A/N: Thanks again to the spacebattles thread for their assistance. In addition to Phearo's sketch, Borley has made a three-dimensional model of Vesemir, which can be viewed at the thread as well. The link is: posts/30653377/

In addition to this, I created a list of Geralt's equipment as of the most chapter of The Witching Hour, to quell people's confusion and assist with visualising Geralt. That list can be found here: posts/30791308/

Again, as in The Wolf in December, Geralt's equipment's specifics are not the focus, but it's not totally unimportant this time, so I thought it best to provide the list.

EDIT 2/3/2017: Slight modifications to Ozpin and Geralt's discussion of Yang to reflect alternate Aura mechanics canonized because of discussion on the spacebattles thread.

4

"Ciri, Yennefer." A man's voice, with a very faint and rather indistinguishable Northern accent, greeted them from a back room as they entered the small flat. "I'd heard you were looking for me."

Ciri led her adoptive mother down the hall and into a back room. A faint, cloying scent of herbs and resins hung about the air and suffused the room in a thin, wispy smoke, coloring everything faintly blue.

The man's tufted white hair hung about his head like a cloud as he bent over a table covered in alchemical equipment and vials of various oddments. He straightened as Ciri opened the door and turned to face her.

"Cirilla," he greeted with a nod. "And Yennefer. Good to see you both. It has been too long."

Ciri smiled. "Regis," she said, embracing him. "How has Nilfgaard been treating you?"

"Well enough," he said lightly, gently taking Yennefer's hand and bowing slightly over it. "I must say, it is good to be in a place where vampires are deemed to be a thing of myth, rather than a thing of legend."

"The difference being?" Yennefer asked.

"The difference," Regis said, "is that a legend is deemed to have a basis in truth. A myth is merely the explanation of the uneducated or barbaric for phenomena with more… natural explanations. I find myself wondering what 'natural' explanation there could be for what happened to Beauclair, but that is not something I would bring up in Nilfgaardian company even if I were not trying to remain hidden."

Ciri shook her head. "Has there been any word from Touissant?" she asked. "Has the duchy rebuilt itself?"

"For the most part, I believe," Regis said with a shrug. "Although it is hard to get word from Touissant, hereabouts. I sometimes think the collective Nilgaardian population has chosen to ignore the fact that the duchy exists, so poorly does it mesh with their mundane view of the world." He chuckled. "It must be boring, to be so… modern."

Yennefer laughed lightly, leaning against a bookshelf. "Quite," she said. "Now you understand why I left the moment we finished with the Hunt."

"I do," Regis agreed firmly. "But I expect I shall have to stay for… a while longer. A few hundred years, at least, before I can venture out into territories more tightly controlled or widely occupied by my kind."

Ciri considered him. "I may have an alternative," she said slowly.

Regis studied her for a moment. "Indeed," he said consideringly. "Might this have something to do with your returning without Geralt? I recall the two of you were traipsing about the worlds together; Beauclair was to be your last contract on this plane before moving on."

Ciri nodded. "Geralt has…" she paused. "He's found a home," she said eventually.

"Truly?" Regis seemed surprised. "I was under the impression that he intended to consider Corvo Bianco his home for the foreseeable future—at least, when he was not at your side."

"He was given a better offer," Yennefer said. "Teaching, apparently."

"Ha!" Regis huffed a laugh. "And they call me a didact. Geralt can wax on and on about the trade, if you can only get him talking. Well, what? Has he founded a little school of Witchers in another world?"

Ciri shook her head. "Nothing like that," she said. "They're… well, they call them Huntsmen, and the world is called Remnant. It's a very odd place. Not as many monsters, unless you count the Grimm."

Regis raised an eyebrow. "Grimm?"

Ciri sighed. "It's a long story," she said. "I was looking up Geralt's old friends and asking them if they wanted me to take them to visit him. I can tell you more about Remnant on the way North, if you'd like to come."

