The Eldorman sighed, He was tired. He had been chopping wood all afternoon. He had previously never had to do much choppin himself, beyond his personal use, but with the war and more of the men falling ill nowadays, he picked up the slack. Tolling as it was, he felt he wouldn't be worthy of his position if he was unwilling to pick up a tool when needed. He could do without the blisters - he was out of practice on his swing.
He stood to wipe his brow when he saw them. Riding up on horse - two people who didn't belong. A man with long white hair, scars and swords - and a woman, looking provocative with strange coverings over her eyes. The Ealdorman frowned deeply, and gripped his axe in his hand tightly.
Strangers were the last thing they needed.
Geralt regarded the man staring rather plainly at him and Philippa. He looked around the small village - others saw them, but were trying to pretend that they didn't. He guessed this was the Ealdorman.
Philippa didn't care for the hard look the man was throwing at them. Didn't anyone tell him it was rude to stare.
Geralt decided to play polite; he could tell the man was on edge by their appearance. Didn't need him being afraid of them or things escalating.
"Nice village." Geralt greeted, trying to sound genuine. Based on Philippa's arched eyebrow and how the Ealdorman's eyes squinted, his success in that was questionable. Still, he pressed on. "A real pearl of the swamp."
Philippa would have laughed at that. The Ealdorman eyed them suspiciously.
"If you say so." The Ealdorman replied stiffly, clearly trying to rush the conversation to an end.
"You get by all right?" Geralt continued.
"Aye, winter to winter, somehow we survive." The Ealdorman replied. "What do you care of it?"
Well, so much for trying to be nice.
"Recognize this dagger?" Geralt questioned, pulling out the dagger given to him by Gran, Immediately the Ealdorman's whole demeanor changed. His hard face turned to one of common folk meekness.
"Aye, master. Didn't know you belong to them." He said quickly, bowing his head slightly.
"We do not BELONG to anyone." Philippa responded harshly. The Ealdorman balked at that.
"I meant no harm by it…but you are working under their word?" he asked
"For now." Geralt responded frankly
"Then that's good enough for me." The Ealdorman nodded.
"You seem rather amenable to help us." Philippa noted, her own suspicion showing.
"I serve any who serve the ladies."
"They help you often?"
"From the time of his Cutting, every man is theirs." The Ealdorman explained, seemingly having no problem with the implications. "They be harsh mistresses, but they're fair, just. Demanding they can be, but then nothin' in life comes easy. Who drove off the plaguey airs? Who gave us seeds to plant? Round the other villages they be eatin' the soles of their boots. Whereas we? Well, we get along well enough."
"We're actually here to help you with a problem." Geralt stated.
"Yes, I knew they Ladies heard our pleas!" The Ealdorman said, sounding rather pious. Philippa gave him a disgusted look.
"What pleas are you talking about?" Geralt pushed.
"The war awoke an ancient power. An evil one that feeds on bloodshed. Nightmares haunt our nights and days" The Ealdorman said gravely. Folk sleepwalk from their homes, never to return. Under the tree on the Whispering Hillock they lie, unburied all: fathers, sons, daughters and mothers. Folk're afeared to move them. You must go there. The dark powers must be cast off."
"Another curse." Philippa muttered. "Seems to be alot of those going around."
Geralt glanced at Philippa sideways for a second, before looking back to the Ealdorman.
"Ladies of the Wood don't know what this power is?"
"They know all. Old Thecla claimed they be punishin' us. Folk stopped respectin' 'em. Some even call 'em witches. But most not be they, for they sent you."
"You don't find it strange these all powerful ladies send patsies to do their dirty work." Philippa commented bitterly. The Ealdorman gave her a look as if she was a blasphemer - as far as he was concerned, she was.
"The ladies know and see all." The Ealdorman reiterated adamantly. "They see us even now. I don' pretend to know their mysterious ways, but their ways have led us forwards. All of us."
Answered like a true cultist, Philippa thought. Perhaps she was trying to convince herself that the Ladies weren't all that they seemed - it wasn't working.
The Ealdorman told them where they needed to go; The Whispering Hillock. They were looking for an ancient oak tree, one that supposedly was the source of the malfeasance against the villagers. One might see searching for a lone tree in a countryside to be a fool's errand, but the Ealdorman assured them that they would know the tree when they saw it - or heard it. Geralt didn't know what that meant exactly, but he assumed any follow up questions wouldn't have gotten him a much clearer answer. Geralt wasn't too worried about finding this tree though, his medallion had been rhythmically vibrating with more and more intensity as they headed southeast in the direction the Ealdorman had pointed them. And if the medallion wasn't enough, they could go by Philippa's fidgeting as they got closer to their destination.
