The Unwanted

-Tretegor, Redania-

The two companions followed the paved road through the fields and meadows. The sun had already sunk from its highest peak and although a few clouds blocked the rays, it was a beautiful day. The tall grass was waving in the breeze and in the distance they could see the banners of the city waving on the walls and towers. A great number of peasants worked the fields, inspecting the grain that grew outside the city walls and small groups of guards patrolled the roads. As the two passed them, they could hear the guards whisper and since he had heightened senses, he could hear every word.

"Witchers…. Two of 'em."

"What are they doing here?"

But others were far less surprised, and far more disgusted.

"Mutants and freaks."

"Careful, Bran. One wrong move and they'll curse ye… and ye family."

"Hmpf, they wouldn't dare. Freaks that are worse than the monsters they slay."

"Shut it, Bran! If he hears us… I've heard that one of 'em slew half a village and dragged the Ealdorman's corpse to his wife, and then killed her as well. Don't anger 'em… I prefer to live."

Beram smiled when he heard the accusations. He did not know if they were true, but he knew the story was not about him. He walked next to Falka, who rode her horse at a calm pace. The two of them had decided to work together for a time after they collected the rewards for the Fiend. Now, they travelled the roads together, and neared the city of Tretegor, one of the largest cities, and capital, of Redania. With its high walls, strong towers and large army it was a bastion that commanded respect.

Once king Visimir had his throne there, and ruled as a just king over Redania… but ever since his death, the war with Nilfgaard and the death of Visimir's son Radovid, the city had lost much of its former greatness. The current ruler, Dalimira, daughter of Visimir, was now by right the city's princess. Many of the nobles and the council however did not think a woman could be a proper ruler, but she had ignored them and took the throne. She had no intention of making Redania an independent realm however, as she knew she could not defeat Nilfgaard, and was now content in keeping the land as a vassal-state.

"Halt! State your business…."

The guard stopped talking as soon as he saw the twin swords on Beram's back and stepped aside. His eyes were wide open as the huge witcher passed him.

Beram was used to this. Almost everyone was intimidated by him and stared at him as he passed. He learned not to care, but every time he felt himself smile. He found out it is better to be feared by the common folk.

After a while they reached the middle of the city and found themselves in a huge town square. Merchants, beggars, herbalists and others haggled over prices or begged for a crown.

"Mind if I check if there is work here?" Beram asked.

"No… good idea." Falka answered. "I will buy some food and see if there isn't a place in a tavern."

Beram left Falka to buy food and he looked around to find a notice board anywhere. There was one in the middle of the square, and he made his way through the crowd and started reading the notices.

Most of them were nothing. People asking for favours, warnings to citizens not to break any laws, a man threatening his brother, a few lonely women desperately searching for a husband and other notices. One of them however caught Beram's eye.

Witcher Needed. Monster in the Slums

Let it be known that a generous reward will be awarded to anyone willing to hunt down, and kill a dangerous, yet unknown monster that kills innocents in the slums in the east part of our glorious city. Not much is known about this beast, yet information will be provided to the one taking on this contract.

Contact Imir, Governor of the Eastern Slums.

Long live our Princess

Beram ripped the note from the board and read it another two times.

"Hmm… might be worth looking into."

He later re-joined Falka in the Eagle's Tavern where she had rent a room for the night. The room was not very spacious, yet it had two beds, a small tub and a table with two chairs. After they closed the door, Beram gave her the notice, and he saw her emerald-green eyes flash over the parchment.

"Might be worth looking into." she said. "If the pay is good enough."

"Hmm… I'm not sure what to expect here concernin' the pay. Many a 'governor' tried to pay less than he promised."

"Ha… would you even let them?"

"… no…"

"As I thought. Anyway…. It is growing late." Falka pointed out and she yawned. "We should look into this tomorrow."

-The Next Day-

The governor of the eastern area of the city was surprised to see them when the two witchers entered his quarters. His mansion was larger than any house nearby, as this part of the city was inhabited by the lower classes and many beggars. The man himself did not look like he was poorer than a noble, as his clothing was made with silk and gold threading and his moustache was thick and full. His deep eyes looked at Beram and Falka in suspicion when the guard announced them.

"Two witchers? Since when do you lot travel in pairs?"

"Twice the strength, half the risk." Beram said plainly.

"We're here about the contract." Falka said and stepped forward. "What can you tell us about this monster."

"Hardly anything, yet you should not ask me these things. Only the lowest of the people get attacked, and I am surely not one of them."

The man's voice was posh, and he seemed to wrinkle his nose when he talked about the people.

