Water dripped from the ceiling of the circular tunnel, splashing down on the uneven brickwork that formed the floor. Some water ran in thick rivulets down the tunnel's walls, worming its way between loose brickwork and over patches of slimy mold that had infested the walls in wide, foul-smelling growths. Down the centre of the tunnel's floor, a stream of what could generously be considered water dragged itself across the stonework. A pungent smell arose from this river, sickening to even the hardiest of constitutions. Rats scurried about the tunnel, gnawing on anything edible that they could get their claws on.
These were the sewers of Novigrad, ancient, impressive, infested. All kinds of creatures called them their home, drawn there to feast upon the waste of the enormous city above and its twenty thousand or so inhabitants. Faecal matter, food scraps, the occasional body, they all found their way down here, to be washed out to sea, eventually.
Panting echoed from the brick walls of the narrow tunnel, bouncing back and forth to fill the air. The splashing of heavy, frantic footsteps preceded a short, hunched shape lurching into view around one of the tunnel's turns. A man, short but broad in stature, clad in an elegant silken shirt and red velvet pantaloons, rushed down the tunnel, heedless of the slop that he waded through. A short, poorly maintained mop of black hair crowned his head. He gasped for air, his chest expanding and contracting with every step, his greasy, pock-marked face red with exertion. In his arms, he clutched a bundle of cloth, wrapped around something that clinked in the gloom.
Wild eyes glanced back over his shoulder, searching for some horror on his tail. As he did so, his boot landed on something unmentionable with a loud squelch, and the man tumbled, landing face-first in the grimy river. The bundle fell from his grasp, falling into the shallow stream. Its contents came loose, a golden candlestick, a few silver plates, and a necklace, silver set with a few sparkling gemstones. Frantically, the man scooped up the scattered valuables, stuffed them back into the bundle, and resumed his flight.
A loud snarl caught the man's ear, drawing his terrified gaze backwards. Behind him, in the shadows, yellow eyes blazed with feral hunger. A ravenous bellow echoed from three separate throats as squat shaped loped towards him. Cracked nails scraped on smooth bricks while rotten brown teeth gnashed at the air. Bloated bellies were covered by pallid grey skin pulled tight, while swollen, fat throats gurgled. Nekkers. Filthy little ogroids prowled these sewers, feasting on the grime and scraps of the city, growing fat and strong.
Terror giving him renewed reserves of energy, the fleeing merchant put on a fresh burst of speed, surging through the tide of filth to escape his pursuers. He rounded a corner, and came to a sudden halt, confronted with a dead end. This branch of the sewer ended abruptly in a flat, featureless wall. The rotten remnants of a long-decayed ladder littered the floor of the tunnel, a couple of stumps protruding from the ceiling above leading up to a hatch, far overhead and, much to the merchant's dismay, well beyond his reach.
Disheartened at the discovery, the merchant turned to face the Nekkers, curling around the bundle protectively. Perhaps he could use the candlestick as a club to fend the beasts off? No, he realised. There was no way he could be brave enough to do something like that, his hands trembling, his guts turning to ice as he looked to the monsters following him. The Nekkers, sensing that victory was close, slowed a little, fanning out in a half-circle to prevent any avenue of escape. The leader of the pack, a taller brute with bulging muscles and red markings across his chest, stepped forward, making ready to attack.
The blade sliced through the air with a silken whisper, neatly removing the beast's head from its shoulders. Behind the weapon, a lithe, shadowed form dropped, following through on the swing with a boot to the headless Nekker's chest, knocking the monster aside, before the new arrival turned his gaze to the other two beasts.
The newcomer was a man of average height, with a slim but powerful build. Under his armour, a combination of fine leather and a long, black gambeson, powerful muscles flexed, telling of a life of disciplined training. Short brown hair was cut close to the scalp, matched by a neatly trimmed goatee, his cheeks and jawline clean shaven. Every facet of this man was neatly presented, showing a tight grip on himself and his appearance, a firm sense of discipline exuding from him.
