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

[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.

[macole]

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

28 Rain's Hand, 4E195 - More visions

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

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

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

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

[Renee]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt faced the spirit of war.

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

21 Second Seed, 4E195 - Crazy few weeks

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon looked very somber.

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

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

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

"I'm with you," Geralt nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt dropped his swords to the ground.

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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