Wolves at the Bar

by VioletUnicorn666

The White Wolves find themselves in strange tavern. All three of them.

This is my attempt at crack fic. Tell me if it's too coherent. Also, I wasn't sure about the rating of violence, so I made it M.

...

Jon Snow, the King in the North, was slowly drowning in the freezing waters. Images slowly flashing in his mind, he recounted the last few days and the choices he had made. Namely, whether it was wise to venture beyond the Wall to chatch a wight himself. He had, after all, a considerable number of men at his disposal, including wildlings who had much better chance of surviving there. He wondered why all the most dangerous tasks always ended up having to be done by either him personally, or someone from his closest circle of friends and allies, even though those people were least replaceable and it would be much safer if they sat at the desk and issued orders rather than rushing headlong into danger. Well, no point in thinking about it now. Pain in his lungs was getting worse, until he thought they would burst. His vision slowly blackened and his last thoughts were that at least most of the people whose names he had known managed to escape with Daenerys...

Sudden pain in his finger woke him up. No, he realized, wake up wasn't the right word. Altough he had no idea what the right word was, he was sure that if he was sleeping he wouldn't fing himslef standing before cozy looking tavern in the middle of desert that was seemingly stretching out forever, with only faint trace of mountains in the ... west, he supposed? Sun was almost directly above his head, and he couldn't precisly tell. His was already getting weary from the heat. He looked down on his body and relized that he was no longer wearing heavy furs he ventured beyond the Wall in, but was instead clothed in armor of the Night Watch that fit him perfectly. Longclaw was also hung from his belt, touch of familiar wolf-head pommel making him feel a little less insane.
Where was he? Surely this couldn't be afterlife. He didn't know what exactly did he except. Nothing at all? Eternal blackness? Maybe rebirth as someone else? But he was clearly still himself. And if afterlife was just living in another world, shouldn't it be more like his home? Or at least with lots of naked women? He shook his head and tried to gather himself. He realised that he had not moved since opening eyes and his finger still hurt.
He looked down on his right hand that was rested on old wooden fence. Somehow, a splinter got itself into his thumb, right under the nail. He shook uncomfortably and brought up his hand to pull it out. It came free rather easily. As he was instinctivly sucking on his wounded finger, he decided that he can ponder this peculiar situation inside the tavern, out of the terrible heat, and even though he had no idea where he was, he felt it was rather more pleasant than being dead. A thought that maybe this was just some trick of his dying body crossed his mind, but he gave it little attention and entered the building.
It turned out to be quite spacious, with four round tables with four chairs each standing to his left and a bar pult to his right. In front of him, along the left side of the wall were stairs leading up and on the right was portal to another room, with another six tables and small praised platform. The light coming in through tiny windows from vibrant red and green glass did't do much to lighten the rooms, so from the ceiling ornate oil lamps were hung. When his eyes adjusted, he noticed another table in the corner under the stairs, perfect for hooded stranger to sit at. He realized, with a smirk that there indeed was a hooded stranger sitting, and he could feel him scanning the room warily. Apart from that, three other tables were taken, one by trio of brutish individuals, perfect embodiments of word "thug". Another chair was bearing odd woman with almost golden skin and clad in golden plate armor, and wit her sat man with cat-like face covered in blue fur and scars. In the room behind the stairs a red-haired woman was laying her head on the table, four empty bottles near her. Her clothing was beyond strange, a tighly fitting blue jumpsuit with number thirteen on the back, and leather pieces added to shoulders and elbows. A long, bulky, metallic looking ... object hung from her chair. Her companions were two men, one in black and red greatcoat and peaked cap, who was sleeping in his chair and leaning dangerously to the side, and other, unbelievably dirty man, hidden in pile of bags and pouches and some kind of uniform that obviously wasn't his size. He, too, was deep asleep, but in rather more stable position.
Jon's head was starting to hurt from all tis, but he decided to muse on it later, and instead walked over to the bar, where middle aged man in checkered shirt and stained apron was sitting and writing something in big leatherbound book. He was bald, with round, red face that looked oddly unkept in contrast to the perfect mustache the color of carrots. He didn't lift his gaze, taking his time to finish the work. Jon was getting increasingly irritated.
