Three months later...
Geralt and his companions leisurely rode their horses along the winding road, the rhythmic sound of hooves mingling with the gentle breeze. As they journeyed, Geralt found solace in these moments, relishing the simple pleasures of the open road. There was a certain beauty in the act of riding, witnessing the ever-changing sights and immersing himself in the mysteries that lay scattered across the vast world. It was in these serene moments that Geralt would often reflect upon his purpose as a Witcher. Regis had once asked him if he ever wished for something other than the life of a monster hunter, but moments like this reaffirmed Geralt's undeniable connection to his destiny. It had been a long and arduous journey, and just when he thought it might be over, he found himself back in the familiar embrace of White Orchard.
"Lost in thoughts about the mysteries of the universe, Geralt?" Lambert quipped, a smug smirk playing on his face.
"Geralt? Pondering philosophical and productive matters?" Eskel chimed in from Geralt's other side. "I bet he's justcontemplating the lucky lady he'll be sharing his bed with next," he added with a mischievous grin.
"Ha ha ha," Geralt replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I was actually thinking about how to start another conversation."
"Well, you managed it," Lambert conceded. "No matter how inane it may be."
"Now, what do you—" Geralt's question was abruptly cut off as a foul and foreign scent invaded his heightened Witcher senses.
"Smell that?" Geralt exclaimed, reining in his horse. Lambert and Eskel, too, caught a whiff of the noxious odor and brought their black steeds to a halt.
"Nekkers," Lambert grumbled with an exasperated tone. "Monsters of all kinds, especially those little fuckers, have been on the rise since the Conjunction of Spheres."
"True," Eskel agreed. "But these creatures... they smell off. I think they're already dead. But their corpses doesn't smell like a nekker should"
"Well, someone's done our job for us then. How generous," Lambert quipped. "But yeah, you're right. This smell... it's like nothing I've ever encountered before."
"Same here," Geralt added. "It's like a poison, but not quite. I believe this warrants investigation."
Dismounting their horses, the trio followed the foreign scent as it led them through the dense forest. After a brisk walk, they arrived at their destination, an open, verdant clearing. dozens of nekker corpses strewn across the ground. Their medallions started to shake. Magic, Geralt thought, These creatures were killed with some sort of magic, and whatever that magic was some parts of if was still in their corpses. Each one had been expertly dismembered, their severed parts scattered about. From the mangled bodies, an eerie black and green liquid oozed, assaulting the Witchers' senses with its pungent aroma. Lambert crinkled his nose in disgust.
"Ugh," he groaned in disbelief. "What in the hells is this? Some kind of black blood concoction we use against vampires?" He pointed at the black substance pooling beneath a nearby nekker's corpse
"No," Geralt quickly responded. "I would recognize black blood anywhere, regardless of its type. This is something entirely new and foreign. Magic is involved too as our medallions confirmed. It demands more investigation." With that, he produced two small empty bottles from his pockets. Knowing better than to touch a foreign substance with bare skin, even through gloves, Geralt carefully collected as much of the green and black liquid as he could into each bottle, making sure not to come into direct contact. After meticulously extracting the eerie fluids from several nekker corpses, he stepped back with a satisfied hum.
Yennefer is going to love these. He though, Geralt held the two bottles in his hands, his eyes fixated on their contents. The black liquid resembled blood, but its movement was peculiar, akin to the flowing of ink. The green substance shared a similar fluidity, and both liquids were unfamiliar to Geralt. And both were magical, his medallion shook even more when it was near these liquids. The fact that he and his fellow Witchers, with their decades of experience traversing the world, couldn't identify these fluids spoke volumes.
"Do you think this is connected to our 'new friend'?" Lambert pondered, casting a sidelong glance at Geralt's bottles and the nekker corpses.