Regis blinked at her. Then he smiled, his sharp teeth showing very slightly. "And if I choose to make this a one-way trip?" he asked. "Would that be… acceptable? Vampires in this world are none too fond of me any longer, as you are aware."

Beside Ciri, Yennefer smiled. "I certainly intend to stay," she said. "Magic is the same everywhere, after all."

"But perhaps natural phenomena are not," Regis said lightly. "An entirely new world of flora and fauna to explore. What an opportunity!"

"So you'll come?" Ciri asked.

"My dear, you could not keep me behind," Regis said. "When do we leave?"

"We're meeting Triss, Zoltan, and Dandelion and his… whatever Priscilla is in Novigrad," Yennefer said. "We shall then go somewhere secluded in Velen to actually make the—"

"Jump," Ciri put in, "for want of a better word."

"Precisely."

"It will be dangerous for me, in Velen," Regis reflected. "But if I keep my head down and we leave quickly, I should be safe. Well, I assume you have transport already arranged?"

Yennefer raised her eyebrow. "Haven't you anything to pack?" she asked.

Regis chuckled. "I suppose I chould bring a few seeds," he reflected. "Yes." He turned and took a small chest from the corner. "There we are," he said. "Packed. Shall we go?"

"Ozpin," Geralt said at 8:15 AM on Monday morning.

"Geralt," Ozpin greeted as the Witcher entered his office. "Welcome. How was your class?"

Geralt looked shifty. "That's what I'm here to talk to you about," he said. "It went… well. Really well."

"That is good," said Ozpin, nodding amiably. "Your point?"

"Well, the kids are Huntsmen in training," Geralt said. "And the class went really well."

Ozpin nodded. "I see," he said. "I will have you assigned to a new room by lunch. Can you tell me what happened?"

Geralt sighed. "It was Yang," he prefaced.

Ozpin chuckled. "This is unsurprising," he said.

"All right," Geralt said to his class at 7:00 AM that morning, "it's Monday. Time to see what you've all picked up. Who wants to go first?"

Several hands went up.

Geralt sighed. "Weiss," he ordered. "You have five minutes."

Weiss stood. "Apart from adding silver dust to Mytenaster's chambers," she said, "I also designed these." She produced several small capsules and placed them on her desk in front of them. "Blake and I sparred using our new equipment," she said. "I have the recording."

Geralt nodded. "I'll look it over after class," he said. "What are they?"

"Red Dust grenades," Weiss said. "It came to my attention that I don't have many ways to do damage to heavily-armored opponents. Red Dust can melt or damage most armors."

Geralt nodded. "Good," he said. "It's a good idea. Doesn't Myrtenaster already use Red Dust, though?"

Weiss tilted her head side to side. "Yes," she said, "but all Myrtenaster can do with it is penetrate. If the armor's hard enough to withstand an initial impact like that, Myrtenaster is insufficient."

"But an explosion might not be," Geralt finished. "Good. Well done. How long is the recording?"

Weiss glanced at her scroll. "Eight minutes long," she said. "Approximately."

"I'll look it over after class," Geralt said. "Blake?"

Blake stood. "I didn't have the formula for Samum," she said, producing three cylindrical canisters, "so I bought some Atlesian flashbangs. They synchronize well with my shadow clones."

Geralt nodded. "Plays to your style," he agreed. "Misdirection. I like it. Well done. Next… Coco."

Coco stood up. "I don't really have a middle-range melee option," she said. "So I designed one, but it's still in the shop."

Geralt nodded. "Fine," he said. "Describe it."

"I added another form to Storm Lucis," Coco said, fishing in a purse—not her weapon—for a photograph. "It folds the barrels of the gun into a sort of club, sharpens the studs on the bag, and sets them around the haft."

Geralt chuckled. "There's a reason the old 'stick with nails in it' is a staple of peasant arsenals everywhere," he said. "Good work."