"No-one of importance has died, so I would not be bothered by this. But since my subjects keep harassing me with it, I thought 'so be it'…. But enough of that. I take it you will accept the job?"

"Depends on what you offer us in return." Beram said. "The notice did not mention the size of the reward, and neither of us works for free. So… what did you have in mind?"

"I am no beggar, so you can assume that I can afford your services. I shall be generous in- "

"How much?" Beram interrupted him. "I need a sum. 'Generosity' is a matter of perspective, and we don't know what we're up against. We need to find it, search for it, make inquiries…. And that will drive up the costs."

The man was clearly about to lecture Beram on how to address a man of his station, but he was deterred by the sight of the grim look in his eyes, and sighed. "I will pay fifty crowns-"

"Eighty." Falka said sharply.

"Fifty-five"

"Seventy, or you can wait for another witcher to show."

"…. Fine… but not a copper more."

After they had agreed on the price, both Beram and Falka went to work. They asked where to find the bodies, and while Beram inspected them, Falka asked around about the victims. Beram entered a small, poorly furnished house where a fresh corpse lay on a bed. Beside it a man sat weeping. He held the hand of the dead woman and softly sobbed her name.

"Who are you? Get out of here!." he said as soon as he saw Beram walk in, but he recoiled when he saw that he was not even half as large as the witcher.

"Easy, sir." Beram said. "I am sorry, but I am here about the monster that prowls this area."

"Oh, so the governor finally took us seriously?" the man asked hysterically. "It took him too long! Now my Ellia is dead… she is dead…."

Beram looked as the man fell to his knees again beside the dead woman. "She was your wife?... I am sorry."

The man shook only his head and could not say a word.

"I know this will be difficult for you… but I have to examine her body."

"Whatever for? It is too late anyways."

"I need to examine how she died… know what has killed her… so I can make sure no-one else dies the same way."

The man said nothing, but slowly nodded and moved away so Beram could examine the body. He kneeled beside her and looked closely, gently opening her eyes and mouth or shifting a piece of clothing.

"Pale skin…. Looks like she lost a lot of blood…. blood on the bed, and she was not killed somewhere else…. Possibly drained….. eyes rolled over… she was heavily weakened when she was attacked…. Also no wounds or scratches on her hands or arms… didn't defend herself….. hmmm, there are no fang marks around her neck…. Suggests this was no vampire…. But there are large bite marks on her chest and throat, strange."

When he looked more closely and examined the woman's abdomen he noticed that her entire belly was a bit swollen.

"Swollen belly?... Was your wife pregnant?" he asked the man.

The man nodded. "Yes…. She… she was."

"Hmmm….. did you notice anything strange about her in the last few days or weeks? Anything at all?"

"Well… she hadn't been feeling well of late." The man's cheeks were wet with his tears. "I thought it was only a flu, but…. She said something about nightmares… and then she couldn't get out of bed….."

"May I ask when she died?"

"The night before yesterday. I… I couldn't sleep so I went out for an hour… maybe two. It was dark… but when I came back… I saw her…. on the bed, and…."

"Did you see or hear anything that night?"

The man shook his head and closed his eyes.

"I see…. Thank you… and I am truly sorry for your loss." Beram said and he left the house, knowing he saw all there was to see, yet he was puzzled by it. The draining of the blood suggests a vampire, but something did not add up, although he did not know what. All he could hope for now was that Falka had more luck.

It turned out she did.

"I asked around." she said. "In the last few weeks, there were four victims, and all of them were women. They did not live right next to each other, but there was one thing that linked all of them."
"What was it then?"

"All of the women were pregnant when they died. I'm not sure what this means, but it makes for a sad story."

"True enough. I examined the body of the most recent victim. Young woman, also pregnant. Her body was drained of blood, and it seemed she had felt weakened before she died. She did not fight back the night she died."

"Hmmm…" Falka scratched her head. "We can rule out any specters, and the beast must be quiet enough to wander the night without anyone noticing."

"So it sneaks into houses, and feeds of women only… preferably when-…"

Beram stopped and stared into nothing for a few moments, and then he cursed.

"Shit!"

"What is it?"

"When was the first attack?" he asked quickly.

"About twenty days ago, why you ask?"

"How about any women that were pregnant before the attacks?"

"An old woman said there were two. Lea, and Thali. But what are you thinking?"

"I'll tell you later. We just need to confirm one last thing. Did the old woman say anything else about these two women? Any problems with their pregnancy?"

"Yes, she said that Thali's story was a sad one, but she did not explain why."

"Dammit! Then we need to see her now."

