Hunter trudged through the empty land of Velen. It was night and he had his bow drawn, crouching through thick tufts of grass; eyes stuck to the enemy like a predator about to pounce. His breath whispered through the air, striking the coldness and forming a small package of cloud, trying not to take a step on a twig or anything that would relentlessly yell out an alarming sound, exposing his presence. His target strode through a path ahead of him. Only a few paces behind, he held his breath and rose from the dirt. He drew his weapon further – tension building. He counted in his head, breathing rhythmically before taking the blow. He released the pressure of the string as it made a satisfying and silent whoosh through the wind. The arrow shot ahead of him like a restless Nekker sprinting with anger. The arrow flung over the deer's head and shrunk into a nearby tree stump, startling the creature and rushing into the maze of the dense woods. Hunter rested on the ground once again and cursed repetitively, then locked his bow tighter in his grip, grabbing the frustration. He looked ahead of him and observed his surroundings. The silent moon winked over the world kindly, spreading reflections to the earth below; twinkles of charitability, ruined by chaos. The grey, passive light glided across the ripples and swirls of a large lake ahead of him. Jogging further through the dense woodlands, he stopped suddenly and ducked. He noticed a small cabin ahead of him. It perched itself in a small clearing which looked like it had been randomly chosen in the middle of nowhere. It consisted of just the one house and a stable. Stained, diamond-shaped windows flickered with light, leaking a golden stream of blindness. It was probably occupied, possibly dangerous, Hunter thought. Bandits, or something. He stared some more amidst the leaves and foliage which grew around him. A stable… A stable! He almost shouted, but instead restrained himself; gasping instead. He spotted two horses, black and brown. He realised how useful it would be to have a horse. It'd help reach home – a few hundred metres from Velen. He gulped and glared back at that flickering window. It was a risk. He withdrew his bow and snuck forward out of the long grass.
His legs buckled under his weight as he used energy crouching slowly towards the building. As he got closer, one of the horses noticed the movement and began to retreat further from him, making a small, whiny whimper. Hunter held up his hands like a surrender, hushing it; meaning no harm. He anxiously looked behind him at the cabin, watching for movement. Listening for sounds. Nothing. He turned his head again. As he got closer and closer, he suddenly halted immediately as he overheard a conversation proceeding from around the corner of one of the walls – clearly two people who owned the cabin.
"Then he shouldn't 'ave lost 'em, then! Why should we 'ave to do his dirty work?" One of them said angrily, wanting the whole world to hear.
"Shut up before we end up at the gallows." The other whispered. Hunter could not see them, but he kept their voices on his radar. He flicked from the horse to the conversation, choosing…
"But seriously! It's ridiculous. Collecting these stupid things! What's he need 'em for, anyway?" Hunter realised that the second voice shushed him back into the building. He made his move. Horse in sight, he grabbed the reins.
"What d'ye think you're doing 'ere, pal?" Everything faded. Hunter collapsed to the floor, head throbbing.
Cold. Cold yet scorching water whacked his face as he woke abruptly and struggled in the weak, wooden chair in the centre of a dimly lit, ale-wrenching room. He coughed uncontrollably and blinked a thousand times before he came to his bearings. He looked around. Nothing unusual; chairs, tables, a couple of beds, candles. A few, scattered Gwent cards lie abandoned next to a warming, thirst inducing bottle of alcohol. Hunter stared at it while grimacing in pain. He locked his eyes once more. Then the punch came. Hunter felt like he'd just been forced half way across the continent. His cheekbone stung and the blood that dripped rang raw. He coughed again, spitting red in the process.
"What do we have 'ere then?" a man asked. He wore armour. Metal armour, lined and woven together with a yellow fabric. An emblem stood out on his breastplate. He didn't recognise it, yet he knew it certainly wasn't Nilfgaardian. He was bald, had a thick beard and a scar which connected the corner of his dry, parched lips to the bottom of his right eye. His breath was hell. He was joined by two other tough looking guards who looked just as determined to kick the shit out of him.
"What the fuck do you want?" Hunter replied, trying his motionless, brave face for the first time – whilst trying not to ponder over how deep he is in shit.
