Iorveth knew he'd inevitably run into evidence of the ongoing war on his hunt for old magically potent ruins and coin, namely the vast battlefields filled with decaying corpses and naturally Necrophages which were thriving exceptionally well in times like these.
Usually a war meant good coin for the vatt'ghern, their services needed more than usual with the dangerous scavengers getting bold in their feeding frenzy and attacked the living more frequently than they usually would.
But these times were insanity. Witchers were being killed off by the Eternal Fire fanatics in their purge against anything and everything even remotely non-human, and their passion being more than enough to stir the same kind of bloodlust and craziness in the peasants.
Be it as it may, it wasn't only the Witchers profiting from these times and Iorveth intended to use the situation to his advantage, given the villagers didn't stone him as soon as he is in sight.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. The old elf was certainly used to it, but still. The thick, stale summer air was knocked up with the stench of putrid meat and it made him feel more than a little nauseous, one couldn't get used to this stench. Not in this concentration.
His horse didn't seem to approve either, its ragged ears twitched nervously, the scarred nostrils blown and eyes wide with warring turmoil of its own. Still the experienced mare carried him safely on its back, never once shying away.
He had followed the way he had carefully marked the map, connecting towns and small cities with points of power which all lead to his top destination for now. ... Camelot... Iorveth shook his head. Ciri must've been mistaken. It was impossible. Still, as long as it was enough to fuel Geralt's fucking sword he wouldn't reject the idea of going there... Whatever it turned out to be in the end.
The elf was on his way to one of the countless villages strewn over the lands, more settlements than even villages in most cases, and the next one was no exception. He didn't even bother to memorize the name, why would he? He'd be miles gone again in the next two or three days.
Not much later, with the searing sun well past its zenith, he could see the circling vultures and the stench became even more intense. Iorveth wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes for a mere second, steeling himself against the things he'd see now just as he always did when facing a battlefield.
With a new feeling of indifference he decided to steer his horse towards the decaying field of corpses. Normally his way would have lead him past the battlefield and straight to the settlement, but he wanted to see what he had to deal with.
Coming to a halt on a soft hill he leaned on the gullet of the saddle, his eye wandering over the scene of violence and death laid out in front of him.
The elf's eye halted at the Nilfgaardian banners for a moment, fondly remembering the time he had fought under that same banner for the Vrihedd brigade, screaming 'For the Iron Wolf!' with abandon. It had been times like these were he had really felt he could change something.
His eye traveled further and made out a small pack of Ghouls in the shadows of the far trees, not really daring to step into the sun just yet. Iorveth tried to pinpoint from where the beasts might come, and tried to see if he could discover entrances into small caves and the like from his position. Truth be told he couldn't make out much but assumed that they would come from the forest side.
Though a couple of them apparently felt really bold or hungry and The Carrion Kings, (A title which the locals had so graciously bestowed upon them) did their job well, ripping into the bloated corpses that littered the valley like so much refuse, stuffing handfuls of fetid meat into their eager maws, and cracking open bones to get at the sweet marrow within. If left to their gruesome task in just a few short months there would be nothing in the field but bits of powdered bones, and some gear that'd fetch a good price from the merchants.
But villagers rarely thought so practically, and as a result had began posting notices everywhere under the sun for a Witcher to rid them of the wretched noblemen of the battlefield... unfortunately all they got was him. Bloede commoners should treat their Witchers better, if they don't want to deal with things like me he thought bitterly, as he eyed his quarry through the spyglass, from the relative safety of the horseback on the far edge of the battlefield, far from any corpses that would attract the so called Carrion Kings.
Sporadically he laid out traps in front of his inner eye, contemplating where they would be most effective and from where he would strike.
It took him about fifteen minutes to have a vague idea of what he'd hopefully do the following day and steered his horse back on the path.
Iorveth reached the settlement at sunset, summertime definitely being an advantage here. It looked like all dh'oine breeding-hotspots seemed to look, if he was asked he really couldn't tell the difference from the village he'd been in a few days ago. Or the one before that.
It gave him a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, his days and weeks blurring into each other than they already usually did due to his lifespan.
Shaking his head he sighed and let his horse walk right up to the village square where children eyed him curiously or pointed at him and giggled "Knife-Ear!" Iorveth bit his lip, berating himself that they only mimicked the pitiful behavior of their elders. Still it was always torture to stay in a dh'oine village.