Coco came forwards and handed him an image. It looked to be a three-dimensional model of the weapon once it was complete.

"How long is it?" he asked.

"About three feet," Coco replied.

"Good," Geralt said, handing the image back to her. "I'll be able to train you using a lot of swordplay techniques. Let me know if you need any help learning how to use it."

Coco nodded with a grin and returned to her seat.

Each student followed. Jaune had gotten Pyrrha's help adding a dust dispenser to Crocea Mors, inspired by Myrtenaster.

Pyrrha had acquired dust cartridges for her rifle.

Ruby had followed Blake and acquired flashbangs—but she'd used a purified form of lightning dust to implement it as a magazine for Crescent Rose.

Yatsuhashi had picked up a pistol and said he was hoping to integrate it into his sword's hilt.

Fox had added bladed shinguards to match his bladed armguards.

Velvet had taken up two short knives for close-range fighting, since her weapon was rather an all-or-nothing affair, from what little Geralt had learned about it.

Yang, however, had been the real surprise. She'd come forward when her name was called, right up to him, and held out her hand.

"Hanged Man's Venom, please," she'd said.

He blinked. "Why?"

She grinned. "I'll show you," she said.

He sighed. "Be careful," he ordered, produced the vial, and handed it to her.

With a flourish she'd taken out a small graduated glass, about half the size of a shot glass, and carefully filled it to the lowest marker. "One milliliter of concentrated poison," she muttered, handing him back the flask. Then she downed the venom.

Geralt grabbed for her a second too late. Nimbly she jumped back out of the way. "Easy, there," she chuckled. "I've—whoa." She swayed slightly. "Yeah," she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. "This stuff's strong."

"That stuff's deadly," Geralt hissed. "We need to get you to medical—"

"Nah," Yang said roughly, opening her eyes. They were red—not like the red, weary eyes of a drunkard, but red in the iris, and bright like rubies. Geralt noticed her hair, too, was shimmering like fire.

"I got this," she said, a pained smirk spreading across her face. "Put up Quen."

Geralt narrowed his eyes and obliged with a wave of his hand.

Yang punched him.

When he picked himself up off the floor and looked around, he saw that she'd somehow driven him through his desk, the wall, and well into the adjoining (fortunately empty) classroom.

She was starting pensively through the hole at him with those red eyes. "Yeah," she said. "Situational tool, definitely."

He shook his head at her. "You're paying for my chalkboard," he said.

"I sent Yang onto the medical wing," Geralt finished. "She said she'd tested with lighter poisons first, to make sure they actually affected her Semblance. I still thought it'd be best if she get taken care of properly."

Ozpin nodded gravely. "Agreed," he said. "She seems to have taken your lesson about decoctions quite to heart."

Geralt grimaced. "I guess I don't have any right to criticize on those grounds," he said roughly. "Still. Clearly her aura wasn't really mitigating the damage; just taking it and turning it back out. I was hoping my potions could be used by Aura-enhanced humans."

Ozpin nodded. "It is a little-publicized fact," he agreed. "Aura has only been recorded as assisting with damage taken from within in a few very specific circumstances, such as corresponding Semblances."

Geralt sighed. "Which makes poison not exactly ideal for Yang," he said. "She's not built to handle it like I am."

"And yet she may find a particular poison which flushes out of her system quickly," Ozpin said. "I suggest you encourage her to do further research, rather than taking the strongest poison she has on hand."

Geralt nodded firmly. "Definitely," he agreed. "Anyway, I'll see you at lunch?"

Ozpin nodded. "And I shall have a new classroom for you," he promised.

Summer's ears pricked at the sound of giggling.

It was dark, and the fragments of the moon hung overhead like a crystal chandelier. The wind blowing inland from the western sea was cool, even this far from the coast, but it had lost the salty tang; even twenty miles closer to the water the hint of seabreeze could still be tasted on the night air.

