The rain left puddles on the rut-ridden road of Fisherman's Reach, the silent homes on either side dark as the grave. A stranger on horseback trekked past the pitch-black huts, cats lounging on windowsills and doorsteps began to take notice, the hair on the back of their necks standing on the edge backs arching as they began to spit and hiss, their cacophonies ringing through the night. The stranger took no notice of the cats that ran from underfoot, his eyes trained directly on the keep that stood on a hill overlooking the small encampment, but his mount did. The horse nickered anxiously, and a gloved hand reached down to pat the beast's neck reassuringly.
"Easy now, Roach." The stranger grumbled, the sack at his hip lurching slightly as he leaned forward, threatening to tumble to the ground. Quick as a whip, the stranger had it back in place, the horse never losing stride as it moved towards the keep's walls. The braziers became full and lit as he drew closer, a group of men in the distance. The stranger kept the hood of his traveling cloak lowered as he approached the light, keeping his gaze down as the men adorned in what he saw was now armor approached him. The house's emblem stood out against the ramshackle iron they wore, the bronze tree reaching up to the sun above, the roots growing deep into the earth. They belonged to the House of Northwood, a surprising revelation for the stranger since the last time he had been here; it had been in the control of House Evereck.
"What is your business here, stranger?" One asked, reaching up to put his hand on the horse's neck, only to see that the horse was glistening with blood, the light from the lanterns making its coat shimmer as it breathed. "We don't get many Witchers this side of Temeria."
The man glanced at the guard, his flaxen eyes glinting in the light, "Found a contract in Craag An concerning a Baskilisk in the Auriel mountains. Just came to collect what is rightfully mine."
The guard looked at his companion in shock and fear, "Sir...You need not disturb his humble Lordship this late in the evening. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable staying at the lodge or…"
"No," The stranger's gravelly voice was sharp, a hint of ice in his voice. "I was not planning on spending the evening in this town. I was to collect my reward and be on my way."
The hesitation plastered on the men's faces was apparent to the stranger. Finally, the first one who had approached him turned to his comrade, "Ride up to Arlcliff and let the steward know Lord Northwood has a visitor." He looked the man up and down suspiciously, "Make sure the guards are aware as well."
The man nodded, took a torch, and walked towards a horse that seemed oblivious in the darkness. He took the mount, tapped its haunches twice, and bolted up the hill, his torch disappearing into the woods that lined the incline as he galloped into the night. The stranger and the guard stood in a pregnant silence as the man vanished from sight, both overseeing the other.
"I'm sure you have many stories to tell, Witcher." The guard said tightly as the stranger allowed a dry laugh to escape from beneath his cloak.
"I guess I do," He replied simply as the man cleared his throat awkwardly, nodding as he stepped aside.
"I believe you may as well go up to Arlcliff now. There is no sense in you staying here," He responded simply as the stranger nodded and urged Roach forward. The wind was cold against his face, the moisture from the previous rain clinging to the skin of his ghostly face as he urged the horse along. The road became dark once again as he moved away from where the guards had stood, but he was able to see clearly, steering the horse from any danger in its path.
'It's too quiet," The Witcher thought to himself, the eerie silence pressing down around him. Using his Witcher senses, he watched the woods intently, but not even a squirrel stirred.
He slowed as he approached the stone walls of the keep, the horse baying as he approached. Guards flocked either side of the stone arch that led him into the courtyard. It had obviously once been grand during the times of Evereck, but the stone walls were choking on ivy, the vines eating the rocks until they lay in ruin. The braziers that had led him to this gate were far and few in between, the shadows casting the edifice further into disrepair.
The stranger slowed his horse before finally stopping entirely, dismounting as an argent sword glinted in the light. The observing guards could see the glimmer of a silver wolf medallion hung from his neck behind the cloak. There was no question who the stranger was, but his presence sent a chill through the air.
"Witcher," A sharp voice pierced the evening as the stranger turned to the source of the sound. A reedy man approached him, his face gaunt, "I am Gideon, the steward for Lord Northwood. He is being roused as we speak."
