A/N

Just some old stuff I found in a folder somewhere, polished it up and added some details to better flesh it out.

My love for the Witcher world is still strong, and although my previous attempts at writing a decent fic about it ended up in horrendous ways, I'm still gonna keep going. Taking some things learned from previous critiques of my past works, I dunno how it's gonna turn out, but I'll do my best to make a good and enjoyable piece.

So here we go.

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World of Saggrel

There are worlds in the multiverse that bloom with abundance, vibrant with life and sustenance. And there are worlds that float in between, separated by the thinnest veil of reality, cold and barren.

Dead worlds where the suns refuse to give their light, plunging the wretched denizen within them into perpetual darkness, where the warmth of life slowly fades through the chilling winds of everlasting winter- The White Frost.

But the hearts of men, violent in their hopes and merciless in despair, beat on.

In the afflicted world of Saggrel, stubbornly, they clung to the fading embers of the bonfires. They feared the curse of undeath, which spawned from the White Frost, and rightly so. To be subjected to a mere shadow of existence, fading like the flickering and guttering flames that burned upon the pyres, forced to prey on one another for souls until their mortal vessels perished in the cold to join the innumerable millions of frozen corpses forever encapsulated in prisons of ice and frost.

No, none may find fault with them for their desperate attempts to stave off such a fate.

And so they clung, they scoured, they found and devoured. The brave few who would dare the frozen wastelands would set out in search of the Vestiges of Warmth, the last hidden shelters of untainted men and women, shepherded by the last Firekeepers on Saggrel.

A small group of knights, of an order long forgotten in the wake of the winter cataclysm, forged onward through the forsaken plains plagued with heavy snowstorms in search of these conclaves. They, like many, hoped to find some purpose in reaching the Vestiges, to find and approximation of the duty they had sworn themselves into a lifetime ago. To serve, to be of aid, to act as noble souls in a dead world.

When they first ventured out, there were eight of them. Now there were only three.

Anres the Bold, the old lord and master of the spear, led the trio through thick and thin. A man of outstanding character, devotion and honor, Anres was the very definition of a knight. His experience buoyed them through every challenge, saw them through every trial and taught them to thrive in spite of the harsh conditions of the world around them.

He was the immovable pillar in which they found their strength, for even with a most incredible burden heaped on his aged shoulders the lord pressed forward undeterred, unwilling to show the weight of his responsibilities to his fellows. Vavnir, his trusted glaive, served him well in the battle they fought along the way.

There was Nelzhar, Anres' trusted friend, who carried the sword Ashseeker. The weapon had been plucked from the ashes of a long faded bonfire and had been reformed by a kindly undead blacksmith they met somewhere along the journey. Through a bit of tinkering and some old pyromancy, the knight found great use in the blade as it burned against the ill winds of the snowstorms, promising a fiery death to anyone or anything that stood in their path.

And lastly, there was Vandal.

Vandal was not a particularly remarkable young man, having just recently achieved knighthood after proving himself to Anres the day the winter cataclysm struck. Saving his liege's life on many occasions during their quest to find the conclaves, the old lord rewarded him with his own suit of armor that bore the oroborosine serpent- which was the symbol of Anres' house. Described as a rather timid lad, Vandal possessed neither the ambitious nature of his peers nor the boldness of his betters. Still, Anres saw potential in him where others did not, a spark that only needed kindling in order to blaze into a fire of its own.

Together, the three men crossed the sea of ice that stretched across miles and miles of snow-covered ruins of long dead kingdoms, heading south for the blue mountains. There, they hoped to find the Vestiges and see hope return to their land.

Reaching the foot of the mountains, they found that the storms did not frequent this part of the land, as though some unknown force blew them aside like the sun on a rainy day. Anres was old enough to remember the days when there were other things than perpetual snowfall, and just thinking about it made the old lord very sad.

"Some powerful magics are at work here." He said to his companions, "I can feel it in the air."

"Yes indeed." Nelzhar acknowledged, "The air is heavy with it. That means we're getting close."

Anres nodded, "That also means we'll face even greater resistance here than before." He looked up the mountain path where the crumbling archways and monument stood as the only testament to the powers that once ruled there. "Ready yourselves."

Anres went up first, followed by stalwart Nelzhar and the timid Vandal. The knight drew their swords and backed their lord, eyes and ears vigilant to any movement or noise that could indicate danger. Step by step, up the stone stairs and stony pathways, past hunched figures dressed in rags frozen stiff like statues of icy flesh. Some were torn apart by unknown invaders or stalking beasts, displaying their rent and broken remains all over the path like refuse.

Having been exposed to the horrors of the frozen wasteland, such sights had become a common thing to the three men, and they continued onwards without a moment's pause.

At the end of the path, they came upon the remains of a large courtyard that preceded a massive door frozen shut by a thick barrier of ice. The courtyard had a ring of braziers around it, each one bearing oil frozen from exposure to the elements. In the middle of the circle, a pile of rubble sat with a giant exhumed hand sticking out. The disentombed member, covered in faded silver armor, stuck out like the branched of a dead tree as it grasped at nothing.

