Heh, I swear I commented on this before, but it doesn't look like it. Anyway, I've been reading and liking this for about two months. Always excited to see where things will go. Hopefully Geralt will catch up soon. 8)
Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at the menacing man. She tried to move and adjust her position on the narrow log he had set her on. His hand gripped her shoulder, clenching it roughly The agony exploded into tiny ivory stars, causing her to whimper in pain. Thick clumps of her hair lay around the log Laelithra felt out of touch with reality as the blood dripped onto an emerald leaf slowly. The wound refused to heal.Beside them, the fire glowed crimson. Hanging by a wooden pole above the fire, amber liquid boiled in a metal container. She tried not to think about the single bone he placed in the pot followed by water. There was no vegetables or actual meat in the soup he was making. A hideous stench arose, surrounding the assassin and the little girl.The light illuminated his skin, making him appear to glow with malice. Slowly, his brown eyes constricted automatically into tiny slitted lines. While Geralt reminded her of a cat, the boy reminded her of a snake. It was what he and his order were: a lurking threat in the underbrush of the world. Once more, he made the needle pierce her shoulder, sinking deeply into the reddening flesh. He did not use any numbing plants and would grin when she whimpered in pain.The was no fight left in Laelithra. In fact, she slumped. She would straighten her back when she felt the tightening of his hand and the thick twine and broad needle would enter her shoulder. It felt like pieces of her flesh were being torn apart. Agony and distress threatened to tear her in twain. Yet, she could not lift her head to look at him.He did not speak. Instead, she could hear the steady rise and fall of his breath. As he crouched before her, his leather trousers creaked in protest. His thin lips spread into a sneer. She knew he enjoyed the fact that 'Coop' had wounded her, and the scar would mar her flesh. The man was sadistic like that. Once more, her body jerked as the twine passed through her skin. She sat limply with her hands dangling against the log. Her breath hissed out between her chapped lips, coming out in thin puffs. Laelithra did not respond to the pain. There was no amount of training that could make her ignore it. It was quite the opposite. Because of her condition, she could not feel the agony of the wounds. The jerking and hissing was her body's natural response to the torture the assassin was putting her through.His eyes flared again with each pass of the thick thread. As the skin of her shoulder pulled closed, he grinned with glee. Laelithra knew he hated to fix her wounds, and he was making himself enjoy it by trying to hurt her. The assassin sucked in his bottom lip. Teeth gleamed predatory as if he was a sharkWithin of her body, she shivered. This assassin repulsed the young girl. If she could move her body, she would have recoiled in disgust. Everything about him disgusted her. He gripped her face hard. Her stomach rolled as she could smell the stale liquor on his breath. With one final plunge of the needle and thick twine, the flesh of her shoulder was pulled tightly closed.After he clipped the twine, he stood up and walked away from her. He cursed loudly.With painful effort, she lifted her head and gazed at the assassin, illuminated by the fire.He bent over the pot, stirring it vigorously. His tunic and trousers made no sound as he moved, quickly. The agility reminded Laelithra of a feline. The assassin was proud, strong, and fast like a lion. Briefly, she watched the back of his short, blonde hair blowing in the wind. Muscles underneath the ebony tunic flexed. A grey sash waved in the breeze like a flag leading a warrior into battle.Despite her hatred, Laelithra was reminded of how appealing this boy was to her. She felt her heart race as she looked at him with child-like wonder. He was her tormentor. Many times would he beat her for not doing what she asked? It was the way of the type of man he was, so, she learned to behave and tried please him when he asked something of her. The assassin was apt not to be violent with her. Laelithra's spirit had been taken away by him.Yet, there was another side to him which she could not explain. He was different from the two witchers. While there was the harsh side to him, she could not ignore that other side. The assassin saved her from that man. Despite everything, he was her savior. His touch made her belly twist into knots. It tingled intensely. Of course, the touch reminded her of her father and Geralt. However, there was a difference in it. Sensations hummed wherever he grasped her, causing her to cry out on more than one occasion. Repulsion ate away at her for those thoughts. No amount of tingling sensations could convince her that the man was not the enemy.Once more, she dropped her head and placed her chin against her chest. It was becoming more difficult to keep her head up and focus on him. Starvation, thirst, and shock had made her vulnerable to the assassin's charms. She wished to be dead than to willingly aid the man and his order. For this reason, she refused food and water. Laelithra cringed deep within herself, imagining the things the boy's order wished to do to her and with her.The grass crunched softly, betraying the stalking predator's gait. She recognized the look in his methodical eyes, seeing it in the alpor's eyes as the creature tried to maim Geralt. He sought to harm and control her. Laelithra could feel the hatred and disgust rolling off of him in waves. It tried to reach for her, dragging her down to his level. Gracefully, he sat next to her on the log. His leather squeaked softly with the motion.As he clenched the top of her hair and jerked her head up hard, there was no sound of pain escaping her lips. Her eyes would not focus on him. Laelithra sat limply, breathing shallowly.Placing a wooden bowl between his legs, he scooped some liquid on the spoon. The amber liquid splashed against the sides of the spoon. Drops of the golden life-given liquid landed with thick plops on the grass and Laelithra's dirty dress. His eyes burned with rage. With a disgusted sigh, he pushed the spoon against her lips. “I do not see what the Mistress expects from you, but I know I will not allow you to affect my position in our Order,” he sneered, pressing the spoon hard against her lips.If he thought his words would force her to eat, he was sorely mistaken. She sucked her lips in, refusing to allow the spoon to enter her mouth. Her body quaked as he pressed the spoon against her mouth again. What was he going to do to her if she did not eat? Would he kill her? Laelithra did not think so because his mistress needed her. As long as she was needed, she would be useful to them. Why did they want her? What did they wish from her? The little girl did not understand or know.Several more times, the spoon pressed against her lips. Each time, she had the same reaction. Her lips would press together tightly. The greasy broth coated the outside of her mouth, chin, and cheeks. She would not help them. While he had broken her spirit, she would not be a willing slave to their demands. Laelithra would rather die before that happened.He was growing more frustrated with each try, growling profanity. She could hear his teeth grind together. His breaths came out in angry puffs. Immediately, he placed the spoon in the bowl. Drawing his brow in a thin line, he stared into her dark eyes. “If you do not eat or drink, I will hurt you,” he threatened, scowling.If she could have moved, she would have shied away from his hand. Her cheeks reddened significantly, coloring her pale skin. Embarrassment coursed through her veins, mixing with the tingling sensation of his hand. She hated him for the feelings he stirred in her heart. Laelithra hated him for making her afraid. Instantly, her chest clenched painfully.Again, he lifted the spoon to her lips. His eyes reflected his threat, magnifying the promise. He was silent.She looked away out of the corner of her dark eye. The other was swollen painfully. Laelithra could not see out of it. Shame spread throughout her as she opened her mouth. Immediately, the taste of salt, grease, and bits of fat caused her to gag harshly. It tried to slide down her throat, causing her to cough harshly. As the broth hit her stomach, it felt as if a rock hit her in the gut. Moaning softly, she tried not to vomit. Yet, the feeling was powerful. Bending over, she vomited a thick, yellow liquid. A putrid stench rose from the puddle.“Oh, the girl can't take her broth,” he scolded. His thin lips moved upwards in a sneer. The perverse boy was taking enjoyment from her discomfort and torture. Once more, he the spoon, and the girl swallowed the vile concoction.Laelithra refused to vomit again. She would not have him taking pleasure from her suffering. Silently, she called out to Geralt for help. Something inside of her told her he was coming after them. The witcher would see the assassin would be punished for his treatment of the young girl. “We shall travel straight through tomorrow. Then you will know what real pain is, girl,” he threatened again. Quickly, he poured more of the broth in her mouth, causing Laelithra to call out for Geralt, in her mind.
The clattering of stones woke the small girl. The dull, rhythmic sound of the horse's steps echoed through the sparse lands. Rocks clattered, ricocheting down the steep path. Coldness entered her and caused her to shiver. The feeling gripped her. Thick crimson marks circled her wrists. Her captor had forgone the binds which held her. She had no reason to escape. There was no fight left inside her. Laelithra was merely human, and she broke.Trees dotted the rocky landscape. Saplings rose from their rocky bed stretching their spindly arms towards the heavens. Clumps of grass dotted the rocky, brown road. The cold breeze swirled around them. Frigid air swirled the few flowers and leaves around the Roach's hooves. A steam of white mist from the brown, wide nostrils of the horse. She placed her steps carefully. It was as if the horse could sense where the weak spots on the trail were. The Roach would avoid them as much as possible. While Geralt purchased the horse for a bargain, she was actually a dark chestnut Percheron. Her dark eyes reflected the intelligence lurking within the creature. A Percheron horse took pride in their ability to carry heavy loads. Most often, her breed could be found working along aside individuals who were working a mine. Because their legs held massive power, the horses could carry large loads of material. In fact, it was when the witcher stumbled on a prospering mine when he purchased the Roach from a dwarf. The horse was his after a few gold coins were exchanged. It was one of the better bargains he had made.During her time with Geralt, the Roach had been a constant companion to him. While in the beginning of their travels he used a sign on her to calm her, she came to care for the witcher. He did not use Axii on her much anymore because she willingly accompanied him to places dwarfs, elves, and humans feared to tread. She was brave and foolish. The Roach resembled the personality of the young girl. Perhaps, it was why the White Wolf cared for Laelithra.At the top of the trail, the worn path disappeared into the immense opening of a cave. On both sides of the black entrance, tall, slender rocks jutted out of the ground. Each resembled a dragon's tang. Few spots of mushrooms grew between the craggy teeth. While summer winds blew in the forest below them, a cold wind swirled around them. Snow rested on the cracks of the cave, filling it like icing on a pastry. The snow draped across the branches of the few trees circling the cave. White powdered the ground, allowing the emerald green of grass to show in spots.The cold made Laelithra shiver involuntary. Her skin was exposed to the frigid temperatures, causing her to quake on the inside. Stains of her platinum hair fell around her. She had not eaten. True to his word, the assassin had hurt her. Her body burned with embarrassment. Laelithra could not look him in the eyes without remembering how he hurt her. The lesson was well learned. At supper, she had taken her first bite of the grey meat. Every day since, her physical strength returned by minuscule amounts. Yet, at what cost? Her spirit had diminished. Laelithra did not have the will to fight any of his aggression anymore. When he hit her, she laid there and took it. Laelithra did not have Geralt's resilience to handle any situation, nor did she have Viktor's tenacity to overcome her odds. She was just a normal girl, a little girl. At the present, she was afraid of dying in some cave with no-one, save a lonesome witcher, remembering her. With the exception of being raised by Viktor, she was a normal little girl. It was far from the truth. While she was human, she had seen too much of both of the witchers' ways. Laelithra could never be normal.“This is the the Mistress's domain,” the assassin remarked, icily. With his free arm, he motioned around him. “Here, she sees all. She knows all.”Laelithra's gaze settled on the man before her. She did not know who his Mistress was. During their short stay in the temple in Ellander, the witcher did not find any information of the cult in the tomes which dotted the library's floors and shelves. Apparently, this mistress employed both humans and monsters. Why would they join together and forget their differences? Things were not as clearly black and white as it looked. There had to be a reason why the two species co-existed, and Laelithra could not think of one good reason.Immediately, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. As the assassin and the Roach halted, her platinum hair swung rhythmically and brushed against her cheeks. In a way, she looked forward to going into the cave. She knew it would provide warmth. Once more, the cold breeze of the mountains ate at her bones. Laelithra huddled deep onto the worn saddle.He approached her, stalking towards her like a cat approaching its prey. It was exactly what she was to the man. She was his chance to rise in rank of the Arcani. In an organization like the Arcani, one backstabbed and fought to ascend ranks if they did not have the Lady's favor. If one was deemed unneeded, they were brutally killed to feed their maleficent sisters. The reason was rather simple, after all. The Arcani needed the best of their brothers and sisters. What were they planning, she thought to herself.His hands gripped her thin waist, pinching her skin between his arm-guards. The pain rushed up her waist. She cried out as she tried to move away from him. While she was used to the boy's sadistic nature, the pain was sudden and took her by surprise. He did not mean to hurt her. Of course, he loved the intake of air between her young lips. It was a thing he learned to love during their brief trek through the wilderness and mountain path. The sight of blood and pain excited the teenage boy. His gloves and arm-guards smelled like blood and leather. Those smells smells would frighten her later on in life.Closing her eyes tightly, she prayed to a goddess she did not believe in. If Melitele would see fit for her to be back in the camp with Geralt, she would return to the temple and train to be one of the priestesses. She wished to be with the witcher or her father. Since her father died, Geralt was the only one she had.Once more, she opened her eyes. Her gaze settled back on the assassin. As she bit the inside of her lip, he lifted her from the saddle and placed her on the ground. She could have run to get away from him or attempt to get one of his swords away from him. It was what her father would have done. Perhaps, she could have talked her way out of the situation. There were times she witnessed Geralt talk villagers down. Yet, she knew. The man was agile, and she could never hope to take one of his swords away from him. A person who was sadistic could not be talked down. He enjoyed one thing: hurting her.He pulled out his steel sword and glared at the Roach. The animal had ceased being useful. As he stood with his feet apart and brought the sword back, Laelithra knew what was coming next. It would happen to her if his Mistress did not find the young girl beneficial.Laelithra closed her eyes tightly. The young girl did not want to see what would come next. During her travels with Geralt, the Roach had became a companion to her too. She loved the horse like she loved all animals. To see what the assassin was going to do would haunt her until she died. The air beside her made a loud whooshing sound as his sword cut through it. She could feel the animal rear up against the brutal onslaught with a terrified neigh. The sound seemed to echo around her, buzzing deeply in her ears. A dull, wet thump landed beside her. It sent strains of her hair flying backwards in the sickening breeze. Wetness splashed over her cheeks and forehead, dripping down the angelic curves of her face.Immediately, the young girl forced her eyes open. Bile rose to her throat as she looked at the scene before her.The Roach lay on her side, her legs spasming as she attempted to get up. A deep gash stretched across her brown abdomen. Thick grey tubes slithered out of the wound, writhing like snakes. Steam rose from the intestines, causing a sweet smell to rise wafting through the air. Instantly, the horse let out another agonizing cry. Crimson pooled underneath the body, painting the ground like some ritual gone awry.Driven by an instinct she could not ignore, the young girl rushed the Roach. She bent down beside the dying animal. Laelithra had seen so much death in her life, but something about this death bothered her more. The Roach was not just a draft horse to her. Over the time Laelithra traveled with the animal, she became close to it. Swiftly, she brushed the strains of its mane out of its dimming eyes. “It will be over soon,” she said, reassuringly. One of the corners of the assassin's mouth lifted in a grin. Blood soaked his body, staining his armor and clothes red. He grabbed her arm, twisting it hard. “Get up. The Mistress will want to see you. You do not want to make her wait,” he murmured, fanatically. When she refused, he pulled hard and made her stand. A thin medallion rocked back and forth, peeking from his shirt. She recognized the ruby eyes set inside of a snarling wolf's head. Of course, she forgot about the medallion because her father had not shown it to her since she was two. Now, it swung around this man's neck. It was the only connection to her father's past. It was clear in her mind. The assassin acquired it after he murdered her father.Before they stepped into the engulfing darkness of the cave, she twisted her head to the side as far as she could. Her gaze could not leave the horse.“Do not worry. She will make a fine meal for Stigandr. He rarely enjoys a fresh kill.” The man smiled, showing his white, ivory teeth like a predator.Onward, they traveled into the swollen, unending darkness.
Chapter SevenBlackness enveloped them completely. She could not see before her. To her disgust, she had to reach out to feel the walls. They felt cold and hard. Maybe, the assassin was made of the stones from this cave. Laelithra would not doubt it. He was cruel to her on many occasions; hard and cold. Immediately, the assassin placed his arm around her shoulders. She felt the brush of his sash as it swayed against the worn, blood-stained cloth of her dress. With each movement of the plain material, dread grew in the young girl. It washed over her, coating her with its ebony, viscous substance. Her heart hammered in her chest as they journeyed into the bowels of the cave. As they walked further, her stomach twisted into knots. Bile and lunch threatened to overcome her. If she could even call what they had earlier lunch. To Laelithra, no man could cook a decent meal.When she traveled with her father, he would fix some version of sauerkraut. The yellow cabbage gave off a smell that reeked worse than when her father went tromping through sewers. It would rise and fall as if it was breathing. There was nothing she could have done about it. Sauerkraut was a traditional staple, and her father had insisted on it. One of the main reasons was the fermented cabbage kept while some of the other ingredients did not. Yet, the sauerkraut did not matter to her. He had made her eat herbs and mosses until those in his garden had begun to run out. She knew what followed the ingestion of those herbs. Diarrhea. Upset Stomach. Vomiting.On the other side, there was Geralt. Smiling, she remembered what kind of cook he was.The stars started to emerge from behind the mass of clouds overhead. One by one, they twinkled and reminded the young girl of the fireflies floating around the campfire. They illuminated Geralt, making him appear as a ghostly visage.He leaned against a stump, stretching out his legs. Slowly, he brought his finger up to the medallion and pushed it, causing the wolf's head to spin. The fire gleamed on the buckles and latches of his tall, leather boots and tight trousers and the rubied eyed wolf's head medallion.. Dark circles lined the underside of his eyes, wrinkling the flesh and scars. Geralt had not slept well since he had known Laelithra. It was beginning to show: her dreams in the light of day and night terrors in the blackness of night. She would never tell him what she dreamed or the cause of the hysteria. 'Make no mistake, child. He will die” was the only thing he could glean from her. Often, he would tell her it was just a dream before lapsing into silence while he held her. Laelithra had no reason not to believe it and would fall asleep in his arms.Tearing her gaze away from Geralt, she bent and picked up a wooden spoon. A cool spring breeze surrounded both of them in its welcoming embrace. It made her platinum hair flutter in the wind. Her dress clung to her, revealing the lanky twig-like legs. Slowly, she dipped the spoon into the pot above of the fire.The grey lump of glutenous broth seethed, spreading thin bubbles across its surface. Occasionally, bits of uniform ashen-colored meat would surface and rest atop of the ooze. It was not long until the viscous material would swallow the bits of heart once more. As the spoon penetrated, the broth quivered all around it.With a grunt of effort, she began to stir the liquid. It protested. Laelithra wondered if the broth was alive. Raising the spoon to her lips, she stared at the portions of meat and liquid. She grimaced. As the smell of rancid meat wafted to her, she fought down the urge to gag. Coughing, she could feel bits of their breakfast rise in her throat.Yet, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and tasted the witcher's fetid meal. Instantly, a wave of revulsion came over her. Her body's reaction to the food was harsh. Laelithra's stomach heaved at the sensations. The broth seemed to bite at her taste buds. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried not to throw up. “Ugh,” she moaned, calling out across the camp to Geralt.His fingers stopped in motion, causing the medallion to twirl. Over the amulet and embers of fire, his eyes sparkled with an emotion he often tried to hide. One of the corner of his mouth tried to pull itself up into a crooked, ugly smile. “What?” he asked, innocently.“This is...its...ugh,” she moaned again. “It's not good. It tastes like something that came out of the Roach's arse!”“How many times do I have to tell you not to swear?” he replied, seriously. His eyes did not harden as he spoke. “Cooking does not interest me like alchemy or creature lore. If I make the food, I don't care if it tastes good. I only care that it gives me what I need. If I wanted it to taste good, I would have someone else make it.”“You bought saffron, did you not?”He nodded his reply, quickly. Instantly, he went back to spinning the medallion.“Well, will you please hand me some and the bottle of that alcohol you always drink?” she asked, softly. At first, she thought he was going to refuse. Geralt of Rivia had her fetch things. It was part of her training. Then, she heard the creaking sound of leather in motion.Geralt walked to the little girl's side in a purposeful stride. He bent and gave her a few purple petaled flowers before taking the spoon.“I'm going to show you that food does not need to look, smell, and taste like some monster's corpse you sell for coin,” she quipped. Instantly, she saw the scowl appear on his face. For a brief moment, she wondered why he always frowned. She took the bottle of rye from him and dumped some into the pot."What are you doing?" he cried. Geralt snatched the bottle away from her and took a long pull from the bottle."I'm trying to thin out this....I don't even know what to call it. Stir."Instantly, Geralt started to stir it. The alcohol merged with the oozing broth. They converged, thinning out and becoming a smoother liquid. Still, there were lumps of the gelatinous substance. One by one, she picked the stamens of the dried herb out between the petals. As she was doing so, a smell released from the flowers. Laelithra could only be reminded of her father's barn. She dropped one of the stamens into the broth as Geralt continued to stir.“It's already starting to smell good,” he complimented. He took some of the broth and the spoon to his lips to taste it.“Stop!” she cried out, feigning concern. “Leave it alone, or you'll ruin it.” Next, she did something unlikely. Quickly, she reached up and slapped his hand away.Geralt stared at her for a long moment. His eyes widened in surprise. Gold wreathed in flame. Of course, he had never expected her to actually hit him. For a long moment, he surveyed the girl. Geralt's thin lips quivered as if anger was washing over him.Laelithra held his gaze with her own dark one. How was he going to react? The young girl did not know of any time he lost himself in anger and beat her. Yet, the fear of what other men had done reared itself.To the surprise of Laelithra, the male witcher started to chuckle. It was a dry sounding laugh, but it was special in its own way.The two looked silly, standing there with each other while the witcher laughed. Laelithra came up to his side, and he resembled a man that could be old enough to be her grandfather. Despite Laelithra forcing him to take her with him, the two co-existed and were somewhat happy.She was happy then, or she was happier than she was now. It was at that moment that she realized exactly what Geralt of Rivia was to her. He was her mentor and trainer. However, he was her friend. The assassin was not, and she feared him. Looking through the blackness, she watched his gleaming eyes nervously. They passed cavern after cavern. The two traveled deeper into the bowels of Laelithra's personal hell until they came to the center room. Three braziers lined each wall, casting an ominous glow. Thick lines of blood blanketed the walls, streaking down. Several had fingernails lodged in them as individuals tried to claw their way away from something. Strange colored stalactites hung low from the ceiling, shimmering silvery-red in the firelight. In the center, there was a throne carved from the living rock itself.A woman sat on the throne with her legs crossed. Long, ashen hair covered her exposed breasts, curving around her sides. Clear eyes stared out of smooth, grey flesh. Tiny fangs glistened in the flickering light. As she saw them, she rose. In her right hand, her clawed fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass filled with a thick, crimson liquid. It slithered from her movement as if it was alive. Ah, Brother. You have returned, and you have brought your quarry. This pleases me.The assassin dropped down to his knees in the presence of this woman. As he prostrated before her, his lips kissed the ground she walked on. He reminded Laelithra of an animal. Why doesn't he raise his eyes to her? She asked herself.Child of Viktor, I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. I am Ellarian Jhaer, and you- you will be very useful to me.Laelithra felt the creature lift one of her arms. The air rushed past her cheek, caressing it like a mother's touch. As the bruxa brought her clawed hand down, buzzing sounded in her ears. The light flashed behind her eyes.Blood. Terror. Darkness.