"Excuse me!" he said, perhaps little more agressively than he planned. "I'd like to know where the hell I am. Preferably fast." The bartender slowly moved his eyes to Jon, and looked at him with mixture of despair and dissapointment. "I'd say you are in a tavern. My tavern, specifically. Unless, 'course, I was in the sun too long and I am talking to rocks again", his eyes focused on some unspecified point in space, ignoring Jon, as if the man was remembering some pleasant moments long lost. "And prices depend on attitude, so you better drop that tough guy act."
Jon thought of some unpleasant words, but also felt pity for the man who obviously hated his job and probably also general existence. "You're not very helpful," he muttered. "Boy, I'm a bartender. I'm not supposed to be helpful. I just serve you drinks and food," he replied in tone partly as if he was explaining something to an idiot, and partly as if it was some mantra he repeated to stay sane. He took a glance at Jon's clothes, and added: " I take it you will wanna pay in some fancy metal? I also take gems, if you are desperate. I've gotta keep the change, of course. Or something else? Hell, after that gal in the back gave me caps from bottles, I'll take whatever currency you use back home."
The man sounded a as if he had to explain it hundred times per day, and Jon decided that he could be a little nicer to him. "Yes, I have gold," he said after quickly checking his belt and finding a stuffed purse there "but I don't even know where the hell I am, so drinking is pretty down on my list. I mean, I was literally dying ten minutes ago and then I was in this desert, and..." He waved his arm around awkwardy " What does this all even mean? Am i dead? I don't remember how was it when I was dead the last time..." There was despair in his voice.
The bartender looked at him compassionately: "Yeah, that's normal. But I know how that feels, so here's advice for free: If you find yourself in strange tavern in the middle of unfamiliar country, talk to the hooded stranger. If there ain't one, it's lair of evil and you should run as fast as you can."
Jon expected him to elaborate further, but the bartender took his book and left for the door behind the bar, presumably his room, the way he walked marking him as the most loyal patron of his own estabilishment. The King in the North felt absolutely lost, so he looked at the corner with the stranger in it, ignoring the blue cat-person in favor of staying sane. Hooded figure was looking at him, he could almost physically feel their gaze. After few seconds, stranger waved at him, biding him to come sit at the table. With nothing better to do, Jon put his hand at the pommel of Longclaw and went to the corner. He took the chair to the right of the stranger, so his back was at least partially turned to a wall and he could see the door. "So", he started,"I hear you know what the hell is going on here."
"Perhaps", he said, as if he really wasn't sure but had a strong suspicion. "But surely introduc-" he didn't finish, because in that moment, another person entered. Even with hellish heat outside, he had a thick black cloak across his shoulders. The bartender came out from his room and then the scene changed. Not much, but movement of both the newcomer and bartender suddenly seemed stiff, as if someone else was controlling their moves, and Jon suddenly felt that what wuld follow has already happened long time ago, perhaps some important event whose echoes reached present.
"You want?" the bartender barked, disinterest in his voice different from the one aimed at Jon few minutes ago. "Beer," said the newcomer. He didn't have the most pleasant voice.
The bartender wiped his hands into the apron and filled a battered ceramic mug. The newcomer wasn't old, but his hair was already white, and so was his skin. He wore an old leather vest and when he put away his cloak, everybody saw that he had sword on his back. It wouldn't be that unusual, everybody wore a weapon in Wizima these days, but... wait what? Jon blinked in surprise. Wizima? He had no idea what that was, altough it sounded like a city. He realized that he was seeing the scene through eyes not his own, and neither his thoughts on it belonged to him. Stranger next to him also shifted uncomfortably, probably realizing the same. Newcomer was now asking for room, but his voice was unsure, and so was the bartender's when he sent him away, as if none of them actually wanted to say what they did. Then, the trio of thugs stood up, as if they were going to attack the white-haired man, whose hand immediately went to the sword on his back. Jon felt, knew, somehow, that bloodshed should follow, but he also felt that whatever situation was playing out before him, the force controlling it was already weakening, because the imitation already wasn't perfect. The newcomer felt it too, and just as he was preparing to gut the closest thug, he suddenly dropped the mug to the floor where it shattered. The sound alerted everyone in the room except the sleeping drunks in the back, and apparently broke the spell.
