Norsca
Frozen Canyon
Another breath.
Each of them gave him pain, as his lungs started to be taken by rot. Breath after breath, he will succumb to it, and his body will be less than a meatsack. But while body ached, his eyes were open, and what they saw...
He stood alongside the procession of the Chaos knights, walking down the canyon, under the feet of stone colossuses, molten into the side of the canyon, their spears pointing into the air, forever clashed with one another, their wide-open mouths leaving one last battle cry.
The knights walked in silence under giants armored boots, carrying on the large shield, remains of the one, who was a mighty Chaos Lord, maybe even more than that, since his armor wasn't made of steel, but from white, sturdy bones, and it more looked like it grew on him rather than was forged. In his hands, he held a giant blade, also made of bones, but glowing with magic, probably containing a dark power inside.
He watched how the procession carried the body to the large cave at the end of the canyon, into the passage to the large tunnel...
He suddenly woke up, coughing blood, and Throgar looked at him with concern.
- It doesn't look good.
- It's not. – Thromis replied. - Rot is plaguing my flesh, slowly consuming it.
- We should go back. - Throgar stated, and before his leader could say something, he spoke again. - You won't survive the journey, and in the tribe might help you.
- It doesn't matter. - Another warrior inquired. - We can't leave the canyon anyway, it is as flat as Urias's daughter.
- What did you say you Son of a...
- Silence! - Thormis yelled, and immediately started to cough afterwards.
Throgar gave him some of the herbs he robbed from the Southerners' years ago. Although it was a long time since they were useful, he hoped it will ease the pain. And Norscan's didn't have doctors capable enough to tell them that won't work.
Suddenly, designated scout run back into the cave, his eyes widened in horror.
- We are doomed. - Scout said before anyone could ask what is going on.
- Speak. - Thormis ordered.
- Rotbloods warhost is coming this way. All of them.
- Then we should make our stand... - Warrior without the arm stood up, but most of the warband shook their heads.
- We should run down the canyon, until we find the way. - Throgar said.
- That's the thing, we can't - Scout said. - There is only a dead end, and a Tzeentchian warhost stands there.
While Thormis's warband shouted in disbelief and anger, vision of the knights procession appeared again in his mind. Dead end? But the end of the canyon is a cave, they just needed to walk at... He took a great look at the entrance of the cave, at stalactites at the entrance. They weren't formed naturally, they were made.
He rose on his feet and run out from the cave. His warriors, at first dumbfounded, rushed to the entrance to see what their leader is doing.
- He went mad. - One of them said, seeing Thromis laughing, staring at the cave. Then, Crimson clad warrior knelt, and started to dig through snow. Skealings looked at this behavior with disbelief, not sure if their chief is insane, went into panic or something else. After a few seconds, Thromis looked at his warband.
- Stay there. - He ordered them. - And prepare some ropes, tie up me and the horses.
Throgar nodded, and repeated the command, and remaining Skealings obliged. As they started their tasks, Throgar stared his Blood-Brother in the eyes.
- I hope you have a plan.
And smile, still full of pain, appeared on Thormis's face.
- When I tell you, your jaw will drop.
Kislev
Wyjchera
- You have our gratitude, just tell us…
- You don't need to do anything really, I am glad I could help. – Ciri answered another family the same like to the rest, feeling a little tired when one family after another come to her and thank for rescuing their kids. It was pleasing, but she was not very accustomed to it. Although her experiences probably were not as bad as Geralt's in regards of people's gratitude, she met many who tried to cheat or lie to her, and after the job was done, to somehow steal her money. So people coming to her and insisting that they must repay her kindness was new.
She walked with a mug in her hand through the small party, which Wyjcheran's organized for her, and to celebrate the victory against the Daemons. All smiled and waved upon seeing her, and she waved back.
Inside, she was little sad that she needs to leave them soon, but it is for the best. After all, brining Wild Hunt on their heads is the last thing she wants to do.
She walked past the two warriors engaged in the drinking competition, smiled to them when they raised their mugs, when she stumbled upon Percival, who raised a toast with two other Kislevites, Witold standing near. When he noticed her approaching, he nodded to her.
- There she is, our guest of honor! – He greeted, and Ciri huffed.
- Not you too. – She asked, and Percival chuckled.
- Don't used to Kislev's hospitality?
- I feel like you feast each week.
- Because there is always an occasion.
Ciri rolled her eyes, and looked at Witold, who in turn wasn't in a good mood, staring emotionless into his cup. She knelt to him.
- You okay? – she asked, and kid was pulled from his trance and tried to smile.
- Ye. I'm… fine. – He tried to say that with his cheerful demeanor, but it didn't work well with his now pale face. Ciri clearly saw that recent events made an impact on him. Percival knew it too, and scratched the boy's head.
- And ain't leaving you alone little Kossar. – He declared. – Believe me.
- What if the monster return? – Witold looked at him with fear.
- Monster is dead, he won't threaten you now. – Percival reassured him, but the boy shook his head in denial.
- The monster with eyes. – He clarified, his hand shaking at the mere sight of the memory, and with that Ciri felt something buzzing inside him, like the swarm of bees, ready to be unleashed. Percival put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
- When the monster appears, just scream and I will vanquish it. – He stated, and Witold looked at him.
- Promise?
- Promise.
- Percival, I think that… - Ciri wanted to voice her concern when someone called her from behind.
- There you are! – Oswald said, big grin on his face. – I was looking for ya!
Ciri rose up on her feet and turned to him, forcing a smile.
- I thought you can't stand me.
- Well… - he scratched his beard. – Sometimes you need to make… amends? Nah, no matter, since it is your last day, I guess I can be less… strict today.
- Strict? More like "Being less of a dick."
Oswald chuckled slightly at this comment before wrapping his right hand around Ciri's shoulder.
- It is my duty to at least repay you for saving my grandson's life! – Both walked towards the Oswald's house. – That's why I made a pie!
