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

[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

[Lena Wolf]

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!

Oh, that's what you meant by "divine" - Daedric? That's definitely possible! So if the baby has horns... So many questions! She's led a life of a free woman thinking that there was absolutely no chance for her to get pregnant. And now this. This changes everything.

[Renee]

Yea, like, I know Daedra and Aedra and all the gods and demi-gods can appear as human-like (Mannimarco, for instance) but does this mean they can procreate in those forms? And create viable offspring which isn't like Rosemary's Baby (not immediately cursed)?

Do we even know who the father is? I guess that's the first question. Don't answer that though, if that question has an answer in the story.

[Lena Wolf]

Yea, like, I know Daedra and Aedra and all the gods and demi-gods can appear as human-like (Mannimarco, for instance) but does this mean they can procreate in those forms? And create viable offspring which isn't like Rosemary's Baby (not immediately cursed)?

There are examples in the lore when the Daedra produced offspring with mortals. Whether they were cursed however... That would depend on the intention of the Daedra, I think. For example, Molag Bal produced several kids with Lamae, thus creating vampires. Also Sheogorath produced the Gate Keeper with Relmyna, who was a creature rather than a person. But I believe he also produced normal children with other women (forgot where I read that though, could be wrong). Anyway, there's nothing to say that it's impossible.

Do we even know who the father is? I guess that's the first question. Don't answer that though, if that question has an answer in the story.

She ponders this question quite a lot. So I won't say anything here, you'll see.

[Renee]

Okay, so there are some examples in lore. Pondering on the subject more, I think some Aedra and Daedra can do whatever they please, they're Gods after all. But some of them have better success than others.

She ponders this question quite a lot. So I won't say anything here, you'll see.

Thank you.

[Lena Wolf]

15 Rain's Hand, 4E195 - A curse

"It's annoying, there is no other word for it," Geralt swore when yet another drunk bumped into him. An army camp was a mess when the soldiers had nothing to do.

When it became clear that Letho the kingslayer had teleported to the neighbouring kingdom of Aedirn, Geralt immediately wanted to follow. But one thing led to another, and another week had passed before Vernon Roche's Special Forces were ready to board their ship and set sail. And then it was another week before they finally reached the shores of Aedirn, currently occupied by the army of a Kaedweni king... The Northern Kingdoms were a confusing place, with the mighty Pontar River connecting and diving them, all at once.

Finding the shores of Aedirn occupied by an army from the other side of the river, wasn't exactly surprising. Aedirn and Kaedwen had been at war more often than not, each kingdom striving to gain full control over the Pontar River that served as the border between them. This time however things were looking up for the Kaedweni side who held a firm hold of both shores of the river for three years already - a miracle, if there ever was one. There was just one snag: in order for the Kaedweni king to continue his march on Aedirn, his troops had to cross a ravine, and every time they tried that, they got slaughtered by the Aedirn troops lying in wait. But three years ago the Kaedweni king had enough of it, and being a proper warrior himself, he led a large unit of heavily armed and armoured knights and soldiers into battle meaning to get through the ambush and finally destroy Aedirn forces who, he hoped, would not expect such a bold assault and not be prepared for it.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. Aedirn forces did expect it and were well prepared. Having gone through the gorge of the ravine, Kaedweni army found itself face to face with an equally heavily armed opponent, who also cut off their retreat. The battle that followed, was the bloodiest anyone had seen.

But that was only half of the story. When it became obvious that the Kaedweni army had marched into a trap, the sorceress of the Kaedweni king took matters into her own hands and cast a spell that would end the battle: balls of fire started falling from the sky, hitting knights and soldiers of both armies. Men boiled alive in their iron armour like stew in a pot.

Two armies perished on that battlefield, with just a handful of lucky souls surviving on both sides. The Kaedweni king had ordered retreat as soon as he realised what had happened. The sorceress herself was unaffected, having cast a protective sphere around her and leading the king and a few knights back to their camp on the shore of the Pontar River. Whether or not she expected a reward, remains unknown, but the king was furious. He ordered to burn her at the stake.

A few days later it was done. As the flames engulfed the sorceress, she uttered a curse against the king. What kind of a curse? No one knew exactly, but the king's only son was killed during a hunt shortly afterwards and the king became quite unable to sire children, no matter how hard he tried. Was that a curse worthy of a sorceress being burned at the stake? Most people didn't think so and expected further effects of the curse to manifest themselves, namely the king was expected to drop dead any moment.

