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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

[Renee]

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


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

[Lena Wolf]

13 Sun's Height, 4E195 - White Orchard

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Wild Hunt," Lena said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

[Renee]

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

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

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

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

[macole]

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

[macole]

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

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

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

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

[Lena Wolf]

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

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

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

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

Oh my gosh, I see how that quote could be ambigous! Good thing I didn't actually write that text, it's a quote... phew! No, Geralt didn't want to bind his fate to that of the djinn, but to that of Yennefer! For better or for worse...

[Lena Wolf]

14 Last Seed, 4E195 - Velen

Geralt arrived in Velen, a large province consisting predominantly of swamps. Where would he find Ciri's trail? In which swamp? How much mud would he have to swallow before he found anything? He looked around. The only way to proceed was to talk to people.

It took him a good week or more to "settle in" as it were - to show his face in most villages in the Western part of Velen and to let people realise that a witcher was around. He was also hoping for some contracts, because witchers had to eat. But mostly he knew that people would only start telling him things when they felt at ease in his company. Even if some would still spit as he walked past and make unflattering comments about the size of his private parts. He learned to ignore that.

Eventually he got a lead: Ciri had argued with a witch. Which witch, he didn't know, but there couldn't be too many witches around, could there? Indeed, he overheard a conversation about a local witch, a pretty girl, it seemed, quite new to those parts. That was worth investigating.

The witch turned out to be no simple country witch but a sorceress that Geralt knew quite well - Keira Metz, a former adviser to King Foltest, a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses... now residing in a simple cottage lost among the swamps of Velen.

"Keira!" He thought he knew what she was doing there, but asked anyway. "What are you doing in Velen?"

"Enjoying the country air, what else!" Keira laughed with such sadness, that Geralt momentarily regretted his question. "Mages, sorceresses, even healers and alchemists are all being hunted and burned at the stake! Don't you read the papers? I am hiding!" Tears glistened in her eyes.

"Ugh, I am sorry," Geralt didn't expect quite such a reaction. "Have you quarrelled with Ciri by any chance?" An abrupt change of topic seemed like a good plan to take Keira's mind off her misfortunes. It appeared to work, too.

"Ciri?" Keira spun around, her face brightening. "No, I didn't quarrel with her - why would I? She didn't come here... was she supposed to?"

"I don't know, I am trying to find her," Geralt's brow furrowed. "I was told she quarrelled with a witch. Are there other witches around?"

"Hmm... Not sure about witches, but there was an elven mage here, asking about her," Keira rubbed her chin. "What a coincidence. He left a message... Let me think... Ciri was to meet him in the old elven ruin not far from here, and she was to... err... follow her destiny? It doesn't make much sense, I know..."

"Hmm... No, it doesn't," Geralt was confused too. "Where is that ruin? May be it will make sense there."

"I am coming with you!" Keira got ready to leave. "The mage had promised me something... a lamp... but since things don't seem to go according to plan, he may never bring it here. Perhaps it is still at the ruin."

...

The elven ruin was infested with the usual monsters and vermin, and it transpired that Keira was afraid of rats. Rats! Ordinary non-magical rats. Rats that she could have evaporated with any of her powerful spells, if she could collect herself enough to cast them. But she couldn't. Good thing she had a witcher for company...

They went through the ruin, followed the clues that the elven mage left for Ciri, clues that Geralt could decipher because he knew Ciri so well. They came to the chamber where the mage was staying, but he was no longer there. The place was covered in ice - the Wild Hunt got to him first. It was a dead end.

"Oh look - here is the lamp he promised me!" Keira picked up a curious elven lantern. "Good. We're done here, let's go."

"No, we're not done yet," Geralt shook his head. "The Wild Hunt got to the mage before us, and we lost Ciri's trail. We have to search through this ruin again, perhaps we missed some clue..." He turned to go back the way they came, but Keira stopped him.

"There is nothing else here, Geralt," she said softly. "But I know which witch you need to find."

"What? You met her? Why did you not say anything earlier?" Geralt's frustration was getting the better of him, he was now angry, and Keira realised she might have gone too far.

"I had to have the lamp..." she said in a small voice. "And it was a good lead with the mage, wasn't it? I didn't know how it would turn out... And I never met that witch but I read about them... Here, see for yourself." She pulled a book from one of the shelves around them and handed it to Geralt - an old tome of what looked like folk fairy tales.

"Fairy tales?" Geralt glared at her. "Speak plainly, Keira." This sounded like a threat.

"Fairy tales that have roots in reality, as always," she nodded. "The Witches of the Crookback Bog are the ones that Ciri quarrelled with... must have done, anyway... they are evil. And they actually exist, it's all in there. It fits." She tried to sound convincing.

Geralt knew of course that fairy tales did often have roots in reality, so he cooled off a bit and started leafing through the book. It gave directions on how to find the witches... they seemed familiar somehow. He might have been to those places already. This was worth a closer investigation. He sighed and stuffed the book into his belt.

"Alright, let's go," he said much more calmly. "What's with the lamp, anyway? What does it do?"

"It allows you to speak to ghosts," Keira replied brightly. "Interesting stuff... I need it for... err... research..."

"Aha," Geralt squinted. "In Velen, right. Well, never mind then."

There was nothing left to do there, they walked around a bit longer trying to locate the exit, and eventually stood outside under the incessant rain.

"Thank you, Geralt," Keira looked genuinely grateful. "I hope you've got the right lead now," she smiled. "That's all I know, I swear."

"Good luck with your... err... research then," Geralt smirked. "See you around."

"Wait... eh... I've got another favour to ask of you..." Keira seemed embarrassed.

"Of course you do," Geralt turned around to face her again. "Let's hear it."

"It is a job for a witcher," Keira said carefully. "No, really. There's a curse that needs lifting. And I... well... I don't know how to lift a curse."

Geralt could never refuse a woman, in particular a sorceress, and especially if she was asking him to do something that he as a witcher would do anyway. So of course he listened and agreed to help. This was the story that he and Lena would be remembering many years later in a bath house of the Pale Pass Inn. We've already told this story, but it's been a while - over two years in our time... Incredible. Still, there is no need to reprint it, since we can simply read it as it was written back then:

21 Last Seed, 4E195 - Velen - Fyke Isle - Oreton

2 Hearthfire, 4E202 - Pale Pass Inn

22 Last Seed, 4E195 - Fyke Isle tower

23 Last Seed, 4E195 - Keira's Elven bath house

[Lena Wolf]

2 Hearthfire, 4E195 - Family matters

When Geralt approached the cottage previously belonging to Keira Metz, a small crowd was blocking his way. They stood in a half-circle surrounding the front yard, watching something or waiting for something... The tension was thick in the air. Geralt nudged his way through, but there was nothing going on. Then the door was flung open and a woman backed out of it, bent, dragging something behind her. She took a few steps and straightened up, and the corpse she was dragging slumped to the ground. Next to another such corpse, Geralt noticed. The woman turned around to face the crowd.

"Which of you set the witchhunters onto me?" She glared at the villagers. "Well? Speak up!" Waves of cold seemed to emanate from her youthful figure, but she wasn't casting spells.

"Well, you see, miss..." someone started carefully. "They had papers, miss..."

"From King Radovid, miss!"

"To arrest all witches, see, miss..?"

"But she ain't a witch!" A woman in the crowd glared at the men that were taking turns to speak. "I did tell yah, too! This one's a healer! Who'll be making salves for the little ones now?" Then, turning to the woman standing over the corpses, she added: "Menfolk are such fools, miss!"

"That they are," the woman nodded, still glaring at the men. "How much did they pay you?"

"It ain't like that, miss!" One of them quickly objected. "They had papers..."

"Oh, it's exactly like that!" Another man intervened, clenching his fists. "You took all the coin, you did! Shared naught with us!"

"You greedy bastard!" More calls followed, more fists were clenched.