They had returned to White Orchard in response to the rumors circulating throughout the region. Tales of a "Golden Masked Man" had spread like wildfire, describing miraculous feats performed by this enigmatic figure. The stories were fantastical, painting him as a hybrid of sorcerer and Witcher. People claimed he possessed the agility of the wind, healing the wound and disabled, the ability to bend the will of both humans and animals, and command lightning and rain with mere words. They even spoke of his communion and raising the dead, and summoning of literal demons from the depths of hell, all while harboring an insatiable desire for looting.
Geralt couldn't help but find some common ground with the last part, at least.
"It could be, and if even half of the stories about him are true, then most likely it is," Eskel chimed in, his expression pensive.
"In that case, let's make our way if we're done here," Lambert suggested, eager to pursue the trail of this mysterious figure.
"Just one last thing," Geralt interjected, his voice tinged with determination. "I want to examine the effects these foreign toxins have had on the nekkers." He drew his silver knife from his holster and skillfully dissected one of the rotting creatures. All while Esker and Lambert watching him. The areas where the nekker had been "infected" was noticeably decayed. Its internal organs and blood had been entirely replaced by the green fluid and...small worm-like tentacles? Such a disturbing sight would terrify and disgust a common man or perhaps even a experienced doctor. But Witchers were no common man. Curiosity piqued, Geralt carefully carved into the creature's skull using a the knife, ensuring the green blood didn't splatter onto him. The nekker's brain, too, appeared rotted and drained not only that but these small tentacles specifically seemed to target the brain, reminiscent of a vampire's feeding on a living creature.
The sight of the rotted nekker corpse filled Geralt's mind with a deluge of questions, each one swirling with the unknown. Who or what could be responsible for this corruption? Did it truly relate to the golden-masked man? And, most importantly, what were the implications of this discovery for their world? Geralt's mind raced with a desire to perform a detailed autopsy on the corpse, hoping to uncover more clues. However, time was of the essence, and they had to make their way to White Orchard in pursuit of the mysterious figure.
Despite their haste, Geralt couldn't resist taking a few samples from the tentacles that had impaled the nekker's brain. Carefully, he retrieved an empty vial, ready to collect the intriguing substance. But as soon as his knife made contact with the tentacles, a repulsive sound filled the air, reminiscent of a small fish wriggling and a worm dropping to the ground. Startled, Geralt instinctively moved back, his senses sharpened, sheathed his small sword and he prepared for a potential confrontation. Lambert and Eskel mirrored his actions, drawing their swords in a synchronized display of caution.
To their surprise, the tentacles swiftly transformed into a shower of blue and white ash, dissipating before their eyes. The abrupt spectacle left the trio in a state of bewilderment and heightened curiosity.
"Oooookay," Lambert broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mix of intrigue. "I'm even more curious about our 'friend' now. That was... well, a little freaky and definitely curious shit."
Geralt couldn't help but agree with Lambert's sentiment. The peculiar display of magic had piqued his interest, and he regretted not being able to take the nekker corpse for further examination. However, he made a mental note to mark the location for future investigation. The mysteries surrounding this masked man were only deepening.
"In that case, let's find him," Eskel declared, his tone now laced with a newfound interest. With renewed purpose, the Witchers swiftly returned to their horses and mounted up, riding once more toward the village of White Orchard.
"So, what do you think this guy is?" Lambert probed, breaking the silence as they rode.
Geralt pondered for a moment before responding. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Anything is possible at this point. From the stories we've heard and how our medallions shook near those corpses, it's evident that magic is involved. This masked man undoubtedly possesses considerable talent in that regard. However, he also appears to be skilled in combat. Only time will tell, I suppose."
Curiosity piqued, Eskel posed another question. "What do we actually know about this guy then? Beyond the rumors and the information Avallac'h and Ciri shared with us?"
Lambert's annoyance was palpable as he replied, "That's the problem, we don't know much. All we have are rumors and suspicions. Avallac'h apparently sensed a 'great disturbance in the force' when he arrived. I never trusted that elf, and I still don't."