The blood roared in her ears. A thick, dull pain started thumping at the center of her head before arcing across her entire brain like chain-lightning moving across the clouds. Light flashed behind her eyes, sparking with each pulse of throbbing agony. She moved. As she wormed on the dirty, rocky floor, flames of distress seared into her ankles and wrists. When she moaned softly, she found she could barely open her mouth. Her bottom lip resembled a leech, swelling with blood. It stung as she whimpered, throbbing with an incessant, stabbing sensation. Dirt and tiny fragments of rock and bone ground into the wound on her lips, reopening the split. Laelithra tried to spit out the debris and blood that stuck to her tongue and to the inside of her mouth. It was a futile effort because she lay face down on the floor. Every time she spit, more of the dirt, rock, and bone would cling to her bloody lips. Blood dripped in rhythmic plops on the floor beneath her.She flipped onto her back. As her back hit the ground, a groan was pushed out of her lungs and quietly through her cracked, swollen lips. Her dirty hair soaked in the quarter sized puddles of blood on the floor. The platinum ends tinted red, and pieces of gore plastered strands of it together. Laelithra was laying next to the throne with her wrists and ankles bound by a thick, braided rope. Each strain of material cut deep within her ankles and wrists, making more of her blood rise to the surface. Plasma wet the twine. Beside her and the throne, a wooden table stood proudly. In the center, there was a silver tray with plump, violet and green grapes and a long, stemmed glass filled with a crimson liquid. Immediately, her stomach growled with hunger and revulsion. Because she had seen much in her young life, she knew the congealing liquid was blood.Sniffling drifted from the front of the room to her. It surrounded her, burning deeply into her thoughts. The sound triggered a deep, buried memory. As it washed over her like a wave, she tried to bring her hands up to cover her ears. Her stomach contracted in distress. Sticky strains of rope forbade the movement, and her wrists burned in agony as a result. The light from the braziers flickered, making skin and objects glow like rubies. Blood coated the walls in places, peeling off as it dried. It landed on the floor, adding to the small piles of blood flakes, bone chips, and strips of flesh that were already strewn about.“Stop being a baby!” a masculine voice boomed from the entrance of the stone room. “It is an honor to become one with the Mistress. You shall see, little brother.”Lifting up her head, she stared into the dark entrance of the room. Occasionally, sunlight would filter through cracks in the high ceiling. Particles of dust and ore floated in the beams of light. She tried to see who the man was talking to. The recognition hammered in her heart. Anger and fear mixed deep within her. She closed her eyes. Perhaps, the images would leave her if she refused to look at them.Opening her eyes, she refocused on the entrance of the cavernous room. Anxiety twisted her insides, making them feel like knotted ropes. Her stomach cramped and fluttered. She tried to ignore the feeling, to make it go away, but it stayed with her. The agony slammed into her chest like a battering ram. Once more, she squeezed her eyes shut. It was a possibility that the creature and the assassin had given her whatever was in the goblet the female monster was holding. Any number of herbs would make her hallucinate. Snapping her lips, she tried to taste what they had given her. A number of children would have reacted similarly. Once, she tried to find out what kind of ferns, mosses, and mushrooms her father fed her. Viktor locked those special herbs down in the cellar. Darkness ruled in that cellar, bathing all in its murkiness. Because Laelithra was a child, the herbs and mushrooms had to come from the forest and the cave's beyond her father's small cottage. One night, her father commanded her to run the trail passing through their woods and near the opening of the cave. Confidence flooded her veins as she was sure he gathered the plants there. Immediately, the young girl gathered all kinds of mushrooms: thick ones with wide caps, pale ones, and iridescent blue ones. Much later, sickness and fever spread like wildfire throughout her body. Her father caught the poisoning in time, giving her an antidote to the various mushrooms she ate. His kindness was followed by a cruel warning: do not ingest plants when she did not know their properties. For trying to find out the herbs and eating ones she had no knowledge of, he had beaten her mercilessly. Despite the barbaric practice, Viktor had taught her a valuable lesson. Laelithra would never again look for the strange herbs.As she licked her cracked, bloody lips, no distinct herbal taste sprang to her memory. Her lips stung, swelling to encompass most of the lower part of her face. She felt like someone punched her in her mouth. The young girl did not know how she injured her mouth. Once more, she smacked her lips. Tiny, sticky strains of ebony blood, dirt, and saliva stretched from her top lip to her bottom, making it appear like thin, gory spiderwebs.Forcing her eyes open, she stared at the entrance of the room again. The light angled down, creating a blue aura around the man. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and drew up to his full height. His chest huffed out, creating the illusion that he was bigger. To Laelithra, she found the masculine display queer. Although she did not realize it at the time, the men she knew in her life did not have to show such a display of prowess. Women approached Geralt and her father. Laelithra was too young to understand what the women wanted from the two witchers. Much later, she would learn.A movement caught her eyes, forcing her to concentrate through the blinding pain throbbing in her head. Surprise sucked the air from her body. Her eyes widened, and the pain caused a flash of light again. She knew it was no dream.The sunlight streamed down, making the boy's face seem eerily pale. She recognized the ebony livery with gold and white swirl and half-loop embroidering. Half loops swirled up his dark tunic, twisting around his collar. Two tiny scabbards rubbed against the dark legs of his trousers. A dark leather baldric raced up, crisscrossing the boy's chest. Unlike the man before him and the assassin who abducted her, the boy made no effort to hide the strips of thick leather. Several metals were attached to the black leather. Platinum, straight hair framed his face, swept forward, and stopped at chin-length. Haunting, clear eyes stared out of his fair face. The eyes were so familiar, but so different. He was on her mind since that terrible time those many years ago. For as long as she could remember, she would not forget the look in his eyes.His emerald eyes rounded in fear as his arms wrapped around her small waist. He shivered against her, shaking with fear and revulsion. She could feel him quake as if his entire body was made of loose, limp noodles. This was not an unusual experience for the boy. When their father came home drunk, when the old man with the strange eyes came to their home, or when they did not do their chores, he would shiver. Once he had wet himself because their father's horse licked his hair. Fear enveloped him on a daily basis. Because he was small and frightful, Laelithra had taken to calling him Hare, affectionately.Several times, she would wonder if they were indeed related. Their facial features, hair, and body builds were the same. Both were their mother's pride and joy. Even though Hare was born first by a few minutes, he was shorter than Laelithra. His size sent their father into wrath more times than not. Being very young, the girl protected her brother as best she could. Often, the two year old challenged the middled aged man and allowed him to take his rage at his wife and his son out on her. The monster beat her badly, causing two of her back teeth to break and lacerate her mouth. However, she rationalized it by thinking the things she did kept Hare safe.Yet, she could no longer keep him safe. Laelithra tightened her grip around him, holding him close to her chest. Most of the time, it calmed Hare down. The boy felt soothed by her presence and physical embraces. Using her free hand, she placed it on top of the boy's shoulder-length hair. Silky strains fell through her fingers as she pressed his head against her chest. “Don't look, Hare,” she murmured, calmly. Throughout it all, she muted the feelings coursing deep within her. Her emotions blocked her rational thinking. If she was going to save her brother and herself, she could not afford the luxury of grief. Hare experienced enough of it for them both. Thousands of mantras drifted their way through her thoughts, distracting in their simplicity. Several times, memories disturbed the flow of her mind. As Laelithra gazed around the room wildly, her wet eyes sparkled.Their father lay on his back. Blood spread from a wound to his back, reaching out in two triangular spheres. Soon, several thick spaces appeared in the thickening pool of blood. It spread, giving her father immense demonic wings. A monster in life. A monster in death. The irony was not lost on the little girl. Charred flesh and muscle sizzled on the gleaming, blackening bone. Fire engulfed the right side of his face completely,feeding itself as it reached for his hair and leather clothing. Presently, thick smoke rose from the carcass. She recognized the smell, as it accompanied her father's work as if he had left leather tanning over an open flame. Both of the children were nauseous. Laelithra tried not to gag. Her father's abuse taught her to not show any weakness. Many smells did not bother her. She would clean the feces from the horses in the barn and vomit and urine from the places her father stumbled home drunk. He would proceed to curse the gods for producing an heir that acted more like a little girl than a man and a daughter who acted like a little boy.One of his eyeballs popped with a soft, wet squish. Clear fluid cascaded in an arc, landing in a small spot in a blood pool on the floor. The sweet smell of incense hung in the air. It twisted, intertwining with the sour and sweet smell of cooked blood. Even when she could not remember, the smell of incense and blood would turn her stomach.Beside her, Hare quivered and whined. He shook with fear and revulsion. Hare reacted like any toddler would in his situation. He was frightened, and she tried to comfort him. Even at such a tender age, Laelithra was uncomfortable showing her emotions. Her father beat them out of her. It would take another damaged soul eighteen years to repair the lasting damage wrought by her childhood. Closing her eyes, she could hear his sharp, frantic breathing.A part of her resented her brother. He was the oldest. Hare should have been the one comforting her. Once more, she opened her eyes and pressed his head more tightly into her flat chest. The young girl chastised herself silently because she knew Hare could not help the way he was no more than she could help the way she was. Emotionless. Flat. Uncaring. Guilty.A wheezing sound snapped her eyes to another body on the floor. She knew the woman. It was her mother's friend. Her lavish ivory robe turned crimson as the blood puddled from the deep wound to her stomach. Laelithra could see the long, grey intestines spill from the wound and roll over her side. They lay in a mass on the floor, soaking in their own fluids. Ebony, curly hair lay soaking in blood, springing tightly against the crown of her head and slender slope of her neck. She tried to pick up her guts and stuffed them back into the open wound. Yet, it was to no avail. Tumbling between her hands, they slipped from her grasp.Hare continued to sob within her chest.Shuffling sounded on the porch. It reminded Laelithra that they were not alone. Earlier that day, the man with strange eyes barged in during dinner. With fear, she and Hare watched him savagely murder them all. A part of her felt anguish over what he did to her father and her mother's friend. For the first time since she had seen what his razor-sharp sword could do, she shivered. Would he finish what he started?As the noise on the porch sounded nearer, Hare's eyes widened. She could read the terror deep in his gaze. While she tried to deny her own, it coated her insides like a black sludge. In the end, the child was a defenseless, scared, little girl.Suddenly, the door swung wide open and crashed into the wall with a loud thump. Bright sunlight filtered into the room. The blood on the floor shined crimson, reflecting the bodies laying on top of it. Sweet scent of June flowers-flowers their mother had planted early that season-wafted into the room. June Flowers. With anguish, Laelithra realized they would never grow there again. No one would plant them, and no one would care for them. Her mother's work would be forever gone.The strange man she would later call Father stood framed against the door. His long, ivory ponytail rested on his right shoulder, traveling down to the middle of his breast. Wrinkles creased the corners of his clear, slitted eyes and betrayed his age. Thin lips scowled. Blood smeared on his dark jerkin and white linen shirt. It dotted several of the bottles of elixir strapped to the baldric crisscrossing his chest. “Both of you will come with me now,” he growled, softly. His voice sounded metallic as if it was made from the very ore of the planet.Whether it was bravado, the tiny wisp of a child stood up and stepped before Hare. She would protect him from the man. Crossing her arms, she glared at him. Neither child said a word.“Gather supplies both of you think you will need. We will leave Rivia behind us tonight.”“I am not going anywhere with you,” Hare squeaked from behind her. Laelithra did not need to see his eyes to know his fear. His voice was thick enough with it.Viktor did not utter a word. Instead, he strolled to them in slow, deliberate steps. The young girl knew he meant to frightened them into submission. After all, it was what most men did. He reached his hand up and gripped the leather-wrapped hilt of a sharp sword. Quicker than she thought possible, the blade leaped into his waiting hand. Laelithra shivered as he continued to walk towards them. She remembered the way the fire gleamed off of it as the blade sank deep within the stomach of the woman gasping like a fish on the floor. Her father was a tanner before his death. The young girl remembered all the knifes he had worked with. Once, she had cut herself on the blade. Yet, Viktor's sword was sharper than any her father used in his craft.As he passed the woman writhing in her blood on the floor, she continued to try to stuff her entrails back into the wound caused by his weapon. The bundle lay thick in her arms, twisting as if it were snakes. Her mouth would widen in soundless gasps. Laelithra used to think death was a pretty thing. Most of the deceased she had seen had died in their sleep. They looked at peace with themselves and the world around them. Yet, the woman was different. No one writhed like the woman on the floor did. Her gasping reminded Laelithra of a fish on dry land. Lips circled in an eternal O-shape. One dying from a witcher's sword was a horrible thing to witness. It was a lesson that she would learn many times in her life.Instantly, Viktor flipped the handle of his weapon in his hand. The end of it pointed downward, towards the blood-soaked wooden floor and the crimson neck of the woman. With a slight thrust and no sound from him, he jammed the sword down. Her eyes bulged in pain. A loud, gurgling sound emitted from her. It sounded around the room, becoming one of those sounds that frightened Laelithra. As a loud popping sound erupted from the woman's neck, Laelithra forced herself to look. Instantly, the other woman stopped writhing on the floor. The intestines slid off of her side again as her hands went limp. Glassy eyes stared up into the cold, calculating eyes of the man. Viktor's sword was buried deep within the neck of the woman.Viktor did not stop a moment. Jerking the sword free, blood sprayed in the movement. He continued towards the children as if nothing had happened.“I will go with you,” she said in a voice she did not recognize. At the same time, she heard Hare cry out, “I will not. You killed pappa and momma's friend.”“You are both mine. As such, you will come with me.” The witcher should have known better than to force destiny by taking Hare with him. It would be a mistake that would haunt the boy, the girl, and the witcher for many years to come.Laelithra turned and stared into the eyes of Hare. They were round with terror.Once more, Laelithra blinked. Even as the images of the past faded away from her, she found herself staring into the eyes of Hare. She did not know when he had finished talking to the man from before or when he had approached her.He stood inches from her, glaring into her eyes. There was a different glow to them. Shyness and fear were gone from his stance and body. For a brief moment, they reminded her of the cold and penetrating gaze of Viktor. How could a child of five have such a gaze? Yet, she knew she did not have the answer to that. She and Hare had been separated for three years. Numerous scars dotted his face and neck. The most predominant one traveled from right beneath the young boy's eye to the corner of his mouth, making the flesh in a dark brown jagged line. Laelithra recognized the mark as one of the clawed fingers of the female creature. Sorrow hit her hard. “Why did he give me to them and keep you for himself?” the little boy, chirped. The tone was melodious, yet there was maliciousness around its edges. “Girls can not be what I am. They lack things.”“Hare?” she asked, quietly. Partly, she was silent because she did not want to call attention to herself to those around her. The other reason was because her throat and lips hurt when she talked. Laelithra felt like someone gripped her throat and clenched hard.“Hare? I suppose you called me Hare. You made fun of me. No, I am not that rodent. My name's Leviticus,” he snarled. The little girl had never seen her brother in such a fury. Their father would have been proud. She did not answer him. Instead, she felt the anxiety grow deep within her belly. Fear ate at her heart. Misery for her brother coiled around her soul. What did they do to him? He shook his head, causing his platinum hair to sway with the movement. Strains brushed along his cheekbone. “After Momma accepts me, my name's Dhudeith, the Black Flame.”“That thing is not momma,” the young girl protested.Leviticus balled his tiny hand into a fist, lifted it in the air, and punched her in the mouth. Agony roared in her face. If she was not injured, it would not have hurt as much as it did. Instead, blood flowed freely from her lips and landed with thick, solid plops on the dirt floor. She was left wondering what they did to her brother.
Chapter EightThe pungent smell of anise drifted to her, turning her stomach. It saturated the air. Sweet, smoky incense mixed with the licorice scent. Braziers cast off low crimson light, silhouetting textures and playing tricks on the mind. A cream colored mist blanketed the floor, billowing forth from a large, metal cauldron in the center of the room.At first, her eyes did not adjust well to the dimly lit room. Twisted naked flesh, both men and women, moved rhythmically in an orgy of sensations. Occasionally, a man or woman's spasmodic moan of “Jhaer” could be heard coming from the heap of pleasuring skin. Once, she had seen such a display of people in one of those special houses her father had entered sometimes. Her father would have her sit outside of the establishment of women until he returned. Hours would pass, and she could feel the danger lurking in every corner. Once, she had ventured in to fetch him. To her younger eyes, it looked as if her father was playing games that children played with a young maiden of the house of women. This heap of pleasure was different. A mechanical feeling washed over her.Laelithra shook her head, feeling light headed. Another vampire servant brought her another glass of the disgusting crimson wine. For some reason, their mistress felt it appropriate to keep the young girl in a drunken stupor. Was the vampire clan afraid of the training her father and the white-haired witcher had her undertake? The young girl could not deny her body had changed from the normal toddler frame. While her father was strict, the White-haired witcher was just as strict in his training. Their physical instructions left the young girl with a willow-thin shape. Muscles in her upper arm flexed as she forced herself to sit up straight. Thick leg muscles allowed her quick, precise movements.When her training with Geralt began, the first thing he did was go into town, purchased two wooden swords, and visited the seamstress. He told her it was impractical to spar in a dress. The fabric restricted her movements. She could not react as quickly as she needed in a defensive stance or charge in an aggressive sprint. Cloth held her back as it did not allow her to fully expend all of her energy. Plus, it would tear. With that in mind, he ordered two pairs of miniature leather pants and ivory burlap shirts for the small child. Of course, he purchased a few two beige house dresses for her. Everything he bought was practical and had a specific reason. Laelithra changed into the modest dresses after she was done training for the day. The young girl would not lose her femininity because she was training to protect herself in a hostile world. The witcher knew the chances of the young girl finding a nice family and marrying a nice man. Yet, he would not do anything to hinder that chance for Laelithra. The leather pants and shirts were only to be worn when training with him or by herself.The young girl thought back on Viktor's wisdom. He once told her that monsters would not wait for a woman to change their attire to attack. Ghouls, leshies, and vampires did not care if a woman was in pants or a gown. They were neutral when it came to victims. Yet, she did not question his advice until the white-haired witcher. Sleeves of a gown restricted the strength of a parry. Without power behind the parry, she found it harder to sweep across in a cut. Laelithra would never be as strong as a man, and any hindrance of the strength she had could spell death for her. Also, the lower part of the dress restricted speed. She could not shift into a pirouette without the dress straining against her legs. If it did not strain, the dress would billow out on the bottom as if the young girl was a backwards mushroom. An alp's claws could sink into the material, pulling the girl towards it. No amount of strength or agility could be used once the vampire had hold of the frock. Quickness was important for her dodging. Once she sparred with Geralt, she tripped over the hem of a dress when she went to avoid one of his sword blows. No, Viktor's advice was useless. The young girl understood that now.Her physical training was not the only thing the white-haired witcher devoted his time to. All the amount of strength in the world could not overcome someone stronger and faster than she. Plus, brute strength could only get one person so far. Yes, there was another side to his training. Geralt had begun to teach her to read, nourishing the intellectual side of the young girl. While he was not as learned as some of the sorceresses he bedded, he shared his knowledge with Laelithra. She never understood the reasons he undertook such a challenge. Perhaps, he did not want to see any woman taken advantage of. He could only protect her for so long. To give her knowledge about how the world really worked could only provide a boon for her. With the proper wisdom, there were situations she could retreat from without using force. After all, she was not learning to slaughter humans. A witcher, or even a human training in the ways of a witcher, was different from an assassin: a common street thug. Because she was smarter, quicker, and stronger than an average human but not as a witcher, Laelithra could not help but feel out of sorts. In the immense world with racism and rape, she did not know where she belonged. She trained to protect the innocent. It was what a witcher did. Even a girl being trained to be one did that. Yet, her protection was subjective. She would rid land of a monster for the right price. Laelithra would be a woman one day, and would one purchase the services of her? She could not ignore the danger that would come from working as one such as Geralt and Viktor. The young girl would not be as quick as they were. No, she would not fool herself. The speed of a fully mutated witcher dwarfed her own by a great size. She would die. Another thought hit her. If she was fully mutated, she would not be held hostage for plans unrevealed. Sorrow filled her soul instantly. Her spirit would not let her lay down and accept what was happening to her. Most of the training the two witchers gave her instilled her with a sense of survival. However, there was no hope of escape for her. Alps, cemetaurs, humans, and werewolves infested the cave, calling the stone prison home in devotion to their mistress. How could she hope to flee from them? Despair seeped into her soul, coating it in its black ooze. The emotions coursing through her fluttered from vile dejection at being abandoned to blissful acceptance that the witcher would come for her.Of course, she knew the witcher would not come. In reality, there was no reason why he would. She was not the one promised to him. The one who should rescue her, Viktor, died from the ones who held her captive. There was no hope. No shiny rainbow existed for Laelithra at the end of this dark tunnel of despondence. No, there was only Jhaer, the bruxa's cult, and the young girl's despair.Forcing her gaze from the writhing pile of flesh, she looked into the center of the room. About a hundred different creatures stood with their shoulders pulled back, looking towards an alter. An amalgam of human men and women, dwarfish men, elvish women, necrophages, and vampires squared their shoulders. Black robes hid their livery. Yet, the young girl could see the red and gold embroidery peeking out of the collar of the frock.The red and gold ebony uniform marked a member of the Arcani and their rank within the organization. A large speculation centered around the Arcani existence in the other world before they migrated during the Conjunction of Spheres. A person would find the meaning of the name Arcani and the stylized A in the home world of the very first leader. Even members of the Elite ranks did not know the intent of the name. The few who knew of the existence of the organization misunderstood the purpose. Although the Arcani sheltered both enchantresses and enchanters in their ranks, the organization had little to do with magic. Because of minimal knowledge on the organization, it was the reason Geralt had never heard of them.The men and women stood together in five straight lines. The low firelight illuminated their bodies. From the stance some took, the young girl knew several were skilled in the magical arts. In her short life, she had seen a small amount of sorceresses. Everyone of them acted the same way: pretentious, egotistical, and much like a frightened little girl. Being brought up the way she was, she could not understand why they acted like that. To her, sorceresses and magicians represented a life her father or she could not have. They could advise kings and afford expensive frocks. As often with other children, Laelithra felt a shot of envy course through her. Immediately, she thought back at her brief time with Geralt. Sorceresses certainly did not have rocks thrown at them. Even as she thought, she could imagine the pebbles being launched and scattered across the stone floor with pinging sounds. Why did he continue to offer his services to those people? She asked herself.I am pleased to offer each of you a special rank in our organization for recognition of your accomplishments. The words echoed through her mind, making her feel like she was drowning. Immediately, the voice caused Laelithra to focus on the creature in the center of the room. To her, it was obvious this was Jhaer: their leader and savior. She was the one each of them hailed as their True Mistress.The Arcani's commander was often chosen through strife. Several candidates were chosen to run a serious of tests. These tests included the sacrifice of some of the human and elvish followers, the grueling physical obstacle course through the woods and mountains, and the consumption of the previous leader's heart. The person at the top of the Arcani Hierarchy needed to be ruthless and physically fit. Then, the qualities of the previous master would pass to them. Only higher vampires lead the mixed diversity which made up the Arcani ranks. Even then, females never ascended in power.There was one exception: Ellarian Jhaer. Rumors of her ascension through the ranks of the Arcani ran from mild speculation to wild conjecture. Many believe she went to the previous Master's room under false pretenses, murdered him, and took the position by force. More believe she was the one always behind the Arcani. Jhaer always pulled the strings of the formal leader. Everyone believed she was the one true commander, prophesying a glorious new age. She would lead them. They would follow her without hesitation.Jhaer stood with her shoulders squared before a stone altar. An ivory, strapless gown clung to her tiny curves. Ashen hair swept forward, covering her clear eyes. Her tiny feet hid in the smoky mist covering the floor. She stared at the collection of humanoids before her. A mixture of admiration and revulsion slept inside of her unblinking gaze. The young girl knew those two emotions could not possibly coexist in a being's body. Yet, here it was in this creature's. Immediately, the bruxa's gaze sought someone in the mass of faces. Step forward, Brother Veloeglaeddy.None of Her followers could resist her commands. They ate at the will power of her victims. This was more vindictive than what any other monster could do. A man in the service of Jhaer had dual occupations. One, they were chosen as her lover. Being the favorite mate of the bruxa was a death sentence. She was not a gentle woman. Most of her tastes bordered on the obscene. Two, they were her thugs. They would do her bidding, terminating any who poised a threat to the vampire or her glorious new age. And, they would be rewarded handsomely for it.A man stepped forward as the others behind him started to chant. The sound surrounding him, reverberating off of the cavern's immense stone walls. With each pitch in tone, he took a step forward. His steps were quick and precise, hiding his powerful feline-like reflexes. When the rhythmic song crested, the boy fell to his knees on the ground before the altar. He extended his arms, lowering his palms to the rocky ground. Suddenly, a breeze of very cold air blew through the chamber. Blond hair fluttered in the breeze as the boy's hood was ripped from his head.Immediately, Laelithra recognized the boy as the one who abducted her from Geralt's campsite. She remembered the time spent when the assassin raced ahead of the white-haired witcher. He was sadistic and cruel. Because of him and other men, the very young girl would never enjoy the taste of childhood again. Laelithra was force to grow up before her time.
