The street cats of Raven's Way ears's twitched and fretted as a silent shadow on horseback passed through the town, the chilly night air catching his breath and turning into clouds as he passed by equally mute homes of farmers and their families. Hair on the back of one cat's neck stood up and it was all it took as seemingly from every which way angry and haunting shrieks and sputtering hisses of cats filled the otherwise silent streets, the horse chuffing slightly at the sound.
A gloved hand reached down and gave the horse's neck a reassuring pat. "Easy, Roach." The voice was soft, but held an air of mystery and danger, cut gruffly by a deep growl of something almost primordial. The cats shrunk back into the shadows eyeing the man warily as he continued on with his steed, crawling up the hill towards the town proper. The lights in brasiers were lit to signify his arrival and In the faint luster of the fire, those he passed could see that he, his mount, and the satchel attached to his saddle were soaked with crimson blood, steaming slightly against the chill of the night . Guards fell into hushed silence as he approached, looking up from their drinking and Gwent. Slowing to a gait the horse and rider approached a pair of arched oak double doors. He dismounted, unhooking the dripping satchel from its secure line, and hoisting it over his shoulder as he walked, not caring of the mess that he left behind him.
The doors opened for him without warning or cry, a strange custom considering the man's profession. He crossed the threshold, leaving a trail of gore in his wake and continued up the steps, not bothering to announce himself before entering the large chambers before him. Many strange and curious objects adorned the room, bits and baubles collected over several lifetimes and ages. A small wreath sat cocked to one side on the room's soul occupant, adorned with rubies and sapphires, not to be usurped by his piercing blue eyes which sat beneath a head of brown curls. The eyes watched, clearly dulled by too much wine as the newcomer approached, slamming the satchel on the table with a sickening slap. The satchel's belly was split by the action and carnage poured out onto the hardwood, staining it a deep mauve. The head of a beast followed, its once yellowed eyes rolled back into its skull, tongue lolling out to perch on its painfully sharp teeth, licking up the crimson as it tumbled out.
"There," the rider grunted, finally pulling back his hood to reveal a shock of white hair and equally pale stubble, "This is the head of the basilisk of Wolfbane's Ridge."
The man at the table smirked, and in one fluid motion, slid a small pile of gold coins towards the ashen haired stranger.
"You have done me well, Geralt of Rivera." The man proclaimed to no one in particular, "You are a man of your word."
The rider, Geralt, shrugged nonchalantly. "You had a paying job and I took it. Not much more to talk about."
The man's smirk widened and turned into a malicious grin, "Geralt, my friend, sit with me, enjoy some wine."
Geralt shrugged as the man reached over and poured him a glass, "What's the catch?" Geralt asked, sitting down at the right side of the crowned man. He sighed and pushed the goblet towards the sharp eyed man, shaking his head in dismissal.
"I am but a public servant, Witcher, sort of like what you do. Take care of law and order and what have you."
Geralt bit his tongue to keep from retorting. This man was as much of a public servant as the Witcher was a king. "I fail to see where this is going, Anders."
Anders sighed again and sipped at his wine, as if the weight of his crown made him weary, "Geralt, I look after the well-being of those under my father's employment. I am responsible for their quality of life. These people do not have that under their current circumstances."
"And what circumstances do those happen to be?" Geralt questioned, already knowing where the conversation was headed.
"I sent out that bounty as a test, dear Witcher, to get only the best of the best to step over that threshold! That basilisk was just the beginning of lifting her curse from this place!" He spat as he slammed his goblet down on the table, completely ignoring the question.
"What curse?" Geralt inquired, getting slightly annoyed by the man dancing around the question, "Anders, what the hell are you talking about?"
Anders smirked, a deep chuckle arising from deep within his throat, "A witch, Master Witcher. A witch so foul, she placed a curse on this land. The beasts that once roamed only the forests, now prowl through the streets of the accursed village, killing livestock and humans alike. She controls them through spell craft, sending them to steal the souls of the women and children in their beds."
Geralt sighed. He knew of women who often fell through the cracks of society and ended up in backwater towns becoming local apothecary owners or herbalists. It was rare to hear of one being powerful enough or deranged enough to call upon hellish beasts like they were familiars. However, the foolish lord before him seemed to have a very bad habit of embellishing the truth. The basilisk that he had killed was hardly more than a whelp, and barely the monster that the warrant had claimed it to be. "How much are you offering for a bounty?"