"Neither do I," Geralt concurred, "but I trust Yennefer and Ciri implicitly. If they vouch for him, then I believe he's telling the truth." He smirked, adding, "Besides, I'm fairly certain he said he felt a 'great disturbance in the magic.'"
"Eh, whatever," Lambert rolled his eyes. "Come on, we're almost there."
With renewed determination, they redirected their focus to riding their horses, pressing onward toward the village. The conversation took a turn as Eskel playfully proposed a theory.
"Perhaps he's some sort of demigod, draining power from the souls of his slain enemies, like in those Skellige legends," Eskel mused aloud.
Lambert scoffed, unable to resist a snarky response. "Do you realize how fucking stupid that sounds?"
Eskel fired back with a smirk. "I was just being sarcastic, you know."
"Then try making jokes that actually makes sense," Lambert retorted with a smirk
Geralt shook his head, amused by the banter between his companions. Despite their differing opinions and occasional disagreements, they were bound by a shared purpose and a deep camaraderie.
As they continued their journey, the Witchers abruptly halted their horses once again, their attention drawn to a disturbing sight unfolding in the nearby fields. Dozens of human corpses lay scattered, corpses were at least few weeks old, bearing the unmistakable signs of death inflicted by fire, ice, and lightning. The scent of foreign elements mingled with the air, intensifying the aura of mystery and danger that permeated the scene. Yet, it was not just the cause of death that troubled them; another unsettling revelation emerged as they surveyed the gruesome tableau.
The corpses were completely naked.
A collective groan of exasperation and disbelief escaped the Witchers as they took in the sight. It appeared that whoever had plundered these unfortunate souls had left nothing behind. Swords, armor, potions, everything of value had been mercilessly stripped away. Yet, amidst the disarray and desolation, a small glimmer of relief shone through. The corpses, at the very least, were not left entirely exposed, as they still wore loincloths to preserve their modesty.(thankfully)
The implications of this discovery troubled Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel. It hinted at a level of depravity that went beyond simple theft. Whoever had committed these acts seemed to revel in not just claiming the lives of their victims, but also in robbing them of their dignity. The disconcerting question lingered in the back of their minds: What kind of individual would carry out such callous and degrading acts?
Now Geralt wouldn't claim that he was completely innocent in that regard. But at least he didn't completely stripped the corpses of their armor for fuck's sake.
"Ugh, scavengers never change," Lambert muttered, shaking his head in disappointment.
Eskel, deep in thought, offered a different perspective. "But are they really scavengers?" he questioned. "Consider this: even before the Conjunction of Spheres, people were already wary of venturing too far from civilized areas due to the constant threat of monsters. Scavengers would typically only take what the corpses carried, such as swords and potions. The risk of attracting necrophages and other creatures was too great. And with the increased number of monsters after the Conjunction of Spheres, it's highly unlikely that any scavenger would risk carrying such heavy items."
Lambert's frustration turned to astonishment as Eskel's words sunk in. "So our new friend is responsible for this too!?" he exclaimed, disbelief etched across his face.
''Seems like it'' Geralt confirmed ''I can also smell that foreign matter from some of the corpses, majority of them are killed by lightning though''
It seemed the golden-masked man, with his rumored powers and the ability to wield lightning, seemed increasingly connected to these disturbing events. The corpses, stripped of their belongings and their lives extinguished by unnatural forces, painted a grim picture of the man's malevolence.
''So how the hell he carried all that stuff then?'' Lambert asked the unsaid question that plagued them
Lambert's question hung in the air, casting uncertainty over their thoughts. How could the golden-masked man possibly carry all the stolen belongings? The Witchers mulled over the unsolved mystery, their minds weaving through possibilities and theories. However, they knew that speculating wouldn't provide them with concrete answers. With a renewed determination, Geralt urged them to press on.
"We won't find our answers here," Geralt declared, his voice filled with a resolute tone. "There's not much distance left to cover. Let's keep moving. Hopefully, we won't encounter any more absurdities along the way."