Suddenly 'Kill The Elf' seemed to be their new favorite game and the unlucky lass who was appointed to be the elf was chased through the streets by a mob of screaming weddii.
The elders weren't any better, but more subtle in their display of repulsion and distrust. They frowned, sneered and whispered, deliberately going out of his way but never once taking their eyes off him.
Apparently no one felt bold enough to really cross the armed elf who was well known from the bounty posters and the gruesome stories which were told of the Scoia'tael leader.
It was the eldest of the settlement who first spoke to him when Iorveth made his way over to the small notice board in front of their local tavern.
"What is yer buisness 'ere, elf? I'm sure ye notice when you're unwelcome... I suggest that ye move on. We have no use for yer kind here nor want to waste our liquor on a damned Scotatel." The bearded man grumbled, his stance showing his hostility and weariness.
Iorveth cringed noticeably when the dh'oine perverse the word and took a deep breath to calm himself.
"I'm seeing you have a Ghoul problem here, and I intended to offer my services... in exchange for coin. I won't linger for too long, I assure you. Just want to do the work, collect my pay and then be on my way." He said with an audible strain in his voice as he tried to reign in his hot blood and hatred. It would be of no use for him here.
The chief's thick brows furrowed and he looked the elf over critically. "Ye a Witcher now or what? Never 'eard of bloody knife-ears bein' Witchers. Think ye can play me for a sucker, elf?"
Iorveth bit his tongue and looked away for a second.
Stop killing your bloede witchers bloede fool, then maybe you won't have to rely on scum like me he had wanted to growl, give the vatt'gherne the proper treatment and they might just be willing to make a few return trips to your sodding miserable village on a regular basis to take care of any problems you do have! bloede sodden dh'oine.
Instead of saying any of that however, his eye bored into the chief's yet again. "Look, I only want to make some coin, and be on my way. I will bring you the heads of your 'kings' and then you can see for yourself. Deal?" Iorveth swallowed his pride and extended his palm, a gesture that obviously surprised the village's eldest.
Eyeing it suspiciously he looked once again into the elf's moss green eye, obviously thinking. Then, with a sigh he took the offered hand shook on it to the surprise of Iorveth and the peasants. Murmured protests were spoken but they eventually died down.
The villagers were eager to rid themselves of the ghouls, and if they had to rely on an elf to do it... well sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.
Iorveth casually noted with a small amount of glee, that the girl who'd been designated as Elf, had managed to get the upper hand somehow, and now all the others were on the ground crying.
Iorveth nodded at the local tavern, "Am I allowed to settle at the inn?" With a grunt the chief nodded and waved him off but not without receiving another glance from the elf that promised murder if he didn't stand true to his promise.
Tying his horse to a post he entered the Inn and was shown his 'room' for his stay. Which was a small niche laid out with hay and covered by some old pelts.
Iorveth gritted his teeth and punched the wall hard once, the pain in his knuckles distracting him from the anger that was about to bubble up.
'Better than sleeping in beds heavy with their stench.' He told himself and sat down on the makeshift bed.
Pulling his bag with weapon oils and ingredients onto his lap he began to prepare himself for the upcoming Necrophage hunt.
The elf recalled Geralt's words when it came to brewing the right oils and now was grateful for it. His own knowledge was considerable of course, but not as extensive as that of the vatt'ghern.
By the time midnight rolled around he was stocked up on Necrophage Oil with his special little silver dust enhancement along with some Grapeshot -and Dancing Star bombs and three Conflagration traps. A bait he wouldn't need.. He'd be the bait. In a sea of decaying bodies and thusly enough food only a living humanoid would attract their interest in their frenzy.
Once satisfied that all were ready for the task ahead of him, he clipped a few useful items to a leather bandolier he threw over his chest and slipped the oils along with a few potions into designated loops on his belt.
The rest was neatly wrapped up into his pack again ready to go in the morn. He certainly wouldn't be leaving any of his stuff here, for any of the villagers to poke, pry or pocket.
Feeling as prepared as he could be, he packed his pipe full of krathom and settled in for the night.
He awoke early in the morning, and stepped out to assess the quality of the day. It was a mild summer day, with a mild bit of wind, and it wasn't too hot yet. he enjoyed the gentle breeze that caressed his face and was grateful for the sun not to have risen to its full power yet.
Iorveth mounted his loyal horse and set off into the direction of the battlefield, absentmindedly touching the wolf pendant. Was he some sort of vatt'ghern now? Could he really see himself as one? It was an amusing thought and it did not fail to draw a faint smile on the stern curves of his lips.