"HOW MUCH?!" The young woman yelled, and all fell quiet. Suddenly someone realised that she was standing over the corpses of those witchhunters. Corpses of two well-armed grown men.

"She's a witch, she is! Killed them with magic!" One of the men now turned on her, fists still clenched. Another man kneeled over the corpses.

"Shut up, you fool!" He cut him off. "This one's had his throat slit, and this one's been stabbed through the heart! It ain't magic!"

"Men are fools, don't leave us, miss!" The woman from the crowd was pleading now. "We need a healer!"

"How can I trust you people now?" The young woman was looking at them in turn. "You'll sell me out again. I'd be safer out in the woods, with the bears!"

Suddenly there was a tussle and a brawl among the men. It was over quickly, and one held out a pouch with coin.

"Here's the coin, miss. Take it. Almost all still there, I reckon... He won't sell you out again... We'll see to that."

The young woman took the pouch, weighing it.

"Almost all there, you say... Alright, I suppose it'll do. You'll need to bury these corpses for me, too. Right here in front of the house. Let their graves remind you lot of what had occurred."

Sighs of relief were heard all around, except from the one fellow who had sold her out - he was curled up in the bushes, moaning with pain, he'd taken quite a beating. The healer shot him a cold glance, nodded to the rest, noticing two men picking up shovels to dig the graves. She turned around and went into the house without another word. Geralt followed.

...

"What happened?" Geralt asked with worry, when he and Lena finally sat in the back room, away from the windows. "And what are you doing here, in Keira's house?"

"Well, Keira left, you know that," Lena shrugged. "She's on her way to Kaer Morhen now, and she left me this house. Which was left to her by the witch who lived here before... I wonder what happened to her... Died of old age, perhaps..?"

"Stay on topic," Geralt prompted her, his brow furrowed. "Keira left, so what? Why are you here and not in Flotsam?"

"Because you are here and not in Flotsam," she smirked. "You've got a sister now, get used to it." She glared at him, but then let out a long sigh and softened her gaze. "I've never had a brother before. And I don't want to lose one now."

"I'm not used to having family either," Geralt said grimly. "Ciri is already more trouble than I need..." He looked at Lena darkly, then noticing her face fall, he hastened to add: "That didn't come out right... I didn't mean..."

Women could be such touchy creatures. Lena jumped up, tears swelling in her eyes, she tried to hide it, but Geralt noticed. No, he didn't want to lose his newly found sister either. Family was trouble, true, but also... Not knowing how to fix the situation, he acted on impulse. What would a brother do?

"Come here," he took her into a hug. "No one is going to lose anyone just yet."

...

"I am staying here for a while," Geralt declared some time later. "I've got several contracts going, there's the matter of a lost goat and a matter of a goose that stopped laying... What?" He looked up, hearing Lena giggle. "A witcher cannot be choosy about the sort of thing that pays his fees."

"Oh, I'm sure it is a monster of a goat, no less," Lena was laughing now. "Thanks, but I don't need a bodyguard." She stopped laughing.

"Don't start," Geralt sighed. "Those witchhunters were not joking. And it is true about all the contracts. They are not all goats, either. I'll stick around until things cool off with the villagers, I'm sure word has already gotten around about who you really are."

"Who?"

"An assassin." He looked at her with significance. "Next time they'll be better prepared."

"Alright," Lena gave in. "But you don't look too well yourself. Were you coming here hoping to find Keira? Then you need help. Healing perhaps. What happened?" Clearly, it was Lena's turn to ask questions.

"Aye, I needed a place to lay low for a while," Geralt nodded. "I knew Keira had left. That last string of jobs... well... I can't go on to Novigrad just yet. Ciri was here, she left a trail, the White Hunt will follow. I need to stay and see what happens. Gather my thoughts... Novigrad will be tough, I have a feeling... And you are not to follow me there - you hear me? They'll burn you at the stake!" He looked straight at Lena and she knew this was true. Although she wasn't a witch or a sorceress as such, she knew enough magic to qualify for King Radovid's war on mages, and going to his seat of power was nothing short of suicide. She promised not to go there.

"Tell me about your recent jobs then," she sat back in her chair. "I have a feeling it's a fascinating tale."

"Alright," Geralt opened another bottle of vodka. "Have you heard of the Crones of the Crookback Bog?"

...

It was a lead that Keira gave to Geralt in a form of a folk tales book. It told of a path through the swamps marked with ribbons and bright flowers, with sweets and treats all along the way. Unwanted children were sent down that path, never to return. The fairy tales spoke of old witches with a fondness for human flesh, particularly that of children. Most people thought those were but fairy tales meant to scare kids into good behaviour, but Geralt had learned to his horror just how literal the stories were.

Keira thought that if Ciri had indeed quarreled with some witch in Velen, it would be with the Crones - the witches from the fairy tale, and naturally Geralt had to find them. It was easier than he had expected, the path in the swamps was exactly as described in the book: unusually bright flowers, ribbons and sweets - it was all there. He followed it and came to a clearing with two or three houses and a mill. Children were playing outside. The place looked peaceful.

"What are you doing here in the swamps?" He struck up a conversation with the kids.

"We live here," they said. "We're orphans. Gran takes care of us."

"That's an unlikely place for an orphanage..." Geralt started saying, but then a grey-haired woman came out of one of the huts and the children scattered.

"What are you doing here?" She went straight to Geralt. "You are a stranger. Strangers are forbidden. You should leave."

He tried telling her that he was there looking for his daughter, or at least looking for a witch with whom she might have quarreled, but it was no use. The woman refused to talk to him. Yet Geralt felt that she knew of Ciri, had seen her. He waited until she went back into the hut and the kids returned to their games, and trying talking to the children again. It wasn't all that hard to convince them to help, all he had to do was play hide and seek with them... which he did with pleasure. It was of course too easy for a witcher.

With the kids' help, and after another errand, the woman finally conceded that she'd seen Ciri there.

"You will need to speak to the ladies," she said with a sigh. "You will come to regret it, you will... but have it your way..."

She led him to the old mill which turned out to have a shrine inside with a tapestry of three lovely ladies. She touched the tapestry and fell into a trance.

The ladies spoke through her, they had lovely longing voices. They would tell Geralt all about Ciri, but he had to do a service for them first. A great evil woke in the woods, an evil that was killing folk and destroying cattle, deal with it and all would be told. He was given a dagger as a symbol and was sent to speak with the alderman of a village just outside the swamps.

"And don't forget to collect his payment when you are done!" The ladies made a point of that.

It didn't sound like anything unusual or untoward, yet Geralt felt uneasy. Something about that request didn't sit right with him, but he needed to find Ciri, and this was the only way. Besides, if there was indeed a great evil in the forest terrorising the populace, it was his job to deal with it.

The alderman stood aghast at the sight of the dagger.

"I did not know you belonged to them, sir," he gasped.

"I belong to no one," Geralt said firmly. "I am here to deal with your problem, that is all. Now, tell me about it."

With a sigh of relief the alderman told him of a great evil... almost literally repeating what Geralt had already heard from the ladies. So it seemed it was true. No one knew what it was, but folk had gone missing, only to be found dead, and so on and so forth. He was shown the hill that seemed to be the centre of it all.

"This isn't in the fairy tales," Geralt was leafing through the book. "So this is either something new or something very, very old."

He found the hill that the alderman spoke of, and saw corpses all around. He was attacked by wolves at first, then werewolves too. A voice sounded in his head telling him to advance no further, to turn around and leave... which only convinced him he was on the right track and he proceeded. There was a cave beneath the hill, and in it a strangely pulsating growth was speaking to him again...

"What?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you?"

"A spirit older than this wood, imprisoned here by the very ladies that sent you to kill me," the voice answered. "Release me instead, so I might roam free once again!"

From everything that Geralt had seen and heard so far, he was certain that the spirit was evil. He was also certain that the ladies were evil as well. Which should he choose? Release the spirit and earn the wrath of the ladies or kill the spirit and thus make the ladies stronger? Which was the lesser evil? The folk of those parts claimed that the ladies protected them from misfortune, yet the land knew misfortunes aplenty. Was it the ladies' doing or were the ladies holding even greater evil at bay?