"25,000 crowns, no questions asked if you bring me her head." He stated simply, causing Geralt's eyebrow to raise in suspicious question. A bounty that high could only mean one thing. She was as dangerous as he claimed or merely wanted her very, very dead.
"No questions asked?" Geralt repeated, pushing his untouched wine away, "What are you hiding, Anders?"
Anders narrowed his eyes suspiciously, glaring at the Witcher, "As a reminder, you are an employee in my eyes. I am paying you to do a job, not to ask questions, do I make myself clear?"
Geralt merely nodded as Anders cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his robes until they hung taut against his body, "Now then, the witch resides in the old village up on the side of the mountain. Be warned, her monsters patrol the area and have torn apart any and all I have sent. That, my dear witcher, is why she is so dangerous."
Geralt nodded again and turned on his heel to leave, but before he could, Anders cleared his throat, "Take heed. Even if you get past the monsters she controls, her honeyed words are dangerous. Do not believe anything she says. The witch is worse than any of her creatures and will lie to get herself out of any situation."
Geralt merely grunted as he stepped over the threshold and disappeared into the inky night, lights falling away as he galloped from the village, spurring Roach into the unknown that lay before him.
"Steady now, Roach." Geralt said as he finally tugged back on the reins, the horse chuffing in annoyance and pulling back to show his distaste. Roach however knew that his owner could sense things that it could not and in turn, quieted itself.
Geralt peered through the darkness as rain and wind started to sweep around him. Through the storm, he could see a large shape perched high in a tree, watching him intently. From here, he knew that he was looking at a royal griffon and he thought back to Anders' words about the creatures along the path. Both knew the other was there, but Geralt wondered why the creature did not attack as was the nature of creatures such as these. The Witcher decided to leave this chance encounter to the winds of fate and continue along the mountain path. The longer he traveled, the more creatures he encountered, watching him from beyond the veil of darkness. Sure enough, the road that led to the witch was wrought with many strange and befuddling creatures that had often plagued Geralt along his journey thus far in his mortal constraint.
He could smell the scent of her before he even saw the village. The fragrance of the smoke in the air was that of a deep juniper, tinged with the stench of forest in the fall, the decaying leaves and undergrowth medicinal and pungent. As the aura grew, Geralt watched as a small group of ramshackled buildings came into view, the boards bloated and soft with the neverending tirade of the elements. Only one home still stood intact, a gentle glow falling out onto the puddle laden ground, dancing with the raindrops as they hit the water. No monsters prowled here, surprisingly, all standing a distance back from what was left of the village.
Geralt jumped off Roach's back and unsheathed the silver sword from the bundle behind the saddle. Inside the hut, with his enhanced witcher senses, he could hear the woman's heartbeat strong and steady. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her move across the earthen floor, breathing gently into her hands to keep herself warm. He silently moved across the sodden ground, breathing only enough to keep himself undetected. He pressed up against the door and was surprised to find that it held no warding spells to keep people away.
He heard her change in heartbeat, turning her head towards the door as she crossed the ground, reaching towards the door and pressing on it. The wooden barrier swung outwards and Geralt was forced to take a step back and stand face to face with the woman that he was intent on killing.
Geralt was surprised to see not an old, tired hag, but instead a woman, her deep brown locks pulled back into a simple braid, a look of surprise on her face. "Can I help you, Witcher?" She asked icily, glaring at him in suspicion.
"I was sent to kill the witch that lives here," Geralt said simply. The woman looked down at his sword, still unsheathed and pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well then, I believe you're in luck because I am the witch who lives here," She replied mildly, a dry little smirk coming to her lips, "Would you like to come in?"
Geralt slowly lowered his sword and stepped over the threshold, the warmth instantly catching him by surprise. The hut was dimly lit, herbs lining the ceiling as they dried. A grizzled barn owl twitched his head this way and that as he watched Geralt enter the small room, its tawny feathers standing on end as he stood at his full height and made a soft cooing noise. A fire crackled lively in the hearth, a kettle of water resting just above the flames. "When Anders said witch, I expected…"
The woman walked back towards the fire, her left sleeve hanging lifelessly from the bodice of her dress as she took the water from its perch and placed it on a weathered table, "You expected some old grave hag, or close enough to it I'm sure. That's the picture that he paints for everyone."