- We will see each other later, alright? – Percival waved to Ciri as she was leaving, then looked at Witold. – Let's meet with Kazimierz, we shouldn't leave him alone with his worries.
Witold looked around, searching for something, and then silently nodded and both started to make their way towards Zuza's house, in which Bernard was kept alive and Kazimierz recently spent the entire day.
'
From nearby roof, Small blue swallow observed the entire village, when shadows started to creep around it, slowly raising behind, wanting to consume it.
- Stop showing off Bel. – Swallow said, not turning its eyes from the villagers. – You know this trick only works on lesser beings.
- Your little stunt brought not only my attention. – He said, before the small shadow of the swallow morphed around the blue bird. – I told you to inform me when you find her.
- And I did, you are here after all.
- You alerted entire Pantheon! – Shadow swallow hissed. – They now gather Daemons and their followers to capture her.
- Good, it will be funnier.
- Could you take it seriously just once?
Swallow glared at the shadow with such anger that even Be'lakor flinched, taken by that sudden shift in the playful trickster.
- I AM taking it seriously, Be'lakor. – He said. – You don't know, but I have more to lose than you can possibly imagine. He granted me such responsibility, ordered me to guide her through the path most beneficial for him, even if that means fulfilling his most questionable assignments, while also tying my hands. And of all beings, you should know the cost of failure.
Then, Swallow smiled. – At least, let me have some fun as well!
Be'lakor blinked few times, looked at the villagers, and then again at changeling.
- He ordered you to do this?
- Not quite. See, he ordered me to finally force her out from this place, so she will start the already prepared journey. Also, he allowed me, no, forced me to alert the other three.
- Why?
- How could I know? – Changeling shrugged his wings. – My master is like a sealed book, his plans are as mysterious to his allies like to his enemies.
- If you are acting simply as the Tzeentch's guiding hand and under his supervision, then how am I going to capture her? – Be'lakor asked, and Changeling laughed.
- Don't worry Bel. – He said, his eyes focused on Cirilla, sitting on the bench while some mortal walked from his home with a large pie in his hands. – Plans can be… readjusted.
'
- Just try it please. – Oswald asked, but Ciri looked at the pie with a lot of suspicion. Seeing this, Oswald took a slice of it and ate it. – It's very good.
Ciri took a small slice, and looked again at the old man.
- Can you drop this facade already? – She asked, and Oswald continued slicing the pie.
- Believe me, it's…
- Just stop. – She interrupted. – I learnt the hard way to read people, but you were unconvincing from the start.
She looked at him, his knife still in the pie, directly into his eyes.
- You seriously believed that I will trust your sudden change of behavior? Your outburst of friendliness? I see in your eyes hatred towards me, and I don't even know why, but I have a few guesses.
His friendly demeanor started to fade, replaced by ire, his hands started to shake in anger
- Like you ever cared about my opinion.
- That's right, I didn't. – Ciri admitted calmly. – Because it is unjustified.
He sliced through the pie and the plate, and everything fell on the snow.
- It is NOT unjustified! – He yelled, and pointed at her. – Your kind…
- No. – She said with so much confidence that the old man stopped his rant before it even started. – I don't want it to become another accusatory speech. I want to know.
Oswald blinked few times, confused even more. – Know what?
- You think you truly owe me something? Then explain why you hate me and "witches", as you call them.
He scoffed hearing this.
- Like you will even care.
- You may make me care.
He stared at her, trying to perceive any of her evil intent, but he could not find one, just a ashen-haired woman staring back at him with cold, green eyes, her face like stone showing no emotions. After some time, she rose up from the bench and wanted to make way towards Percival's house.
- I had a son. – Ciri heard after taking few steps, and immediately stopped. She turned to him, and saw him calming down. – Pavel.
- Witold's father?
- Yes. – Oswald sat on the bench. – He served in Erengrad's militia, to earn some coin and give his wife and child a happy life in there. I tried to persuade him from going there, to stay here, but he didn't listen. He wanted to find his own place in this world, but I…I feared of letting him go.
He looked at his feet, reliving those moments.
- He left without saying goodbye? – Ciri asked, and Oswald chuckled bitterly.
- Worse, we argued, and we never solved it. – He replied. – I understood his desire to see the world, but after Laura died… - He stopped, and looked at Ciri again. – Witold have her eyes, you know?
Ciri didn't respond to that, and after a moment of silence, Oswald continued.
- I tried to reach him, talk with him, maybe make amends, but he didn't want to talk with me. And I didn't blame him, I said some terrible things that day, things I shouldn't say, and that I never meant.
- I think I can relate to that. – Ciri said, her stone-like face starting to "warm up".
- Also with your father?
- Not quite.
He sighed heavily. – Even though I couldn't speak with him, I often spoke with his friends about him, if they visited Wyjchera after deployment. I asked them to send him my best wishes and congratulations if something good happened to him and his family – When he got promoted, or when Witold was born. I couldn't share this happiness with him, but I just wanted to make sure that he knows.
Oswald smiled, past joys returning to him, and for the first time, Ciri saw him genuinely happy. But his face quickly turned gray.
- Then, he died. – he muttered, and looked at her. – He was murdered during the siege of the city.
- Kazimierz told me about this attack. – Ciri said. – Norscans stormed the city, and killed many people. He tried to stop them?
- He tried. – Oswald confirmed.
- Then you should blame Norscans for his death. – She remarked, but the bitter chuckle confirmed that was not the case.
- Not that easy.– He said, anger slowly growing within him again. – His unit made a barricade on the main road, two hundred strong militia against the entire horde.
- They didn't stood a chance.
- I don't know about militias in the south, but in our cities most of the militiaman are retired soldiers, too old or sick to fight in the far north, but strong enough to carry weapons. Those two hundred soldiers were the best what the Motherland could muster. – He looked at her with confidence. – They would hold them at bay, long enough for the army to mobilize it's defenses.
He clenched his fists in rage.
- But the darn Ice-witch decided that she knows better, that she will help them hold, even though nobody asked. She casted some foul spell, and soon, two hundred man were covered in thick layers of ice, like she wanted to encase them in some sort of ice armor. Instead, she froze them from the inside.
