Disclaimer: The Witcher and every character aswell as location, that is not created by myself belongs to CD Projekt Red aswell as Andrzej Sapkowski, the original author of the books.
Reviews and ConCrits are always welcome!
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Chapter 6: A Small Town Amidst The War
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Their path took them to the north, to the city of Novigrad. It's been a couple of weeks now that they've been on the road, doing various jobs, mostly smaller ones, and constantly being on the search of Kaleb's sword. Why the Witcher won't just replace it is a question that was yet left to be answered. Velen still suffered greatly from the war and almost everywhere they went they encountered abandoned battlefiels full of rotting corpses, rusty armour and weaponry and ghouls feasting on the decaying bodies.
Having spent most of his time in the city of Oxenfurt, Elron didn't think that it was actually this horrible and that he'd ever have to encounter anything like it. However it still astonished him how his companion was able to shrug it all off that easily and without any second thought. Sometimes, in the late hours when they'd have gathered around their campfire they'd swap stories with each other – well, it was mostly Kaleb who was sharing his experiences.
Tonight was such a night.
"Sometimes, when I close my eyes I can still see her." Kaleb began, upon being asked about one of his stories, "I think it must've been four years ago, it was a small town near the border of Temeria and Redania, at the Pontar and me, who was just traveling along, doing Witcher's work, got dragged right into the middle of all it's problems."
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It was in this small town, Ban Gleann, when it began...
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It was a gloomy autumn's day when a pale rider with raven black hair arrived in the town of Ban Gleann, sat on the back of a black horse with the severed head of a gryphon dangling from it's waist. His arrival attracted the attention of a lot of the local residents, as it was something like only few of them had ever seen. Yellow, cat-like eyes, scars on his face and some visible on his arms, which were shown through the torn bits in his old coat above which a black cloak was thrown and on his back two swords. It was odd enough that he carried two swords, but also on his back?
Never being left out of sight, he got off his horse, tied it to a pole in front of an inn and entered, seemingly oblivious of his spectators.
It wasn't any different inside, though most of the people turned their heads away from the unusual visitor after a short time, returning to their conversations and drinks.
He walked towards the barkeeper, a larger man with a big nose and a rough, brown beard, "What can I get ye?" he asked, "You look like ye could use a good drink, sir."
"I'd like to now where Benson Derkas is. I've returned from the contract." the stranger said.
"Ah, should'a known ye're a Witcher as ye entered!" he laughed, "It's the eyes that give it away, lad. Anyway, Derkas is probably upstairs in 'is room, like mostly. It's the third on the left."
"Thank you." the Witcher coldly replied, turning towards the stairs.
"Oi, Witcher!" the barkeeper called after him, "Once ye're done, come back to me, I've got a drink with ye're name on it, on the house for gettin' rid of that bloody beast!"
The Witcher nodded and walked upstairs.
He entered a poorly lit hallway with four doors on either side and continued to walk towards said door, knocking on it.
"Who's there?" he heard a muffled voice from behind the door.
"I've completed the contract." he replied.
"Splendid! Please, come in, Witcher!"
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Soon afterwards the door was opened and an short, elderly man with round glasses and curly, greying hair stood in front of the Witcher, "Kaleb, it's good to see you." Benson said warmly, patting Kaleb on the shoulder, "But what happened you, my boy? You look terrible."
"Tough fight." Kaleb replied, "Potion's still wearing off aswell."
"You're bleeding..." Benson mumbled, "Here, sit down, I'll get my equipment."
"Thanks, but that's not necessary. I'll survive, Benson."
"Stubborn as ever, just like Geralt." the old man giggled, "But I'll have to insist, sorry."
Accepting his dire fate, the Witcher ignored the old man starting to patch up the large cuts on his right arm, "By the way, where is he anyway?" the Witcher asked.
"I'm not entirely sure. I heard he's in Flotsam, on the other side of the Pontar." Benson replied, "Together with Triss Merigold."
"Triss?" There was disgust in Kaleb's tone, "So she still tries to pinch him from Yennefer?"
"I wouldn't call it that. I think they are just good friends."
"With extras." the Witcher added pejoratively.
"Besides," Benson continued, oblivious to the comment of the raven haired man, "When was the last time you heard anything about Yennefer? I heard she died."
"Nonsense!" Kaleb hissed, "Why would you assume she died? I don't know where she is, but I'm certain Yennefer of Vengerberg is still out there."
