The Witcher: A Deep Mark

by MorrisB

After saving the world from the White Frost, Ciri was assumed dead by Emhyr and was free to pursue her career as a witcher. Her new lifestyle would not last long; after an encounter with a strange bounty hunter, her powers are suddenly gone and she is captured. Soon, Ciri and all her loved ones become entangled in a conspiracy that may well decide the fate of the northern kingdoms.

3. Chapter 3

The Witcher: A Deep Mark

Chapter 3.

Ciri found herself kneeling a forest, not entirely unlike the one she had been walking through all too recently - and yet, there was no comfort to be found in this familiarity, for she was surrounded by shadow and flame. The ground was drowned in a mixed layer of dried blood and scattered ashes; the trees wept stygian amber, and the soil rotted wherever they dripped. Sulfury smoke circulated about, grotesque humanoid shapes within dancing around Ciri in a frenzy of fire. There was nothing and nobody left to be found around her; nothing beside her, save for her silver sword, Zirael - malformed by heat and pressure, covered in soot blown over it by a malignant, low-swooping gale, like a bubonic plague infected drunkard's vomit.

Still, Ciri felt unthreatened by the chaos around her. There was this unshakable feeling within her that no matter how far and wide this inferno spreads, it will not, cannot reach her. Nor did it. A disquieting confinement to solitude was the worst consequence the ever more lengthily stretching tongues of flame could menace her with. Dismissing the incendiary blight around her, Ciri picked up Zirael, and began to polish the stains off with her gloved hands. It was easier than expected, and, as if the weapon reacted to the empathy of its wielder, the metal readjusted itself; the blade straightened out, the edge renewed. This briefly brought a smile to Ciri's face, before she took notice of how in the crystal clear surface of the blade, there was not one, but two pairs of eyes reflected: hers, a duet of green; and the other wholly black, like those of an animal watching over her curiously.

She lifted her gaze, turning her head around to try and find whatever the other pair of eyes belonged to. Gentle chirping crept into her ears, alluring her to raise her head high and look behind her. She beheld the source: a majestic, mature swallow, perching on the branch of a charred tree behind her. This was a welcome consolation in her loneness. She tried to mimic the swallow's song... but no sound came from her throat, as if gripped and tangled up by a heavy chain. The swallow cast a downwards glimpse, and Ciri saw that it had her eyes. With a sad, disillusioned look within them, the bird sang a last, mournful tune, and flew off towards the sky - that was long engulfed by black clouds, fueled by the wildfire that by now threatened to cover the entire world in its red-black embrace.

Ciri backed away as she finally realized the scale of the catastrophe, falling over as she tripped on something. She felt her head knock against a trunk that blistered to coal; as she rubbed the spot where it hurt, she inadvertently looked up. Bodies were hanging low from the tree, the wind playing a most morbid music through holes in their chests, where the hearts would supposed to have been, rattling their ribs like so many chimes. The bodies, men and women alike, bore faces she never knew, and some that she knew all too well...

Despair descended over her. She forced herself to avert her gaze, crawled away; she looked to her sword, as if hoping to find comfort in its purity. There was none; she shied away after a glance, for her mirror image on the blade was not hers anymore - it had black eyes, like those of a bird.

"Like father, like daughter." - the reflection said.

Ciri would wake screaming.

Next thing she felt as she rose up was the heavy forged iron cuff pressing against her throat, yanking her back. She was gasping for air, raising her hands to pull that damned piece of metal off as much as she could, taking deep breaths. For a while, she couldn't process anything about her surroundings, trying her best to calm down. It was barely early morning, with the Sun's rays barely penetrating the side of the forestial shrubbery and canopy concealing them, and the landscape around her was not where she last was. Gone were the quiet, dead homesteads; she was in some makeshift little camp with a single tent, chained to a tree like some hound.