"You alright back there?" Geralt asked, not glancing over their shoulder as they rode.
"Are you going to believe my answer?" Philippa responded.
"You gonna start being honest with it?"
Neither of them said anything for a moment after that. Geralt let out a sigh, and turned slightly to glance at Philippa.
"These places, dark places - I know the effect they can have on one's body and mind." Geralt began as gently as he could. "It does us no good if you keep trying to put on a brave face and keeping me in the dark about what's going on with you."
Philippa snorted derisively. "I'm not made of glass." She said, her common refrain when she wanted him to stop fretting over her. At first she thought he was infantilizing her, but she knew now that that wasn't where it was coming from, and that made it even worse.
"You've said that already." Geralt grunted. "Look, you're not used to the the trail, and-"
"You have no idea what paths I've walked, Witcher!" Philippa snapped. "Just focus on the one ahead."
Geralt didn't say anything to that. In a way, she was right. There were hundreds of years of Philippa that Geralt didn't have the slightest idea about. She was his senior 3 times over. But he was confident in his assessment. He could feel her stiffen against his back, her ragged breathing, her constant fidgeting and shifting. She was too prideful to admit she was in pain. Geralt could relate, not wanting to look weak. Years ago, when he was traveling with Dandelion and his band of companions, he had let himself ride for 2 days with an arrowhead in his side. He couldn't get it out himself, and was too embarrassed to ask for help. It was only after Angoulême saw that he was slow to get on his horse that it was finally noticed - he missed her sometimes.
They rode a bit longer, and the Ealdorman was right, they recognized their destination the moment they saw it. Perhaps it was because it was an absolutely massive tree, its base having to be at least 15 feet in diameter, and standing double the height of the surrounding trees. It had to be ancient, thick roots burrowing into the soil and stone of the large hill it sat on. All the surrounding trees seemed dead and emaciated, while this one stood strong, like it was sucking the life force form the rest.
And if that wasn't indication enough, there was the voice.
"Begone, come no closer... I know whence you come…" A disembodied voice warned, carrying through the air like the wind. "The powers that protect me... They sense whence you come... Begone... Begone...Begone... The powers will not relent…"
"Well, I guess the ominous warning means we're in the right place." Geralt commented.
"Oh, thank magic you can hear it too." Philippa said, sounding relieved. "I thought another…nevermind"
Geralt gave her another sideways glance - he'd have to interrogate her about that later, but for now, they had a mission to do. They dismounted Roach at the bottom of the hill, and began to search for their next step.
"So…do we have to chop it down?" Philippa asked dryly. "I've left my lumberjack gear behind unfortunately."
"I don't think it's that straight forward." Geralt snorted.
"It never is."
"Hm. This way. My medallion is buzzing."
They walked around the hillside to the western end, there the grass was replaced with stone.
"Up there." Geralt pointed. "Think there's a cave. Might lead us under the tree."
Philippa looked to where Geralt pointed. Up on some rocks there was a small entrance, covered by overgrowth and branches.
"Well what are we waiting for, let's go." Philippa urged.
"Hold on a minute Philippa-" Geralt said.
"Geralt, I have no intention of elongating my exposure to this horrid place." Philippa remarked, walking towards the entrance. "So if you don't want to lead, then-"
"Philippa, wait!"
*Crack*
Before Philippa realized what was happening, Geralt had tackled her to the ground, and just in the nick of time too, as a large branch swiped right over their heads. There were more sounds of wood cracking, and from its natural camouflage, disguised on a dead tree, emerged a Leshen - a forest spirit of malcontent. It stood tall at 12 feet, its long wooden limbs and torso looming dreadfully and covered in moss. An amalgamation of dense forestry and rot. Bipedal, their shape was vaguely man-like in a twisted sort of way, as if a body was planted, and let nature take it over and grow within it - around it. Its moose skull head looked at the pair with hollow eyes, and let out a loud groan.
Geralt quickly pulled himself and Philippa back to their feet, and took several paces back.
"I warned you…" The voice called out. "Now you must deal with the consequences…"
"Oh, shut up!" Philippa raged. "Pożar !"
