The monstrous figure loped forward, its gait a mixture of menacing, two-legged lumber and feral, four-limbed gallop. Fangs shone white in the flickering torchlight, flecks of saliva trailing from their razor-sharp points in glimmering strands. Even with the torchlight, the beast was hard to distinguish from the darkness of the woods, its midnight-black fur blending perfectly with the gloom. Were it not for the cacophony of grunting, snarling and vegetation splintering underfoot that accompanied it as it charged, the beast could easily have caught even a wary Witcher off-guard.
Dirk lunged first, the experienced Witcher a blur as he raced to meet the monster, his blade whipping through the darkness. The creature howled as the weapon sliced through its hide, but the sheer mass of muscle and rage could not be deterred by even a greivous wound, barrelling into Dirk with a furious snarl and bearing the Master to the ground.
Frederick was instantly beside his Master, undeterred by his lack of a weapon. Instead, he called upon his true strength, clutching at his medallion as he traced a mystical rune in the air. White energy shimmered around his fingertips, taking the form of a rough triangle in the air before the young Griffin. Drawing a deep, powerful breath into his lungs, Frederick unleashed a pulse of power from within his heart, the power of his conviction and focus behind it.
"AARD!"
A bolt of semi-solid air leapt from his outstretched palm, the Sign of motion streaking out to strike the werewolf square in the side. The beast wheezed as the air was driven from its lungs, lifted from astride Dirk's body and cast back into the underbrush. Wild eyes whipped about to focus on Frederick, an intense glare of fury, malice, and hunger behind them. The monster snarled as it picked itself up, feet twisting in the soil as it made ready to leap again.
Before the monster could make a renewed attack, the rest of the Witcher line moved forward, swords and Signs in hand. The werewolf howled as many steel weapons nicked its hide, but caused little to no damage. Frederick, allowing a moment for the magical energy within his flesh to swell again, turned his attention to the beast's companions, emerging from the shadows to the aid of their leader.
The beasts had once been some kind of hunting hound, but no longer. Strange energies seeped through their flesh now, twisting muscles and corrupting bones. Large, elongated jaws oozed caustic spittle, while bloodshot eyes stared out at the world in a mixture of ravenous hunger and madness. The magical energies that infused their flesh clung to them like a cloud of black smog, causing the foliage around them to wither at its touch. Seeing the werewolf beseiged, the hounds surged into motion, a series of harsh barks and howls tearing loose of their gaping throats.
One creature lunged at the prone Dirk, but Frederick quickly used another Sign, this time a Quen, to sheild his Master as he regained his feet. The hound let loose a perplexed snort as it struck an invisible barrier, unable to reach its prey. Before it could recover from its surprise, Dirk's sword lashed out, splitting the diseased animal open down its side, from jawbone to hip. With a distressed whimper, the hound staggered back, entrails and blood spilling from its wound before it slid to the ground, dead. Dirk, scrambling to stand upright, nodded his thanks to Frederick.
"Focus on the werewolf!" He barked an instruction. "As long as it is loose, more beasts like these will flock to its side!"
Frederick nodded, a grim curve to his lip as he regarded the monster, somehow managing to keep the barrage of Witchers at bay with its wicked claws, gnashing teeth, and sheer, unstoppable ire. Blood glistened in its coat, dripping from its mouth and claws, but aside from the wound Dirk had inflicted, it showed no signs of injury. Instead, the steel blades most of the weapons held merely glanced off its thick hide. Sensing that a mundane arsenal would have no effect, Frederick braced himself, tapping into the inner arcane energies that coursed through his flesh. His mind and heart flared with different thoughts and emotions, expertly shifting his vibrations to be in tune with the elemental plane of primal flame. Sparks leapt from his fingers as he drew the Sign in the air before himself, lips curling around the command word.
"IG-"
"WAIT!" Dirk's hand gripped his apprentice's wrist, halting the young Witcher mid-cast.
Frederick felt his entire body jolt, the energy he had summoned catching painfully within him, denied the outlet it longed for. The young Griffin struggled not to let out a pained, frustrated shout as every fibre of his being demanded release, and yet the Sign remained hovering in the air before him, unfulfilled. Confused, frustrated, even a little betrayed, Frederick turned a pained glare to his Master. Dirk remained oblivious, his gaze locked on the werewolf.