Three years later the king of Kaedwen was still very much alive, still camping on the Aedirn shore of the Pontar River, and starting to plan a new campain to finally cross the ravine and conquer Aedirn once and for all.

When Vernon Roche's ship arrived on the scene and Vernon and Geralt went to the camp to see the king, they found the king not at home. "He went that way," the guard waved towards the ravine. "Negotiations of some sort. Wait here until he's back."

But Geralt didn't want to wait. His witcher medallion started buzzing, his whole being felt a huge rupture of magic being released in the ravine, and even Vernon noticed that something didn't feel right. The curse had finally erupted.

Geralt bolted, Vernon followed, into the ravine, towards the king.

A huge battle was raging around them. Two armies of charred knights and soldiers fighting each other, falling, rising again. Flames were everywhere. The wraiths of soldiers were boiling inside their ghostly armour.

The king had brought a few knights and two mages to the negotiation, and was now congratulating himself on his wisdom. One of the mages had cast a protective sphere while the other was keeping the wraiths from getting too close. Steel could not harm them, and none had silver swords.

"Don't fight the wraiths, follow me!" Geralt was shouting to Vernon as he cut a wraith-free corridor in the raging battle using both his silver sword and his magic. It didn't take long, and they joined the king's group, finally managed to beat back the wraiths enough to start moving, and were slowly proceeding towards the camp. And thus Geralt once again became attached to a Royal Court, not being able to stand by and allow the curse to consume whoever dared to come close.

"What you did today proves to me that you are not a kingslayer," the king told Geralt when they were finally safely back at the camp. "But can you lift this curse, witcher? I'll never be able to cross that blasted ravine if you don't."

The king's ambitions were not the motivating factor for Geralt, however. The curse was spreading. The fog of war filled with burning wraiths was slowly gaining ground. It had to be stopped, or it would swallow everything.

"...and there, on the battlefield where the wraiths of cursed soldiers are forever fighting..."

Geralt remembered the words of that dying elf in Flotsam.

"Lift the curse, release their souls, and your memory will return. And then... you will know what to do."

[Acadian]

Wow, a fascinating bit of witcherworld history!

Never go into battle without your silver sword.

[Renee]

She's following Traven into the cave to meet the Mann. I forgot about this! I forgot that Traven also goes there.

Hmm, okay. Now that the fight is commencing now I remember. Those weird bone things rise up, which prevents us from just leaving Mannimarco's vicinity. A true Boss Fight!

... yeah, you can't just trap Manni's soul, come on now! He's virtually a demigod!

Wow, I completely forgot Traven's demise happens here. But you have to understand, back when I did these quests it was 2009-2010, and I was still in "OMG" mode. I was new, still too blown away by the game to remember the finer (sometimes the grander) details.

Great pic!

"Hannibal Traven is much older than he wanted people to believe - he is as old as Mannimarco. And he too was very interested in Necromancy back in the day, but I suppose you've figured that out."

I didn't know this! Heh, it explains why he doesn't want his guild practicing these Dark Arts though. It's like telling a child "NO you can't play with that" because the parent already knows playing with that will only result in bad or at least heavy things.

How much time did it take to lay both bodies next to each other like that? Assuming you moved them around in the game and not the CS!

I cursed a lot. It sort of worked - enough to play it without resorting to console. But I realised that making quests is too difficult for my liking

Ask me next time, just send a message. ☕


http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338800

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 22 2023, 06:50 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Acadian - thanks! Exactly, never leave the house without your silver sword. You never know when you might stumble upon a wraith...

Renee - thanks also! This was my first attempt at making a quest, or rather altering an existing one, so I had no idea what I was doing. It took another year or more before I finally figured it out. Quests remain tricky though, so many things that can go wrong... But practice makes perfect, as they say. Not saying it's perfect now, but it's much improved since then.

Regarding Traven being as old as Mannimarco: I read this somewhere. Cannot guarantee it was 100% true, but I liked the idea and put it into the story. It just makes sense why they should know each other and all that. Gives it depth, I find.

[Renee]

Ha ha yeah, I went on UESP and it sounds like Traven doesn't go to Echo Cave. Instead he morphs himself inside a special Soul Gem, or something. 💎 But it's all good. I like that you altered the story.