The spirit claimed that the ladies ate children, the very children living in the middle of the swamp - that's why they were there. But was he to free the spirit, the children would be saved, the spirit would see to that. How? It did not specify...

Geralt did not believe the spirit. He felt there was no right choice in this dilemma. He attacked the pulsating growth causing it to rupture and thus destroying the spirit. He watched it in disbelief. Surely, a spirit should have fled its cage, if this was its cage as it had claimed... What was it that he killed just then? But it was too late to ask such a question.

When he came out of the cave, he found the villagers gathered outside, with more corpses piled high before them. Where did those corpses come from? They were not there before... The alderman approached, thanking Geralt for killing the great evil in the cave. When Geralt reminding him of payment for the ladies, the alderman nodded, took the ladies' dagger, cut off one of his ears and handed it to Geralt.

"Here," he said. "Take this to the ladies. We obey."

...

Back at the orphanage in the middle of the swamps he found the woman that used to look after the children. She was alone. All the children were gone. She took the alderman's ear from Geralt and put it on a rock. The air grew misty and Geralt felt magic all around him. Then three horribly ugly women appeared - the Crones of Crookback Bog. They were pleased with Geralt's choice of action... and he was horrified to have appeased them, while at the same time he wondered what would have happened, had he released the spirit instead.

The Crones kept their word - they told him about Ciri. Yes, she had been there. Fell out of the sky and right into their swamp. They picked her up, let her rest.

"But she is of Elder Blood!" They exclaimed. "She is not destined for us!"

They would have kept here there by force until the Wild Hunt arrived, but Ciri had been wounded, and they figured she could not run away even if she wanted to... Fortunately for Ciri, her wounds healed fast and she sensed the danger. She bolted, running through the swamps until the Wild Hunt lost track of her, at least for a short time.

Was that lead important? Hardly.

Geralt had already found out that Ciri had left for Novigrad. After she escaped from the Crones, she wandered through the swamps, met a lost child along the way and eventually together they got out to higher ground. There they ran into a hunter who took them to the local baron hoping for a reward - the baron's wife and daughter were missing. They were good twenty years older than Ciri and the girl, but the hunter played dumb anyway. There was no reward for him, but the baron took the girls in, gave them food and shelter... Geralt learned all this from the baron who had asked him to find his wife and daughter in return for the information about Ciri - alas, nothing in that world was free.

The woman at the orphanage of the Crookback Bog who served the Crones, turned out to be the baron's wife. When the baron heard of this, he wanted to free her, despite all the bad blood, betrayal and beatings that led her to seek help from the Crones. He told his side of the story... his wife wasn't blameless either. Their daughter grew up with hatred for her father, not knowing what caused his ire. This was another story not meant to have a happy end.

The baron asked Geralt for help and Geralt felt so involved in all of this, that he simply had to see it through. They came to the village near the entrance into the swamps only to find corpses hanging from trees. Not of everyone, but enough. Who did this and why? A group of religious zealots looking for a way into the swamp, they strung up everyone who stood in their way...

Arriving at the site of the orphanage, they found the zealots. The place was deserted, apart from the monsters that had overrun it completely. The fighting was fierce, but the baron's men, the zealots and Geralt prevailed over the monsters. Then it was time to talk. Who where they and what were they doing in that swamp?

"I am here to take mother home!" A young woman stepped forward, and it was only then that the baron recognised his daughter under all that armour.

"Home? Home where?" He looked dejected.

"Away from here!" The young woman was defiant.

"Is that why you killed all those men back at the village?" The baron was still hardly believing his eyes.

"We killed those men because they stood in the way of the Holy Flame," a man in a long coat stepped forward. "They refused to denounce their gods!"

"What?!"

This didn't bode well. Geralt thought that a fight between the baron and the chief zealot was a very bad idea just then, so he rushed to intervene.

"Stop argueing, you can do it later," he said calmly but firmly. "We must find the baron's wife first. So far we only found monsters."

Fortunately, everyone agreed and spread out to search. The door to the old mill had been barred, but once broken down, this was where they found the baron's wife. She was scrubbing the floor, mumbling some nonsense, not quite understanding where she was or what was going on...

"Mother! I am taking you home!" The baron's daughter ran to her mother. "Come!"

"You will do no such thing," her Commander interfered.

"But... you promised!" She turned to him, not understanding what happened. "You promised to help me find my mother!"

"And I have done so," he stood firm. "Here she is, and her husband is here to take her home. I see true remorse in his eyes, he is a changed man. And anyhow... where would you have taken her? You have duties."

"Duties? What duties?" The young woman stood quite aghast.

"Duties that come from your commitment to the Church of the Holy Flame," the man replied calmly. "The commitment that you made willingly not so long ago. Have you forgotten?"

...

"Family is trouble," Geralt looked at Lena darkly. "The baron found his wife, but she had lost her mind. He found his daughter, and lost her at the same time. I killed a spirit that may or may not have been evil in order to appease horrifically evil crones just so I could get a lead to find my own daughter, and that lead was all for naught, for I already knew where she'd gone! And then I came here to find you've been attacked by witchhunters!"

Lena silently opened another bottle.

"I see the need to lie low for a while," she said pouring the drinks. "Let things settle. A lost goat and a goose that stopped laying seems strenuous enough."

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Feb 1 2024, 11:50 AM

[Lena Wolf]

9 Hearthfire, 4E195 - Triss Merigold

"Time to go, sis," Geralt finished repairing his armour and turned his attention to the swords. "Ciri had gone to Novigrad, and I have to follow." He shook his head, watching Lena crushing roots for an infusion. "As it turns out, this whole outing to Velen was entirely pointless. Yennefer told me straight away that Ciri had been seen in Novigrad, reported by none other but Triss Merigold. I should have gone straight there and not wasted my time in Velen."

"So why did you not go straight to Novigrad then?" Lena squinted at him. "Where you required to investigate Velen? To what end?"

"I was and I don't know," Geralt scoffed. "Well, it's done now, and I lost... what? a month? Ridiculous."

"Alright, be careful now," Lena gave him a hug as he was ready to mount his horse. "I won't come to Novigrad as I promised, but I might find a quiet spot in the suburbs," she winked. "Don't worry, I have no intention of getting burned at the stake."

...

The road to Novigrad was uneventful. Novigrad greeted Geralt with two pyres in the central square - a sorceress and a wizard. Geralt sighed and turned away as there was nothing he could do. The Church of Holy Flame was preaching death to all who wielded magic, witchers included. The atmosphere was stifling. "Why would Triss buy a house here, of all places?" He wondered. "Has she gone mad? Assuming she's still alive, that is." He still resented Triss his half a year of amnesia, but he did not want her hurt or dead.

Triss had a lovely house right by the central square. Or rather, it used it be a lovely house, but was currently decorated with nasty graffitti. Household items were thrown all over the courtyard, too. A couple of thugs were looting them.

"Oi!" They turned on Geralt. "We're looting here, so shove off!"

"No."

"Arrrghhh!!"

One of the thugs tried punching Geralt's armour, but hit himself in the eye, it seemed. A moment later they were telling all they knew about the Putrid Grove - a place where thieves, thugs and sorceresses currently took refuge. Thugs worse than themselves, that is.

"Triss is in trouble," Geralt concluded, setting off in search of the Putrid Grove.

...

It took days upon days and cost him a lot of coin and effort, but eventually Geralt did gain an audience with the King of Thieves who was also giving protection to sorceresses in distress. He even tried to extend his protection to Geralt, but Geralt just laughed.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asked when he finally located Triss. "Are you mad? They are burning sorceresses at the stake by the dozen, have you not heard?" The look on his face must have been telling volumes because Triss took a step back.