"I-I'm so sorry, sir, y-y'see, this happens sometimes here," the bartender laughed nervously and started cleaning up the shattered mug. "Happens sometimes? What the fuck, man, I almost gutted those three!" the newcomer was clearly furious. "W-well, it was never this strong! Y'see, sometimes, people can get into this trance around here. It is like some important event was repeating itself. B-but, it only happens once in few years! And no one ever died from it! It's just an echo of past, y'see?" poor bartender was shaking, while thugs quickly left. "Please, take a seat! It won't happen again, don't worry!" The newcomer looked around the tavern, unsure what to think, but then went to the nearest table, altough looking around him warily, with something shaking under his shirt. He was about to sit down when Jon's hooded companion waved at him to come sit with them instead. The newcomer frowned, but accepted. He adjusted his chair to face with back to the wall, and rested his sword against the empty chair, his expression signalling that he would not hesitate to use it. Jon glanced at the sword, and saw that it was masterfully crafted, with strange runes along the blade.
"So what the hell is going on here?" he asked bluntly and clearly expecting the answer to be rather problematic. "Well, I have a theory, but as I was telling to my friend here, perhaps introductions are in order?" the hooded stranger put back his hood and revealed long white hair, framing exotic and little alien looking, but nevertheless beautiful face of the same color. Not unlike that of the newcomer, Jon mused, but where stranger's face was beautiful and elegant, like a work of art, that of the man sitting against him was hard and bearing a fair share of scars, hinting at hard life of someone who fought a lot of tough battles. The main difference, however, was in their eyes. While the alien looking man had eyes like rubies, newcomer's were like those of a cat. Still, it wasn't as unsettling as the man at the next table who was a full cat, he supposed. If he was man at all.
"I," the exotic stranger continued,"am Elric, the Last Emperor of Melnibone, the Dragonlord, and The White Wolf. And other titles, of which, however, I am not proud," he said with a bitter smile.
"Well, what a coincidence. I am Geralt of Rivia, a witcher, also called Gwynbleidd... The White Wolf." the warrior said.
"I am Jon Snow, The King in the North. And I, too, am called The White Wolf," Jon said with a grin. "Well. If there ever was a perfect time to get drunk, it's now." Both men seemed happy to agree, and Jon signalled to the bartender.
"Hmm," Geralt then looked at his companions suspiciously."Never heard about Melnibone. And the only emperor I know of is manipulating bastard who wanted to have children with his own daughter. So sorry if I find find your name a little made-up." Elric didn't seem to mind the rather unpleasant comparison. "And you," the witcher moved his gaze to Jon. "Which kingdom are you supposed to be king of?"
"Well, The North is part of The Seven Kingdoms. Others are The Vale, The Riverlands, Iron Islands, The Westerlands, The Crownlands, The Stormlands, The Reach and Dorne. I never heard of Melnibone either." The witcher stared at him for a few seconds.
"What about Temeria? Redania? Aedirn and Kaedwen? Nilfgaard?"
"Never heard of them"
"Perhaps you will let me explain?" Elric joined in. Both men nodded and turned to ruby-eyed albino. "I think that we were summoned here by some yet unknown power," he paused dramatically, "to embark on a quest." Jon smiled nervously:" Do you often get summoned away from certain death to be given a quest to complete?" It was albino's turn to smile. "More times than I care to count. And not a few of them took me to wholly different world. I journeyed through dreams to Fortress of the Pearl. Sailed on The Seas of Fate. Even visited realms of Chaos itself."
Geralt somehow managed to frown even more. "Alright. Let's say you are telling the truth. What now? How do we get back to... our worlds, I guess?"