All too soon, there was a heavy rustling in the tent, and out came his alarmed captor, upjumped and sword drawn in an eyeblink, his fierce gaze darting about, his breathing rapid and anxious. When he confirmed there was no immediate danger, he walked closer to Ciri, clenching and shaking his fist angrily. - "The hell is wrong with you, you daft wench? Trying to kill me with a heart attack?!" - he complained.

For a drawn-out moment, both of them were merely drawing breath, mutually antagonistic gazes fixated on each other. The man shrugged and was about to go back to his sleeping spot, but Ciri spoke out to him: - "We are going to the Hanged Man's Tree, aren't we?"

The man halted in his step as if struck by paralysis, before turning around with a dumbfounded look on his face. - "How did you know?"

"I, uh..." - Ciri herself wasn't exactly sure herself. - "It seems like the place where someone like you would belong!" - she blurted out, folding her arms cheekily.

After a second of silence, the man let out a short chuckle. - "I suppose that's correct." - he appeared to be musing to himself. - "Had a bad sleep? I see you even kicked off the blanket I put on you."

Ciri blinked, only now realizing she has not done anything to do a quick check-up on herself. The blanket the man made mention of - some simple, overworn cotton rag - was indeed at her feet. She tapped her head, which was still dizzy after the concussions the man put him through earlier; she noticed that her forehead was wrapped in a bandage, and that her hair was not caught in the neck cuff anymore. She wiggled around a bit, noticing a strain on her side. She pulled up her shirt, noticing another bandange comforting her lower ribs on the left side. This planted an all too uncomfortable thought in her head. - "Did you..." - she muttered while raising her head, looking the man threateningly in his eyes.

The man planted his sword in the ground and rested on it, leaning forward: - "I put you asleep with a sedative, then checked whether you sustained any serious damage. One of your ribs may be cracked. Made you drink some Swallow and gave you a wrap. I want you alive, so I won't risk you dying of internal haemorrhage or the like."

Ciri slowly, steadily rose to her feet, approaching the man as much as the chain's length allowed her to. - "That is all very considerate for a heartless butcher. But my question remains. Did you...?"

"Did I what?" - the man asked back, eyebrows twitching in annoyance.

"Did you have your way with me?!" - Ciri demanded to know.

The man covered his face with one of his palms, smirking audibly, before throwing his arms wildly about, raising his voice to a yell: - "YES I DID! With two hand-carved wooden arse-plugs! And in 42 different poses! Because that's how gravely perverted I am!" - and he crowned it all with the most ridiculously fake laughter possible, grinning with a wide smile and his eyes stretched so open they could have popped out any second.

Ciri at first wanted to throw a punch, but the man's childish antics made her reconsider it. - "So... you didn't." - she concluded with a relieved huff.

"Of course I didn't!" - her captor declared, placing his hands on his hips. - " What do you take me for? Geesh girl, you have some really messed up preconceptions in your head."

Ciri paced back a few steps, leaning her back against the tree's trunk. - "Let's just say, I have met people who would not have skipped the opportunity. So..." - she bit her lips, trying to dig up her memories of her encounter with the man, fishing for something that she could draw information out of him. She thought of how she was lacking in magic, which previously coursed through her as much like the very blood in her veins. She was guessing that if the man was a manhunter or the like, who took on magic users as well in his job, then the chains the man put on her must have contained some measure of dimeritium; but that did not explain how she became powerless when rushing at him from a distance.

She put that thought aside, as she remembered something more important to her. - "So... I recall you mentioned the White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia. That is who you want. What has he done to earn your ire?"

"A lot." - came the swift answer. - "He's the reason I'm the way I am."

"Ugly, friendless and miserable?" - Ciri posed him the question immodestly. - "Because that's why most people seem to hold a lasting grudge the way I see. You lost to him, or he killed someone you happened to care for, or he indirectly made you an outcast."

