Author's Note: So I've been wanting to write another Witcher fanfic for a while now, but I just didn't have any ideas that were worth writing. And then this one just kind of came out of nowhere and it grew and grew until it became the story it is now. As far as how I'm going to post it, per some advice I've received, I'm going to release it one chapter at a time, once a week. Just a little experiment to see how things go in the way of viewership. If it ends up working, then I may keep doing it in the future, if not, then I can always go back to posting whole stories at one time. The story is completely finished though, so that deadline will not change. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! And please stay tuned! :)

UPDATE 5/23/16: The full story is now up :)

Chapter One

Geralt and Vesemir had been traveling together on the Path for almost a year. With the two of them, they could take on much more dangerous prey and earn larger sums of gold. Or, at the very least, they could take on two contracts at once. Plus, sometimes it was nice just to have someone to talk to along the way. A friendly face in an inhospitable world.

But winter was approaching and they had started the long journey back to Kaer Morhen, where they would weather out the cold. A journey that now brought them to a vast forest on the eastern edge of Velen, somewhat south of Kaer Morhen. It stretched as far as they could see. A fork in the road left them with two options. The left led north, into the trees. The right turned east and followed along beside them.

Vesemir turned his mount to take the path on the right.

"Where are you going?" Geralt called to him.

"Around," was the pert reply.

"That's going to take us days out of our way. This path will take us straight through the forest."

"I'd rather not go through this particular forest if I don't have to."

"Don't tell me you've gotten superstitious in your old age."

Vesemir shot Geralt a withering look. "I call it caution. And you would do well to exercise it. You know as well as I the stories told of this place."

"Yes, yes. Everyone has heard the tale of Bloodlet Forest," Geralt answered dismissively.

Continuing on as if he hadn't heard Geralt, Vesemir waxed on about the legend of Bloodlet Forest, his voice both distant and dramatic as though telling a campfire story meant to scare children. "A war was waged ages ago by nations no longer in existence." Geralt resignedly rolled his eyes. "Its final battle was fought on this very land, before this forest ever came to be. Thousands died, maybe even tens of thousands, the very ground stained red from the blood of the fallen. Where no life should have been able to survive, this forest sprung, from the ashes of the smoldering corpses. It was borne from anger and sorrow and death. Nothing good will come from going in there."

Geralt sighed impatiently. "Are you finished? Because I'm heading this way." He gestured into the forest. "I don't believe in that nonsense and I am baffled as to why you do. A witcher knows that every ghost story boils down to some wraith or ghoul or hym. And they can all be destroyed."

"I've seen more things than you would believe, my friend. And I've learned that not everything can be explained."

"Either way, I'm not wasting my time going around when we can be through by tomorrow just because of some myth." Geralt nudged Roach a few feet along the path into the forest before stopping and turning back. "Are you coming or not?"

Grumbling a quiet protest, Vesemir followed.

Due to the time of year, the leaves stayed true to the forest's name. They bathed the witchers in an auburn light, the sun's rays bleeding through the crimson, orange, and golden foliage. The forest was quiet and still, like it was holding its breath. There was a closeness in the air. An antiquity. An oppressiveness. Even Geralt found himself wanting to look over his shoulder, not able to shake the feeling that they were being watched, for which he berated himself. He was getting as bad as Vesemir. This forest was no different than any other. And there was nothing held within it that they couldn't handle.

It was nearly midday when Geralt smelled smoke coming from up ahead. However, the trees were too tightly packed for him to see far enough to find its source. "Do you smell that?" he asked, lifting his head slightly to catch a better scent.

"Yeah. What do you think? Forest fire?"

"No, too small. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a village. Smells like stoves, hearths."

"Out here?"

"Only one way to find out." Kicking Roach into a lope, Geralt shot ahead of Vesemir and around the large bend in the path only to stop when the forest widened to reveal a small town amidst the trees.

Vesemir reined in next to him. "Well, I'll be. I never knew there were people living in here."

Firing a sarcastic grin at Vesemir, Geralt said, "Guess they haven't heard the stories," and continued on his way.

When Vesemir caught up with his younger cohort, Geralt expressed his enthusiasm at finding the town, both of them making their way down the dirt road side by side. "Looks like we won't have to sleep out in the open tonight. I bet there is someone willing to rent out a room and serve a hot meal."

The town was large, considering its location, comprised of more than twenty or so houses, from Geralt's cursory count, all topped with thatched roofs coated in a layer of dead leaves. Smoke rose from a handful of chimneys, fires warming midday meals and weary villagers. In the streets ambled women hanging freshly laundered clothes, children playing guards and bandits, and those lucky enough to have a spare moment to themselves. Heads turned to follow the outsiders. The townspeople seemed curious of their new guests, of which, they had few.

They hadn't gone more than a hundred feet into the town when, from down the main road, came a man frantically running toward them. Geralt might have been taken aback were the man at all imposing. He was of average build, if a little on the lean side, with fair hair and red-rimmed eyes. He strode directly up to the witchers, either unafraid of them or desperate enough to overcome his fear. Geralt assumed it was the latter. He had seen many people in such a state.

"Please, sirs. Please, help me!" The man hysterically rambled on. "No one else will help me. They think I'm just being paranoid and then I saw you two come into the village and you looked like you could handle yourselves, what with your swords and all…"

The witchers spared a glance at each other before Geralt replied. "Slow down. Just take a deep breath and tell us what the problem is."

The man steadied himself, visibly taking a breath and exhaling. "I fear some terrible fate has befallen my brother."