger. He also thought it was already too late. "Letho is a mage... and Lena brews poisons that frighten a witcher... that smell... beladonna? nightshade? both? ...and I... am getting too old for this..."

A whirlpool opened, there was a flash of white light, and Geralt finally slid to the ground.

[Lena Wolf]

30 First Seed, 4E195 - Where is Triss Merigold?

"What did you do?" Geralt finally woke up. He was lying on the stone floor of the ruined elven baths, his body was hurting but otherwise he seemed alright. "Did you put me to sleep with a spell? Or with a poison?" He glared at Lena sitting next to him.

"I did nothing," she shook her head. "I didn't have to. You were exhausted. And Letho's spell, the one that sent you flying, was exceptionally strong."

"And they say witchers' magic is inferior," Geralt smirked. "Letho is stronger than me. Faster. Better with magic..." He sighed. "I wonder if I was always such a second-rate witcher or whether some of my skills got lost along with my memory."

"Don't talk like that," Lena hugged him around the shoulders. "It wasn't just the loss of your memory. You died, remember? Or as good as. Of course you lost some skills."

They sat there a bit longer, talking, but then it was really time to get going.

"Letho wanted to teleport somewhere," Geralt recalled bits of conversation. "My witch... Did he mean Triss?" He smirked. "Yes, of course she could teleport him. He probably pulled her with him too, to make sure that no one knew where they went exactly..."

"Except that he actually told you where he was going," Lena was going over that conversation in her mind as well. "A place called Emden? Or Edden? Emmen? Something like that."

"Aedirn," Geralt nodded. "Far away from here. And you've got to know the exact coordinates... Point being, he's gone, and Triss with him."

"I'm sure you'll find her again some day. Letho wouldn't harm her, I don't think," Lena said firmly.

"I agree," Geralt nodded. "He's got no quarrel with Triss... None that I know of, that is," he added with a grimace. "Oh, my memory!"

"Come on," Lena got up. "Let's return to Flotsam."

...

Flotsam was feasting. The Commandant declared a holiday with free food and drink for everyone, all in honour of Vernon Roche and Geralt of Rivia - the two heros of the day who captured the dreaded elf Iorveth. Geralt's stomach turned over at that speech, but Vernon pinched him - shut up.

"A feast is better than the alternative," he said quietly when they could finally walk away. "Iorveth was planning a bloodbath in Flotsam. He would have done it too, had he got away. That of course would have set off a pogrom against the non-humans living here, who have no connection to Iorveth's group... But that's not important when there's a pogrom going on."

"Some things never change," Geralt sighed. "Blaviken is the one thing I do remember." Then, after a pause, he asked: "What about Triss? Seen her?"

"Not at the feast, no," Vernon suddenly remembered about her. "You'll need to ask around."

Triss was indeed no where to be found. Geralt wondered where she'd been staying all this time, since she wasn't staying with him. That in itself wasn't surprising as they no longer had a royal tent all for themselves. In places like Flotsam, Geralt would normally sleep in caves, in barns, in the woods or in the brothel, and Triss wasn't keen on such accomodation. "But soldiers' barracks? Really?" Geralt scratched his head when several people told him that's where the red-haired sorceress was sleeping. But she wasn't there now. "Perhaps Sile would know?" Geralt wondered, going to her room at the inn.

Sile's room was a mess and Sile herself was also missing. Her bodyguard lay dead in the corner, his neck snapped clean. The floor was covered in blood, Sile's magical megascope was pushed over, there were books and notes everywhere. Someone was searching for something. Going around the room, Geralt spotted a peephole to the room next door - one of the brothel rooms.

"Yes, I know the ice queen from next door, of course," the girl was happy to chat. "And yes, I was curious plenty of times as to what she might be doing there, but she'd always cast a spell to obscure the view and block out the sound. Never got to eavesdrop... err... observe anything," she sighed. "Except today, that is," she brightened up. "I heard noises from next door, and that being so unusual, I just had to look. A red-haired woman walked in, the sorceress - I've seen her around. Started fiddling with that magical contraption in the middle of the room. Then suddenly a man's image appeared! Oh my goodness! He looked like a worm!!" She shuddered.

"A worm?" Geralt promted her. Triss was evidently trying to establish who was the last person that Sile talked to on the megascope. But why would Triss spy on Sile?

"That's what he looked like!" The girl continued. "All creepy! And they talked about the other sorceress, I gathered that much! The red-haired one wanted to know what the other one was asking from that worm-man!"

"And what was it?" Geralt was trying to navigate the complexities of the girl's retelling.

"Something about some king or other... not being able to sire children," she giggled. "I know what he needs - just..."

