Geralt dredged the murky grey of his stew with the wooden spoon and brought a large chunk of lamb to his lips. Despite all appearances, the stew had proved edible. It was however, needlessly hot; which was more than he could say about his damp clothes.
Yet another drowner contract had pulled him to the coast of the Great Sea, and somehow every battle with the fish-like monsters left him soaked as he returned yet again to a local tavern drenched in the salty water. Not that Geralt had minded much. Nilfgaard had proven unbearably warm to the Nordling. He could almost say he was comfortable as the water evaporated off his skin.
It was a different story for his equipment. After the second time, the witcher had learned to leave his less-water-resistant equipment with Roach who had been more than happy to stay high and dry, away from the fighting.
The hefty barkeep topped his beer and sauntered off to attend to his other customers. Geralt's confused gaze followed the man in response to the attentive service.
Geralt was used to being ignored or to hostility or weak gratitude that was often forgotten as soon as he was out of sight. The strange welcome or indifference he now found in nearly every nearby town - large and small - struck him as odd. It wasn't as if the people were suffering for want of a witcher; the lack of decent contracts made that apparent.
He popped a piece of tender carrot into his mouth and took another swig of the bitter golden liquid, still half expecting a scowl or the odd glare from at least one of the other patrons sharing the hazy building. But he didn't receive a single one.
"This seat taken?"
Geralt looked up from his stew to inspect the hooded stranger. The elf was tall, with sharp features typical of his race. A heavy woolen cloak that would have made Geralt melt under the southern heat hung from his thin shoulders. "Not at all, though I'm hardly good company." The witcher mumbled around another spoonful of stew.
"Oh, I doubt that's true." The elf slid into the well-worn bench opposite the witcher and propped his wooden staff against the wall. Its gnarled head knocked against the window's frame, startling a sparrow from its roost in the dusty rafters.
"Mmn." Geralt shrugged and returned his attentions to the bowl in front of him, ignoring the loud guffaw from an intoxicated patron behind him.
Signaling the barkeep, the elf ordered a drink for himself. "Not many can say they met the famed Geralt of Rivia…" The elf mentioned casually as he watched the barkeep duck behind the bar to fetch a clean mug.
Geralt swallowed a mouthful of beer. "That so?" He sensed no animosity from the elf, yet there was something … off, like a nervous tick in the back of his mind.
A mug of cider was set between them on the roughhewn tabletop and the elf dragged it towards his person. "The hospitality here is strange, don't you think?" The elf murmured before tentatively tasting his cider. It seemed to satisfy whatever expectations he had of it as he took another sip. "Or maybe I'm just too used to the misguided assumptions of the North."
"I can imagine." It wasn't until recently that non-humans were no longer persecuted in the streets of the Northern provinces, and even then relations were shaky.
"You seem mistaken. I was talking about how people seem to treat you…"
"Ah. Guess I haven't noticed." Geralt said nonchalantly as he munched on what happened to have been a leek despite its brown coloring.
"Nothing? I'd have guessed these people are nearly beside themselves. The renowned white-haired witcher, and I might add, a fellow Nordling, having had rescued their Empress from the Wild Hunt. I've heard rumor that she's been giving the nobles a thing or two to think about already…"
The witcher eyed the elf, immediately deciding to move the topic away from Ciri. "For a Nordling, you're handling the heat well." Geralt pointed at the elf's cloak with the end of his spoon.
The elf brushed off of fleck of potato from his grey clad shoulder. "I've had it enchanted. It keeps me at a comfortable temperature regardless of the weather."
"Convenient." The witcher dropped the spoon in the now empty bowl with a clatter and pushed it to the edge of table for the barkeep to take away.
"Yes, well I imagine it's better than wading in sea water to cool off. It can't be good for your leathers." The elf steepled his fingers over his mug. Several polished silver rings adorned his long slender fingers and Geralt's medallion trembled ever so slightly in their proximity.
"It isn't, but not many of us can afford such luxuries." Geralt gave a lazy gesture to the elf's cloak again and sipped at his beer. Depending on where the conversation goes he may have to abandon the brew. A damn shame. It was rather good. He took another gulp.
"Indeed… How are you to earning some coin?"
Geralt raised an eyebrow. "You have a contract for me? Most folk just post something on the notice board, and hope I get around to looking at it."
"Yes, well. My want of you- your skill is of a more discrete nature than the usual."
The elf's slip of the tongue was… interesting. Dangerous, but interesting. "Sadly, I have no need of coin at the moment." It was a small lie, as Geralt was somehow always short of coin, but the nagging feeling he had felt earlier just wouldn't go away.
Tension filled the space they occupied, hanging heavy around the pair. The elf swirled the contents of his nearly full mug as if contemplating something in its depths. "You are a surprisingly hard man to track…"
Geralt's wolf pendant rattled harder against its chain as the elf swished a finger. The few patrons the single-storied tavern had attracted sat up and left, all suddenly apprehensive about something. A particularly eager man nearly tripped over his own feet to get out of the building first. Neat trick, the witcher mused. "I generally don't expect to be followed, so excuse me for not leaving out any breadcrumbs…"
The humor seemed to be completely lost on the elf as a predatory expression twisted his thin lips.
