Olgierd von Everec had been mortal for barely a week and he'd already been kicked out of five taverns.
He had been given back the gift of his heart after Geralt of Rivia's defeat of Gaunter O'Dimm. So grateful was Olgierd that he swore to himself he'd use his heart in every way he could from then on - to feel, to experience, to love.
But all he'd done, really, was get shit-faced every night.
His life was already full of grief and regret, so why not partake in the drink? Sure, he might have told Geralt that he would take fate into his own hands... but there was still room in those hands for a pint or two of Redanian lager. If the Witcher were to ask him what the hell he was wasting his second chance for, Olgierd wasn't sure he'd be able to speak truthfully. Deconstructing his life since O'Dimm's defeat was what drove him to drink in the first bloody place. But that was not a melody he intended to hum forever.
So on the evening of his fifth banishment, Olgierd packed up what meager possessions he had and took to the road.
"And just what place will take in your worthless arse?" the barmaid had called after him.
"Col Serrai," he shouted and then hiccuped. He hadn't really considered where he'd go when he started this line of thinking and it surprised him how easily the answer came. Yes, Col Serrai. That nice little valley with those relaxing hot springs. That would do.
The barmaid frowned as she leaned out of her tavern door. For a moment she watched him drunkenly amble up the dirt path leading out of the village.
"Ploughing whoreson!" The tavern door slammed shut. All its inhabitants were glad to be rid of the mustachioed buffoon who drank all their ale and destroyed a table in an inebriated attempt to start a barn dance.
All Olgierd knew about how to get to Col Serrai was that he had to be careful.
First of all, it was Eastern. Far more Eastern than he'd ever set foot. It was also, he'd heard, a surprisingly dangerous route. One wrong path and he'd find himself in Brokilon, which locals referred to as the Forest of Death. Many a traveler and merchant met their fate at the claws of the beasts who skulked through the ancient wood. Olgierd himself understood that the threat of death was supposed to put him off... but he'd lived so long as an untouchable man that such a fear still felt foreign.
Alas.
What else could he do with his newly regained life? What choice did he have? To sit on his arse night after night or to joyfully experience something new? The valley of Col Serrai called to him, a siren of new possibilities. Of a new life.
"Of a new Olgierd," he slurred to no one but himself.
The path ahead opened into a windy field, stalks of grass pale under the light of the moon. Tall, lanky Olgierd smiled and ran a hand over the ginger scruff of his chin. Without so much as glancing at the village behind him, he stepped into the field and began his journey.
Reynaui Tze-Windward might not have been a knight, but he could certainly charm one if need be.
The trick was to know which knight to look for. The knight whose eyes ignore the maidens and instead danced to the sight of a handsome young student or barechested sailor. There was always at least one such a knight who patrolled Oxenfurt Harbor.
Reyn - please, only his parents called him Reynaui - found one idling by the docks. The armored man had met his gaze not once but twice during his portside stroll. Reyn knew an opportunity when he saw one.
"Lovely day, sir," Reyn nodded as he approached.
The knight straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Aye. Crisp weather."
"You must be quite warm under your armor."
A thrush of red blotched the knight's cheek.
"My apologies," Reyn lowered his eyes, voice soft as a kitten, "That was an inappropriate way to address a man of the Temple Guard. I forget my conduct."
"Your, er, conduct is fine, lad. Are you a student of Oxenfurt Academy?"
"Yes," Reyn lied. "I'm taking an afternoon break from my studies. I'm rather hoping for a distraction, to be honest."
He smiled, shyly, and watched as the knight's expression turned libidinous.
It was not until Reyn had turned 21 and left his island kingdom of Centaura that he became aware of the effect he had on certain men. That was especially clear on the Continent where refinement was apparently in short supply. He had yet to meet a man whose affections meant anything to him - most were lecherous instead of charming. That suited him fine, though. An arm's length was a comfortable distance. And if a few of the city's more doltish guardsmen had to fall for his tricks, well...
So be it.
"Distraction, you say?" The knight swallowed visibly.
"Yes. I find the company of books much less appealing than the company of another man. May I tell you a secret, sir?"
The knight nodded dumbly.
Reyn's shy smile became coy. "You'll have to lean in close. I shan't speak too loudly."
As if under a spell, the man did as he was told. Reyn leaned in too, so close that his soft cheek just barely brushed the knight's ear.
"You'll find me outside The Rosebud tonight," Reyn whispered. His fingers lightly played with the fabric that hung below the man's chestplate. "And I'll be looking for a strong knight to take me home."
He allowed the heat of his words to linger a moment longer before he returned upright. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"
The knight's words stalled in his throat. His gaze crept down Reyn's cheekbones toward the plump bow of his lips. "I- no. Course not. No one."
"Thank you, sir. Perhaps I shall find a way to repay you for your discretion."
A man shouted from a distance suddenly. Another member of the Temple Guard, calling for the knight's attention. The interruption jolted the dumbstruck man back to reality.
