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A dozen street urchins snuck past the sentries patrolling the base of the barracks western wall, giggling excitedly as they scrambled to get to the old tower above to witness the newcomers train in the courtyard below. Their dirt-streaked and soot-covered face peeked from atop the ramparts, eyes wide with wonder as they took in the bright lights and heard the clamor of weapons striking hard stone or steel.
The warriors of Saggrel took every opportunity to hone their skills after a lifetime of inactivity, not in the least concerned that their display unnerved their hosts as they summoned elemental constructs to act as target dummies or practiced the mystical arts of a nature that no one of the Continent had seen or heard before. From the towering majestic figures clad in armor fit only for behemoths to the sorcerers armed with enchanted spears or staves, they mixed martial prowess with sorcerous affinity.
Even the simplest footsoldier knew a little magic. Those gifted in destructive sorcery practiced pyromancy or ferromancy, in which mages manipulated the earth and its surroundings. The Cintran kingsmen avoided that part of the courtyard, and for good reason. At the king's generous command, the warriors of Saggrel could practice with relative peace within the capital, if certain precautions were exercised.
Among the warriors practicing that day was General Descelini Rathir, another hero from a bygone era who commanded one of the finest legions to walk the face of Saggrel until he was unceremoniously slain by a curse wrought by the hand of the Sorcerer King. The general was said to be nigh unbeatable in battle, as his skills with the greatbow and the lance were unmatched as he was borne aloft by his trusty griffin mount Scythar. So great was his skill in battle that the tide seemed to turn for his kingdom's favor, until Lorosi found the general's one weakness- his vanity. An ornate laurel wreath, a trinket from his homeland, was switched with a meticulously crafted and enchanted one. The general was never one to enter battle without it. As soon as Rathir donned the wreath crown, the curse sapped him of all his strength and the general died hours later. Without his guidance, his people were defeated and driven back to their capital, allowing Lorosi to march onwards and wreak havoc upon his kingdom unabated.
Until Saggrel fell apart, Rathir's body remained entombed in the catacombs of the Howling Citadel alongside many others who fought against Lorosi and failed. Upon his resurrection, the general swore to avenge himself and fight alongside Vandal, promising to lead the many soul-bound warriors against the Iron Revenant when he arrived on the Continent.
Rathir moved out into the city outskirts to begin the day with some practice in greatbow archery, with a small party of fellow warriors and mages to accompany him.
The great warrior who carried himself with the calculated ferocity of his long departed mount, and dressed himself in a panoply liked unto Scythar's form, hefted his greatbow and nocked a massive lance to the length of taut-wire that acted as the bowstring. With a booming voice, he shouted for a sorcerer to summon an familiar for him to strike down.
The sorcerer, a battlemage dressed in thick studded leather and flowing scarlet cords, clapped his hands together and released a screeching griffin the size of a dog. The griffin squawked and fluttered away into the sky, only to be brought down soundly as the lance pierced its little body like a boar on a spit. The body landed somewhere in some far off field, as carrion for the crows.
"Hah!" Rathir bellowed, "I still got it!"
He turned to the sorcerer and had him summon another, this time opting to use the lance as a javelin rather than using his greatbow. The sorcerer obliged, sending another familiar to fly for him to bring down. Rathir, relying on the strength of his arm and his keen eyes, hurled the lance at the griffin and sent it plummeting back down to earth.
When the sorcerer looked at him expectantly, the general merely said, "Again."
Vandal breathed in the soft fragrance of Sandy's hair as she snuggled up to him. His fingers tangled up those lovely locks as he twirled them over and over again in his hand, a habit that he'd formed as he grew accustomed to her company during the cold nights. Even before the sun started to climb, Sandy was already awake. She wanted to see him go, instead of having to wake with an empty spot by her side. Vandal leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
The day for his departure had come, and he knew he must leave before high noon. So, he gently pushed the woman aside and got up to stretch himself. His eyes took in the still form laying apart from him. Serah lay on her side facing away from Vandal the whole night, refusing to let him touch her as she was still angry over his decision to follow the king's command. No amount of words could sway her from her refusal to accept her lot, so he eventually had to drop the matter before it could hurt her further.
The baron summoned the courage to approach her, heart racing as though he were expecting a fight to break out between them. When Vandal got close to her, he found Serah gazing up at him with fire in her emerald eyes. He could offer her little else than a smile, which served to soften her baleful glare, and Serah's anger faded soon after. She looked away from him, feeling a sad longing creeping into her chest. Vandal didn't want to argue about anything, not when he was about to leave, so he bent down and gave her a peck on the cheek, whispering softly in her ear as he withdrew. "I love you."