"It can't be..." He breathed. As the Witchers surged towards the beast, he let out a concerned shout. "STOP!"
Some Witchers heard, their charge faltering, but others remained fixed on only slaying the beast, rushing headlong at it. With a loud curse, Dirk leapt into the fray, forcibly shoving younger adepts out of the way. With a fearsome cry, he lunged at the beast, bearing it to the ground even as its claws scraped across the back of his armour, tearing long, deep gouges. As he wrestled with the immense creature, his laboured shouts reached Frederick's ears.
"It is Liva!" He shouted. "We must restrain her! Do not kill her!"
"Axii..." Frederick muttered, in an instant aware of what needed to be done. "Quickly! We need to use an Axii Sign!"
The Nightsaber raced forward, medallion thrumming at his chest as he took the power trapped within him, the same furious energy that had almost emerged as a raging ball of flame, and changed its intention, feeling the coursing pathways in his body and mind shift as he dropped into a crouch next to Dirk, grabbing hold of one of the werewolf's shoulders and, with all of his strength, twisting the beast around until its primal, animal eyes glared directly into his own. He met the stare, undaunted, forcing the beast's mind to focus upon him. With a surge of power, he unleashed the Sign boiling within him.
"Axii!"
The Sign was half shout, half whisper, but full of the power of intention. Frederick's will pulsed out, a rumbling wave of energy that struck the werewolf's consciousness like an ocean breaker striking a sandbar. In that moment, Frederick connected with the monster's mind, seeing it truly and completely. At first, he was overwhelmed by the raw, bestial fury he witnessed, a creature of unrivalled rage and power, chains broken as it rampaged through the skull of the body it inhabited. The tang of blood, the warmth of flesh, the scent of death, all these things fuelled it and nourished it, inciting something similar to ecstasy within its soul. As Frederick first brushed the gruesome thoughts, he felt his will tremble, the beast threatening to take hold of his will, too. Anger, hunger, and lust for carnage filled his thoughts. For just a moment, the Griffin's nerve faltered, but then he saw it.
There, at the heart of the carnage and bloodlust, a shimmering white shape cowered, bound in thick, iron chains. It was small, almost delicate, and utterly crushed under the weight of its imprisonment. And yet, even as the raging fires of animal hunger stormed around it, threatening to consume it utterly, still it remained, diminished but resolute, an inspiring light even in the deepest darkness. Frederick felt the light breifly glance into his mind, felt its true nature for just a glimpse, and understood. As he did so, renewed focus surged through him, energising him.
With a blink, Frederick returned to the physical plane, scarcely an instant having passed. His eyes refocused as he glared at the werewolf before him. Reaching up with his free hand, he pressed his open palm to the beast's forehead, wary of the snapping jaws, and cast again.
"Axii!" This time, the Sign was quieter, but more firm, a tidal wave of sheer will bearing down on the beast's mind. "I am the first Griffin of Kaer Marter, the last of Meinard of Mettina's creations, a Witcher and a student of the arcane. You will listen to me, and be subdued. Axii!"
The werewolf tried to fight the suggestion, but the former mage's apprentice proved to be the more resilient, dazing the creature. Its body relaxed, although within its eyes, Frederick could still see the wrath trying to escape, beating at the temporary cage Frederick had placed around its mind. Around them, the other Witchers quickly dispatched the last of the twisted hounds, blades bloody in the dark as they struck swift and true. Dirk, feeling the werewolf's resistance weaken, quickly moved to stand again, grabbing the beast by one arm.
"Somebody help me carry her!" Dirk called, gesturing for a nearby adept to come to his aid. Then, with Frederick still channelling the energies of his Sign into the beast's mind, they began to lead the monster, guiding it in the direction of the castle. Dirk turned a wary eye to Frederick, noting the beads of sweat already rolling down his face. "One of you stand ready to cast the Axii Sign when Frederick must release!"