It did not take him long to arrive at the battlefield which would be stage for his hunt.
Iorveth had a lot of experience dealing with monsters of all shapes and sizes, and he had known even before his encounter with the vatt'ghern that if you didn't have a good silver blade at hand to deal with them, then the essences of particular plants and animals could be used instead as a reasonable substitute, and Geralt had been kind enough expand upon that knowledge, and gave him recipes to improve the effectiveness of his concoctions, as well as adding a few extra he hadn't known about.
Iorveth cast his gaze to the steadily rising sun. It would be noon soon, the perfect time to strike given how sunlight weakened most necrophage species.
He fingered a vial of oil from his rucksack and eyed the contents carefully, wanting to be sure that it was the right one.
Sliding from the back of his horse he kneeled down, unsheathed his sword and pulled his arrows our of his quiver.
With practised ease he began coating the blade and the arrowheads with the sticky and thick substance, making sure not to have missed a single arrow.
Sheathing his sword and ammo he got up and drew his bow instead, an arrow loosely against the bowstring just in case.
Carefully the elf stepped onto the battlefield, careful outmaneuvering the countless bloated and decaying corpses which was no easy feat.
He slowly neared the treeline where he knew the Necrophage are hiding, impatiently waiting for the night.
Strategically he placed the traps he brought, always looking up from his work to see if one of the wretched beasts got too close, but he was lucky. The sun was on his side in this matter.
Having placed the last trap he reached for his belt and took out one of the vials which slipped easily into his palm.
A little surprise for his hungry friends, something that will hopefully lure them out of their lairs and bring them a little closer to him.
Taking his spyglass from his belt he scanned the trees for the Ghouls and their lairs, eventually finding what he looked for he gripped the vial a little tighter and aimed.
The first clue the ghouls had that something strange was occurring in their rancid world, was when a small glass vial landed in their midst and shattered on the trunk of the tree, just above where their dens were located. A sapient mind would have been suspicious of this, particularly when faint gases arose from the contents of the broken vial and brought a highly attractive scent to their nostrils. And especially when a second such vial soon smashed into the tree right beside the first to fill the air with even more the mysterious essence.
But ghouls had never been accused of being sapient... or even particularly sentient for that matter and instead, once the scent found its way into their nostrils, they flocked to the source to breath it deep into what passed for their lungs. The scent flooded their senses until there was nothing BUT the scent for them in the universe and they shook, shuddered and groaned.
Iorveth laughed under his breath when the repulsive creatures slowly crawled forth, their heads held high into the air, sniffing it apparently and looking for the source of what must be the most exquisite scent to them.
Unhooking the first Grapeshot bomb he carefully aimed once again and threw with all strength once the Necrophage ventured forth far enough.
The Ghouls were so preoccupied with the ravenous hunger the scent soon produced in them, that they didn't even notice the third item to fall into their midst. A single circular object, with a fuse fizzling away happily. Cocking their heads they grunted and groaned, the little sparks distracting them momentarily and that is when the bomb exploded and sent burning shrapnel deep into their slick flesh.
The four of them having been closest to the bomb were in flames, two of them dead not long after. A sort of panic broke out among the remaining Ghouls who couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
Iorveth grinned at the stupidity of the monsters, his smile widenning as a couple wondered straight into the traps he'd lain down, and were torn to shreds by the bombs within.
That's when the six remaining ones seemed to have noticed him. They roared in fury and ran towards him in a breakneck speed and Iorveth could only smile.
Drawing the string of his bow back behind his ear with ease he took aim shortly and then fired off the first arrow, two more following shortly after.
The arrows plunged into the hearts of the montstrosities mid-run, the force of it knocking them down onto their backs. The oils covering the arrows quickly spread throughout their systems, and they flailed madly at the ground, as the silver & herbs coursed throughout their systems and burned their veins to ash.
The three remaining Ghouls left their brethren behind, murder in their disgusting beady eyes. Letting his bow fall to the ground the elf pulled his sword and took a defensive stance. And waited patiently for the beasts to come to him.
With a roar the first beast charged catapulted itself into the air with its maws gaped wide open.
Iorveth fell to one knee and held his blade out in one hand, edge carefully angled to the side and let the fiend fall directly onto his sword.
The creature's own momentum did the majority of the work for him, driving the blade through its own body, the tip exploding through its back, and the edge cutting forward through the beast, sliding neatly in between its ribs, and spilling its intestines forward.