"Returning to duty?" Reyn feigned a disappointed expression as he a drew a finger across the knight's forearm.
"Yes, I, uh, you- I- we- erm..."
"No need for goodbyes, kind sir. You know where I'll be later."
With a face as scarlet as a smashed tomato, the knight chuffed a strangled salutation and dutifully ran down the harbor toward his superior.
"Men," Reyn sighed as he gripped the satchel of crowns he snatched off the unsuspecting dolt. Added to the crowns he nicked from a gullible and overly generous baron in Novigrad, he now had a rather tidy sum.
He certainly hoped the knight would find someone willing outside The Rosebud. It wouldn't be Reyn. He planned to use the crowns to pay for a ride outside of this forsaken city and head East... to some valley called Col Serrai.
This world held many secrets and the guardians of those mysteries would be found there. It was the dying wish of his parents that he seek salvation in the Oblivion Archive. You are the son of scholars
Col Serrai was the key to finding the Oblivion Archive. Reyn was sure of it.
He just had to get there first.
The gentle lullaby of the night calmed Olgierd. Pine trees rustling in the wind, the plaintive coos of nocturnal birds, the crackling of the campfire... it was almost as good as a glass of Toussaint Red.
Almost.
Olgierd had been walking a good four hours before he chose to lay camp for the evening. Nestled in a wood several miles from the nearest village, he found a clearing, built a fire, and settled onto a blanket of sheepskin. A comfortable end to an otherwise turbulent day.
He smiled and pitched a twig into the burning embers. Once he found Col Serrai there would be no more wandering, no more drunken brawls. He would explore the valley's system of caves by day and relax in the hot springs by night. For extra crowns he could help the local health resort clear out any troublesome beasts. Granted he was no Witcher, but he would certainly be the next best thing in such a secluded and sparsely populated region. Besides, his previous life as a Redanian soldier meant he knew his way around a sword.
Longing for the release of a good sleep, Olgierd began removing his boots when a horrible, animal cry shot through the dark.
He leapt to his feet at an instant. The cry repeated, definitely a horse in distress, then an echoing clatter of something heavy and wooden hitting the ground. And then another cry - distinctly human. An older man. And it was a long, ugly wail of pain.
The old, immortal Olgierd might have shrugged at this interruption and returned unbothered to his careless hedonism. But the new Olgierd - flaws and all - saw a chance to finally right a wrong.
Sword in hand and heart in his throat, he raced through the woods toward the source of the commotion.
Not long after sundown, Reyn had tracked down a traveling merchant in Oxenfurt and paid him handsomely for the privilege of stowing away in the back of his carriage. They quickly mapped out a route that would take him south of Ard Carraigh. It was the halfway point to Col Serrai, though Reyn never dared mention his real destination. He figured he could swindle another goon or hitch another ride once this one deposited him.
The merchant agreed to leave Oxenfurt immediately, no doubt inspired by the new weight in his pocket.
Reyn spent the next few hours tucked beside the carriage's payload of apple crates, bouncing and rocking as the merchant steered his horse along the seemingly endless gravel path.
He was in the middle of a book - some claptrap about a vampire's pregnant bride that nonetheless had him turning pages like some fisstech addict - when the carriage stopped so suddenly that Reyn whipped forward. He held an arm out to keep his head from bashing into a crate.
There was shouting outside. Multiple voices. It was well into the evening now and he couldn't imagine they'd run into any fellow travelers. The horse was going mad, bucking and whining with an intensity that made Reyn's chest tighten.
Then the front of the carriage exploded.
A bomb - likely an enhanced Dancing Star. Reyn knew the sound all too well. The blast was so sudden and powerful that the transport rose in the air for a terrifying half-second and crashed back to the ground with a jarring thud.
Smoke carrying the odor of ash and something sour flooded his senses as the entire carriage filled with smoke. The merchant screamed and then abruptly stopped. The horse was silent, too. There was movement up ahead. Reyn tried to follow what was going on but it hurt to keep his eyes open.
Move, he told himself. MOVE.
Reyn dove from the carriage's rear-side window and struck the soil awkwardly. He fumbled upright, dizzy from the smoke and blood rushing to his head. Though the bomb's haze obscured his view, he could tell the horse and merchant were dead. The only sounds now were footsteps invading the carriage and the selfish shouting of the men inside.
Bandits.
If they were desperate enough to kill a man for apples there was no telling what they would do to him. He would have to leave his things in the carriage behind, run fast and hard into the woods and-
A large hand snagged his collar and hoisted Reyn around until he was staring into an ugly, snarled face.
"Who do we have here?" The bandit's voice matched the unpleasantness of his mug. His grin bared yellow and jagged teeth. Reyn struggled but the man's grip was tight.
"Nothing in here but ploughing apples," someone from the carriage shouted. "Wasted a Dancing Star for what? Pie ingredients?"
Another bandit joined them. "Who's this?"
"Some apple-loving runaway. Handsome lil' whoreson. Lips like a strumpet."