He smashed his fist into a bench and yelled at her.
- Can you imagine your vines bursting off!? Not being able to move as your body is torn apart by the shards ice made from your own blood?! Two hundred men died that way! INCLUDING MY SON!
He breathed quickly, slowly calming down under Ciri's gaze, but her stare was not cold anymore.
- I went to the city for his body. – He said, his eyes like glass. – The way he looked… I was forced to bury my own blood because some witch decided to be "helpful".
He again looked at his feet, trying to hide tears. – Happy now? – He asked bitterly.
Ciri kept quiet, and Oswald shook his head.
- Even when they want to do "good", they often cause more pain to people around them. They flash their hands and set whole towns ablaze, or cover them in ice. They are as powerful as those accursed sorcerers from North, but the difference between them is that those Chaos bastards do not try to show themselves as our allies.
He stared at her. – That's why I was suspicious of you. That you are another kind of witch, which will put EVERYONE here at danger. And guess what? I was right.
- No, you are not. – Ciri disagreed. – Magic is dangerous in wrong hands true, but in good hands it can save lives.
- And who decide that they are good hmmm? Themselves?
- Our actions speak louder than any word. – She replied, and idea came to her mind. – In my home, large army marched against the Coalition of Kingdoms, burning, killing and raping everyone on their path. Large army amassed to stop them, including fourteen sorcerers, or witches as you call them. Battle was a bloodbath, many people died on both sides, but invaders were beaten and pushed back, only because mages paid the ultimate prize. And to this day, the pyres are burnt on the hill to pay homage to their sacrifice.
She stared into his eyes. – Tell me, were they good or bad?
Oswald rose his eyebrow, and thought about the answer.
- Good, because they stood and fought?
- No, they were neither good or bad. – After seeing Oswald confused face, she continued. – They had flaws, they schemed against one another, some were selfish, others craved only riches or power. Most of them were probably shitty persons. But they willingly threw their lives away to stop the greater evil. Because that's what humans do.
Oswald scratched his chin, but Ciri wasn't done. – Do not dehumanize other people because they have magic, they already have a big responsibility on their back. They certainly don't need another burden. And believe me, many would gladly give away their power to not hurt anyone else.
- How do you know that?
- I just know. – Ciri replied, distant memory of the Khortah desert returned briefly.
- Even so…
- You weren't the only one who lost someone that day. – Ciri interrupted, and Oswald looked at her with anger.
- I know that Percival lost his daughter too, don't you dare compare our attitudes!
- I meant Witold. – She answered, and sudden realization struck old kislevite like a thunder. He knew of course that Witold lost both of his parents, but anger, rage and shattered heart can truly blind someone. – You never spoke to him about it, do you?
- I…
- I know you probably won't listen, but you should go with all of us to Erengrad. – His eyes widened in shock. – For your grandson's sake.
- I will never return to this city, not with him, and certainly not with you.
- You wish to forever isolate yourself in your anger? Keep reliving the past to the point when you will truly become alone? – Ciri questioned and Oswald, for the first time, was speechless. She nodded one last time and started walking away, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he will get something from this conversation.
- Farewell, Oswald. – She said and walked back into the celebrating crowd, leaving the old man alone, deep in his thoughts. And, unbeknownst to her, he almost questioned his recent actions, thinking about the potential consequences for his only family member left.
- She will just… disappear. – He muttered. – And I will… try. But she is dangerous to him. Is She? No, stop. – He looked at the crowd, trying to find a silhouette of the Ashen hair. – It's already done.
Norsca
Frozen Canyon
- It should be here… - One of the Chaos warriors muttered in disbelief.
- Maybe we got the hints wrong.
- You dare question our Lord?
Malachion stared at the stone wall, not showing any sign of anger or frustration, keeping himself calm. He rose his hand, and his warband silenced instantly. He removed his glove, revealing his hand to the frost, but instead of usual pink color, it shined in whole myriads of them, sometimes bloating in purple or blue.
He then drew the knife, its hilt made of precious stones, with the giant ruby at the bottom, and on each side, blue lapis and purple amethyst. The blade itself was made from perfect steel, polished and so clean, that it reflected the sunlight.
He put it on his hand and in one single move, he sliced it open, and the stream of warpfire hit the mountainside, melting the stone and cracking the ice. The wall of fire rose into the air, but nothing else, other than molten rock falling from the sky, didn't happen. Malachion looked at his work with disappointment.
- Golden Wings. – He said out loud, not showing any sign of anger. – Reveal yourself.
- Is there a problem Malachion? – Man with golden feathers appeared beside him with smug smile.
- You lied to our lord! – Norscan warrior accused, only receiving a mocking smirk from the Daemon Prince.
- I did not. I said "Under the feet of the Colossus, entrance to the Chapel of Bones lie, but true prize will come from the Colossus mouth."
- It should be down this canyon.
- Maybe yes, maybe not. – Man with golden feathers as hair shrugged his arms. - You should discuss that with the old colleague of yours. – He disappeared before Malachion could inquire more information, only for Malachion's scout to return with terrible news.
- Rotblood's host in sight, Gunnar is leading them here. – He quickly reported, and Malachion sighed heavily hearing this.
- Persistent as always. – He said with contempt, and looked at his small warband. – Let's put that rabid dog down, shall we?
Warband went into a formation, and marched to meet their most hated foe. Malachion, although still showing indifference, was more than eager to put Gunnar in the ground for good. He suffered that lapdog for far too long.
Skealing peeked from his cover, and after seeing the Tzeentch warhost marching to face their Nurglite counterpart. He swiftly run back to the cave, in which Skealings finished tying themselves and the horses to the walls.
- They are coming here fast chief! – Warrior yelled.
Thormis nodded, tight the rope around his body. – Everything ready Throgar?
Throgar checked the rope, and gave a thumb up.
- Long enough for you to reach the middle, but it will be a painful fall.