Still it wasn't enough though, so he pivoted forward twisting about so that he was now facing the beast's back which he gave a good shove with his free hand, the extra force bringing his blade on through the creature's body, and nearly cleaving it in two.
The two remaining monsters circled him slowly, as if waiting for something. He decided to make the first move this time and lunged forward with a lightning fast movement, the tip of his sword piercing the Ghoul's throat right through the middle, and he was pleased to feel the slight resistance, and then give as his blade severed its spinal column.
Tearing his blade free Iorveth spun around and managed to bring his blade about just in time, to sever the clawed hand that had been reaching for him.
The remaining beast screeched in pain & outrage and slunk back a ways, backing off, now quite certain that it did not want any part of this devil that had wiped out the rest of its pack.
Iorveth twirled the blade in his hand casually, and the creature flinched. He smiled, teeth glinting in the sunlight, appearing as cool and confident as a tiger. Though in actuallity it was taking everything he had not groan as his bones cried out in outrage at the exertion he was putting them through.
Still the beast didn't need to know that.
Iorveth advanced on the lone ghoul. The Ghoul on the otherhand continued to back away, and Iorveth's smile widened as it did so. Just another few steps...
Abruptly the ghoul turned and began scrambling away... directly into Iorveth's final trap.
The resulting explosion was a beauty to behold... at least until the ghoul's bits fell, splattering him with its gore.
Iorveth cursed under his breath, but he couldn't supress a grin of satisfaction at the carnage he'd wrought.
Not as fulfilling as killing bigotted humans, but still fairly satisfying nonetheless.
Wiping the sweat and stinking dark blood from his brow, he set to work carving the monsters' heads from their bodies. A repulsing task, but one needed to be done so he could collect his pay.
Collecting them in a dirty potato sack he just made his way to the last remaining two. So preoccupied was he with collecting the heads that he didn't notice the earth shifting slightly in the wake of something formidable until it was already far too late.
"Fuck!" he yelled, as searing pain lanced up his leg and he looked down to see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back into his own, strong jaws holding his leg in a vice-like grip.
Dropping the sack Iorveth already prepared to stab whatever attacked him but then the monster bristled and twisted and turned, all without releasing its death-hold on the elf who fell back on back with a yell.
He barely had time to gather his wits when the beast exploded from the ground and landed atop him, its stinking body pinning him to the ground. Iorveth recognized the thing for what it was, a bloede Alghoul.
The beasts strength was tremendous and it shoved him into the ground, its claws digging deep into his chest, tearing through his armor as if it were tissue paper.
Iorveth's chest burned as its claws dug furrows into his flesh, and the monster's considerable weight forced the air from his lungs. Iorveth could feel his ribs creaking and he fought the urge to pass out from the pain and oxygen deprivation.
The alghoul just stared down at him, beady eyes squinting, and seeming to sway just a little atop him and he wondered what the hell it was taking its time for,.
That's when he saw the light glinting in its eyes and he realized that the medallion had been exposed, and was now reflecting the sunlight the creature hated so much directly into its face.
He suddenly recalled a legend of how sunlight reflected off silver could have an incredibly detrimental effect on a conjunction creature, particularly if shone in the eyes.
Bloede thing is stunned. He thought even as he clawed at the dagger at his side.
The Alghoul seemed to be breaking free from its trance, and was slowly raising one claw overhead, and the bloede thing's leg had his dagger pinned.
That left only one option.
Iorveth tore medallion free from his neck and slapped it against the creature's chest.
Blue-white fire exploded from where the medallion touched the creature, yet Iorveth didn't feel a creature sure did though.
The alghoul shrieked in agony and fell back, clutching at itself and wailing as the flames overtook its body.
It wouldn't be long before the alghoul succumbed to the flames, but Iorveth wasn't in the mood watch the creature continue to flail about and suffer however. He simply stood, retrieved his fallen blade and severed the fiend's head from its body, same as all the others.
Sitting next to the dead & roasting Alghoul he caught his breath, eying the beast for bit...blasted critter had almost gotten him.
Iorveth fingered the medallion in his grasp. It was completely unmarked, as was his hand. He hadn't even felt the flames. Were it not for Gwynbleidd's keepsake... Iorveth shook his head and stood. He'd faced death in the face, and spat in its eye far too many times at this point to get freaked out by it now, and besides he had a job to complete.
Iorveth took a few steps forward, and had to fight the urge to vomit as pain wracked his body from his various injuries.