"Wait, that's not a good idea-" Geralt tried to warn, but by the time the words got out, Philippa had already fired off her spell, shooting a large fireball from her palm. The fire barreled towards the Leshen, which didn't even try to move. Instead, it lifted one of its large arms, and smacked the ball of fire, sending it back towards Philippa. Geralt pulled her out the way in time, but not before it singed the feathers on her head.
"What the fuck?" Philippa seethed. How dare that beast send her magic back at her. Who did it think it was?
"People have tried to burn Leshens for thousands of years." Geralt told her. "They've adapted some fire resistance."
"Oh, that's just unfair!"
"Keeps me employed."
"Anything else I should be aware of?"
As the question left Philippa's mouth, the Leshen raised its wooden arms. In a puff of smoke, it transformed into a dozen crows, which came rushing towards the two, beaks and talons scratching and pecking as they flew by.
"AHH!" Philippa yelled, trying to cover her face.
"They can do THAT." Geralt said, less affected by the attacking birds.
Philippa spat out a mouthful of feathers and just growled. The Leshen became corporeal again, and made a swipe at the pair, but they managed to dodge out of the way.
"These things are smart." Geralt told her as they moved. "They're not some drowner, or a werewolf taken over by instinct. These things think, and think dangerously."
"What are we doing here, Witcher?" asked Philippa, sweating a bit as they continued to play keep away with the large monster. "You're without your silver sword-"
Geralt grunted in annoyance at the reminder that he was currently just HALF a witcher.
"-and If we can't set this overgrown twig on fire, how do we beat it?"
"We just need the right kind of ignition-" Geralt said, rolling out of the Leshen's path. He began to root in his pack for something that would even the score between them and the woodland spirit, but the Leshen had other ideas.
With a stomp of its large foot, the Leshen summoned a cluster of roots from the Earth to ensnare Geralt.
"Gah!" He yelled as roots wrapped around his calves, arms and neck, His pack got knocked from his hip, landing several feet away.
"Geralt!" Philippa screamed, now dealing with the Leshen's full attention. The forest spirit was on the more intelligent side of the bestiary, long memories and ill temperaments. They could plan, have intricate ambushes, divide and conquer. Their rarity and territoriality diminished their threat a bit - Gods knew what could happen if they ever managed to organize.
"Don't worry about me!" Geralt told her, fighting off the roots as they crawled all over him. "My pack - medium sized vial, silver liquid, get it!"
Philippa nodded and made a break for Geralt's back. The Leshen stomped again, trying to capture Philippa in the same roots that surprised Geralt, but it seemed that her time with the Witcher had done a wonder for her reflexes and she was able to avoid being caught up, even if just barely. She dove for the pack, picking it up as she rolled on the ground.
"Now what?" She asked, looking towards Geralt.
"Drench the fucker-"
Philippa had to think on her feet. She hardly was in any position to get close to the beast, not that she at all wanted to. The Leshen lunged at her again, but she was able to roll out of the way. Seeing an opening, Philippa threw the vail in the air in a high arc, so that it arched over the Leshen's head. As it hit its sagitta, Philippa locked onto it and held out two fingers. She shot a bolt of magic, nothing fancy, but with some force behind it. With surefire aim, the spell hit the vial, shattering it, and dousing the beast's head and shoulders
"Now light the bastard up!" Geralt instructed. Now that Philippa could do. With a slightly sadistic smile, she gave a snap of her fingers, she ignited the Leshen's head in a blaze of fire. The beast made a horrid noise as it began to flail, fire spreading down to its torso. The roots holding Geralt in place withered and disappeared as the Leshen howled in pain. The beast fell to its hands and knees as it continued to burn. Philippa casually walked up to its burning form, and in its last moments, the monster actually looked, looking Philippa in the face.
Holding out her hand, Philippa calmly said " Pożar ." Despite her calm tone, Philippa placed more energy behind this spell, and a wave of fire shot from her hand, scorching the Leshen, and setting fire to everything behind it as well. She kept the spell up for half a minute, making sure the Leshern was rendered to ash - any longer and she might have started a forest fire.
Geralt just watched on in a bit of awe, watching her stony face illuminated by the fire. It was hardly the appropriate time, but he wanted nothing more than to jump in the sack with her, but that would have to wait.
When Philippa was finished, there was nothing but scorched earth in front of her. She looked to Geralt, who was still a bit gobsmacked.
"Come on." She instructed, walking towards the entrance of the cave. "We haven't all day."
"Yes ma'am." He said with a bit of a smirk.
The cave was like any other, dank and dark, but with the constant groaning of the disembodied voice.