In his hands rested a silvered longsword, its pommel finely carved with the effigy of a snarling cat. The blade itself shone brightly in the darkness, as though glowing with its own inner light. The blade moved swiftly, fluidly, slicing first one, then the other Nekker, felling the beasts with one strike each. The way the weapon moved, it seemed to be an extension of the man's arm, as much a part of him as an eye, or a hand.
In less time than it took the merchant to stand, the newcomer felled the Nekkers before turning to face him, sword still held in aggressive stance. The merchant quailed before his ferocious gaze, eyes burning with a bright yellow fire. At his breast, a silver medallion that mirrored the pommel of his weapon lurked, its emerald green eyes gazing out over a vicious snarl. The merchant wilted underneath his glare, just as terrified of his saviour as he had been of his attackers.
His breathing still a little elevated from the adrenaline of combat, the Witcher, for that is what the newcomer was, stepped even closer.
"I told you not to run." He chided the merchant, with an irritable shake of his head. "Especially not into the sewers like a fucking moron. Now, you just get to die tired, and I've got shit on my boots."
"Please..." The merchant whimpered, dropping to his knees. "I'm sorry for running, I'm sorry for your boots. Just... please, don't kill me!"
"A compelling argument, really well reasoned." The Witcher drawled sarcastically, coming to a halt in front of the other man, looming over him threateningly.
"I don't understand." The merchant stammered. "I thought your kind didn't kill people, just beasts!"
"I was trained to hunt and kill monsters, no matter the species." The Witcher brought his sword about, bringing its tip under the merchant's chin and forcing him to look up, until his eyes met those wild, burning amber orbs of the monster hunter. "As long as the coin is good, and I have a good reason, I'll hunt whatever I need to."
"Why me?" The merchant, on the verge of tears, stifled a sob. The tip of the blade, still slick with Nekker blood, scratched at the flesh of his throat.
"You don't know? You, Kellis Garworth, who raped the daughter of Barris Vehmner. Now, thanks to your soiling of her dignity, Lord Denhorst refuses to wed her, and the Vehnmer family has lost face. They paid a pretty penny for my services."
"Th-that was never proven!" The merchant, Kellis, protested. "There was no evidence to support the accusations!"
"And that's why the Vehnmers turned to me." The Witcher tilted his head, pushing the tip of the blade a little to force the merchant to straighten up even further. "A Witcher puts up nowhere near as many obstacles to resolving an issue as the courts do."
"Then... I'll pay you more!" The merchant bargained. "Whatever the price, I'll double it."
"Hmm... tempting." The Witcher seemed to mull the offer over, before shrugging indifferently. "But no, I don't think so. Not this time."
"Wait, wait, wait-!" Kellis' pleas were cut short as the sword thrust forward, piercing his throat until it burst out through the back of his neck, severing his spine instantly. The newly created corpse sagged, sliding off the end of the sword as his blood flowed across the aged bricks.
The Witcher released a long, slow sigh, shaking his head. He crouched next to the body for a moment, wiping his blade off on a patch of the merchant's shirt that was relatively unsoiled. He spared his prey's scattered goods a momentary glance, then shoved them into the flowing stream, allowing them to vanish beneath the tide of filth. Then, sheathing his sword, he stood, turning to stalk away from the body. The sewer's denizens would claim the corpse soon enough.
~o~0~o~
Darkness reigned over the streets of Novigrad, the occasional light from a soot-stained window casting uncertain shadows across the streets, empty save for the occasional patrolling guard, or prowling harlot. Even an enormous city such as the trading port of Novigrad fell quiet on a night like this, when thick fog rolled in from the sea and smothered the settlement beneath a white shroud.
In a back alley behind a warehouse, close to the docks, a hatch set in the worn cobblestones shuddered and, with a grunt, the Witcher rose from the sewers. He spared a moment to kick the shit from his boots before, with a sniff, he turned towards the docks. He could smell the salt in the air, the sweat of seamen mixing with rapidly ageing fish to create an unmistakable aroma that he could follow. He marched through the streets, until he found himself on the edge of the enormous harbour of Novigrad, the city's most valuable asset. His glowing eyes scanned the docks for a moment, before he spotted a single lantern lit above the stern of a small fishing skiff, heading straight for it. He leapt from the dockside to the small boat.