"Something like that." - the man nodded, appearently uncaring of the details he was unveiling. - "But my animostity towards him runs much deeper. I am his nemesis, you see. The culmination of every bad decision he has ever made."

Ciri gazed back skeptically. - "If that was true, you'd be a whole lot more imposing. And probably female."

Her kidnapper could barely hold his lips closed as his cheecks puffed up and reddened from the contained laughter. - "Good one." - he admitted. - "You might want to share that during your last upcoming reunion with him."

"So that is your plan." - Ciri stepped forth, confident she has everything figured out. - "You butchered innocent villagers and kidnapped me, his pupil, all just to earn his attention. You're using me, a girl you wrestled to submission, to blackmail him, lure him into a trap at Hanged Man's Tree. You are a despicable coward." - she said, and with that, she spat towards the man's face, but due to the distance, it ended up landing on his right boot instead.

"Smart. Very smart." - the man sounded up, but raised up to fingers, as if counting. - "Except for two details: first, what I did back there, that was a coverup. I was to take you alive, with no witnesses about. Hence I ran the locals out. And this leads to the second detail you are missing: you are not a bait, but a bounty target. If I just plainly wanted to deal with the famous Geralt of Rivia, I'd do that face to face. But I got a contract on you, you see. And I thought: why not tie the two things together, mix fun with profit? It's all too convenient really, as my employers have unfinished business with the White Wolf as well." - Ciri was about to question him anew, when the man waggled his fingers together. - "No, girl, you warrant no premature exposition from me. That would spoil the surprise."

Ciri sunk into her thoughts for a second; someone hired this man to catch her? That was intriguing, and carried worrysome implications. Has someone uncovered her identity? Does this headhunter even know who is she to begin with? That seemed doubtful. - "I've heard enough as is." - she ultimately exclaimed. - "All in all, you are a bounty hunter with a petty grudge, whatever that may be. I'm betting that medallion of yours is a trophy from another witcher, too. You are a worthless shitstain of a person if ever I saw one."

"You don't get to judge me. You kill a lot of things too, missy, and coins don't even seem to interest you. You have to admit, that's disturbing." - the man threw her accusations back in her face. - "After all, we both know who else did that, eh?"

"Well, that was low, even for you." - Ciri hissed, the shameful comparison with that bastard Bonhart stinging her sensitively. - "But at any rate, your plans are doomed to failure. Geralt is smart, strong, and has plenty of friends. He'll take care of whatever you have in store for him. And you, tough guy, it's clear you are getting old and frail, you need your precious naptime. I will find a way to escape. Maybe kill you when you are snoozing. Or strangulate you with this chain the next time you want to tie me up." - she put up a victorious smile, trying to appear to be in control. - "You are not going anywhere far with me unless I decide I want to go with you. Which I don't. So I'm giving you this one chance to say you are sorry, unchain me, give my swords back, and maybe - maybe - I will gratiously decide to let your bony behind intact for just doing what you were paid to do, and simply hand you over to the authorities instead."

Ciri expected the man to angrily lash out at her, try to intimidate, or even outright attack her. But that did not come to pass; the man merely laughed at her, which caused her so far built up confidence to start crumbling. - "Do you seriously think I did not consider that something might befall me underway?" - he questioned her. - "A smart man always takes precautions. You might know where we are headed. But nothing else. You do not know when the meeting is supposed to take place, who else is invited and involved, and if we don't get there together, alive and intact, you never will. I'm betting you don't even know where we are right now, which direction to take. Because rest assured, I'm the type who walks paths less travelled. And if I don't deliver you - well, sad loss for me. But my employers will still be out for the White Wolf's head, and you will learn nothing unless I permit you to. Which I won't."

"I will figure it out! Just you wait!" - she scoffed at him, clenching her tiny fists. - "And don't you dare belittle me. I will make you talk."

"Just like Whoreson Junior did with your doppler friend?" - the man asked.

Ciri fell silent.