Another Witcher, a small woman Frederick knew as Velda, stepped up, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Nodding appreciateively, Frederick took another few steps, before easing his control as the young woman stepped up.
Sensing the shift in power, the werewolf strained against the magical controls over its mind, but with Velda casting the Axii, and Dirk holding tightly to the beast's arm, it was subdued once again, barely able to stumble between its captors. A furious, plaintive growl seeped through its teeth.
"Keep going!" Dirk encouraged. "Quickly, before we all tire out."
Frederick placed a hand on Velda's shoulder, guiding her as she stepped backwards, not breaking eye contact with the beast for even a second. As he reached out physically, he also reached out mentally, touching her mind, sensing the flow of energy between her and the world around her. He gently touched that connection with his consciousness, adding a little of his own strength to the mix, bolstering his fellow Witcher and watching for the first Sign of wavering control. As Velda's focus began to slip, he called out for another adept to help, glancing back to note Kaer Tiele just a few dozen yards away.
As the young Griffin's focus shifted, the werewolf suddenly surged. Slamming against the magical control held over it, the beast quickly overwhelmed the Sign, breaking free. Before Dirk could react, an arm built like the trunk of a tree hurled him aside with ease, as though he were a bale of straw on a pitchfork. The Griffin Master let out a surprised cry, tumbling to the ground some way away. The Witcher to the other side of the beast was similarly knocked aside, his body worryingly limp as his head struck a tree. Its two captors dealt with, the monster turned its focus to the next obvious threat, the two Witchers before it. With a slavering snarl, it lunged.
Frederick barely had an instant to react, shock pulling at his limbs. With a momentary instinct, he shoved Velda aside, the Wolf School adept yelping as she stumbled out of the beast's path. This done, the Nightsaber raised a hand to cast Axii again, but there was no time. A hand the size of a cooking pot swung through the air, claws outstretched. With swift reflexes, Frederick adjusted his movements, instead using his outstretched hand to catch the werewolf by the wrist, other hand swiftly joining it. The claws stopped, mere inches from his face, furiously swiping at his eyes.
The strength of the beast was immense. The moment Frederick's block made contact, he felt a shiver pass through his entire body, the shock of the impact, making his knees tremble. He strained for just a moment before the overbearing weight of the werewolf surpassed his strength, body buckling as he was slowly, inexorably driven towards the ground, collapsing to one knee as the beast increased the pressure. Behind the grasping claws, the snarling maw of the monster opened wide, allowing thick, hot breath to wash across the Griffin apprentice's face. A cloying, moist smell of rotten meat and metallic blood filled Frederick's nostrils as spatters of red-foamed spittle struck his cheek. Frederick tensed, seeing his end in the white fangs, scarlet tongue and black throat that moved towards him. Frederick felt a defiant roar rise in his chest as, even when the beast's jaws drew close to his throat, he continued to fight back with every ounce of his strength.
"Raaagh!" The cry was wild, reckless, and fearless, a host of Witchers descending on the beast. Under their combined assault, the werewolf was quickly dragged back from Frederick, allowing the Griffin adept to back away, still gasping for breath as his muscles shook. In moments, the Axii Sign was placed on the beast again, once more containing it. Dirk once more took the lead, directing the troupe towards the castle's gates.
After what felt like hours, but in truth was just a few minutes, the werewolf staggered onto the wooden planks of the drawbridge, flanked either side by two Witchers. Frederick continued to help direct the beast, ensuring the Axii Sign remained in place and calling for fresh adepts to aid in the casting when needed.
Halfway across the bridge, the young Griffin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Turning, he spotted a lone figure standing before the castle's gates, one whom he recognised instantly, and who caused the young adept a great deal of concern. Francesca Findabair, most famed of all the Elves and the only Aen Saevherne that Frederick could identify by name, she was a small, almost unimposing figure. Delicate of features and kind of eyes, she could easily be underestimated by those with a more mundane worldview. For one versed in the arcane, though, such as Frederick, the truth of the graceful she-elf was all to easy to perceive. Raw, unadulterated power surged through her body, from the tips of her glowing red hair to the soles of her feet, shod in delicate silken slippers. jewels adorned her brow, gleaming with unknowable energies, beneath which bright eyes shone forth with an ages-old wisdom Frederick had never seen before.