Perhaps it would be best to see to my injuries first however. He thought dryly to himself, and did his best to limp over and around the field of corpses and over to where he'd left his pack of supplies.
Observing the wounds on his chest and especially the bite on his calf he knew he had to pull out the big bolts for this task. The bloede thing's saliva was so chock full of bacteria, it was practically poison, he needed to cleanse the wounds it had inflicted thoroughly.
Rummaging in his knapsack he found a bottle of Pepperwodka and a clean rag, enough to sterilize the wounds provisionally. Additionally he downed a potion born of wheatgrass, mistletoe, and burdock root that would help keep his blood clean and fight off any infection, plus rubbing an herbal salve into the injuries before tearing the cloth in two and wrapping it around his calf and practiaclly scraped the claw marks on his chest clean.
It would have to do for now, later he'd need to tend to them properly. If nothing else helped he'd need to burn them out, though he'd rather not do that, his empty socket started to ache with the memory of seared flesh.
Afterwards he limped back to his horse who didn't seem thrilled about the stinking wet sack of Necrophage heads he carried.
Patting the mare's neck soothingly he tied the sack of monster heads to the saddle and climbed onto her back albeit little clumsily due to his injuries.
"Believe me I'm not thrilled about it either, Tirth." Iorveth sighed and nudged her flanks gently, his horse bringing him swiftly back to the village.
It was obvious that the peasants have not counted on his return and few bothered to hide their idiotic surprised faces as he rode through their midst, their children trailing behind his horse but soon running off when the stink from now a little slimy gunnysack became too much.
Their games seemed to change topics soon and the lass that had been chased previously now proudly chased the other children who slobbered and ran away on all fours occasionally, giving a rather convincing impression of the Carrion Kings.
Iorveth smiled to himself and shook his head softly when he halted his mount to let the screaming pack pass the road.
He'd never get used to the dh'oine brood, as gullible as their elders if not more, yet it surprised him to see how they could be so devoid of prejudices and in his heart he felt the hope that things can still change maybe. Change in the generations to come.
Not a minute later he huffed and grabbed the reigns tighter, scolding himself for his foolishness. "There have been countless generations before them, nothing has changed. Why would it change in the future?" He scolded himself and was relieved when he finally spotted the chief.
The elf gritted his teeth when he climbed off his horse, not wanting to show how much his injuries pained him, the one on his calf in particular was smarting in the most uncomfortable way.
To his credit nothing showed except for a lightly furrowed brow when his feet hit the ground. Breathing a sigh of relief Iorveth faced the eldest and unhooked the sack from the saddle, glad to finally get rid of it.
"I see you returned, elf. I want to be honest with ye, I did not expect it. But I also can't say that I'm not glad to see ye back with the trophies. I hope we can finally work on the fields again now without being in danger of th' blasted Ghouls."
Iorveth allowed himself a smirk and dropped the sack in front of the chief's feet who nudged it open with his walking stick.
"They won't bother you, at least for a while. With the war and the battlefields one can never be sure, nor careful enough." He said calmly and crossed his arms.
The eldest seemed satisfied and nodded lightly. "ye earned yer hundred an fifty crowns elf, I won't deny ye that."
Iorveth shook his head reached into the sack, pulling the alghoul's head forth. "More than that old man. Certainly you know an Alghoul's worth?"
The old man sucked in a breath. "Melitile's balls!" he swore. One thing Iorveth had to give the D'hoinne fore sure, was their creativity in the art of swearing, and their ability to put unsavory images in one's mind.
Iorveth was quite grateful when the elder drew on his pipe, and let out a cloud of smoke which tickled Iorveth's nostrils and drew him away from a rather unsettling vision of a hermaphroditic & nude Melitile.
The Elder seemed to be pondering the matter rather more intensely than Iorveth would have liked. "We really can't spare much more in the way of coin mister," he murmured, and Iorveth's ears twitched as he fought to keep his temper in check. The chief of course noticed and held up his hands in placation, "but that don't mean we can't repay you, we can I swear... just not in coin."
Taking a step back Iorveth nodded, indicating for the man to make his offer. He seemed relieved at that and smiled faintly, having been sure for a moment that something horrible would happen... He couldn't quite shake his uneasyiness around the elf. He'd seen many kinds of people over the years, and he'd gotten pretty good at assessing them.
He knew that the elf before him was not one to be trifled with.