Suddenly, anything remotely humanizing and sympathetic was gone from the man's expression. - "Surprised? Don't be. I know precisely who you are. I have studied you. Immersed myself in pursuing you, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. Heiress to the throne of Nilfgaard. Protegee of the School of the Wolf. Vanquisher of the Wild Hunt. Truly, I expected something more impressive during our first encounter. It's so sad you had to disappointed me."

"How..." - Ciri gulped. - "How did you find me?"

"Oh, pretty simple, really." - the man said. - "I just had to figure out where to start looking..."

While Geralt was busy waiting for Zoltan to arrive, Yennefer, Triss Merigold and Keira Metz were meeting in Ewald Borsodi's Auction House, under the pretense that Triss invited them to debate putting up a variety of their aged, outdated magic trinkets on the next upcoming exhibition. Triss was on good terms with Ewald - primarily because he owed his well-being to Geralt, and as such any friend of his was a welcome guest. The fact that she was a an esteemed, prestigious sorceress added all the more to the icing on the cake, and further encouraged Ewald to pull a few strings with the local authorities, claiming client protectorate on the sorceress. The city guard would not let anyone trouble her, especially not the witch hunters. Thus, Triss was able to ensure a most private meeting, arguing to Ewald that she'd be able to persuade her fellows to join in on the auction more easily that way. As additional insurance, she paid him good money and some fancy jewels as a renting price for their assembly in the auction house.

Needless to say, the fact that Triss went to such lengths to get the three of them together and on such short notice meant nothing good. Yennefer and Keira alike suspected something troublesome was afoot, so after some brief pleasantries, and Ewald excusing himself to leave the ladies to their own dealings, they got straight to the point.

"Alright, thank goodness that creep is gone. He's as tiresome as he's rich. And he's very rich, that much I see." - Keira sighed.

"Forget him. We all know this is about much more than an opportunity to dump our old dresses and contraptions upon whatever idiots visit this sort of place." - Yen brushed Keira's complaints aside as she turned to Triss. - "Triss, we can tell that you are uneasy. Indulge us. What is this all about?"

Triss nodded gently. - "You are right, I'm at the edge. How could I not be? What I have to tell you is very urgent. It involves all of us - as in, everyone who has ever been member of the Lodge. All of us could be in grave danger!"

"Oh for the love of...!" - Keira cut in. - "What in the hells did Philippa do again to condemn us?!"

"No, you misunderstand, it's not like- uhh, I don't even know where to begin..." - Triss clasped her head between her palms.

Yennefer put her hands on her shoulders, in friendly but firm manner. - "Merigold, pull yourself together. Take a deep breath and think it over."

Triss complied. A few seconds later, she regained composure, and began her tale. - "Alright. Listen carefully, both of you. About two weeks ago, give or take a few days, I was contacted by Philippa while I was in Kovir, you know, for applying for the advisory position. I was really surprised, since... oh, you two know how it was. Her and Sile's quarrel landed me in Nilfgaardian capture, torture, and now she was dallying with Emhyr? I was not going to keep up pretensions."

"And yet she contacted you still? Some nerve..." - Keira muttered.

"Anyhow" - Triss continued - "She wasn't alone. Fringilla and Margarita were also with her. They were trying to get me to give up information on Ciri's whereabouts, citing politics, future interests, all that usual caveat. I told them off, of course, saying she was dead and gone, and they are very insensitive to try and bother someone so dear lost to us."

"So you mean to tell us that they are looking for Cirilla, probably under Emhyr's orders?" - Yennefer summed it up. - "You are right, that is reason for our concern. If they somehow manage to find traces of her, it is going to implicate all of us in front of Emhyr for covering up her disappearence."