"Well, that's an interesting question. I do not think we can, in fact. You see, before I had awakened sitting in this corner, I had died. I saw my world destroyed, my friends killed and my love, my Zarozinia, I had to slay myself." Sorrow and bitterness flashed through his delicate features. "But I won, in the end. I returned to The Dreaming City, gathered my dragons, and gave battle to the hordes of Chaos. Earth was remade, and I fulfilled my destiny, finally free." He smiled at them: "I died a hero's death. And I think that you did too."
Jon stirred uneasily. "I was drowning. We were trapped in the middle of a frozen lake by the wights, and they owerwhelmed us. Daeneris Stormborn came for us with her dragons, and saved most of my companions. They had to leave without me. From what I know of stories, that was indeed a hero's death." The thougt that he may have been dead after all finally descended on him.
It was Geralt's turn: "I was in Rivia, meeting some friends. Then people went crazy as they tend to do, and started killing all nonhumans. I went to defend them. Funny, I wanted it to be the last time I took up sword. Some farmboy threw a pitchfork at me. Yennefer tried to heal me, I think, but the wound was too serious. Next thing I know I was lying under the tree behind the tavern, in clothes I had last wore few years ago. Then, when I entered, I suddenly felt like I was in Wizima again, to break a curse on local princess."
Jon's lips curved in the corners a little. "Had she fallen asleep after smelling a magical rose?" he tried to lighten the gloomy atmosfere that descended on the group a little. "She turned into a monster and had been eating human hearts for fourteen years by the time I arrived," the witcher explained in cold voice.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence for a while, then a little longer, brooding and sipping from their drinks. Jon noticed that his companions were both experts in brooding. They must have had a lot of practice. After musing his own death, he decided that even if there were some things he would rather attend to himself, like matters of state and matters of certain Khaleesi, it could have been worse. Aria and Sansa would handle the White Walkers without him, he lied to himself. He had to, at any rate. What use would be worrying here?
With these thoughts he took it upon himself to try to improve the mood of his companions. He signalled the bartender and broke the depressing silence at the table: "Well, Lord Elric and Sir Geralt, I don't know about you, but I arrived here with purse full of gold. The drinks are on me - let's get smashed!"

After few rounds of drinks, the three men were sitting noticeably more relaxed. Some young woman came downstairs and was now standing on the platform in the back, singing in some strange language. Wolves were taken in discussion.
"So what is a witcher, exactly?" Jon asked after finishing his fourth tankard.
"Well. We are mutants. Kids that someone left at the doorstep, that nobody could or wanted to raise. Some of us were given to the order as payment, sort of. We train from the young age, our bodies are changed with alchemy and most of us don't survive it. I did. Quite easily actualy, compared to others, so they poured even more potions in me. That's why my hair and skin got so white." Geralt also finished his drink, and was about to signal the bartender when he saw that the little man was already approaching with another round.
"We travel the world and protect people from monsters. Not for free, tho. Maybe that's why they hate us. We are avoided and shunned by most, except when they need our help." He sighed. "You get used to it, after a while. Besides," he added with a smirk, "women apparetly find pale-skinned, white-haired men attractive."
"Yes, that is indeed true. I have yet to embark on an adventure where I don't find myself in rather close company of beautiful woman," Elric joined in. "Except my very first adventure, to save my beloved from my depraved, backstabbing cousin. And the ones after I got married, of course."
"Hmm. One would think those two happened in quick succession, no?" Geralt asked with slightly raised eyebrow.
"Aah, yes. You see, after I defeated Yyrkoon and claimed Stormbringer," here his gaze fell on the dark sword that was resting against the wall on his right and radiating pure evil, "I decided that with his spirit broken, my cousin would be perfect candidate to rule Dragon Isle in my place, while I would travel the Young Kingdoms."
He shook his head. "Alas, it didn't go well. After few years I returned, only to find the city under his full control, and be banished." He took a swig from his beer. To Jon it seemed that Elric enjoyed telling the story, even though he felt a tragic end coming.