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SCOIA’ TAEL CLAN: THE EPIC
Officer KOUTSALOGO sat on a rock. He was tired as he has never been before. The battle has proven to be exhaustive and perilous beyond anything they have expected. He took a look on his frightener. The beast was feeding on a corpse with large mouthfuls. A few steps away YAGYU, the great clan sorcerer, was tending on DNL’s wounds with a skillfully administered spell. The leader had almost lost his life in the battle and if it wasn’t for the help of EMIEL REGISS, the oldest of his companions, he would probably have died under the axe of this cursed man, Colonel Sabor of the Order of the Flaming Rose who now lay dead, serving as the dinner for ZUZU’s frightener. KOUTSALOGO’s eyes took a look on the left side of the battlefield; ELOQUIR, the young and courageous Officer of the Scoia’tael Clan Guild, was organizing a proper burial for our dead, with the help of PRZEZNACZENIE, REKSIO, EMSI and BYSIOL. Further away, the tired soldiers and veterans have made a cycle around AVIS and ESKEL who were playing a game of dice poker. ‘They surely deserve more than that after such a battle’, he heard ED saying, approaching with his frightener.‘They surely do…’ said KOUTSALOGO and stood on his feet.Late that night, the whole Scoia’ tael Clan was feasting in the Old Narrakort Inn, each fighter saying his own stories from this morning’s battle. With blood stains all over their clothes and with their fiery eyes, there was no surprise that all the other customers of the Inn have fled to their homes once the Clan arrived.‘To our dead!’ shouted GERALCIK raising his cup.‘TO OUR DEAD’ shouted the whole Clan at once with fury, waking up the peaceful citizens of Vizima…Next morning, DNL had a terrible headache. It wasn’t the pain of his wounds that bothered him. Mostly it was the news that his old friend ASEEL has brought him. ASEEL has once been a member of the Clan but then moved on, forming his own tribe, the Order of the White Tiger. The two clans have remained on friendly terms all this time, helping each other, if not in battle, surely in informing each other about anything that went on in this rotten kingdom. ASEEL arrived late at night at DNL’s room in the Old Narrakort Inn.‘I came to bring you grievous news my friend’ he said. DNL rose from his bed, feeling an instant pain on his left shoulder.‘You have been framed. One of my friends in Vrihedd, IFAYRA, has informed me that a whole army of Flaming Rose members is being created at this very moment, aiming just to get on to you. They want revenge for yesterday’s defeat. They want your heads –all of you. You have to flee DNL, right at this moment’. DNL thanked him gratefully. It was so hard to find real friends at these deceitful times. When ASEEL left, DNL called out for the whole Clan. They had to go right now. But where should they hide? Where could a Clan of non-humans pass unnoticed?It was YAHU, the young sorcerer, who came up with the idea; ‘Dol Blathana’. Of course! Their natural habitat, the forest. That would be the safest place for them now. At least for a while…At least until the next battle…PART ONE: THE BATTLE AND THE HUNT
:evil:PART TWO: THE DOL BLATHANNA MASSACRE
Soldier LORD WEREWOLF of the Order of the White Tiger was having a hard time in the thick forests of Dol Blathanna. Mostly used in fighting and dueling in the city, the roughness of the country side was too much for him. Nevertheless he kept on going, determined to fulfill the important task he was given by his leader.‘You must hurry LORD WEREWOLF. Our friends must know they are in danger!’ ASEEL had told him, early the previous morning.So here he was, walking in the wilderness and trying to figure out how he was to find a clan of elves in their own land. ‘You can’t find an elf in the forest son, not if he doesn’t want to be found’, that’s what his grandfather used to tell him.Suddenly he heard a shrieking voice from inside the heavy trees on his left. He turned and there stood a wild frightener with glistening yellow eyes and blood on its’ teeth.LORD WEREWOLF was quick. He draw his sword and attacked the monster. His first blow cut the beast on its’ front leg but that didn’t stop it. Wild frighteners are tough bastards, armored with bones hard as rock. The frightener attacked back and with a mighty shriek that made LORD WEREWOLF’s ears bleed, threw him back. And at this very moment, when he thought that he would surely die, an enormous blaze set the beast on fire. Moments later it fell down with a thumb, dead and flaming.‘Get up’ he heard a voice. ‘I’ll take you to our encampment and heal your wounds there’ said YAGYU, the Scoia’tael Clan arch-sorcerer. A couple of hours later, LORD WEREWOLF was feeling better than ever. His ears were healed and he would bet that he had never been able to hear that clearly ever before in his whole life. ‘You were lucky our magician was there’ said DNL, the leader of Scoia’tael.‘Yes, I was’ replied LORD WEREWOLF.‘So?’ said DNL raising his right eyebrow. ‘What news are you bringing?’LORD WEREWOLF stood up. ‘The army of the Flaming Rose knows that you are in Dol Blathana. They are coming for you’.DNL closed his eyes for a while. He seemed to be thinking fast.‘How did they find out? Did ASEEL hear anything about it?’ he asked finally.‘It was BimBim, that treacherous little teddy bear’ said LORD WEREWOLF with disgust.‘Hmmm… well it doesn’t matter for now. We must get prepared and you should head back to Vizima. ASEEL will be worried about you. Remember to give him my greetings and my gratefulness for his help’ said the elf Leader and walked away.A few hours later the decision was made. They would stand their ground and fight. No more fleeing away for the elves. Not in their own homeland anyway…EREBOS and RUNG were working under the instructions of AVIS. The beautiful she-elf was a new member of their clan but has proven worthy and was granted the rank of Officer. She guided the warriors around the forest, setting traps all around the field from where the mercenaries of the Order of Flaming Rose were surely to enter the sacred forest of Dol Blathana. ‘They shall drown in their own blood before they even reach our camp’ murmured EMIEL REGISS. The old veteran had probably the greatest grudge against the mercenaries and their rotting leading priesthood. His whole family has been slaughtered by them, many years ago. That was the time he met DNL and became one of his first companions. From the old ones, it was just him and KOUTSALOGO that remained alive to this day. All the old ones have perished in battlefields and in dungeons, put into jails to rot, just because they were elves. Just because they wanted to be free.When all preparations were ready, the whole clan gathered in the middle of their camp. DNL looked at all of them with fire in his eyes. He spoke like thunder:‘We fight for our right to be who we are. We fight for our freedom. We fight for our dead companions and all the non-humans that suffer under the boot of this filthy priesthood and their pay-roll army. We fight to kill. Remember that when the time comes. For this time, it will not be as the last fight we had, months ago. This time they are coming in great numbers. They are a unique branch of mercenaries, trained specifically to fight against out tactics. Our main weapon is the forest. The ground we know so well. Once the traps have finished, those of them who have survived will fight to the death. So must we. And let none of your fellow warriors die undefended. Let not your own selves die in vain. Be careful, fast and strike only when you are certain to kill. Don’t risk anything. If the forest grants us its’ help, we shall prevail. LONG LIVE SCOIA”TAEL CLAN! LONG LIVE THE FREE!’ he shouted at last and the whole clan let out a cry of war. A cry for death and blood and pain upon our enemies…ZUZU came running from his post late at night.‘They are coming’ he shouted. All the Scoia’tael warriors took their positions. They were ready, but would that be enough?‘How many are they?’ asked KOUTSALOGO. ZUZU gave him a bothered look.‘Way too many’ he replied with a steady voice. And too many they were. Dozens of them armored to the teeth with the most expensive weapons in the whole kingdom. Mercenaries from Nilfgaard, thieves and bandits recruited from the slumbers of Vizima. ‘What a bunch of gentlemen’ murmured EMIEL sarcastically. DNL grinned, pulling out his sword.‘Be quiet now. Let them fall in our traps’ he whispered to his warriors. The first line of mercenaries entered the woods on a catwalk, looking intensely around, searching for any sign of elves. Their eyes were rolled upwards, towards the trees. Thus, they did not notice the thin elfish rope that was waiting stretched right in front of their legs. A soft hiss, that’s all they heard before an enormous piece of wood, full of metal spikes, came rushing from the ground and entering their flesh. The mercenaries at the back started shouting ‘Trap! Trap!’ They made a move backwards and on the fuss that followed their anxiety, none of them saw ESKEL who at the top of a great tree cut with his knife another rope. This time it was arrows. Hundreds of poisoned arrows set ready to fly towards the ground. Luck was on their side, on the side of the freedom fighters; most of the arrows found a target. Seconds later, at least half of the mercenaries were dying a slow, agonizing death of venom. Their blood was slowly but steadily turning into poison itself. A few moments and they would exhale their terminal breaths.But this army was well prepared, even for such a bad start. Lieutenant Gabor had personally trained the unit. His hate for the non-humans has been forged since his childhood, listening to the racist blubbering of his fat father, Colonel Burga. But now, after the killing of his older brother, the late Colonel Sabor, by this clan of elves and dwarves, he was more hateful than ever. He would kill them all, to their last offspring or he would die trying. ‘FORCE AHEAD!’ he shouted furiously. ‘Anyone who tries to flee this battleground I will have him eat his intestines!’ The mercenaries got his message for sure. The past few months he has proven his seriousness. They all started running forward into the woods, more fearful of their leader than any other trap these bloody elves might have set. At least ten of them fell on the leaf covered hole that would prove to be their tomb. Inside the hole, large spikes, magically electrified by YAGYU, fried them all instantly. The rest of the mercenaries kept on going forward, trying to forget about the horrible smell of the burned skin of their fellow soldiers. Lieutenant Gabor was running on a steady step right behind them. He managed to see ELOQUIR who came from the left, hammering down one of his soldiers, followed by elf and dwarf warriors.‘THERE!’ Gabor shouted. ‘They are attacking!’The mercenaries started fighting as best as they could, but the bad start they had in this exhibition and the fury of the non-humans, took a toll on them. Every time they killed one elf, they lost three of their companions in return. Nevertheless they kept on going, having no other exit out of this mess. No more than ten minutes later, they were all slaughtered, except of a handful of men, unable to move, with an elfish dagger pointed on their throats. Gabor lay wounded, gasping on his own blood. DNL came in front of him.‘Was it worth it?’ he asked. ‘Was your sick ideas about us worth this massacre?’'Fock off murderer!’ Gabor spit on the ground in front of the Elf Leader’s feet. ‘I am the murderer?’ asked DNL. ‘I, who fought only defending myself since the day I was born? No, you are the murderer…’‘You killed my brother!’ muttered Gabor.‘And now I am going to kill you’ said DNL and sliced the Lieutenant’s throat with his sword. He then turned his eyes towards the skies and the top of the great trees of Dol Blathana. He could feel it, the forest has helped them. Their own nature has helped them survive, once again.‘What about the other mercenaries?’ asked EMIEL REGISS. ‘Kill them’…Late at night the Scoia’ tael Clan sang a song for their dead, around a great fire in their camp. They would be here again, to fight for their freedom, one more day…Elves and dwarves stand side by sideFighting for their freedom and their prideAnd so do all the warriors of Scoia’ taelWith a fury that has been born in battle and in hell.For the Order must perishIf Dol Blathanna is to survive,If all that we cherish Is to be kept alive.So let it ring, that Freedom’s bell,It plays the tune of Scoia’ tael! :evil:
SCOIA’ TAEL CLAN: THE EPICPART THREE: GAMBLERS AND ASSASSINS
The Annual Festival of the town of Carreas, attracted visitors from all the cities and villages around the kingdom. It provided a chance not only for enjoyment and trade, but also for secret meetings and spy-work. Hence, though not known to the peaceful citizens and hard working merchants, it was the meeting place for all kinds of policy makers and shadow regulators of the state. Among the jugglers, there went the spies; among the honest traders, there went the thieves of high society; among the happy children, there went the darkest sorcerers.STANLEY SMITH has traveled for the past few days in order to get to Carreas at the right time. Having spent most of the summer on the Mahakam Mountains, training his frightener as best as he could, preparing the beast for the Annual Frighties Competition of Carreas that took place at the Festival, he was more than happy to meet civilization once again and have a descent cup of Mahakam mead. He got a room at the Horny Sorcereress Inn, known not only for its’ fine selection of wines and spirits but also for the beautiful prostitutes that it provided to its’ most wealthy customers. After he had a meal and a couple of bottles of wine, he decided to walk around for a while and enjoy the festivities. Hundreds of people have filled the roads of the small town. Merchants and fortune tellers, bards, jugglers and children laughing and running around. That was surely a change from the harsh life he had on the mountains for the past weeks. Suddenly he froze. Right in front of him, with a hideous grin on his scarred face, stood Dredo Morhan, one of the most despised spies in the kingdom –and one of the least known as well. Even long timers in the spy business haven’t ever heard about this man. But STANLEY SMITH knew him well. When he was a teenager, seeking fame and fortune, he was lured by this man’s words and accepted eagerly to join Morhan’s secret spy agency. It was not hard after all for such a mischievous man to trick an innocent, yet ambitious man into becoming what would prove to be more of an assassin than a spy. But STANLEY SMITH had a good heart. He wasn’t the kind of man that would kill someone simply because he was different. Not even for all the riches of the world. And that was exactly what Dredo Morhan’s party was up to; murdering innocent non-humans, just in order to create a turmoil in city life, just in order to send some more non-humans seeking for revenge and thus putting the fear of ‘non-human terrorists’ in the hearts of humans. STANLEY SMITH has spent enough time with this man to know that his bosses were no others than Kings and royalty, blinded by their greed for power. But he didn’t stay there too long. Not so much as to become an assassin himself. He escaped from the claws of this dark organization and never looked back. He captured and trained his frightener and has been earning his living since then by winning almost every single Frightener’s Competition there was around the kingdom. He was the best trainer and he was proud of it.But now this horrific ghost of his past was standing right in front of him, staring at STANLEY SMITH’s face, grinning viciously. ‘Hello STANLEY’ said Morhan, ‘long time, no see my friend’. He made a move to greet him. STANLEY SMITH stepped back. He wanted nothing to do with this man and he could clearly sense the threat underlying his old boss’s ‘kind’ words. He simply turned around and walked in the crowd as fast as he could, glancing over his shoulder every now and then, to make sure he wasn’t followed by the murderer. ‘I will check out now please’ said STANLEY to the startled Inn keeper. ‘But, Sir, you just arrived… your frightener is still feeding…’‘I WILL CHECK OUT NOW’ shouted STANLEY SMITH.No more than half an hour later he was already on his way, out of the town of Carreas, leading his huge Frightener from its’ leash. A soft grin lay on his lips and a purifying feeling in his heart. For before he left, he sent a message with a crow. A message to his old friend, ASEEL…ED and ESKEL were playing dice poker and that was all they actually did every single day since the Scoia’ tael Clan has arrived in small town of Ellander. Almost three months after the great Dol Blathanna massacre, DNL has decided that it was safe now for them to move on. Ellander has always been a town of free thinking people, who didn’t judge you in racial but only in personal terms. Hence it was the obvious choice for the Clan. There they could spend some peaceful time, recruit and be ready for the next time that the non-human community would need their support and their… daggers. ‘Oh, no, not again!’ shouted ED. ‘How can you get full house three times in a row? This is ridiculous!’ ESKEL kept smiling happily. ‘I told you I was gonna take your fine belt sooner or later’ he said self-graciously. ED murmured a curse and passed him his belt. ELOQUIR stepped into the room. The young Officer wasn’t really a gambling man. He preferred the thrill of a good boxing game rather than dice. ‘Come on comrades’ he said ‘DNL wants to talk to us’.They all moved to the great hall of the Singing Ghoul Inn, where the whole Clan has logged in, a few weeks ago. DNL was talking with KOUTSALOGO and AVIS, while YAGYU was resting on a sofa. The sorcerer seemed pretty bored the past few days. ZUZU and WHITE WOLF were listening closely to the leader. The rest of the Guild was there as well, waiting to hear the news.‘Well…’ KOUTSALOGO started saying ‘…ASEEL sent us news again. It seems he was informed that in the Festival of Carreas, there is one of the most powerful spies in the kingdom. A spy that controls a team of assassins. Assassins that murder elves and non-humans for the past twenty years. Of course this shall not pass. This crook must perish under an elfish sword. But as it would be a huge mistake to walk in the town of Carreas as a whole Clan, especially at the Festival time, when it is full of people and militia, we must decide who will go there and kill him’. ‘We need to send at least three of us’ continued DNL. ‘One to check out the premises while the other one is doing the action and one more to help out in case something goes ill. Who wants to slit this bastard’s throat?’Everyone looked eager, YAGYU even more than the rest. He had risen up from the sofa where he was lying all this time and it was obvious that he would be more than happy to finally get some action. The only one who didn’t seem too eager, was ESKEL. He kept on thinking that it was bad luck to stop playing with ED now that he was winning big time. He could surely use this beautiful and expensive ring that ED has looted out of a dead Colonel’s finger…‘So ESKEL is one’ said DNL, who knew that ESKEL had a passion with gambling and noticed him looking at ED’s silver ring. ‘ESKEL, you will be checking around. YAGYU will obviously die of boredom on this sofa if he doesn’t go, so he will be the one to help in case something goes wrong. If things get bad, you just burn the whole damn place down and come back here at once’ said DNL looking at YAGYU.‘And who will be the one to kill this murderer?’ asked AVIS.‘I guess that would have to be you’ said DNL. ‘I sent ZUZU at Carreas two days ago, to find where this man is staying and what he is doing. ZUZU observed that this son of a beach, whose name is Dredo Morhan, is staying at the Horny Sorceress Inn, with two of his assassins as bodyguards. It seems his main reason for attending the festival of Carreas is to sign in contracts for the winter. All kinds of royalty racists go to the festival every year just for this reason. That is something that if we have known before, would have saved many innocent elf lives. Nevertheless, better now than never…’ said DNL, lost in his thoughts. Having spent most of his life as a freedom fighter, he has never forgotten why he fights. And that was his people, the elven kind who were brutally murdered and oppressed by people like Dredo Morhan. He got out of his thoughts and looked intensely at AVIS.‘The reason why I am choosing you is that his bodyguards are well trained assassins. If we were to kill them too, we would have to send at least five of us and then we would surely draw attention. But Morhan has a weak point; he is a womanizer, that’s why he has preferred this brothel, the Horny Sorceress Inn, instead of the more luxurious Drunken Monk Inn. He spends his nights with the prostitutes of the Inn. So, you will become one of them. You will meddle with the rest of the women and attract his attention. I am more than sure that your elfish beauty will be much better than that of the prettiest human prostitute. Once you are alone in his room, you will kill him and flee from the window and then return here with ESKEL and YAGYU who will be waiting nearby, ready to help in any case. Is that clear? Is that alright?’ asked DNL.Officer AVIS bowed her head in approval of the plan. DNL didn’t have to ask. She was one of the most courageous and intelligent fighters the Elf people ever had. She was ready for anything.The next afternoon, the Annual Festival of Carreas was at its’ peak. The Annual Frighties Competition was coming to an end and in a few hours there would be a champion. This year, surprises have occurred. The former champion, STANLEY SMITH, has not showed up to participate. Some have said they saw him arriving and then leaving in haste. Whatever has happened, he has not signed in to the competition and now, after 26 fights, there were only two competitors left, seeking the grand prize and the Champion title; MROCZNA FURIA and ATHERION. The gamblers were putting their bets on who would win and the crowd was waiting anxiously in the Arena for the final countdown. Everyone’s attention was drawn there, to the center of the town, away from the Horny Sorceress Inn…ESKEL was standing on a shadowy corner, outside the Inn, looking carefully around, while YAGYU transformed magically AVIS’ ears to resemble human ones. ‘You shall pass as one of these filthy humans for a while my dear’ he said quietly, least someone would have overheard them. She entered the Inn. There were about ten prostitutes there, laughing and teasing a bunch of fat, old, yet obviously rich merchants. Having seen Dredo Morhan earlier that evening walking around the streets of Carreas with his bodyguards, it wasn’t difficult to spot him once again. The beautiful She-Elf walked towards him. She decided that he looked drunk enough. She would get straight into the point.With an elegant move she took his cup from his hand and pretended to drink, looking him straight in the eyes, full of promise.‘My Lord, will you make me happy tonight?’ she said to the old fart with a warm, deep voice. But Morhan was not that drunken after all. He looked at her suspiciously, yet grinning. His loins had obviously a mind of their own.‘How come I haven’t seen you again my little dove?’ he asked with a bit of sarcasm in his tone. ‘I’d surely remember a gorgeous lash like you…’AVIS had thought of a proper answer hours ago.‘I just arrived here my Lord. You may ask the bartender if you so desire’ she said smiling at him and widening her eyes for him to lose his concentration in the deep green fields that lay inside them. ‘You see my gracious Lord…’ she continued without giving him any time to think seriously of actually asking the bartender, ‘…I am what you could call ‘the grand prize of the festival’’. ‘Oh yes you are’ thought Dredo Morhan totally convinced that such a beautiful prostitute could not but be the special ‘dish’ of the brothel. Only for the big night. Only for him. ‘Shall we?’ said the spy, straggling to stand up. They moved up the stairs and into the corridor that led to his room. They entered and AVIS was petrified. In the room, there stood the two assassins, his bodyguards. ‘My Lord’ she started saying, ‘will those two gentlemen be staying here with us?’‘Oh, but of course my dove’ said Morhan. ‘I actually enjoy lovemaking more with them participating’ he continued with a horrible grin set on his mouth. AVIS didn’t need to hear more. She knew that from this point on, there was no way out. She would fight and manage to kill this murderous bastard before his assassins had the time to kill her first. She only wished that ESKEL and YAGYU would hear the turmoil and make their move…She pretended to smile erotically and started walking towards the old spy, raising her hands to her rich, blond hair as if to unleash them from their bond. But inside her hair, her silver dagger was hidden. As soon as she was close enough to him to smell his heavy, full of lust, breathing, she took out the dagger and with an enormously fast move, stabbed him three times on his neck and a last one in his heart. The bodyguards, startled in the beginning by the unexpected turn of things, finally drew their swords and attacked. But before the ends of their blades reached the Scoia’ tael Officer, a blaze turned the door into splitters and YAGYU, followed by ESKEL, entered the room. The assassin closer to the door turned his head halfway before another blaze of fire and lava burned him to the ground. The other assassin tried to make a move against the Elf Sorcerer but an arrow from ESKEL’s bow entered his right eye and finally stopped inside his head, splitting his brain in pieces. He dropped dead instantly.AVIS was more than happy to see her companions. ‘Let’s go! Right now!’ shouted YAGYU. AVIS looked towards Dredo Morhan. He was lying dead, with his eyes wide open and a surprised look on his scared face. AVIS kneeled and got her dagger out of his heart that would never beat again.‘How did you like my lovemaking my Lord?’ she whispered on her own and followed her comrades out of the Inn…A few hours later they were closing near Ellander. As it was explained to AVIS by YAGYU and ESKEL , they have thought it was weird that the two bodyguards were not standing outside of the Inn and were nowhere to be seen inside the great hall. They realized that the assassins would probably be in their master’s room or exactly outside of it, thus they decided to enter the Inn and take a closer look on things.‘And that was such a good idea my friends’ said AVIS smiling at them graciously and they all laughed, content to have succeeded and survived on their perilous task.Later on, in the great hall of the Singing Ghoul Inn, the whole Scoia’ tael Clan listened to what has happened in Carreas. After the story was told, DNL stood up and embraced the three elves. ‘Well’ he started saying towards the whole Clan, ‘it seems that Elves can be lethal even with their beauty’. Everyone laughed loudly.‘And not only have we succeeded in eliminating one of the most dangerous assassins of our people, but we also managed to keep ESKEL away from gambling for a few days as well’ said the leader and they all laughed even louder at the joke.ESKEL stared at them all, as if surprised. But then his expression changed and a witty grin formed in his mouth.‘For your information my friends, you are totally mistaken. This little trip to Carreas has proven to be more profitable for me than a hundred dice poker games with my friend ED’.Everyone looked back suspiciously at him.‘And how that may be?’ asked KOUTSALOGO.‘Well, here I got a betting ticket my friends’ said ESKEL, obviously happy with himself. ‘I bet that ATHERION would win the Annual Frighties Competition and indeed he did! Next time I am in Carreas, I will be paid 135 gold ones!’ said ESKEL and started laughing uncontrollably. ‘Go figure…’ said DNL looking at ESKEL surprised.‘You can’t stop a gambler after all…’ murmured EMIEL REGISS and they all raised their cups in honor of AVIS, YAGYU, ESKEL and… ATHERION.:evil:
SCOIA' TAEL: THE EPICPART FOUR: THE STORY OF A VETERAN
Dusk colored the city of Vizima. EMIEL REGISS stepped out of the Hairy Bear Inn. He used to go there every Saturday night for some beer and a couple of dice poker games. He would spend his night there, relaxing after a hard working week. But today he left earlier than usual. It was not but a couple of weeks now that turmoil has driven this city mad. Supposedly it all started after some elf guerillas murdered a well known and quite wealthy merchant from Nilfgaard. Since then, elves and dwarfs were not welcome anywhere outside their small, poor ghetto. And EMIEL REGISS was an elf.He was about to reach his 22nd year of age. He worked hard for a dwarf blacksmith at the end of the city and supported his mother and his 15 years old sister since his father has died of fever, four winters ago. He kept his head and his voice low and never looked for anything else but peace. All he cared for was his family.So, when he felt that his presence at the Inn was not welcome, he preferred to leave peacefully and not risk anything. He was determined to remain neutral and never give the humans any excuse to put him in prison or kill him. That would mean starvation for his mother and sister. He wouldn’t let that happen, ever.But things kept on getting worse, day by day. News about great battles between the Order of the Flaming Rose and the guerilla army of the non-humans, the Scoia’ tael, were brought every day by travelers. And the same story would be told differently by each one; Scoia’ tael has killed five soldiers, then the soldiers would be fifty and just then a new storyteller would give a totally different account of the facts, saying that the army of the Flaming Rose remained intact after the battle, having killed all of the Scoia’ taels. You couldn’t be sure about anything. All that was certain for the non-humans living in Vizima, was the certainty of their own everyday lives; that day by day they were oppressed more and more, losing their jobs, being denied even the wright to buy food with their hard earned orens. Things were getting pretty hectic.But EMIEL REGISS didn’t care. They could always buy food from the dwarf merchants in the ghetto and there was always work for a blacksmith. They would survive, as they had done so many times in their difficult lives. He was an elf living in a city and he was happy about it. He never forgot his father telling him how dangerous the life in the forests had become after the formation of the army of the Flaming Rose. These fanatics, these racists, had set as their main purpose the elimination of every free elf tribe in the woods. For some reason that the mind of an elf couldn’t really grasp, these humans hated any kind of connection with nature, any kind of a free life, away from the borders of a city. EMIEL would survive and his family would survive with him…Three weeks later things have turned really dangerous in Vizima. Rumors about an upcoming massive attack upon the non-human community in the ghetto kept cycling around the streets. Fear has fallen upon them all.That night EMIEL stayed at work a little bit longer, trying to finish his work on a crossbow that his owner had ordered to be ready the very next morning. Suddenly a thunderous noise kept building up in the air, louder and louder, finally bursting into a cry that seemed to come out of hundreds of lips. His boss, an old, good hearted dwarf, burst out of the shop’s entrance. EMIEL followed, instinctively grasping one of the still half forged swords that lay upon the blacksmith’s table. Before he managed to get out of the door he saw with horror the body of his employer flying backwards, with blood coming out of his soft belly. EMIEL froze, only for a second. Then he thought of his sister and mother. Their house was just two blocks away. They were in danger.He burst out of the door, ready for anything, hardened by his will to save them. A Knight of the Order of the Flaming Rose was running upon the body of the old dwarf, stabbing him in the heart. EMIEL knew he would be the next. His only chance against such a well armored and perfectly trained fighter was right now, at the very moment that the Knight’s sword was still stuck in the body of his deceased employer. With a well aimed fast cut, he stabbed the ‘pious’ murderer at the left side of his neck. The Knight stepped back, raising his left hand towards his wound and EMIEL REGISS found the opportunity to finish him off by entering almost half of his blade into the Knight’s unprotected body.He didn’t wait to make sure he was dead. He fled towards his house, glancing around at the daemonic scenery that has replaced his once peaceful neighborhood; the whole ghetto was on fire. Elves and dwarfs were desperately fighting against a whole horde of Knights and Flaming Rose soldiers. It was more than clear that they did not stand a single chance. EMIEL hurried to his house. The door was on fire but he managed to enter. The place was totally destroyed. He ran up the stairs, hopping for his family. When he got to the upper floor, his heart froze; there stood his mother, with a terrible slice that covered her face. Her eyes opened, like screaming. Before tears came on his own two eyes, he heard his sister crying out loud from inside the bedroom. With a single leap he entered the room; a soldier was holding his sister still while another one was raping her. EMIEL threw his sword with all his power. The blade cut through the rapist’s body. The other soldier got out a small knife and attacked EMIEL who now had to fight unarmed; no time to get the blade out of the rapist’s body that now fell on the floor dead. The soldier was fast. He stabbed EMIEL at the belly and retrieved the knife from his body, ready to strike once again. EMIEL took a hold of the soldier’s arm and hit him hard with his forehead on the face. The soldier’s nose broke and bled instantly. EMIEL took the knife from his hand and sliced his throat with a single blow. His wound was deep and his eyes watered but he managed to crawl near his sister. She lay motionless but still breathing. He put his head close to her chest. Her heart was beating slowly.‘Bianca? Can you hear me sister? Can you hear me?’ he muttered, tasting his own blood rising from his throat. His sister turned her head slowly towards him, revealing a deep cut at the left side of her throat. She tried to speak, but no words came out of her soft lips. No words, only her last breath. EMIEL fainted…When he woke up, he saw trees, tall as mountains rising above him. He heard the faraway birdsongs and the sound of a river. His nostrils filled with the scents of flowers and the feeling of clean air. ‘He is awake’ he heard a voice saying. EMIEL tried to raise his head but it was impossible. At least he was still alive…And then it all came back to him. The face of his mother, the red lips of his little sister, his dear Bianca, frozen by death. A long, soundless cry came from inside of him. His eyes filled with tears. He wished he was dead, just in order to make this pain in his heart that tore him apart go away. He felt a man holding him from the shoulders, raising him up. His tears subsided and he managed to see a blurry image of an elf.‘May your pain become their doom my friend’ he heard the unknown elf saying in a soft, understanding voice.‘May your grief become their death’…EMIEL didn’t speak for more than a week. He just lay on the ground, crying, sleeping and seeing the same nightmare –the faces of his dead mother and sister calling out for him- again and again. The two elves that have rescued him brought him fruits and water. Slowly but steadily he was feeling stronger day by day. That morning he stood up while the older of the elves brought him food. He wouldn’t be more than 25 years old, but he seemed hardened in battle. The younger elf was standing a few steps away. ‘I am YANEK’ he said to EMIEL.‘And I am DNL’ said the older elf. ‘And if you wish to take revenge, so do we. You are more than welcome to join us…’EMIEL felt more certain than ever before in his life. He knew that this was his rebirth. He knew that from now on, his destiny lay with these elves that fought for freedom. His destiny lay with the Scoia’ tael…The older elf started singing…The war in Vizyma has started at lastScoia’ tael fights to get rid of a pastSo unfair and turbulent and sadAnd its warriors fight furious and madThe Order is trying the rebellion to stopTo leave the non humans without any hopeAnd yet Scoia’ tael stands solid as rockWinning each day and that comes as a sockTo Knights who are willing the battle to winAnd for that they are inducing the most forceful mean But let it ring ‘cause its Freedom’s bellAnd it plays the tune of Scoia’ tael!... :evil:
SCOIA' TAEL CLAN: THE EPIC
PART FIVE: THE SECRET STUDENT
The University of Oxenfurt has always been the natural academic destination for three main types of students. The first type was that of the royalty; they would arrive and stay there for just a little while, a few days at most, then they would leave the place only to return six years later to accept their degree, which their wealthy fathers have paid for ludicrously (as most of them have done for their title of royalty, for that matter). They never actually studied and they never actually embarked on any kind of profession, no other than controlling their little protectorates, their personal ‘empires’. The only reason why they even bothered buying a degree from Oxenfurt, was prestige and nothing more.The second type of students was that of the upper middle class. Likewise royalty, many of them bought their degrees, but in their case they mostly remained on campus for most of their academic years as this was a chance for them to have a good time living as students. Sure, they would learn a thing or two, but that would be far from calling them professionals, alchemists or even scientists as the new term was. The third type was that of the lower middle class society. Thankfully, they were the ones that actually did study and become professionals and they also were the great majority of the students attending the most famous University in the whole kingdom. They were middle class youth, rich - yes, but far from actually being able to turn their riches into power. So a degree from Oxenfurt and the knowledge that came along with it was a necessary step for them if they ever wanted to mingle with the policy makers of the state, do the hard work and rise up socially and economically. Most of these kids have been raised up by their families, knowing the profession they were to follow since the day they were born. They would become bankers, attending to the logistics of the royalty, alchemists, providing the royalty with anything in the line of perfumes up to untraceable poisons, healers and sorcerers, extremely useful to any imperialistic army. These would be the people that would hold their knowledge hidden inside their social class that was actually the base that ensured that power would remain to the royalty. They were the most precious dogs of their master and through the centuries they have learned to hear his voice and obey his command almost instinctively, without him having to utter a single word. But there was also one more type of students, the rarest one. These would be the outcasts, the so very few that would manage somehow to enroll in an academic program without a royalty or middle class background. They were the rare cases, as for example the bard that his songs and poems were so highly admired by an old Baroness who would give him the valuable letter of recommendation and would pull the right strings to manage so that he would become a student in Oxenfurt. Or the poor boy from an unknown village that some Colonel has witnessed doing magic without ever being taught and he would become a student of sorcery just because he was such an obviously talented and natural magician. They would be extreme cases that occurred once every twenty to thirty years. They would surely have a hard time as students, being pointed at by those who considered them as peasants that didn’t really deserve to have such enormous talents. But they would be the ones that succeeded far more than any other student. But even for those rare cases, there was a limitation; they had to be human in order to become students in Oxenfurt. So Professor Halak Valder, Head of the Department of Sorcery, faced the most difficult case of his whole life when he met with this teenager elf that possessed such great powers by nature that Valder could not just forget about his existence and go on. This kid, this elf kid unfortunately, was a pure source of energy, with the capability of possibly becoming, after hard work and learning was achieved, the best Sorcerer in history. Prof. Valder lost his sleep for many a days trying to figure out a way that he could teach this student all that he knew. And he knew it all. Everything that was known in the civilized world on the subject of Sorcery, Valder has studied it more thoroughly than any other scholar in the kingdom. He was the best and here he was, looking at a thin, starved elf that possessed such skills, untamed yet, sure, imperfect yet, sure, but powerful than anything he has ever seen or even imagined. He knew that he had to teach this being. He had to unleash his potential, not out of his good heart or his liking for other species, but simply because he owed it to his profession. This would be his greatest work; the making of the greatest magician that has ever existed.He thought about it, considering every single angle there was on the issue. Trying openly to get the young elf into the academic program was simply out of the question. Not only he would fail to do so most certainly but he would also endanger his own name in the academic and social cycles. With the level of racism against non-humans, even among the academics, the most educated people in the world, such an effort might even lose him his position as head of the Department. And who knows what else might happen? No, no, that was out of the question, Valder decided. But what was also out of question was to forget about this extremely talented sorcerer. He had to do it, even if in total secrecy. He would try and teach him this way, but it wouldn’t be enough. The boy needed experience in the laboratories and Valder could never transform his room into a fully equipped laboratory.The solution he came up with was simple and maybe that was the reason it could actually work, thought Valder. He would keep the young boy locked in his own room, teaching him every afternoon up until night. During the days that he would have to work in the University, he would leave lots of homework and assignments to his precious student. And when the need for laboratories would occur, he would magically transform the looks of the young elf, using illusion spells and get him to work amongst the other students, presenting him as his own nephew, supposedly a student of St. Lebioda’s School for Healers that has just visited his great uncle and wanted to learn a bit more. Yes, that might work…And it did work, for six whole years. The elf proved to be hungry for knowledge, learning everything his master taught him on such a great speed that Valder found himself obliged to do his own ‘homework’ in order to be able to compete with the boy’s appetite for sorcery perfection. When they had to go to the labs, the illusion spells would work just fine. Nobody among the students was capable to tell. Nobody among the stuff as well was not such a good magician as Valder and so they could not penetrate his illusion spells. Everything was going just perfect. Valder was more than content. ‘And who knows?’ he thought. When the boy was ready, maybe everyone would accept him as equal, out of the owe that his powers would inflict upon them. Maybe then he would even take the credit for his magnificent work on refining the boy’s talents, that he so longed for…The young elf has grown over the years. He was no longer the thin, starved little boy that Valder had found wandering the perilous countryside of Velhad. His years of seclusion and studying, had transformed him completely. He read everything there was to read, not only the magical subjects, but history and literature and arts as well. He took it all in, without realizing that slowly but steadily, he was creating a personality of his own, so powerful and distinct, so full of ideas and meaning. At the same time, the fact that he was obliged to remain hidden from others just because he was an elf, has matched many of his readings. Not the historical ones, for they were written by the traitors and the murderers of humankind. But in poetry, in literature, every now and then he would find a line, a stanza, in which the author would have secretly, as if only for people like the young elf to see, dropped a message of freedom, of equality, of redemption. And thus he formed his strength and hatred, his knowledge and his love. Thus he formed his own political being. When he reached the age of twenty, he decided that he wanted out of this kind of life. He wanted to be free to show his own true face, to socialize, travel, love and feel. He decided to leave. His tutor, Professor Valder, was a strong man, almost emotionless. All these years, he has taught him everything and for that the young elf would be grateful eternally. But at the same time, Valder has totally failed in seeing him as anything more than a personal achievement, as a piece of work one could say. The elf sorcerer knew that, had he not possessed such powers, Valder would have never given him a hand of help, even if he was drowning right in front of him. Nevertheless, he had to let him know that he was leaving. It was the wright thing to do.‘Master’ he said in a soft but steady voice one afternoon.‘Mmmm… yes…. What is it?’ said Valder without taking his eyes out of the scroll that he was studying. ‘Master… I am old now… and you have taught me all that you know, as you have said… I think…’The old academic finally turned his head and looked at him. The young elf straitened his posture.‘I think it is time for me to lead a normal life. It is time to move on’.‘Move on?’ said the old man. ‘What do you mean ‘Move on’?’‘I should get out of my seclusion and seek my fortune in the world Master. I should try and live normally’. The old scholar looked him straight in the eyes.‘You are not ready!’ he said with a sense of anger rising up in his voice. ‘You are not ready and you are a bloody elf! Who would give you honest work? Do you think that just because of your talent, you could go out and work as a professional sorcerer? Are you really so stupid to think that?’The elf has expected worse. ‘Nevertheless Master, I shall try’ he said softly and bowed his head to his teacher, as if to end the conversation. The man became furious. ‘You are not going anywhere godammit! You will stay here with me and when I, only I, decide that the time is right, I will see what your future can be. But until then you will remain here! Am I clear?’The elf looked him in the eyes.‘I will be forever in your debt Master, for all that you have taught me and all that you have given me. But I have to move on’ he said and turned around to leave. The Professor stood up from his chair furiously and raised his hand ready to throw a spell at his disobedient student. But before he even had the time to make the sign with his fingers, the young elf turned and with a fast move let a shinny blue light come out of his right hand. The Professor felt warmth all over his body and then, at his utmost surprise, he felt calm and happy and utterly relaxed. He could not move and he failed to speak the words he thought, but still, the general feeling was happiness. He remained still, looking at the young elf that walked peacefully towards him. The idea of fear came in the professor’s mind, the idea that the elf might actually be vengeful and harm him. After all, why wouldn’t he? All these years, the Professor knew better than anyone, he had treated the elf as a trophy that he longed to put beside his numerous degrees and diplomas. Yet the feeling of calmness and happiness prevailed upon his thoughts of fear. The elf came close to his face.‘Now you cannot speak Master and you cannot move, so there is no reason in trying. I call it ‘Happy and Harmless’. It’s one of my newest spells’. ‘Oh gods! He can create his own spells…. He can create his own spells…!’ thought the Professor terrified though always calm and happy.‘Oh, I am sure you like that, don’t you…’ said the elf. ‘After all that’s all you are fond of, isn’t it? The great art of Sorcery! Nothing more… But I do not blame you Master. Your kind, your social status, has never let you see anything beyond that. It has never let you become able to truly love another being. And I forgive you. Yes, I do. I forgive you for all these years that you kept me here like an animal and at the same time I thank you for all that you taught me. And now I shall go and we shall never meet again’ he said and turned around towards the door. But before he pulled the handle, he stopped and turned around to face his teacher one last time.‘The spell will vanish in a few hours. And for your information, it is untraceable, so there’s no reason for you to anxiously try to figure it out. But then…’ he stopped for a while thinking, ‘but then again, I guess I owe you a present Master’ said the elf and showed him the sign of the spell. ‘You can use it upon yourself, every time you want to relax and feel happy. But for true happiness, Master, you will need love and there is no sign for that’He then turned around and exited the door that kept him secluded from the world for so many years…The young elf traveled for months, making a living mostly by solving various problems of the peasants that he met along the way, until finally he reached Aedd Gynvael. He logged in a cheap Inn and looked for work. But people in the cities were not used to see elf magicians and they were less than willing to offer them work, out of distrust. Until one day, walking around the centre of the city, he saw people gathering fast towards the gallows. And then prison guards appeared, bringing a beaten and bruised elf. The crowd cheered mercilessly. A priest stood in front of the gallows and spoke:‘There walks his last steps the elf terrorist KOYTSALOGO, known murderer of the Scoia’ tael terrorist group. And there he shall perish and be redeemed of his sins through the divine act of purification in the gallows’ shouted the priest and the crowd cheered louder and harder. But as the prison guards were ready to get the elf prisoner upon the first step of the wooden gallows, a mighty yell burst from inside the crowd:‘LONG LIVE SCOIA TAEL!’ And then, to everyone’s amazement, a handful of hooded men drew swords and attacked the guards. There fell one guard and then another and then a blow cut the priest’s body almost in half. The prisoner was set free by one of the attackers, whose hood slipped backsides, revealing the face of a dark haired elf.But the prison guards were way too many and the terrified crowd that tried to run away from the massacre left no exit for the attackers. The Sorcerer didn’t have to think at all. He just knew it, deep inside him, that this was the time for him to finally take a stand against the oppression that he has had to live with, all of his life. With a single movement of his hands, he let an enormous telekinetic wave that threw the fleeing crowd and most of the guards that have started regrouping against the elves, on the ground with a terrible thumb. ‘This way!’ he shouted to the elf that supported the prisoner, ‘Follow me!’ The elf looked him straight in the eyes for a split of a second and then followed him, calling out for the others to follow as well.They run as fast as they could but the guards were after them. The Sorcerer turned and with a second, even mightier wave, threw them all back, most of them unconscious. They have escaped.They kept on running for hours, out of the city and then out of the roads until they finally reached the forest. And then they run more and more until finally they were lost into the wilderness. When they finally stopped, they stood breathless for what seemed like an eternity. The prisoner elf, KOUTSALOGO, was bleeding out of very single wound. The Sorcerer moved towards him and started administering healing spells on his body. The bleeding stopped and KOYTSALOGO was finally able to stand up, even if only half ways.The other elf, who seemed to be the leader of the group, neared the Sorcerer. ‘Well…’ he said still taking in large breaths ‘you are one of us now. I hope you knew what you were doing when you decided to help us. And we thank you for that. We couldn’t have escaped without your enormous powers. By the way, we are the Scoia’ tael Clan and I am the leader. My name is DNL’ said the elf with a smile, raising his right eyebrow waiting for a reply.The elf sorcerer stood up.‘I think I knew exactly what I was doing and yes, I will be one of you if what you do is fight for the rights of non-humans. My name is YAGYU’ he said and offered a handshake.‘You are most welcome to our Clan YAGYU’ said DNL accepting the handshake. ‘We can’t promise you a quiet life, but who needs that anyway?’ he said and all the other elves, the wounded KOUSTALOGO included, started laughing like madmen. YAGYU looked at them all and started laughing himself, with a laughter and happiness that ‘Happy and Harmless’ could never have produced. He was finally home…:evil:
SCOIA' TAEL CLAN: THE EPIC
PART SIX: GASTS AND WEREWOLVES