Keira nodded as well in agreement. - "Well, in hindsight of this, I can understand why you are so concerned, Merigold. But I don't think-"

"Wait, you two, wait!" - Triss held up her hands in protest. - "That is not all. That is not all. There is something much worse." - seeing the interrogative glances of her fellows, Triss walked up to one of the cloaked exhibition items, and pulled its cover off. It was her personal megascope, which she have had carried over in secret, concealed as one of the items for the auction. - "I have recorded the exchange with Philippa. But while we talked, something happened. You need to listen to this."

She fiddled around with the megascope's crystals, lenses and whatnot for a good ten minutes until she tuned in the correct settings. The device faithfully projected the captivated, fluid, illusionary images which were lifelike representations of Philippa Eilhart, Fringilla Vigo, and Margarita Laux-Antille. Triss made a quick adjustment to hasten up the recording to skip the unnecessary parts, the voices fading to squeek-like noises as she did. She observed the flow of of projections, then, when she got to the desired point, she undid the acceleration. - "Now, listen very, very carefully!" - she whispered to Yen and Keira.

Philippa's rendition spoke in her usual, gravely unimpressed voice: - "Drop the charade already, Merigold. Cirilla's death is about as believable as the Scoia'tael making lasting peace with Redenia. Theoretically possible, but highly unlikely. Yennefer ignores my summons, and Keira is dangling around with a worthless witcher too, like it's a new fashion or something! But you, Merigold, of all people should know what it feels like to be persecuted. Emhyr var Emreis is losing his mind day by day, and if we do not return Cirilla to him, gods only know what new laws he will set in places for us, magicians! That will include you, whether you like it or not, when Redenia submits to him."

Fringilla stepped forth next, talking in a honeyed tone: "Merigold, dear, be reasonable. You cannot keep this a secret forever. We have proof that there is a female witcheress stalking the north, but cannot piece the trail together. We cannot pin down her magical signatures. But you know her better than any of us. We could use your aid in this matter."

Margarita stepped in lastly, in her ever optimistic cheerfulness: "You could be a great help to all magicians, in the north and south alike, if you just returned her to Nilfgaard, and rewarded in accordance. Maybe become her personal advisor?" - she teased her with the possibilites.

"Don't get too far with that promise-" - Philippa rudely interceptred Margarita's last comment, when suddenly, the images started breaking up. - "What the...?" - Philippa's projection asked in annoyance. - "Merigold, if you are putting a dimeritium bar next to the megascope like last time, I swear...!"

Next moment, the three sorceress' images were all gone. - "What's going on?!" - Margarita asked in surprise. - "Is something wrong with this trinket? I knew I shouldn't have shopped for focus crystals at the discount store-"

Out of the blue, Philippa let out a frightened scream. - "My sight! I'm- I'm blind!"

"Philippa, that's... not exactly new." - Fringilla noted in an uncertain tone.

"Not like that, you fatuous trollop! My magic vision is gone, I'm completely blind!" - Philippa yelled at her. - "Margarita, give me a hand here! Something is not right. I feel ill..."

"Hold on, Philippa." - Margarita said comfortingly. - "Now that you say..." - she paused briefly - "I feel dizzy. Did one of you leave the alchemic boiler running again?"

"Quiet!" - Fringilla said. - "Do you two... hear that? Footsteps! Someone is coming."

Philippa sounded up angrily. - "Coming down? Here?! After us laying two scores of magic traps and a dozen elementals? Impossible! You must be hallucinat-"

She fell silent, as did the other two. Yennefer and Keira sharpened their ears, keen on listening in, until they started to hear the faint sounds of a heavy pair of boots marching across some ancient, cracky stone surface - followed by a most reserved, and unnerving singing by a man:

"For your dolly, Polly, sleep has flown; don't dare let her tremble alone..."

"Is that what I think it is?" - Keira raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"For the witcher, hearless cold, paid in coin of gold; he comes, he'll go, leave naught behind, but heartache and woe..."

Yennefer gulped in suspense. This song was nearly lost to time, and the last time Geralt heard it was supposedly from a higher vampire. Who is this person to recite it?