The stranger grunted and turned back to his horse, unbuckling the sack from his saddle. He hoisted the blood-soaked burlap over his shoulder and turned to face the steward once more, "Take me to Lord Northwood."
The man hesitated but then nodded, ushering the stranger to follow him. The Witcher followed his guide, ascending a set of steps in as much disarray as the rest of the keep, the ivy taking no prisoners in its wake. The massive wooden doors in front of him had once been intricate, but they too had fallen into disrepair with time, the shadow of carvings now covered by a crude tree.
The steward silently opened the door and led the Witcher over the threshold. "Stand right there, and please wait for his Lordship."
"No need to wait. I'm awake." A low, reverberating voice echoed through the empty room, and the stranger turned to see a man in a dressing gown tucked hastily into a breastplate of iron stood at the head of a large, roughly-hewn table, observing the Witcher with bright blue eyes. The stranger threw back his hood, revealing a handsome face marred with the shadows of fights long since passed. "Geralt of Rivera, I assume?" The man asked dryly, arching an eyebrow as he approached the stranger.
"The very same," The Witcher responded, tossing the burlap sack on the table, its contents rolling out. The massive head of a snake-like creature tumbled forward, blood spilling in its wake, "I killed your Basilisk, just here for my reward."
A smirk crawled up the man's face as he cocked his head to the side, "You dare come and demand a reward when the task is only half done?"
Geralt narrowed his eyes, "What are you talking about?"
The man laughed and walked even closer to Geralt, "Just like a Witcher not to read the fine print."
Geralt pulled a well-folded piece of parchment from his pocket, smudged with sweat and blood, and reread the contract. At the bottom of the page, hardly legible, was a small scrawled sentence he hadn't bothered to glance at when he had picked it up. He thought a peasant might have wiped his nose on the parchment. "Hmmm, must kill both bounties to be financially compensated. Tricky play, Northwood, Witchers don't take kindly to false advertisements.
"Lords don't take kindly to threats. You forget your place." He snapped back, his fingers dancing across the hilt of the sword at his waist. His smirk dropped into a deep frown as he narrowed his eyes. ""Maybe you didn't see the notice next to it—two for one special, Witcher. Simply put, I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. I thought if someone had bested the Baskilisk, then they would find no challenge in conquering the other opponent that I have deemed worthy of their blade."
Geralt arched an eyebrow incredulously, "Very well, Northwood. Tell me of this secondary contract of yours. I should have known when I saw a bounty for 20,000 crowns."
"Perhaps you should sit down," Northwood said, motioning for the Witcher to sit on a bench, "Fetch food and ale for the Witcher. He's probably famished from riding." Instantly, a servant appeared from the shadows and placed food on the table, being careful to shy away from the monster's unseeing eyes. She vanished back through a door on the side of the hall, and Geralt slowly picked up the mug of ale, swirling it before drinking deeply. "For what it's worth, I am humbled that such an esteemed hunter would grace our halls. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect a Witcher to correspond to my bounty." Northwood was laying it on thick now, trying to butter Geralt up.
"Coin's coin," He responded, taking another drag from his mug, "I thought that Lord Northwood was an old fuck who couldn't keep it in his pants. I don't suppose you and Titus Northwood are related."
The Lord's nails dug into his palms as he spoke between gritted teeth, "Yes. He is my father; I follow in his stead as Lord Emmett Northwood ."
Geralt finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, "Last I heard, your house was in ruin."
"You tread a wicked line, Witcher!" Northwood barked back, his cheeks pink, "My father's past misgivings have nothing to do with the plague this town faces now!"
Geralt flicked his yellow eyes back and forth, noticing the guards he had paid no attention to earlier beginning to close in, "Easy now, Lord Northwood. I was only making an observation by what I had been told. Apologies if I have offended you in any way, I'm just surprised a family like yours has the coin to spare for a bounty."
Northwood seemed to deflate at the apologies, smoothing out his wrinkled nightshirt with solid hands, "Nevermind that. You are here for one thing and one thing only, and that is to collect on a bounty, not insult my father's honor."