Thali lived in a small house near the outer wall. The door hung ajar in its hinges, and there was only one room, with a small, place that could be called a hearth. She herself was dressed in dirty rags for clothes, and she was barefoot. She seemed young, in her late twenties and in her eyes there was a youthful strength. Her brown hair and eyes made her look pretty, despite her poor appearance. She was just as tall as Falka, and when she saw the two approach, she stared at Beram.

"Are you Thali?" Falka asked, and the woman nodded.

"W-what can I help you with?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions." Beram said. "We are hunting the monster that prowls these streets, and we think you might be able to help us."

"… You're witchers, no? Well, I don't know what help I can be, but ask away."

"These questions may be harsh, but…. You were pregnant a while ago… weren't you?"

Thali opened and closed her mouth in shock. "H-how do you know." And they saw a painful memory in her eyes.

"Did something happen during that time?" Beram asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. "Anything that-"

But Falka stopped him, because Thali's eyes had become wet with tears. "Forgive him… he means well. But we have to know…. What happened? We know something went wrong… but we need to know what…. Please…"

Thali fell on her bed and Beram could see tears crawling from her eyes, and he already had his answer.

"I was pregnant…. But I am not married. People called me… awful things. They hated me…. and when the child finally came… there was no-one that helped me. I was always hungry, but I had no food… and in the end… The child…. It did not live."

Beram cursed silently, and Falka knew it too. The monster that was prowling the slums… was a Botchling.

Outside Beram and Falka talked. They knew what they had to fight, yet neither of them knew where they could find it. She noticed that he was both angry and frustrated by the news that they had to fight a Botchling.

"Why are you so angry about this?" she asked him calmly.

"Because they are children, dammit." Beram said louder than he wanted. "I mean… a vampire I can kill with a clear conscience…. Muire d'yaeblen? No problem… Forktails? I'm on my way… but a Botchling is a different story. They come from unborn children who are, most of the time, unwanted anyway. Forgotten, removed without even a proper burial… discarded and thrown away like a piece of trash. And, if that was not enough, they are now a monster that feed on women heavy with child… draining their strength, causing both the mother and the child to die."

He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I don't hate them… I just pity them and I hate the ones that made them into this."

Falka looked at him, and she had never seen a reaction like this coming from a witcher. Most of them were reserved, calm and cool-headed. But Beram was none of these, as he was now frustrated, even angry, and he made no effort to hide it. She looked at him in suspicion, having the feeling he did not tell her everything.

"I have the feeling that there is more to it than just that."

"Maybe…" he answered. "But now is not the time. We first need to get rid of it."

His tone was resolute, and Falka saw that he did not want to talk about it, and so she dropped it and nodded. "I know of two ways. We can just kill it, or we can transform it-.."

".. into a Lubberkin, I know." Beram finished her sentence. "I prefer we just kill it and be done with it…. But we should first find out where the child was buried."

Beram refused to go back inside and ask the woman where the child was buried.

"You go in… I will ask around a bit."

And so, Falka went inside alone, but Thali refused to say anything until they told her what they would do.

"What will you do to my child? Tell me."

"One of two things." Falka explained. "Either we try to transform it into a Lubberkin, which is a sort of hob, a guardian spirit that watches over your house. Or… we kill it, and burn the body. Neither method is easy, and to transform it we need you, or the father of the child. Speaking of which… who is the father?"

"Why do you need me?" Thali asked, and she avoided the answer.

"If we decide to transform it, we need you to carry the child to the threshold of the family home. We cannot carry it, or it will go rabid and try to kill us. Only a parent can keep it calm, and even then it is not guaranteed it will work. It can still get angry and kill you…. But before we can do anything, we need to know where it is buried."

Thali covered her face with her hands to hide her tears, and Falka saw her pain. To lose her child before it was even born must have been harrowing.

Eventually Thali told Falka where she buried the child, but she refused to comw with her. It was not far, in a small nook against the wall. Falka examined the area, and found a small area where it looked like someone did some digging. She waited, because she knew she wouldn't be able do anything while the Botchling lay dormant, and she thought it to be wise to wait for Beram to take on the creature together.

He arrived a while later, and when he saw the area where the child had been buried, he cursed again.

"For the love of Frea, they don't even try do they?"

"I know, I know." Falka said. "But desperate women do desperate things. And I think we should prepare, because I doubt we can turn it into a Lubberkin."

"Why's that?"

"Because it has been prowling the area for a while now. I think it is strong enough to attack, and the mother is too weak and scared to come with us."

"Great…. In that case I'll tell the people here to block their windows and doors and to stay inside."