Snapping his fingers at a woman and waving he over he murmured something to her. The girl didn't seem happy but she obliged and scurried off into one of the buildings.
It was obvious that the elf was beginning to lose his patience but before he could say anything however the girl returned with a large bundle in her arms.
"While as I said our coin is low, we've had a remarkably good harvest. About the only good thing to happen since the damned war started, so here's my offer. Four loafs of fresh potato bread, three pounds of wheatgrass, and ten pounds of dried apricots, that sound good to you mister?"
Iorveth looked over the poffered supplies, seeing for himself of the quality of the goods.
He couldn't deny that it was best quality food he'd set eyes on in quite some time, and he really could use the supplies.
"I accept." The elf said mildly and they shook hands shortly.
Loading the goods onto his horse and stashing the coin away in his pouch he mounted the mare with a barely visible wince and nodded at the chief, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd.
"Safe travels, elf." The chief said politely and Iorveth nodded his thanks. "Va faill." he said and steered his horse out of the village.
"Oh, one more thing traveler. Ye might want to get erself looked over by the priestesses of Melitele over in Ellander! You look like you could use the treatment"
For a second disbelief was readable in Iorveth features before he schooled them into a faint smile. "Thanks for the advice. I will consider it."
With that, he made his way out of the village in a light gallop, eager the D'hoinne and their words behind along with the turmoil they stirred up within him. How they seemed to shake and rattle beliefs he had been sure were true and a constant in his life.
Particularly he thought of how the children had gazed at him as he rode past... more than a few had, held admiring looks on their faces. Not to mention he was pretty sure the lass who'd beaten the boys up had, had a set of false ears on.
Iorveth was still pondering whether or not the weddin with elf ears was insulting or not, when he saw the Black Ones.
He saw them from afar, on a path that would cross his own. Black armor, dark banners adorned with a flaming sun, a small battalion of Nilfgaardian warriors.
And while that didn't exactly unsettle him, a single, special sight did it instead.
His sharp eye focused on a single person on a proud stallion, countless insignia adorning his expensive leather coat, the golden, thick ceremonial chain around his neck catching the sun.
Iorveth did not even notice that his horse had come to a halt, its head straining against the tight, violent grip he suddenly had on its reigns.
Morvran Voorhis. Overseer of the Vrihedd brigade, elven division of the fourth cavalry army of the Nilfgaardian Empire back at the Battle of Brenna. Iorveth had been an officer, and so had been Isengrim who had led their brigade as Colonel. All of the other officers dead, executed... Save for him and Isengrim himself. The both of them had managed to flee... though not without scars to remind them of the betrayal.
The hate that bubbled up in his stomach creeped up to his lungs, crushing them in their hold and making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. And with the hate came the rage, his vision blurring, becoming obscured by darkness till all he could see was the damned piece of shit who'd betrayed & mutilated him and his comrades. A thousand memories of injustice, and pain flashed violently before his mind's eye/
He wanted to rip him off his horse, throw him into the dirt where he belongs and then just stomp on his face until it was a bloody pulp of flesh and bone.
Controlled by his violent fantasies and the voices in his head that screamed revenge and murder he urged his horse on, forcing it to trot towards the small battalion despite the warnings of his voice of reason which screamed at him from the back of his head, cried for him to get a grip on himself before it was too late.
But that was one voice he couldn't hear. All he could hear, and all he could see were the mountains of elven dead who shrieked at him to take vengeance.
And he would have, would have crossed their way and ripped the son of bitch apart if it wasn't for the medallion against his chest ripping him out of his violent haze.
The thing grew hot against his chest and began to vibrate violently, as if a thousand ghouls were about to come down on him this very moment. Iorveth cursed and pulled it out from under his tunic.
Holding it out at arm's length he saw the silver wolf's head straining in the direction of a point of power. And it strained away from the Nilfgaardians.
The elf cursed violently and turned the horse to the side. His heart thumped in his chest, and still he burned to taste his vengeance... but the pain of the hot medallion had brought his mind back to him.
He hadn't cooled down in the slightest, but he knew that attempting to go after Voorhis would have been suicide, absolutely pointless with almost zero chance of success, yet still he wanted it so badly, stab him, strangle him, ANYTHING! Anything at all to make the disgusting dh'oine suffer like he had.
Iorveth shook his head, tried his best to keep the memories at bay. "Turn around ye fool! Your brethren scream for revenge. Its your duty to bring them peace, to die for them now where you have chose to flee before!" "No.." He murmured, trying his best to mute the voices and purge his mind of all images.