Lambert couldn't resist interjecting, a hint of playful cynicism lacing his words. "Geralt, my friend, be careful what you say. I've lived a long life, and I've learned that when you hope or demand a wish from the world, it has a way of twisting your desires."
Eskel chimed in, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Well Well Well, would you look at that? The great, big tough Lambert believes in superstitions now."
Lambert retorted with a smile. "I wouldn't call it superstition, more like the truth of life."
The banter momentarily lightened the mood, providing a brief respite from the weight of their circumstances. However, Lambert then brought up a pertinent point, his words carrying a new sense of gravity. "Speaking of absurdity, isn't this place under Nilfgaard control?"
Eskel's astonishment mirrored the realization that flashed across Geralt's face. Lambert's observation struck a chord of unease within them all. White Orchard was indeed under Nilfgaardian control especially even more so after Emhry won the war, where were the patrols? Why hadn't they encountered any signs of occupation?
Another collective groan escaped the Witchers as the implications sank in. The corpses they had come across earlier, stripped of their belongings, were most likely Nilfgaard soldiers. It was a grim revelation, further deepening the mystery surrounding the golden-masked man's involvement.
Lambert couldn't resist the opportunity to mockingly comment on the situation. "See? I told you this would happen. Not even a minute has passed since you expressed a wish, Geralt, and already the world has turned it against you."
Geralt sighed wearily, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on him. "Let's stay focused on reaching the village," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I need answers, and I need them now."
With a renewed sense of urgency, they spurred their horses onward, pushing aside their mounting doubts and focusing on the task at hand.
''You know this made me realize something else too...'' Eskel began ''As you know on the way we saw all types of ingredients were collected, Bryonia, Buckthorn, Bloodmoss... At first I didn't care that much, probably just like you I too assumed alchemist were responsible for that. They too collected the ingredients too after all, especially with the Conjuction of Spheres, they need potions more than ever now. But now... after all we saw? I can't help but to think if our mysterious friend is responsible for that too''
Gerald and Lambert visibly looked tired at this point
As they reached the cliff, Geralt's memory served him well. This vantage point offered a clear view of the village below, and he shared this information with his companions. Lambert, eager to finally reach their destination and find the mysterious man, raced ahead and arrived at the cliff first. But as he looked upon the village, his excitement quickly transformed into shock and disbelief.
"What in the goddamn?" Lambert whispered, his voice filled with astonishment. The sound of his words carried through the air, catching the attention of the other Witchers. Curiosity piqued, they urged their horses forward, hastening to join Lambert at the cliff's edge. And there, they witnessed a sight that left them dumbfounded.
Geralt felt his eyes widen, threatening to burst from their sockets, as he beheld the transformed village. Once a humble, insignificant peasant settlement, it now stood as a bustling town filled with towering buildings crafted from stone, wood, and metal. The architectural style resembled the grand noble houses of Novigrad, with pointed roofs adorned in vibrant blue and red hues. The streets teemed with hundreds of people, each appearing regal and dignified, blurring the line between peasant and noble. And to their further amazement, even more construction for buildings was still underway, as workers(even they looked clean and formal) diligently erected even more magnificent structures.
A profound sense of bewilderment washed over Geralt. What had transpired in this place? The village he had visited before bore no resemblance to this newfound spectacle of opulence and grandeur. The sudden transformation left him at a loss for words.
Lambert, unable to resist his usual sarcasm, interjected, "Well, Geralt, I didn't know you considered small cities to be 'insignificant peasant villages.' Have you become so rich in your Corvo Bianco villa that your standards have changed? Perhaps it's time for you to reconsider being a Witcher, my friend. You're starting to become spoiled."
Geralt, still trying to process the astonishing sight before him, stammered, "I... I swear, I was here before, and it was just a village. Excuse me, but what in the actual fuck has happening in here?"