"I am surviving as best I can," she answered in a small voice. "Novigrad is the heart of the witch hunt, true, but it is also a big city. It is easier to hide here than in a village where everyone knows who you are."

She looked downtrodden and Geralt couldn't help but pity her.

"You can't stay here though, you have to leave - go far, go abroad," he said in a much softer tone.

"That's what I've been trying to do," Triss nodded. "Sail away. That's why I came here. All sorts of ships dock in the port of Novigrad, I was hoping to leave on one... but it didn't work out yet."

"Do you have a plan?" Geralt started seeing the point of coming to Novigrad.

"Yes," Triss smiled. "The King of Thieves is organising a ship, we are trying to round up as many mages as we can before they get burned at the stake... We are not always successful... We need funds, too..."

She paused, and Geralt felt a string of requests coming his way, for the old times' sake. Whatever his personal feelings, he would help, of course. But he had a job of his own, too.

"I hear you met Ciri," he changed the subject. "I am tracking her."

"Oh, so you came here looking for her..!" Disappointment in Triss' voice was unmistakable. "Of course," she caught herself. "Yes, Ciri was in Novigrad. She asked Dandelion for help! Dandelion! Of all people!" Triss was outraged and amused all at once. "And of course he messed it up! Royally! As only Dandelion can!!"

"Ugh..." Geralt shook his head - of course it was up to him to sort it out. "But where is she now?"

"I have no idea," Triss smiled, putting her arm around Geralt's shoulders. "She's got powers, you know, she could be literally anywhere, on any world. I have no idea how you could possibly track her down."

"Don't start," Geralt looked at Triss sideways, gently taking her hand off his shoulder. "I'll help you of course. I'm obviously staying in Novigrad for a while. Ciri must have left clues behind, I'll need to examine every scrap. We'll get Dandelion out of his fix and we'll get your mage friends on that ship. None of you can stay here."

"Geralt..." Triss started saying something, then stopped. It was too late.

...

A month later Triss was finally boarding a ship. They gathered as many mages as they could, but many still perished. Geralt and a few others were seeing them off, it was the middle of the night and the ship was docked at a sewer exit - smuggling mages out of Novigrad carried a death sentence.

"Are you just going to let her go?" One of Geralt's new acquaintances was looking at Triss with amasement. "She loves you!"

"Yes," Geralt nodded, also looking at Triss helping others board the ship, keeping her back turned to him. "I know. But I love another."

Triss turned to look at him one last time, no longer hiding her tears, then boarded the ship herself. They sailed without delay.

[macole]

Sad to see the dark light of the Church of Holy Flame cover Novigrad. Thankfully, Triss was able to find a ship out.

[Lena Wolf]

Sad to see the dark light of the Church of Holy Flame cover Novigrad. Thankfully, Triss was able to find a ship out.

Yes, Novigrad looked rather grim. I must say that I never enjoyed that part of the game - that's too grim for my taste. Yeah, it's what witch hunts were like in real life... But this is a video game. If I wanted real life, I could just read the news.

Anyway, yes, Triss gets saved, but only just. Others are not so fortunate. I think the actual name of the church in question is the Church of Eternal Fire... hmm... rather suggestive, that. There are several variations of the name, I think, all revolving about the all-consuming fire that is supposedly good for your soul.

[Lena Wolf]

23 Hearthfire, 4E195 - The djinn

Geralt's search for Ciri in Novigrad once again led him nowhere. Yes, she had been there before but she was now gone, vanished without a trace. Geralt's only consolation was that his time wasn't wasted as he helped Triss escape the danger of being burned at the stake. Together with a group of similarly fated mages she sailed away, to Kovir or elsewhere, to a place relatively safe and free from witch hunts and persecution.

Having seen off Triss, Geralt focused on tracking Ciri once more. There were no further clues for him to examine in Novigrad, and so it was time to sail to the Skellige Isles where Yennefer was investigating the remnants of an unusual magical explosion that she believed had everything to do with Ciri.

"Finally," Geralt was thinking, watching the waves. "She was so tense last time we met... Let's hope she's in better spirits now."

It wasn't hard to find Yennefer on the Skellige Isles, she wasn't hiding and wasn't trying to avoid Geralt in any way, and he was relieved to see that she seemed calmer and more relaxed. Yet they had a job to do, and she was focused on it and not ready to talk about their private affairs. Again, Geralt had to wait.

Then, quite suddenly, Yennefer went right to the core of the matter.

"Our connection came to be because you asked the djinn to bind your life to mine," she said without a preamble. "It's been a turbulent twenty years. Is there still a topic left that we haven't quarreled about? I can't think of any."

"Does it mean we are done quarreling?" Geralt smiled.

"Probably not," Yennefer shook her locks, smiling in return. "But the more important question is this: do we have feelings towards each other that are our own? Or is it all just the curse of that djinn?"

"I love you," Geralt wasn't taking any chances. "But yes, I would also like to know where this feeling sits. You have a plan, I take it?" Yennefer would have never brought it up if she didn't have a plan.

"Yes," she nodded. "I am glad you also want to find out. I located that pot... the one that used to house the djinn... It is actually exactly where we left it, more or less - on one of these islands. The magic responded to my search spells when I was looking for Ciri," she added. "We have to go there anyway..."

"Let's go tomorrow," Geralt nodded.

"But just in case it will all vanish tomorrow..." Yennefer put her hands on Geralt's shoulders. "I still love you today."

...

The next morning they got up late, and it was morning no longer. Yet there were still enough hours of daylight left to take a boat and sail to the other island.

"Why did you stay away so long?" Yennefer was walking slowly, as if suddenly becoming reluctant to confront the djinn.

"I had amnesia..." Geralt stopped, looking at her. "Surely, you know. Letho told me you too had amnesia after the Wild Hunt."

"Of course," she nodded. "But as soon as we got to Vizima, the mages there made me a memory potion, and amnesia was cleared in minutes. Any mage can brew it, and you had Triss with you all that time... unless..." A sudden realisation cast a shadow on Yennefer's face. "But she is my dear friend!"

"She never offered me a memory potion and I didn't know it even existed," Geralt froze too. That was one detail he wasn't aware of. Triss had deliberately withheld her help. She knew what to do and didn't do it.

"So you had to wait for the amnesia to wear off on its own..." Yennefer's face softened, her mood had visibly improved. "Oh my gosh..."

"Come, let's get that djinn," Geralt said decisively after a suitably long kiss. "I want to get it over with."

...

The djinn wasn't playing nice. Once released from the pot, he was ready to blow up everything to smithereens, the pot included, and especially the pot. This was one djinn who didn't want to go back. But this time Yennefer came prepared. Her plan was to make the djinn lift the enchantment that bound her and Geralt together, then to send the djinn back into the pot with an old spell she found in a dusty tome. The snag was that the djinn wasn't cooperating.

"We have to weaken him so he could be trapped!" She shouted to Geralt over the deafening noise of explosions that the djinn was setting off all around them. "Use your silver sword!"

"I was just going to knock him out with a spoon, actually," Geralt scolded. "What do you think this is?!" He was swinging his silver sword wildly left and right but the djinn seemed to always be on the other side of him.

"He's teleporting!" Yennefer noticed.

"Moondust bomb!"

"NOOOOO!!" Yennefer screamed with such urgency that Geralt froze for a moment, then mentally slapped his forehead.

"Of course not," he pulled out a different bomb. "Sorry, dear... Forgot that it would disrupt your magic as well. Let's try Dragonbreath instead."

He tossed a bomb in the general direction of the djinn and prepared to cast a sign.

"Stand back!" He motioned Yennefer to get in cover. She raised an eyebrow but obeyed. Geralt threw a fireball. The whole room in front of them exploded into flames, and in the center of it stood the djinn, untouched in his shielding sphere. "Now!" Geralt readied another sign, motioning Yennefer to do her bit.

An ear-splitting bang of a shooting lightning was probably heard all the way to Novigrad, but the djinn's shielding sphere still held.