The elf almost fell off his horse once he reached the small ruin, apparently peaceful much to his luck. though he would have relished the chance to vent his fury on a monster or bandit right about now. Rummaging in his pack with shaking hands and labored breath he pulled out the shattered blade in its leather wrapping and went to the point where the medallion felt hottest and was vibrating the most violently.
With a sigh he fell to his knees and put the blade on an overgrown ashlar, carefully pulling the soft leathers apart to unveil the broken remnants within. Oddly enough the sight of the ancient sword calmed him, the pieces clinking together and producing a near musical hum that... soothed the jagged edges in his mind.
It was a piece of art, from the hilt to the tip and even in its destroyed state it felt powerful. The elf reached out, his gloved fingers gently caressing the dragonhead-shaped pommel of the blade. Set in the eyes of the dragon's head were sapphires of a blue so dark they were nearly black, and gazing at it he couldn't help but think of Saskia and his more or less unrequited love, couldn't help but wonder about how she was faring and with her his people in Upper Aedirn. But these thoughts were idle and would do him little good good.
Iorveth's hand came to a rest upon on the runes of the blade his thumb upon the deep red crystal in the middle of the crossguard which was said to be the crystalized blood of the Lady Of The Lake herself. While his free hand took up the medallion and held it close to his heart.
Iorveth did as Geralt had instructed him, using the techniques for meditation, while focusing his energies upon the items in his grasp. Closing his eye, evening out his breaths, and even slowing his heart as he attuned his body, mind, and very soul to the magic wildly flowing around him, the medallion which acted as a conduit together with his body and the once mighty blade Aerondight. But like this his mind was weak, vulnerable and he had no choice but to succumb to the violence in his head.
(four years ago, at Brenna)
It was the day before the great battle. Anticipation and tension hung heavy over the camp like a thick woolen blanket in the midst of summer and Iorveth was sure he could could almost taste it on his tongue.
He has already had his fair share of battles, he knew how to handle the tension and the doubts, but others weren't as experienced, most of those dh'oine. He couldn't blame them, their short life span must make it difficult he figured. Turning around he found Lieutenant Voorhis pondering over the large board that showed a detailed map of the battlegrounds, small figures being placed where their armies would strike and which formations to take. Voorhis had been assigned to supervise their battalion, to make sure the orders and interests of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis were carried out with the utmost loyalty.
That didn't sit well with their Colonel Isengrim Faoiltiarna of course, but there was nothing they could do about it. The price for disobedience were just too grave. Iorveth's gaze fell on the General's hands which pushed around a horse figure symbolizing a cavalry battalion, as if not sure were to place it to gain maximum effect. With a mild smile the elf approached the dh'oine and put his fist against his heart with a curt bow, showing respect were it was due.
"May I help with that, Sir?" He asked politely, pointing at the figure in th human's hand who didn't seemed thrilled about being offered help but he nodded. "If you think you can solve the problem, then of course. Be my guest." Voorhis hauteur was no secret and so the elf took no offense as he stepped up next to the dh'oine and began discussing the matters with him.
...
Defeat, sellout, treachery. They had fought, side by side. Together they were victorious... Just to be sold out to the Northern Kingdoms for 'crimes' that shouldn't matter anymore. Not after what had been endured together. No protection from Nilfgaard, none from the thrice-cursed Findabair whore!
They will pay! He swore.
And so he ran, his loungs rattling and burning, but he ran ran ran through the sullied forest, ran for his life. Several of his ribs, broken along with his arm. His body littered with cuts, deep purple bruises and black scorch marks. He could barely breathe through his broken nose which was nearly completely swollen shut, his frantic panting through his mouth making him feel light headed together with the blood loss.
But he had to endure, had to get away from Brenna, far away if he wanted to live. And indeed he did wish to live, but more than anything else he wanted revenge and a chance give the dh'oine filth what they all deserved.
He didn't expect that he would get his chance so soon, or that he would to run smack Morvran Voorhis himself.
Voorhis! he roared inwardly, as he gazed across the bridge that would lead him beyond this wretched valley.
Not a word did the Nilfgaardian officer utter when his brethren were wheeled off the be executed! He didn't look even mildly distressed about it. Iorveth stomach rebelled when he thought about how he had offered the man his help just two days ago, and more besides!
"Ffycin madra!" (fucking dog) He screamed and charged
...