"Begone." it instructed again. "Leave this place…"
"You've said that already." Geralt mumbled.
"For some unknown power, this thing whines a lot." Philippa complained.
They knew they were headed in the right direction, because the voices warning grew louder and louder, accompanied with a low, rhythmic thumping that was suspiciously similar to a heart beat. There were also the roots that covered the walls of the cave, they got thicker as they moved inward. There was something off about them - they didn't look as if they belonged to a tree; they were black and almost fleshy, like they were rotted veins.
It was strange, with the Crones in her head, Philippa felt as if she was going mad. But this voice, even with its ominous warnings, Philippa felt calmer than she had in hours. Calm as one could be trekking through caves - she was doing that alot with Geralt. She might have been relaxed if it weren't for the intense, strange, magic she was feeling. It was primordial like she felt from the Crones, but less dark, less viscous. Like an ancient lake sitting undisturbed for thousands of years. It didn't make her feel sick, but it made her feel s if every cell in her body was moving.
They turned a slight corner into a cavern, where the thumping was the loudest. The cavern had the same black roots, scattered and penetrating everywhere, and unnatural plant life for a dim cave, and at the center-
"What in magic's name is THAT?" Philippa gasped.
THUMP THUMP
They had made it to the base of the tree, where the roots converged and were the thickest - the heart. And that was hardly a metaphor. Attached to the roots, was a mass of flesh, larger than both Geralt and Philippa. A rustic red, it was vascular, its veins intertwining and crossing the roots, like a tree that grew an organ. It beat like a heart, pumping Gods knew what through the cavern and tree. It's hide was covered in spike-like protrusions, as if it were some kind of natural defense to keep people away.
"Why have you come...? Why spill this blood...? Are you here to grant me death...? Or is my freedom what you wish...?"
The voice was unmistakably coming from directly in front of them.
"Geralt, the tumor is speaking to us." Philippa commented.
"Tumor…?" The voice repeated. "I have granted more life…than you could ever imagine."
"And it has an attitude." Philippa frowned.
"We're here because we were sent here." Geralt said, pushing on.
"Yes. Murderers. Murderous sisters." The voice replied. "...Sent you. They killed my body, now they want you to kill my essence."
"We were sent to help a local villager. Said death awaited anyone who came close to you."
"Yet… here you stand. All death is equal…unbiased. Some avoid it, some do not."
"What exactly ARE you?" Philippa cut in. "You - the magic you exude-"
"A sorceress?" The voice seemed to question. "Like us? No…not like us. There is nothing like us anymore."
Philippa felt like she was looking into the past, a portal to the very essence of things that stitched the world together. She wasn't sure if she liked looking that far behind.
"Us…meaning you and the crones?" Philippa asked. "Are you one of them?"
"No. The Crones are ancient, old as the woods…but I am older. They want these woods for themselves…I stood in the way…so I had to die. They are Velen's curse…they hear all through severed ears. They weave hair, and twist lives. They take their strength from the broth of human flesh."
"You said something about freedom. Freedom from what?" Geralt asked.
" I am bound here... In fetters of magic... I wander endlessly... A labyrinth of leaves... The children... I know all... I know what awaits them... Free me, please... I must help…"
"Children?" Philippa questioned.
"The Crones…they want terrible things from them. Got many already…but still some to protect…They seek the ones without guidance…without protection.
"The Orphans." Geralt stated, putting it together. "If they're in danger, we'll worry about them."
"It is…too late…They have been taken. But I can save them…untethered from these roots...I can ride fiercely…and without pause."
"And why should we listen to a thing you say?" Philippa accused. "You're a horrid growth on a stump. Your little pet outside tried to kill us. Why should we trust you?"
A fair question, one that Geralt shared.
"You shouldn't." The voice surprisingly admitted. "You're not of these lands…you do not know of me…but know that the Crones are against me. Do you follow them so blindly?"
Philippa didn't have a rebuttal to that. She looked at Geralt, and he looked back, in a wordless discussion. To trust 3 witches who ruled the land, or a misshapen heart in the root of a decrepit tree - there wasn't really a good choice here. But a choice had to be made. The pair looked at each other a moment longer, before Geralt spoke.
"To free you, what would we need to do?"