Right up front, I can tell you that trying to bend an existing Bethesda quest is really hard to do. Not really recommended, even though you eventually were successful. Because there are all sorts of scripts behind the scenes, really LONG scripts sometimes. So many variables. Stuff can screw up when trying to insert our own material in there, not just for this quest, but any others which come afterwards.

One suggestion I can offer is to make a "stunt double". Just in case that was the real Hannibal Traven, you don't want to try making him do something he's not supposed to do. Instead, make an edited copy of Traven. Remove all the double's scripts, and all his AI. Now you can make the double do whatever the heck you want, and he looks just like the real thing.

I had to make a double of Count Hassildor long ago for Sarah Phimm's story. Tried to edit the original guy but this caused some problems. We don't like problems when trying to write a story! This is only for the sake of the story, of course.

Anyway, nice writeup. Especially the dialog during combat.

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 22 2023, 10:22 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Ha ha yeah, I went on UESP and it sounds like Traven doesn't go to Echo Cave. Instead he morphs himself inside a special Soul Gem, or something. 💎 But it's all good. I like that you altered the story.

Yes, if I remember right, in vanilla Traven commits suicide and sends his soul into that gem which then serves as protection for the player against Mannimarco's control spells. But the same questions remain: if Traven was just a mortal, why would his soul not fit into an ordinary black soul gem? And also, how Traven's soul in the gem would protect the player exactly? It just was jarring to me from the first time I played it. Plus: the player is now forced to become the Arch Mage, like it or not. Bah.

I change a lot of stories, this is why it's Fan FICTION. This is how things went in Lena Wolf's world, as opposed to someone else's.

[Lena Wolf]

20 Rain's Hand, 4E195 - The fog of war

Lifting a curse is a complex business that requires knowing the exact circumstances when the curse was placed as well as procuring of important artefacts connected to it. To lift the curse over the battlefield, Geralt had to learn everything he could about the execution of the sorceress as well as about the battle that was being re-enacted in the curse. This meant talking to everyone in the camp and piecing together scraps of information, while discarding superstitious beliefs, distorted memories and outright lies. It wasn't an easy task by any stretch of imagination.

"What can you tell me about this curse?" Geralt started with the court sorcerer - one of the few male sorcerers around. He was old and powerful, if a bit ill-tempered, but Geralt prefered his directness to the usual intrigues of the sorceresses.

"It's a blood curse," the sorcerer started explaining. He told Geralt about the theory behind it, as well as about the circumstances of the execution, as far as he knew them, since he didn't witness it himself, having been appointed as a replacement of the sorceress burned at the stake. All this information was very useful, but something was missing.

"Have you cast any curses yourself?" Geralt went to the heart of the matter.

"I have, but nothing on this scale," the sorcerer admitted. "I once gave donkey's tail and ears to someone and another time made all the pots in the kitchen jump about..." He blushed a little and trailed off.

"Have you ever lifted a curse?" Geralt remained unperturbed.

"Never," the sorcerer admitted.

"So, you don't actually know how to do it," Geralt summarised. "All right, I'll tell you what we need..."

With the working relationship thus established, they could finally get started. Geralt would have to do all the work, while the sorcerer would provide the necessary magical mixtures, powders and sigils.

"You realise that fairy dust is extremely expensive?" The sorcerer looked up when Geralt said he needed a fair amount to draw runes. "Who's paying for the ingredients?"

"Since it's the king who wants the curse lifted, he's the client," Geralt shrugged. "Ask him."

...

"This is all very interesting, and the ale isn't bad here, but I need more than just horrified tales," Geralt thought after another conversation with a bunch of drunken soldiers. Drunken soldiers were a much better source of information than sober ones, although it did mean that Geralt had to join in the drinking. His head was throbbing. "I'll have to do some field research," he concluded and shivered. That meant going into the cursed area and facing the wraiths again, this time on his own. "Better get some rest first, and prepare."

For all the talk of Geralt's appointment to the king's court, he wasn't actually given a place to sleep. Of course he could always go to the brothel that followed the camp around, but their fees were excessive if you just wanted to sleep. So Geralt joined Vernon's Special Forces on their encampment just outside the walls of the main army camp. If he was going to sleep among soldiers, he prefered as small a group of them as possible.

"What are you going to do?" Vernon asked him at breakfast. "What do you need to do to lift the curse from the battlefield?"

"Don't know exactly yet," Geralt shook his head. "Establishing the facts is the first step. And I'm mostly getting fairy tales. I'm going to the battlefield right after breakfast."