"There have been others?" Geralt questioned as she poured water into two earthen cups, steam rising as she put it back. Now that she had been so close to him, he could see that her left sleeve hung limply because she had no left arm.
"Of course there have been others," She said simply, sitting down at the table, ushering for Geralt to take the other chair, "But none of them had been a Witcher. He's been sending witch hunters after me for ages, but the forests here are crawling with monsters."
"You control them?" He continued his line of interrogation, making the witch chuckle dryly.
"Hardly! I can manipulate them with sounds and smell, but to control a wild beast is to control the gods themselves." She pushed one of the cups across the table to Geralt and he picked it up, inhaling the scent of blackberries and chrysanthemums. "Before you ask, it's not poisoned. I wouldn't bring you all this way only to bring upon you death."
Geralt looked at the cup and drank suspiciously, watching the woman's every move. Her eyes danced like amber in the firelight, the glow of the flames casting starbursts across her irises, "Why does Anders have a price on your head?"
The woman cocked her head slightly to the side and bit her lip, narrowing her eyes, "Maybe we should start with names, Master Witcher. You, of course, are Geralt of Rivera, the Famous White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken."
"You know of me? Then it is a pity I know nothing of you," Geralt replied, arching an eyebrow as the woman stood and ushered to herself with one arm, dropping into an ugly curtsey.
"I am Lady Lyra Northwood-Dupont, daughter of Marquee Dupont of Toussaint, and wife of Lord Anders Northwood of Novigrad." She said, "No longer recognized as either, unfortunately, but you may call me Lyra."
Geralt furrowed his brow and looked at the woman who stood before him. She was pretty in the strange, hypnotizing way as he often found with witches. Her deep brown hair framed a pretty face, lined by the agony of some unknown trauma. His eyes hovered briefly over her left sleeve but he felt it best not to question the lack of appendages, "So, how did you end up out here, my Lady?" Geralt asked as she sat down yet again. The owl in the corner screamed like a child in the night, sending chills down Geralt's arms as it took off through the open window.
"I was betrothed to Anders before I was even born." She said, looking into the fire, "Our fathers were best friends and it only seemed logical that they be united in marriage as well. When I was 10, I found out that I could...manipulate stray animals. Creatures big and small would be drawn to me. Imagine my father's surprise when he realized that he would have to give up his only daughter to the Lodge. He despised me for it, but in the end, let me go, if only for appearance's sake. Since land was on the board for Anders' father, he pushed Anders to go after me. When he did, my father retracted his blessing and I had to return to Novigrad to marry him."
"And you did," Geralt pointed out. "Why didn't you run away? Disband yourself from your family?"
A thin lipped smile appeared on Lyra's face, "My father knew what was best for me," She said mildly, "I went in blindly thinking that I would be able to go back to the Lodge once we were wed. Unfortunately, because of certain...rumors that began to circulate, they demanded that I live with Anders in Raven's Way. It was the village on the Elder Lord Northwood's land that was the furthest away from Novigrad and the whispers."
"What were the rumors?"
Lyra looked down at the floor and sighed, "Well, they ended up not being rumors, but were very true. Anders has a very sadistic side, and because of this, ended up killing women in his...wanton lust. His father threw money at the problem to make it go away and sent us out to Raven's Way to live out the remainder of our lives. Maybe have some children along the way that we could send him to live out his legacy. When we left Novigrad, he had nowhere else to turn to to slake those desires. I became his main torture victim."
"I'm...sorry." Geralt said as she looked back up at him, a single tear trailing down one cheek.
"You have no reason to be. It's nice to be able to tell someone my story." She replied, "During this time, I realized that I would go mad if I didn't learn to control my abilities and so I practiced in secret. Sometimes, it would go awry and I would call beasts to the village. That would always cause some ruckus, but someone would always push it back. It was also when the abuse was at its worst. I had these beautiful hunting birds. The night that my daughter was conceived, he killed three of my favorites and raped me on their corpses." She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed, squaring her shoulders. Reaching for her tea, she sipped at it and looked back at the fire, "When I finally had Ingrid, I finally realized that I could finally find light in the situation. I loved her like she was a part of me."