- Just hold my line. – Thormis said, and walked to the entrance of the cave. – And be ready to climb.
His warriors grabbed their weapons, ready for another fight, just in case their plan fail, while Thormis relished in the start of his revenge against both of the warlords. – Gunnar for the fight, and that Tzeentchian warlord for dropping an avalanche on him. Or should he thank him for saving his life and give him a headstart?
Of course not.
Kislev
Wyjchera
Starless night engulfed Wyjchera in dim light of two distant moons, as the lone village slowly descended to sleep, but, with still fresh memories of the Daemonic incursion still in mind, few guards walked around in case of more unwanted guests.
Although after the farewell celebration only few went to sleep without a headache, most of the villagers went to sleep hopeful that new day will finally bring back a monotonous routine.
But not everyone in the village slept, and candles still burnt in Zuza's house.
- Something changed? – Matylda went into a room, in which Kazimierz sat near the table, on which his brother was laying, treated currently by Zuza.
- He breaths, that's a good sign. – He replied dryly, looking at his brother without emotion, only for Zuza to smack his head with a long stick. – What was that for?!
- No blaming yourself in this house. – She said, and returned to tending to her patient.
- But he is my brother, my responsibility was to keep him safe! And I…
- Soldier, get up! – Matylda yelled a command, and Kazimierz blinked out of surprise.
- Mat, what are you…
- Get up soldier when your commander speaks! – She yelled again, and Kazimierz quickly followed it. – Who is your Commanding officer?
- You of course. – He replied.
- Exactly. And as commander of this unit, I am responsible for every single one of you.
- Mat, don't you dare… – He wanted to argue.
- See now how pointless it is? – Zuza interrupted him. – You can either continue this cycle of self-blame, or help me here by handing me that green jar.
- Green jar? Yeah sur… Wait, it doesn't work that way.
- Maybe it should. – Zuza sighed. – It would be far easier.
- Kaz. – Matylda said before he could reply to Zuza's comment. – You are not alone in this. Entire village will help Bernard. – She took his hand. – I promise.
He looked first and her hand, then at her, and finally, after the entire day, he smiled.
- Thanks. That… means a lot.
And just like that, a terrified kislevite guard rushed into the house, his face pale as ghost's, breathing heavily.
- Tymon, what happened? – Both Mat and Kazi said at the same time, and Tymon looked at them.
- Black riders approach the village.
'
- Those two moons are getting closer? – Ciri scoffed. – That's not how it works.
- Yet it does. – Percival said, looking at the starless night, only two moons clearly visible, looking especially at the green one. – You can't predict when Foul Moon appear, and how close it will get, but each day we look at the sky in search for his foul, wicked smile.
- Moon smiles? – Ciri asked.
- It smiles when humans are butchered, when a plague fall upon the mankind, when atrocities are committed or, in worst case, when Daemons descend upon the world. The legends tell that the foul moon is made of pure Chaotic energy, its surface infested by hordes of Daemons. Who knows, maybe Dark Gods domains are also there? Either way, it always heralding doom and death. That's why our guards on lookout towers look not only weary of the enemies, but also of this. – He pointed at the Green Moon, and lifted a small bottle to his mouth.
- Is there a time when both moons are full in the night sky? – Ciri asked, and Percival stopped drinking.
- Aye. – He said with dull expression, putting the bottle away. – And when it happens, better to have your sword, axe and gun ready.
- Why?
- For during the Foul Night, you don't know what horror will come knocking to your door.
When Ciri thought about it, Percival continued.
- That's why Matylda's house is made of stone, and has a large basement, big enough for the entire village.
Ciri looked at him with shock. – That bad?
- That bad. – He took another sip from the bottle, and offered it to her, and Ciri took it, but before she could drink something from it, she looked at the direction of the village.
She started to like this place, people here were not that bad, and she had a good company, but she missed her home, and was certainly worried about Avalla'ch. She knew that he probably is searching for her, but any clue about what happened to him after he fell through the waterfall would be nice.
She looked at Percival's house, knowing that she will leave it tomorrow. She grew used to constant movement from world to world, so staying under the same roof for one month was unusual, but nice.
Tomorrow, she will embark on a journey to Erengrad, along with Percy and Wit, just to keep her company and tie some loose ends on their own. She looked at the window in Witold's room, in which he slept already. He had it rough during this two days, and was nervous about this troll attack, as well as Bernard's injury, so Ciri hoped that maybe during sleep he will finally rest.
Suddenly, a new sound from the direction of the village got her attention.
- You hear that?
- What exactly?
- Someone is yelling towards us.
Percival looked at the same direction as Ciri, and both noticed a small figure running towards them, weaving with its small hands.
- Black Riders! Black Riders! – Kasia yelled, running towards them, and both quickly rush to her.
- What is going on? – Ciri asked first, her worst dreams becoming reality.
- Black riders arrived! – She cried out. – They yelled at Mat, then argued, then screamed more.
- What they want? – Percival asked, and Kasia, still shaking, pointed at Ciri.
- They "demand where is she hiding."
Both Ciri and Percival cursed at the same time, Ciri drew her sword and wanted to make way to the village.
Only for Percival to stop her.
- You need to hide. – He said.
- I won't leave them in their hands! – She declared.
- They will be fine if you do as I say.
- You don't know what they are capable off! – Ciri retaliated, already seeing Imlerith performing executions on the villagers for sport.
- I know exactly what they are capable off! – Percival yelled, but Ciri didn't even flinch. He took a deep breath – Trust me, I know how to handle them.
Ciri thought about it for few seconds, realizing that it might not be the Wild Hunt. If it was Eredin, then the entire area would be swarmed with his warriors and beasts. That meant it must have be someone Percival knew.
- If something goes bad, I won't hesitate. – She warned him, and Percival nodded.
- I hope it won't be needed. Now go. – All three heard the hooves of the cavalry rapidly approaching. As Ciri and Kasia run into the house, Percival stood before the door, awaiting them only with the glass bottle.
