Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over The Witcher books or games. This story was inspired by my love for its world and characters. :)

Due to this being my first attempt at a long-lasting series instead of a single story, any feedback as to whether you guys find it enjoyable and worth continuing would be much appreciated. I do not mind criticism, as I am sure there is much room for improvement.


Autumn had finally arrived in White Orchard, dyeing the Tamerian countryside in warm oranges and yellows. Ripe fruit adorned the crowns of trees, which villagers reluctantly gathered under the watchful eye of the Black Ones. While tensions were still somewhat high, few could argue with the order that Captain Gwynleve had instilled during his short time governing the region. After passing a plethora of new rules to the locals, a few of which ensured that all the able-bodied men participated in clearing up the devastation caused by the war, the scenery had certainly improved. There were no more bloated, rotting corpses sprawled across the grassy fields or dangling from nooses by the side of the road. Homes that had been razed to the ground were rebuilt and even new ones were being erected. The Empire might have cost White Orchard its independence, yes, but in return, it brought a new sense of stability that many of the less patriotic inhabitants had always wished for.

Eskel was resting upon the stump of a chopped down pine, overlooking an abandoned sawmill. In his left hand, he appeared to be holding an unfolded letter, while with the other he nonchalantly rummaged through what remained of his provisions. His clothes were still caked in dry mud from the most recent contract that he had accepted. It was issued for a water hag that had made its residence under a bridge, hindering anyone who sought to cross it. It wasn't a particularly difficult fight but, then again, the modest sum he received in return reflected his efforts.

''I'll be damned…'' he muttered to himself with a chuckle.

The letter was signed by Geralt, but the fine handwriting suggested that it was most definitely not authored by him. It was an invitation to the White Wolf's estate in Toussaint, likely composed by one of his newly acquired household assistants that came with it. Eskel found the thought of his old friend hanging up his swords rather unlikely, but perhaps his beloved sorceress had finally managed to rein him in. Yennefer was certainly more than capable of pulling on a man's strings.

Times were changing. Witchers were relics of a bygone age, gradually going extinct like the very creatures they hunted. After all, there was little room for monster slayers in a world preoccupied with human politics and intrigue. Retirement was something Eskel found himself considering more often with each passing day. As far as he knew, he was the only active member from the School of the Wolf still practicing his craft. Geralt had apparently settled down and Lambert was off somewhere with his own sorceress. A life on the path was all Eskel had ever known, with the exception of the winters spent in Kaer Morhen. Following Vesermir's tragic passing, however, no one really visited the old keep as there was hardly any reason to. It just didn't feel the same without the old man there.

As an arrow suddenly zipped past his face, Eskel rapidly jolted to his feet, taking a few steps back while reaching for his blades. His cat-like eyes immediately darted over to the location from where the projectile had flown from, only to land on the bent over frame of a young man who was panting for air. In his hand he held the recently fired bow that had almost launched an arrow into Eskel's skull. Beads of sweat rolled down from the top of the hunter's cleanly shaven head and got picked up by his ginger, scruffy attempt at a beard.

''Sorry, didn't see you there, I was… '' he paused to catch his breath once more, before continuing '' Was aimin' for a beast I've been chasin' after all fuckin' morning, but the bugger suddenly turned and dashed off somewhere… shite ''

Eskel relaxed his stance and crossed his arms with a sigh. He then took a big whiff of air with a loud snort. His sensitive nose caught the fleeting scent of a wounded animal, likely a boar, and he gestured with his head towards a vague direction.

''That way''

The hunter quizzically cocked his eyebrow at first but, upon taking a closer look at the man standing in front of him, realized that he was in the presence of a witcher. That fact instantly made him appear more apologetic, mainly because he didn't fancy losing his head. For his sake, Eskel wasn't so easily ticked off, despite his overall intimidating appearance.

''Me sincerest apologies again, Master Witcher, didn't count on anyone loiterin' around here is all…'' His eyes suddenly lit up, as if he had remembered something. A broad smile appeared on his face.''..but, tell you what, I might just be able to make it up to you. Meet me in the Inn at sundown, I'll buy you a round o' vodka and we'll talk about it more, aye?''

This time it was Eskel who uplifted an eyebrow, but before he could inquire further regarding the offer, the boy was off in the direction the witcher had pointed towards, disappearing behind the thick foliage.

Hooves clacked against the stone bridge that led into the main village of White Orchard. A pair of Nilfgaardian soldiers, stationed on each side of it, eyed Eskel and his stead, Scorpion, suspiciously as they strode past them. Recently lit torches and fires engulfed the settlement with their light, warding away the encroaching darkness of night. The silver moon reflected off the murky surface of the Ismena River that flowed nearby. Despite the late hour, the sound of metal being hammered reverberated from the blacksmith's workshop, accompanied by the occasional loud profanity produced by a farmer whose cattle had escaped the barn. It was quite the lively evening, overall.

Having ideally finished their day's work, regulars were pouring into the inn. They were no doubt eager to wet their whistle with a stiff drink or five.

Eskel dismounted from Scorpion, gave him a few reassuring pats on the head and tied him to what looked to be the sturdiest looking part of a wooden fence. There was more than enough grass for the horse to graze on, even if it was a tad dry given the season. With a push of the witcher's hand, the door of the establishment creaked open. Inside he was exposed to everything one would expect out of an inn; Drunken belches, heated arguments over the most trivial of topics and the poor barmaids that were attempting to maintain some semblance of civility. He naturally attracted some curious eyes and his deeply scared face earned a cringe or two, but in general, he was surprised that none of the patrons protested to his presence, or at least didn't dare do so vocally.