Geralt grunted in agreement as he sat down once more, standing up in the wake of his outburst. Finally, Emmett leaned forward again, his icy blue eyes staring at Geralt intently.
"Fact of the matter is, Fisherman's Reach has a witch in need of killing. She is famous in the towns around here for her plagues of monsters she brings down upon us. It has been ongoing for the past five years; however, it has reached astronomical heights during the last six months. She is a menace and must be dealt with accordingly!"
Geralt arched an eyebrow, "A witch, huh? Surprised that one decided to make camp this far north. Last I had heard, Phillipa had moved the Lodge to Redania."
He waved a dismissive hand, "A reject from Phillipa's halls, I'm sure. She's mad, her powers unstable."
Geralt rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin as he pondered. "You seem to know quite a bit about this witch, Northwood."
"Dammit, Geralt! She's sent this town into a chaotic frenzy! You try living in fear for five years and see how much you learn about your enemy!" He yelled, slamming his hand down on the table in anger.
"Emmett?" A quiet, sleepy voice made Northwood pause, turning as a woman her belly heavy with a late pregnancy walked into the hall. She was young, no more than eighteen, with long, mousy brown hair. She rubbed her slumber from her eyes as she walked towards what Geralt assumed was her husband.
"Josephine! Don't come any closer; the sight will only upset you." He stood from the table and wrapped his arms around the young woman's shoulders, ushering her back into the shrouded hallway where she had come. The woman didn't protest as she was guided from the hall.
Geralt took the opportunity to look around the hall, his eyes resting on a large portrait hanging along the wall above a massive fireplace. It had been done recently, the oils still bright and gaudy against the crumbling walls. The junior of Northwoods stared back at Geralt, his icy glare ascending the medium. His mind returned to the witch in the mountains, wheels turning as he concocted a plan to retrieve more information on his newly acquired bounty. He had heard of witches hanging to the corners of society, acting as healers for their communities. It wasn't unheard of for these magic users to go off the grid and raise Cain, but for one to be able to command beasts at her will...that was a whole other level.
His host returned, yet again straightening his sleepwear, "Now, where were we? Oh yes, the witch! From what I have come to understand, she does have the ability to control a Griffon. Still, I assume that will be a mere obstacle that you will easily be able to best considering…" He motioned to the head on the table, a tight-lipped smile on his face.
The Witcher scoffed, "First, you have me kill a Basilisk, next you want me to kill a Griffon and a witch. What would you like me to kill next, a damned Wyvern?!"
"No, Master Witcher. I do not believe a Wyvern is in her control. Now, will you accept the contract or go empty-handed?"
Geralt let out an annoyed grunt and sighed, "Fine. I'll go kill your damned witch."
Emmett nodded in appreciation, "My growing family, and I thank you, Geralt. This woman has been a thorn in our side for far too long. My father has sent witch hunters from the Church up to her mountain home, but they fall like wheat in the field under her Griffon. I'm sure that she will be no match for a Witcher, though."
Geralt closed his eyes and thought for a moment, "I have contacts in the Lodge. Maybe they'll have more information about this sorceress who controls monsters like dogs."
The Lord wrinkled his nose in disgust, "We already have one witch on our hands! Why in the world would you want to add more of those monsters to the mix?!"
Geralt shot the man a look, "I wouldn't expect you to turn down the help. My contact may be able to help me find more information on this woman. I don't want to go into this fight unprepared."
Northwood sucked on his teeth, narrowing his eyes, "Very well. Talk to your contacts. Just...kill this woman before she razes this village to the ground and takes us all with her."
With a nod, Geralt stood from the table, his food still untouched but his ale mug empty, "Very well, I will take care of your witch."
"Thank you, Geralt," Emmett said tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, "I want my child to grow up unafraid."
Without another word, Geralt had turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, mounting Roach and disappearing down the mountain. He paused at the pass that would take him further up into the Auriel Mountains, the trail vanishing between overgrown shrubs and weeds. He knew this is where he would have to go to reach his target. However, as he had told Lord Northwood, he did not want to go into this fight unprepared. On good days, witches terrified him, and one with a power unlike anything he had ever heard of was a horrifying prospect, even for a seasoned Witcher.