"It would't befit the emperor of once mightiest nation to give up that easily, of course, so I returned to mainland. There I visited Count Smiorgan, whom I have met on my travels, and with help of his fleet and those of his allies I attacked the Dragon Isle, and plundered the Dreaming City. Killed the men, enslaved the women, took the shiny stuff. In rage I killed my cousin, but then Stormbringer took over me, and I have also slain my beloved Cymoril..." It seemed that bitter smile was one of Elric's favourite expressions.
"I burned her body, and the city around her. Then, as we were leaving the Isle, we were attacked by my former best friend and his dragons. Sea elementals saved my ship, leaving others to die. I wandered the Earth since then, meeting my eventual wife almost two decades later."
"Tragic and complicated love story, huh? I might know something about that. What about you, White Wolf the Youngest? Any dead loved ones?"
Jon realized that the question was aimed at him. Strange. The effects of alcohol suddenly seemed stronger. If this was a story he was reading, he would suspect that author was getting tired and made characters drunk to not have to bother with their personalities too much. He shook uncomfortably. Jinkies! What a bizzare thoughts!
"Actually, yes. I met a wildling girl when infiltrating the barbarian horde beyond the Wall. She died in my arms during an assault on our castle. I built her a funeral pyre and everything."
His vision blurred a little. To distract himself from memories of Ygritte, he signalled to the bartender, who was cleaning the same tankard for at least fifteen minutes now and seemingly ignoring everything else. Jon feared he'd have to stand and actually go to the bar, but the blue cat-person saw him and called to bartender: "Hey, barkeep! You are ignoring your customers again! That's not good for business, is it?" his voice friendly, if criticising, as if he also felt pity for the man. Jon nodded thanks, managing not to stare at him for too long as he returned his attention to some card game he was playing with his golden skinned friend.
Bartender soon brought another round and conversation turned to one of Elric's titles.
"So, by Dragonlord, I would assume you have some ties to dragons, righ?" Geralt speculated while wawing his finger around in manner of all drunken people. "Ah, yes. My nation, The Bright Empire once ruled the whole world thanks to our bond with dragons and our pact with Arioch, the Chaos Lord. My line even has some dragon blood in it!" Elric explained enthusiastically, "But as our influence in the world lessened, so did their numbers. In my life, only little more than fifty remained."
"Fifty dragons! And to think that Aegon I. conquered the Seven Kingdoms with only three!"
"Well, I take it those three did not have to sleep hundred years after every battle, did they?"
Jon had to agree that that would be a severe limitation. But still!
Geralt laughed: "So your dragons are useful, right? Those in my world just sleep on piles of gold." He seemed to recall some fond memory: "Or travel the world in the company of half-naked amazons, I guess."
"But if the dragons had to sleep so much, you must have had some other means keeping control of the whole world, right?" Jon decided to push the subject. "Like this Ariock you mentioned?"
"Oh, we had all sorts of helpers, just that dragons were most known. We enslaved and bound powerful entities and demons with sorcery. I myself am one of the most powerful sorcerers who ever lived! Altough it seems my ancestors weren't very friendly to their minions, because most of the time when I summon something, it only grudgingly crawls out of it's extradimensional hole and reluctantly helps me, then warns me that the next time it just won't bother." Elric stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Then again, I have been omitting daily virgin sacrifices." Jon then realized that this man may be acting friendly, but in his eyes shone certain terrible potential for inhuman cruelty and evil. He shivered uncomfortably and downed his drink.
"Sorcerer, huh? I know few tricks myself," Geralt said smugly and waved his hand in the direction of the strange cat-person. Jon thought he saw a silver light flash, and feline patron confidently proclaimed: "Hah! I fold!" He then shook his head. "What? Why have I done that?!" His companion started laughing loudly, and nodded thanks to the witcher. Geralt winked at her.
"See, fellow wolves? Mind control is perfectly viable means to impress ladies," he explained in a cheerful tone, but his eyes made it clear that he thought exact opposite. "My signs may not look like much, bet they are certainly more dependable than demonic blessing." Elric, surprisingly, seemed to agree with the fact, and turned to Jon.
"And what about you? What sorcerous abilities do you possess?"
"None at all, I am afraid. But I was resurrected once."
