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Darkness fell upon the Amell Mountains as day turned to night.

Even then, the song of metalworks continued its heartbeat rhythm as if the transition mattered not. Man and soul-bound entered the bastion's halls of antiquity with swords and shields at the ready. The mages cast their spells of illumination, revealing only collapsed archways and empty corridors that stretched deeper into the heart of the mountain. Eyes watched the walls, the floor and the ceiling with carefully weighed vigilance.

There was no telling what to expect of that place, as none have dared traverse that place before. Closer and closer they drew near to the noise of hammers upon steel, louder and louder did the cacophony echo through the hollow corridors. Then, they came upon the threshold of two massive iron doors, both fourteen feet high.

The surface of the doors wore the intricate carvings of masterful hands, depicting hatchling dragons uplifting themselves from the dirt to dominate the skies as lords of land and air, while some claimed the depths of the seas as their kingdom. Two prominent dragonheads jutted out from the middle, the beaks of their snouts each holding on to broken links of chains that hung down like tattered tapestries on a balcony.

The noise seemed to come from beyond those doors, so the army halted to find a way through it. The heavy twin doors of rusted iron and steel groaned as the strongest men strained to push them open. But no matter how hard they tried to shove their way in, the doors refused to swivel free. Even with Rathir himself lending a hand, the doors remained as they were, stubbornly fixed and defiant where they stood.

Vandal observed their efforts in silence, then came forward when he realized that neither brute strength nor persistence would see them through. All eyes watched the baron as he tugged on the chains and almost effortlessly pulled the massive doors open. Everyone realized then that they opened outwardly, not inward, and a shared titter of amusement passed like a wave through the ranks.

Enris, who was among the men who pushed at the doors, huffed from exertion as he wiped the sweat off his brow. "I could've thought o' that."

Rathir crossed his arms and grumbled quietly.

Vandal smiled and stepped through the open threshold, "Of course, I've no doubt you would."

The army marched forward into the inner sanctum of the Wyrm's Ruin, finding to their surprise a huge storehouse filled with mountains upon mountains of gold coins, treasure chests, gilded statues and priceless emerald carvings. Under the light of brightly burning braziers of brass and black iron, it shone like a sea of stars. The hoard's vastness left but a small and narrow path in between the mountains of gleaming gold, but some were not too keen on proceeding onwards just yet. The soul-bound possessed little desire for such material possessions, but for those of their company who were born of the Continent- their eyes surged with the unmistakable and dangerous glint of greed.

"Gods, lookit all o' that gold!" Enris exclaimed, rushing forward to dig his hands into the piles and grab fistful after fistful. Many more warriors from Cintra, even the Nilfgaardians among them, followed his example. Although Nyaldan kept his distance as he seemed to sense there was something off about those piles of treasures remaining unguarded.

The Nilfgaardian commander muttered something under his breath and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Enris, I would advise against that." Vandal said.

"Yeah yeah, we'll only take as much as we can carry." Enris replied, dismissing the warning.

One of the mercenaries clawed his way across the face of the gilded mountain, exhuming a curious metal figure that looked surprisingly familiar to both Vandal and Nyaldan.

The baron drew his sword with a loud swish, "Back away! Now!"

Pale blue light glared hatefully through the soulless eyes of the marionettes, and a hundred of them immediately burst out of the treasure piles to attack the intruders. Caught off guard, those who stooped to pilfer and collect the coins were cut down in a storm of blades or beaten to a bloody pulp with spiked morningstars.

Enris stumbled over his bag of coins and fell backwards as he tried to draw his maul. A marionette followed suit and pounced atop of him, stopping only when the flaming sword of the Vestige of Warmth cleaved its head right off, then chopped its arms away like a gardener would prune his saplings. Vandal grabbed his friend by the hand and lifted him up.

"Told you so." The baron chided, his words met with begrudging acceptance as Enris saw his folly.

The soulless puppets were many, but the numbers the invading army had were much more, and they were summarily cut down in but a few minutes. After the pieces all lay motionless on the floor amongst the scattered gleaming gold coins, Vandal and his forces paused to lick their wounds and count their losses. There were few who fell to the marionette guardians, but their passing was keenly felt by the baron. Pressing onwards, as there were no other choices to be made, he wondered in silence if such a trap could have been avoided.

As they marched into the deepest recesses of that ancient fortress, they at last reached the source of the clamor.