Anres kept his distance from the thing, as did the other two.

The old lord turned to Nelzhar and instructed him to see to the removal of the obstacle in their path. "Take your sword and burn us a path forward."

"Yes, my lord." The knight said with a nod, unsheathing his weapon and striding forward towards the threshold. There, he plunged his black-blade into the ice.

Ashseeker burst into flames and the ice offered a snap of protest as the unnatural heat fought through the frozen barrier. Closer and closer did the knight press his weapon, until the blade sunk to the hilt and the tip touched the surface of the metal door. Anres smiled under his helm and waited for Nelzhar to finish his work.

However, his attention was later directed again to the middle of the circle of braziers, spurred on by a vague feeling of doom. The hand was still there, unmoving and as solid as a rock like the last time he saw it moments before.

"Quickly now, Nelzhar! I wish to be free from this damned weather."

"His Lordship will have to be patient." The knight groaned as he twisted the black-blade back and forth, tearing out chunks of ice with every moment. Vandal stood meekly aside as he knew he would only get in the way if he offered his assistance.

There was a resounding crack as the pieces started to fall off the door, followed by another and another, then another from behind them. Anres immediately knew what it meant and swiveled about with his glaive ready to fend off their enemy.

A monstrous giant of a man dressed in full plated armor emerged from the rubble, having been buried in a shallow grave and piled on by bricks and stone for gods-knows-how-long. He pushed away the stones and hoisted himself up to level ground, pausing to glare through the narrow slits of his helmet with hateful glowing blue eyes at the three knights.

"Come, blackguard!" Anres beckoned, "I shall send you back to the hell you crawled out from!"

The giant stood up to his full height of nine feet and hefted a greatmace that was just as long as he was tall. His footfalls sent tremors across the courtyard as he approached the three with the pace of an encumbered snail. Nelzhar looked back in alarm and bade Vandal to hold Ashseeker in his stead and lend him his sword.

"Stop for nothing and get that door open, you hear?" He said to the younger man.

Vandal nodded wordlessly and gave his sword over to Nelzhar, proceeding to push the fiery blade up and down the barrier to melt the path clear. Nelzhar moved to position himself beside Anres, and together they faced the guardian.

The greatmace descended with the force of a falling star, shattering the icy earth where it struck, missing Anres by a foot as he stepped to the side. The old lord had reached a point in his life as a warrior where he forewent fancy footwork and unnecessary flailing for the most efficient maneuvers possible. It showed in the way he fought with the giant as he practically walked around him while poling at the joins with hi glaive.

Nelzhar was the complete opposite, as he danced around the giant. He used Vandal's sword to slice across the unprotected portion of his enemy's knees, causing the giant to collapse onto all fours.

Vandal chipped away at the barrier, until at last the door was freed from its icy grip. Grabbing the bronze handle rings attached to the door, he pulled with all he was worth. At first the door refused to budge, but after the young knight stubbornly forced the thing to go his way, it swiveled open with a loud creak of protest.

"It's open!" He cried out, proceeding to assist his friends in their fight.

Vavnir descended on the giant's neck, but did not cleave through. It remained lodged into the armor and flesh, further driving the guardian to anger. It reached out and grabbed Anres. The old lord struggled to get free, and Vandal brought down his sword on the offending hand to help his liege. Ashseeker cleaved clean through the giant's hand, freeing Anres as it dropped to the ground.

The giant paid little heed to what otherwise would've been an agonizing wound, and his greatmace swept to the side, slamming into Anres's chest as the old lord was recovering. The blow catapulted him across space, sending him landing face-first into the hard wall some thirteen feet away. There was a bloody smear where he landed, prompting Vandal to run to his master's side.

"My lord!"

"Focus, lad!" Nelzhar was at the end of his patience, "We will see to him later, first help me take this bastard down!"

Vandal quickly did as the man asked and did his best to steer clear of the giant's greatmace, trading Nelzhar's weapon for his own in the heat of the moment. Nelzhar swung his black-blade again, cutting off one of the guardian's legs to send him down to earth for the last time. The brute attempted to rise, but Nelzhar quickly drove the point of Ashseeker into his eye, finally killing him. Even then, the knight wasn't satisfied.

With two more strokes, he severed the giant's head from his shoulders.

Vandal rushed to see to his master's injuries, and found to his horror that Anres was already dead. His chest caved in from the greatmace that struck him down, and his head was smashed in from when it hit the wall. Blood seeped out of the cracks of his armor in rivers, forming a dark red pool beneath his body where he lay.

Sometimes in a fight, fancy footwork was necessary.

"Lady of the Light, guide him into your arms that he might find warmth in the other side." Nelzhar prayed as he sheathed Ashseeker into his friend's body to set it ablaze, burning the corpse as part of their custom and to deny the a good man the touch of undeath. The old lord deserved his rest.

"Amen." Vandal whispered, following Nelzhar inside.