His lack of hesitation in showing her that much affection should have been enough to tear down that hastily constructed barrier she put up between them, but her pride proved to be too strong a wall to topple so quickly. She watched as he dressed himself in that thick leather gambeson, then the chainmail, then the breastplate with that infernal snake he so adored.
"Say your goodbyes." Sandy whispered to her as Vandal started for the door. "We won't be seeing him for a long while."
It served to loosen the bricks in her walls, Serah slowly pushed herself off the pillows and fixed her hair. The strap of her nightgown slid over her shoulder, which she snatched up to put back into place as she walked towards the window overlooking the front gate. Vandal greeted his valet on his way to the stables, where Alfie awaited him. As the baron mounted up his faithful mare and rode out the gate, he turned one last time to gaze up at the open window where Serah was watching him from.
He looked at her for the longest time and started to turn away when he saw her hand reach for her lips. The fair lady blew him a kiss, which lifted the weight in his heart as he felt her love for him, borne upon the breeze that suddenly wafted down from the north. He waved her goodbye then spurred Alfie for a brisk trot down the street towards the barracks to join up with the warband he formed up the other day.
Since Dagorad had allocated his forces to combat the other threats to his kingdom emerging from the stray world shards scattered across Cintra and its borders, those of Cintra would be few in joining him in his endeavors. Out of the few brave knights who survived traveling with Vandal, only Sir Weyland proved to possess the courage in accompanying him on another quest. With him came several loyal squires, sons of lords who were pledged to serve Weyland and learn the ways of the knight from their liege.
The mercenary Enris, though signing up on the quest alone, was eager to join Vandal. Unlike most of the men who faced the hordes of undead in the trek towards the Howling Citadel, he grew to love the danger and wished to see more of what the journey ahead would bring him. Another reason was that he grew bored with reveling away his coin, and craved the thrill of battle as much as the glory of becoming a celebrated figure amongst the taverns and brothels of Cintra.
Although their aid was most appreciated, Vandal knew they would not be enough, so he brought along the soul-bound warriors who were willing to assist him. It wasn't hard to enlist their aid, as many had already pledged their allegiance to him when he consumed the Ebony Heart and restored their bodies from undeath, but Vandal wished to take only the best and leave the rest to protect his new home. There was a small contingent of resurrected knights of the Oroborosine Order, masters of steel and pyromancy, and veteran soldiers from the war against the Sorcerer King who wished to join him. They were recommended by Knight-Captain Helyc, the charred knight who fought against Vandal at the cathedral entrance of the Howling Citadel. Helyc himself did not wish to join them, stating that he wished to stay behind and attempt to find some solace in spending time with the rest of the soul-bound.
After stocking up on supplies for the journey, Vandal rode at the helm and led them out to the city outskirts. Along the way, they met General Rathir as he was returning from the city gates, having finished his rounds of shooting down familiars out of the sky.
"Ho there, Sir Vandal!" The general boomed. "Where are you headed with these fine warriors?"
"We're going to the southlands dragonslaying, General Rathir." Vandal replied, "If you're interested, there's plenty of room for you. That greatbow and lance should never go to waste."
"Hah!" Rathir guffawed, "Well said! I shall take you up on your offer and join you, just as soon as I fetch a good mount to carry me."
Vandal nodded, "We shall wait for you at the gate, then. See you there, general."
The small army marched onwards through the capital's threshold and did as the baron promised, waiting for General Rathir to join up with his aforementioned mount. Later, the screech of a mighty aerial beast pierced the air as Rathir swooped down to the ground riding the armored greater griffin Hellsmiter. The beast, easily twice the size of Vandal's horse, landed with an elegant swoop as his wings pushed the air beneath him to slow his descent. The noise of the steel plates covering his body sounded like the clash of swords in battle, and Hellsmiter cackled like an amused crow at the sight of the awestruck Cintran bystanders.
"Blimey! Lookit the size o' that monstah!" A kingsman sentry exclaimed as he took two steps back. A woman screamed as she plucked her child from the ground and fled into the city. Others were just too astonished to see a griffin up close, and just stared dumbly as Hellsmiter preened and trotted about in a circle.
"Rest easy, guardsmen!" Vandal called out to reassure them, "Calm yourselves, good folk! This noble beast shall not harm you!"
General Rathir merely laughed at the lesser folk, basking in their attentions as he spurred his mount to hover above the baron and his army. "We shall fly ahead and scout out any dangers along the way."
"We?" Vandal asked, looking up to where Rathir was pointing to. A series of squawks, caws and screams in the sky indicated that Rathir brought more griffin riders to Vandal's quest.