"You're probably right, we won't get rid of her that easily." the old man joked agreeingly, "But the two are not together at the moment, that's for certain."
After Benson was done, Kaleb put his coat, which was still torn, "Looks like this will be another scar." Benson commented.
"Seems so. I'll also need a new attire."
"There's a great tailor in this town. If you care to stay for a few more days, you should definitely pay her a visit and make an order."
"I believe I could, won't hurt." Kaleb agreed.
Benson threw a small pouch filled with coins towards his Witcher friend, who easily caught it, "That should cover it." he said.
Kaleb nodded and then left again, "Until next time, old friend." he replied.
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Downstairs a small group of guards, maybe three people, just entered the inn, looking for the Witcher, "Oi, Witcher!" one of them called, "Is that your horse?"
"It is."
"We need you to bring it elsewhere, the... um... the trophy is scaring the civilians." the soldier explained.
"Of course, I'm done here anyway." Kaleb replied, "I'll just have a drink and then I'll be off again, getting rid of that thing."
"Fair enough," the guard nodded, "I'm glad we could settle this matter peacefully."
It was obvious that all three of them were quite nervous upon seeing the cat eyed mutant.
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The Witcher returned in the later hours of the day, the sun had just started to set and the people started to gather in the inns and taverns.
Kaleb followed his friend's advise to visit the tailor. He couldn't walk around dressed in ripped clothes! The tailorshop was a rather small building, near the center of the town, it didn't really look like much to be fair, but the Witcher had learned not to judge something or someone on the first expression. It was something that he wouldn't want either, though it happened so frequently.
The sudden noise of the ringing bell at the door started, or better – alerted the Witcher, just out of instinct. The inside of the shop didn't look much better either, but the cloths and finished attires promised a master's work. It was a miracle how someone apparently that skilled would live in a shack like this, let alone in a town like this.
Upon his entering he could hear lightfooted steps approaching him from behind a wall, behind the counter. It wasn't long before a young woman, she must've been around 27, stood in front of him, looking at him awaitingly with her emerald green eyes as she brushed a strand of her hazel brown hair out of her face, behind her ear, only for it to be falling back shortly afterwards. She had a few freckles on her fair skin and delicate lips. Once more Kaleb wondered what someone like her would do in this jerkwater town.
"Sir?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as an amused smile etched on her cheeks.
"What?" Kaleb didn't seem to have noticed her upon having asked him how she could help him, as the Witcher was too busy studying the woman, "Oh, sorry, I'm a little unfocused."
She giggled lightly, "I can see that." an akward silence passed between the two smiling at each other, "Anyway, what can I do for you?" Kaleb noticed a faint blush on her cheeks, probably from the akwardness of this brief moment.
"As you can probably see, I need a new attire." the Witcher replied.
"Yes, but wouldn't you think, that a blacksmith would be more of a help, master Witcher? You see, I'm not really profound in the art of armourcrafting."
"Yes, I'd guessed that already. But I don't seek armour. I'm more of a moveability-type. Besides, any kind of armour part can be installed by myself."
"Very well then, I believe you already have a concept of what I should make for you?"
Kaleb nodded and took out a few pieces of paper on which were several scratches with some notes. The headline of the concept was 'Ursine Armour'.
The young woman looked at the sheets with interest and curiousity in her eyes, "I think I've seen this before. It's the armour of a Witcher school, isn't it?"
"It is, how do you know?"
"Oh, I've been around the block for a bit. Seen this or that, met this or that person." she replied.
Kaleb eyed her up and down for a short time, "What's your name, young woman?" he asked.
"Aliona." she said, "Aliona Mervay."
"Aliona..." the Witcher repeated, "It's a beautiful name, elven, I believe."
"True, I'm half elven actually, but most people wouldn't really notice. You know, my ears aren't that pointy."
"You're right, I would have merely suspected it."
"And what do they call you, master Witcher?" Aliona asked.
"Kaleb of Rivia, though it's more of a title."
"A title?" she repeated.
"Yes, because I'm actually from Toussaint, but I've been practically raised by another rivian Witcher, like a brother and thus I adapted his ways." the Witcher explained, leaning on the wooden counter, "That's an interesting story, indeed, Kaleb of Rivia. I've always wanted to know more about the infamous Witchers." she hurried around the counter and got next to the raven haired mutant, "Why don't you tell me more about yourself while we set the measurements?"
"I'd love to."
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