He urged Roach down the mountain, back towards the streets of Fisherman's Reach. He knew that if someone found him in town, he would be chased out before Geralt could explain himself, so he moved past the still silent homes towards the outskirts of the village, finding a quiet outcropping of juniper to start a fire.
Maybe he would find her, but there was a chance that she wouldn't hear his voice. Yennefer was a fickle sorceress, her dealings with Nilfgaard making her a danger to most of the houses in Temeria. Geralt had an inkling that this went beyond family names; however, he did suspect that they did have something to do with the situation at hand.
He drank deeply from the buckskin flask at his waist, the sweet wine making him feel relaxed. Closing his eyes, Geralt became aware of his breathing—one breath in, one breath out. The meditation technique made him unaware of his surroundings. The forest breathed in time with the Witcher, eyes watching him from the darkness of the thicket, documenting his presence as a chilly wind shook the trees.
In another time, in another place, the ashen-haired man wandered through a market. Nobody stopped to make purchases but instead chose to hurry by, hiding their faces as they passed, creating a façade of anonymity. However, as his eyes scanned the faceless crowd, they landed on the figure of one woman, dressed all in black and white. Her garb was simple, her dark hair worn loose around her face. She knelt to smell a flower that hung low in a wicker basket, standing as the Witcher approached.
"You called for me?" She questioned coolly, turning her violet eyes to the man, "I had some important business I was attending to that I had to drop, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're super important these days," Geralt said impatiently, "I need to ask you a question."
Yennefer stood at her full height and held out her arms, "Well, here I am, ask away. What can I help you with that's so important?"
"Was there ever a sorceress that you heard of that could manipulate monsters? Griffons and Wyverns and the like?"
The sorceress furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, "There were always rumors of witches in the East who could control the minds of monsters, but I had never heard of any coming this far West. Maybe your contact is seeing things that aren't there."
"He seemed pretty damned convinced when I spoke to him," Geralt clipped back, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.
The witch scoffed and put her hands on her hips, "You're the one who called out to me, Geralt. Don't be surprised when I can't pull an answer out of my arse that you want to hear."
The Witcher hummed in frustration, "What if these rumors, Yen? I need something to go off of. This woman sounds like she's really causing this village some concern."
"If you need me to come and supervise your playtime, I would be more than thrilled." Yennfer shot back sarcastically, "It's not like I'm up to my neck with this wartime nonsense. I hardly sleep these days, Geralt! Yet you dare to be annoyed with me?! These are just rumors, hardly anything of great interest. Your witch is probably casting some sort of illusion spell that makes it seem as if she's conjuring monsters."
"You may be right," Geralt replied after a moment, reaching down to pick up a lustrous apple from the stand before them. Instantly, the fruit turned to ash in his hands, trickling through his gloved fingers. He wrinkled his nose, wiping the remaining ash on his tunic, "I hate this place."
"And you don't think I hate it any less than you do? I have work to do, Witcher. If you need me, please don't contact me. You're already trying my patience and my day has yet to begin." With a wave of her hand, the raven-haired beauty disappeared in a cloud of smoke, the world around Geralt beginning to fade.
He opened his eyes, groggy and hazy from his deep meditation. The sun had crept over the river, the first rays of the morning touching the horizon, the solemn promise of rain hanging in the dark clouds. Geralt shook his head, looking around to make sure that he was still in a safe location. Sure enough, the clearing he had chosen for his meditation was secure, free from any prying eyes. The Witcher stood, stretching as he did so, only to kick out the remaining smoldering ashes to hide his presence.
Mounting Roach, he tapped the horse's haunches to get her moving, the roads now somewhat dried from the warmth of the sun. Geralt observed men leaving their homes in the coming daylight to go to their boats, taking advantage of storms' reprieve. Children had yet to begin stirring as candles were lit in open windows, doting mothers taking care to prepare the morning meal.