"You WHAT?!" Vernon nearly jumped up. "It's swirming with wraiths! Wraiths that cannot be defeated! Wraiths that rise again the moment you put them down! It's certain death! You're mad!"

"It's the best way to get a feel for the curse," Geralt cut off, rising from the table. "And no, you can't come with me, even though you do have a silver sword now. You're still not a witcher. You'll perish."

He checked the vials on his belt - to drink right before entering the fog of war - and marched off towards the boundary beyond which any and all would perish.

...

"You stink!!" Did wraiths stink? Did they even have a scent? Geralt didn't think so, but he swore anyway. "Ugh, you're ugly!!!" He didn't really have the time to notice what each of the wraiths looked like, but swearing was helping him to stay focussed.

The battle was ferocious, as ever. The wraiths were fighting each other without inflicting any damage, but immediately switched to Geralt as soon as he approached. They were inflicting plenty of damage to him. He twisted and twirled, but fighting a dozen wraiths surrounding him from all sides, wasn't easy.

"These wraiths are really strong," Geralt figured he should start making mental notes, since this was the reason for his visit to the fog of war. "They are really the wraiths of the knights and soldiers that fell in that battle. Hmm." He rolled away from the onslaught and crouched behind a barricade. It was time to observe rather than fight. Most wraiths resumed fighting each other, but a few followed Geralt and were hovering by the barricade, although thankfully were not able to pass through it. "Strange," Geralt thought. "They are wraiths, that is ghosts, yet they cannot pass through a piece of wood? Other ghosts have no such issues..." He rattled the barricade, and it appeared quite solid and ordinary.

He sat there, watching the wraiths fight each other. Some fell, dropping their shields and swords, collapsing in a heap of armour. Then a new wraith would rise on the same spot, with its own shield, sword and armour, to continue fighting. The remnants of the fallen wraith would fade and vanish after a time. But not always. Geralt noticed a sword left behind, a shield, a breastplate. "The curse isn't perfect," he shook his head. "It will make it harder to lift. I should collect what remnants I can." This meant getting back onto the battlefield. "I've got to be quick - the potion effects will soon run out." And that would mean certain death, even for a witcher.

Geralt dashed from behind the barricade, and half a dozen wraiths turned, noticing his approach. His plan was to dash from one artefact to the next, pick them up quickly and keep running before the wraiths in their heavy armour had a chance to catch up. As unlikely as it sounded, this was the best plan he had.

A sword on the ground. That was easy. Pick it up, dash. Just a handful of wraiths came close, and only a few hits connected. Geralt chose to ignore it.

A shield. Too big, too heavy, too unwieldy. Geralt was not used to shields, and he could not run with one. He picked it up at first but couldn't sling it onto his back, fumbled with it, then dropped it, ready to dash. Too late - he was surrounded by a dozen of wraiths again, meaning business. Blows were raining on him, and he had serious trouble landing any hits on the wraiths - their shields were just as solid as the barricade. "This curse is designed to kill anyone who enters!" He realised, rather belatedly. "The armour and weapons here are real, not what you usually see on wraiths..! I should get out, now!"

But which way was the exit? All he saw around him was flaming red fog with fires erupting from the ground, wraiths fighting wraiths, a battle without end, in time or in space. Was there even an exit at all?

"Damn it!" Geralt managed to roll away from the group of wraiths assaulting him, only to come face to face with a huge hulk made out of pieces of armour, shields and weapons. It was wielding an enormous claymore and seemed completely invulnerable. "The spirit of war," Geralt realised. "Not invulnerable, but too hard for me now. Where's the way out?"

The spirit of war raised its claymore, but Geralt was already falling - another wraith pierced him with its sword from behind. Perhaps this curse was not meant to be lifted after all.

...

Geralt was dead. Or at least this was what he thought. Then he caught himself: "If I'm thinking that I'm dead, I am definitely still alive!" He opened his eyes. He was still on the battlefield surrounded by the fog of war. The wraiths were still fighting each other. The spirit of war... Well... The spirit of war was fighting something... or someone... Geralt couldn't tell - the fog made it hard to see, everything was just red. "Time to leave," he thought, trying to find a way out. "May be through there." A patch of fog looked slightly lighter and slightly less red than the rest. He tried to move, but couldn't. The witcher potions that he had drunk before going in, had already run out, and all his body could do now was try not to die. There was no energy left for movement. Besides, he was still bleeding. "Damn it," he thought. "I'll just bleed out here." He blacked out again.