There was no time to mourn the fallen. People died all the time, and some of them just couldn't stay dead. The two knights counted it as a blessing that they could give Anres that much, most didn't have the luxury of a good death.

The mountain sanctuary was dark, so Nelzhar raised his black-blade to illuminate the halls they walked. When he did, both knights recoiled in horror at the sight of a hundred corpses reaching out from the shadowy corners of the narrow corridor, frozen in place just like everything they've met so far in that wretched hovel. Their faces were contorted with agony, arms and hands grasping for the unknown, permanently petrified in solid ice.

None of them were hollowed undead. It was as if the White Frost claimed them outright, without even stopping to reanimate them as walking corpses.

"Gods no!" Nelzhar gasped.

"We are too late." Vandal lamented sorrowfully, "The White Frost has touched them. There is no Warmth here."

"No!" Nelzhar declared, determined to make their journey worth all the sacrifices. "I will not have our friends die for nothing. We press on."

And so they did. Even as despair threatened to overwhelm all sense and dash all hopes, they pressed on. Down and down through the depths of the ancient shelter, past the many frozen corpses that lay huddled together in blankets and old beds. They descended the flight of stairs, broke through the icy doors that led into more maddening maze of corridors.

Until at last, they came upon the heart of the mountain sanctuary.

There, they found a mysterious stone archway sitting in the middle of an empty and spacious chamber. On the ground before it lay a pile of ashes and some old robes. Nelzhar approached the pile with his sword raised high to brighten the dim room, and he inspected the remains of what seemed to be the firekeeper who shepherded this flock.

Vandal removed his helm and drew closer to the archway, finding a strange pedestal inscribed with incomprehensible symbols that seemed to light up under the glow of Ashseeker's light.

"What do you suppose this is?"

Nelzhar looked up and saw what his companion was looking at. He got to his feet and approached the pedestal, finding it strange that the weapon in his hand began to move on its own. When he resisted, Ashseeker pulled harder and seemed to be magically drawn to the circle of symbols atop the pedestal. Eventually, the knight gave up and let the blade find its way home, watching as it sank into the stone as it would through soft earth.

Vandal looked on as the archway lit up then exploded with eldritch energies, splitting the air with abyssal fissures that were the hallmarks of some magical portal.

"The firekeeper must've tried to open this..." Nelzhar mused, "Poor woman just didn't have the right stuff to pull it off."

"Did she plan on linking the fire to another world?" Vandal asked.

"I don't know, and I don't think I want to know." Nelzhar reached for his sword, "Whatever is behind that portal, it may very well be worse than-"

The knight stopped and hissed in pain. He tried to retract his arm, but found to his astonishment that he was unable to. The black-blade was on fire, its handle was red hot like a brand and it was searing his skin like a rat on a skillet. "Ouch! What in hell's name?" He grabbed his wrist and pulled, frantic as his hand now burst into flames.

"Vandal! Vandal! Help me!"

The young knight sprang to his fellow's aid and found it equally painful to do so. The flames spread throughout Nelzhar's body, immolating and enwreathing him with dancing lights. He screamed and he screamed until the flames robbed him of his breath, soon after fading into molten ash as the destructive magics ate him whole. His remains collapsed into a pile, joining the ashes of the long dead firekeeper on the floor.

Vandal wasn't so lucky, as he successfully removed the blade from the pedestal. It did not set him aflame in a manner like Nelzhar's, but it did send wave after wave of crippling pain throughout his body. A creeping vein of glowing liquid metal sank into his flesh and seeped into his veins like hot oil. As the sword crumbled into nothing, the poor lad was left writhing in unspeakable agony as the fires burned him from the inside.

His howls filled the chamber, only to be drowned out by the noise coming from the unstable portal. Now unleashed by the sword pulled from its pedestal, the eldritch energies within the stone archway tore the thin veil of reality asunder and swallowed the contorted, convulsing form before it. The portal sent him into the blackness of space, the limbo that existed between worlds.

There was no air to breathe, no sound to hear nor voice to scream as Vandal cooked in his own armor. As he plummeted through space, he saw the stars race past his eyes. They didn't twinkle as they did before his world was consumed by darkness. For a brief moment, Vandal found the sight beautiful beyond words.

Then, the pain resumed its horrid symphony on the instrument that was his body.

Before he could pass out, the opposite end of the portal spat him out to tumble freely into empty air.

The cool rush of living, breathable air as the ground rushed up to meet him, and the freezing cold of the water to wake him up. Vandal hit the bank of the lake face-first and painfully hard. Although, in that regard, whatever pain he felt on landing was nothing quite severe as the one he endured earlier.

Groaning and sweating, he struggled to rid himself of his armor. First came the breastplate, then the straps, then the suit of chainmail so he could see the damage done to him. There were hideous burn marks all over his arms, shoulders and chest. But the wounds, however grievous, started to scab and close over- glowing bright orange like molten metal before disappearing into repaired flesh.

Exhausted by the ordeal, Vandal collapsed into the cold and wet ground in a heap.

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