This put a smile on the baron's face, and he waved Rathir off as the general took to the skies. A sigh of relief came from every Cintran guardsman and peasant at the sight of the griffins flying off. The fear of those beasts would not leave them just yet, no matter how particularly progressive their kingdom had become.
"Farewell, good folk." Vandal said, "We shall return to bring peace for your time."
His words elicited a modest applause which quickly faded as soon as the army left the capital. Vandal and his men traveled a ways, no further than two miles from Cintra, before he chanced upon a small contingent of Cintran kingsmen rounding up a gang of bandits to be immediately sentenced to death by hanging. A sheriff, the most equivalent of adjudicator or lawman in the kingdom, was present there. Upon seeing the baron and the small army march up the road, he gave Vandal a quick bow then beckoned for his men to proceed.
Six bandits, five men and one woman, were propped up on their horses with the nooses securely tied around their necks to the branches of an old oak tree. The bandits looked like they've been roughed up pretty badly before their sentence, as their faces bore fresh bruises with swollen eyes and bleeding lips. Vandal rode up to investigate, inquiring of the Sheriff about what they've done, especially considering that they were still close to his lands.
"Sheriff, greetings." Vandal said, "I am Baron Vandal."
"Ah, baron! I apologize for not recognizing you immediately." The sheriff replied, stopping for a bit when the sound of the bandits choking under the rope reached his ears. "As you can see, it's been quite the busy day for me and my men. Now, what can I do for you?"
One after the other, the bandits started seizing up as the nooses pulled taut against their necks when the horses were pulled out from under them. Vandal winced a bit, finding the sight to be a tad disturbing even though he'd seen much worse in his life. There was something about the abrupt jerking motion, the slow strangulation and the convulsions that he did not find bearable. Nevertheless, he tried his best to ignore it. "What have these...poor sods done?"
"Oh these? They're bandits, sir. Thieving cutthroats robbing honest working folk on the wayside, taking hard-earned coin and leaving them for dead. Been a nuisance to us as of late." The sheriff shook his head, "This time, though, they killed their last victims. About eight folk, seven good men and one milkmaid no older than sixteen. Fell upon them as they were pulling a bunch o' cows to work the farmsteads. Hacked the men apart, they did. The lass they raped and then slit her throat. Left them where they lay for the crows to feast upon. Ran straight into us as we were heading back to the capital to resupply."
The sheriff paused to spit on the ground, "Ptooey. Scum! So bold they've become since the attacks o' those monsters. Gonna be a lot of hard work for me and the rest o' the lawmen to bring back order to this land. Melitele rest those poor souls they murdered."
Vandal frowned at the news and watched the bandits as they finally grew still, choked on their own weight.
"I believe their friends are burying them in yonder field." The sheriff pointed to the west, where a group of peasants were digging graves at the foot of a large stone. "Got reason to believe they might've worked for you."
Vandal led Alfie to take him there, and dismounted to approach the peasants mourning over their lost friends. He recognized them to be from among the refugees of Amendale, the same ones he took in to live in his lands.
"Hello, baron." A farmhand removed his cap and bowed to the young lord. "Tis good to see you."
There was sorrow in Vandal's eyes, and he approached the graves whilst inquiring of the dearly departed. "Tell me, who are they that now lie in rest?"
A woman, eyes red from weeping, sniffled as she spoke. "Turin, my cousin. He had about fourteen summers. And his da, Uncle Rogenson, with him."
"My neighbor, Una. Bastards defiled his daughter 'fore they killed her too." The farmhand continued, his eyes blazing with fury. "Sasya was her name."
"Vito and Otto, good lads both. And then, there's Old Man Lafnar."
Vandal slowly turned his head towards the man who spoke, his ears no longer hearing the other names recited to him as the kindly farmer's name remained branded into his mind. Lafnar was dead, killed no less than a day from when they last spoke. A promise of better days, robbed from him forever by monsters who dared call themselves men.
He drew closer to the grave marked with a simple headstone from an uncut rock with the farmer's name crudely carved into its face. Vandal sighed and closed his eyes for a simple prayer, one to sanctify the burial and send his friend towards the land of everlasting day. "Farewell my friend."
With a heavy heart, he returned to the helm of the army and continued the march south.
The Border
Highway to Brugge
Geralt heard Roach snort and saw the horse perk his ears up, so the witcher immediately pulled him to a stop so he could listen. There was silence, not a chirp nor a howl from a forest beast. Too quiet, and a vile stench of rotted flesh wafting across the gentle breeze. Roach was not easily spooked this time, and Geralt was thankful that his mount caught on to the signs of danger ahead of him.