"Again!" Geralt pulled out another bomb ("NOT moondust," he reminded himself). Yennefer shot another bolt of lightning at the djinn and Geralt tossed the bomb at him a split second later. "And now - Yrden!"

A stiff figure of the djinn was floating inside a circle of purple bars raised by the magic trap. Yennefer's lightning had finally breached his shielding sphere, and Geralt's Samum bomb froze him solid before he could cast another. Then Yrden, the magical trap, confined him in place.

"Admavoy Ye Arctavoy Balangua!" Yennefer addressed the djinn in ancient Ayleidoon. "Hear and Know my Power!" The djinn was still quite stiff from the Samum bomb, but he turned to look at her. The words seemed to bind him stronger than any trap. "Admavoy Ye Epevoy!"

"Hear and Speak, of course," Geralt was watching the djinn, his sword at the ready.

"Abagaianye Ehlno," the djinn smirked, watching Geralt's sword out of the corner of his eye. "A na Nenagai."

"You may not fear us mortals due to your own immortality, but I bet you don't want to go back into that pot!" Geralt hissed mostly to himself, leaving Yennefer to converse with the djinn. The djinn seemed to have heard him though and frowned.

"You placed an enchantment linking our fates," Yennefer addressed the djinn in an official tone. "We wish you to unbind that enchantment."

"It wasn't your wish," the djinn answered flatly. "Only the one who made it, can ask for it to be undone."

"I wish it undone," Geralt said firmly and his heart skipped a beat. That was it.

"No." The djinn turned to him. "I won't do it."

"What?!" Yennefer was taken aback. Djinns were not supposed to refuse wishes.

"What do you want in return?" Geralt squinted - he thought he had an idea where it was going.

"I want to be free," the djinn looked at them in turn. "No more pots." He glared at the pot that served as his prison with unimaginable contempt. "I want that pot destroyed!" He exclaimed flying into a rage, then calming down just as suddenly. "You are a sorceress," he seemed to pierce Yennefer with his gaze. "Destroy that pot and I shall unbind you two."

Yennefer seemed to be hesitating, but Geralt knew just how treacherous djinns could be, and also how fickle... He dared not to interfere and hoped that Yennefer knew what she was doing... "Do not destroy the pot!" It was all he could do but to keep repeating it in his head.

"Well, may be," Yennefer said slowly. "But you have to unbind us first, and then I shall destroy the pot."

"No." The djinn folded his arms.

"Alright," Yennefer folded hers. "Then I am just going to make three easy wishes that you are bound to fulfil, and you'll be back in that pot before you know it. I wish..."

"Alright, alright!!" The djinn shouted over her words. "Moraga!" He uttered the word, snapped his fingers, there was a pop and a flash... "There, your bonds are broken," he smiled contentedly. "Now destroy that pot!"

"As you wish," Yennefer nodded, turned to the pot and cast a spell.

...

When the debris finally settled, Geralt looked around the room searching for the djinn, but couldn't see him anywhere. The pot however was still sitting in the corner, shaking slightly.

"You sent him back into the pot," he grinned. "Never trust a djinn."

"Or a sorceress and a witcher," Yennefer grinned back. "Let's sit down for a moment."

They hadn't realised just how long it took them to handle that djinn. They'd been at it all night, and the sun was just about to rise from the waters. They sat down on some crates looking out into the sea.

"Did he really lift the enchantment?" Geralt looked at Yennefer sideways. "I don't feel any different. How long until it kicks in?"

"I have no idea," Yennefer shrugged. "I feel the same too." She smiled and rested her head on Geralt's shoulder. "I never found any mention of such an enchantment in any book what-so-ever... strange..."

"Djinns have powerful magic of their own though," Geralt was stroking her hair. "It may not be in a book..."

"Time will tell, I guess..."

...

It was late afternoon when Geralt and Yennefer returned to the inn on the main island. They would resume their search for Ciri in the morning, shifting matters of the heart into the background. It had been a perfect day - a day without a single quarrel. Perhaps the djinn had done something after all.

"Mathmeldi! Jorane dena... Auran hame, El Djinn!" The djinn smirked to himself, lamenting his renewed incarceration. "Moraga... Foolish mortals... there is no spell to bind two fates together... but we're even now, as they do not know this..."

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Feb 1 2024, 11:49 AM

[Lena Wolf]

20 Frostfall, 4E195 - Brothers in arms

Geralt's search for Ciri took him back to Velen. The swamps held the answer, it seemed. Once again he trudged through the mud and fought hordes of drowners and ghouls feasting on the bodies of the fallen soldiers, now heavily decomposed. But with all the dirt and gore, he preferred it to the pyres of Novigrad.

He took a request from a notice board to clear out monsters from an ancestral home - an old estate deep in the woods. Arriving there, Geralt found no monsters, but traps, skillfully arranged around the perimeter. Someone did not wish to be disturbed. Geralt proceeded with caution.

It could have been anyone hiding there, a deserter, a bandit, but something about those traps seemed familiar... "Letho," Geralt smirked to himself, remembering those months that they spent together tracking the Wild Hunt. This time, Geralt recalled it all. He straightened up, careful not to set off the traps, but no longer weary to be shot in the back either.

"Finally! That took you long enough," Letho grinned when Geralt spotted him. "That amnesia left traces, you know."

"What are you doing here?" Geralt looked around. "Expecting company, I see?"

"Ever since Loc Muinne, ever since your name got cleared, I have been the wanted man, for I am the kingslayer," Letho smirked. "But you know how that feels, I guess. I've been on the run, found this manor in the woods, overrun with monsters... a perfect hiding spot. How did you find me?"

"I wasn't looking for you. I am here to deal with the monsters," Geralt held up the notice. "The old lady needs to have a roof over her head."

"Well, remember me when you collect the pay," Letho clicked his tongue at the promise of a reward in the notice. "But someone sold me out. I've had a visit from the bounty hunters already, and expect another one any minute now. Want to stay for the games?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Geralt nodded, looking out the window. "Here they come. You've got a plan?"

"I always do," Letho grinned, leaping out of the window. "Improvise!"

...

"This cannot be the main course," Geralt was turning over one of the corpses with his boot. "Lightly armed and lightly armoured, although this is professional gear. These are no bandits."

"A scouting party, probably," Letho nodded.  "I intend to take the dance to their boss. With a detour to the chap who sold me out. He should know where they are."

Geralt didn't wait for an invitation. Letho may not have needed backup against a lightly armed scouting party, but the main group would be a different matter altogether. These were professionals with a reputation to maintain.

...

Cutting down the bandits that took under their wing the person who sold out Letho's whereabouts, was a simple matter. The traitor was the last man standing, or rather crouching, trying to hold his abdomen together.

"But Letho, times are tough, there's a war on, don't you know? We fell on hard times... and the bounty hunters were paying good money for the information! It's nothing personal, I assure you!"

"Hmm... I see," Letho looked pensive. "That wound of yours needs bandages and a potion. I've got one in my saddlebags. Where are these bounty hunters?"

"In Lindvale," the traitor looked hopeful. "But it's a large group, be careful! And they are well armed!"

"And so I noticed, met a few of them already," Letho nodded. "Be seeing you." He turned and walked to his horse, mounted and waited for Geralt to follow.

"But my potion..?" The traitor cried after him.

"You crossed the wrong witcher!"

...

The group in Lindvale counted a dozen or more well armed and well armoured bounty hunters led by a famous character with a reputation to maintain. This group would not suffer defeat already because it would mean the end of their business. Geralt checked his chainmail.

"No, you stay here and don't interfere, no matter what happens," Letho said firmly. "I intend to put an end to these pursuites once and for all. Don't ruin it for me."

He walked to the barn that the bounty hunters made into living quarters and knocked on the door. A dozen of them came out, words were exchanged, a short swordplay followed. Half of the bounty hunters lay dead, but Letho too took a heavy wound and slumped to the ground. A moment later he was dead.