...

Next time when Geralt opened his eyes, he realised that he was lying closer to the less red patch of fog. Did he even see a little bit of light blue behind it? Or was that only what he wanted to see? But he had moved, he definitely had moved... Or did the fog move?

He looked around. The spirit of war was still engaged in battle with... something white? Geralt couldn't be sure, it could just be a hallucination, considering how much blood he'd lost, how much blood he was still loosing.

A group of wraiths was fighting nearby. "They are not fighting each other," Geralt realised, trying to see who was in their midst. "Which idiot got sucked into this fog of war..?" He wondered. Besides himself, that is. But he could not see anyone - the wraiths seemed to be fighting an empty space.

Someone was tugging on his shoulders, dragging him towards the less red patch of fog. Geralt tried to cock his head to see who stood behind him... Wait, what? Wings? Leathery red wings? Then the red fog of war swallowed all again.

...

"Did I see wings?" Geralt came to, tried to look around, but his vision was blurry and everything just looked red. "Must have imagined it." He sighed. "Does everyone get such weird visions when they are about to die, I wonder?"

...

"This is just foolishness," a young woman dressed in black was cursing under her breath. "How did you manage to live this long?" She was tugging on Geralt's shoulders, slowly dragging him towards the less red patch of fog. The spirit of war dealt a heavy blow to the white hulk it was fighting, and the hulk vanished with a pop. "Oh, hang on..." The woman let go of Geralt's shoulders and dashed into the battle, towards the spirit of war. She quickly cast a spell, then vanished. The wraiths that followed her, stopped, confused. The spirit of war was once again engaging a Frost Atronach. "They don't last long in this heat, but at least they deal some damage," the woman muttered, grabbing Geralt's shoulders again.

Not all wraiths were easily confused, however. Some quickly recovered, noticed the woman and started moving towards her, making other wraiths follow, shields up, swords at the ready.

"Damn!" The woman cursed, let go of Geralt's shoulders and cast a spell.

Red dragon wings closed around them, she grabbed Geralt's shoulders again and continued dragging him away, letting the wraiths hit the wings. Geralt finally managed to cock his head enough to see who was dragging him. Horns? Did he see horns? And scales? He definitely saw scales, but horns could just be a helmet. A full face closed helmet, perhaps? He squinted at the hands grabbing his shoulders. Mighty long claws and more scales. One of the claws pierced his shoulder and all went black.

...

"She is your sister, there is no doubt," Vernon leaned to look into Geralt's eyes. "Just as stubborn."

Geralt was lying on a cot in Vernon's tent, he was stripped of his armour, fresh bandages covering most of his body.

"You're alive, I'll leave you two to catch up." Vernon got up and left signalling Ves and everyone else in the tent to leave.

Lena nodded and smiled, sitting down next to Geralt.

"How did you get here?" Geralt tried to sit up but couldn't.

"Sailed with a merchant ship," Lena shrugged. "I got here just this morning, in fact. The king wouldn't let anyone enter the army camp, but I saw Vernon's flags on this encampment and came here. And what do I find on arrival?" A deep frown started to gather on her forehead. "Vernon and Ves gone, rumours in camp that you went to a certain death... I won't repeat the speculations as to why, but what were you thinking?!" Lena was getting angry, her face turning pink, then red. "I ran after Vernon and Ves, they were there by the fog boundary, having tried to go in after you a few times, both wounded and bleeding! They could never survive those wraiths!!"

"I know!" Geralt still couldn't get up, but he could raise his voice. "I told Vernon not to follow!"

"Vernon is too good a friend not to!" Lena retorted, now nearly breathing fire. "You should have known! It was too dangerous even for you, witcher!"

Geralt made a superhuman effort and sat up.

"I do what I have to do, and if I perish in battle, so be it!" He glared at Lena. "No witcher dies in his bed!"

"Not true!" Lena glared back. "Not every witcher is as reckless as you are!"

They sat there, glaring at each other. Dandelion walked in, and immediately walked out, although rumour has it that one of his most successful ballads was based on this encounter. Fire-breathing dragons can make any ballad into a success.

"What did I see there, in the fog?" Geralt asked in a slightly calmer tone. "Wings, horns and scales? Did you summon a dragon?"