A towering figure stood hunched over a massive anvil, surrounded by marionette attendants bearing baskets of ore and other supplies for forging. The figure was a stout, wingless and broad-shouldered dragon with the body and hands of a man. Red skin, not scales, stretched across rippling muscle and meaty hands that grasped firmly to hammer and tong that were the size of tree trunks. Every blow was enough to shatter the earth as the hammer struck the glowing piece of iron tucked tight in between the jaws of the tongs.

Sparks flew like the gentle spray of a sputtering fountain as cold metal met molten iron.

Horns, prominent like that of a ram's, jutted out of the giant's head like a crown. There was no furnace in which he used to heat up his metal, for he had his own bellows breath to set them aflame, just like Vandal. All around him sat piles and piles of crudely shaped and badly forged weapons and armor, all of which seemed to fuel his ire as he tossed aside one failing work after another.

The jangle of heavy chains caught Vandal's attention as the giant worked ceaselessly upon his forge, and he spied several manacles attached to the giant's wrists and ankles. Seeing the intruders, the marionettes' heads swiveled quickly towards them with those menacing eyes glaring deep into their souls, but they did not move to fetch their weapons and arm themselves.

The baron watched as his allies and companions started to draw on theirs, preparing for the battle that was sure to come.

"Wait." Vandal said as he raised his hand, commanding them to take pause and consider the scene carefully. "I do not think this one is our enemy."

"How can you be so sure of that?" General Rathir asked spitefully.

The baron ignored him and stepped forward to address the giant.

At first, the dragon smith did not seem to notice him, or rather, did not care to at all. So Vandal drew closer, carefully stepping in the narrow gap between the puppets who watched his every move. He had little to fear for them, as there were many of his allies who were keen on helping him should they attack. The man only wished to speak with the giant, and hoped to gain some insight on what was happening at the heart of the Amell Mountains.

"Hello there." Vandal greeted the giant.

The dragon smith had half his face covered with thick forests of red fur-like bunches of hair, braided nicely into his beard. His eyes glowed hot like molten metal, much like Vandal's own as he stared down at the insignificant and uninvited guest. From his shoulders was draped a smith's apron, black as smoke and weathered from so much use. A deep rumble from within his chest rolled out of his mouth like a roiling storm, "Whatever you want, the answer is go away."

Vandal winced as the hammer descended once more, battering the poor piece of metal to sheets as though the giant was warning him of the same fate if he were to press the issue. No questions would gain answers, and Vandal did not wish to make an enemy of the giant, so he slowly backed away. The smith continued in his forging, then dropped his tools so he could handle the glowing metalwork with his bare hands. The chains would not allow him all the movement and care needed to complete his craftsmanship, ending it all with another failure.

"Raagh!" The giant roared suddenly in frustration, alarming both the baron and his army, and crushed the metal into a ball. He tossed it away to join the piles of unfinished works on the floor and sat down gloomily as he stared into the anvil that now stood silent before him.

After watching in silence and getting over his initial meekness, Vandal dared the giant's ire and approached him once again.

This time, he put forward the issue regarding the dragon smith's imprisonment. "Why are you in chains, oh noble smith?"

The giant heaved and let out a sigh that sounded like the crackle of a newly born flame. He let a moment pass before answering, his large hands holding the chains up for all to see. "A tyrant's judgement for my defiance."

Vandal approached him and sat on the floor beside the smith, "Oh? Tell of it, I pray. Perhaps I can help."

The giant grumbled, "You? First you barge into my forge, shatter the last of my crafts as you hoped to pilfer from my hoard like the thieves you are, then wish to help me?"

Vandal turned to throw Enris an annoyed glance and caught the mercenary's sheepish look, then turned back to the giant who looked like he was about to clobber him to a pulp. The smith had seen them, somehow, through the eyes of his puppets.

"A fool would not don the mantle of responsibility, but I shall take the blame for even the actions of the few that call themselves my allies. Forgive me, we only wished to put a stop to the dragon attacks that threaten our lands. Now let me atone. Let me help you, however I can."

"What can you do, whelp?" The dragon smith sneered, judging him harshly by his failing gear. "You're barely suited for even the simplest tasks I have in mind."

"Try me." Vandal said, offering a measure of confidence in himself that seemed to weigh enough to tip the scales in his favor. "There is no chain that cannot be broken, no prison door that cannot be opened."