Guleta was a small village towards the east. It was settled in a beautiful place but somehow it has remained a small village, with only a few families, mostly farmers, living and working there. The travelling merchants would come almost every month, buy what the villagers had to sell and then leave. There was an Inn of course, the Lucky Drowner Inn, but its owner, Mr Gerdau, as he liked to be called, was not happy at all with his profits.‘The damned peasants come for a single pint of beer and only once a week!’ he said. ‘How am I supposed to make large profits with such a clientele? I tell you what I am going to do; I will close the damned place and go back to Vizima, yes sir! And let them die of thirst, damn cheap matherfockers!’ELOQUIR wasn’t really in the mood to listen to his moaning, so he got his beer and went to sit at the end corner of the Inn. DNL would be arriving soon.The assassination of Dredo Morhan has passed completely unnoticed by the order of the Flaming Rose and that was not a surprise to the elf guerillas; Morhan’s murderous activities against the elves and non-humans in general, were financed and known by only a few people, members of high society, priesthood and state rulers. The Order, being just the muscle for the powerful, knew nothing about such hidden as well as hideous activities. As for the royalty itself, although they found it awkward and disturbing that their precious secret assassin was so blandly murdered, didn’t really think about it twice. They simply ordered the oldest member of Morhan’s group to become the new leader and business could continue as usual. After all, as long as there are rulers, there will always be somebody to kill for them.But it was nevertheless important for the Scoia’ tael Clan that they have avoided any more heat than what they already had to deal with, simply because they were non-humans, too many of them and… armored. People would give them a hard time as much as they could and the elves knew by now that the era when non-humans could just walk into a large city and duel in peace, was long past gone for good. They had to travel constantly, stay for only a few days in small towns or even villages and then leave, always ready for an assassination, an ambush, a fight or even a war, whenever the time came for such an event. So Guleta was the new small village that they would stay for a little while before they moved on again. This very morning, they had rented a small cottage that no one lived there anymore and it belonged to a rather dumb farmer.‘That was mi nanny’s’ he told them. ‘No one wants to stay there because of the gasts’ he said blinking his eyes.‘The gasts?’ asked KOUTSALOGO‘Aye good fella, the gasts, the gasts… the evil spirits of the dead’ said the farmer. ‘You mean ghosts’ said DNL.‘Aye… gasts… that’s why I give it to ya so cheap… maybe you can kill gasts, you elf kind, no? Y’ar’ supposed to know about evil, that’s what our priest says’ he finished his sentence with a grin.‘Alright, alright’ said DNL irritated. ‘We will stay there for a couple of days. Here’s your coin. Now leave us’The peasant left giggling on his own. DNL saw ESKEL who was almost ready to load his bow.‘Easy… no reason for that… he’s no more than a stupid peasant who believes in gasts…’ said the leader and the Clan finally had a laugh after their tiresome journey.And now ELOQUIR was waiting for him at the Inn. The other members of the clan took a rest in the cottage, all but ESKEL who was trying hard to earn that silver ring that ED still possessed. DNL stepped in. He ordered vodka and went to sit beside ELOQUIR. They drank in silence for a little while. They too were tired like the others but someone had to check out this village they had just arrived to. They had to be constantly careful and ready.Half an hour later, about five men arrived at the Inn. They ordered their drinks and some lamp to eat and sat further away from the two elves, without even glancing at them.‘That’s weird’ thought ELOQUIR. ’How often do they get to see two armored elves in this gods forgotten place?’ But then again, their stupid landlord would have probably spread the news. This might even be the sole reason that these men came to the Inn in the first place, if the bartender was to be taken seriously.“Listen…’ said DNL. ‘They talk about us’. The peasants were obviously way too secluded from the rest of the world. This could be the only explanation why they didn’t know that elves possessed great hearing and could listen clearly to their whispers. ‘At night’ said a fat brute to the rest of the gang, ‘at night we’ll go there and howl like gasts… those elves will leave our village running’ he concluded what he obviously thought was a most clever plan. The rest of the peasants smirked and giggled, approving his little scheme. DNL gave a sideways look to ELOQUIR and they both grinned.When night came, the elves were ready. A good laugh was ahead and though they needed to sleep, they would sacrifice some of their rest in order to teach these peasants a lesson and have a good laugh at the same time. Almost half of the clan had climbed upon the roof, masqueraded with seats and white linens, while the rest of the elves remained in the cottage, ready to burst out yelling when the time came. YAGYU was the only one that was out of the cottage, hidden upon a nearby tree, ready to owl out that the peasants were arriving and then create illusions of specters for the villagers to… enjoy.The owl signal cut through the silence of the countryside nocturne. The peasants, wearing daemonic masks and old, dusty armory were arriving silently, or so they thought. When they got to the entrance of the cottage, they uttered their first howl just a second before all the elves burst out of the cottage and YAGYU created specter illusions above the peasants’ heads. But before the peasants had the time to realize what was happening and before the elves had the time to start laughing at them, a mighty howl, that not even a million villagers put together could have ever produced, chilled everyone’s’ blood. And there it was, an enormously huge werewolf, foaming from its large mouth and gigantic teeth, right underneath the tree where YAGYU was hiding. The beast has already spotted the sorcerer and with a blow cut the tree in half, sending the elf magician flying towards the ground, hitting his head on the rocks and remaining unconscious. The peasants remained still for a second and then started running towards the other direction. The werewolf caught their move and smelled their blood. In less than a second he was near them and attacked the last one. His teeth, that resembled Nilfgaardian daggers, cut through the poor fellows’ flesh and with a sudden move, extracted his neck and head from his body, splitting his blood on the ground like rain. ‘Quick! Inside the cottage! Bows!’ shouted Officer KOUTSALOGO and run towards YAGYU’s body to help DNL carry him. The two elves were quick and the werewolf was too busy finishing off the villager with a few enormous bites and YAGYU was put into safety inside the house.The whole clan stood in the windows with their bows ready and one by one started attacking the monster. There were only two windows, but the elves were trained for exactly that kind of attack; when a fighter shot his arrow, he would quickly retrieve to reload, while the second fighter in line would take position, aim, shoot and then retrieve as well for the next one to take position. In less than half a minute, more than fifty arrows were shot through the two windows, all hitting their target and this would have been lethal for the werewolf if only the arrows were poisoned; but since the Clan did not expect a fight, this precaution had not been taken. The arrows made the beast bleed and they slowed it down, but they were and could not be enough to kill it. Werewolves’ skin is way too thick to let an arrow reach its’ vital organs and kill it.DNL knew that well. Extreme measures had to be taken right away, as the werewolf was now bluntly attacking the cottage, trying to tear off one of the windows and enter the room, hungry for more flesh and blood. Trapped inside the room, with the beast inside, it could be the end for many elves and those that survived would have to be way too quick. It was the worst luck for the Clan that their member who was lying unconscious was their arch-mage, the one who could have actually put an end to this with a few fire spells. ‘PRZEZNA’ shouted DNL in the havoc, ‘do something to blind it!’The young apprentice sorcerer felt his stomach crumble from anxiety. He did the first thing that came into his mind and that was a blinding spell he has learned at the beginning of his training with YAGYU. But the spell proved to be too weak for the dark eyes of the werewolf and clumsily administered worsened things by blinding the freedom fighters that were near the window, stubbing the beast with their swords. Most of the elves retrieved, holding their faces and screaming with agony, unable to see anything.PRZEZNA knew he didn’t have time to feel guilt for his failure. What he had to do was to correct his mistake. He raised both of his hands and channeling all the power that he possessed, he drew in the air the sign for one of YAGYU’s own spells; ‘Happy and Harmless’! The beast stopped its’ attack, having suddenly a weird feeling of calmness, but the malice of its nature and the hunger in its belly wouldn’t let that peaceful feeling stand for long.‘NOW!’ shouted PRZEZNA desperately, ‘Attack it now!’The Elf leader didn’t need to hear this twice. With a jump, he attacked the monster, slicing with his sword its’ breast, so deep that the werewolf’s black blood came out rushing from its’ veins and muscles. A second blow from KOUTSALOGO’s sword found its target inside the beast’s belly and another from ELOQUIR stabbed into its’ neck, going all the way through to the other side and finally the same silver dagger that has killed another monster, a human one, named Dredo Morhan only a few weeks ago, thrown skillfully from the hands of Officer AVIS, cut through the werewolf’s heart. The silver did its job. The monster’s intestines froze by the magic of the metal and it went down with a thumb, half of it inside the house and the other half still outside…‘It was the howling of the peasants and the brightness of the specters I created in the sky that drew the beast’s attention’ said YAGYU the other day, still administering pain killing spells on his forehead. ‘Well, we were lucky I had a good teacher’ said PRZEZNA, looking at everyone, still feeling shameful for his initial mistake.‘We were also lucky you are a good apprentice’ said DNL, smiling at the young elf.A few hours later, their peasant landlord arrived. He seemed taken back and speechless. He stood there, on the entrance of the cottage, looking at the werewolf’s corpse and then at the elves. ‘Speak up my man’ said KOUTSALOGO finally. ‘Say what you came here to say’‘Well…’ the peasant blubbered ‘…you have saved us from this mounster… it was killing our sheep ya know… that was the fiend that did the business… and all this time we thought it was gasts… but… anyway… the village… the whole village’ he continued, implying the last night’s gang included ‘has decided that we owe ya big time… and we are so sorry we didn’t treat ya right in the first place… anyway… here is a small gift from the village’ he said and handed in a large pouch to DNL. ‘And ya know…’ he continued, ‘yar mo’ than welcome to stay here for free… for as long as ya want to… this cottage will be yars, any time ya want to stay’ he said and then he turned his back and left. DNL opened the pouch. There were at least 500 orens in there! And a cottage to stay in whenever they wanted…‘I’ll be damned…’ said DNL looking at the others surprised. ‘I wish we’d meet more werewolves along the way, don’t you?’ he said smiling to his clan mates.But this time, no one laughed at his joke. They all gave him a tired look and went inside the house. ‘I guess not’ thought DNL and entered the cottage with them.They were finally going to sleep…:evil:
What Lies BeneathChapter Eight ContinuedJhaer picked up a small bone. It was about three inches in length, tapering closer to its tip, where the narrow bone was stained the color of rust. Red swirled with white, creating an ominous hue. Disrobe. She instructed the boy in a voice that made Laelithra feel like she was drowning in a sea of chaos.As if the bruxa had cracked a whip at his flank, the assassin sat up and knelt before her. He moved his hands to the ruby clasp situated in the center of the collar of the robe. Swiftly, he unlatched the jewel. The frock fluttered to the floor, surrounding the naked boy's buttocks and knees. His dark eyes never left the gory ground.Laelithra's cheeks reddened at the sight of the naked boy. She had knowledge of the boy's body when he had hurt her for not eating. As long as she could remember, Laelithra would remember the sight of his body. Yet, there was something different as she gazed at him in his unabashed, detached form. Years of intense training had left his physique lean and agile. It was one of the reasons he was able to follow Geralt without the witcher noticing him.The young girl had seen men naked before. There was a few times she had walked in on Viktor with a female companion. While she did not understand the act that the two were participating in, the sight of the twisted flesh was not lost on her. In the pit of her stomach, she felt nauseous. She knew those types of actions should not have been privy to the young girl at such a tender age.Then, there were the few times that she had come upon the white-haired witcher. In the middle of the night, Geralt would retrieve his sword from the fire and travel away from this campsite. He did not venture to far, and the camp was always in his vision. One night, she had a terrifying nightmare. Since she had come to depend on the witcher, Laelithra went to find him. He was lost in his own world, twirling his blade with lethal precision. The situation was confusing for her, and she wondered why Geralt practiced without his clothes on.Low, melodic chanting erupted from the tiny creature, bringing Laelithra's attention back to the present.. The husky song circled around the cave, merging with the chants of her followers.Slowly, the bruxa moved from the altar towards the man who knelt before her. Like a demon emerging from a nightmare, the vampire glided across the floor. Although the mists covered her tiny feet, Laelithra knew she floated. The creature's graceful movements were the same as the alp Geralt had encountered months ago. They were the same after all. Her lyrical voice rose and evened out as their chanting reached a crescendo. Laelithra thought he would flinch, but the man did no such thing. She knew if it was her that the maleficent creature was approaching, she would have fled. The bruxa was an image from her worst nightmares as she was growing up. Because of how she was raised, the little girl feared nothing. Watching her father and Geralt sever body parts from certain monsters, unnatural creatures did not phase her. However, there was something about this particular creature that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. While most vampires her father and the White Haired witcher had slain were single-minded beasts, this one's eyes shone with intelligence. The vampire's pale lips curled up in a smile, exposing her small fangs. She bent down near the adolescent child, her gown flowing around her small frame. Laelithra cringed as the creature took the boy's arm. Strands of the other woman's hair fell forward into her face. Immediately, Jhaer dipped the tip of the sharp bone into the blood colored liquid. You, and you alone, brought the one we sought for so long for.The blond boy did not raise his eyes to the fair haired vampire. With the trust that only brainwashing could bring forth, he left his arm in her hand. Even when the needle punctured through his skin and left the crimson ink visible, the young man did not flinch.Next, the leader of the Arcani dipped the bloodstained needle into a puddle of jet black liquid. Blood, his blood, mixed with the dark fluid, leaving a bright red swirl within the murky mass. You plucked her from the Wolf's paws and brought forth the girl. He still did not look up at his Mistress as she pressed the bone needle into his arm once more. A black eye stood in the center of the loop of the symbolized A. The tail of the eye extended, curling into the end of the letter. In the brazier's light, the crimson mixing with the black of the tattoo seemed to make the eye come to life. Because of you, the prophesy will come into fruition. You, my pet, deserve this more so than any before you. Rise.As if awakened from a dream, the boy pushed off of the floor with his hands. He stood, facing the creature. Blood dripped down from the tattoo, making it appear as if the eye was crying ruby tears. It twirled down his bicep in rivulets, circling around his elbow, spiraling down his forearm, and dripped off the edges of his fingertips. With his palms flat against his naked thighs, he stared calmly at Jhaer.A hush fell over the gathered followers. Anticipation shone in both the unusual creatures', nonhumans', and humans' eyes. Each hungered for what was to come. The carnage brought on by centuries of organized society and a desperate need to be part of something bigger than a single individual crackled like electricity through the room. Members of the Arcani, such as those assembled before their great leader, lost their individuality. They became cogs in a single, living machine. Under the leadership of Jhaer, the Arcani served one purpose. They were to bring forth her vision of the future at all costs.The assassin continued to stand before his mistress. His eyes lost focus as he stared at the floor. Without a direct command from his leader, it appeared he was no more than a puppet. In fact, the longer one was in the direct command of the vampire's influence the harder it was to leave the Arcani. Whatever she willed, they would make come to pass. She was their collective thought.Arcani knew death, and it was what its members craved. Their glorious new world would cater to the strong, bringing the weak a savage end. Jhaer specialized in the demise of several people. It was what her kind did. Most vampires only knew killing and maiming. You will help usher in the new age. Walking back to the alter, she retrieved a large knife. Each of her followers tilted their heads back and rose their hands to the ceiling. A quiet mummer erupted from the group, chanting, “All hail, Jhaer.”Elegantly, she walked back to the assassin. Her hips swayed slightly with each floating step she took. She gestured towards the bound captain of her genetically modified assassin squad. Her eyes never left the boy. Bending down, she took the assassin's large, agile hands, folded them around the hilt of the serrated knife, and curled his fingertips around them. He has failed your wondrous mistress. You have not. Prove your added worth to me by taking his place, taking his strength, and learning from his failures.With her command, the assassin snapped to attention. He turned to face Laelithra. At once, she noticed how his eyes sparkled with a hidden malice aimed at her. His lips turned upward, forming into an aggressive smirk. Two burly men dragged the bound man into a standing position and made him walk forward. His eyes were wide with terror. The spell of Jhaer left the former captain. He did not need to be submissive anymore. Fear was a more serving purpose for the man. It showed the others the price of failure. Suddenly, immediately, he started to strain against his tormentors. Life sprang to his body as he kicked his legs out, flailed his arms, and snapped his head wildly to the left and right.The young assassin stalked toward him with confidence oozing from his every step. He was slow in his approach, building the apprehension of the crowd to its peak. They longed for this, and the boy knew this moment was pivotal in the other lesser assassins' obedience. With a harsh grunt, he thrust the knife forward vertically into the other man's abdomen.Immediately, the former squad leader started to scream as blood ran down his stomach and dripped onto the floor. Once more, he strained against his captors. This time, it was not because of fear. His eyes widened with agony. Gnashing his teeth together, his howls filled the air in the cavern.As the assassin removed the knife, he thrust his hand into the cavity left behind, wrenched upward into the slippery flesh, and clutched at the heart of his victim. His smirk widened as he heard the screams of the man. Blood coated his arm, splashing on his chest and face. Laelithra was unable to look away from the grisly sight and the sadistic glint in the man's eyes. She knew he enjoyed what he was doing just as much as witchers enjoyed women and coin. Shivering deeply, she tried to huddle into her bloodstained, dirty frock. The clothing provided little warmth from the cold and her revulsion. Immediately, the assassin pulled the heart from the living man's cavity. He held it up to the salivating mass. With dull thumps, the heart bled into his hand, the blood running off the side of his palms, dropping in large spots on the floor. The man knew how to work the crowd and make them play into his hands. For a teenager, he was a crafty and observant boy. Slowly, he rose the beating heart to his lips. Blood smeared on his mouth and cheeks as the organ blocked his lower face from view. His teeth sank deeply into the flesh of the organ, liquid squirting from it.he wounded man shook violently. His life bled out of him. As his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the men released his body. He sank to the floor. Death was the reward for his failure, and the example for the cluster of followers.Laelithra turned away with a ghastly look on her face. She shivered, bent over, and vomited. Tears shimmered beneath her eyelids The young girl wondered how anyone could be so cruel.The vampire waved her slim, elegant hand towards the young child. Laelithra shivered as she could feel the creature's eyes upon her. Jhaer's bright red lips curved up into a predatory smile. She will become your charge. Guard her well. He will come for her because he is unlike others of his kind. The White Wolf cares. Because he is fond of the girl, he will stand in the way of the future. Yet, Brother Veloeglaeddy, you will stand in his way. My brother, you will challenge everything he thinks he knows. You, my dearest, will destroy him. This, I have seen.Geralt looked up the sparse wooded path, leading to a yawning cave. The breeze chilled him, rustling the cloth of his jerkin and biting his scarred skin. The witcher's ivory ponytail whipped around his head, slapping his right cheek repetitively. His scalp stung where the unrelenting wind pulled at his hair. For the past day, he did not leave his position as he gathered information about the inhabitants of the cave. A large dark lump of flesh blocked the entrance of the cave, blocking his vision slightly. At night, various lesser and higher vampires collected behind the dark mass. A group of knights would have little resistance storming the cavern and rescuing the girl. Yet, the witcher knew he was better than such a group. Many years of working as a witcher had given him the knowledge he used to concoct a plan in his mind. The plan was simple. He would rush the cavern, slaying any who stood in the way to his path to the girl. They were monsters he had killed for money before. He could anticipate their movements, match their speed, and outmaneuver their attacks. It took years of practice, training, and working to be able to predict and formulate such evasive motions.His breath released in a fine mist from his mouth. It was summer, but it was cold in the mountains. There were some places the snow had yet to melt. He could smell the crispness in the air as it situated deeply into his lungs. It reminded him of when the man took the young girl. The day was cold, and she wished to train despite his better judgment. Laelithra developed an illness.They had taken what was his. Geralt's eyes narrowed at the thought as if the orbs were embers encircled by a sea of molten gold. His thin lips scowled. When had the child become his? The witcher did not know. He suspected it was in the Temple of Melitele when she told him the fate of her father or it was the first time she had experienced a nightmare with him. As it stood, he did not know when the little girl had changed his outlook on her, but she did.His frown deepened. The unknown feeling was new and confusion to the white haired witcher. For a brief moment, he wondered what to do about it. Geralt felt like an outsider with the emotions he was experiencing. Regardless of his emotions or when he started to care about the little girl, he made an oath to her. The witcher had nothing to swear on or code to abide by. A witcher created a code when it was convenient. After all, a person would hire him easier if the person thought he lived by some code. Yet, he swore to Laelithra. Geralt would protect her from the Arcani. He would not go back on his word. It would make him no better than the monsters he slain for money.He clenched his teeth together, tensing his jaw. His pulse leaped in his throat. As he continued to look up the path and watched the activities outside of the cavern, his nostrils flared. No one took from the witcher and expected him to give up. It was not in his blood to let things go. Yet, the Arcani did not wish for him to pretend like Laelithra did not exist. They counted on his arrival to join them. Geralt would never. The witcher was here for the little girl, and he was not going to forsake her. They would see. Reaching up, he felt the leather bindings on his silver sword. No, he would make them see.Immediately, he released the grip of the silver sword. There would come a time when he would draw it. He was sure a nest of vampires had taken the girl. Geralt did not know what else lurked in that cave. Yet, his training and experience told him that at least bruxa and lesser minions made the cave their home. Rarely did humans and non-humans co-exist with vampires. There were special circumstances. He knew this, but he was sure that the Arcani was not one of those. Geralt unlatched the top elixir from the thick, leather strap crossing his left shoulder. He rose the bottle and gazed at the liquid inside. The emerald fluid sloshed inside of the glass container, coating the sides with the thick substance. Immediately, he removed the cork from the opening. A pungent smell mixed with mint, carrying sharply in the wind. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he drank deeply.Instantly, he felt his body react to the potion. His insides burned, feeling like they were being consumed. Unable to control his body's reflex, he shut his eyes tightly and displayed the deep-set wrinkles around the corners. Geralt slammed his back against the trunk of a tree behind him as his body spasmed involuntary. He would have tried to quiet his reaction, but he was in no condition to.As the convulsions left his body, the witcher flinched. His surroundings began to blur together, spinning in a never-ending cycle. Pain arced across his scalp as if it was lightning, pulsing with each slow blink of his eyes. Tightening his teeth together, he bit back the guttural growl trying to escape past his lips. Several pinpoints of light flashed before his eyes as he braced himself for the pain that turned his blood to vile poison being pumped through every vein in his body, searing him with agony from within.He opened his eyes, and his surroundings became a misty blob of shapes and figures. As the seconds passed, the images became crisper. Geralt could see the veins on the leaves of the trees, the wisps of snow blowing from the top of the entrance of the cave, and the dark lump of the horse laying before the cavern.Listening quietly, he could make out the crickets chirping quietly beside him. They serenaded the witcher as he formulated a plan in his mind. As he stood there, the sounds around him increased. Inside the cave, he could make out faint chatter. He wished to leave the land with the girl with him.