Summer had taken to patrolling the edge of the forest outside the village, Pinprick resting comfortably by her side. The sword was not, of course, the same weapon lost twelve years ago. That trusty old friend was likely sitting, slowly rusting, somewhere at the bottom of a bog in the Blackmarsh. Summer had rebuilt it according to the old blueprints, of which Ozpin had kept a copy.

Pinprick was a shortsword in the classical Valean style, with a blade which tapered to a point like a thorn. In the hilt was a revolver through which Summer usually fired Red Dust rounds from the barrel directly opposite the blade. The guard of the sword curved downward around her hand, just shy of meeting around the gun barrel. It was almost as comforting to hold the old sword as it was to hold her daughters of her husband.

Only one thing had changed. The new blade had a silver coating.

The giggle sounded again, in the night. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. It was late spring, getting on into summer, and night was the companion of the young and lusty.

The unexpected thing was that today the giggling was coming from the forest.

Summer gritted her teeth. I told them not to go into the forest, she raged. Stupid horny teenagers are going to get themselves killed!

"Hey!" she called in to the dark.

There was stillness.

"I heard you," she ordered. "Pull your pants up and get out of there. It's dangerous in the woods."

There was a rustle. She sighed in relief. Good, she thought. They're coming out.

But when the rustling grew fainter, rather than louder, she knew she had miscalculated. "Dammit," she swore under her breath, drawing Pinprick. "Don't be stupid," she called. "You'll get yourselves—"

There was a sound—low and crackling, like wood straining under wind. There was no wind strong enough to produce such a noise anywhere within Summer's senses.

She'd heard that sounds once or twice a night throughout her vigil. She knew what it meant.

"Get out of there!" she shouted urgently, stepping into the shade of the trees and rushing to follow the rustling at a jog. "Get out of there! It's coming!"

There was a sound of a startled voice saying something indistinct further in, and a rustling began, coming closer, but all the while the creaking, moaning of strained wood grew nearer still.

Summer lowered herself into a combat stance. "Come to my voice!" she shouted. "You, monster, stay back. We're leaving your territo—"

A young man and his female companion burst into her view from behind a thicket of bushes even as she was speaking. The man was hurriedly buckling his belt while the girl was straightening her shirt.

They were not the last interruption to her speech, however. Even as they came abreast of her, a wolf dove out of the thick undergrowth to her right with a furious growl.

Summer gave a strangled oath Qrow would have been proud of and brought her arm up and away from the beast. Pinprick fired, the Dust round exploding in fire in the center of the creature's chest.

It fell at her feet, dead. The girl screamed and started to run, the boy hot on her heels.

Summer looked down at the corpse at her feet, the strange green glow fading from the wolf's ark eyes. Then she looked up into the dark forest before her.

The crackling, wooden sound was getting closer.

"I'm leaving," she said, slowly and clearly. "I'm leaving your territory. I'm not here to fight you."

Preemptively, she channeled her Aura into defense even as she backed away slowly. "You don't have to do this," she said.

She might not know much about Leshens, but she knew wolves. They didn't normally attack humans, but when they did it was foolish to try to outrun them, at least as a trained fighter. One needed to face them, back away, and fight when they charged. Even a Huntress couldn't outrun a wolf for long.

But she wasn't fighting wolves. The crackling sound grew louder, seeming almost to emanate from beneath her feet.

Summer tensed. Took another step back.

From the forest floor below her, roots bust forth like the wrath of Nature. A great, spiked mass of earthy flora exploded from under her feet, and had she been a Huntress at her peak, she might just have been able to dodge clear. But Summer had been out of action for more than a decade.

Her Aura shattered against the blow, but it kept her from being torn to shreds as she was cast back some fifty feet. She struck the trunk of a tree hard and saw stars.

The groaning of wood was ringing loudly in her ears.

No, she promised herself. I'm not leaving them again.

She forced herself to her feet and blinked out into the dark. There was… something in the shadow of the deeper woods before her. A monstrous silhouette, black against the black of the night, tall and gangly and seemingly perfectly unmoving except that it was slowly growing larger.