"Time to go." He called to the figure at the stern, a dark outline beside the lantern, hand draped over the rudder. "The job's done, time to go get paid."
"That's good to hear."
The unfamiliar voice caused the Witcher to pause, hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.
"That won't be necessary, Witcher." The figure leaned forward, allowing the light of the lantern to fall across his face.
He was an older man, a grey beard adorning his worn features. A hood covered his head, casting dark shadows across his eyes. He was, the Witcher noted, unarmed. Slowly, the monster hunter relaxed. his gaze darted about, looking for any other figures who might pose a threat. He saw no one.
"What happened to Rauth?" He asked, speaking of the boat's owner.
"By now? Probably halfway through his fifth tankard of ale, or warming himself in the arms of some harlot or another." The figure shrugged. "He was adequately compensated for abandoning his post."
The Witcher narrowed his eyes, making a mental note of the betrayal. It never ceased to amaze him, how easily a man could be bought. The figure shared a knowing smile with him.
"Your ferryman may not be too reliable an ally, Witcher, but do not be overly concerned. He has not sold you out to an enemy. I am here to speak with you as a potential client."
"What makes you think I need a client?" The Witcher asked defensively.
"You are a Witcher." The figure chuckled. "You and your ilk are always looking for the next coin, one way or another. And you, you are the renowned Bastian of Belhaven, are you not?"
The Witcher, Bastian, twitched at being identified, self-consciously looking about in case any town guards were within earshot. The figure, observing his tension, chuckled again.
"Relax, my friend. By incredible coincidence, the guardsmen are all patrolling other parts of the city at the moment. They will not be able to detain you this day, although Captain Merryn is keen to see you apprehended for that incident in Ursten."
"Who are you?" Bastian asked carefully.
"I suppose its only fair that I give you my name." The figure shrugged. "I am Yannis Brysvalt. Merchant, landowner, and advisor on the city council of Novigrad. And I have a job for you."
"What kind of job?" Bastian pressed. He didn't like how the merchant seemed to have all the power in the conversation.
"The kind best suited to your talents." The merchant smirked. "Even among your kind, you have a skillset uniquely qualified to accomplish what I desire."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we part ways, and will likely never see one another again." Yannis shrugged. "Although I would be disappointed. I figured you a man practical enough for my needs. I mean, look at your work with poor, harmless Kellis."
"Not so harmless, if the Vehnmers are to be believed." Bastian contended.
"And yet, the evidence against him was very thin, was it not?" The merchant pressed, eyes gleaming in the dark.
"Its not my place to make the judgements." Bastian shrugged.
"No. You just hold the blade that delivers the sentence." Yannis stroked his chin ponderously. "I wonder... how many times have the Vehnmers called upon your guild, to protect their quarries from Shaelmar, to rid their mines of Kikimorae, that little incident with the wraith child in their summer home? How many more contracts did you secure for your Guild through one swing of your sword?"
"You're trying to make a point." Bastian sternly commented. "Any chance of reaching it before the dawn?"
"If you thought that the Vehnmer's gratitude was valuable, I can assure you- mine is doubly so." Yannis smiled. "I have many business interests, all of which can find a use for any number of Witchers. What's more, I have the ear of many nobles throughout Velen. Life in this region could become very easy for you and your brethren."
Bastian mulled it over for a few seconds, regarding the old merchant cautiously. he had to admit, times had been tough for the Witchers recently. Fear filled the common folk, tales fuelling a growing resentment of the Guild. Tales of Witchers snatching children from their beds, of massacres in remote villages who could not pay the promised reward, of monsters unleashed deliberately to coerce communities into hiring the monster hunters. Mostly false, but some with a grain of truth at their heart. Now, with mankind spreading their settlements far and wide, and monster attacks growing more rare as the beasts steadily lost their homes, many were questioning the value of the ancient Guild. Soon, Bastian feared, a day would come when the people would think that the time of the Witchers had passed, and their fear of the mutated hunters would turn them against the Guild.
Finally, with a shrug, Bastian sat down on an empty crate, leaning back as he watched Yannis carefully. A confident smirk twitched across his lips.
"Alright then, let's talk business."