Soon, large group of riders arrived, all wearing fur painted black, armed to the teeth, looking at him with contempt.
- Got lost friends? – Percival asked, seeing their steel-like faces. – Village is THAT way.
- We are exactly where we wanted. – Riders jumped from their horses, and their leader walked past them. Percival looked at the Patriarch and cursed under his nose, he was one of those.
In Kislev, Patriarchs serve as spiritual leaders of the people, guiding beacons of hope against endless tide of darkness. Their faith and dedication often inspired warriors on the battlefield, giving besieged population much needed sense of security and hope, and terrified their foes. With passion, they stand against enemies of the Motherland, Chaotic or not.
But passion might turn into hatred, deep faith into blind zealotry, and instead of inspiring their allies, they terrified them. They are no longer caring patriarchs, who spent their lives serving the Gods of Kislev, instead, they thought only they truly knew their divine will, and searched the country for any sign of "corruption", both real and imaginary, under the blessing of the Supreme Patriarch himself. Due to them coloring their cloths red and black, their ruthless nature and near absolute authority, common folk quickly gave them a new name: Oprichniki.
- Are you Percival Szewczenko? – Tall patriarch with brown beard and blue, cold eyes asked seemingly in friendly manner, but Percival already knew the true meaning of those words.
- I am. – He confirmed.
- There are serious charges against you. – He said, trying to pierce through Percival's gaze, trying to make him submit.
- Charges? – Percival scoffed. – What heinous crime I committed?
- Don't play us for a fool. – Oprichnik said. – We know from reliable source that you host a witch.
Percival looked past the Black Patriarch and saw Oswald sitting on the horse way behind, looking a little uneasy.
- You son of a bitch. – Percival muttered quietly, and despite that nobody could hear him, Oswald felt the ill intent.
- Only her! She is the problem here! – He started to explain. – I didn't call them on you!
- And you made a wise choice. – Black Patriarch said with a smile, then turning back his attention on the large man, his face again sturdy as stone. – I advise you made one as well.
Percival shrugged his arms. – I host lone travelers true, but a witch? Never heard of.
- So that's how it is. – Oprichnik looked at his warriors. – Search the House.
Just when they nodded in agreement and wanted to make their way, Percival shook his head.
- You are not in need of shelter. – He pointed at their steeds. – You have enough rations, and your horses are strong. You may find a place to stay elsewhere.
- You are obliged to…
- I would be, if you were in clear need of help, and you are not.
- We are not your guests! – One of the soldiers yelled, but Black Patriarch rose his hand to shut him up.
- You are right. – He admitted, staring at the bold man with amusement. – But we clearly in need of finding a witch.
- I told you, I hosted no witch. Unless you trust that drunkard over there. – He pointed at Oswald.
- He said he saw her magic with his own eyes.
- He was probably drunk.
- I was… - Oswald hushed under Percival's gaze.
- What, too drunken to see a difference between fast footwork and sorcery? You are getting too old for this. – Seeing Oswald lowering his head, he turned back to the Oprichnik. – You seriously trust him?
- He has a seal. – Oprichink replied with indifference. – So yes.
Percival looked at the gathered soldiers, all in black painted fur an armor, and judged his situation. He looked at his house, and seemingly gave up.
- Perhaps I may allow you to visit… - He said, and after seeing triumph in gathered Oprichniks, he added. - …But only you. – He pointed at the Black Patriarch.
- Preposterous!- One soldier yelled after a brief moment of silence. – You want to lure our Patriarch there to…
- To WHAT!? – Percival's voice boomed with fury. – You dare to assume I would harm my guest!? Break the law of this land!? Even suggesting such a thing may bring you a wrath of the Gods!
- Not you fool! – Soldier yelled back. – The witch!
- "While your Guest is under your roof, no harm shall be bestowed upon him from you, nor treachery and ill intent." That's Dazh's one of the sacred commandments, and those who break it risk the wrath of the Sun itself. Just like your suggestion.
Soldier looked at his patriarch, seeking approval, but instead he found contempt.
- We will deal with this later. – Patriarch said to him before once again staring into Percival's eyes. – I accept your terms. But, if you truly hide a witch or sorcerer, then I will drag them out, and you won't interfere. Understood?
- Fine by me.
Just when the both man walked to the door, small group of Wyjcheran's led by Matylda and Kazimierz arrived on the scene, only to be blocked by the black guards.
- Move you Whoreson! – Kazimierz wanted to walk past one of them, but was pushed back. Enraged, he reached for his sword, only for Matylda to catch his hand before he could draw it. He looked at her, and she simply shook her head. He then gave the soldier a death stare, and looked past him at Percival and Black Patriarch walking into the house.
- I hope you are good at hide and seek Ciri. – He thought, seeing the door being closed.
'
Ciri stood behind a wall in the guest room, and heard both Percival and probably inquisitor of some sort walking into the house.
- Something to warm up maybe? – She heard Percival's voice.
- Not today. – Inquisitor shunned the offer. – Now, show me everything.
Ciri heard their footsteps, Inquisitor's ones were loud and heavier than Percival's, which was probably an intention – to intimidate people hiding from him, just like she is hiding now. Luckly for her, this tactic could be very easily turned against him – she knew where he is at all times, and thanks to Percival's effort to stand as light as possible, she could imagine where he stands, and what he observe.
She took a deep breath and run her options. She can't hide here forever, Percival will bring him here at some point. Fight is not an option, which means she needs to outsmart him.
- And this is my large wardrobe. – Percival said from another room. – In which I store most of my clothes.
- It seems so. – Black Patriarch pushed aside fur and leather to see if someone is not hiding there, relentless in finding any clue, not knowing that Ciri already packed her bags hours ago, now sitting safely near her horse.
- As you see, there no one there. But it has enough place for a grown adult. – She heard his nervous laughter. – For obvious reasons.
- Show me another room. – He demanded, and the wardrobe was closed with loud thud. She heard Inquisitor's heavy steps approaching the guest room, one, two, three.