"Yeah, I know where children come from," Geralt interrupted. "Skip to the next part."

"Well, then it was about money, shops, something like that. The ice queen is looking to own shops, it seems."

"Hmm." As fascinating as it was, this wasn't helping Geralt to find Triss. "Ok, so they've talked. And then what? Know anything about the blood and the mess in the room?"

"Aye," the girl looked sad now. "Just as the red-haired sorceress turned to leave, the door was flung open and a big bulky fellow walked in. The sorceress started on a spell, I could see the fire, but he hit her just once, and the spell fizzled out. 'Open a portal!' he said, and then someone jumped at him from behind, but he was quick - whizzed around, struck down that person... Didn't see who it was or where they came from... You can't see that corner through the hole," she said apologetically. "By that time the sorceress had opened a portal and they were both gone." She stopped talking quite abruptly. "And that's where the ice queen had vanished to as well, I wager," she added, thinking aloud. "Opened a portal to somewhere and puff! - gone."

"All right, thanks," Geralt had heard enough. The girl's story didn't explain the death of the bodyguard, but he decided to focus on the blood. He could follow the trail and see where the wounded person went to, and that person should have more answers.

The blood trail led into the woods. Not too far, it ended on a clearing, and Geralt spotted an elf under a tree. He was very pale from loss of blood. He was one of the locals, not one of Iorveth's men.

"Do you know how old I am?" He spoke when Geralt sat next to him. "Six hundred years. I've seen this forest grow from seed several times over." He looked at the trees around him. "But now she is taking me back."

"What happened?" Geralt asked cautiously.

"Triss asked me for protection," the elf said simply. "I knew not from what, or why even I agreed... I just felt I had to do it. She didn't explain either. She led me to the room in the inn and I killed the bodyguard. Snapped his neck. I killed him! For no reason." He fell silent, and Geralt didn't rush him. "I killed a man for no reason," he repeated. "I was kneeling over him when the door was flung open and a muscular fellow walked in. Triss started casting a spell but he hit her. I jumped up at him from my corner, but he was quick - too quick for me. He got me first. One wound... it was enough. I fell to the ground and he turned to Triss, wanting her to open a portal. She did, and they disappeared into it. And I... came here to die."

He fell silent, and again Geralt didn't rush him.

"Do you know why I drink?" The elf started talking again. "The visions. I drown them in vodka. There are no visions in a drunken haze, and my mind is at peace. I am old, Twinblade, too old even for an elf. But the haze is gone now, and I can see clearly. You must regain your memory. In Aedirn, on a cursed battlefield, where ghosts of fallen soldiers still fight, lift the curse, release their souls, and your memory will return. Then... you will know what to do."

The elf had said his piece. He was watching the forest, from branch to branch, from tree to tree. A deer approached. A hare. A crow. "My forest," the elf smiled. "She's come to say goodbye. Goodbye, Twinblade. Be well."

[Renee]

7 Last Seed. Arcane University. Traven put a bounty on Wolf's head, uh oh.

Whoa, she's pregnant?! Wonder who the father is (or is this pregnancy divine)?

Look at these throwing weapon mods. I might already have Shuriken's Throwing Stars.

"We asked for reinforcements, and Traven sent you? You are it?" - Thalfin looked over Lena with scepticism, completely ignoring Hauk

Oh my gosh1!! How very nice. She's meeting Falcar too, that douchebag.

Yeah she's gotta feed if she wants to be in the sun. ☀ Pretty sure that's how it works. Wow, she's burning up!

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338781

[Lena Wolf]

Whoa, she's pregnant?! Wonder who the father is (or is this pregnancy divine)?

I think we can safely say it's not divine. You know where kids come from, right?

But it is true that she was surprised. She had thought that her past vampirism would have made pregnancy completely impossible. Turns out - not. The Mazken Wellspring not only restored her looks, but also her normal bodily functions, including the possibility of getting pregnant. Uh oh. What is she going to do now? Is it even safe to have a child while also suffering with recessive vampirism? I mean, what if the child gets it and comes out a vampire from birth?

[Renee]

She's been with a few non-mortals though, some of the Daedric lords if I remember correctly, right? So if one of them's the father... hmm... that's be interesting.

EDIT: Hope I got that right! Pretty sure she's made love with some non-mortals, maybe Sanguine? Well if that's incorrect, don't hurt me!

Is it even safe to have a child while also suffering with recessive vampirism?

This also crossed my mind. A lot of "firsts" going on here! Not just a vampire carrying a child, but also just carrying a child! I'm not sure anyone in the Fan Fiction forum has had a pregnant character, right? Sure there've been some side actors, but not the main protgagonist, as far as I know.

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 19 2023, 06:15 AM