"Prettier than one, too."
A ragged bark of laughter. Reyn's mouth became a hard line. Comments like that had an ugly intention behind them.
"Don't look so serious, strumpet boy. The gang'll take good care of yah."
Another hand touched his back. Another bandit he couldn't see. "Real good care of yah."
When the men all laughed again, Reyn found his opening. He kicked up into the soft gut of the man holding his collar. The grip released and Reyn swung a fist around blindly, landing a lucky blow against the the man behind him. Hard enough to feel the bandit's teeth through his cheek.
Reyn ran forward but he was too dizzy from the explosion, too confused from his body's surge of adrenaline. He stumbled over a branch and landed hard on the dirt path.
A rush of feet followed. Coughing, Reyn turned. He expected a blade at his throat but found a sight much more mysterious.
The bandits were not paying attention to him. They were embroiled in a physical struggle with someone Reyn could not see. Someone who had rushed up on them from the shadows of the forest. Swords were drawn, blades clashed, angry voices spat curses. One by one the bandits fell, each sporting ghastly injuries: slit throats, skewered lungs, gouged stomachs.
One man remained standing.
Reyn stared at the approaching figure, a tall silhouette against the glow of moonlight. The man's features were sharp and masculine, his chest broad. Whether his shock of hair was red from genetics or blood from the bandits, Reyn could not tell. But the sight of him, advancing quietly with a gore-stained blade, incited deep panic.
"Stay away from me!"
The man leaned over. He smelled of leather and ashes. "Calm yourself, lad. I'm here to save you." He spoke confidently. A lilt that hinted at a privileged upbringing danced within his words.
Reyn scrambled to his feet. "Do not come any closer."
"Pardon me if saving you from bloody death caused any offense."
Reyn grabbed a sword near one of the slain bandits and held it before him. It shook in his hands. "I've known men like you."
"Have you now?" The red haired man sheathed his blade and puffed out his chest. "And what sort of man am I?"
"The sort who makes huge shows of his good deeds only to demand a bounty. In what ever form or body necessary."
The man pinned him with a quizzical look. Clearly, not the reaction he expected. "What's your name?"
Reyn said nothing. The red haired man advanced another step.
"I am Olgierd von Everec. I cannot say I blame you for being cautious. These are dreadful times. Men behave like monsters for the sheer pleasure of it. And what justice do the innocent receive? If the danger of the path has made you distrustful of 'men like me'..." The man shrugged and rested a hand on his sword's hilt. "...well, perhaps I should have known better than to disturb a young lad like you."
Reyn stood a little straighter. This man - Olgierd - towered over him. Not just in terms of height, but experience and presence. "And what sort of young lad am I?"
"The sort who cannot lift a sabre without trembling under its weight."
Reyn's mouth opened. The words pushed and shoved each other in his throat. "You- you are- I've-"
"You seem offended."
"You are offensive!"
Olgierd's eyebrows shot skyward. "I am offensive? You had just stopped yourself short of calling me a murdering, raping opportunist!"
"Well, if the bloody robe fits."
"You are the most ungrateful little shit I've ever rescued. And I've rescued many ungrateful little shits."
Reyn swiveled the sword. A warning. A rather unconvincing one. "I told you to stay away."
"Or what?" A grin spread beneath his impeccably styled mustache. "You'll swat me to death?"
Reyn edged backward. Olgierd tutted and shook his head.
"Never telegraph your escape, boy. Think. You're surrounded by miles of forest and bog. Bandits are not the only beasts skulking around.."
"I'll take my chances with the ghouls and shriekers. Least they're predictable."
"Then by all means. Go with your instincts and run off into the night."
"I'll attack you if you follow me."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare."
Olgierd's eyes roamed over him. Reyn found, despite the turbulent air, that he rather liked the man's eyes. A faded blue, almost grey, with a piercing ferocity that made his breath short. Truth be told, he felt naked under the man's searching gaze. The tilt of his lips, too, set butterflies loose in Reyn's stomach. A strange sensation. But not an entirely unwelcome one...
"If you will not say your name," Olgierd grunted, "then at least tell me how old you are."
"Why?"
"Because I would feel aghast if I was sending a boy to run freely toward his death."
"I am no boy," Reyn shot back. "And what do you care of my safety?"
Olgierd mulled this for a moment before shrugging. "I don't."
"Glad you could finally be honest."
The man lifted his chin. "Go on then. Run. Let's see how far you get before a wild boar picks up your scent."
"I shall run farther and faster than any boar. So far and fast that I will never have to see your scruffy face again. I bid you goodnight, Olgierd von Everec."
Reyn then turned without looking (too proud to do so, too eager to get away from this strange and rude man) and shot off to the forest like lightning.
This was his last mistake of the night.
While Reyn possessed certain talents, foresight was not one of them. He ran face-first into the trunk of a birch tree and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Unconsciousness took him quickly.
Olgierd pinched the bridge of his nose in both frustration and amusement. "Goodnight, boy."