Duenmich danced amidst the dark. Its elven runic carvings sparkled wildly as the witcher swung it against his numerous foes. The cave was not very deep, but dark nonetheless. Not that it mattered to the witcher, whose senses still worked perfectly down there without the need of any potion usage.
It's arguable that facing so many opponents at the same time without the aid of any potion or decoction would be risky, but not even bothering to use Signs was probably taking it too far. Although Dremor didn't really think so. Those silly monsters were not even opponents, per se, but more of a cannon fodder. Their movements, albeit somewhat nimble, were boringly predictable and not one bit coordinated. Sometimes even striking themselves to death in a friendly fire pandemonium, they waved claws and talons desperately around the place in search for the witcher's flesh, in vain. Duenmich, on the other hand, graciously descended upon their bodies with pinpoint accuracy, severing skin, meat and bone in one go without much resistance.
It was all about controlling the crowd around you, maneuvering in order to never be overwhelmed, yet always on the offensive, thinning out their numbers one at a time. Back step, upward slice to the right, spin, use the circular motion to strike from above, parry with the guard, sidestep to the left, cut upwards again. The silver sword moved rapidly in the witcher's hands, covering as many spots in his defense as possible while cleaving limbs with no apparent trouble.
As the runes carved in the blade started to lose its golden glow, he knew the fight was over. Silent, he waited for a couple of seconds, in expectation for another creature to jump out of some slimy rock crevice, but there was nothing. Besides his own presence, just the horrible stench of blood and rot remained. Dead silence. Once the adrenaline lowered, he concentrated his senses in search for a possible wound his body could have sustained during the fight, but there was none.
Without any hurries, Dremor picked up his pocket knife and began to work. With caution, he meticulously sliced open the creatures' heads just above the ears, revealing their blood-oozing brains. The contract was simple, but so was the pay, and he just could not afford missing coin because he was impatient with the cleaning up duty. As the weird customs of Cidaris demanded, the reward would be calculated based on the weight of the cerebral masses collected from the monsters. As he was just about to work on the last creature, he recognized that one in specific. It was the first to jump at him when he entered the cave, nearly managing to land a hit in the process.
"Almost bit my ear off, the devil," hissed Dremor to himself in his deep, slow voice. Oh, damn, thought him a moment afterwards, I'm doing it again, this talking to myself thing. It was hard to stop, after you got so used to it. After you got so used to being alone.
Even if the services he provided had an incredible demand, his presence was almost never appreciated. Witchers' presences rarely were. They were mutants, freaks to the eyes of the common people. Monstrosities who took coin to kill other monstrosities. To top it off, it was just recently that the Law of Surprise started being used to maintain the witcher cast, and the primitive witcher customs of kidnapping children were still fresh in the populace's memories.
Dremor was a product of the second generation of witchers. After the huge success of the first Alzur experiments, the monster slayers' services became very popular among the human masses. In all honesty, work was never on the short hand for them. There were monsters, all right; more than ever, and witchers were made exclusively to purge them all. Enhanced reflexes and an overall improvement on general physical abilities were just the beginning of the arsenal witchers had at their disposal, but it all carried a heavy price.
The mutations stripped a person of many human aspects, effectively peeling away the very humanity the further the mutation went. When completed, the mutations sterilized every new monster slayer. Since reproduction was impossible, the main problem was getting a reliable supply of boys to carry on the burden, replacing the witchers that died on duty. Needless to say, no parents on their sane minds would ever hand over their children to those monstrous experiments. So, for many years before the usage of the Law of Surprise, the solution seemed drastic yet very simple: the boys were either forcefully taken away from their families or bought from underground war slave traders. After all, the ends justified the means, since such moral dilemmas seemed excessive and petty when considering the bigger picture. The world was steadily being swallowed by beasts, and humans needed protection. The big irony resided in the fact that, at times, people feared their protectors the most.
Nowadays, however, Dremor was no longer alone. I'm not a loner anymore, and that's why I need to stop doing this, he thought, a smile slowly crawling over his face. Well, that, and because Ves hates it. She says I look like a freak when I do that.