Laelithra felt the chill deep within her. She tried to look away as beast, man, and non-human, alike, were paraded before their mistress. All were judged the same way. Some were promoted, ate the heart of their old squad leader, and given special privileges. More often, they were judged harshly. The young girl found that the price for failure was high in the organization. They were gutted, drained of their blood, and served to their mistress as if they were a platter of food.Presently, the young child could not look away. The one standing before his mistress was as important to her as if Viktor, himself, was standing before her.He did not bend his will to her. Instead, the tiny boy stood upright with his platinum hair hugging his cheeks. His emerald eyes did not leave Jhaer's. Once, Hare had wetted himself when the elder witcher took them from their dying family. Presently, he stood proudly before Jhaer. A shiver traveled up the young girl's spine. She wondered what they must have done to her brother. He showed no signs of the timidness of his namesake.Once, they called you Hare. A fitting name for one such as you. When they brought you here, you wet your pants nightly. Now, you wish to be one of the faithful, one of my servants. Your mistress is wise and benevolent. She grants whatever her followers wish of her. If you wish that, Leviticus, I shall grant it.Laelithra remembered the assassin told her that the Arcani made their followers give up their birth names. It was suppose to give the organization a feeling like they were a cohesive unit. A member that thinks as the same as every one else could not make trouble later. Even a child as young as Laelithra understood the implications of a free name.The vampire must have had plans for her brother. They must have spanned more than her loyal followers could give her. Laelithra continued to stare at the scene, trying to understand what could be so important about Hare. Immediately, Jhaer sauntered back behind her altar. The top of it was scattered with grey intestines, snaking over the edge and dripping blood onto the floor. A putrid smell erupted from the mass of organs, gagging the young girl. For as long as she could remember, she would never forget that intense, overpowering odor. It represented death and the price of failure to her.Leviticus stood with his hands clenched against his thighs. There was no haze covering his green eyes as was the other followers of the Arcani. The cloak gathered around his naked flesh, covering his body from the perverted view of the other members. Unlike the others, he was aware of his surroundings. A cold, penetrating smile overtook his scarred face.No, my child, you are no longer Hare. When you had taken the Quickening, you had ceased to be that frightened creature. Jhaer whispered into all of their minds. She picked up a long, serrated knife. The tip tapered into a thin point. Blood collected in the indented fuller, flesh dotted the blade, and gore dripped off the edge. As the unnatural creature rounded the corner of the stone, the mists seemed to swell. The crowd started to chant once again, bolstering and blending their voices together. As before, they hungered for the release. It was something only their mistress could give them. In fact, the entire cult was a double edge sword. On one side, death swirled. It was the price for failure of humanity. Even Laelithra had seen death in her young life. Yet, it was not the only thing the cult represented. Rebirth. They would lead humanity in a new age without racism. It would be a better world, begot of the need for human authority figures, nations, and witchers. Their glorious leader would rush in the new age with the help of the young girl. As Laelithra studied her brother's expression, she was under the illusion she was the only one they needed. No, Hare was needed too.You wish for this, young one?Leviticus's narrowed his eyebrows. For a brief moment, Laelithra thought he would refused the other woman. Perhaps, she saw some semblance of the boy he was when they lived with their mother and abusive father. However, it would be a fool's hope. His metallic voice rang across the cavern. It was how she knew her brother was not the boy she knew anymore. For a brief moment, she was reminded of both Geralt and her father's dull, monotone speeches. “Laelithra mine,” he chirped. Even as little as he was, his perversion was there. It was something that she would think was bred into him. Hare did not fear the bruxa and was making demands. He was slightly younger than she was, and he had already chosen who he wished to be with. Her.A eerie chuckle came from the vampire. Brother Veloeglaeddy will watch over her, be her blade, and protect her. Yet, it will be as you wish. She shall be yours. This I promise you. Leviticus. You will become the owner of my greatest weapon. Kneel and receive what is yours.Laelithra watched her brother kneel, bending one leg to the ground. As with the others, the vampire did not have to command him. He did not lower his head. Instead, the boy who was formally called Hare stared into the vampire's eyes. Reaching up, he drew back the hood of his cloak. It fell against his shoulders. A large, thick scar raised from the top of his right shoulder, circled around his neck, and disappeared into the garment. Did they whip him, or did they do more than that?As the chanting reached the peak once more, Jhaer held up her left hand. Swiftly, she brought the knife across, cut deep within the center of her hand, and winced at the moment. Thick, black blood spilled from the wound, coating her lower palm bright red. The vampire knelt beside the small boy. Spots of gore dripped onto the floor between them. Drink deeply, and all you wish for shall be yours.The act of drinking a vampire's blood did not turn anyone into a vampire. Through her travels with Geralt and Viktor, Laelithra understood this. Yet, Jhaer required them to drink her blood. The young girl had to wonder why. It could not be for control. The bruxa had other ways to control them. Wondering quietly, she thought she figured it out. Drinking her blood was symbolic. Her followers were apart of her. If they ingested her blood, they would become her children.However, those thoughts were brief and would come later if she remembered. All of her adrenaline told her to save her brother. While he bore no resemblance to the Hare she lived with, the boy was still her brother. Viktor had breed family allegiance into the young girl. She would not let Leviticus be controlled like so many others in the cult. He was her family.Despite the despair and weakness clinging to her, she stood on her feet. At first, she started to wobble. Her vision blurred together, mixing in a symphony of brilliant flashes of light. Suddenly, her stomach turned in on itself. Heaving, she watched helplessly as her brother took the vampire's hand to his lips.Rage enveloped Laelithra, cutting deeply within her. She would never know the rage she felt at that moment. Fueling her, she rose on the balls of her tiny feet. Laelithra did not regret what she did. It was a stake she would pay, but it was right. She could feel it in her heart. Even though this boy did not resemble Hare anymore, he was family.In spite of the hands grabbing at her, crossing the distance between her and the vampire and her brother was quite easy. She practiced what Geralt and her father had taught her. Laelithra found it easy to predict the motions of the ones who tried to grab her. Spinning side ways, she dodged a tall elf. Before her momentum decreased, she reversed her spin and evaded a human. For a brief moment, she wondered if Geralt or Viktor would have been proud.Then, a tiny fist appeared in her view. She felt the impact to her temple as she crumbled to the floor. Looking up, she saw the blood drip from his mouth as it plopped on her hand. Was it her blood or the liquid staining her brother's lips? Laelithra did not know.
Slowly, she blinked as her eyes refocused. Once more, she lay on her side next to the stone throne. A long rope bound her hands, twisting into the flesh of her wrists. Tiny droplets of blood wet the twine and caused it to bit into her skin. Her wrists stung. Laelithra tried to move to alleviate the feeling, but the motion caused the pain to sear inside of her worse. She sat up, ignoring the agony coursing through her tiny frame. Pain suffocated her thoughts. Yet, she could hear the creature's melodic singing next to her. The bruxa twirled on the right side of the throne as her voice rose to the high ceiling of the cavern. Blood dripped down the creature, coating her breasts. The sound echoed in the immense room. With her hands outstretched, she spun on her tiny feet. As she twirled, pieces of her fabric ripped Laelithra could not understand the words coming from Jhaer's mouth. As the words entered into Laelithra's mind, she could not push the fear that overcame her deep inside of her. It spread throughout her like an ebony growth, overshadowing her thoughts. The only thing that the young child could think of was the mind numbing terror spreading through her body.Laelithra's breath came out quickly. The thunder outside roared, shaking the dirt off of the brown stalagmites, coating the floor around them. Dirty water dripped in rhythmic plops off of the immense stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Darkness consumed the cave because the braziers had long went out long ago.Raising her hand to the side of her forehead, wetness coated the tips. Laelithra placed her fingertips close to her face and noticed the thick, red substance. She moved her fingers together, smearing the liquid. At once, she knew what it was. Blood. The sticky wetness oozed down the left side of her face, slid down her neck, and disappeared into her burlap collar. As the wound continued to bleed, she found herself fighting to stay conscious. Briefly, she wondered how they made Hare aggressive. The young girl could not deny that the young boy had changed. She was living with Viktor. While it might not have been the life of luxury, her father cared for her. During her brief travels with the white-haired witcher, she had observed a similar behavior in him. Geralt left her wanting for naught as long as it was not extravagant. He provided clothes for her body, food for her belly, and shelter from the elements. In a way, he had became her adopted father. Even if the witcher refused to acknowledge it, he was.Once more, she wondered how they had changed Hare. She remembered the deformities lining the planes on his face and the thick scar circling around his neck and back. Hatred showed in his eyes, directing the fury at her. Even the unusual monsters that the witchers killed did not hold the contempt her brother did. Laelithra missed how close her brother and she was. Of course, she knew he was hurting. His confusion seeped into her soul, blackening it. Every emotion, every pain, and every sensation she could feel as if she had experienced it herself. He was her twin. Closing her eyes tightly, she hung her head low. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, making her question the severity of things. If she would rest, the feelings would leave her. Laelithra knew the truth deep down. Things were not as terrible as she made it out to be. Monsters such as the bruxa and her minions only existed in her dreams.No, the situation was not happening. Laelithra knew she was home in her mother's cottage with Hare sleeping peacefully beside her. Her father would return any moment with liquor on his breath. He would beat her. Yet, it was a more pleasing circumstance than what was before her. It would mean that Geralt, Viktor, and these bruxa were real.Deep within her mind, she knew they had to be real. Geralt was too vivid to be a figment of the young girl's imagination. He was too blatant, too crass, and too set in his ways to be anything but alive. Perhaps if she would rest, things would look much better. If she would sleep, the throbbing of her head would cease. Even with her eyes close, the pain abated. Yes, she needed only to rest. The bleeding would stop, the hideous melody would leave her, and the dust from the stalagmites would not catch in her lungs. In one of the many paths of the cave, they heard a sound of rushing footsteps. It was followed by a deep, guttural growl, lifting in intensity as fury set in the owner. The feral snarl overlapped another feminine roar.Her eyes snapped opened, widening as the endless singing ceased. Briefly, she wondered if the creature left because she willed it or if the aggressive sounds in the cave had caused the bruxa to flee. As her gaze lifted, she knew it was not true. Staring into her eyes was the creature. The bruxa's face was an inch from the young girl's.Do I frighten you, Child of Viktor? Instantly, the young girl felt a cold, manicured finger travel on her cheek. The digit collected blood, dragging up her face slowly. A corrupt smile graced the creature's features.Laelithra did not answer the creature. She tried to hide her involuntary shudder of disgust. Her breath hitched in her chest, sticking in her throat. If she wanted to speak, she could not. Fear coated her insides once more. Death became the only thing the young child could think of. No, she could not respond to the creature. The only thing she was capable of doing was shaking.Another shriek drifted towards the room. Pain mixed with rage, slithering around the immense cavern. The leaping snarl hit a crescendo. Laelithra was surprised at the rage she felt within the voice. Yet, there was something that the young child could relate with. Fear saturated the owner. Fear of what, she wondered to herself. Next, a wet screech sounded and filled the room. Suddenly, the noise jerked as if someone pulled on a leash. Then, there was silence.The young girl shrunk away from the touch on her cheek. It felt cold and foreboding. The terror again surfaced in her, making her shiver. Looking around, her pupils were enlarged. Despite how much she tried to see her captor, the blackness refused her. Silently, she wept and longed for any light. With light, there would be hope. With fire, she would not be tired.Immediately, the bruxa stood moving away from the tiny girl. Elegantly, she rose her fingertips to her mouth. She touched the tip of her tongue to the blood coating her fingers. Jhaer moaned in pleasure, and the sound echoed around the cavern. It would not have been wise for her to drink the blood of the young girl. The fluid would go straight to her head much like a drunk.As the sucking sound came, Laelithra tried to block it out. She hung her head as the exhaustion set in once more. Her bones felt heavy like her skin and muscles were hanging off of them. Still, the sounds of wet licking overtook the young girl. Laelithra wondered how much longer she could stay awake. Sleep was becoming a necessary for her.I feel your weakness, child. You wish to sleep. Sleep.Once more, she could not speak. Jhaer gave such sound advice. She could not deny her body craved such a respite such as sleep. Her head throbbed, pounding dully. Pain ricocheted across her scalp, and she gasped. As if to compete with the agony, her wrists flamed to remind her of their condition. The rope continued to eat into her flesh, coating itself with her blood. Because she was forced to hunch over, her back flamed in protest. It was something that she could do nothing about. Rest would alliterate those aches and pain. Her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.Again, the moaning from the bruxa filled the room. She derived pleasure from such a simple act. If she was with Geralt longer, he would have told Laelithra the exact specifics of the vampire. Perhaps, she would have been better prepared and less frightened. Again, she shuddered. Her chin bounced against her chest. Despite the fear and her training, her eyes refused to stay open. Her body craved for rest. Even though she knew that it was foolish to do, she could not ignore the feeling. Something had to give, or the young child would snap. It was not because of lack of rest. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was because the creature had suggested it. Could a simple suggestion imprint into her thoughts like that and affect her body?Laelithra's thoughts centered on the male witcher. He was not the type to come and rescue people. Yet, he proposed a laconic oath to her. She knew he would not forsake her to those who held her captive. Geralt was many things, but he had never went back on his word to her. The young girl wondered what was special between the witcher and herself. Why did he feel like kin? Was it because of her father? Was that the reason the white-haired witcher did not seem like a monster as most children viewed him?Another roar was heard outside, originating from somewhere in the cavern. Thunder mixed with it, overwhelming the premature sound. As with the other roars, it sounded like someone was cut off too early. A wet squish could be heard followed by a harsh hiss. Laelithra could recognize the dying sounds of an animal. The drowner, her first monster, had made the same sound as her father twisted the silver blade in it. Instinctively, she knew a blade loped off a creature's head. Hope bounded in Laelithra. The witcher had come.The joy was followed quickly by distress. Geralt had come, keeping his word. For what end? They wished to lure him here. Laelithra did not understand the advantages of having the male witcher on their side would bring Arcani. His legend reached the ears of the bruxa. While many of her kind feared him, Laelithra could see some sort of respect gleaming in the vampire's eyes.He is here. I can feel it, child. Our new future is beginning to take shape. Geralt of Rivia will join us, or he will die.Although her eyes forced themselves close, Laelithra opened them. Jhaer wished for Geralt of Rivia to join her? Why? Surely, her assassins were better than one lone witcher? Moving, she hissed as pain shot up her arm. Everything started to throb, reaching a crescendo in her body. It was as if the agony was a brilliant symphony. Her back, head, and wrists sang together, merging in harmony.Laelithra worshiped Geralt. Deep within the depths of her mind, she knew he would not have left her to rot amidst vampires. Once again, she knew he never broke his promises to her. Even when Viktor was alive, he was not reliable. No, not like the white haired witcher. She smiled a vicious, cold smile at Jhaer. The look could have been reminiscent of any glares from the White Wolf himself. Surely, she spent enough time with him to adopt a few characteristics from him. Immediately, Laelithra spit on the floor between herself and the bruxa. Well, she thought it was between the two. The darkness refused to let her see the exact position of the vampire. The spittle was no more than a tiny spot, filling with more blood than saliva. She was thirsty and starving. Yet, she barely ate or drunk. “He would never join you,“ she snarled, hoarsely.She knew she could not sleep. Rest was what the creature wished for her to do. The young Laelithra understood it would be easier to pressure Geralt with her not awake. Laelithra could not object to any of their findings. Although her body was on the verge of collapsing, she fought it. Sleeping was dangerous, and she would not do it. The witcher's life hung in balance, and she was the only one who could warn him. Laelithra would not allow him to be used or to die. He had protected her on the road. Presently, she could return the favor.Because the creature was agile, Laelithra did not hear her move closer. She could not feel the malevolent air following the bruxa. Bending down, Jhaer gripped the chin of the small girl. The vampire gazed deeply into her eyes, gauging Laelithra's soul with lifeless eyes. Then, he will die, Child of Viktor. He is in my way, and he will be dealt with. Make no mistake, child, he will die.Laeltihra felt the wind rush towards her face. It hit the side of her cheek before spreading out to her nose. A second later, pain erupted where the wound her brother caused oozed blood, splattering the liquid on the floor and across her face. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. She fought for control because the witcher's life depended on her.Brother Veloeglaeddy, we must prepare.Laelithra continued to fight for consciousness. Geralt had come to rescue her, saving her from the destiny that seemed to mix the two together. She could not live with herself if he were to die. Once more, she felt the jolt of agony explode from the wound. Light flashed before her eyes in rhythmic timing with the spasms. Suddenly, she went limp in the bruxa's embrace.