"Deep, deep woe..."

The sound of steps stopped on the recording, and was followed up by Fringilla's anxious voice. - "Who... who are you? How did you get in here?!"

Mild chuckle was heard. - "Always the same questions, and never the right ones." - the man retorted evasively. - "Ladies, you are some of the most intelligent women in the world. Philippa Eilhart, Fringilla Vigo and Margarita Laux-Antille. Come on, deduce. Is it my presence that you feel?" - he fell silent for a prolonged moment, as if awaiting answers. - "Nay. What you sense is an absence. And that is what your defenses succumbted to as well."

"You think you can intimidate us?!" - Philippa lashed out. - "If you know who we are, then you know the extent of our power and influence. I don't know how you've sneaked and crawled your way across our defenses, but you will perish gruesomely here and... now? What now?!" - she sounded more alarmed than irate at that point. - "My magic... gone!?"

The next few minutes were spent bickering amongst the three sorceresses, complaining of their newfound vulnerability. The man put it into an apt summation: - "You are drained. Deprived of the one thing which made you ladies feel empowered, entitled and special. Well, besides your lovely bosoms, that is. As for how I found you..." - he paced about, each step a hard thump against marble. - "You'd be surprised how many people were willing to help me locate you. Sigismund Dijkstra's surviving agents in particular. They have quite a grudge against Philippa. They knew where you were hiding, but wouldn't make a move. They were too few, too weak, and not liked by the authorities. So I offered to step in instead."

"What are you going to do to us?" - Margarita asked, sounding most fearful. - "And... why do you have a flower bonnet with you?"

"Oh, this?" - the man said, amused. - "I may or may not have to pay my respects to someone very soon to be deceased. So I came prepared." - he explained the disgusting joke, alluding to the potential fate of his three would-be victims. - "However, there is absolutely no need for our temperaments to spiral out of control, fair ladies. You are in possession of documents which I am in need of. All of them, in fact. Every book, every scroll, every parchment, every note... wow, you have quite a lot here. If you'd be so kind, as to relinquish them - this place could use a touch-up anyhow..."

"And if we don't?" - Fringilla made a stand. - "Magic is not our only power, vermin. You aren't messing with three barmaids. You are directly challenging the interests of Nilfgaard. And we all know how far the rays of the imperial sun can reach. Lay but a single finger on any of us, or our belongings, and your family will be exterminated down to your last bastard grandchild."

"Well, what do you know, I am in great luck then to be a complete loner!" - the man mocked the gravity of the threat he was facing. - "Too bad that even if I had a family, your warnings fall short, black one. Emperor Emhyr will soon be washing his hands of you three."

"Whatever do you mean?" - Margarita questioned him.

"I may or may not have taken use of the Novigrad postal service to inform multiple interest groups about your whereabouts. Including the witch hunters. Once they get here, they will kill you and burn the place down. And secondly, I dispatched a letter to the imperial embassy, informing them of your gratious contribution to Redenia's own efforts to locate His Imperial Majesty's lost heiress. You are in no position to stop the delivery, or stop me from getting what I want. Now, what will good old Emreis think of you three after he catches word of your incredible blunder...? "

"You wouldn't...!" - Fringilla gulped.

"You are bluffing!" - Philippa exclaimed, although there was an audible trembling in her voice. - "There's no way you could..."

"Is that a risk you are willing to take?" - the man asked her back before she could finish her sentence - "Especially after you have already taken so many."

There was a choking silence both in the recording, and in the midst of Yen, Keira and Triss. The recording finally kept going again, with Fringilla's voice: - "Alright. Let us presume we fall for your trickery, seeing as you can, indeed, do us grave harm, and we are physically unfit against you. But we can just toss a candle over here, and you might just lose the exact papers you were looking for. What warranty do you have that we will survive this ordeal if we cooperate with you?"