If it weren't for his infernal rage he would have already blacked out, but the destructive fire within him allowed him to continue swinging his blade against the considerably less injured Voorhis. "Submit, elf! You have no chance to win this." The calm of the dh'oine's voice angered the elf only more and he roared savagely, his vision red with the bloodlust he felt.
Forgotten was his finesse, instead his strikes were brutal, bundling all the strength he had left in his swings. "I'll rip you apart, traitor!" He screamed, his voice raw. Voorhis seemed unphased by that and danced out of the way of yet another powerful blow. "I? A traitor? Hardly. You on the other hand..."
Iorveth feinted a strike at his legs but pirouetted into the other direction which gave his limp broken arm enough to momentum to strike right into smug face of that bastard. Freely he screamed out his pain, gained strength from it and managed to slash his opponents arm. Though, he has not seen the attack that was coming in turn. Voorhis had chosen the lesser of two evils and endured the gash in his arm so he could deliver a more devastating strike.
Iorveth could see the blade coming, it seemed to near his face in slow motion, but he couldn't move, rooted to the spot. Could see the blood droplets flying off the blade one by one and his gut clenched in horror, preparing for the pain.
The sword cut his face up clean and proper from his lip up to the corner of his eye. A dreadful milisecond passed that seemed to last an eternity... and then Voorhis twisted about, turning the blade so that it went sideways and gouged across Iorveth's naked eye and over the bridge of his nose. Iorveth stumbled to the side, so numb with shock he didn't even feel how his own sword dropped from his suddenly limp fingers to the bloody ground. His vision swam, and for a moment he didn't feel a thing beyond the terrible dread as he slowly but surely came to grips with what had just happened, and then the pain hit. Pain like he had never felt before exploded throughout his world.
Iorveth howled, clutching at the bloody mess that was his face, and stumbling off to the side, barely even feeling it when he hit the balustrade.
His body was close to hyperventilating and Iorveth swayed, stumbling back from his tormentor who pursued him to end his agony. He felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest... and then the feeling of weightlessness overtook him, and darkness dominated his vision.
...
When he awoke some time later, he found himself atop a small mountain of bodies... bodies with pointed ears and staring horrified faces. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, and he wanted to retch, but he lacked the strength even to do that much.
He couldn't even groan with the despair he felt, he was just too tired, too... broken.
The last thing Iorveth saw before he closed his sole remaining eye, was a dark bloody sky, as if the heavens themselves had been cut with the deaths of his people.
(Present)
Iorveth came to with a startled intake of breath as he broke from his meditation. The air around him felt drained and cold, the runes on the blade now glowing with a pale blue light and humming lightly.
He was soaked in cold sweat, his heart pounding violently within his chest.
Sitting back he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried desperately to calm his frantic breathing and heartrate. Oddly enough, just like the air around him he too felt empty, drained of all emotions and utterly exhausted. His scar was aching terribly, but it was an old pain he had grown used to dealing with whenever the old memories came up, and they so often did particularly nowadays.
Methodically the elf wrapped the blade up again and got to his feet with almost mechanic movements, his mare nudging his cheek as if concerned while he stored Aerondight back in his pack. Iorveth patted the horse's muzzle softly and allowed his head to rest against her warm neck for a while and she allowed it, standing perfectly still and allowed the weary elf to seek his comfort against her sparse greying fur.
The time for vengeance would come... but not yet, not when he still had things left to take care of for those who mattered to him that were still among the living.
He climbed atop Tirth's back, looked forward head held high, and urged the old warhorse to venture forth. The sword was a thirsty thing, and the magic of this place was utterly drained, yet it still wasn't enough. The charge would hold for a while, but it needed to be filled to the brink with power so that it could last the trip across the mountains where he knew hotspots were few and far between, where knew he could find someone capable enough to put the blasted thing back together.
As the horse trotted forth, and the vibrations of its movement went through his body, the leg the bloede Alghoul had bitten into began to itch.
Authors Note
The Grinning Psychopath: Yet another chapter completed of Devils of the flowering blood summer, Woohoo! Yowza we are on a hot streak. Music that helped to inspire this chapter...Through the Fire and the Flames by Dragonforce, Monster, and Adelaide by Meg Myers, Ghost Assassin by Veela, and Time to say Goodbye by Jeff Williams and Casey Lee Williams.
AlexanderRavana: I can hardly believe how easily this one came to life. Maybe it was the content that helped, I always like to write about dear ole Vethy's past and this bit surely was dramatic! Hope ya enjoy this peeps.