"I don't believe I need to talk to myself to look like a freak, my dear," mumbled the witcher, as if to spite her. A useless effort, he knew, since she was not inside the cave with him. Even so, he would have burst into an uncontrollable laughter, had the mutagens not ripped off most of his sense of humor and emotions. Instead, just an ironic giggle escaped his lips. And that was already something. "A freak is a freak, no matter what the freak does". After a short pause, the witcher resumed his work.
As Dremor sliced open the last monster skull, he noticed that this one had a slightly darker skin tone, since its blue scaly hide was almost reaching grey level. Those creatures, a branch family of necrophages adapted to underwater life, started getting out of control in the last years, since even witchers were not trained in underwater combat. What could be done, however, was hunting them down at their nests, often found in swamps and underwater caves, such as the one Dremor was at the moment. Those monsters' swimming speed was unmatched by any common living being, and they almost always attacked in large groups, dragging people down into the water, where they could slowly and peacefully enjoy their meal. It was to no one's surprise that the common folk nicknamed those creatures as drowners.
Finishing with the brains, and eager to get away from that putrid stench so characteristic of corpse eaters, the witcher was almost leaving the cave through the water tunnels when he remembered Ves' request. That's right, he thought, she wants their fingernails. Didn't even bother to tell me why, as always. Dremor went back to the nest and began pillaging the drowners once more, this time not so carefully. Those things didn't have proper fingernails, but long and tough claws that extended from the end of their membranous fingers. After getting those as well, the witcher put them in a different satchel from the brains and went on his way.
The nest had been located deep inside a small labyrinth of half flooded tunnels naturally carved on stone and moss. The water was shoulder-deep, and the witcher had to raise the loot above his head while threading back the way he came, in order to avoid getting the already disgusting drowner parts drenched in muddy water. At the end of the tunnels, sunlight began to return, and the witcher had to adjust his pupils again. Until that very moment, they were thin vertical slits, adapting his sight to the darkness.
Outside, Dremor followed his own past trails up a rocky slope. At the top, leaning against a blackened boulder, Ves was waiting. She didn't notice him at first, as his light footing hushed his walk up the cliff, and she looked bored. As soon as she saw him, her face lit up in a smile.
"I was getting worried, you know?" She said in a censoring tone, pouting. "You said it wouldn't even take ten minutes to get it over with."
"Didn't really seem worried to me. You're just grumpy because you had to wait a little longer," answered the witcher. "Besides, I said it would take ten minutes to kill those things, but I still had to do the cleaning up. Here, the fingernails you asked. Some of them are broken here and there."
"It doesn't matter. Thanks, Dremor." She opened the satchel and began sorting the nails on the ground, arranging them by size.
"Would you mind telling me what you wanted this for?"
"Oh, my, you're right; I haven't told you. You see, I've been thinking about this new design for back scratchers, and these little things would make it sell like crazy." Ves looked at him, full of expectation. Then she remembered. "Oh, right, no sense of humor." With a sigh, she finished. "I used quite a bit of my time up here to think of this joke, but I guess it was meaningless."
"No, it was effective, believe me. I'm dying on the inside." The seriousness in his face was what killed her. Howling with laughter, she held her belly in both hands as her knees started to shake and bend. "Seriously, now. What are those nails for? Gonna use it in one of your crazy potions?"
"Ahh, Dre, you're gonna kill me one of these days," still laughing, she wiped a few tears from her eyes. "And I really thought that, after all the time we've been together, you would've guessed that much earlier."
It has been three years since his last visit to Kaer Morhen, and Ves was the main reason for that. Ever since the first time they met in Vizima, over two years ago, they felt a strong connection to each other. Ves was a young talented herbalist who ran away from home because her parents wanted her to marry a farmer and bear a dozen kids, or maybe even more. She was a nosy, curious girl, astounded and delighted at discovering the world on her own, and Dremor was a field day for her. For starters, he was a witcher, add that to the contrast of his serious and rational personality to her own silly and easygoing self, and finish it with his exquisitely unusual physical build, his olive skin and slender muscular body. There, full serving.
