Prologue:
It had been another long day, grueling and annoying. The one thing the Witcher Geralt hated more than anything was dealing with annoying people. In all his years Geralt had only managed to find a few good people out there, even some of his closest friends couldn't be considered "good"; even further, the ones he considered to be good weren't necessarily that. This world and the people in it made even the best of persons bend their morals. Geralt was no fool though; compromise was all too familiar to him. Once, he saw a man cut off his own ear just to protect his village. Even the she-elves of Blaviken have reduced themselves to breeding with humans just to keep their race alive. As Geralt lent his head against the tavern wall, beer in hand, he thought to himself just how easier life would be if everyone would just disappear. A few times he had tried to disappear himself but to no avail. It seemed he was doomed to deal with people for the rest of his life.
"Excuse me, I require a room for the evening." Geralt heard a monotonous voice over the noise of the tavern.
"We have none." The bar-keep replied.
Geralt could presume that the bar-keep didn't even look up from the tankard he was cleaning.
"Please sir, I can pay." The voice came again.
"You daft? I already told you we have none, now get lost freak!"
At this, Geralt had opened his eyes. The voice belonged to that of a woman, a fighter of sorts, not only noticeable by the giant sword she carried on her back, not much different than how he carries his weapons, but also due to her physic, muscles protruded from the thin fabric of her clothing, as well as the armour covering her shoulders. 'This one looks interesting' Geralt mused to himself.
"Forgive me sir, but I've been hired by a Mr. Rouven, he told me that there'd be room for me here."
Only then did the bar-keep raise his gaze to meet the strangers.
"Sigismund Rouven is cheat and a right prick." The bar-keep said, and then spat onto the floor next to him. "Tell you what, since you and Rouven are such good mates, why don't you go stay with him. Gods know the old, bloated lout could use the company." He began to chuckle.
The stranger remained motionless, no signs of anger or aggression in her body language at all. "Was that a joke?" she began with the same monotone voice "If so I assume it was quite funny…" She placed a sack of coins on the bar that thudded with a heft that turned a few of the patrons head in her direction. "I still need a room for the night."
From the corner of the tavern Geralt was still listening to the whole interaction. 'What's a person like that hanging around a person like Dijkstra?' More importantly though was what was the job Rouven had her doing.
"Fine!" The bar-keep barked, pulling the sack of coin behind the bar. "Up the stairs to the left, no trouble mutant or I'll let the Eternal Fire burn you and the other freak. Already have enough trouble with him hanging about."
"What other?" A small hint of surprise was heard in her apathetic voice.
"Figured you two knew each other, you both being Witchers and all. Over there in the back." The bar-keep nodded in Geralt's direction.
'Great, now I've been brought into this.' The Witcher thought spitefully.
"The organization I work for has no name; I'm not associated with your lands Witcher guilds. Most call us Claymores though."
"Claymore, Witcher, doesn't matter to me; you're all still mutated freaks."
With that the Claymore walked up to the next floor to her room. Geralt met her eyes for a brief moment and noticed something, her inhumanly intense silver eyes. Geralt didn't let the small surge of shock show but he was nevertheless taken aback by the similar look of them, it sort of reminded Geralt of the intensity his witcher eyes gave off. Whatever she was hired for Geralt didn't really care but he also was curious about this new stranger. Even as she went up the stairs he could feel his medallion shake just a bit.
CH. 1: A Chance Encounter
It was the middle of the night and a faint noise in the corner of the room woke Geralt from his sleep. Years of training had taught him not to betray the ruse of being asleep; he slowly lifted his eyelids, only a little, and dilated his pupils to see who was in his room.
"I figured you'd notice me." The cold emotionless voice came from the corner of the room "After all you Witchers aren't much different than us, stolen away at a young age, tortured and violated, forced to become some sort of half monster, all for the sake of fighting the real monsters."
"You looking for a pity party?" Geralt asked sitting up, he also drew the sign of Igni; lighting the candles in the room. His words betrayed what he really was thinking, an organization that took kids and turned them into perfect monster hunters, who were these so called Claymores, and where did this one come from?
"No, just making an observation. Like how you have a knife ready in your other hand." The Claymore came and sat on a stool adjacent to Geralt's bed.
The Witcher removed his hand from under the covers of his bed, placing it, and the dagger being held onto his lap. "Why are you here? Thought your business was with Rouven."
"It is, but it's also with you. I was told that Witchers are not anything special; in fact most people hate your lot…"
"Nothing gets past you." Geralt muttered
"..However, then I heard that one Witcher was in league with a certain person that could 'travel through worlds'." Her words were cold and when bringing up Ciri, Geralt felt the entire room go silent.
"Sounds like you've been misled. The only ones who travel through worlds are the wraiths of the wild hunt and a handful of higher vampires. I've never known a witcher to be friends with either of those." Geralt tensed, now this was really becoming annoying, Dijkstra sent this woman to Geralt, What in hell did this woman want with Ciri?
"The child of the elder blood, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, you know her, Geralt of Rivia, and I must ask you to take me to her."
Geralt weighed his options carefully, this woman knew him, knew about Ciri. What the hell was Dijkstra thinking? So what was the Witcher's move, fight, flee, or concede? Whatever a claymore was, this one was strong, and she had to be in order to heft around a sword the size of hers. He could try to run but that would cause a scene, might even alert the guards of the city, which would be even more of an annoyance. Fighting might work, also would cause a scene though, that'll definitely attract the guards.
"Did Rouven even have a job for you?" Geralt asked coldly, the bitterness in his voice evident.
"He did, information about where you were was payment." The claymore retorted, her eyes looking over Geralt's twin swords resting against the bed stand.
"Why do you need Ciri, and why should I take you to her?" 'Annoying'
"Because I need to get back to my world and because I'll pay 4,000 crowns just to speak with her."
4.000 was quite a lot of money, but Geralt still didn't trust this stranger, whether or not they shared some kinship being mutated monster hunters, putting Ciri in potential danger wasn't something worth risking, not mentioning Geralt didn't even know where Ciri was at the moment. Once becoming a witcher herself Ciri set off on her own, taking contracts in Barsa last he heard.
"Please Geralt of Rivia, there is someone waiting for me back where I come from, someone precious to me." Only then, did Geralt's enhanced hearing pick up a faint waver in her voice.
Geralt let out an exasperated sigh, the decision was made; this woman had someone precious to her, and as much as Geralt tried to fight it, had a compassionate heart; albeit underneath layers of hatred and resentment. "What's your name?" he asked in a whisper.
The claymore relaxed for the first time since the witcher first laid eyes on her. "My name is Teresa, Teresa of the Faint Smile."