"What d'ye mean: 'what do I want?'?" he shouted and scoffed at the same time. Pacing around the chair which Hunter struggled – bound, the armoured man threw another punch. Two more punches joined together with an insult from the guy on the left. "You tried to steal our horse. OUR horse, like a sneaky fucking snake, eh?" His hellish breath again. Hunter turned his head as far as it allowed him. "So that's why we're gonna kick you 'til your guts spill from your mouth! You got that?" Then he saw it. On the other side of the blurred room, a talisman of some kind; stuffed half in a bag and almost deliberately hidden from view… an amulet. The man noticed, "What're you lookin' at?"
"That over there." Hunter pointed with his eyes, "Where'd you get it?"
"You have no right to ask, freak." the man on the left asked before sitting down on a creaky stool in the corner, next to an open window. However, the scarred man answered swiftly – Hunter thought he heard a stumble in his words… He thought.
"We are uh… collecting 'em for someone. None of ye ploughing business." The punches were so frequent that they ended up becoming numb.
"Who?" Hunter poked, looking him in the eye.
"I said none of your business!" Whack. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Another. "We collectin' them, that's all!"
"We told 'im too much, Malcom. We gotta kill 'im now." Said the one who hadn't said anything yet stood forward from the wall he'd been leaning on. Gravelly voice. Definitely the toughest and bulkiest, yet seemed the quietest. He fought with violence – not with words. He walked, taking his time like savouring an expensive mug of ale. Hunter drew a line with his eyes. His bow. His dagger. The amulet. That window. He did it. Throwing his legs up, he thrashed the guy hard. He stood, swinging the chair he was tied to at the scarred man, throwing his against a table. The man on the stool located his own sword and dived for it but was too late. Hunter used his body to knock him over a bookshelf. Using his time, he unhooked himself from the bounds which rubbed his wrists. He grabbed them. His bow, sword and the amulet in a frantic dash, then burst out of the window before they laid another hand on him. Taking the opportunity, he shot to the horse which he glared at the last time he was conscious, mounted it and rode far away from the cabin. He wished he could taunt them; mock them, but he dared not.
Deep in the night-time air, Hunter crouched – pondering and fiddling with the amulet loosely in his fingertips. He rested his back against the thick, dense tree and exhaled deeply. Poking the fire with a thin stick, he adjusted himself to another position, leaning his head against his satchel. The bruises and cuts still throbbed underneath his skin uncontrollably. He tried clenching the stick between his teeth… It didn't help. He tossed the pros and cons of the situation recklessly like a madman; the night-time air soothed the pain temporarily but he was unbearably cold and could suffer illness if he stayed too long in this condition. He'd need medicine – help. He adjusted again, coughing silently and listening for movement although begging for rest. The amulet fidgeted in his grip once more, tossing it through fingertips like tossing the thoughts in his mind. He hoped nobody would detect him inside this broad forest. The fire gave his position away a tiny bit, to Hunter's worry, but he needed the warmth. It helped. He swore in his mind, then cursed out loud. How could he have been so naïve? Trying for that horse in a tiny cabin? They were sure to spot him. What was he thinking? The fire cackled and sparked, either mocking him or keeping him company; he failed to identify which. Smoke pierced his lungs but also immediately comforted him. He rested his eyes; dreaming the night sky.
"He went this way!" a voice echoed from a distance, followed by the cluttered horse hoofs smacking the muddy earth. Hunter jumped quickly and brushed out the fire with his boot, not thinking twice. Startled, he wrenched his body so he could peek behind the tree. Nothing. The voice sounded distant anyway. Surrounded in the inhumane darkness, he tossed and turned in position, finding comfort. He couldn't find any. The amulet and his bruises poked at him again in his mind.
"Fuck it." He whispered to himself. Reaching up, he stood and brushed off the fragments of grass and leaves. He checked the ashes of the fire again, regained his possessions – not forgetting the amulet, and reached for the horse. He pulled on it and settled himself on the saddle, then shot off down the Velen crossroads and into the night-time.