Only one detail was perfectly visible with the clarity of daylight, and that was the yellowed white of the stag's skull atop its shoulders, the empty eye sockets seeming to bore into her like bottomless pits.

Summer stuck Pinprick into the back at her back to steady herself. "Not this time, you bastard," she hissed.

Aura powered a Huntsman's Semblance, it was true. Without Aura, using one's Semblance was inadvisable. But it could be done, if one only provided an alternative source of energy.

In a normal Huntsress, that power would have been her muscles, which would atrophy drastically in an attempt to use Aura. Then internal organs, and then life itself.

Summer had an alternative. The forest lit slightly as her eyes began to shine silver.

"See you in four days, leshen," she growled. Behind her, the tree shuddered, seemed to swell, and bust in a veritable explosion of white rose petals.

She made it, moving at a staggering run and barely keeping herself upright, to the edge of the forest. The two young lovers stared at her as she cleared the trees. Then she fell forward.

The world grew dark before her face hit the ground.

"Good to see you all found the new room," Geralt greeted his students, giving Yang a look. "Today, we'll be talking about stupid mistakes you can make with a situational tool."

"Geralt," said Ozpin, the door opening for him with a bang. All twelve students turned to it, startled. "I am sorry to interrupt. A word, please?"

Geralt frowned at the headmaster's worried expression. He nodded. "Fine," he said. "You twelve, don't break the classroom. Again."

He followed the man in green out of the room. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Summer was injured last night," Ozpin said without preamble.

Geralt's eyes narrowed. "How?" he asked.

"We have a report from two of the townspeople," Ozpin said quietly. "Apparently, she saved them from 'a Grimm' and then staggered out of the forest before falling unconscious."

Geralt grimaced. "Think she ran afoul of the leshen?" he asked.

Ozpin nodded gravely. "I do," he said, "though of course I cannot know. Can you get there any sooner than this weekend to relieve her?"

Geralt took one deep breath. Sighed. "Yeah," he said, turned, and pushed the door open.

"Coco," he asked, "is your team ready for combat?"

Coco blinked at him, then smirked. "Always."

"Good," Geralt said. "Pack. We're moving out early. Rest of you, class is dismissed."

He turned back to Ozpin. "How quickly can you get us a Bullhead?" he asked.

"One will be ready for you in the courtyard in fifteen minutes," Ozpin said gratefully. "Thank you, Geralt."

"Thank me when I get CFVY back alive," Geralt said flatly, walking past Ozpin. He had work to do.

"Geralt!" Ruby called after him.

He turned. She was rushing out of the classroom, a package in her hands. "This finished in the forge yesterday," she said. "I picked it up for you.

He took the box and pulled out his knife to open the taped seal. There, laying within the foam packing, was a pistol.

Its barrel was a white rectangle in two parts; the top half had a hint of a closed shutter which would open, Geralt knew, to reveal a grappling harpoon, while the lower was circular and lined with silvery metal. Below the chassis, three magazines emerged separately from the gun, each labeled at their base—silver, conventional, Red Dust.

The handle sat comfortably in his hand as he lifted the object and turned it about in his hand. The back of the stock was shaped and folded in such a way that it might extend in the same way Huntsmen's weapons did, if only slightly. Above the higher barrel were simple sights, and along the barrel proper, in small, simple lettering, a single word was engraved on both sides of the white and silver weapon.

"Vesemir," he murmured.

"I took it to get the name carved in, like you wanted," Ruby said anxiously. "Do you like it?"

A smile spread across his face. "I do," he said simply. "Thank you, Ruby."

His grin widened. "Just in time to give it a test-run, too," he said. He nodded to Ozpin. "I'll be down in fifteen," he said. "Hear that, CFVY?"

"Yep," Coco said, giving him a nod before turning to her team, slipping on her sunglasses. "You heard the man," she ordered. "Chop-chop!"