The door to the guest room opened, and Patriarch looked around with suspicion, while Percival only smiled.
- See? My last guest left some time ago. – He inquired. – Maybe now you are convinced.
Patriarch scratched his long beard, thinking about it, while Ciri looked at the scene from the small hole in the wardrobe, trying her best to not cause more noise.
Even if something unexpected happens, Ciri can just blink between places, avoiding the Patriarch as long, as he finally decides to fuck off and go away. She didn't know how long he will be searching this house, but something told her that he is a persistent little shit.
He waved some red medallion in the room, like he scanned something with it, and when absolutely nothing happened, he hid it under his vest.
- Soo, since you checked everything… - Ciri watched how the Black Inquisitor rose his hand and shushed the old man.
- There is still one more room left. – He pointed out.
- That's kid's room. – Percival argued.
- No matter. – With Heavy steps, he walked to the wooden door and opened it. Seeing nothing in the darkness, he lit the candle, illuminating the entire room.
- Granpa, what is… - Witold asked still sleepy, blinked few times and found himself staring into pair of brown eyes.
- Hello, little one. – Patriarch faked a smile, and Witold flinched back a bit.
- This man want to searches for someone. – Percival briefly explained briefly. - He won't bother you for long.
- Oh. – Witold said, finding himself uncomfortable under the stranger's gaze. – You… found someone?
- Unfortunately, not yet. – Oprichnik said with fake sadness. – I heard here hides a very dangerous witch, and her presence puts everyone at danger. They bring plagues, war and eat children like you.
- Really?
- Yes. They are seemingly friendly, only to stab you when the time comes. They can't be trusted, you understand that.
- Ye.
- Good. – Oprichnik nodded with satisfaction. – Maybe you saw her?
- No.
- No?
- No.
Black Patriarch scratched his nose with slight irritation.
- My nose is itching. – he said, and looked at Witold with clear threat in his gaze. – Do you know why it itches?
- No.
- It itches when someone is lying to me. – He said slowly. – Why it itches now?
- Enough. – Percival said, but Patriarch rose his hand again.
- I and the little one are just talking. – He said. – What's your name, little one?
- Witold.
- Witold… - He repeated. – Then, Witold, why my nose is itching now?
- Is it… cold? – Witold felt the sweat slowly falling from his head to his torso, but not breaking under the pressure.
- Are lying to me?
- No.
- You know a punishment for liars?
- Yes.
Both stare at each other for few more minutes, Witold slowly shaking in his bed, until the Black Patriarch rose on his feet. Just when Witold breathed a sigh of relief, Oprichnik again drew the red talisman.
- I need to check this room for corruption. – He said to Percival. – Nothing unusual.
- Granpa? – Witold said to Percival, and he gave the boy a reassuring nod.
- Just few more minutes and everything will be… - He suddenly stopped when the talisman shined with green. He widened his eyes in horror while the Patriarch smiled in triumph.
- It seems your witch is hiding… - He looked under the boys bed. - …Here! Or not. – He rose his eyebrows in confusion, and started to "scan" the room with his medallion, which slowly grew brighter and brighter, until it engulfed the entire room with green, dim light.
Just when it was set at Witold.
Percival exchanged with his grandson a terrified look, while Patriarch relished in his victory.
- It seems I have found my witch.
Norsca
Frozen Canyon
Nurglite warband marched down the canyon like a wave of filth, led by enraged Gunnar, who didn't waste time to corner that fool. Although the avalanche and fight with Khornite stranglers weakened his initial force, it was still enough to seize the Chapel. And especially enough to kill Malachion.
- Tzeenchians in sight! – Nurglite warrior pointed at incoming minuscule forces serving the Changer of Ways, but first and foremost, serving Malachion the Bloodless. He raised his hand and his warband stopped, Tzeenchians also stopped few hundred meters away.
Both sides stared at each other, Rotbloods believing in their numbers, while Tzeenchians believed their magic will grant them victory. But Gunnar needed one last confirmation. He stepped over a dozen meters from his warriors, and rose his Morgenstern.
- Malachion! – He yelled to his foe. – Face me!
Soon enough, Slim Champion in blue steel broke from his ranks and walked forward few meters. Although Gunnar could not notice that, he knew Malachion's face didn't move at all.
- You are persistent, Lapdog! – Malachion yelled back. – Still on Nurgloth's leash?!
- Do not mistake loyalty with slavery fool! Just like you mistake Ambition with Insanity!
- If following destiny is madness, then we are all insane!
- You think the Bone Blade will grant you Daemonhood!?
- I will certainly put it to greater use than your owner!
- All you will achieve today is another failure Malachion!
- And the worst part is that you interfered into my plans just to satisfy that old fat sack of pestilence, not because of your personal goals. – Malachion shook his head in disappointment. – My rival is a slave! What an embarrassment!
- I am satisfied with what I have, while you crave for more! This constant push, this drive to change kills you, Tzeenchian scum!
- And yet gives us purpose you lack, Obedient Rot-Eater!
When Gunnar wanted to shout an answer, he noticed someone leaving the nearest cave, enveloped with tight rope. When he got better look, his eyes widened in shock.
Thormis walked directly in between the both forces, turned his head first to Rotbloods, then to Tzeenchians. Both forces remained silent, surprised by lone Khornite warrior taking a stand with only his longsword. Then, mocking laughter could be heard.
- You can't even kill small band of stranglers, can you Gunnar?! – Malachion laughed, recognizing the Khornite brute.
- You dare to live!? – Gunnar yelled, furious at this sudden development.
Thromis looked at the Rotbloods leader. – It takes more to take down Knight Ripper, Rottenflesh.
- We shall see about that. – Gunnar raised his weapon and started to approach the warrior in the middle, but despite the pain, Thormis screamed out loud:
- Is this truly all about!? Some useless blade!? – hearing that, Gunnar stopped walking, dumfounded, while Malachion raised his eyebrows under his helmet.