"You seem in surprisingly good shape," he said, without trace of sarcasm. "Most of the undead I met were rotting thralls of some mad wizard."
"True," Geralt added. "Or they were drinking blood instead of alcohol. Or eating corpses. Or attacking traders stuck on the bridge during the night. Are you sure you were even really dead?"
Jon smiled. "The scars on my chest are very convincing about that, yes. I was stabbed six times by traitors. For the good of our order, supposedly."
"Hmm. I was stabbed with pitchfork. You think I will get resurrected?" Geralt stared into his tankard. "Probably not. You don't look like you have visited this place the last time." Jon didn't know what to say to that.
The men then sat in silence for a while, and then resumed conversation about their lives. Especially Elric and Geralt seemed to have a lot in common. Jon found himself listening to unbelievable tales of hunting evil wizards, killing mutated princesses, stealing gems from beggars and hunting devils. Apparently, they both liked drinking lots of potions. He then told them about defending the Wall from wildlings and battle for Winterfell. Geralt had few interesting opinions about tactics used, and Elric was puzzled by the fact that even in the world without Lord of Chaos and Law making mortals their pawns, there was as much greed, cruelty and selfishness as in his own. Geralt jokingly called him naive and too idealistic. Elric jokingly reminded him that his sword ate souls and fed him their strenght. They all then started talking about their swords with excitement and interest the young boys do about girls, and Jon felt a bit of childish pride at the fact that while Geralt appeared to be superior in every way, his sword was, while not exactly ordinary, still just high quality steel instead of his Valyrian Steel. Elric's weapon was basically eldritch abomination given material form, and Jon decided the fact disqualified it from the competition. All three agreed, however, that if they didn't drink themselves to death by tommorow, they would test each other's skill. No, that's not a metaphor for gay orgy.
Later, Elric was talking about his journey through the dreams, and how he conquered a city by himself, when the door slammed open and everything in the tavern went silent. There stood a young woman, no more than nineteen. She was dressed in fine leathers that outlined her perfect, very sexy form, and upon shoulders that also looked awesome she wore cloak of dark, black leather of dark colors that made her look mysterious and very attractive. Her face was beautiful, with her dark golden locks of red hair that was dyed violet falling magnificently along the sides of her face, and her perfect eyes like diamonds, one emerald and the other like sapphire, shone brightly with intelligence, bravery and courage and smartness, and she looked upon the world the way surely Jesus himself must have been, that is, with unconditional love and without hatred. Hidden masterfully in her gaze, however, like a majestic lion who is stalking his prey through long grass of Asian plains, was toughness that proclaimed that whoever commited evil or hurt someone whose name she has known, would face her wrath. Her features of facial character hinted at her noble and ancient lineage that separated her from common people, for she was daughter of powerful demonic dragon who turned good and vampire matriarch with dragon fetish, who was also half werewolf. So full of awesomness she was, in fact, that when she strode into the tavern, wooden floor shrieked as in celebration of her flawless, perfect beauty. She opened her mouth and with movement practiced for years she blew the air from her lungs through her vocal chords to form voice full of confidence and perfect awesomness: "I greet thee, people. I'm Mary Antoanetta Erszebet Karlianne Iszrieth Xenerien of Sue, and am in dire need of your help! My kingdom and my people were enslaved by my evil brother Clarxizithis. I alone escaped, and you must now go on quest with me to..."
She thankfully didn't finish, because then the bartender, of all people, that small and sad-looking man, stood up with strange metal tube in his hands, and shouted defiantly: "YOU SHALL NOT HAVE THEM, ABOMINATION! NONE OF THEM!"
Fire and thunder erupted from the tube, and girl's head exploded into tiny chunks. Her body remained standing, which the bartender fixed with another blast to the chest. He apparently wasn't satisfied with the result, because he quickly started pouring a bottle strong alcohol over the remains.
