The Witcher frowned as the ealdorman of the village refused to pay him.
"We agreed on a price. Now you need to pay me. What is not clear about this, to you?"
The ealdorman gulped.
"I'm sorry Master Witcher, we cannot afford it. Our supplies have been dwindling lately, and the amount we agreed to pay you for the contract is no longer in our treasury."
The Witcher almost lost his temper, and beheaded the ealdorman.
"Well, that's your fucking problem, not mine. I'm going to collect my money, and you can have your head when you give it to me, or not have your head when I take it from you."
A strange look passed over the ealdorman's face, and he sighed, as he turned his back towards the Witcher.
"Fine, Master Witcher, follow me. It will cut into my personal funds, but I can afford to pay you."
The ealdorman snapped his fingers as he began to walk, and the Witcher frowned. That was strange. He noticed 40 men, give or take, coming out of their houses with picks, and hoes. Suddenly a grim realization dawned on the Witcher. He wasn't going to get paid, in fact he was going to get killed if he wasn't careful.
The Witcher quickly reached into his pouch, spun around and threw a Samum at the men following him, before casting a quick Yrden, where the ealdorman stood. Sprinting away from the scene, he could hear the cries of the men, as they stumbled around, trying to make sense of their surroundings.
He ran towards Gale, only to notice two men rifling through her saddlebags. Yelling out, he ran forwards, while drawing steel, and plunged the blade into the back of one man. While he pulled it out the other spun around and shanked him, right in his stomach. As he recoiled, he lashed out with the sword, and cut the other man in half. Crying out in pain, he looked through his pouch for the Swallow potions he kept, only to feel dread, when he realised both had been used, in the pursuit of the fiend. This was a bad situation to be in. Another Swallow potion would take a few hours to brew, a few hours he did not have.
Hearing cries over his shoulder, he realised that the time he had bought was up. He sliced through the rope, that tied Gale to the pole, and hopped on her, only to be have a hand latch onto his arm. Turning around he sliced right through it, noting the shocked face of the ealdorman as he lost a limb, and then galloped off.
He rode for what felt like days, before stopping underneath a tree. Groaning, he fell off Gale, and hit the ground. Thinking fast, he ripped off a sleeve, and stuffed it into the wound, knowing that his mutations would keep him safe from disease, although it would only delay the inevitable. Then, he blacked out.
He came to, in the back of a cart. Feeling around for his wound, he felt stitches. Freezing for a second, he thought about what had happened. He had been stabbed in the gut, barely escaped the village, and his wound had been sown up. Propping himself up on his elbow, he observed his surroundings. A man sat in front of him, holding the reins. His pouch and saddlebags, were next to him, and Gale was being lead by the cart. He grabbed his saddlebags, and noted that not a Crown was missing, before turning to observe his saviour.
He was clean-shaven, with neatly combed blond hair. He wore a pure white shirt, and a black beret. A nobleman, if the Witcher had ever seen one. Clearing his throat, the Witcher got his attention, and he turned around. He had piercing blue eyes.
"I see you're awake, friend!"
The Witcher nodded.
"You were in a pretty bad state, bleeding out all over the place."
The Witcher nodded again.
"Thanks for patching me up."
The man looked at the Witcher, and smiled. It was a crafty smile.
"It was no problem. My name's Samuel, Samuel Findlay."
The Witcher frowned.
"Didn't you invent the Findlay Jar?"
The man smiled.
"So you have heard of me."
The Findlay Jar was the latest alchemical development. It was a preservation jar, that kept all ingredients as fresh as they were when they were found. All self-respecting alchemists made sure to keep at least 3 Findlays on their person at all time, should they need to harvest an ingredient, and the Witcher was no exception. The man behind the Jars, was Samuel Findlay, a brilliant inventor, who had gotten a scholarship to the University of Oxenfurt. He was a genius, dabbling in alchemy, medicine, and physics. And he was also staring at the Witcher.
The Witcher, slightly perturbed by his gaze, began to let his mind wander. Why had Samuel saved him? The Witcher was no fool. He knew that there was no such thing as a free meal, or in this case, a free life. But what could a man that had everything want? Samuel cleared his throat, and the Witcher snapped to attention.
"Well, Witcher, I have a proposition for you. As I'm sure you've figured out by now, there is no such thing as a free meal, and I need to start collecting on the life debt you owe me."
Life debts signified that you owed your life to another man, and in this case, the Witcher owed his life to Samuel. They were only fully repaid once the one who owed his life, saved the life of the one who collected the debt. Until then, you were forced to do anything the collector wanted you to do. The Witcher raised an eyebrow.
"What is this 'proposition'?"
Samuel sighed, before turning back to face the road.
"I am in need of a bodyguard. While creating the Findlay Jar, I was financed by a man named Steinar. However, he's a true Skelligan, trying to plunder all of my money, and ruin my reputation . He began trying to sabotage my work on the Findlay Jar, so that I would be forced into a debt for the rest of my life. But, I managed to finish the project, get it onto the market, and I made a hefty profit. As you can probably guess, he wasn't too happy about that. So now, he claims that I still owe him money, and he's been sending men around to collect. I need you to stop those men for me, because the City Guard claims that they're "over-expended", and every other bounty-hunter I've tried to hire backs out because of bad wages. I can't afford to pay them much, because I used majority of the funds from the Findlay Jar, to finance my next project, the Findlay Flask"
The Witcher snorted.
"I guess I have no choice?"
Samuel laughed.
"Well, of course! But, finish this job for me, and we'll call the debt even. Deal?"
The Witcher sighed. It was no wonder the man was called a genius. He was essentially blackmailing him into being his bodyguard.
"Deal."