"So, this leshen," Coco drawled as she led her team onto the Bullhead after their white-haired professor. "Anything on it besides what's in the bestiary you gave us?"

Geralt shrugged, fingering the white pistol hanging at his belt. "I told you about the totems," he said over the growing sound of the engines. "Our job is to find those, destroy them, and kill the leshen. In that order."

Coco nodded. "Fair enough," she said. "Any tactical advice."

"Stay back," Geralt said flatly. "When you fight a leshen in a forest, which is every time, they have complete control over the field. They can turn the animals, the grass, even the trees against you. Watch the ground for roots; they like to make sort of root explosions, which can kill a person outright if they're not ready for it.

Coco grimaced. "Oh, good," she grumbled. "Velvet, sorry in advance if you have to bust out your bag of tricks."

Velvet nodded. "It's fine," she said firmly. "Not like I can't replace them."

Geralt glanced at her. "How's your weapon work, anyway?" he asked.

"I copy other people's," Velvet said, "but I can only use them for a short time. It's both my Semblance and my weapon."

"Yeah, I'd use any weapons you're confident you can replace," The Witcher said slowly, considering that. It was a very vague description. Some part of him, the part that reveled in training with every weapon known to man, looked forward to seeing it in action. "This is a relict; not a time to keep things in reserve."

"Relicts are particularly bad?" Yatsuhashi asked.

"Relicts are the second-most dangerous monster class, in my book," he said. "A peasant might whine about necrophages, draconids or hybrids, but that's because they see those. Relicts are rare as hell and even more dangerous."

"Second-most?" Fox asked lowly. "What's the first?"

"Higher Vampires," Geralt said. "Take my advice: you ever see a man with foot-long claws and a face that looks half-bat? Don't draw a weapon, don't try to fight. Just run, and hope they're feeling merciful."

"Geralt," Summer said weakly as she man approached her bedside. "You're here early. Or did I sleep in?"

Geralt smiled slightly. "You only slept one night, if that's what you're wondering," he said quietly. "About thirteen hours, by my count. Imagine you'd like to get back to it, though."

Summer nodded against her pillow. "You're not wrong," she said roughly. "Geralt, that thing…"

"I know," Geralt sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have told you more."

She shook her head. "I should've been more careful," she grumbled. "Set up a proper perimeter, not just patrolled the edge of the trees. Stupid kids wouldn't have gotten past a barricade."

"Leshen might've taken exception to having a human structure that close to the forest," Geralt said. "That wouldn't have ended well."

Summer sighed. "Oh, well," she said. "Maybe I should take your class, too."

Geralt chuckled. "You're all right?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," she huffed, tiredly, but in good humor. "Peachy keen. Don't feel like a skull-headed tree-man knocked out my entire Aura pool in one hit and then forced me to use my powers to get away at all."

Geralt frowned. "Powers?" he asked.

She blinked at him. "Oz hasn't told you?" she asked.

Geralt shook his head slowly. "He did give me that book of fairy tales, though," he said slowly. "Silverblood?"

Summer grimaced. "I prefer 'silver-eyed warrior,' thank you," she said defensively. "My blood's plenty red. "I ought to know."

"Yeah," Geralt agreed quietly. "So's mine." He stepped away from the bed. "You get some rest," he said. "Leshen won't be bothering anyone for much longer, I promise you that."

She smiled at him before letting her head fall back against the pillow. "I'll hold you to that," she said.

"Well?" Coco asked as he closed the door to Summer's room?"

"It's an old one," he said tiredly. "Must have either moved here recently or gotten more active for some reason. Drained her aura in one hit."

Coco's face fell. "A trained Huntress' Aura?" she asked quietly. "In one hit?"

He nodded. "I told you," he said. "Be careful. Never stay in one place to long, and be ready to move at a moment's notice. They like using crows and wolves, but it can use everything in that forest against us." He started walking down the clinic's corridor toward the exit. "Don't ever assume we're safe until I've cut off its head."