The she-elf stood at the entrance to Kaer Tiele, watching the struggling Witchers with an unreadable expression. As they drew closer, Frederick became aware of a tight feeling in his head, an electric taste to the air. Like thunderclouds building, something swirled in the air around the castle, growing in intensity. At the eye of this storm, the Lady Francesca stood, now raising her arms as she began a low, dreadful chant.
"Ecthaine el'tone belannur me'anon sindos torra..."
The words were unknown to Frederick, but their nature was easy to comprehend. The magical energy that flowed through them caused his chest to tighten, heart pulsing as dizziness threatened to consume him. Being around such potent energies was almost like being drunk, hungover and high on fisstech all at the same time. Wincing, the young Griffin reached up to clutch at his head as Dirk, seemingly similarly affected, shouted out some terse instructions.
"Everybody stand back!" He commanded. He glanced to the Witcher on the opposite side of the werewolf. "Get back now!"
Carefully, hesitantly, the adept released the arm of the now surprisingly docile beast, stepping back slowly. As he did so, Dirk released the other arm, moving away from the monster as the she-elf continued her chant.
The werewolf stood stock-still in the middle of the bridge for a long, tense moment, the only noise escaping from it being the throaty, damp breathing that hissed from between its blood-stained lips. It looked about in confusion, its movements slow, trance-like. Finally, its gaze settled on the Aen Saevherne before it, and tension returned to its shoulders. Its breathing deepened as rage filled its form once more and, with a terrible scream, it lunged forward, bounding across the bridge in the blink of an eye. It dashed past the exhausted Frederick, eyes focused solely on the elven sorceress. For just a fraction of a second, the young Griffin felt a surge of worry for the she-elf, but what happened next erased any sort of doubt in his mind.
The werewolf ran headlong towards Lady Francesca, slavering maw agape. Its claws stretched out as it moved closer, ready to rend her in half. Then, just as it reached the ancient stone archway that marked the entrance to the castle, the magics around Lady Francesca surged. Runes glowed with blinding intensity in a circle before her, forming a powerfully bright ring around the monster and bringing it to a sudden halt. The werewolf flinched back from the light, snarling angrily. It staggered, trying to continue its charge towards the Aen Saevherne, but a flare of white fire licked at its hide as it tried to approach the edge of the ring, eliciting a tormented howl from the beast. It stumbled back, dropping to one knee as the she-elf's chanting rose in intensity. The words thundered with energy, an inarguable instruction and command rising from the depths of the earth, the heights of the heavens, and all the world in between. The werewolf let loose a final, desperate howl as smoke streaked through with violet, blue and white seeped out of its body, shrouding it from view.
On the edge of the magic circle, Frederick dropped to his knees, gasping as the magical energies manifested before him. Lady Francesca stood at the opposite side of the circle, her ethereal presence almost blinding to his mind's eye. He felt as though he stood before an unstoppable storm, a terrible inferno of blistering intensity. As she continued her chant, voice somehow calm and yet louder than any of the werewolf's howls, the pressure in the young Griffin's head increased, until finally he had no choice but to release a tortured groan. A trickle of blood dripped from his nostril, his pulse racing in his skull, heart struggling against his ribcage.
Finally, much to Frederick's relief, the chanting subsided, and the pain with it. He looked up to see Francesca lowering her hands, the power within her fading as she released it for the time being. In the centre of the circle, where the body of the werewolf had been, now only a small cloud of swirling smoke remained. In the heart of that cloud, something shifted.
Frederick struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the final remnants of the magic that clouded his mind. As he did so, Dirk shouldered his way past him, rushing to kneel next to the small form at the centre of the circle. More Witchers moved to follow him, but Frederick stopped them with a quick, cautioning gesture. Sigils still glowed on the cobblestones, and the energy within the circle remained uncertain, unpredictable.
Dirk hovered over the small figure, hands moving uncertainly as the last wisps of smoke dispersed. He sighed, partly with relief and partly with exhaustion, and then turned to wave Frederick and another adept over. Cautiously, the pair approached the fallen form of the werewolf.