The bearded face twitched with disdain, but the smith acquiesced to his offer nonetheless. He held up the chains to the baron's face and spoke gruffly, "These are forged with star-metal, harder than titanite and unbreakable like the heartstone of a world. I know this- because I forged them myself."

"Really? Who put them on you?"

Another deep rumble from the dragon's throat, and the smith begrudgingly shared his secrets, perhaps out of desperation as he lacked any more options. For indeed, the grueling routine of working and toiling away for naught was driving him to insanity. Here was one chance out of a thousand that he could free himself, so he let the baron have his way.

"Idlekkarnhamth the Unyielding, even amongst his greater dragon brethren, is one ambitious reptile. Whereas others were content with hoarding treasures or cherishing the company of their mates as greater dragons are wont to do, he finds sport in dabbling with warfare." The smith sighed, "The blood and the violence, it was his meat and wine. I and my brothers, we were master builders, dedicating our lives in crafts. A noble livelihood, one we took pride in. We worked in weapons and armor, this is true, but we were not warriors. Idlekkarnhamth and his sons dragged us, one and all, and placed these chains on us. He forced us to craft and forge their armor, ones that could shrug off any blow from weapon or spell. So that he could conquer the world, that is, until one of your kind saw to that first before drowning us all in ice."

"How'd you survive?"

The smith shrugged, "I woke up, still a slave, set to continue the work on the armor to serve him and his sons. And he, my master, is hellbent upon resuming his campaign, as the fires of ambition yet burn in his heart."

"He's gonna find some competition soon enough." Vandal mused, "That sorcerer king's coming this way too."

"Perhaps he could be persuaded to fight alongside us against the Iron Revenant?" Rathir suggested.

The smith scoffed, "Do you not know the pride of greater dragons? Any who they set as their rivals, they would not set aside their hatred so easily. Our minds tend to run on one direction at times. And why, pray tell, would you seek alliance with one evil to fight another?"

"One problem at a time." Vandal said, glancing at the curious lock peeking out of the collar beneath the bushel of beard hair, as well as the manacles on the giant's wrists and ankles. "We cannot break those chains, as you say, but can we unlock it? Is there a key?"

"Hmph." The giant recalled, "There is, he keeps it on his person at all times."

"Well then!" Vandal got up, "That just means we'll have to find and kill this Idlekkarn fellow."

The giant threw his head back and laughed, "Kill Idlekkarnhamth? Are you serious? You've never seen such a fearsome foe, so strong and more powerful than that anything you can think of- a god amongst dragons!"

"Why? Because of the armor you forged for him?" Vandal asked, "I killed a greater dragon not too long ago, I'll have you know, who wore something similar. Had him swallow me whole before I cut my way out from the inside. I think I and my allies can handle another one, no matter how big it might be."

The smith's mirth died with his smile and he looked at the baron seriously, "What did you say? About that dragon...repeat it for me please."

Vandal hesitated, sensing dread in the smith's voice. "I...I killed an armored greater dragon, cut my way through its belly and into its heart."

"This dragon, did he speak to you in any way when you fought?"

The baron shook his head, "I do believe he only laughed once or twice, but he roared like a mindless beast the whole time. Why? What does that signify?"

"Oh you poor soul, that was Laughing Vikkarn, his favorite son." The smith said, "A bloodthirsty beast, unrefined and barbaric, the way his father liked it. If you killed him, that means Idlekkarnhamth would never be far from you. He will want blood, and he will have it."

Vandal gulped, realization dawning on him about the sure danger he would soon face outside the Wyrm's Ruin. "I-I suppose that eliminates the problem concerning our search for him. He'll find us way ahead of us finding him."

"No." The smith offered his advice, "He will send forth his other sons, Vilhemakkar and Skarner, the Ruiner Twins. If you had difficulty facing Laughing Vikkarn, you shall have double of it when facing them. If you should come out victorious, by some slim chance, you will undoubtedly face Idlekkarnhamth himself. I will not hold you to your word of atonement, and I shall understand now if you wish to flee."

"Flee? Oh good smith, I shall not flee." Vandal said, determined to see this through. "None of us will. Though my duty calls for putting a stop to these dragon attacks, I shall also work to set you and your brother smiths free."

"I have no brothers." The smith said sadly, "Not anymore. However, I appreciate your generosity. When you return...or rather, if you return, my forge will serve you in your cause. If not...well, let's just say that this visit was a welcome change to this hell."