As Beram was about to walk away, Falka called after him. "Did you found out anything else?"

"Yes, but I'll tell you later."

Night slowly fell, and the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. All was quiet and there was not a living soul near the two Witchers. They waited near the grave of the child and Beram had his eyes closed and meditated. His breath was almost unnoticeable. Falka sat next to him and also faced the grave. She had no mutations, and thus she always felt a slight rush of adrenaline before a fight. Now she felt how her heart was beating in her breast, but her breath was calm. Like the calm before a storm.

They heard something. Their eyes opened and all their senses were on edge. A slight digging noise game from the grave. Beram did not move, and did not grab his silver sword, but Falka stood up, ready to do what needed to be done.

The ground moved, and from the grave, they saw a small hand appear. It was a child's hand, yet it was now veiny and blue, with blackened fingernails. It's chubby arm that followed was just as blue, like a bloated corpse. Another arm appeared and then the head came. Bloated and blue, with large, black eyes. A mouth filled with sharp teeth, and the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. The body looked like it had just started decaying, and the disgusting smell that came from it was enough to make even Rotfiends jealous. It crawled from its grave, not two feet long, and it gurgled unsettling.

It looked at the two Witchers, and a low, gurgling cry came from it, and it stretched one hand out to Falka. But she was not fooled by this. She knew that only a blood-relative could hold a Botchling and have a change to live. She stepped backwards and grabbed her sword, and Beram did the same.

The little creature crawled a bit further, before it stopped. It now saw how the two Witchers looked at it, with weapons drawn, and it closed its eyes.

Suddenly it changed. Its limbs grew rapidly and its body stretched out until it had grown larger than Falka. Its head now looked almost ghoulish, and large claws clawed over the ground. A gurgling roar was heard and then, without warning, it lunged at Falka.

The fight was fierce and fast. The Botchling, who now was almost as tall as even Beram, lunged and clawed and gnawed and growled at the duo. It was faster than a Ghoul, and stronger than a Rotfiend. Its black eyes were empty and terrifying to almost everyone. But neither Falka or Beram was afraid, and their swords shimmered and shone in the pale light of the moon.

The Botchling was strong, but the two were stronger, and when it jumped on top of Falka, pushing her to the ground, Beram rammed his sword through its gut. The creature roared and gurgled, but managed to jump away. It clawed at Beram, but his heavy Ursine armour was able to deflect the blow. Beram ripped a pole from the ground and broke it, creating a makeshift spear. It was then that the Botchling knew it could not win the fight, and it tried to flee, but Beram threw the spear after it, and impaled its spine. The creature fell and roared, clawing at everything that was near it. And Falka jumped on it, and drove her sword through its head, and with a last unsettling sound, it died.

Neither Falka or Beram was wounded, except for a few scratches. Falka's abdomen were covered with black blood, and so were Beram's hands. Their swords had served them well, and they cleaned them before the cut the head of the creature. As Falka called her horse, Beram dragged the body away, before covering it with hay and burning it with a shot of Igni.

It was late, yet they left for the Governor's mansion. There a guard showed them in, yet he was repulsed by the stench that came from the head of the Botchling. Beram carried it in a sack so others wouldn't see it, yet the stench was still there.

They were escorted to the governor's quarters, where the man was finishing paperwork.

"Witchers." he said, and it was clear he was not happy to see them. "I trust the job is done?"

"It is." Falka answered. "We held up our end, now it's your turn."

"Hmpf…. You witchers are so unrefined." and the man covered his nose. "But very well. What was the monster?"

Before Falka could answer, Beram pulled the head of the Botchling from the sack and threw it in front of the man. The man recoiled immediately, and Beram's voice was strong.

"You don't recognize it?" he asked.

"How in the world should I recognize a monster like this?" the man asked hysterical, clearly disgusted by the sight of the head that lay in front of him.

"Because this is your child!"

Falka looked shocked at Beram and even the governor forgot his posh attitude.

"You see… I asked around a bit." Beram said, and Falka could hear his voice tremble with anger. "You apparently visited Thali a number of times in the last two years, always at night. You thought you were discreet, but people heard."

The man now had an expression of fear on his face as he knew what the huge witcher accused him of.

"People still remember her screams and her pleading. Yet you threatened her if she told anyone. And when she told you she was pregnant, you refused to hear it. Need I go on?"

"How dare you accuse me of this?" the man said. "I am a respectable noble who-…"

"Your own guards confirm it. You raped her several times, and threatened anyone who would dare to speak up against it."

"Enough!" the governor said. "Take your damn gold and leave. Do not return to this city!"