In place of the beast Frederick had been half-expecting to see, instead he saw the slight, fragile frame of a young woman, clad in a simple white dress. A cascade of dark, red hair, almost scarlet, splayed out across the cobblestones around her head. As Dirk gently drew the hair back from her face, Frederick felt the breath catch in his throat. Her features were delicate, gentle, beautiful. Softly curving lips the colour of blood stood out in stark contrast to her pale complexion. Eyes clenched shut in pain as she groaned, clenched fist pushing against her brow. Dirk whispered gently to her, before turning to look at the adepts.
"Take her inside, quickly. We'll have to keep her in the dungeon for the time being." His words were terse, but a ghost of gentle sadness lurked behind them. "Be careful with her. Make sure she comes to no harm."
Frederick nodded silently, quickly reaching down to help the young woman to her feet. He placed one slender arm around his neck, allowing the other adept to take her other side. Slowly, carefully, they began to escort the groaning woman towards the castle.
Step by step, they made their way to the open door leading down to the dungeons beneath the castle. Frederick, heart still pounding from the exertion of channelling and being witness to so much power, focused on the young woman's bare feet, guiding her to avoid the roughest of the cobblestones, aware of every pained wince she made.
Suddenly, the girl on his shoulder tensed. Frederick looked up, seeing the light of awareness dawn in her dark eyes. She jolted, panic filling her expression as she looked to the Witchers either side of her.
"Who-? No! No no no no..." Her hoarse whisper was frantic, fearful.
"It's okay, Liva." The other adept soothed. "You're safe now."
The young woman looked back and forth between the Witchers. As her gaze met Frederick's, he felt his heart splinter a little. In those deep eyes, he saw in an instant the prisoner who had helped him resist the wolf earlier. He could see in that moment all the pain, all the fear, all the torment she had lived through. Every fearful awakening, every regretful tragedy, every day lost to her affliction. His heart swelled with pity and compassion, and a fire awakened in his soul. A need to help this vulnerable creature, no matter the cost. She reached up to the hand draped around his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.
"Liva, listen to me!" He empowered his words with as much sincerty and kindness as he could, channelling a fraction of the power he would normally reserve for an Axii Sign to impart a feeling of calm and safety to her. "You are safe here. You are at Kaer Tiele, with the Witchers. We are your friends, and-"
If he had been more focused, Frederick would probably have picked up on the subtle shift in the girl's manner, the hardening of the light in her eyes, the movement of the muscles in her arms. As it was, he missed the feral flash that filled her gaze, the way her lips twitched back, the sharp intake of breath. Before he could react, her fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulder, pulling him towards her as her throat filled with a snarl, head snaking to the side as her lips pulled back from inhumanly sharp fangs. The bared teeth drove deep into the soft flesh of his throat, tearing open the artery. Blood sprayed from his ruptured throat, the woman's tongue diving deep into the wounds as she gnawed at his flesh and supped greedily at the crimson liquid. He barely had a chance to scream in shock and pain before she bore him to the ground, tearing at him with her broken fingernails. Inhuman grunts and snarls ripped loose from her breast as a cluster of Witchers descended upon her, dragging her from the prone Griffin adept.
The howls and terrified cries of the young woman filled Frederick's ears as he lay on the cobblestones, blood coursing down his throat with every beat of his heart. Choking, spluttering, barely clinging to wakefulness, he felt his head lifted by a fellow adept, one he recognised as Bastien of the Phoenixes. Somewhere, someone was yelling for a healer, while another screamed for a Swallow potion. All Frederick could truly comprehend was the red tide pooling around him, and the cold sapping at his mind and body. His eyes rolled about in their sockets, finally settling upon the retreating form of the werewolf and the woman known as Liva, dragged away by his fellow adepts. tears welled in her eyes as she looked in horror at her bloody hands, tasted the hot blood upon her lips. As unconsciousness slowly pulled at Frederick's mind, his eyes locked with hers, seeing in them the sorrow and fear that wracked her. Then, in a moment, she was gone, and Frederick slipped into blackness.