"Imprisoned for years...I shall be free again... Break my fetters…" The voice instructed. "Blood is my escape... A rite you must perform... With the black of raven feathers...the white of my bones... And a swift steed... Amare, wild and free...in meadow's pasture caught...dark as a bottomless well...black as the depths of night... Such a beast, no other. Gather these and bring them here…"
"Is that all?" Geralt said in bitter sarcasm. "Why don't we get you Emhyr's crown while we're at it."
"I do not know of this…Emhyr…but they can not aid me."
Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. They did not have time for a fetch quest. Gods knew how long it would take to collect these items - hell this thing wanted him to catch a horse. For a moment, he considered cutting his losses, and dealing with this thing the classic way. But that would leave the orphans to whatever fate the spirit had alluded to. They weren't HIS kids, but they were kids all the same.
Geralt breathed through his nose deeply, and turned to Philippa. "Looks like we've got some work to do."
Philippa noted the clear strain in his voice, and frowned a bit. She knew he didn't want to waste time chasing after artifacts and ingredients, and in all honesty Philippa didn't want to either. The sorceress thought for a moment, pursing her lips, before speaking.
"To hell with that."
Geralt was caught a bit off guard by her cavileer response.
"We don't really have much of a choice." He said.
"Just trust me and stand back." She instructed. He hesitated a moment, waiting for a further explanation. When it was clear he wasn't getting one, he took a large step backwards, giving Philippa some space.
The sorceress concentrated for a moment, before conjuring a portal in front of her. Then, she stuck her arms to the side, and produced two more besides her, and then finally she turned, and placed one behind her.
"What are you-"
"Shush!" Philippa said. "I need to concentrate. Tree thing, where are your remains?"
"They lie in a solitary mound... Nearby...due west…"
"Vague, but I should be able to work with that." Philippa stated.
"Philippa, what is it you got planned here?" Geralt questioned.
"No time to explain." She insisted. "Just be ready when I get back. Unless I'm torn asunder of course."
"What?" Geralt blanched.
Philippa didn't answer him; giving a wave of her hand, the portals began to circle around her, slow at first, but quickly picking up speed. Soon, they became a blur around Philippa, and Geralt could barely see her. Suddenly, the portals all moved inward around her, colliding in a huge surge of orange light. When the light cleared, Philippa and the portals were gone.
Geralt stood there, stumped. Confused, and with nothing else to do, he just continued to stand there, awkwardly, occasionally glancing at the strange organ, and hoping that Philippa wasn't somewhere in pieces.
5 minutes passed of Geralt anxiously fidgeting, when a portal opened up in front of him.
"Philippa?"
There wasn't an immediate response, but a moment later, something came flying through the portal.
A pile of bones
A literal pile, thrown in a heap and landing in front of Geralt. Looking down at them, he gagued that they weren't quite human.
A moment later, Philippa stepped through the portal herself, but she wasn't alone. In her hand was a makeshift lead, and as she walked through the portal, she brought with her a jet black mare.
"See." Philippa said. She was out of breath and sweating, hair a mess and some mud around her boots. "Back in no time at all."
Geralt's eyebrows were in the middle of his forehead.
"How-"
"Rapid portal conveyance." Philippa answered, walking to Geralt and handing him the lead of the horse. "Closest thing we can get to being numerous places at once. Triss showed it to me, if you could believe that.
"Why do you even keep me around?" Geralt asked, genuine admiration and impression on his face. Philippa smirked at that.
"Because you're cute in a rugged sort of way." She said, right before keeling over and being sick over her boots. Geralt was by her side instantly, rubbing her back.
"Also, who else will hold my hair." Philippa coraked, wiping her mouth. Rapid portal conveyance was an impressive feat of spellwork, if not terribly dangerous and draining for the caster. Triss put herself in a two day coma when she was first experimenting with the spell.
"I feel like I'm about to pass out." Philippa complained.
"You won't need to do that again." Geralt assured her. He turned to the spirit, and said, "Alright. we have what you asked."
"Well done...sorceress." The spirit said. "White hair one... we need but one more component...Silver."
"Why didn't you tell us that before? We haven't got any silver."
"Yes we do." Philippa retorted, back upright. Geralt gave her a confused look, but Philippa just returned and arched eyebrow.
"...No." He stated flatly.
"Geralt-"
"It's my sword."
"It's broken in half, Geralt. It's just taking up space, and we need the silver."
"My. Sword.
"Witcher, I just essentially sprinted through space and time to collect the rest of the ingredients for this ritual, so stop your whinging and go get your damned sword!"
Geralt mumbled something under his breath, but realized there was no real alternative. He left the cave to go to Roach, returning a few minutes later. Since the Elven ruins, he kept the two pieces of his sword wrapped in cloth in an internment like gesture.