"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be," the leader smirked, looking down at Letho's corpse. "Let's cut off his head as proof."

"You don't need his head, all you need is his witcher medallion," Geralt approached them. "That's a lot easier to handle."

"And you are..?" The bounty hunter raised his Persian axe, eyeing Geralt. "Oh, I know - you are the previous kingslayer! But there's no bounty on your head any longer. Still, I won't mind chopping it off."

"Aha..." Geralt was still not drawing his sword. "Your dance with Letho lasted - what? - two minutes? If even that. And half of you are dead. How many of you will be left standing if you dance with me too?"

"Hmm... perhaps you're right. A medallion is easier to carry. The head will stink by the time we get to Vizima." The bounty hunter put away his axe and bent down for Letho's medallion. "There, he's all yours. We've got no use for his corpse."

...

"Thirty-six hours," Geralt checked the time when Letho finally opened his eyes. "That is a very dangerous poison, and you could still die. Got the antidote?"

"Saddlebags," Letho said with difficulty. He looked grey, like a corpse. His body started to bloat. "But now Letho the Kingslayer is dead, and I can stop walking on eggshells." He smiled, then thought of something. "I was half expecting you to interfere and spoil everything. How did you know?"

"Smelled it," Geralt smirked. "But I had to intervene after all. They wanted to cut off your head. Your plan wasn't fail-safe."

"Life is full of surprises," Letho smiled and lost conciousness.

...

The following morning Letho looked a lot better and was no longer in danger of dying.

"What are you going to do?" Geralt was getting ready to leave.

"Go South... or North... West perhaps... Lie low for a year or two. Then get back on the Path," Letho smiled. "I am still a witcher."

"Go to Kaer Morhen," Geralt said firmly.

"And be torn apart by your Wolf friends? I don't think so," Letho shook his head. The witcher schools of the Wolf and of the Viper were not on the best of terms.

"There are too few of us left to fight over it," Geralt insisted. "Tell them I sent you. They know we fought together. Lambert may complain, but Eskel and Vesemir will know better. They'll give you space. That fortress... well... it's big and empty."

"I know..." Letho mirrored Geralt's sadness. The School of the Viper was gone completely with only ruins left. At least Kaer Morhen still had walls. "Alright, you convinced me," he nodded. "See you around, Wolf."

...

A week or two later Geralt took another notice from a board. A dangerous beast appeared in the woods, and the village elders were looking for a witcher to take care of it. Interested, he went to see the elder.

The village was swimming in blood. There were corpses everywhere. Their wounds were deep, many were sliced in two. "No monster did this," Geralt looked grim. Then suddenly he heard a little voice from the bushes - a child. Trying not to frighten the child, he carefully approached the bush, and after some cajouling, a little girl crawled out. She told Geralt of the massacre that took place just the other day...

"The men attacked him," she was saying, still somewhat confused. "But why would they do that? He was a nice man, he came for his payment... But they attacked!"

"Are you sure?" Geralt was trying to calm her. "It must have been awful."

"Aye, that it was," she nodded. "But I am sure. They attacked. And then... so much blood..." She started crying and Geralt had to calm her again.

"And how did you survive?" He asked carefully when she stopped sobbing.

"I hid in the bushes... The man wasn't looking for me!" She exclaimed. "But mummy... and everyone else... they came out with knives and axes... they are all dead now..."

"That's bad business," Geralt had heard enough. "Do you have any other family? In another village perhaps? I'd take you there."

"My auntie! In Oreton."

It wasn't far, and a short time later Geralt was knocking on a door in Oreton. The folk had already heard of the disaster, and the girl's auntie looked at the child with pity.

"I'd take her in, but I got no money and too many mouths to feed as it is," she sighed. "So you might as well take her back."

"Back where?" Geralt couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Alright, how much?"

"Twenty crowns should do it," the woman smiled.

"Here."

He did not argue. He felt rage rising in him as well - the woman had no children, it was plain to see. For all that talk of "folk good and true", he saw none of that there. Still, the girl would be safe with her auntie, at least for a while.

Returning to the scene of the massacre, Geralt still wanted to find the witcher who did it, get to the bottom of what happened. He quickly spotted traces of blood, followed them and soon came to a clearing with a campfire burning. A witcher was waiting for him.

"Well, you found me," he said calmly. "What will it be?"

"What happened?"

"They promised me payment, I came to the elder in that barn, heard the door lock behind me, and there they were - came at me with pitchforks... They figured, they'd kill the witcher and keep the coin," he smirked. "It's always the same, but this was rather extreme. I snapped. The rest you know. Do what you will."

"Got any vodka left in that bottle?" Geralt sat down by the fire. "They call me the Butcher of Blaviken for a reason."

...

They talked about the life on the Path, the many ugly sides of people that they'd seen, the few kind and generous souls that they'd met. The other witchter told Geralt about his family, how he was given to the School of the Cat in thanks to the witcher who saved them from monsters. He was about Geralt's age - pushing hundred.

"My parents died years ago, when I was still young, but I had a sister... Used to come by whenever I was in the area," he said with a nostalgic smile. "She died some years back, an old woman... while I... well, you know how it is." He looked to be in his thirties. "I'm all alone now..."

"Such is a witcher's fate," Geralt nodded. "I've never had any family, was given to the school as an infant. But I have a sister now... it's strange... we were separated at birth..."

"And she still lives?" the other witcher looked up, surprised.

"She does... she... it's a curse, I think... a disease... something." Geralt was trying to recall what Lena explained about her form of vampirism. "Not sure I understand," he admitted. "She looks young... but she isn't."

"It doesn't matter," the other witcher shook his head.

"I guess not..." Geralt got up to leave. "Kaer Morhen. In case you change your mind. See you around, Cat."

...

The night was still and Geralt let Roach slow down, there was really no rush. He was on the road again, without a destination. He followed every lead in his search for Ciri, yet she seemed to have vanished into thin air. "Something that Ciri can very well do," he reflected. The whole enterprise of trying to find her seemed completely futile. Triss was right - she could be anywhere. On any world.

And yet there had to be something he overlooked... He had a feeling, he had dreams - Ciri used to appear in his dreams when she was in danger. That was years and years ago though, when she was just a child, his temporarily adopted daughter. Was she his daughter still? She had appeared in his dreams again, and he had to continue his search.

[macole]

The life of a Witcher can be hard and fraught with danger, at times.

[Lena Wolf]

The life of a Witcher can be hard and fraught with danger, at times.

That's an understatement of the century! When someone shouts "Monsters!!!", the witcher is the one running in the opposite direction of everyone else.

[Lena Wolf]

27 Frostfall, 4E195 - Uma

"Is this a monster?" A local baron in Velen pointed at a gnome that could pass for a severely malformed monkey, human or elf. "He is not violent and does not seem evil, he barely talks... But I can't help but feel there's a man inside that body."

"There's magic about him, no doubt..." Geralt squatted in front of the gnome. "It might be a curse... This does not seem to be his natural shape."

Upon hearing this, the gnome started jumping up and down, flailing his long arms and making joyful sounds... at least Geralt thought they were joyful, for it was really hard to tell.

"I think he agrees," the baron observed.

"What do you call him?"

"Uma."

"Uma?" Geralt looked up in surprise. "What kind of a name is that?"

"That's what he calls himself," the baron shrugged. "Or at least that's one of the few words that he managed to pronounce. I did try to ask his name when we just got him, see. That was his answer."

"Alright," Geralt turned to look at Uma again. "Uma it is."

Uma was the last lead that Geralt was following in his search for Ciri. A dead man on the Skellige Isles told him and Yennefer that a strangely malformed gnome was seen in the boat with Ciri just before Ciri vanished into thin air. A dead man told them... quite. They had found a witness, only to discover that he had been executed for cowardice, but he was the only man to have seen Ciri leave the island.

"A dead man can still be made to speak, as long as his brain and tongue are not too badly decomposed," Yennefer said in a low voice when everyone was out of earshot. Necromancy was a forbidden practice. "It won't sit well with your moral values though," she added with a sigh. "There will be a price to pay."