For him, she was an incandescent light amidst the abyss of darkness of his solitude. She didn't speak or stick to him because she wanted to be saved or for some bullcrap contract. She did it simply because she enjoyed being by his side. While he was glad for even having some willing company, soon enough the witcher realized how much he relished being by her side.
They travelled from town to town, searching for job, and even on that aspect they were strangely compatible. To the witcher, travelling along with a human companion apparently made him more approachable for the common folk, facilitating the search for contracts. They no longer took him for a fiendish freak, because, after all, such a petite young woman followed him around just as she would with any other person. To Ves, having a witcher partner gave her alchemy occupation an aura of credibility, since she was always together with a mutant who dealt routinely with extremely complex and dangerous potions.
Dremor was really happy he met her, and he was sure she felt the same. His days now seemed to have purpose, even though they were pretty much doing exactly the same thing he had always done since he started on the Path. The trip to Kaer Morhen during the winter, formerly so much anticipated by the witcher, now seemed dull and meaningless. He usually went back to the citadel to ease up his mood among his witcher comrades after a hard year of scorn and contempt in the human cities. Nowadays, Ves easily managed to cheer him up just fine. And staying true to her personality, in bed she was as wild and unpredictable as a forest fire.
"Yes, I'm using it for alchemy" Completely recovered from the laughing fit, she talked while closely analyzing each one of the claws. "Drowners have a unique bacteria growing under their nails, probably because of the regular contact with decomposing matter and muddy water." She held one of the larger talons as if it was a war trophy. "This can be used to create a paste of great medicinal value. It's gonna sell lots." Apparently satisfied with the samples, she discarded the badly damaged ones and put the rest inside the satchel once more.
Done packing up, they headed back to the city. It was a five kilometers walk back to Cidaris, capital of a small kingdom with the same name, and hometown to the biggest and most eccentric seaside bazaar in the known world. They arrived at mid afternoon, and the trade was still as intense and lively as ever. Rumors said that anything you could imagine might be found there, and if you could not find it, then it was already sold out. While Dremor had his own skeptic take on magnanimous rumors like those, he thought this one really wasn't that far from the truth.
Starting at the edge of the seashore, the bazaar disseminated itself to the inside of the city like a living organism. Humans, non-humans and animals alike fiercely fought each other for space amidst countless stalls and tents selling their products, in a true swarm fashion. It was surprisingly well structured, with each small establishment to its own, spread among large streets and squares, yet still chaotic and disorganized. In one tent you could buy your everyday morning vegetables and, at a neighboring stall, replenish your stock of wyvern scales for twenty Thalers a piece.
Either through gestures, glances of their merchandise or by the plain ol' 'scream till your lungs drop off' method, each and every vendor had a way to get your attention and keep it until your purse was empty; and when it was, they would also accept the purse itself as payment, or even your clothes. It worked wonders, especially on Ves. Dremor had to hold her by the arm and steer her through the crowd, ignoring her complaints on how much she wanted that oversized battle axe adorned with pearls or her wonderings on if they would be able to travel around while carrying that oak carved armchair she was going to buy. This is more dangerous than the drowners, thought the witcher with a shudder.
Dremor did not doubt he was bought in this exact same place. Even though human traffic was officially banned in Cidaris, so many things also were, and he saw them being sold as if nothing was wrong. Somewhere, in one of the darker spots of the bazaar, in a narrow little street or a dirty, secluded alley, slaves were surely being traded around. During all of his years on the Path, the few times he encountered someone with a complexion like his, they were all Zerrikanian. The olive skin, fine face features and black, straight hair seemed to be a common feature of the people from there. Even if he didn't have any memories of his childhood before Kaer Morhen, at least he knew what was his original birthplace, or, at least, his parentage.
When they arrived at the building in the center of the marketplace, Dremor started to search for the contractor. That was the spot for the bazaar's security forces, consisting entirely of Cidarian city guards. The captain of the guard issued the contract for the extermination of the drowner nest east of the city, since many important merchants who sponsored most of the bazaar activities complained about monster attacks on the region. Dremor knew it all, even though the captain didn't say a thing.