"I wish I could," Lena sighed, calming a little too. "That's Dragon Skin. A spell I got from birth. It gives protection for a time. Did I really get scales? And wings? I don't use it often, but I've never heard of scales and wings before. It did help though." She stretched out her hand pulling up the sleeve. Scale outlines were clearly visible on her skin. "Wow, look at that!" She examined them in wonder. "Did I really transform?" She looked at Geralt, puzzled. "It never happened before..."

"Perhaps you never were in quite so much danger before," Geralt suggested. "What possessed you to go into the fog of war?! You are not a witcher!!"

"No, but a certain witcher went in and wasn't coming out!! I had no choice!!!"

...

No one dared to enter the tent for a good few hours, even after the shouting stopped. In the tent peace eventually returned, and Geralt had to admit that somehow Lena managed to survive the fog of war, being neither a sorceress, nor a witcher.

"Stealth," Lena shrugged. "Stealth and diversion. And, well, Dragon Skin. I didn't go there to fight them, I went to get you out. I didn't even unsheath my sword, not once." She unsheathed her sword - it was covered in blood. "How..?" She raised her eyes to Geralt.

"It's a curse," he sighed. "It wasn't a regular battle. Those were not normal wraiths. It's a blood curse," he was examining Lena's sword. "I'm keeping this, it's an important artefact. Need to figure out whose blood it is, but I think I know..." He shook his head, carefully sheathing Lena's blood-covered sword. "You'll need to tell me how you really survived in there," he looked at her sternly. "You've had practice with something like this. You knew what to do. I need to know."

"Yes," Lena nodded, her face turning somber. "It was just like the Deadlands of Oblivion. Different creatures, the same concept. Get what you came for and try not to fight. There's no other way but through..."

[Lena Wolf]

25 Rain's Hand, 4E195 - Visions

"Go to the sorceress' shrine at night and drink this potion," a visionary told Geralt. "Then come back here and tell me exactly what visions you've had."

The thing with trying to get to the truth is that you never know which path would bring results. As such, Geralt was exploring every lead, no matter now strange. He simply had to know all the details of the execution. The visionary was a monk of sorts that lived in a hut some distance away from the army camp. He made candles that he gave (well, sold) to the soldiers that wanted holy protection from any and all evil. Geralt wasn't sure about the protection from evil, but the candles did seem to keep the wild beasts and monsters away, possibly due to their unbelievable stench.

When the king had ordered to burn the sorceress at the stake, he intended for her to die in agony. Instead she charmed one of the guards and made him pierce her heart with his spear, thus sparing her most of the suffering. That guard never recovered from the charm spell and became the visionary.

All of that Geralt had pieced together from listening to soldiers' tales, and having met the visionary, he was certain that that's exactly what happened. What he wanted now was the spear used to pierce the sorceress' heart. That was a very important artefact for lifting the curse. But the visionary refused to talk about it until Geralt joined his cult by spending the night at the sorceress' shrine while under the influence of a vision-inducing potion.

Geralt wasn't sure what to expect, but spending the night by any shrine was never a good idea, so he prepared for the worst. Potions, weapons, armour, the lot. The way to the shrine was indeed dangerous with various monsters big and small blocking it, but once cleared, the shrine was peaceful. Geralt drank the potion and braced for visions.

...

"I don't know what that meant!" Geralt shrugged, laughing off this story. He just had to tell his friends about the phallic forest that was his vision. "The visionary thought his herbs were off, he'd been having those visions for weeks, apparently! He was so relieved that I had the same dream, that he told me all about the execution and the spear!"

"Personally, I think that it's your obsession with that spear that caused the vision," Ves tried to speak between giggles. "Both of you!"

"No, don't you see!" Dandelion looked up from his mug of ale. "It's Geralt's never-satisfied lust that manifested itself! And the monk's in the same situation, obviously."

"Never-satisfied lust?" Now Zoltan looked up. "The brothel is just over there, mate. That problem is easily cured!"

...

After a few more conversations with soldiers and other folk, Geralt finally managed to piece together reasonably reliable indications of the whereabouts of some important artefacts needed to lift the curse, including the spear. The bad news was that they were on the other side of the fog of war, and there was no other way to get there than to cross it.

"So, now my field research pays off," he was relishing his "I told you so" moment. "Now that I know what to expect in there, I shall be able to cross without too much trouble."

"Cross and hopefully come out alive, you mean," Lena corrected him. "But Ok. Can the court sorcerer not provide you some help? He was very effective keeping the wraiths at bay, wasn't he?"