A guard handed a large coin pouch to Falka, but he could not look at her. Beram said nothing else and turned around and left the room.

"Take this filthy thing with you!" the man shouted, but Falka ignored him too, and left.

Outside Falka mounted her horse and Beram walked beside her and they both refused to stay another night in the city. She saw how Beram's anger was still fresh in him, and only when they had left the city, did she asked him.

"How did you know?"

"As I said, I asked around." Beram said, and his voice was calmer. "I broke an arm to get a guard to talk, and the townsfolk were afraid to talk, but eventually they did."

"They knew? They knew what this man did to one of their own? Then why did they refuse to help her?"

"Because that is what people do." Beram said. "When their own hides are at stake, they refuse to so much as lift a finger. They will talk about how they are family to all, and 'you don't abandon your friends', but when it comes to it, any and all will choose for himself."

"It sounds like you have experienced this more than once." Falka said.

Beram grumbled under his breath. "…True…"

"Can you tell me about it?"

Beram hesitated. He remembered more from his past than most witchers, and most memories were not happy.

"In the village where I was born, we were close. All knew each other, and we visited each other often, almost like we were a large family. Yet when one day a number of bandits came by we all hid. We did not stand together, but we all ran away. I was alone with my mother, and we hid in the bushes, but others saw us flee there. They shouted at the bandits that we were hidden there, and said that they will tell them where everyone was, in exchange for their own freedom. Then, when the rest of the village was captured, everyone started revealing where others had hidden their valuables. Then more said how the other boys were stronger than their own boys… In short, everyone tried saved their own hide, instead of standing together. I saw how the entire village was plundered, the women raped, the elders killed, and the men butchered. Any girl that was old enough suffered the same fate as their mothers…. All because people would rather save themselves than try to help others."

Falka listened to him and could imagine the horror Beram had experienced as a child, since she had experienced much as well. She could hear the bitterness in his voice, and wondered what else made Beram into who he is today. But he refused to talk about it anymore, yet Falka presumed there was much more to tell.

Saying a Btochling's ugly is like saying shit's not particularly tasty. Can't say it's a lie, but it doesn't exactly convey the whole truth either. - Lambert, witcher of the Wolf School.

Botchlings are perhaps the most repulsive creatures a witcher will ever have the displeasure of meeting, Born of dead, unwanted babies, discarded without a proper burial, their appearance is that of a partially-decayed fetus, their deformed flesh twisted with hate, fear and malice. These hideous creatures feed on the blood of pregnant women, driven by a mad hunger that most often leads to their victim's death.

A Botchling will emerge from its lair at night to lurk by the bedside of an expectant mother, draining her strength and that of her unborn progeny as she sleeps. A woman thus beleaguered first suffers from troubling dreams, then fever, delirium and a general weakening of the flesh After a few such nights she is enfeebled and unable to defend herself- it is then the Botchling attacks directly, singing its long sharp fangs into her body and drinking her blood until mother an fetus perish together.

A Botchling stands around a foot and a half in height, but when threatened and if gorged with blood, it can change form. At such times it grows into a deformed man, hunched over and striding, ape-like on its forearms. Stronger and fiercer after this alteration, it hurls itself into direct, physical combat, gnashing at its opponent or attacking him with sharp claws.

A Botchling's curse can be lifted by transforming it into a Lubberkin- a guardian spirit of the hearth that watches over the family it never knew in the house it could never call home.

-End of Chapter-

-Author's Notes-

And that is Chapter two for ya. It took a while, but I've been busy with too much other stuff. Sorry for the delay.

I received a bunch of questions about the previous chapter, and although I cannot answer them all, here's a few:

I thought Ciri has a Cat-medallion?: True, very true, and I completely missed it or forgot about it. I was playing the Witcher 3 after I read that and I suddenly noticed it. I do apologize for missing it, and I will correct it in future chapters. My bad :)

Why is Ciri using the alias 'Falka' for her safety?: This will be explained later.

Concerning witcher emotions: This is a matter of huge debate, as the people claim witchers have no emotions, and some witchers believe it as well. I guess most witchers just don't show it openly, and some take more to it than others. But Beram shows it openly, more than others. Why will be explained later.

When does the Story take place?: Chapter 1, in the notes, it says this takes place after the events of Witcher 3. Is Geralt now hanging around in Toussaint, or in bed with his lover? You be the judge of that.

Also; if there are any mistakes concerning the Lore of Tretegor, sorry for that. I tried to look it up, but i couldn't find a whole lot of info on it.

PS: I am Dutch (from the Netherlands) so if there are any mistakes in spelling/grammer, please let me know.