Those merchants most likely bribed the security forces for turning a blind eye on the illegal merchandise they were dealing. Since the creatures attacked the trade routes, the merchants' income started to go down, and when it began to spoil the bribe amount, then the city guard decided to act by hiring a witcher. Dremor still didn't know for sure why the merchants had not talked directly to him, since it would be faster and even cheaper. Ves was of the opinion that, to them, being seen negotiating with a witcher about his services would have had a negative effect on their commerce relations, so it was better for them to outsource the negotiations. A freak like him was never good for business, even if it was that dirty of a business.
After asking around the place they were told where the captain's office was. It was just like one of the buildings many identical rooms, with a simple set of table and chairs at the center. Hanged on the walls, however, the room displayed a huge collection of ornamented weapons of all kinds, shapes and sizes. Well, well, someone has quite an expensive hobby, thought the witcher. Bribery apparently is a very prosperous business around here. The man was mumbling to himself behind a large pile of papers stacked over the table.
"Are you busy? What's this much paperwork?" asked Dremor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, can't you see that already?" The captain didn't recognize his voice, and neither did he bother to look up to them while talking. "All those confiscated illegal goods are giving me one hell of a headache".
Confiscated goods, huh? Guess the merchants completely stopped paying the bribes this time around. Quick as a lightning, another thought crossed his mind. Also guess they're not really willing to empty their pockets for a witcher, now that the extra income had dried up.
Glancing around, Dremor saw that they were alone with the commander in the room, and he was still completely absorbed by the papers in front of him. Nimble, the witcher grabbed a small ritual dagger displayed on the side wall and stuffed it in his back pocket. If the payment was right, all he had to do was putting the blade back. Better safe than sorry. Ves saw what he just did, and looked at him in a blend of confusion and terror, but he signaled for her to be quiet. Clearing his throat, Dremor spoke again.
"I'm here for the drowner nest contract."
"What?" The captain's bald head appeared behind the stacked papers "Ohh, the witcher! So, how was it? Are those filthy things dead?"
"Here they are, exactly how the city law prescribes." The witcher showed him the bag. "Twelve drowner brains. All of the ones on the cave are dead; you don't have to worry about them attacking trade caravans in this region anymore."
"Good, good!" The words and the captain's face showed satisfaction, but his voice tone said otherwise. "Hey, Jonas, bring me the witchers' weighing device!" Shortly after, a scared young boy appeared in front of the room with a strange bulky instrument. "No, Jonas, I said the witchers' weighing device." Startled, the kid ran away and returned moments later, holding another clumsy trinket in his arms. To Dremor, the equipment seemed identical to the other one.
"T-This one, Sir Palis?" the boy asked.
"That's right, boy. Give it here." Little Jonas ran away as fast as he could when he handed it over to the captain. Pushing the papers aside, Palis cleaned some space over the table and set the weighing device. "Well, let's see how much your work is worth." He opened the sack to check its content and quickly turned away, disgusted. "Okay, drowner brains these are, no doubt about that." He then started to move and set several parts of the equipment, placing the bag on a metal plate that rested on top of the bauble. "It says here… Two kilograms"
"Impossible, there must be something wrong."
"I'm afraid it is not. The weighing device is final and correct. I, myself, just checked its settings in front of you both." Ves, until now quiet and apathetic as a statue, was just about to object when the witcher silenced her with a look.
The young woman, quite versed in the laws and manners of trade and how such equipment worked, noticed that they were being tricked by the way Palis handled the weighing device. Dremor also knew they were being schemed. Even if he wasn't so familiar in the ways of commerce, he also was not a common human. As a witcher, his perceptive senses were highly developed, and even though he didn't exactly remember the weight of the bag by itself, he knew the whole package was almost six kilos.