The witcher stood, leaving the last few swigs of his drink despite himself.
The elf noticed Geralt's anxiousness and reached into his cloak. "Let me get your tab…" He dropped a hefty pouch on the table, filled with enough florens to buy the bar twice over. "It's a pity, but I did have the coin to pay you. My associates had been certain that you would come willingly for the right amount."
The baffled barkeeper's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and a shared look was exchanged between elf and man. The barkeep balked, but he quickly gathered his wits, and the pouch in a meaty hand, before making for the backdoor. In the man's hast an indignant yelp was heard, presumably from the child that had been peering in earlier as the witcher no longer saw the dark-haired boy.
A voice erupted in the witcher's head no longer urging him to run but commanding. He aptly ignored it. Geralt's hand went for his blade, as the elf grabbed his staff. "Witcher, I hope you are as good as they say you are."
Before the witcher had the chance to draw his steel, he was hit in the chest with a wall of air. The force blew him clear of the bench he had been using and into the table set out behind him. His legs clipped the table's edge and it tumbled with him, his head slamming hard into the packed earth. Despite casting Quen in the brief moments earlier, his vision flashed white.
In a fluid movement, the witcher stretched a hand behind his head to touch the ground, using it for support to simultaneously draw his blade and somersault backwards to his feet. He stood, gaining a small nod of approval from the elf.
Geralt readied himself for the next attack. In dealing with a mage, he couldn't risk getting careless.
The elf sent out another wave with a motion of his hand. The blast scattering dishes and tankards as it traveled towards the witcher. The witcher countered it with Aard. Kinetic energies collided, smashing nearby bottles and splintering wood. Geralt didn't bother to wipe the away the droplets of cherry cordial that had splashed on him as he rapidly closed the distance between himself and the elf.
The witcher swung his sword. The elf parried the blow with his staff, the wood hissing as the Dazhbog runes on Geralt's sword scorched the wooden surface. Fueled by adrenaline, Geralt pressed his attack. He struck again and again, forcing the elf back.
Tired of defending against the witcher's relentless attacks, the elf stamped his heel into the ground. The earth shook and braided roots shot up between them.
Not wanting to get caught up in the tangled mass of wood, the witcher backed up.
Tendrils weaved through the air, slamming down where Geralt had been moments earlier. An unbroken bottle wobbled away from Geralt's step, its alcoholic contents sloshing up its sides. The witcher grabbed the bottle as he rolled away from another wooden tendril.
With a well-aimed lob, the bottle smashed, drenching the wood. Fire erupted from the witcher's palm as his fingers formed the Igni sign. The flames devoured the alcohol, quickly turning towards the wood beneath. The tendrils flailed as the main bulk shrieked and quivered against the consuming heat. Geralt dodged a flaming root as it ploughed through the wall beside him.
He had misjudged how fast the flames would spread from enchanted roots to the dry wooden tavern. Embers floated through the smoky air, and the witcher knew the building would not last much longer. Smoke stung his sensitive senses as he searched for an exit. He coughed involuntarily, his body demanding fresh air, and soon. Geralt had yet to see the elf emerge from the burning mass of writhing roots. He dashed towards an open window.
"Where do you think you're going?" The elf's voice was strangely calm as it rang out over the fire's roar.
The witcher had only a breath of clean air before something tangled around his ankle and dragged him back into the inferno. As his body smacked into the floor, Geralt moved his sword to hack at the burning root. He cleaved it in another two strokes and fought off the additional roots that swarmed his person in its place.
The smoke cleared as the elf approached, allowing the witcher to observe that the elf had remained virtually untouched. The only indication that the flames had bothered him was shown in how the elf regarded the black soot that clung to his cloak.
The lingering smoke clouded Geralt's vision as he pulled himself to his feet. Sweat ran down his back, and strands of white hair clung to the perspiration on his face. He was beyond hot now, and the longer he stayed in the building burning down around him, the worse it was going to get.
He watched the elf move closer. The elf's rowan staff tapping the ground in time with his steps. A board fell from the roof sending up a cloud of ash and sparks. The elf regarded it with disdain and stamped his staff twice against the earth. His rings glowed faintly as icy spirals snaked out from the staff's base freezing everything they touched.
The fire died around them with a squeal and a pop as everything besides the witcher and elf was encased in a crystalline cold. At least I don't need to worry about the heat anymore, Geralt thought with a grimace. By now it was clear that this was no ordinary sorcerer. The rings obviously boosted the elf's innate magic ability, but so many grand scale spells in quick succession would have been difficult for a group of mages, let alone one.
Geralt shook off the ice that had crept up the burned leather of his boots. The last thing he wanted was for his feet to freeze in place. The witcher held his steel sword out in front, and despite the recent exertions his two-handed hold was steady.