Chapter NineWith a grunt, he pulled the thin, silver blade from the chest of the grey, wrinkled skin creature. The dark blood squirted vertically, splashing onto his face. Gore clung to the edge of the sword, running in slow drips onto the dirt floor. It mixed with the floor, twisting in the mud. He shook the blade, expelling more from the fuller of the weapon. He could hear the thunder crashing outside. Rain pinged the ground, echoing through the immense cavern. The scurry of c.o.c.k.r.o.a.c.h.e.s came to him next as their bellies dragged along the dirty, bloody ground. Hideous laughter pulled at the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.Geralt growled in frustration as a cold wind blew over his body. It chilled his body, causing tiny goosebumps to appear on his upper arms. While his breath tried to smother him, he inhaled deeply. The witcher counted to himself, holding his breath. His gaze raced along the fallen creature. The short membranous wing attached to its short stubby tail and raced up to the tip of its large, dark middle finger. Small, jagged cuts caused several holes in the web-like tissue. A red bulbous spongy material appeared behind its enormous hard cranium. Two large fangs glinted crimson in the sparse moonlight filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. Blood oozed from its mouth, running down its chin and plopping on the ground. More liquid expelled from the immense wound on its chest and flowed in a bright red river down its sides. Finally, Geralt noticed the stylized A branded into the flesh of the monster's bicep.The witcher opened the satchel that hung off of one of the leather straps crossing his chest. It rested against his left rib. His nimble fingers brushed passed filled vials, folded skins, and talons. He knew where everything in his side pack was positioned just by touching the various bottles. Everything was placed in a specific order. Running his hand over an empty glass vessel, he pulled it forth. Next, he moved a few inches to the right. Immediately, the hilt of his skinning knife fit securely in his strong grip. He withdrew it, and the moonlight gleamed off the sharp blade.With the toe of his leather boot, he nudged the creature's body. The witcher had learned not to be careless after his encounter with the princess of Temeria. He almost died for his foolishness. Geralt bore the thick scars to remind him of the incident. Even if the monster appeared to be dead or cured from a curse, the chances were ripe for it not to be fully cured or slain. A small chance of it being alive was a chance that the White Wolf did not like. Despite all his attempts of to rouse the vampire, it lay still with its glassy eyes staring into oblivion.Immediately, he clutched the arm of the deceased vampire. Its immense wing stretched out. The creature reek. To humans and most non humans, they smell would be enough to make their stomach turn on itself. It was a warning signal for those races. Most intelligent species recognized those signs and stood clear of crypts and abandon buildings where these particular creatures nested.Yet, Geralt was not a normal human or nonhuman. While he did have those fears and other signs of terror, he ignored them for the most part. Even when his body submitted to some of these baser instincts, he could not. He would acknowledge the fear, push it inside of him, and continue on his way. He was a witcher. By default, his profession meant dealing with these types of monsters. The White Wolf did not know the existence of any witchers who did not have the stomach for their forced career. Slowly, the knife sunk deep within the fleshy wing of the monster. It danced close to the beginning of the wing, separating the web-like tissue from the garkain. While there was a sense of urgency in Geralt to find Laelithra, he would not miss an opportunity for some gold pieces or an ingredient for his witcher's elixirs that he was dangerously close to running out of. He could not deny that his endless pursuit of the female child carried a heavy weight on his herbal stock.As he grasped the wing and pulled gently, it slid easily from the vampire's thin, whip-like finger bones. Because the garkain preferred to wait on rooftops or rafters of builds and swoop down to stun their prey, their stretchy skin bore a stark resemblance to a bat's. Of course, there was other likenesses. Its high forehead tapered into a short, flat nose. Two sharp, long fangs glistened out of its dark mouth. The teeth of the vampires were stronger than the flying rodents', being able to rip the flesh of the throat.Gently, he folded the winged membrane and placed it in his satchel. In some corners of the world, the leather from a vampire could be made into boots. If boiled and extracted in the appropriate manner, it could release a valuable alchemy property used in witchers' medicines, concoctions, and other medicines. Briefly, he wondered how much orens or another kingdom's equivalent he could make off of the creature's he slew in the hive of Arcani. Reaching into the creature's mouth and because he was in a hurry, one of its fangs pricked the black glove of the witcher. Once more, he was careless, he thought with a sigh of disgust. Yet, fortunately, it did not break through the thick material. The witcher was sparred the latent poison lurking in the creature's mouth Instead, a distinct sizzling sound echoed around the pathway as his silver studs met flesh. If the monster was alive, it would scream with pain. Of course, it was hypothetical. If the vampire was alive, Geralt would not have reached inside of its mouth because the garkain could have crush his hand with its bite force. The witcher chuckled, grimly. It was more of a quick exhale through his nostrils than a real laugh.He wrapped his hand around the thick, gristle tongue. Blood, gore, and saliva clung to the leather of his glove. It glistened, making the ebony sheen. He pulled the organ out of the mouth. A stream of dark liquid shot from the vampire's mouth and hit the wall. The thick, grey muscle dripped with stringy saliva. It stretched to a thin line before snapping off. Using his other hand, Geralt picked up the empty vial and placed it underneath the fleshy tongue. Slithering down the side, the liquid dripped into the glass vessel.As the sticky fluid filled the container, Geralt could not help but feel a sense of urgency overtake his body. He was not here to collect more ingredients for his elixirs. The longer he took in extracting the specific body parts he thought he needed the chance for the girl to be lost rose. In spite of this urgency, he could not shake the need to collect the materials. After Geralt removed another empty vial from his pack and pulled the cork from the opening, he tilted the creature's head back and exposed the rough, leather-like neck. The knife slid easily into the creature, creating a rather large hole. Blood rushed out from the wound, seeping between the wrinkles on back of the dead creature's neck. Blood from the vampire and Geralt's butchering made the floor slippery. As the weapon pierced deeper, a clear liquid replaced the blood. It flowed, oozing down the sides of the neck and circling around to the back.Geralt frowned. This was precious fluid, and there was only so much of it. Like any other witcher who would exist, he knew how important this liquid was. The witcher swore to himself, quietly as he brought up the empty vial. In Laelithra's pressing need, he had grew careless once more. Why was this one child so important to him? His lips pressed downwards in a scowl. Of course, he did not understand the emotions running through him. What was important about this particular girl? Why did he feel a sense of kinship to her?As his tilted the head up, the clear fluid exuded from the wound. It dripped into the opening of the vial. Some of it landed on the outside of the lip of the container. The fluid slid down the outside of the glass and over his fingers. He did not pay attention to it. Because of his profession, he had been covered in worse than lymph. Every fluid could be cleansed by a simple trip to a bath house.Immediately, he remembered the first time he had taught her to dissect and retrieve the parts needed. Geralt did not know why he began her training and teaching her that specific skill. He had no plans of taking her to Kaer Morhen or mutating her. She could not ingest the elixirs he could, or she could die. Pursing his lips together, he wondered why he did it. What was it about this one girl? The only thing the witcher knew was what ensued that simple lesson: his inability to refuse the girl of whatever was her desire.The moon sparkled off of the rippling water. Ebony blood seeped from the bank and spread into the liquid, mixing as if a lamp had spoiled oil in the river. Black swirled slowly in the clear water before sinking into the depths.He squatted next to a corpse. The smell of decay drifted up, washing over him. Geralt did not gag or cough. Numerous monsters lay slain from his hand, and he was used to the reek that certain unnatural creatures gave off. Casting a side glance briefly at his companion, he wondered when the scene would become to much for her and make her vomit.To his surprise, the young girl mimicked his own movements. Laelithra crouched next to him. Her small leather pants brushed his own. She pulled back her platinum hair, letting the strands run through her fingertips. It fell forward, brushing the cheeks of the child.It perplexed Geralt. The child did not act squeamish in the slightest. . Normal children would have thrown up by now. Most children would have turned from the sight shouting to the heavens. Laelithra had done neither. The child rocked on the balls of her feet, swaying lightly as a gentle wind blew towards them. Once more, the horrid scent rose and enveloped the two in its stench. Since the smell was stronger, he expected her to react now. She looked down at the creature, pursing her small lips. Laelithra looked thoughtful at the monster.It was bloated as the slime slid off of its carcass, saturating the ground beneath of it. The ground would never again spring to life. To whoever would come to that spot, there would always be bare earth where grass grew. Enormous eyes lost their luster as they stared off into oblivion. One of its arms were completely severed, lying in a similar puddle next to the monster's head.He wondered if the girl was brave or just stupid. Her knowledge of the world took Geralt by surprise on most occasions. She had the knowledge of a child older than she was. In fact, most of the things she did astonished the witcher. Geralt had never seen a child react with anything short of terror upon seeing the remains of a monster, and most reacted that way upon seeing the White Wolf, himself. His mind worked at an explanation for it.Once more, the little girl moved closer to Geralt. It seemed like she could not get a good enough view of the drowner. She reached her hand up, placing it on his thigh. Her tiny hand seemed to burn through the leather straps holding a dagger to his leg. Laelithra stretched out her neck, bringing her head forward. Geralt wondered if she would ever blink. Instead, she leaned forward still. She looked on the corpse with familiarity as if it and how the witcher was bent over it was a perfectly normal sight to behold.“Was your father teaching you?” he asked, quietly. In a way, the witcher knew the answer. He tried to remember what he knew about Viktor. The elder witcher was ambitious to a fault. His cruelty was legend among the witcherlings as Geralt's legend was in the country side. There was a part of him that wished for it to not be true. Yet, it was the only possible conclusion he could come to. “Was he bringing dead monsters home and showing you how to cut them up?”Laelithra took a deep breath, puffing out her small chest. Her dark eyes flared, brilliantly as she turned her gaze to the pale witcher. He could read the arrogance in her posture. The small hand still gripped his thigh in innocence. Once more, he thought how she was different from all of the other children he had known. Yet, was she brave or foolish? She nodded, quickly. “Father would hurt me if I could not get the names or the cuts right. I learned the parts, quickly.”Geralt clenched his teeth as he heard the violence that was visited by the girl's father. The White Wolf would never visit violence on his pupil. A good trainer did not have need to.“And he had me kill one. He said it was a drowner. He cut its leg, gave me his sword, and had me kill it.” she said with pride. Her eyes sought his for approval. He could feel it radiating off of her. She smiled, predatory as if the simple act would make him proud of her. “He said I couldn't because I was a girl, but I did.”Suddenly, Geralt's eyes widened. The witcher did know how long Viktor had her for. He did not know the circumstances around the elder witcher acquiring Laelithra. Those things did not matter to him. Deep within him, he felt uneasy about the child. She was only five. A scowl appeared on his face, enhancing the deep wrinkles around his eyes, forehead, and mouth. Geralt knew five was a very young age to be subjected to training with monsters. Even maimed creatures were unpredictable. With this answer, he finally understood how Laelithra managed to slice through the alp. What Viktor had done was extremely dangerous and risky. He was even more foolish than he had been in Kaer Morhen, Geralt thought to himself. She continued to stare up at him with her dark eyes. Gone was the curiosity from the monster and upcoming lesson. That was replaced with something else. He could read the inquisitiveness in her eyes, could feel the need for approval in her voice, and could feel the longing for a father that was decease. Geralt could not be that for her. Suddenly, he shook his head in disbelief. There was something else that he wished to know, something he was sure of. Yet, there was the hope inside of him again. It pleaded with him for the answer not to be true. “What was he feeding you, Laelithra?”Her head tilted as she looked up at him. Excitement swirled in the dark depths, leaving no doubt to her emotions. It took Geralt by surprise, making the hope extinguish inside of him. Deep inside of the witcher, he knew the truth to his question. Geralt closed his eyes, awaiting the answer of the young girl.“He thought I was a bunny!” It was the action that Geralt had hoped against. The truth did not surprise him as he thought it would have. There was not much that astonished Geralt much anymore. Yet, it seemed that everything that did concerned the cherub child before him. She was unlike any child she had met, and she was like them all.Laelithra slid her hand around his thigh, causing the leather belts to shift slightly. He could not understand the small child. All experience dictated she should have fled from him screaming. At the very least, she should have warmed to him after a few months. The small girl had done the opposite. She could not part from him almost the instant he found her. Geralt could not deny it felt nice to be needed for anything other than slaying monsters and intimacy. She locked her hands behind his thigh, refusing to move. Laelithra crept closer to him in her embrace.His dagger pressed into his witcher's leathers and her small side. It grew uncomfortable for him, and he shifted lightly to adjust for the extra weight. Blood, gore, and slime from the drowner dripped off of him, landing in thick plops off the ground. His gaunt cheeks were painted crimson. He wrapped his hand around her and held her back. The witcher would never be what Viktor was to her; he could not be.Suddenly, Laelithra lay her head against the side of his body. He thought she would have turned and went back to camp long ago. Instead, she cuddled up to him. When Geralt stiffened, she pressed her cheek against him. Her cheek dragged in the bright red of his side, transferring to her own flesh. Geralt still thought she would have ran to the camp. Yet, he felt her tilt her head up. “He fed me yucky mushrooms and grass. I was not allowed meat,” she replied, softly. She nuzzled against Geralt.Reaching up with his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He squeezed hard. Once more, he knew what was to be true and what wasn't. It did not mean he had to believe it. His mind searched for other possibilities, refusing to believe the stories Laelithra told him about her father. He always refused to believe her. Girls had an active imagination, and the young girl clinging to his side was no different.“Once I stole a chicken leg from his dinner, Father beat me for it. He always said I should have been a boy when I was a bad girl.” Opening his eyes again, his golden gaze flamed as if it was fire enveloping a cave's opening. He shook his head again, quickly. Many called Geralt a hard ass. In fact, it was a quality in Geralt that he preferred in himself. He sought the truth with his uncompromising outlook, and it had not failed him so far. Yet, even he knew there was a difference between a hard ass and an asshole. The more the girl told him about her father the more Viktor was beginning to sound like the latter. Geralt knew Viktor was a crazy fool when he was in Kaer Morhen. Although he was hard on the witcherlings, Viktor relented when it became dangerous for them.His companion smiled up at him, beaming at him. Blood streaked down her flesh, and she squeezed his thigh tighter. The girl's grip was strong, and it was starting to sink into Geralt. Yet, there was a still apart of him who hoped that it was not true. Despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary, he wished that it would not be. Looking down his arm into the little girl's eyes, his jaw tensed. Could this tiny girl truly be the witcher's child of destiny, his surprise? Geralt knew it was not unheard of because he was proof himself. Destiny tended to visit cruelty on them, and Geralt was proof of that too.Could another witcher have truly survived the attack on Kaer Morhen? Geralt did not witness it because he was not there at the time. Vesemir had always said no one survived. He could not have known for sure because he survived by hiding. He did not see any survivors. Yet, it did not mean there was not any. A cold wind blew through him,and it was not cause by the gentle breeze by the river. For so long, he had deliberately avoided talking about Laelithra's father. He had told her he believed her tales. There was doubts in his mind. Geralt doubted everything that he personally did not witness. Viktor. The name echoed through Geralt's mind. How did he survive? He felt the first inklings of betrayal. Could one of their own really had worked with the humans and sorcerers? Is that how he made it out if it was true? So many unanswered questions ran through his mind as he gazed at the tiny girl. There was another possibility. Upon his own travels, he would occasionally comes across humans who killed monsters. While they were not as successful as a witcher, they did do it. It explained why there was less monsters in the world. Yet, these humans would often fall prey to whatever the job they had took. They were no witcher. That was even less likely than Viktor being who he said he was.She continued to stare at him curiously. Her lips turned up in a smile. Immediately, she rested her cheek on his side again.
There was only one way to help cement the possibility in Geralt's mind. If Viktor was not a witcher or if Laelithra was lying about who she was, this could leave her a slobbering fool. He did not look forward to ruining the small girl. However, the other man had long since ruined her if he was who he said he was. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a knife. The weapon gleamed, flashing coldly in the naked light of the moon. Its blade curved upward, tapering off at the end in a very sharp point. Geralt nodded his head once at the corpse. “You know, then, what this is?” he questioned, coolly.“It's a drowner. I said already.”The witcher nodded, but he did not smile. There was not a bone left in his body that found humor at his thoughts. He did not like the notion of one from his own clan escaping the massacre and refusing contact with them, stealing from them, and taking it upon himself to train and possibly mutate a child. To Geralt, there was no humor in this. No one knew Viktor's motives for such a thing. Swinging his free arm wide, he motioned to the corpse. “Show me how you would remove its tongue,” he directed, harshly.As she rose her head once more, Geralt could read the suspicion and hurt lurking deep within her gaze. When it did not concern women, he considered himself a pretty good reader of people. She grasped the handle of the blade, looking uncertain for a moment.Relief washed over Geralt. Perhaps, it was true, and either Laeltihra or Viktor lied about who he was. If he had trained her in the dissection of creatures, she would not have hesitated. Laelithra was an orphan, and her parents were killed in the war. It would not be the first time he came across something like that. She lied to get in his good graces. To have a witcher protect her would be better than having some human. Yes, that was it.“Just a knife? I need either a pair of tongs or a hook. Father would often use a pair of tongs so I did not have to touch it. He said getting certain monsters blood or other liquid on me could kill me. Oh, you need to hold the head. Father used to hold the head and force the mouth open for me. Geralt....”With exasperation, he held up his hand to halt the barrage of requests spewing forth from the little girl. If she could slay anything with her mouth, she would be a better monster slaying than he even was. Briefly, he wondered if the Addan Anye could be used in a vocal form. If so, the young girl had mastered it. It would seem that Viktor was not a complete asshole if he insisted on coddling the girl.She looked up at him, waiting.Withdrawing his hand from her back and prying her hands from his thigh, he stood, moved forward on the ground, and knelt again. He reached out for the drowner, dragging its spindly body to him. He wrenched its head around on its neck with one hand. Cartilage snapped, echoing in the night. Geralt wrenched the mouth open, and the bones cracked under the force of his strength. Once more, he nodded to Laelithra. “I'll do this much,” he said, “but I do not have tongs. You'll just have to make due.”She approached, slowly with the knife. Once beside him, she c.o.c.ked her head, gazing at Geralt. Curiosity illuminated her eyes, glowing from within. The witcher followed her gaze to the creature's hanging lower jaw. Its long, tongue hung out of its mouth, and the underside dragged against the monster's blunted teeth. Geralt remembered what she had said a few moments ago about her father forbidden her to touch the creatures. “A witcher does not need tongs or a hook,” he assured her. The White Wolf was unconsciously slipping into the role of a teacher with the young girl. As with all her lessons, that did not include sword play, he was not even aware of it. There was a rapport built between the two, and it was something that even he could not explain. On some nights, it kept Geralt awake as an uneasiness settled into him. “There is no reason to carry more than you truly need. You can hold the tongue with your hand. Do not be afraid to get your hands dirty. Their blood is not harmful.” He nodded, again, at the corpse he held with his hands.A look of confusion over came her face. He looked at her, waiting for her to come forward and do what he bidden. For a brief moment, he was hopeful. Perhaps, the hesitation in the girl meant that the witcher Viktor was truly dead. He had perished in the assault, and the girl was mistaken.Suddenly, Laeltihra shrugged. Her thin shoulders squared, and she gazed fiercely into his eyes. She had traveled with him enough now to return the looks he had gave. Perhaps, she was doubting he was a witcher, too. The White Wolf could not be sure. He was reminded when they first met, and she did not know what a witcher was. If Viktor was who he said he was, why would he leave that out? Surely, he would have told her what he was. It did not make sense to Geralt.She rose, stepped forward, and knelt once more next to Geralt. Over the stench of blood and decay, he could smell the soap and shampoo he had purchased for her. He, the White Wolf, purchasing things for a girl and did not require anything back. Once more, he wondered what it was about the girl. Fervently, he hoped that she was wrong about her father.Laelithra touched the tip of its tongue with her hand. He could read the conflicts written plainly on her face. The slime and blood dripped from its mouth, running down the muscle. It coated her hand. She grumbled slightly. Once more, the stench rose, emitting from the orifices of the dead creature. Still, Laelithra did not gag. It disturbed Geralt more and more as time moved on slowly.Immediately, the young girl pulled it all the way out. She tightened her grip on the slippery appendage, squeezing it. Bits of blood clung to her fingers and palm. If he thought she would have become squeamish then, he was mistaken. There was no look of revulsion in her gaze. The only thing that registered with him was a look of intense concentration. It was a look that mirrored Geralt's.Next, she placed the knife underneath the muscled organ. The curve blade fit against the flesh of the tongue, making a perfect fit. Briefly, he wondered if she would indeed do what he wanted. Perhaps, she would loose her nerve. It was better than the other possibility: a witcher betraying his own school. In a quick flick of her wrist, it was severed from the body. He noted that it was faster than a human would have been. Maybe, it was just his imagination. Blood splattered on her brow, sliding down her eye, and dripping off the point of her nose.After the tongue was severed, she stood back up. Her dark eyes searched for his gold ones, and they found them again. There was pride in her stance. With her hand resting against her side, the knife left a blood smear on the tiny burlap shirt. The other hand, she held the dark, blood soaked organ and offered it to him. “Is this good?” she asked him, seeking his approval.Was it good? His mind echoed. Most young novices only cut the tip of the tongue off their first monster. It was a trial and error system when learning to dissect creatures. Sometimes too much skin could be taken or not enough organ was left on the specimen. It did not account for the complete destruction of the creature. Laelithra had extracted all of it without a second thought. Was it natural to her?“He would beat me if I did not get the right amount.”For the moment, he ignored her admittance. Geralt nodded again. He as surprised that she had removed the whole tongue. It did not leave much doubt to what Viktor was, now. “That's good,” Geralt said, quietly. The simple praise was about the best anyone would get out of the White Wolf. He was not one for words It was not that he did not care for Laelithra or her abilities. In fact, it was just the opposite. For a brief moment, he marveled at the tiny girl. Gearlt of Rivia always kept things simple and honest.Still, his mind could not understand the importance of the situation. He did not like it. The entire situation stunk more than a striga in summer. It worried him that a witcher kept himself away from the others. The fact that he would train a child, a GIRL child at that, disturbed him. In fact, it bothered him that he had her on the Diet. Where did he get the mushrooms and herbs? They only grew in Kaer Morhen. Everything pointed towards Viktor stealing from them. How much did he steal from his own kin, to what end?As the wheels in his mind spun like a water wheel, he had to find something in his mind that could disprove what was all but proven. Geralt was stubborn as they came, and he would not believe it. He closed his eyes once more, willing the thoughts to vanish. The unease rushed over him, and dread spread its tendrils inside. He clung to the one thing that could disprove it. “Did your father have a medallion that he wore all of the time?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate. “It would have been shaped like an animal's head.”Laelithra's hand went instinctively into the flap of the satchel that she carried. She sought his eyes like a frightened animal. For a brief moment, he thought she would run. “No. He did not wear it at all. He said those that did were hypocrites, taking money for services they should be offering for free. Innocents are innocents he would say. Whether they could pay or not, everyone deserve our protection.”It made sense to Geralt now. She would would evade the vampires, this Arcani, who sought to capture her. Geralt still did not understand why they were after her, but he understood how she escaped their clutches most of the time. The vibration of the medallion would tell her that. Yet, perhaps, it was not the same Viktor. His mind argued with him. There were two additional schools, he reminded himself. It would mean that one of their own did not steal from them.As she removed her hand from the pack, the moonlight glinted on the silver chain hanging over her palm. She clasped the medallion tightly. Laelithra gazed into his eyes, and he was able to read the nervousness in them. He tried to remind himself the silver sword and the medallion must have been the only heirlooms from the man who raised her. The man that allowed them to think he was dead, the man who stole from them, the man who was giving a diet to a girl without knowing the risks, his mind screamed angrily at him. As if she sensed his thoughts, she recoiled from him.Geralt tried his best to be gentle and reassuring He forced a smile, making the deep scars on his face to lighten. Yet, he was a witcher and not a nursemaid. The witcher failed, and he failed, miserably. The look made him resemble someone who had constipation. After all, many would not call Geralt handsome. In fact, the smile he offered the child was hideous at best. “Let me see it,” he requested. “I won't take it from you.”Yet, the tiny girl glowed underneath his affectionate look. She smiled her own, mimicking the witcher. Even though he was uncertain about the child and her origins, he could not deny he had a way with the child. He felt uneasy about their friendship. It was a relationship born out of a need. Laelithra needed Geralt's protection, but he did not know what he got from it. All he knew was the more time he spent with the tiny girl, the more deeper he was in. After all, she needed him.Laelithra extended her hand, dropping the amulet into his own. As with other small children, her attention drifted to something else. She was no different. Tilting her head, she looked at him. The moonlight angled down, making her hair glisten pure white. Geralt could feel the eagerness wash off of her, exuding into the waning night. Immediately, she nodded to the corpse. “That was fun! Can I cut more of it?” she asked, excitedly. Rarely was he around children who did not scream at the sight of him. Even more rarely did they ask to dissect more of a drowner.Geralt ignored the request. His gaze was pulled to the medallion in the palm of his head. He let the amulet swing free in his hand. The Wolf head revolved slowly as he dangled it before his face. Brilliant silver flashed, running along the curves of the object. Its ruby eyes stared up at him in an endless, silent snarl. It was exactly like his, even the material. As he examined it, there was no doubt in his mind that the amulet was real. In fact, it seemed convoluted to try to explain it as a found or won relic. As long as he could remember, he knew about the ways of others. It was the perk of working with those he did. Anyone who'd found a solid silver amulet with rubies for eyes, regardless of its nature,would probably sell it for coin. Because a human would not find any usefulness for the medallion, coin would be more useful to them.Also, he could not find one convincing reason why someone would fraudulently claim to be a witcher. Witchers were loved when they were needed. Men and women would sing their praises when they offered them a task. No one wanted a creature living in their basement, he thought, grimly. After their work was complete, they were expected to collect their reward and skip town. When their was no rocks, they would be met with the stones. Most villagers knew Geralt and other witchers as vagabonds, men without a home. Yet, that was not exactly true. Even Viktor had Kaer Morhen.As he stared at the medallion, a very distant memory crept into the fore of his mind. Geralt was reminded of first receiving his own. He had earned his symbol of the Wolf School. Back then, he was enthusiastic about setting out on the Path, dreaming of the first monster he would come across. The witcher was filled with a purpose as pride spread through him. There was no doubt in the witcher's mind anymore whether Viktor was alive or dead at that point. If he was alive, Laelithra would not have the medallion. Geralt was more certain about that than he was about anything concerning the child. A witcher, even one who openly resented his kin apparently, did not part willingly with his medallion. It was not simple jewelry to them. The medallion was an extension of themselves.Turning to Laelithra, he dropped the amulet back into her small palm. He had promised he would not take it from her, and he would keep that promise to her. The chain slithered through the space of their hands, landing into a writhing mound as it piled in her hand. Immediately, she stowed it in her pack, placing it into a secret pouch he was sure that she sewn into the lining. At least, she thought it was secret. Nothing passed Geralt's observation.When she turned away from him, he took off his own medallion. It swung before his eyes as the other amulet had done seconds before. A sick feeling settled into his gut, churning his stomach. Viktor had not died in the assault. It was clear now. How did he manage to survive it? Vesemir had by hiding. Was that how Viktor did? If he had, the other witcher would have seen him afterward. Narrowing his eyes, Geralt came to three possible conclusions. He was helping the humans, sorcerers, and the other school on the assault, he had help from an outside force, or he left Witcher's Settlement before the attack occurred. Another thing that was obvious to the witcher was where the elder witcher had gotten the herbs to begin Laelithra's diet. One of their own faded from the world after he had stole from his clan. It was unheard of to Geralt. Viktor had taken the herbs from Kaer Morhen when he fled. How much of the herbs did he bring with him? The White Wolf did not even have any idea of how much. They did not really take a stock of the inventory because the witchers did not believe one of their own could betray them to the extent that Viktor had apparently. Viktor was trying to mutate the girl, himself. It explained her agility and strength. Geralt knew he needed more than himself to do it. There was magic involved. The other witcher needed a enchanter to give the elixirs to the girl, and it was the sorcerer who would watch over her during the Changes. Suddenly, he liked the idea of this organization getting their hands on the child less and else.Yet, why would this Arcani be attempting to create another witcher? As far as he could tell, they were comprised of vampires. Why would vampires create something that would slay them in the end? It was the destiny of a witcher. Surely, they knew that.Slowly, the wolf's head stopped spinning. He diverted his gaze from it, glancing over at the girl. “I'm fairly certain your father was a witcher,” Geralt said. “That shouldn't be possible, but that's what it looks like.”“I told you Father was a witcher.”Geralt ignored the comment as his train of thought continued. Despite of everything he had learned from that night, there was one thing that bothered him. Laelithra was insistent that Viktor took no money from those he worked for. “There is one thing, though, that sticks,” Geralt continued, quietly. “He took work for no money? I've never heard of a witcher doing that by his own choice.”She plopped down beside Geralt again. He could see the mists of memories clouding her vision0. Laelithra stared vaguely at the corpse, stiffening before them. She placed her hand on his thigh once more. Her small, grubby fingers left bloodstains on his leather. Immediately, she let out a tiny sigh, holding her hand against her pack. The young child would do that often when she was nervous. It made sense to Geralt because it was where her father's medallion was. Perhaps, she was relieved she had it back. It was more likely that his thoughts were burdening her. “Why is it strange? Father said he was tired of how everything work. He said new people would have to replace the old. He was not needed in a world full of wickedness where the true monsters paid for the services of his kind. Father would take money for different papers on the road when we needed supplies....or I needed a new dress.” He watched her tiny lips frown in a resemblance to one of his own scowls. “He always said that I should learn how to sew, too.”