"Is there another way to find out what happened to Ciri? This is our last lead," Geralt frowned.

"He was the only witness," Yennefer shook her head. "And they executed him. I doubt he was such a coward either for letting her go. I don't think he had a choice or a say in the matter, but these folk will never believe that a young woman could simply snap her fingers and teleport to another world. But anyhow, he is dead, and there aren't many ways to interrogate a dead body."

"You are right, I don't like it already," Geralt frowned again, shaking his head. "But I also don't see another way... His spirit has departed - it would have been easier to talk to his wraith. But he must have been at peace... good for him, not good for us." He examined the corpse carefully, after they took it down from the branch it was hanging from. "Decomposition hasn't set in too deeply yet. What do you intend to do?"

"Reanimate his flesh," Yennefer was also examining the corpse. "The tongue looks to be in good condition, let's hope the brain is still fresh too... Oh, you are not going to like this at all."

"Let's get it over with," Geralt got up. "What do you need?"

"Bring me three gallbladder stones from virgin chickens, a toad that's been kissed by a prince and a young girl's used handkerchief... What do you think I need? I am no country witch," Yennefer smirked. "All I need is energy... lots of it... all of it, in fact..." She looked around at the trees of the ancient Freya's Garden where they were standing. "Such a pity... but perhaps these folk should not have turned their Freya's Garden into gallows to begin with. So be it... Hilyat Ehlno Ceynaril! Admavoy Ye Epevoy!"

A darkened sphere of energy gathered around Yennefer, a wind went through the trees. She drew it all in, then cast a bolt into the corpse. It jerked, and a hoarse distant voice replied: "I hear and obey..." Geralt shivered, his medallion was buzzing out of control. She was right, he didn't like it at all.

Yennefer asked the corpse several questions, trying to find out as quickly as possible what happened to Ciri. Matters were aggravated by the fact that the young man seemed to have fallen in love with Ciri, and all he wanted to talk about was how beautiful she was and how he wanted to make her happy... But time was short, and those were not the answers they were seeking. Yennefer had to renew her dark sphere of energy several times, the trees rustled again and again, the corpse's speech was getting more and more slurred... But in the end he did say what they needed to hear. Ciri had been on a boat with a strangely deformed gnome, that gnome seemed to cast a spell and Ciri vanished into thin air. The young man whose corpse was saying this, was later executed for cowardice because the villagers didn't believe him. They thought that Ciri had drowned and he hadn't jumped into the waters to her rescue.

"Autavoy Sepredia!" Yennefer closed the spell. The corpse slumped to the ground, she stumbled, but steadied herself. Her skin looked grey, her eyes turned white and her hair hung matted and lifeless around her shoulders. But she stood back, not letting Geralt touch her. "Not now! Stay away. This will pass. We have to leave." It was only then that Geralt had noticed dried brown leaves at their feet and dry, lifeless branches of the trees around them.

"What happened to the garden?" He asked with a gasp, a moment later realising that he already knew the answer.

"It died," Yennefer replied with a sigh. "Reanimation takes a lot of energy... I did say you woudn't approve."

"Let's go."

But before they could leave, the Keepers of the garden appeared, realising what happened to the trees. There was no end to their reproaches, but Yennefer was on her last legs and Geralt had had enough of it.

"None of it would have happened had you believed him in the first place and had you not turned your cherished garden into a garden of gallows!" He cut through the flood of reproaches from the Keepers. "What possessed you to hang people off the branches of your sacred trees? Or to worship a werewolf living in the cellar? It was you who was bringing villagers to him! Did you think I would not find out? You'll just have to plant a new garden and hope that Freya forgives you this time, although I don't see why she should!"

Stunned by this outburst, the Keepers did nothing to stop them, and Geralt and Yennefer left the now dead Freya's Garden, returning to the main island where they were staying. It took several days before Yennefer looked herself again - it wasn't just the garden that gave its life for those precious few words.

With a lead gained at such a high price, Geralt was not taking any chances. How many deformed gnomes could there be in the Northern Realms? Not that many, granted, but tracking one down was still no easy task. Finding Uma, however, was only the first step. He could not speak or write, and neither Yennefer nor anyone else could figure out how to communicate with him, although as soon as they tried, they realised that he had a lot to say. The curse was clearly meant to stop him from communicating.

"I order you to lift this curse!" The Emperor concluded, having examined Uma himself. "This man clearly holds the key to locating Ciri! Go to it."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Yennefer bowed. "As you command."

It was only when they left the Audience Chamber that she rolled her eyes at Geralt.

"He ordered us... Like this is going to make a difference," she smirked. "I don't know how to lift this curse yet. Do you?"

"No," Geralt was going over the various curses that he did know now to lift. "Nothing even comes close. What shall we do?"

"We'll take him to Kaer Morhen," Yennefer said suddenly.

"What? Why?"

"Kaer Morhen has a library... Yes, I know there isn't much left there, but I think it's worth a shot. With what I know already... I am certain we'll make it work," she said with a smile.

"You have a plan," Geralt squinted. "Something that I won't like, by the sound of things. What is it?"

"Well, it's not a full plan yet. It will depend on what is left at Kaer Morhen..." Yennefer was becoming evasive. She wouldn't say any more, and Geralt knew from experience that it was better to give up than to quarrel. For once, he gave up. He longed to return to Kaer Morhen anyway, so why not. Things would clear up eventually.

...

"I never wanted to be a witcher!" Lambert was his usual prickly self. He and Geralt had to get to the top of the mountain behind the Kaer Morhen main tower and get an amulet enchanted on the altar. That path went through several caves filled with monsters and trolls - you had to fight the monsters and talk to the trolls. Except the one troll that was too grumpy to talk to - you had to sneak past him. This was one of the final trials that young witchers had to take before graduating. But now that the school no longer had any pupils, Vesemir didn't mind for the grumpy troll to be killed if they couldn't sneak past it. "Remember Eric? The slim boy in my year..." Lambert sighed. "Of course you were already long out by then... that old Grumpy killed him!" Anger was rising in Lambert's voice and he readied his sword. "I want to give Grumpy what's coming to him! For Eric! For all the other boys that he'd killed!"

Geralt hesitated for a moment - the final trial, as well as all other trials, was there for a reason. A witcher who could not handle the "tame" monsters around Kaer Morhen, stood no chance in the wilds. But the relevance of it was now lost, and Lambert was breathing down his neck...

"All right, go for it!" Geralt readied his sword too. "You do it, I'll just watch your back."

...

"There. He will never kill another boy again," Lambert sheathed his sword with satisfaction. "You can negotiate with the other trolls if you like, I won't interfere."

Geralt nodded and said nothing. "He will never kill another boy again because we have no boys here to start with..." he thought with sadness. Then he realised that he never knew how Lambert was picked for the school and why he resented so much becoming a witcher. He was a very good witcher, too.

"What do you have against being a witcher?" Geralt asked. "You've always resented it, but why?"

"You don't know my story?" Lambert sounded surprised. "No, I guess you wouldn't, you were never teaching here. So I'll tell you. A witcher from this school saved my father from monsters, and in return he got took me for the school. That's a common enough practice and normally we don't complain. I was ten years old, I remember it well. But in my case, we were praying and hoping that my father would be killed... he used to beat my mother, he nearly killed her several times, he was always drunk and we never had any money. So one night he got drunk and walked right into a nest of nekkers... He would have been dead, were it not for that witcher! Of course the witcher could not have known, I do not blame him for that... But after I was taken to the school, my father killed my mother in a fit of drunken rage... and I wasn't there to save her."

"You were too young to save her anyway, Lambert," Geralt shook his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself for your mother's death. It is true that some are best left without aid, but we cannot know in advance, cannot choose... But you know all this, of course."

