Torches burned brightly in the courtyard of the castle by the time the students returned from the forest, casting dark shadows against the ancient, time-worn stone. The lit torches stood in a ring, at the centre of which waited the impassive Grandmaster Treysse, the shadows flickering across his face, tracing the features almost as timeless and unyielding as the Elven stonework of his castle. As the Nightsabers approached, his gleaming eyes flickered in their direction, but he gave them no acknowledgement, instead waiting for Njall to approach him before turning his back on the students to speak with the Skelliger privately. The pair conversed for some time, while the students waited awkwardly. Njall spared a look over his shoulder, a wry smirk twisting his features.
"Nightsabers! Show the Grandmaster how strong you can be!"
Frederick stifled a groan as he knelt on the rough gravel, ignoring the stones that bit into his palms as he set about the expected push-ups. Beside him, the other adepts did the same, some like Ragodar and the brothers from Velen showing more enthusiasm than others. Soon the night air was still save for the panting and grunting of the students, the muted murmurs of the Grandmaster and the Skelliger, and he crackling flames of the torches.
An eternity later, when Frederick's hands were raw and his knees shivering from the strain, Njall permitted his students to stand, his gruff expression tinged with a twinkle of amusement and possibly even pride as his adepts obediently barked out their thanks for the lesson in strength. Beside him, Treysse was unreadable as ever, his features hewn from the bedrock of the land far beneath their feet, emotionless, cold.
"We have received reports of many beasts roaming these woods, in numbers unlike any seen before." The Grandmaster's voice was even, stern, but calm. "Your fellow adepts have already sallied forth to combat many of the threats, but our efforts tonight will require every able body on hand to stem the tide. I require you to deal with several creatures spotted to the east, before they can begin to encroach upon our lands here at Kaer Marter. This will be the first of your trials, a test of your resolve. Survive the hunt, and you may yet prove worthy of learning our ways."
The Grandmaster turned on his heel, marching towards the castle as Njall regarded his students, looking at the concerned faces as he weighed them up.
"I will fetch the weapons needed for this hunt. We must not linger, for the other students have quite the head start on us. Wait here, I will return momentarily."
With those few words, the master was gone, vanishing beyond the light of the torches in the direction of the armoury. The students, uncertain of themselves, stood awkwardly in the ring of torches, waiting. Frederick glanced about nervously as a few strange sounds, odd, ghostly howls and deep, guttural groans, rose from the woodlands surrounding the castle. He imagined he heard a few raised voices, but could not be certain. After a few long minutes, Hilda turned on her heel, striding away from the group, Darren silently falling into stride behind her.
"I need to go grab a few things." She murmured over her shoulder. "Do not leave without me!"
With that, before the others could even voice a question, the pair were gone.
~o~0~o~
Some time had passed, and the students remained in the courtyard, nervously waiting for their Master and their fellow adepts to return. Finally, the crunching of gravel underfoot warned them mere moments before Hilda and Darren returned from the shadows, hurriedly rejoining their friends. Looking about furtively, the duo produced four glimmering phials from their pockets, showing them to their friends.
"These were all we were able to acquire." Hilda whispered, still gazing about for any watching eyes. "We will have to decide who should carry them, as we do not have enough for everyone."
"What are they?" Frederick said as he was handed one. He lifted the tiny glass container for a closer look, examining the fluid inside, tinged a reddish-orange. Red flakes of some unknowable substance floated in the liquid, twisting almost of their own volition. The glass itself seemed warm to the touch, unnaturally so.
"Swallow potion." Darren explained. "I took some from the alchemy lab. I remember the Masters saying there were two kinds, a stronger one for Witchers and a weaker mixture for us adepts, but I am pretty sure these are the weaker concoction."
"Pretty sure?" Cyrus asked warily.
"Well, I cannot be certain." Darren answered. "And I am not about to ask Kilian or Vester about the potions I just stole from them."
"What happens if you've taken the wrong ones?" Otto asked, arms folded.
"Best case, they don't work." Hilda explained. "Worst case, you... uh, die."
The students shifted their feet uneasily. Eventually it was Darren to speak up.