The elf prepared for another spell, as Geralt readied abused muscles. A magpie landing on a blackened window drew the elf's notice. The witcher cast the bird only a moment's glance before something inside Geralt spurred him towards his distracted opponent.
All it took was a look in his direction. "Time's up." The elf whispered. A wall of kinetic energy struck the witcher and launched him backwards through the weakened wall of the tavern. Ice and wood snapped and the roof came crashing down, trapping him under a pile of burnt out debris.
Screams from bystanders hurt the witcher's ears as he strained against the weight holding him down. Geralt had only managed to move a small section before the elf was upon him again. The witcher slashed out with his freed arm, catching the clasp holding the elf's cloak. The enchanted fabric fluttered to the ground, taking the elf's smirk with it. But before Geralt could lash out at the elf again, the witcher's sword was knocked from his fingers with a sharp smack. The blade clattered to the cracked earth as the elf's foot ground the witcher's arm into the dirt.
"Is this the warrior you chose Cregennan?" The words were in Elder Speech, but Geralt seemed to be able to understand them as clearly as if the elf was speaking Common tongue. "Is this the man you hoped would save you from us?" The thing inside him seemed to squirm uncomfortably at the elf's words, but the witcher merely glowered. "No… you merely wanted his form. To once more have flesh…" Roots erupted from the ground replacing the elf's foot as they wrapped around the witcher's arm. The elf bent down and plucked the glove from Geralt's pinned arm, revealing the bangle Triss had placed there.
Geralt clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to will the strength into his arm to rip it free from its bindings. The roots strained under his efforts, but ultimately remained intact.
"Then let me grant that desire…" The elf grasped the bangle in his slender hands, and tore it from the witcher's wrist. Clay beads clattered to the earth as pain bloomed in Geralt's hand. Black bands wound up his arm, and for once a look of concern crossed the elf's features before twisting into one of anger. The magpie squawked loudly as it landed atop the elf's staff.
The witcher winced and grunted, trying everything he could to not reveal how much agony he was truly in. But despite his pain, there was another feeling he recognized. Geralt remembered the feeling of possession all too clearly. He fought against the invading soul whilst his physical body writhed in unimaginable torment. Amid it all, a voice reached out to him. "Witcher… Witcher, please… you must trust me… let me in…" The voice begged. "We… we don't have… much… time…"
A portal opened behind the witcher's head. Where it led to, only the elf knew the answer. "Please, Witcher…" More roots sprang up around him and started pulling the wreckage free, only to replace what was removed with more of the wooden bindings. Dammit. Geralt thought. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. He couldn't fight on two fronts, and the pain was making it hard to focus even if he could. In a pride-wrenching decision, the witcher relented.
Cregennan felt the witcher relinquish control of his body. The pain was as unbearable as he remembered it to be, but he had to act quickly. If Skj'aera wanted to bring them through the portal the elf would first have to remove the bindings. It would be in that moment that Cregennan would act.
The roots slackened, and Cregennan jumped at his opportunity. Pushing past the agony he willed the witcher's body forwards and yanked the remnants of the bangle from Skj'aera grasp. Never stopping for a moment, Cregennan turned to the portal and bent his fingers. For the first time the witcher cast a spell more complex than any of his signs and altered the portal's destination. Skj'aera howled and made a motion with his staff, but Cregannan knew that regardless of the injuries the witcher had sustained, the witcher's movements were still faster.
He launched himself at the portal and disappeared through it, leaving the elf roaring with frustration as the portal shut between them.
XxxxX
Cregennan crashed into the table that appeared beneath him, and it shattered under the impact. The air rushed from his lungs and he almost dropped the bangle. Not his most graceful of landings, but he had gotten away. It would take some time for Skj'aera to discover where the redirected portal had sent them. Even Cregennan didn't know for sure, as it had ultimately been the witcher who had made the decision where they would end up. All Cregennan knew - and cared about - was that it was safe.
The pain had lessened somewhat, but he also found it more difficult to focus, the witcher fighting him once more for control. "Not… yet. Not yet…" Cregennan wheezed. He clutched the bangle to his wrist and squeezed. It had been as Skj'aera had said, though the witcher's body was not the salvation Cregennan had hoped it to be. The spell he cast to transform it into his own flesh would kill the both of them if he left it as things were. He didn't have the ability nor the strength anymore to stop the transformation on his own. Fortunately, the witcher was not completely without magic. Although Cregennan didn't have access to his full power without his own form, his true form, the body he currently occupied did have access to fundamentals. In combination with the bangle's remaining magic, it would have to do.
Fire flowed from his palm, igniting the runes etched into the clay beads. He grunted as the heat seared into the witcher's flesh. Cregennan felt consciousness slipping from his grasp as the magic began working. "Just a little more…" His hand wavered as the semi-circle of runes finished burning into the witcher's wrist. The runes glowed once more before fading into red scars. He smiled as his work completed and his hand and control slipped away.