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Yeah, why not, talk to the sorcerer. The sorcerer had a very obvious "better you than me" attitute to it, but he did give Geralt a protective amulet. "This won't create a sphere, but it will show you the way and confuse the wraiths for a bit, so you should be able to run past them," he said. Geralt wasn't so sure about all the "should" and "would" in that, but his choices were to go through the fog with or without the amulet, and he chose with.

"Here, take this armour too," the sorcerer handed him a heavily enchanted chainmail. "A gift from the king. He wants to see you back alive, it appears."

To tell the truth, Geralt was putting more trust into the armour than the amulet, but he took both. His swords needed an upgrade as well, and he wanted runes on the armour, and a healthy stock of potions and bombs, and, and, and...

"Are you planning on leaving at all or are you preparing to open a stall here?" Lena was laughing at the large number of vials and gadgets laid out on the main table in Vernon's tent. A high pile of disgusting looking animal parts was completing the scene.

"Gear is expensive," Geralt looked up. "I lost my favourite blue meteorite sword to that damned dragon right at the start, and now it's time to have a replacement made. The smith here delivers decent work. But it's not cheap and if you think that a witcher can survive on witcher's fees, you're being naive." He kept piling animal parts on the table. "These are for sale. I have to skin every monster I kill if I want that blue meteorite sword again."

...

Geralt didn't really need any enchanted amulets to cross the fog of war. The amulet wasn't keeping the wraiths away either, wasn't making Geralt invisible, nothing of the sort. But it did show the way. Of course, with the field research that Geralt had performed previously, he already knew where to go. It wasn't the fog of war that he was weary about, it was the reception on the other side, and there was no amulet that could help with that.

"Stop right there!" Half a dozen elves with bows and crossbows were blocking the way as Geralt emerged from the fog. "Turn around or die, traitor!"

Traitor? But Geralt never swore allegiance to those elves... perhaps it was just a general insult. Thankfully, Zoltan was there to talk sense into them.

"Don't do anything rash!" It was remarkable how he could look down on them while being half their height, but dwarves had their ways, and although non-humans did tend to stick together against humans, dwarves and elves didn't really get on. "Geralt is not the enemy!" Zoltan continued chastising the elves. "Turn your bows elsewhere!"

With the situation thus diffused, Geralt was allowed to proceed. They would not kill him today, but he wasn't so sure about tomorrow. It was a typical situation of getting on with the job and heading back as soon as possible.

Geralt's job on this side of the fog of war was to find several artefacts needed to lift the curse. They were there somewhere... buried with the dead in the catacombs, lost and won in dice games, sold for profit or simply thrown away and found again... It was the usual run-around to track them down, a job that had nothing to do with slaying monsters and everything to do with talking to people, and Geralt knew which he preferred. "I think they should have trained us in speechcraft more when we were kids," he was musing to himself. "Not everything can be solved with a sword, unfortunately."

As bad as talking to people was, talking to wraiths was worse still, and one of the artefacts was in possession of a wraith. "I wonder if I can just kill him," Geralt was eyeing the wraith of a commander before him. "Hmm... He looks tough and probably draws on the energies of all the soldiers buried here as well." Geralt tried conversation first. He rightly guessed that the wraith was quite willing to give away the artefact to a living person, as that artefact was what was binding it to the mortal world, but it had to be sure that it was the "right" person, "worthy" of carrying the artefact. Was Geralt the right person? He tried to convince the wraith that he was.

...

"Bah, lying to a wraith feels even worse that lying to a living person," he shivered when it was done. There was something inherently wrong about it. It was going to give him nightmares, he just knew it.

...

It's been three days, and Geralt was still chasing the artefacts, still going through the catacombs, fighting wraiths and necrophages, and he was starting to get tired. He forgot to sleep, as you couldn't tell day from night underground. Finally he decided that rest was imperative, even though he didn't trust the elves not to kill him in his sleep. He found a peaceful corner of the woods near an old shrine of the good kind, and dropped to his knees to meditate. He wouldn't get a bed until he got back to the army camp anyway.

...

A pack of wolves was on a hunt, following a deer, as was their custom. The deer was swift, it jumped high and zig-zagged trying to throw off the wolves. The chase spooked other animals, wolves from a rival pack, worgs, wild boar... The wolves were now the hunted as well as the hunters. Such was the way of nature.