He disliked the stares that he received from the villagers but knew that it was best to keep his head down, so instead, he kicked Roach once more, the beast breaking into a sprint. The warm, muggy air was heavy on his skin as a light mist dusted his skin, running back up towards the path that would lead him up the mountain. The Witcher hated going into a fight that he was blind to, but that was how fate laid it out for him sometimes.
He took a sharp left at the fork split between the woods and Arlcliff, the trees pressing down on either side of him, the silent thicket making him nervous. He willed his eyesight to slip into that of a Witcher and watched the woods, looking for any sign of movement as the weeds snaked up towards Roach's belly. However, even with this improved vision, the forest was devoid of animal life. Not even a squirrel stirred in the underbrush.
Dread settled in the Witcher's stomach as he moved further up the mountains, the wind now shaking the leaves from overhead, their dance almost mocking him with their quiet falling. The rain began to pick up, the road becoming more and more overgrown as he ascended, slowing Roach as trees groaned overhead, moving dangerously in the breeze.
That's when he heard it. It would have taken him off guard if the sound of massive wings hadn't alerted him to the Griffon's presence. He leaped off Roach, the horse scurrying away as an enormous monster came barrelling down from overhead. He hardly had time to react before the creature was barreling down on him again, its angry shrieks filling his ears.
He lifted a hand, willing a massive stream of flames to escape his palm, igniting the beast's feathers. It shrieked in annoyance, rising above the canopy once again. The Witcher took this opportunity to unsheath his sword, clasping it in two hands, readying himself for a battle. It was in that moment, the beast descended once again, its eyes unseeing, milky white in the storm. It raised its talons to take his life, but Geralt knew better. He leaped out of the way, his sword glinting as it spun, catching the passing monster in the wing. The Griffon bellowed in agony, a splash of warm blood against his skin. He readied himself for the next attack, but to his surprise, there was no second attack. The beasts' shrieks began to fade as he watched it climb up the mountain on one good wing.
"That was no illusion spell," Geralt murmured to himself as he whistled for Roach. The horse timidly appeared from the shadows, nickering softly as if apologizing for leaving her owner to face the danger alone. "That was definitely a Griffon, and it was definitely being controlled."
He remounted Roach and, this time left little care to his step. This woman was a menace if she was indeed able to control a Griffon. Geralt's mind reeled with the possibilities that this woman could possess. Could she have held the Baskilisk from her mountain home? Used it to carry out her malicious deeds? Whether she was a mastermind or a madman, he knew that she would only harm this community. The promise of 20,000 crowns also hung heavy on his mind.
The mountain seemed to calm its slope, leveling out as the trees became sparser, their spindly trunks becoming further apart as the elevation rose. Finally, the road once again appeared from underneath Geralt, following the path towards a small dilapidated group of buildings, most rotten away. However, one at the far end of this outcropping, one home still stood in decent condition. Candles burned in the windowsill, their flames dipping low in their holders. Geralt could smell woodsmoke piggybacking in the breeze. To his surprise, Roach didn't seem phased by their encounter with the Griffon, continuing to walk towards the small house, even when the Witcher pulled back on the reins to slow her.
Finally, he leaped from the horse's back, surveying the scene before him. Roach finally came to a complete stop right in front of the candlelit window, flicking her tail in annoyance. "So much for the element of surprise," Geralt muttered as he drew his silver sword, holding it at the ready as he approached the front door. It was held shut with a small leather strap, stained with the weather and rain. He reached out to touch it but decided against holding it in his hands. There were no other marks that would give him any indication of who lived here, but his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the Griffon next not 50 meters from the hut, the blood of dismembered animals soaking the grass.
He moved towards the window, using his Witcher senses to attempt to see past the wooden walls, but could sense nothing beyond but the fire that crackled in the hearth. Geralt should have heard her footfalls, but like the cats who were instinctually afraid of him, this individual held no apprehension as the cold scrape of steel moved against the skin of his throat. A dagger, he guessed. Hot breath on his neck, he heard someone speak, the voice thick with a strange accent.
"Choose your next words carefully, Witcher. I doubt you wish them to be your last."