Only then the other people got out from shock. "What the hell is that supposed tho be?" the golden skinned woman drew sword and walked to the bartender, pointing it at his neck and forcing him away from the body. Her blue companion targeted the man with black bow and Jon also drew sword, horrified but also very confused. Geralt stood in place, deep in his thoughts and holding the amulet he wore. Elric didn't even move, but the sleeping trio from the back came while the singer covered under the table. Man in greatcoat also had a sword, but it was strange one, with moving blades along the edge, and seemed to focus his attention on girl's corpse. His dirty companion stood beside him, holding weapon that was hugely oversized, likewise focusing on the body. The woman in blue jumpsuit was shifting her weapon uncertainingly between the bartender and the remains of a girl, but after nod from the first man she followed his example and aimed at the corpse.
"Seriously, people? This guy kills that girl and you support him?!" The golden-skinned woman continued pointing her sword at the bartender's throat. The man started backing off slowly, but his voice was calm: "You don't understand. That... that thing was an abomination. A demon from your worst nightmare!" He gently pushed the tip of her sword to the side. "I have seen their kind before. Their very presence corrupts. If you went with her on whatever nonsensical journey she planned, you would never return. You would be consumed by her presence, leaving only empty shells whose sole purpose was admiring her." The woman seemed unconvinced.
"I think he's right. My medallion detected something strange from her," Geralt said.
"And I have faced corrupting presence of Chaos before. I could feel her warping my thoughts even though I should have been shielded from it," the man in greatcoat looked at his companion, "I'm surprised she went down so easily, in fact."
"True," Elric joined in. "In my knowledge, such abominations seldom fall to the first attack." Just as he finished sentence, the ground shook, and lights in the room flickered. Everyone's attention turned to girl's body, but that was suddenly flung to the nearest wall. They they then stared in shock as bloody chunks of her head pulled themselves together, regenerating it almost completely, with only small patches of hair missing. Her eyes were full of wrath. "What are you doing? Surely my evil brother must be controlling you! Thankfully, I survived thanks to my ability of demonic vampiric regeneration!" Her fingers extended into long, dark claws and her teeth changed,so it was not unlike those of a direwolf. "I must free you from your madness. I regret killing you, brave heroes, but it is the only way!"
Fortunately, in the time she wasted talking, everybody managed to gather their wits. The bartender used his strange weapon again, and was joined by flashes of red light from Greatcoat and Blue Jumpsuit. Abomination proved too quick, however and summoned shield of darkness that absorbed the attacks, then flung herself at the little man. Jon, surprised by his own speed, threw himself in front of him and parried the strike of her claws. Her strenght was terrible, much greater than any human has any right to have, much less a small young woman. They exchanged few more blows, and Jon was pushed back, but then the golden-skinned woman shouted: "Fus!"
Some terrible force sent the abomination crashing to the bar. She was stunned for just a fraction of second and was already getting back on her feet, when a black arrow pinned her to the bar by the shoulder. This gave Geralt just enough time to jump in and take a swing at her neck.
The girl, however, yet again proved much quicker than she should be. She parried his blow in the last moment and then flicked her wrist, summoning a dark wave that threw everyone from their feet and back into the walls. "Come to me, my ancestral minions! Your rightful mistress is in trouble!" Dark, horned shapes started clawing their way through the wooden floor.
Elric was first on his feet:. "I wonder who you stole that from!" he shouted in tone that made it clear he knew the answer, and met the charge of first demon. He dodged a clumsy strike with terribly unpractical spiked sword, and slashed across it's belly, spilling various fluids and organs. His weapon howled, and transfered a portion of creature's life force to it's wielder. Just as well, because in moments, he was targeted by another two of the creatures. Jon didn't have time to watch him, however, because he, too, was attacked.