"I know! And I've done the same thing as that witcher countless times, no doubt!" Lambert exclaimed, his face contorted with pain. "It's the not being able to know who it is you are saving that gets to me! Which is the real monster - the necrophage or the human?"

"Now you see why folk think that witchers have no heart," Geralt said grimly.

"You must have done it too," Lambert was once again reliving his pain and his memories. "How do you deal with it?"

"You move on," Geralt answered softly. "You focus on the job, or else the next monster will kill you. You try not to slaughter the so-called innocents... if you can... you know I couldn't always stand back and watch."

"The Butcher of Blaviken," Lambert suddenly remembered. "I never made the connection... I knew, of course... but didn't realise... too focused on my own pain, I guess..."

"Don't worry about it," Geralt smiled at him. "We've all known each other for so long... There is no bad blood between us."

"There never was," Lambert agreed.

"So, what was it that Yennefer ordered?" Geralt changed the topic, resuming the walk towards their goal. "Enchant an amulet on the altar at the top? You got it still, I hope? We'll never survive her wrath if you lose it along the way!"

"Got it right here," Lambert grinned. "But isn't it the altar where we enchanted our witcher medallions? What is she planning, I wonder?"

They exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders, both agreeing that some things were best left unsaid until the very end.

[Lena Wolf]

27 Sun's Dusk, 4E195 - Cirilla

"Cirilla is not just another elf," Avallac'h looked at everyone in turn. "She is special."

"Ciri is not an elf," Geralt objected. He didn't care for Avallac'h's airs.

"She is not, and she is," Avallac'h inclined his head. "She is of Elder Blood, that predates humans and elves both. But elves predate humans, and thus..."

"Do not argue about technicalities," Yennefer put in. "We know that Ciri is special. Tell us something we don't know. Like where she is."

Avallac'h smiled at her impatience - or was it arrogance? - but answered the question.

"I sent her to the Isle of Mists," he smiled again at the blank stares he was getting. "It is a realm of its own, well hidden even from those versed in travelling among realms. The Wild Hunt won't find her there. At least, not so quickly."

"Was it the Wild Hunt that cursed you?" Geralt squinted, trying to piece things together. "When you were in Velen, in that ruin that Keira showed me?"

"Indeed."

"Why was Ciri looking for you?" Geralt distinctly didn't like Avallac'h.

"Cirilla is not just another elf," Avallac'h repeated. "Yes, it is important. She is a Source, meaning she has the power not only to travel between worlds, but to transform worlds, to destroy and to create. This power is far greater than any magic you can master here, as you well know." He looked at Yennefer saying this, and she nodded. There was no argument about that. "This power overwhelms Cirilla, she cannot handle it, as you have seen a few times when she was but a child." Avallac'h looked at Geralt this time, who knew exactly what he meant. Ciri had spent her childhood at Kaer Morhen with Vesemir training her, and at some point her powers started manifesting themselves. Some of the destruction in that fortress was Ciri's doing, not deliberate but accidental, when the power got out of control and overwhelmed her.

"We could not teach her how to control her power," Geralt sighed. "We tried to teach her to control her emotions instead, and that seemed to help."

"Indeed, it did," Avellac'h agreed. "It was the first step, but it wasn't enough. When Cirilla finally realised it, she came to me for help."

"Why you and how did she know where to go?" Geralt squinted again.

"Her grandmother left papers," Avallac'h shrugged. "Or perhaps it was an instinct, or both. Cirilla had been visiting our world since her powers manifested themselves. Our world is her home."

Geralt was about to object, but Yennefer touched his knee - don't. Or perhaps: not now. Geralt mentally settled on "later". The pressing issue of the moment was to find out how to get to the Isle of Mists.

"You cannot just go to the Isle of Mists unless I teleport you there," Avallac'h said, as if reading Geralt's mind. "I can see that you cannot wait but to find her, but have you considered what will happen then?" He frowned and looked at Geralt with reproach. "You will bring her here and the Wild Hunt will be upon you both, and she will die!" He raised his voice, underpinning the urgency of this statement. "She is not ready yet! She does not master her power! She will destroy herself, you and your whole world if the Wild Hunt confronts her!"

His voice was still ringing through the echos in the large central hall of Kaer Morhen. Everyone was stunned, not because this was something they hadn't thought of, but because it was the first time someone said it so directly. And everyone knew it was true.

"So what do you propose?" Geralt spoke much more calmly. "She cannot hide forever, already because the Wild Hunt will find her eventually, even on the Isle of Mists."

"The Wild Hunt will need to be confronted, indeed," Avallac'h nodded. "And Cirilla is the one who must defeat the King, even if she dies as well. There are many forces within the Wild Hunt, mages and warriors, and together they are invincible, even for Cirilla. But taken separately... ah, that is another story."

Avallac'h described in detail which forces comprised the Wild Hunt and how they could be defeated one by one. Each of those battles would be epic, each taking many lives and sacrifices.

"Cirilla must survive each of these battles in order to fight the last one, she must defeat the King, putting an end to the Wild Hunt once and for all," Avallac'h concluded. "She is your daughter, it is your responsibility to guide her and support her through all of this." He looked at Geralt, and Geralt sat up. "Whether she lives or dies, depends on you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I tried to train her to control her power, but she cannot do it yet. I stand ready to continue whenever possible, she knows how to reach me. Yes, it will mean using her power and alerting the Wild Hunt, but have no illusions - the Wild Hunt is watching you already. The moment you bring Cirilla from the Isle of the Mists, they will descend upon you, again and again. Refraining from using her powers will not hide her any longer. The game is on."

The evening was closing in, and the people sitting around the table in the central hall of Kaer Morhen watched normal life slip away with the last rays of sunlight. Suddenly earthly affairs, the wars among kingdoms, the regicide and even the witch hunts looked like child's play in comparison. The battles against the Wild Hunt were not to be won by armies but by a small group of witchers and sorceresses hiding in their midst the Source that was Cirilla. And in the end it was up to her.

...

The month that followed was as Avallac'h had foretold. As soon as Geralt brought Ciri from the Isle of Mists, the Wild Hunt was upon them, with mighty battles fought and enemies defeated, yet everyone felt as if they were wading against a constant stalemate. The Emperor wanted to see his daughter too - for Cirilla was his daughter by blood. The Emperor felt it was time for her to ascend to the throne, as soon as the Wild Hunt was dealt with. The Emperor was no fool and knew exactly what was at stake and just who his daughter was. It was the reason he made Geralt adopt her when she was a little girl, long before her powers had manifested themselves. He took on the role of a disinterested and absent father, but in fact Kaer Morhen prepared Cirilla for what was in store for her far better than a childhood at the palace could ever hope to do.

It was a long and arduous month, and Geralt was doing his best being a good father. He did not know what to do, he never had a father or a mother of his own. He struggled to understand which of Ciri's outbursts were just teenage moods and which went deeper and needed real consolation. She was prickly and easily offended, she was insecure and stubborn all at once. Yennefer was around much of the time, trying to offer a woman's touch, and it seemed to work... But with growing confidence in her abilities, Ciri's arrogance grew as well, and Geralt felt being pushed away by the child he cared for so deeply. She was not his daughter by blood, but she grew up as his daughter in every other respect... and yet not once did she call him "father".

Geralt must have been doing it right, however, as even Avallac'h noticed Ciri's progress, her improved mastery of her powers and emotions alike. He would have liked to train her further however... but time had run out. The final battle had to be fought and could be delayed no longer.

Avallac'h, Ciri and Geralt stood on top of a tower in a strange world, a space between world perhaps. Avallac'h opened a portal.

"This is it," he said solemnly. "When you step through this portal, the world will close upon you and you will have to battle the King of the Wild Hunt until he dies," he looked at Ciri searching. "Are you ready?"

"I am," Ciri straightened up.

"Be strong," Geralt looked at her and his heart skipped a beat. "If you want help..."

"No, Geralt," Ciri turned to the portal. "What do you know of saving worlds? You are but a witcher."

She gave them both a final look and stepped through the portal.