Coco caught up with him. "What range does it like to fight at?" she asked. "Should we avoid closing in?"

Geralt shook his head. "That's the worst part about leshens," he said wryly. "They're comfortable at every range. Yatsu can be whaling on it in melee and be in only a little more danger than you a hundred yards away." He stopped and turned to face her. "I didn't want to bring a team with me," he said quietly, "but Ozpin thinks you're ready. I hope he's right, and I think he might be. But do us all a favor and listen right now."

Coco nodded. Her teammates leaned in.

"There is not a single patch of dirt or grass," Geralt said darkly, "not a single pebble in a stream of safe ground in that forest. From the moment we go in to the moment we leave, we are in mortal danger. Don't get complacent, and be on guard at all times."

Coco nodded grimly. "Understood," she said firmly.

"Good," Geralt said.

He led them out of the small hospital and towards the forest's edge. Geralt ignored the watching villagers, their curious and worried eyes following the Witcher and the four Huntsmen as they strode down the main road toward the forest. The townspeople knew why they were there, but after seeing what the leshen had done to Summer only the previous night, they were all on edge.

Geralt bit his tongue apprehensively at the thought. People on edge brought Grimm.

The houses fell away quite suddenly about a hundred paces from the treeline, some primal instinct keeping prospective builders away from the untamed wilds.

"Totems, you said?" Coco said, her voice low.

Geralt nodded. "Follow my lead," he said quietly. "We'll follow the sound of crows to each totem, and my senses are sharper than yours."

Coco nodded. "Say you're busy keeping us alive and one of us has to break a totem," she asked. "Will we know them?"

"Unless you're used to seeing altars made of sticks and bones," the Witcher said grimly. "A force should destroy them. Fire works too."

Coco smiled. "Force we can do," she said, winking at Yatsuhashi. "Yes, sir, force we can do."

"Welcome to Beacon," Ciri said lightly as the green glow faded.

Regis staggered slightly. "My but that is an odd feeling," he said, blinking. "I wonder if that is what the original Conjunction felt like?"

"Unlikely," said Yennefer dryly, catching Ciri as she, too, stumbled. "Are you all right, Ciri?"

Ciri sighed tiredly. "You couldn't have left behind the unicorn?" she asked, panting slightly.

Yennefer grinned. "Afraid that would have been impossible, my dear," she said, chuckling.

"Miss Ciri," said a woman's voice from across the courtyard.

Ciri looked up. "Professor Goodwitch," she said, allowing Yennefer to help her up. "Good day. Sorry to arrive unannounced."

"I quite understand," the blonde in the white blouse, black skirt, and violet cape said with a nod. "Unfortunately, Geralt is not at Beacon; you missed him by only a few hours."

Yennefer frowned. "Why?" she asked. "Where is he?"

The woman named Goodwitch looked shifty. "Professor Ozpin should tell you that," she said. "First, if you don't mine my asking, who are you all?"

Yennefer nodded. "Yennefer of Vengerberg," she introduced. "This is Regis—" she nodded at the vampire. "The dwarf is Zoltan," another nod, "the redhead is Triss, and the idiot is Dandelion, with his ball-and-chain, Priscilla."

Priscilla rolled her eyes, a very faint hint of a flush on her features—Dandelion had trained most of the embarrassment out of her by now, it seemed. The man himself, of course, looked quite indignant. "Idiot?" he asked in mock offense. "You take that back! I am a poet of high renown!"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "Yes, in taverns and whorehouses," she said dryly. "Now, this Ozpin. If he should tell us where Geralt is, perhaps he could get on with doing so?"

Goodwitch nodded. "Yes," she said. "Come with me, please."

A/N: As always, reviews are appreciated but not solicited. If you want to talk to anyone other than myself regarding the story, feel free to join the discussion on the spacebattles thread.