"Better to risk death with a potion than just accept it when a werewolf tries to tear your throat out." He secreted a potion about his person, hiding it in the folds of his shirt. "I will keep one. Who else is willing to take one?"
"I will keep one." Hilda tucked it away in a pouch on her belt. "Merinea, I think you should have one, too, and Frederick as well. We can hold back from the front lines of any combat, let others handle the majority of the fighting, and be better able to help any who are injured."
Frederick accepted the potion without a word, understanding the Skelliger's thinking. He was by no means one of the group's more accomplished fighters, and would be of far more use supporting his brothers and sisters. The phial slipped into a pocket, the strange warmth of the liquid inside soon seeping through to touch his skin.
Just as the adepts finished stowing their stolen elixirs out of sight, the sounds of more approaching footsteps reached their ears. They turned as three more figures emerged from the darkness. Frederick quickly identified the cocksure Master Algir, one of the Cat Masters. The Witcher, ever-confident grin gracing his bearded features, walked with a bold poise that was easy to identify, even in the murk of the growing night. In his ear, a jewelled earring reflected the occasional flicker of torchlight.
Next to the Cat Master, the familiar sight of Bertram, the Wolf School steward, joked and laughed with Algir. One could be forgiven, what with the steward's stocky frame, broad shoulders and flowing, grey beard, for assuming that Bertram had at least a few quarts of Dwarvish blood flowing through his veins. That and his fondness for honeyed mead and general merriment. The steward was often to be found relaxing with the students, sharing little snippets of wisdom from his extensive library. Any time Bertram showed up, those around him couldn't help but smile.
The third and final member of the trio was a face Frederick had not seen before, although given the mass of students and Masters roaming the castle that was not too much of a surprise. She was slightly built, dark of hair and keen of eye, her sharp gaze flickering over the students in a moment. The cat-like pupils dilated as she strode into the torchlight, an unnerving effect that all true Witchers could call upon at will. She wore simple but sturdy leather armour, a long studded coat that offered some protection while not hindering movement in any way. Her boots, heavy and serviceable, were caked in mud, leaves and other detritus from the forest, telling of a long day's tracking in the wilds. On her back, an ornate bow carved from dark wood, a quiver full of arrows at her hip, fletched in bloody red and midnight black. As the trio approached, she slipped away from the other two, taking up a position on the very periphery of the light, where she could gaze into the night unimpeded. With a single, neat motion, her legs folded beneath her and she sank down onto the gravel path, taking her bow in her hands and placing it on her crossed legs. She began working the bowstring with her fingers, adjusting it in ways Frederick couldn't begin to understand.
"Students!" Bertram was the first of the trio to address the adepts, raising his arms in a warm greeting. "Should you not be out with the others, throwing yourselves at monsters like a bunch of stupid bastards?"
"We're awaiting Master Njall's return." Merinea explained. "He's gone to fetch us the weapons we will need."
"Ah, your first hunt!" The steward grinned broadly. "A momentous day! You will not soon forget it. Meanwhile, I will stay back here, make sure that damn Godling hasn't found her way into the beer cellars..."
"You won't be joining us on the hunt, Bertram?" Otto asked with a mischievous grin. The portly steward replied with a laugh that started somewhere in his boots.
"No, young one, not I. I have more sense than to be running around in the cold and the mud at night." He placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head mirthfully as he sighed. "Ah! No, students, Bertram has not gone on a hunt for many moons, not since I was an adept, like you, training to become a Witcher."
He glanced about at the looks of surprise on the gathered students' faces, smiling. Clearly the surprise was something he was used to.
"Yes, indeed! I was once in your shoes, training to be a killer, a monster hunter, a Witcher." He raised a hand, beckoning the students to follow him.
Bertram climbed the steps leading towards the main door of the castle, stopping beside one of the marble lions that flanked either side of the doorway. With a smooth, acrobatic motion, he flung one leg over the stone beast, mounting it like one would ride a horse. Some of the Nightsabers had to stifle giggles as they looked on, the steward cutting quite the comical figure atop his stony feline mount. Bertram grinned, clearly aware of how he looked, and waved a hand in an expansive gesture.
"Gather round, students, and I will tell you the tale of Bertram the Witcher!"