- Useless?! Don't dare to lie! – Malachion yelled back. – It is supposed to contain powerful demon not from this world! That's why your master sent you for it! - Thormis coughed, but tried to remain straight, to not show weakness.
- My High Jarl sent me for weapon so potent, that your "Bone Blade" is a children's toy in comparison! And because of your petty quarrels, I was delayed!
Malachion clenched his fist in anger, only for it to glow through the armor, only of Tzeentchian to quickly regain his composure. He looked at the rope wrapped tight around Khornite torso, and slowly started to realize what is going on.
- You want your blade!? Then I will grant you both your wish! – He raised his blade high, and pushed into a dug hole in the snow with all his might, until his hilt reached the ground. And both Gunnar and Malachion heard the loud crack of ice.
Malachion quickly glanced at the cave from which the Khornite emerged from and he walked one step backwards.
It was not a cave, it was face of screaming giant.
The shell made of ice, undistributed for ages, supported by unknown magic, upon the impact of the blade started to shatter, thick layer of it crumbling into the deep canyon below. Nurglites turned their backs and started to run in panic, but Gunnar stood and watched how the khornite warrior fell, but thanks to rope, started to swing towards the wall. He screamed in rage before surface cracked under his feet and sent him into the abyss.
Meanwhile Malachion and his warband, far lighter and quicker than Rotbloods, run down the canyon, Malachion running alongside them, simultaneously removing his glove again, and his hand, previously injured by his own dagger, now looked fully healed. He then turned around, drew the knife, sliced his hand, and aimed it to the ground, yelling his command.
Winds of change flew through the snow, turning it and walls on each side of the canyon into hardened iron, and when ice cracked under it, the iron platform remained in place, like lone island in the middle of the ocean.
- You saved us Lord! – Norscan thanked him, staring at this show of magic with amazement. – Truly your might has no bounds!
- Yes… - He looked down the canyon, and his anger only grew. The real way to the Bone Chapel was under his feet this whole time, and he didn't notice it? How foolish.
- Golden wings. – He said again. – Reveal yourself.
- Quite fascinating turn of events, don't you think? – Daemon Prince appeared before him, standing in the air.
- Now I understand your tricks, and I have a question.
- You have them. – Gurda agreed. – Our contract is still binding.
- Exactly. – Malachion regained his mask and suppressed all emotions inside. – Tell me, about what that Khornite brute talked about?
Gurda ominously laughed, and leaned towards the Tzeentchian.
- It's a long story. – He whispered to his ears. – But you will find it amusing…
Kislev
Wyjchera
- That was unexpected. – Shadow of the Swallow said, observing the situation unfolding before them.
- They got here fast. – Changeling agreed, seeing warriors standing before the wooden house. He could inhale the intense atmosphere between black warriors and common mortals. – You can say a lot about them, but they react swiftly.
- Faster than the Gods, that's for sure. – Be'lakor noted. – They were probably on their way before your little play.
- I guess so. – He looked at the house. – You think he will find her?
- Don't make me laugh, if even part of what I learnt about her capabilities is true, he will leave empty handed. Unless he do something unorthodox.
- Unorthodox Ortodoxy Patriarch? – Changeling scoffed. Then, the door to the house were wide open, and both saw Oprichnik walking from the house dragging the kid by his right hand, while the child tried to punch and bite him.
At this sight, entire scene exploded into chaos – Villagers started to yell and tried to walk past the soldiers, the brawl seemed inevitable, giant from the house walked from the building with his fists ready, black Kislevites rose their shields, ready to take the group head on. Then, one of the soldiers with long rifle fired into the air, silencing everybody.
- Why did he allowed him to take his child? – Be'lakor asked genuinely surprised.
- He obeys the rules the laws as old as the Gods themselves. – Chaneglin explained briefly. – Even when he don't agree with them.
- Heh, what a fool. Now he will pay the price.
- Oh yes. – Swallow's grin widened way beyond normal proportions. – He will.
- Kosmas! It wasn't our deal! – Oswald screamed, but two warriors in black restrained him.
- Deal is off. – Kosmas simply replied, then looked back at Percival. – So, where is another witch?
- He is just a kid. – Percival pleaded.
- Good, it is easier to deal with them when they are young. – Kosmas smugly smiled. – And Weak. They lack… – He clenched his teeth when they boy dug his teeth into his hand. - …Bite.
He threw the boy in front of him to the snow, and when Witold tried to get up, he looked straight into the end of the gun barrel with both shock and fear.
- Last chance, Comrade. When I count to zero, sorcerer dies. Don't try my patience this time.
- Threatening a child? How low you could sink?
- Three…
- I told you already, She left!
- Don't you dare you whoreson! – Kazimierz tried to make his way through the soldiers in black, but to no use.
- Two…
- That's not how you treat your comrades! – Matylda shouted, while Zuza prepared something to make Patrirach body uncontrollably shake.
- One…
- Enough! – All heard Ciri yell, walking from behind the house, small pile of wood in hands. Patriarch smiled while Percival looked at her with horror.
- Ciri…
- I was in the forest collecting more wood. – She walked to the group. – And only now I heard the ruckus. What do you want from me?
- You are accused of witchcraft. – Patriarch said, and pointed his gun at her. – How do you plead?
- Witch? Nice one. – She walked past Percival. – Trust me – She whispered to him and continued walking. – Do you have way to confirm it?
- I have. – He lifted his amulet. – This sacred talisman detects the winds of corruptions. If you are truly a witch, it will shine in green. Come closer. – Kosmas gave a quick look to one of his warriors, and the warrior drew his gun and aimed at Witold.
- Only if you leave the kid alone. – She declared, and after short moment, Patriarch rose his hand and the soldier stopped aiming at Witold, grabbing him by his shoulder instead.
- Now, let the sacred wood reveal your true nature. – Patriarch declared and walked to her with talisman.
- Ciri… - Witold whispered, shaking in fear, and Ciri gave him reassuring smile.
- It's alright. – She approached the Patriarch, as he lifted his amulet, she looked into his eyes with indifference. And amulet didn't shine.