He nodded at her. “I can understand why he'd want you to know how to sew,” he jibbed, quietly. “You're a girl.” It had been a joke. Unfortunately, the sarcasm in the witcher's voice was lost on the child. Although it could be said that many could not understand Geralt's wit because he did not find humor in many things. The man had strange tastes.Laelithra stood up, and her dark eyes flared angrily. Her feet spread apart. Immediately, she planted her fists on her hips. She had a flair for the dramatic when she felt furious. The young girl hugged in indignation as Geralt watched her young mind try to come up with an answer to his innocent comment.Once again, his thoughts drifted to Viktor. From what she'd told him, Viktor had not changed much from the days of Kaer Morhen. The elder witcher was extremely serious, meticulous, and obsessed with details. It explained why he used tools to butcher his kills. He wanted to be in control, determining the fate of everything in his path. Wanting to be exact, he accomplished it in everything from removing a drowner's tongue to training the little girl. There was several problems wrong with being exact. Exact was not practical. Sometimes, there was not enough time to sit down and butcher kills. Different creatures could have happened upon the witcher. He would need to react rather than be thorough. Then, there was the problem with being to thorough with a kill. Geralt always preferred to take the vital parts of a monster. Sometimes, he would use a cart to wheel in the entire carcass. Most of the time, he brought back proof of his kills and left the carcass to rot. It was what he would do with the drowner now. It was the villagers responsibilities to clean up after him. He merely freed their town of the infestation. Laelithra continued to look at the corpse, and Geralt realized the harm the elder witcher done unto her. She was not prepared for such a situation. The young girl looked confused as she thought up a response to him. What would she be like when he turned and left the corpse there? He had got what he needed. While she inherited Viktor's strength, she would inherit his weaknesses too. It was the flaw of having only one trainer.Finally, her eyes flamed as she looked at him. He knew the response had finally came to her. “I can do anything a boy can do,” she seethed. The air around them crackled with the intensity of the little girl's injustice. To any who would have stumbled onto the pair, it would have been quite the sight to see a small child, no more than five, berating a witcher. It was not just any witcher, either. She was reprimanding Geralt of Rivia. “I can do whatever they can do. . .better.”Geralt had trouble containing the smile that threatened to spill over his scarred features. The little girl was so unlike anyone he'd ever met. He watched as she ran her hand through her hair, meeting his eyes. She did have a certain flair to her. Laelithra was a unique flame amidst the world of chaos. Brave, convicted, smart. It would be rare qualities for the woman she would grow into, and they would be traits that the witcher would come to admire. She likely would have fit in well training to become a sorceress, he thought, grimly. Yet, it would seem destiny had another path for the child.Despite her sureness, Geralt could not let her have the last word. He called her on her claim, catching her in the ignorance of young. “Piss standing up,” Geralt said as he tried not to laugh, rising to his feet.Once more, he saw the wheels of her young mind slowly turn. While she was intelligent, she was still a child. Sometimes, the witcher had to be reminded of that. A light entered her gaze again. She walked to him, gracefully placing her steps as Viktor had no doubt taught her. Raising her hand, she thrust her index finger into the center of his chest. “No swearing, sir,” she commanded, jamming her small, pointy finger into the leather. For a moment, the witcher looked like the young girl had slapped him. His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. It was very surprising to hear the scolding coming from the young child. In fact, he done his share of correcting her language since he'd found her. Her language was colorful and varied. It was a direct influence from the environment she grew up in. Geralt of Rivia had known that too well. Laelithra had the mouth of a guttersnipe. Also, she had the temperament. Some of the words that he'd heard slip from her lips could make even the filthiest innkeeper and prostitute blush. The irony was not lost on Geralt. He was sure that Laelithra did not understand why he was laughing slightly.Suddenly, she laughed too. Her chuckle was born from nervousness. He was convinced that she only laughed because he did. Without knowing why, he enveloped her tiny hand within his own.Her language was another piece of damning evidence. With every piece that slipped into the jigsaw that was Laelithra's life, he cursed the fact it proved. Once more, he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach when faced with the possibilities of the truth. Viktor was rough, cruel, and vulgar. His words could carve a vypper in half by itself. She spoke like Viktor. In the execution of her speech, she enunciated certain words as did the elder witcher.Geralt did not have any more doubt. He resigned himself to the fact that the elder witcher had gone rogue and was training the child, a girl. Complications arose, and the other man was not among the living. Viktor, what were you doing, he questioned himself. Geralt steeled himself, promising himself to find out what the other witcher was doing, why he left Kaer Morhen, and how he came across the herbs. Suddenly, his brows narrowed. The witcher's lips narrowed into a thin line. He could not stop the train of thought his mind was running on, nor could he stop the murky fear spreading into his midsection. Of course, he would never show it. “Was there any other children there?” Geralt asked, harshly. Her eyes widened. Laelithra wrenched her hand from his own, jerking backwards as if he had struck her with all the strength he possessed. At first, she did not act like she heard him. After a moment, she glared angrily at him. He had learned early that her moods had varied. The young girl had an aggressiveness to her. At times, she reminded him of Lambert and his brash nature. Now, he began to understand where that violent streak had come from. “Laelithra, this is important,” Geralt continued without softening his tone. “Were you alone? Were there any older children there? Do you know if he taught anyone before you?”The young girl placed her hands on her hips again, staring up at him with silent aspersion. He had found that Laelithra could be very sensitive about her reputation of being Viktor's surprise. There was no doubt in Geralt's mind that the other witcher told her how special she was on several occasions. Once more, he watched her eyes flared brilliantly. “I was his destiny,” she replied with a sudden onset of anger. At the same time, she poked herself in the chest with one of her fingers. “Father had no need to train icky boys who could not run the path he made through the woods. I knew the ways. Despite rain and snow, I still knew the ways. When he first brought me to the house, my brother was with us. He was given the same yucky mushrooms and grass. Hare was made to do the same things I did.”Next, her eyes misted over as tears fell down her face, landing in thick plops onto the grass. A narrow frown set on her angelic face, giving away what she was feeling. Laelithra could not hide her emotions to Geralt. “I ran the path since I was two. So did Hare. Six months later, Father went with Hare as he was put through what Father called...paces. I was left home, being made to practice on the dummies. Those dummies hurt! I remember the bruises I had from them. Father returned later without Hare. He said my brother fell off a log on the path, and the foolish boy broke his neck.” The young child turned from him as he sat once again.If Geralt's face had had any color to begin with, it would have lost it upon hearing Laelithra's account of her brother. The witcher knew Viktor had blatantly defied fate to take a child of destiny against the child's will. Defying fate was asking for trouble: big trouble.Once more, Geralt watched the Wolf's head of his medallion spin in slow circles. The chain crisscrossed as the moonlight bounced off of it. His thoughts grew wild as he digested the words spewed forth from the young girl. Geralt doubted the accident actually occurred. He did not trust Viktor when the other witcher housed in Kaer Morhen. Instead of lessening, the more he learned about the elder witcher increased that mistrust. Because of the boy did not meet Viktor's expectations, Geralt thought the other man had possibly killed the small child. Shaking his head slightly, he wondered how far Viktor's treachery to both the witchers and the girl went.She continued to weep for her brother. Geralt stared at his medallion, trying to ignore the uneasiness and anguish seeping off of the girl. He wondered if her sounds would draw additional creatures.The White Wolf would not tell the small child of his suspicion on her brother and her father. He did not want to anger or hurt the child by letting her know. Geralt enjoyed the time he spent with the child. It was one of the first times he truly felt happy, and he did not want to jeopardize that. Besides, Viktor was already dead. Destiny had seen to that.Yet, Geralt was never one to sugar coat things. He frowned, looking down at the small child. It would be a hard lesson to learn, but he was sure that the child would learn it one day. Once she had quieted, he said, “Your father made a fool mistake, and I do not mean training you. Taking your brother against his will. It is something that we do not do. It is against the Law of Surprise. It is defying destiny. It's most likely the reason he is dead now. Fate is not forgiving.”He watched her tiny lips squished together as she tried to think of what he was talking about. The mind of a child, specifically a five year old child, could not grasp the concept he was trying to teach her. While she understood that something bigger than herself tied her to Viktor, she could not comprehend the full ramifications of Viktor taking Hare. The other witcher damned the boy, himself, and possibly the little girl with his actions. It agitated him more than it should have. Standing up, he paced the distance between the little girl and the drowner carcass. At the same time, he slipped the medallion over his neck again.Through all of his frustrated movements, he felt her gaze following him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the small child blink in tiredness. Of course, she would be tired. It had been a long night as they scoured the coastline to rid the town of its drowner problem. While the young girl reminded him of a much older child, she was still young. She yawned, loudly. Like any child did, she complained. The only exception was she only complained when she was tired. “I'm sleepy, Geralt. I want to go to bed. I'm too tired to walk. Carry me to Roach,” she demanded, quietly.For some reason he could not hope to understand, he did not deny Laelithra's request. Inexplicably, he did not mind the prospect of carrying the girl to the Roach. He was covered in blood, dirt, and slim. Frankly, he smelled from the work he had done that night. Yet, he still did not refuse the little girl. Geralt pondered why that was. Was he softening, or was there something else going on? If he was, it was this little girl's fault. There was something about her, something that the White Wolf couldn't put his finger on, that made him want to give her everything she wanted. Most of all, he wanted to see to her safety. Even the witcher knew she did not deserve the hard life she'd had in her short decade.Without answering her, he turned from her and stowed the drowner parts in his satchel. Immediately, he turned back to Laelithra and cradled her to his chest. The witcher was very mindful of his sword hilts.She wound her arms around his shoulders, letting her arms dangle down his upper form arms. Her feet hooked to his waist. Instantly, she placed her head on his shoulder. It surprised Geralt that she did not mind being close to him when he was painted in the things he was.“Don't touch the swords,” he commanded, simply. “especially the one with wool inside the sheath. That's my silver sword. It's incredibly sharp and easy to nick.”Geralt felt her hot breath against his neck as she nuzzled him. “I know,” she answered. It was hard for Geralt to remember she had been receiving witcher training. Much of what Geralt told her, she already knew. Once again, he cursed Viktor silently. This little girl was being robbed of her childhood. The reasons could not have been good. Why else would Viktor need secrecy and not have come to his kin? As Geralt thought about it, the whole situation stunk.Leaving the corpse behind without a thought, Geralt journeyed past the river and through the woods. From her even breathing, he did not have to look at her to tell that she was sleeping. Occasionally, she would thump on his arm in a nightmare. The little girl's strength astonished him on several occasions. Why wouldn't it? He asked himself. She was stronger than an average little girl. Viktor had seen to that.Arriving back where he tied the Roach, the horse neighed quietly in greeting to the two. Geralt lifted Laelithra up and onto the horse's saddle. She grumbled at being woken. Her face tightened in a whimper. For a long moment, Geralt merely stared up at her. He felt standoffish, and all of his instincts told him to flee. The child was changing him, very slightly. In fact, the more he traveled with her the less he felt like his old self. Reaching out, he snatched the lead line for the horse and started walking out in front of the mare. It did not take for long for the Roach's slow rocking gait to return Laelithra to the land saturated by dreams. Once or twice, she cried out, causing the Roach's ears to flick back. Geralt knew she was having nightmares because it was not the first time she whimpered in the night in his presence. While he usually roused her, that night was different. He had thoughts of his own plaguing him, and he did not disturb her. Even though he would train her to defend herself, he decided he would find a safe place for Laelithra. It would be a place where she would have the chance to grow up normal before it was too late. The only problem was that Geralt did not know if such a thing existed.He frowned as the memories seeped from his mind, calling him to remember a promise he made to himself that was broken. Looking up from the garkain, he could not help but scoff of a notion of a safe place. The only thing that he helped Laelithra with was getting her captured by this organization. Running his hands on his legs, he stood from his work. Up ahead of him, he could hear chanting drifting from the depths of the cave. It was accompanied by several quiet whimpers. For Geralt, it was hard for him to judge the distance and direction in the labyrinth of tunnels. He tried his best to keep the sound before him as he made his way deeper into the lair.
Chapter TenDownward into the depths of rocky hell, Geralt pursued what he viewed was taking from him. The girl was his only connection to what happened to Viktor. If he had any hope of finding out why the other witcher had gone rogue, Laelithra must remain alive. Yet, it was not the only reason he sought after her. Geralt gave his word to keep her safe. He promised himself that he would find her a safe harbor from all that her father had done to her. He had failed her, and he had betrayed his own self in the process. His teeth clenched together, grinding in angry frustration. Much like anyone, Geralt did not like to admit his shortcomings and failures. His thoughts turned towards the little girl again. They had became closer than he thought possible. She was the reason he traveled through the caves at this exact moment. Geralt had became the child's protector, and they snatched her from him. The knowledge of it burned deeply in his stomach as if his stomach flopped over on itself.A pressing need filled inside of Geralt. He pictured the things that the vampires were doing to the young girl. Were they bleeding her, flaying her alive? He remembered the note he had received. No, they wished to keep her alive. Geralt did not know for what purpose. It could not be because of the training the young girl had received. To any one else, she was just a normal child. Grimly, the witcher smiled. Yes, she was just a normal child to anyone else. To Geralt, she was anything but normal. She felt like kin. Shaking his head, he pushed himself into a full sprint. No, she did not just feel like kin. Deep inside Geralt understood, the child and he shared a kinship. Laelithra was his family. Was that what bothered Geralt about her? How did he come to care about her in such a short time span?Onward, he charged, plunging himself into the twisting depths of an agitated darkness. It cloaked his descent. The urgency to find the girl and the realization of how much he wished to keep her from harm combined with the elixir racing through his veins fueled his blade. Limb after severed limb, body after decapitated body, room after immense room, devastation lay behind the White Wolf.Pushing off the balls of his feet, he continued his hectic speed into a large, blood stained, gaping room. His concern for the little girl had made him careless again. Another growl of frustration escaped him, forcing from his lungs. The tiny girl had to be her somewhere. Geralt had already searched many rooms. The witcher's quarry escaped him. She needed him.Dirt and pebbles sprang underneath his boots, clattering behind his footsteps. Sweat saturated his hair, trickled down his neck, and rolled underneath the collar of his jerkin and shirt. His lean muscles bulged from exertion. Through his effort, he would find the girl. Geralt would not give up on her. He clenched his teeth, steadying his breathing. He had his determination and a protective drive pushing him forth. With his determination, there was nothing that could stand in his way.Unfortunately, the earth decided to challenge Geralt. As he rushed across a small bridge-like rock formation, the ground began to shake underneath of him. The pebbles and intestines shook around his boots, quaking in the dirt and gore covered floor. He could feel it begin to give way, threatening to send him into the abysmal blackness. Because he was a witcher, he wondered what sort of monstrosities lurked there, laying dormant for an untrained soul. Briefly, his mind ran through a list of monsters, both natural and unnatural, that could be in the chasm.It was the life of a witcher. His thoughts turned to the best places to sell the alchemist ingredients that he, himself, did not make use of. While he worked in the spring, summer, and fall, he would need some extra gold pieces this year. Even though Geralt was frugal, traveling with the little girl had cost him some unexpected expenditures. He had found that he could not deny her of anything. For what seemed a millionth time since their meeting, he wondered if he was softening and what it was about her that caused him to react this way. At least, she was practical. He smiled, slightly. No, at least, she tried to be practical.As he continued across the pathway, tiny stones shook quickly. The ground grumbled underneath of him, causing him to take pause. Clinks could be heard coming from the latches on his boots as his walk slowed, echoing in the dismal shadows. He walked carefully as his senses alerted him to anything unusual. His gaze continued to watch the bouncing rocks as they vibrated.The shaking continued, and the ground threatened to collapse underneath the witcher. Straining to listen, he could hear the whistling air as the rock flipped over itself. At first, he could hear the whistling wind as the rock flipped over itself and increased in acceleration. He did not hear it hit the bottom of the chasm. Surely, the darkness did not exceed deep into the bowels of the earth.Increasing to a roar, the growling behind him reached to a roaring crescendo. Suddenly, the sound of ground cleaving in half roared through the air. It echoed, signaling the death of the object Geralt walked on.Geralt turned around, searching for the cause of the noise. Even with his heightened senses, the looming darkness was hard to see in. Several large rocks bounced off the edge, hurling to their demise. He could feel a maleficent energy filling the air. While his medallion seethed violently and leaped off his chest in enormous spikes, the witcher glanced around him. With the intensity of the amulet's vibration, the sensations forced his head to bow. Suddenly, he watched a large crack appear on the part of the bridge he had just traveled. It slithered along the ground, swallowing body parts and boulders alike in its effort to overtake the witcher. As it thundered towards him, his eyes widened. The look of concern radiated in the golden depths of his eyes. His breath hitched in his chest. Immediately, his hands clenched against his thighs. Yet, the sound of the creaking leather was swallowed by the thunderous noise behind him.Instantly, he pushed off the balls of his feet. The witcher darted forward as if his entire body had been one long spring. A growl erupted deep from within him, reverberating deep within the room. In fact, the bestial fury blended with the dissonance behind him. His witcher's leathers screamed in protest. Geralt spun around debris, loosing himself in a pirouette. He charged onward, evading falling rocks raining from the ceiling. A large flat rock rose to bar the race for his life. It towered over head. Each of its numerous edges jutted out. Geralt scowled. It was never easy. There was never a straight walk to his quarry. Without out a conflicting thought, he rushed up a flat portion of the boulder. Brown and ivory streamed together, blurring in his urgent movements. At the edge of the rock, he did not lose his quicken pace. He bent his knees, leaned forward, and propelled himself through the air.The darkness threatened to envelop him as his ascent picked up momentum. His ivory ponytail streamed behind him as a leather headband secured it in place. Air rushed out of his lungs, attempting to give the air-borne witcher balance. Beneath his form, the crack continued to race.Suddenly, Geralt landed with a loud thud on the other side of the rock. His air slammed from his lungs, forcing itself out in burning anguish. Bending over, his body tucked itself into a ball of leather and steel. He tried to outrun the splitting chasm as the ground trembled underneath of him. The White Wolf rolled vertical, using the momentum gained to him during his jump. Geralt could feel the vibrations as his medallion continued to seethe violently.Finally, he stopped turning over on himself. Geralt stood up in a smooth motion. At the same time, he started to spring forward once more. The White Wolf would not die in a dank cave by his own foolishness. Thoughts of the tiny girl spurred him forth. He would survive this quaking stone bridge. Because he promised to protect her, he had no choice.Yet, it would seem the earth had other plans for the witcher. It did not care for his fragile loyalty to Laeltihra. Finally, the ground tumbled beneath of him. Geralt's allegiance with Laelithra was stronger than any of the will set against him. Besides the little girl's face would not leave him.. As the ground quaked, he knew he would fall. He could not outrun what fate conspired against him. Reaching up, he pulled on one of the thick, leather straps crisscrossing his chest. His steel sword flamed as it sprung into his grasp as if it was eager for excitement. The ground opened up underneath of his feet, sending both witcher and rocks spiraling to their doom.As he slipped over the jagged edge, his upper arm smacked into the side. Blood spiraled down his lean arm. It wet the white sleeve of the shirt, soaking the thin black straps hugging the burlap fabric to his flesh. As he descended, he rose the sword above his head. Even though peril reared its black head to the witcher, calmness shone in the golden depths of his eyes. His movements were precise, slamming the very tip of his steel sword into the round. A metallic ring echoed around the room.Wrapping both hands around the blade's handle, he rose his feet and dug them into the side of the plateau. The sword screeched in protest of the wiry witcher's weight. When he jerked forward, the sword would try to buckle. Geralt dug his heels, stopping his descent. This caused more blood to expel from the wound on his shoulder, whirling as tiny bright red orbs free falling in the darkness. He was somewhat surprised, seeing the blood wetting his straining shirt. Because of the elixir coursing through his veins and growing concern for the young child, he did not feel the pain. Not knowing what they were doing to the young girl and his precarious position, he did not have time to wrap the wound.Geralt's arms flexed from his weight. He did not even feel the excruciating pain associated with his position. This was a boon and a curse. A witcher could bleed out without even realizing it. A primal screech emitted from the witcher, feeding the fury flowing through him like an underground river. He moved his feet, attempting to scale the rock. Slowly, he scaled upwards. Ignoring the protesting groans of the sword plunged into the earth above him, he continued to climb.His thoughts turned towards the child. If he died here, what would they do to her? A vision of Laelithra's tiny body bound and left to the amusements of the vampires flashed through his thoughts. It steeled his resolve, giving him unknown strength. Once more, he moved his boot, planted it firmly into the wall, and pulled his weight up more.Yet, destiny was working against the witcher. As the top of his head appeared over the edge, the weapon rang cruelly. The sword screamed of the torture it was receiving from its owner. Suddenly, it clattered to the ground as the blade split in twain. It fueled his rage, intertwining with the wrath he felt at this organization. Once again, Geralt was plummeted downward.His hands gripped the ground for leverage. Bits of rocks loosened, wrenching free from the ground. Dragging across the ground, his black gloves dug into the ground. Inertia pushed him downward, trying to end him. Geralt pushed his feet forward into the rocky wall harder than before. He let out a primordial snarl. It echoed around the chasm, filling the room.Geralt's fall was halted as his hands gripped the very edge of the rock. He clenched hard, refusing to give whatever was working against him the satisfaction of accomplishing what it sought to accomplish. Groaning, his arms flexed as he lifted himself up over the edge.He flipped over onto his back, letting his breathing return to normal. Near his head, the sword lay in two pieces. It had shattered, completely. As he sat up, he looked at the blade. Geralt picked up the two halves of the weapon, frowned widely, and cursed.