The alpha wolf stopped and howled, calling the pack to his side. They'd ventured too far into the other pack's territory, that deer wasn't worth it. Plenty of game on their own turf, it was time to retreat. He waited, watching his pack assemble, then they turned back. They ran past a man with a sword... the man was advancing towards something behind them. More wolves? Perhaps...

The alpha wolf of the other pack stopped and howled too. A great wolf with a snow-white coat, a direwolf perhaps, rare but not unheard of, the further North you went. He bared his fangs, watching the man with the sword approach. The man drew his sword, silver glistening in the moonlight. The other direwolves backed off, but the alpha stood his ground. His orange eyes glowed, vertical pupils widening with the adrenaline rush.

"What..?" The man with the sword hesitated, his own orange eyes with vertical pupils starting to dim. "You..?" He shook his head, sheathing his sword and turning to leave. "See you, White Wolf."

...

Geralt opened his eyes, woken up by the rays of dawn. It was one of those dreams... He looked around. A flock of crows was searching for worms at the foot of the shrine, they didn't mind him sitting there. One crow perched higher, it seemed to be looking into his face... Not a crow, a raven. Geralt met its gaze. The bird's intelligent eyes were telling him something... Why did it seem familiar..?

...

With the artefacts finally obtained, Geralt could return to the army camp. Crossing the fog of war became an almost easy feat for him how, he was getting quite good at avoiding the wraiths. And may be the amulet did help, after all. "Sile wouldn't give me a fake trinket, that's beneath her," Geralt thought, remembering that the sorcerer did say the amulet was from Sile. "May be it works in ways I cannot quite see." May be it did, or may be it was simply nice to get help without strings attached.

As Geralt emerged from the fog on the side of the camp, he found Vernon and some of his soldiers kneeling over fresh corpses.

"What happened?" Geralt looked around.

"An attack by the other side... whatever the other side is, in this confusing war," Vernon shrugged. "That's nothing unusual. What was unusual however, was that a mage appeared from the fog and these soldiers attacked him, as if they were expecting him. His corpse is over there," Vernon pointed at a corpse of a man wearing robes. "We've already gone through the pockets - nothing noteworthy, and we don't recognise him. But when he got attacked, he dropped a figurine, and I could have sworn it looked exactly like Triss! If such a thing was even possible... And that's what the attackers were after, it seems, because one of them grabbed the figurine and ran, leaving us engaged with the others. It's like they were ready to sacrifice those soldiers just so one of them could take off with the figurine... I wonder what all that was about." He shook his head, not able to make sense of it.

"That's not good," Geralt looked somber. "That figurine probably was Triss - the real Triss. It's called 'artefact compression', a terrible practice, really, but useful if you want to kidnap someone. She should be alright, once the spell is reversed," he added, scratching his chin. "The real question is indeed who those people were, where they were taking her and why. Well, it's several questions, but still..."

A search of the environs didn't reveal much. When they finally thought of checking the ships moored along the river bank, it was too late - one of them had raised its sails and was moving away quickly, too quickly to catch up.

"That'll be them," Vernon scowled. "The Nilfgardians - look at the flags. They are sailing to Loc Muine." He paused, but noticing Geralt's puzzled expression, he continued: "A large summit is being planned there, a summit to end all wars, if you believe in such a fairy tale. But a lot of important people will be present, with a lot of intrigue and politics being played out. Triss is obviously involved. Did she say anything? No? Kept you in the dark as well, I see. Well, we'll soon go there too, so I guess we'll find out one way or the other."

They stood there, watching the river a bit longer. The night had fallen and Geralt suddenly felt exhausted. He needed to talk to the king, now that he'd brought those artefacts for lifting the curse; he wanted to thank Sile for the amulet; he had to see the court sorcerer about those magical powders and sigils... and all of it could wait. He dropped to his knees for a few hours of meditation, leaving even sleep in a bed for another day.

...

A raven landed next to Geralt and tentatively took a few steps towards him. Geralt heard it and slightly opened one eye, just enough to peek, but the raven noticed. It took a few more steps and laid a sprig before him - wolfsbane. Geralt took it. The raven flapped its wings rising into the air, but didn't fly away, landing on Geralt's shoulder instead, its claws gripping the chainmail. A faint scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted in.

...

Geralt opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the beach, undisturbed. Vernon and his soldiers had long gone back to their camp, there were no monsters in the water and no one had any reason to go near him. A sprig of wolfsbane lay in his lap.