Lyra inhaled sharply, sitting up quickly in her chair, "After Ingrid's birth, Anders began to drink heavily. He was an angry drunk and I did my best to protect my daughter. However, I could not protect her for long. In her seventh year, Ingrid stood up to Anders in defiance and he pushed her down the flight of stairs that she often hid under to get away from him. I held her broken body as he tormented me, taunted me for failing to protect her. That was the last night I saw Anders. I took Ingrid to see a friend of mine, another witch and begged her to bring her back. I knew that she lingered behind on the cusp of life and death and I wanted her back. She begged me to allow my daughter to leave this world. I refused to listen." Geralt watched her glossy eyes, reliving some dark memory from the past.
"I chose to save her. I took her soul and I brought it back. Her body, however, was too broken to put her soul back into, so I made do. The owl houses the soul of my daughter."
"And your arm?" Geralt questioned, nodding to the empty sleeve.
"Necromancy always has some….unforeseen consequences.," Lyra replied, standing and turning back to the fire. "But there is always something to be learned from our mistakes." She glanced over her shoulder at Geralt, "I know you're under the employment of that monster, but may I make you a deal?"
"I'm listening," Geralt replied, crossing his arms over his chest and arching an eyebrow.
"Help me get my revenge," She replied, walking back over, forlorn sleeve hanging limply at her side, "Help me silence that bastard once and for all. I have not seen my father in almost 15 years, but I'm sure that he will pay you handsomely to help me return to the House of Dupont. Tell Anders that you killed me on top of the mountain." With one fell swoop, she ripped off the vacant sleeve and grabbed a knife from the table Geralt sat at. He instantly recoiled and jumped to his feet.
"What are you doing?!" He demanded as Lyra screwed her face up in concentration.
"He won't believe that I'm dead without some carnage." She murmured, more to herself than to Geralt as she dug the tip of the knife into the space where her arm should have been. Lyra cried out in pain as she rubbed the sleeve against the marred swath of skin, wincing as she did so. When she finally pulled it away, Geralt could see the stump clearly. The place where her arm had been was scarred beyond recognition, the twisting vines of terror and pain lacing up her arm and into her shoulder, disappearing under the dress.
Lyra handed Geralt the sleeve, blood still dripping from the cloth, "Give this to him. It will convince him that you did as you were requested."
Geralt took it without question, putting it into the satchel at his side, "You do realize that I won't kill him for you. Witchers don't deal in politics."
The woman glanced at the Witcher, grabbing a rag from the table and pressing it against the freely bleeding stump, "I didn't expect for you to kill him," She quipped, "I'm just requesting you take this to him. At least get him off of my trail."
Geralt paused for a moment, weighing the conversation in his mind. On one hand, Anders had said that she had a way with honeyed words, playing the victim in the situation. However, on the other, he knew that the griffon he had seen in the forest earlier that evening would have killed him if she hadn't stopped it. "Fine, I'll help you. Where will you go in the meantime?"
Lyra pursed her lips and looked off into the distance as if pondering it, "I will stay here, for now. Once you've delivered that," She said, pointing at the satchel, "Return and I'll hopefully have a plan divulged. If not…"
"If not, then you'll have no Witcher and no idea of what to do. How long can you survive up on this mountain with your army of monsters?"
She shot him a scathing glare, "I've survived on this mountain for the last five years, Geralt. I believe I can hold out for another month."
Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in disbelief, "Fine, stay here. I'll come back when I have word from Anders."
Lyra paused for a moment before nodding, "Very well, then I bid you farewell...for now."
Turning on his heel, Geralt walked from the cabin, the rain still pummeling the ground as he bent his head and strode back to his horse. However, to his surprise, he heard the cabin door open behind him and he turned around to see Lyra at the door.
"Witcher, one last thing. If you betray me, I will kill you." She promised in an almost teasing tone of voice. However, Geralt didn't want to stick around to find out if she was jesting and so with a sharp kick to Roach's haunches, he began his trek back down the mountain.