"Smart, lady." - the man acknowledged. - "Very smart. But I am smart myself, and a smart man takes precautions. I cannot risk you alerting other imperial mages about my actions here, hence I had to make sure you'd be wanted personnel in the entire continent. But seeing as you can still destroy what I wish to claim, I present you with a way out. I know ways to evade the streets, lead you to the docks. There, a ship is hauling spices delivered from Zerrikania. They shall set out within the next two hours, and I happen to have purchased some tickets aboard. Do we have a deal?"

"Zerrikania?" - Margarita asked. - "Isn't that the place with flies which fornicate with your face and their larvae eat your brain?"

"One and the same, I fear." - Philippa sighed deeply. - "But it is also well outside Emhyr's cluches. Very well, mystery man. I must admit, you have us cornered and outsmarted. But I might as well go out in a fire, deny you your goal. You could simply be luring us to the outside to be killed."

"I am a man of my word, lady Eilhart. I give you all three my word: take my offer, and I promise you, no harm shall come to you from either Redenia, Nilfgaard or my humble, dastardly self. What's more, I have given my word to the captain of the ship as well, that I would be escorting two sorceresses seeking refuge, safe and sound.

"But... we're three." - Margarita pointed out.

"Is this some joke?!" - Philippa yelled out in frustration. - "You claim to be a man of your word, and already you are going back on your promise, you feckless freak!"

"I AM a man of my word." - the perpetrator insisted - "I said no harm shall come to any of you from Redenia, Nilfgaard or myself. But you see, Philippa..." - his voice lowered to a contemptuous whisper as he took a few steps closer. - "Fate had me meet someone here in Novigrad. Someone whose services I sought after. He was in a sorry state when I found him. Uncaring. Hopeless. Apathetic. But as soon as I made mention of you... - the recording on the megascope became more distorted, the man's voice deforming to downright demonic: - "...he became so vigorously eager, to meet you in person again, I could not deny him, even if I wanted to. Therefore, I made him a promise - and, as his presence testifies... I have kept it."

There were footsteps in the distance, much more gentle and lightfooted than that of the man who first came in. At some point, Yennefer and Keira took notice of twin blades being drawn from their scabbards, and sounds of steel sliding on steel as the wielder sharpened the edges against one another. He spoke with an unemphatic voice that carried no good intentions: - "It has been a while, dh'oine witch."

"That voice... you!" - Philippa muttered, and for the first time in their lives, Yen and Keira heard nothing but absolute terror in her tone. - "NO! No, no, no, no, no, nonono..."

Her whimpering and crying were drowned out by the first man's overly satisfied, triumphant statement: - "Now, I think we have everything worked out! Lady Fringilla, Margarita, here are your tickets. Please follow me. You need not witness this." - and with that said, three pairs of foot swiftly began marching off-scene.

"NO!" - Philippa shouted one last time. - "Fringilla, don't leave me! Margarita...! Someone, anyone! What have I done to deserve thihihihis..." - no more articulation came from her mouth anymore; only helpless sobbing.

All that followed after were knife stabs, stomach-turning splurting sounds, Philippa's agonized screams, and her murderer's all too joyful, vengeful cries: - "For the Scoia'tael! For Upper Aedirn! For Saskia!"

Then, little by little, the megascope's projection started working again. The imagery was hazy, but it gradually clearing, revealing an elf with a read headscarf, and Philippa disfigured into a gore-leaking dead wreck, as the elf kept plummeting his knives into her even after she ran out of breath. He turned his single eye's gaze towards the megascope. - "This damn thing is still on?!" - and he resolved the issue by reaching for a focus crystal, and ripping it out.

That was the last of it.

Triss stood petrified, tears swelling in her eyes, her lips shut close. Keira was covering her mouth, trying not to throw up. Yennefer was in shock herself, before enforcing herself to stay in control, and hugged Triss tightly. - "Alright, Triss. It's alright. Now all is clear. We have a lot to discuss."