Nearly a year had gone by for Lazarus with a voyage ending in a balmy, sunny southern land. Alone but untroubled for the better part, Toussaint welcomed her to a change in both hospitality and fable-like scenery. Much different than the harsh conditions and scorn demeanor that ran Velen like a perpetual shadow.
As if spurred to take root as quickly as possible, she shared her humble wealth of knowledge and trade, making as many connections as she could with the local folk. Novice alchemist, tiresome barmaid, a worthy friend, and loyalist to Duchess Anna Henrietta, she toted many titles as a result. Though she was of no noble blood nor drowning in riches brought by her multiple trades, what she lacked in coin she made up in a sturdy upbringing built on self-awareness, a woman's own confidence, and family―however small.
Now standing on the top of a shallow hill, surrounded by a colorful array of blossoms listing under a gentle breeze, the setting sun rays bled between the thick canopy. Light filtered through the leaves and branches created golden spots against the forest floor while an orange blaze burned the horizon. Gloam chased away the burning horizon with a spray of stars, heralding in the clear nightfall.
In one hand she held a basket, the other plucking any flower she found pretty. They were for decoration, not much else.
Earlier, Laz had foraged for roots and other herbs under the clear sky whilst cheerful songbirds flittered about, swooping through tree branches and perching to watch her work, but that quickly grew odious. Staring across the rolling hills of lushed grassy knolls used as vineyards and the rows of ripe fruit trees providing dense shade, she'd never imagined such a paradise existed. But here it was, and here she lived. Her own happily-ever-after. From the swamps of Velen to the frigid isles of Skellige, to the rotten sludge of Novigrad, it'd taken Laz many errors and tribulations until, at last, she found a suitable place to stay and lay roots. Only half the battle.
Dusk was settling over Toussaint's picturesque landscape, the fire-orange sun sunk lower and lower upon the horizon. The litany of songbirds died down to a solitary poultry, a crying peacock. Her foraging in the Caroberta Woods now over, it was time to return home. Gathering her belongings and her skirts, she trekked back into town.
Entering the crowded and perpetually noisy establishment, Laz was greeted with a merry hum of ale-polluted prattle, and clunking of earthenware. Thunderous laughter erupted from a table full of sailors before they joined together in song. The candelabras flames flickered and danced in each four corner as barmaids toting dark frothy mixtures strode expertly between the revelry without snuffing the flames or spilling tankards. A massive heart filled with a wealthy fire threw a pleasant glow across the din. More laughter provided the dwelling.
Lithe and sure-footed, Laz slipped through the drunken patrons, mindful of their euphoric oblivion and incoherence to others around them where they staggered. She was nearly up the stairs, heading directly to her small bedroom when the familiar voice of a barmaid called to her.
"Laz, did you hear!" Ygritte breathed with palpable excitement, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. "Our Illustrious Highness has summoned a witcher from the North! A correspondence came this morning, he's coming!"
Ygritte was a well-endowed blonde, pretty if one could look past the freckled aquiline nose, pudgy cheeks, and crooked smile.
"No, I've been at the Caroberta Woods since this morning," Laz stepped down, scanning the inn's patrons for anyone that might stand out. She'd never seen a witcher before, but Keira, her mother, had said a great deal about them. "Is he here now?"
"No," Ygritte admitted with a blush, lowering her eyes. "But if he does arrive, I was hoping…"
"Give you my section should he land at one of my tables?" Laz shrugged. "I don't see why not."
She turned away, ending the conversation. If her friend desired to speak to the witcher, one less bellowing mouth she had to cater to.
Pretty Ygritte, always starving for an adventure, abhorred by incessant local lads, and so eager to seek a foreign husband, one that would carry her away from the very place Laz was desperate to find.
To each their own.
It was time to depart.
The day to return to Velen was nigh. And while preparations had since been made and multiple letters were sent, they were all without a correspondence. Laz wasn't sure Keira would be expecting her, or even wanted to see her, an uglier thought she couldn't stomach. Nonetheless, provisions and other victuals had been gathered and there was no turning back now. Her horse was readied, a small satchel was packed, and several coin purses taught with saved-up gold among other representations of Laz's gratitude were stashed in her mount's saddlebags.