"Come on Roach." He spurred the horse forward, eyes attentively taking in both sides of the road as Roach trotted along the highway towards Brugge, another vassal kingdom to Cintra. The journey back to Kaer Morhen would be long, and the witcher intended to reach it before the month was over. His plan involved gathering the witchers of the Wolf School to help Vandal in his cause, as what started out as a simple monster problem became a matter that concerned the whole Continent. He'd spent enough time with Vandal to know that such a conclusion was no longer premature thinking. The danger was real, and it was coming soon.
He left without telling anyone of his intentions as he wanted to avoid the unnecessary spread of news concerning a gathering of witchers. Folk were easily frightened, as Geralt knew very well from personal experience. The witchers would help save the world, but he'd be damned if he was going to end up setting them for another sacking of Kaer Morhen as they did in the past. Caution needed to be exercised, it was the only way the witchers survived this long.
Geralt came across a battlefield, not unlike the ones he witnessed outside of Cintra the day he became a hero to its people alongside Vandal. But this one did not fare as well. The people of Brugge did not have heroes such as the otherworldly warriors of Saggrel, they only had themselves and their beleaguered militia. The kingsmen of Brugge were back at their own capital, leaving the people to fend for themselves. Unlike Dagorad, their king paid little heed in gathering the people who were driven out of their homes, and instead barred his gates to the flood of refugees clamoring for shelter.
Undead and beast alike roamed freely across hill and valley, settling in with the ruins of towns and villages where people once lived. For the first time, the folk learned what it felt like to lose their homes, just like the witchers. Geralt could feel disdain, if he hadn't grown up living on the Path. Instead, all he could feel was pity. The White Wolf, as much as he detested the truth, was still a knight underneath all that cold exterior.
He looked to the north, whispering softly as the horizon seemed to stretch for miles and miles. "Hmm... Kaer Morhen seems so far away from here."
Geralt rode onwards, avoiding having to fight the monsters alone, and crossed the border into Maribor. As the sun began to set, he chanced upon an encampment pitched around a large fire. It was a group of refugees that traveled with a hired mercenary band, heading the same way Geralt was on. After exchanging some pleasantries with the leader of the band, the witcher found the refugees amenable in terms of accepting a mutant in their midst and entered the encampment, later finding exactly why they were so welcoming.
They already had another witcher in their company, and even better, one that Geralt knew personally. The witcher Eskel, all tucked up in his cloak next to the fire, looked at Geralt and his cat eyes lit up with delight as he recognized that sourly bearded face.
"Geralt!" He greeted his friend with a bowl of steaming tomato soup in hand. "Good to see you."
"Likewise." The White Wolf's lips twitched into a pleasant smirk, finding the familiar face a welcome change to all he's seen as of late. He accepted the bowl and sat down on the log beside him. "What are you doing here?"
"Came across this caravan while they were caught in the crossfire between the undead and the soldiers from a local garrison." Eskel explained, "Lent a hand in the fight, got hired to help see them to the nearest fortified town."
"Hm, I guess the problem's really not particular about Cintra." Geralt mused.
"Yeah, what have you been up to lately?"
Geralt grasped the bowl firmly in both hands and stared into the flames before him, reflecting on his past experiences involving the outworlder Vandal and their adventures fighting the undead threatening Cintra. He spared nothing in the telling of it; starting from his meeting with the young knight in the woods as he was riding out to meet King Dagorad for a contract, right through their vanquishing of the undead summoner, to their revelry at the capital, then that business involving a necropolis thrust right out of the skies of the Continent.
By the time he was finished with his tale, both witchers were staring up into the wandering world and its burning shard in the sky.
"Ah, so that's what it is." Eskel remarked, finally understanding a great deal of what was happening. "You planning on doing anything about it? Saving the world and all that?"
"Yeah, I do." Geralt replied, "Gonna try and gather the witchers at Kaer Morhen, then bring them back with me to meet with Vandal. He's gonna need the best in the monster slaying business, and I wanna help."
"That's gonna be a little hard to do." Eskel said with a shake of the head, "Everyone's everywhere else."
"What are you talking about?" The White Wolf asked with a frown.
"Everything that's happening here is happening everywhere." Eskel revealed, "The demand for witchers has never been higher. Me, Vesemir, Coën... we've all been called for contracts to deal with the worst of the threats. I'd laugh at the irony of how the times have changed for people these days, but the past is all water under the bridge."
"Hmph." Geralt grunted.
"But hey, at least you've got me." Eskel said, "Soon as I'm done escorting these poor sods, I'll ride with you." He raised his bowl, "Now, enough moping about. Here's to saving the world."
Geralt shook his head and bumped bowls with his friend.
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