Oprichnik looked at the talisman in disbelief, Ciri gave him a smug smile. – Maybe you should charge it before use?
- Do. Not. Mock. Me. – He said with anger, and pointed his talisman at Witold again, and this time it shined in green light.
- It seems you are free of Chaos… - He said, still not quite sure. – Then, how did you kill the beast?
- Saw the sword on my back? – She pointed at her blade. – Pretty useful with dealing with monsters.
- So a Monster Hunter … - He muttered, and again looked at Oswald. – Care to explain?
- I… - Oswald wanted to say, only to fell the gaze of whole Wyjchera on him. – I… don't know anymore.
Angered by this turn of events, Oprichnik looked at Ciri, thinking about his options, only for an idea to come into his mind. A final trump card.
- Oskar, Jan. – Two warriors turned to his Patrairch, awaiting his command. – Check her steps, if she came from woods, you will clearly see it.
Ciri's expression turn from smug to emotionless, and Black Patriarch saw this.
- What's the matter, you are not hiding anything, do you? – Two soldiers approached Ciri from each side.
- You really want to do this. – She said with disbelief.
- That's my duty, to protect people of Kislev from beings like you.
Ciri exchanged looks with Witold, then with Percival.
- I saw how your protection looks like.
He shrugged his arms. – They will thank me later.
- I doubt it. But still, you are mistaken in one thing.
- Which is?
- I'm not a witch.
- Footsteps appear behind the house my… - One of the soldiers sent to investigate yelled back, but before Patriarch could react, Ciri's fist connected with his face, crushing his nose and breaking his teeth.
- I am a witcher.
As he limped away in pain, two soldiers wanted to grab her, only for one to get an elbow into his stomach, and the second received a mighty kick right into his pride, and he fell to the ground with quiet yelp.
- Hey, Sunshine! – Soldier in Black turned to Kazimierz just to see the fist rapidly approaching his head, and fell into the ground after receiving it right between the eyes. When his buddy wanted to rise his own against rampaging Kaz, Matylda struck his jaw with her fist, while Zuza broke her cane on another's neck.
Percival wanted to rush to his grandson, but three man in black blocked his way. – One swung his fists at him, but he dodged it and punched his stomach, sending him few meters backwards, but his buddies, undeterred by this show off strength, charged at Percival.
Warrior keeping Witold wanted to tighten his grip, but the boy bite his hand, and the warrior lost his grasp because of that, but when Witold tried to run back to his grandfather, Black Patriarch kicked him back, sending him on the snow.
The scene quickly descended to the brutal brawl between Wyjcherans and Oprichnik's guards, as both do not wanted to actually kill each other, for killing their own is one of the worst offences to the Motherland, those attacking Ciri didn't hesitate to draw their weapons, which only made their situation worse, because she was justified to draw her own blade.
She parried attacks from multiple combatants, not killing them, but simply disarming them by knocking of their weapons or cutting off the hilts. She looked to the side and saw one of the warriors raising his gun at her, and she jumped to the side, swung wide, and sliced the gun in half, much to the gunner's shock. Although she outclassed every single one of them, they worked together very well, giving her some troubles – While the shield bearers tried to keep her in place, gunners or spearmen flanked her to get a better position to shot or stab, if any of the shield bearers was in trouble, his buddy switched places with him in no time.
- ENOFGH! – Patrairch yelled, at the fighting ceased at once, after seeing that he lifted Witold by a neck and aimed his gun at him. Since his face was badly bleeding, blocking his throat and getting into his eyes he couldn't aim properly, but the threat was loud and clear.
- Sullendel NOF! – he yelled, angered that he lacked his front teeth. – OF HE DIE!
Witold looked at everyone in the village, saw their terrified faces.
Because of him.
He felt the blood of that scary man falling at his head, and soon, the small drop of it run across his nose.
The way he smiled, he resembled that monster. Monster, who appeared just after his mother left.
Because of Him.
- Do not do anything to him. – He heard Ciri and looked at her, just when she slowly dropped her sword on the snow. And the time slowed for him
They will now take her away, forever.
Because of him.
All different emotions started to circle inside him like a hurricane. – Anger on himself over Bernard's injury, Grief over his Mother's death, Frustration of the past week, Fear of the monster which he saw before troll attacked. All forming something more akin to the bomb inside him, ready to explode at any moment.
Bernard was hurt because of Him. It was always him.
- It's not fair. – he muttered, time still slow to him, he looked at his grandfather, surrounded by these scary man in black.
Why it is always his fault.
He didn't want it. He didn't want anyone to suffer. As he watched Ciri slowly approaching, anger started to rise even more.
- That's not fair! You can't! – He yelled at the Patriarch, but he only saw a cruel smile. And past him, on the nearby tree, he saw a shadowy figure hiding behind a Monster with the Thousands Faces.
- Should we intervene? – Monster asked his shadow, and the Shadow pointed at the boy.
- I think little mortal has it. – Witold saw how thousands faces turn to him at once, and smiled to him all at once.
This set off the growing bomb inside him, and with the last final scream, dark cloud exploded from his mouth, rapidly spreading everywhere.
Patriarch was engulfed first, second before the cloud consumed him, he pulled the metal trigger…
Ciri wanted to blink to Patriarch and cut of his hands, but the cloud engulfed her before she could realize what is happening.
Percival, Kazimierz and Matylda tried to cover their faces from the smoke, but they were consumed by it as well. Only Zuza realized what is going on, but before she could use some counterspell, smoke engulfed her whole too.
- This is gonna be fun. – Be'lakor said with a wide grin just moment before the cloud struck him and Changeling too.
'
Authors note:
This cliffhangeris intentional, and I will try to quickly resolve this. In the next chapter.
As for the question in the review: More like Legends of Runeterra (I believe only handful knows who tf Rahvun is).
We will spent there some time, and who knows? Maybe an old friend and great absent will make his appearance? Time will tell.
See in the future.
P.S. Right, I don't own any franchise used obviously.