Nearly a year ago with a heavy heart and weary mind, Laz had departed the village of Midcopse and into the great unknown. Not such feat could have succeeded had Keira not insisted, encouraged, prepared Laz to live on her own. By the god's grace and sheer will, the lessons proved true and insightful, somehow she had managed. Socializing being the most difficult. People loitered before Keira's cabin, day and night, howling of inflictions and unfortunate circumstances. They blamed her for misfortunes, praised her when luck struck them and wailed even more over when it fled. Keira would send them away, but they always returned. Young at the time, Laz misunderstood what they wanted and grew to hate the people that waited outside, and thus hated anyone that wasn't Keira in general. That was when she first heard the scathing remark witch and had quickly grown to despise the slight.
Of course, Keira appeased to their wishes, more often than not. Whether it was a flaccid member, unable to perform his husbandly duties or a strange rash between their toes, unbeknownst that the man had lost interest in his wife and the latter was forgetting to wash everything but her feet. She would cater to their needs.
" It's unwise to cause discord. I've already been driven from the Temerian court halls. I do not want to be exiled from the dumps of Midcopse." she'd said with a certain blase, pinching her cheeks into a rosy blush or apply a gloss across her lips before a mirror. Laz was raised not to appreciate her reflection. Even though what she saw was unsettling, she trusted Keira's assurance.
All Laz knew was Keira took great care of her. Unable to have children of her own, she was nonetheless a doting, affectionate mother. But, it was time for the child to take care of the parent, return the favor and perhaps convince Keira to abandon the harsh countryside of Velen and move to a more fitting environment. If she was lucky, perhaps Keira could return to the courts as a ducal sorceress, like her days of yore in the Temeria halls, advising for King Foltest.
A drawn portrait of the sorceress was rolled and tucked into her satchel. An artist in Beauclair managed to capture Keira's likeness by the description provided by Laz, since he'd never seen her before. Keira was vain, there was no denying that.
Laz swept her long white hair over her shoulder and wove it into a single plait. A simple navy-blue cambric tunic, tucked into worn brown trousers, and riding boots provided the journey's attire. It was her best outfit and it was most comfortable. An attempt to show Keira she was well off, well fed, and employed. The journey was going to take several weeks minimum, sturdy attire should last its abuse. Despite Toussaint's temperate weather, the north would not prove the same. A heavy, black woolen cloak hung asymmetrically from her shoulder, hood withdrawn. She stared at her reflection, looking tired and reluctant.
In truth, she should be excited to see Keira. But a weariness had set in, grating her senses like an abrasive stone, leaving her raw and uncertain. Since she'd awaken, her heart had been knocking painfully against her ribs like a bird caught in a very small cage. Whether it was excitement, trepidation or something else, she was not certain.
Eyeing the woman in the mirror, the Gift Keira had given Laz still held true. The only difference now was a warmer complexion; a result of living under the bright Toussaint sun. Albeit, when she first arrived, she was as pale and alluring as a mollusk.
This is who you are, Lazarus of Everheart. You must embrace it.
A shadow darkened her expression. Keira's words. Not her own.
Unable to stare at her reflection any longer, she left the tavern in haste.
"Tell the witcher I said hello," she yelled over her shoulder towards Ygritte before the door slammed.
Mounting, she draped the heavy cloak off one side of the horse. The hot sun was blazing and bright. She could feel the trickles of sweat on her lower back and the warm saddle beneath her. Though the attire would normally garner absurd glances, it was for the unforgiven winter that plagued Velen she was prepared for. When the inevitable temperatures dropped, she could adjust it over both shoulders and spread the length of it over her horse's backside.
Saddled and ready, she cinched the ties of her cloak tighter and heeled the horse into a canter northward towards Velen.
hello! So just a quick disclaimer before any readers get ahead and deterred by their suspicions. 1. Laz is NOT a witcher. She has white hair but for different reasons other than mutations etc. Also this is influenced by both the books and the games. I was distraught to see hardly any Regis ff so I had to satisfy my longing for the vampire.
I should also warn that there will be graphic depictions of gore, bloodletting (bloodplay), And strong sexual content.
Thanks for the read and I would love to know what y'all think.