"Any more advice you'd like to impart before we leave?"

The giant looked to the puppets watching the exchange and referred to their crude, irregular and imperfect forms that were the result of the chains impairing his dexterity. He had made many of them in the time he spent alone in that bastion, once using them as his instruments to gain his freedom. Failure after failure, due to their relatively fragile constitution, the marionettes served better as his eyes and ears rather than outright weapons. "Be wary. You were not the first to attempt to free me from this fate."

"Gods willing, we will succeed where they've failed." Vandal said his farewell and led the army back the way they came.

Left alone, the smith took some pieces from the baskets offered up to him and began creating another marionette. Try as he might, he could not make them as perfectly as he used to. With a heavy sigh, the smith breathed despair into the puppet, filling it with life. It stared up mutely at its maker as he set it upon its feet, "Triumphant pride precipitates a dizzying fall."


The witchers arrived at the outskirts of Cintra before nightfall.

Cautiously, they entered the gates of the capital city, hoping to avoid the scrutinizing eyes of the guardsmen as they passed into the streets. Thankfully, it seemed to be a busy day, and the two were able to slip past without any trouble. The festive mood of the cityfolk had long passed after the celebrations over the crown's victory against the undead scourge in Cintra became yesterday's news. Everyone was focusing on rebuilding what was lost, or just simply survive the aftermath.

Together, Geralt and Eskel made their way to the more prominent district of the city, where the white-haired witcher hoped to find Vandal.

As they approached the front gate, Geralt found that the guardsmen had been doubled since he last visited the estate. Tammen and Ran recognized the witcher when he threw back his cowl as they saw the familiar ashen hair and the cat eyes that glared beneath a permanently furrowed brow.

"Master Witcher! You've returned!" Tammen greeted.

"Yeah, had to eventually." Geralt replied gruffly as he dismounted, quickly getting to the point of his visit. "Is Vandal around?"

"No, I'm afraid not." The guardsman said with a shake of the head, "He's gone, along with a significant force of warriors bound for the south, towards the Amell Pass."

"The Amell Pass? What for?"

"You really haven't heard? The baron took up the king's task of eliminating the dragon threat and restore order to our southern borders. They've been gone for almost a week now."

"So he's hunting dragons on ahead without me, damn it." Geralt muttered.

Eskel noted his friend's displeasure and suggested a solution, "If you're thinking on following him, it's at least two days ride from here to the Amell Pass- if we ride nonstop."

"Yeah, let's make a quick stop for supplies then we'll head out immediately." The white-haired witcher agreed.

"Hey, let's grab a pint or two while we're at it. I'm parched."

After leaving the front gate of the estate to venture through the maze of winding streets and dead-end alleyways, the witchers sought out the cheapest tavern they could find as well as a general supplies store in the market district. They purchased the usual ingredients to mix for their potions, their oils and their poisons, as well as the best food and drink their combined purse could buy for the journey ahead.

After stocking up well for their soon departure, the witchers wasted no time in packing up and making a speedy headway for the gates of the capital. As they emerged into the marketplace square, they found a large crowd gathering around a frail looking gapped-toothed old man adorned in the weathered scarlet robes of an Eternal Fire disciple.

He carried a staff where a small lantern that held a half-spent candle burning within its cage, which squeaked like a trapped mouse every time the demagogue's hand trembled. But although he looked frail on the outside, the voice that came from the mouth cloaked with untrimmed hairs was the voice of a well composed orator. He prognosticated publicly of the coming of the end, the arrival of a great evil far worse than that of the undead tide rising against their borders.

He couldn't have been wrong, but the way he twisted the facts were not all right either. "The darkness closes in! But there is hope, hope in the light of the Eternal Flame! It beckons, promises warmth in the coldest night that is sure to come upon us! The arm of flesh will fail, but faith alone is more than enough to see us through! Repent, and give yourselves to the Eternal Flame!"

Geralt grimaced in disgust, finding it appalling that people would even listen to the babbling old fool.

"Talks all about faith, repentance and hope today." Eskel said, "Tomorrow, he'll be talking about vindication, hate and scorn for the monstrous."

"Seen it all happen before, haven't we?" The white-haired witcher acknowledged, tugging at Roach's reins as they pushed their way through the crowd of addle-brained sheep. They've never been more eager to leave than they were right then, and as soon as they exited the gates, they rode hard for the south.

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