''Oi, Master Witcher, over here! Thought you wouldn't show up!''

Eskel spotted the lad from before, waving at him from across the room. He occupied a table along with someone else; a woman who shared some of his features but appeared around a decade older. An elder sibling, if one was to guess. Her fiery hair was a mess of curls, barely kept in place by a loose ponytail. Like her brother, her pale skin was also spotted with freckles and she possessed the same blue eyes. The heavy looking crossbow strapped to her back, however, suggested that they didn't hunt for the same type of game.

''I wasn't going to, at first. But then I figured that I shouldn't pass on a free drink'' the witcher said, pulling up a stool.

The younger man grinned and slid a tankard of clear liquid across the table, which Eskel caught before it could have spilled off the edge.

''Never liked drinkin' from a bottle –just don't taste the same, hope you don't mind''

The woman leaned back against the wall behind her, producing a yawn as she did. Her brother looked to her as if expecting her to speak, but seeing as she wasn't inclined to do so, instead proceeded to introduce them both:

''So, I'm Owen and the cunt right there is me older sister Brea. She's the one who needs your help''

After downing half of the vodka in a few gulps, Eskel placed the tankard down and looked to the aforementioned sister. The woman had quite the coarse exterior and, he assumed, a matching personality. Brea, as she had been introduced, drummed her fingers along the bottom of the bench she sat on. She tilted her head, smirked and quite bluntly remarked:

''Must've been one hell o' a monster that did that number on yer mug''

She was, of course, referring to the faded but prominent scratches that occupied half of the witcher's face. Owen sharply elbowed her, but Brea hardly reacted. She continued to stare expectantly at the new arrival as if looking to provoke him.

'' Shaving accident… '' Eskel nonchalantly answered with blatant sarcasm and finished what remained of his drink

The woman rolled her eyes but had to appreciate the witty retort. She pulled out a crudely drawn map and smacked it across the table. It was of White Orchard and its surroundings. She pressed her index finger in a particular spot at the furthest eastern end of it, where there was seemingly nothing but wilderness. She kept her voice low:

''There's a cave there; durin' the war, when the Black Ones invaded the north, some Temerian noblemen decided to hide all their valuables in it. Well, most o' the pricks are dead now and when I went to kindly ''re-posses'' a couple 'o trinkets, some giant lizard-rooster lookin' thing had already beat me to it. ''

Brea pulled back her sleeve, revealing that her entire forearm was stripped of its skin. This left the pulsating, pink tissue under it exposed, making for quite the grizzly looking wound. Eskel leaned forward to take a closer look at the damaged limb. Chewing on the side of his lip, he began assessing it:

''Strong acid; I can still smell it on you. Guessing that your clothes took the brunt of it, otherwise, you wouldn't have had an arm left to show me.''

He turned her arm to further inspect the burns, causing her to slightly flinch.

''Dwelling in caves, covered in scales, resembles a rooster, projects acidic toxins… basilisk, most likely. They are rare these days, you know, not many folks can boast of having seen one in a while''

Brea groaned and yanked her hand back abruptly:

''I'll make sure to take some time an' admire it once it's bloody dead. Well? You in or what?''

Eskel scratched the side of his face as he considered the offer.

''Depends on the crowns you are willing to spare. A monster like that isn't an easy kill and I don't wander around hunting them for sport''

The siblings looked to one another and then down at the leather pouches that dangled from their belts. It was as if unspoken words were being exchanged between them, conveyed only by grimacing. It was quite the odd display when viewed from an onlooker's respective. Eventually, they turned their attention back to Eskel, who appeared to be losing patience.

''Our funds are a tad…limited at the moment, but if my sister's sources are correct, which they've always been, the cave has more than enough treasure for you to choose from'' Owen confessed with an awkward smirk.

Feeling as if his time was being wasted, the witcher simply shook his head and rose from his seat. He had agreed to similar terms in the past and, more often than not, ended up receiving barely any payment in return. Once he agreed to a contract that had him venture into a family's tomb to slay a vengeful wraith, with the promise that whatever relics he found there were his for the taking. To make a long story short, he ended up with a cartful of broken, old pottery.

''Wait!'' Brea exclaimed, also standing to her feet.

A few startled customers turned their heads, which prompted her to lower her voice again:

''Look, I've been lookin' for this cache for a year now. It's the real deal. Think about it mate: how much do you usually earn for a job like this? Two hundred, three hundred crowns? I guarantee that you'll make 'least triple that amount.''

Eskel paused for a moment just as he was about to walk away, looking over his shoulder at the determined expression of Brea. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but there was more than simple greed that motivated her. He turned back around, resting a palm on the butt of his hunting knife that was strapped to his waist.

''And if you are wrong?''

''I'm not'' the woman grumbled, brows furrowing.

Owen was about to chime in, but as he felt her heavy hand upon his shoulder decided against it. It was her way of assuring him that she had it under control.

After what felt like a century of tense silence from both parties, Eskel eventually reached into his sleeve and produced his own map. He fumbled around with it for another moment or two and, finally, turned it towards them.

''Mark the location''