"What's the matter? Are you dissatisfied with the deal?" The captain asked, a nasty grin plastered on his face. All of a sudden, they were surrounded by city guards. Dremor had heard their movements from six rooms away, but didn't want to startle Ves by telling her. "If you are, you could maybe talk to the boys here. I'm sure they can solve your troubles in no time. They're deadly efficient."
"The deal is fine." The witcher answered, with a menacing look over to the guards. "Two kilograms it is, then."
"Two kilograms it is." Palis broadened his sick smile even more, handing a small purse full of coins. "Eighty Thalers for two kilos of drowner brains. A fair deal. Now go on your way, please. And don't come back." They quietly obeyed, feeling the mocking gaze of the guards as they returned to the bazaar.
Before Ves could throw an angry tantrum in the middle of the marketplace, the witcher held her hand and kept walking, which seemed to calm her down for the moment. When they were far enough from most of the crowd, he stopped.
"I know what you want to say. I know that we've been tricked, that those guys seem to think that they could do whatever they want because they had superior numbers, but…"
"But we must do something!" She snapped. "We should… I don't know, call the authorities or something!"
"Ves, the ones who had us just now were the authorities." With that sudden realization, her rage intensified even more, turning her pretty round face into a perfect, ripe tomato. "Don't worry, though. I got us covered." With a sigh, he removed the small ritual dagger from one of his back pockets. It was adorned with three shining rubies.
"I know. I saw you picking it up from the wall. But that doesn't change the fact that they fooled us and scoffed us while doing it! Why do they think they can do such things? Just because you're a witcher? Don't they feel guilty?"
"No, they don't, just as I don't feel guilty by taking this piece of metal from his collection. That's just how things work. Although I must say they're actually risking themselves too much by pulling stunts like those."
"Why?"
"Because I could count in one hand the number of witchers that I know who would have searched for a peaceful solution like I did. The rest would have simply killed them all." Only then he allowed himself to feel angry about the whole situation, and the words started to come out of his mouth in dry husky growls. "Hell, if I got this contract before I had met you, they would be dead, for sure." Now that he stopped to think about it, there were many ways to make a true bloody mess in that room, slaughtering every single one of those bastards in a swift spectacle of gore. It would be easy, actually. "We are witchers, Ves. We don't work for free. Neither we like to be fooled around by frail humans who think they can scare us like that." His eye irises shone in a furious golden bolt, as if sparks were coming out of them.
Shuddering, she turned away from his gaze. Dremor knew it was only at times like these that she completely understood about who she was living with. He empathized with her concerns, but also thought that it was important for her to keep it in mind. This is who I am, dear. And this is how other people see you: as someone who walks beside a murderous freak. With caution, he put his hand on her shoulder, turning Ves over again. To his surprise, she was not scared. Instead, in her eyes shone another type of light, another type of emotion; and the witcher knew it well. It was resolution. Solemnly, she slowly nodded her head. She accepted him, once again. It was as if she had answered to the mental lecture he just gave her. "I remember now. I know exactly what you are, witcher. I know exactly what it means to be your partner, and I don't give a damn about what others think of me because of it". He could clearly hear it, even though her lips did not move an inch.
After this silent conversation, Dremor couldn't tell how long they stood there, staring at each other. For a brief moment, he considered kissing her right on the spot, then he remembered where they were: right in the middle of the Cidarian seaside bazaar, holding in plain sight a dagger stolen directly from the city guard captain's office. Alarmed by the idea of that bald fucker coming after them to retrieve the item, he decided to break the silence.
"We still have to get rid of this, you know?"
"By the gods, you're right! Come, follow me, I have this contact on the east side of the market that can fetch us a good price for the dagger." This time she was the one guiding him through the crowd, gripping firmly to his arm. As they passed by countless stalls and tents, a refined longsword made of blackened steel caught his eye for a moment, but then it was gone, since Ves kept walking while ignoring everything else around her, dragging the witcher in tow. I think I just experienced what she must feel every time we go through this place, thought Dremor, with a dry laugh. I really should be more considerate of her from now on, because, damn, that was a fine sword.
Together, the witcher and the alchemist crossed the bazaar as the sun started to set in the horizon.