His opponent was as tall as an adult man, but much more robust, and covered in thick black fur. His eyes were surprisingly not red, but a shade of green. Four short horns grew from his forehead and venom was dripping from his mouth. He attacked with spiked battleaxe, a slash aimed at Jon's head. He deflected it, and immedietely regretted his decision as his bones shook under the strenght of the blow. The demon grinned and slashed at him again, a vertical strike that Jon had to evade by jumping to the side. He was about to spin and go on the offensive, when demon did the same and struck him with his tail. Pain exploded in his ribs and he was thrown on the nearest table, turning it over in the process. He brought up his sword just in time to deflect another bone-shaking blow and then desperately kicked the demon looming over him in the knee. He heard a crack of bone and demon fell on the ground beside him with roar of pain. He wasn't finished yet, however, and rolled over to Jon to close his hands around his throat. Jon's vision began to darken as inhuman hands were crushing his throat, and with last bits of strenght he swung Longclaw at the demon's throat. Blood and venom splashed on his face and started burning him, but the creature roared and released it's grip. He took two quick strikes to decapitate it completely, and started looking for something to wipe his face with, panic taking hold of him.
The golden-skinned woman suddenly appeared before him, and tossed him a small vial. "Drink that!" she shouted before returning to the fray. On the side of the vial was written 'Cure poison', so he did as asked. Pain in his face stopped, altough he knew it would leave some nasty scars. He decided he would think about that later, and instead looked dramatically around the tavern.
The golden woman was now cornered in front of the front wall, her blue companion resting against the wall, bleeding from ugly wound on his chest. She shouted, and flames engulfed two of her opponents, barely slowing them down. She cursed, and a cold blue sphere shot from her hand into the corpse of demon that Jon killed. It stood and joined the fight, giving her a little breathing space.
Elric, meanwhile, was pushed into the back, and was keeping five demons from the terrified singer. Another four lay dead around him. At the base of the stairs, Blue Jumpsuit was fighting two demons unarmed, dodging their attacks in such a way that they endangered each other. They moved slower than others, as if weakened by her presence, or perhaps by that of dirty soldier, who was leaning over the railing and trying to aim his oversized weapon at the remains of the bar. There, Geralt and the man in greatcoat fought the abomination. There was something beautiful about it, two men skilled with a blade more than most fighting an eldritch horror amidst spilled alcohol. They worked in perfect unison, guarding each other's back, alternating between attack and defense while the beast danced around them, striking with her claws. Suddenly, as if they planned it from the start, they each jumped to the side, Greatcoat managing to score a hit on the abomination's left arm, while the witcher folded his fingers and sent his magic to the ground, where flames erupted. Creature hesitated for a moment instead of jumping on him, and this gave the men just enough time to back away. A great flash of light erupted from soldier on the stairs, temporarily blinding Jon and probably everyone else.
When his vision returned, he saw that part of the tavern was on fire and ceiling was scorched along the trajectory of the blast. In the flames, girl still stood, a huge hole burned in her chest. She screamed defiantly. "No! You WILL be in my story, and it will be SO COOL!" Then her body started changing, growing, until any semblance of humanity dissapeared and a mass of twisted flesh took it's place. Jon was frozen with horror, along with everyone else, even the two who claimed to face such things before. A disgusting tentacle of twisted flesh extended to Jon and he though he could hear a maniacal laugh in his head.
"Stupid creature. I commanded the likes of you before I reached adulthood!" Elric ran in from the back of the room, and with a scream thrusted his soul-eating sword into the middle of whirling mass of tentacles. Jon wondered why he didn't do it sooner, but satisfied himself with the explanation that demons were keeping him back. Whole building shook, and in another blinding flash of light, the abomination dissapeared, along with rest of the demons. Elric fell on his knees, and let out a howl of ecstasy as he tasted its life force.
For a few minutes, everybody was just standing there, as if refusing to believe what just happened. Golden-skinned woman was first to move, crouching beside her friend, and closing his wounds with strange light coming from her hands. Then Greatcoat moved to the remains of the bar, in futile hope of finding an intact bottle or ten. Geralt followed him. Jon sat at the base of the stairs, and Blue Jumpsuit soon joined him. They stared silently at the destroyed interior of the tavern. Behind them, dirty soldier began to dig around in his pouches.
Then, the bartender slowly crawled out from behind the ruined table. There was no trace of man who shot eldritch abomination in the face, instead he was shaking from adrenalin flowing through his body and with nervous smile said: "Well, I'll probably have to bring my special stock. Don't worry, the rest of the night, the drinks are free, heh, heh..." He was rewarded by cold looks from everyone in the room.