"What needs to be done?" He sighed.
"Let me fly on raven wings... Lay bones amidst the feathers...and the silver under both" The spirit instructed. "Place all beneath my heart... My heart you must pierce... And bring the steed."
Geralt did as he was told, placing the two broken pieces of his sword in an X shape at the base of the roots, before gathering the bones and placing them there as well. Philippa reached into her hair, pulling out 3 raven feathers which had been lodged there from their fight with the leshen, and placed them atop the bones. She went and grabbed the horse, while Geralt pulled out his dagger. He had done enough rituals in his time to know a few words needed to be said.
"I offer raven feathers."
"Once I was free... I shall be free once more.."
"I offer your remains."
"Once I was flesh... I shall be flesh once more..."
The voice sounded almost excited, and they didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.
Geralt lifted his dagger in the air, and plunged it into a particularly meaty part of the growth on the roots. Immediately it began to ooze blood, it was almost the color of wine. The blood split down onto the shrine made of the elements, pooling in the remains.
Philippa pulled the steed forward, which seemed to unnaturally know its part in all this. It walked close, and dipped its head down, lapping up the blood as if it was water. It drank a full mouthful, before suddenly reeling back, jumping to its hind legs. Philippa moved out the way, and Geralt readied himself in case he needed to step in.
The horse let out a loud, pained neigh, before calming down seemingly instantly. It stood straighter, as if it was fixing its posture in a very un-equine fashion. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink, its formerly dark brown eyes were now bright red, and glowing.
"Should we be concerned about that?" Philippa asked.
"Probably." Geralt answered honestly. "Step back."
The horse didn't do anything for a few minutes, and Philippa wondered if she had exerted herself for nothing. Her head was thumping, and her already dirtied clothes were in even more of a state.
"I...live." The horse spoke.
Philippa nearly jumped out her skin, but honestly, she shouldn't have been surprised at this point.
"Geralt, the horse is talking." Philippa pointed out
"Yeah, they do that sometimes." Geralt groaned. Talking animals. Geralt hated dealing with talking animals. "So are we good here?"
I embody the physical once more." The spirit said. "I may leave this place, and it may leave me."
Geralt figured that was the closest thing to a yes he was going to get.
"So what now?" Philippa questioned. The spirit turned it's head to look at her. Philippa found its red eyes off putting.
"Return to whom sent you..." The spirit instructed. "Do not let them know the details of what you've done...these villagers do better in the dark."
"And what about the orphans?" Geralt added.
"Do not fret. I will save them...A word given, must be honored."
The spirit reared onto its hind legs, and let out a loud neigh, evidently adjusting to being a horse very quickly, before galloping towards the entrance of the cave, leaving Geralt and Philippa in the cavern.
"Do you think they'll actually save the children?" Philippa wondered aloud.
"Not much we can do about it now if it won't." Geralt admitted. "Come on, let's get back to Downwarren, then we can see about the orphans."
When the pair arrived back to Downwarren, the Ealdorman was waiting for them, along with a crowd of other villagers. The crowd made Geralt a bit on edge, and he scanned the crowd for pitchforks - luckily there were none.
"Is it done? Did you ward off the malicious evil?" The Ealdorman asked.
"Solved your problem. Just in case, though, avoid the Whispering Hillock for a while."
"Cannot be... Were somethin' lurkin' there?"
Geralt considered for a moment how much to tell the villagers. He doubted they'd take the context and nuances of freeing the spirit into consideration. He often found being as vague as possible worked better for everyone.
"Went up the hill, took care of the problem. The details are my concern."
The Ealdorman seemed to think for only a moment, before nodding. "Aye, truly as you said. I knows naught of such things anyway"
"The Crones, or Ladies of the Wood, as you call them, said to remind you about payment." Geralt continued. "Take it you know what they want."
"Aye, I do. Gimme the dagger..." The Ealdorman said, with an outstretched hand. Geralt pulled the dagger from his belt, handing it to the other man. The Ealdorman turned around, but didn't move otherwise. He took a deep breath, before grabbing his right ear, by the helix, and brought the knife up to it.
"What are you-" Philippa began, but before she could finish, he was already cutting. "STOP!"
In one slice, he severed his ear from his head, in a startlingly clean motion. He winced in pain, but it was as if something bit him rather than slicing off his ear. The blood flowed quickly from the side of his head, but he paid it little mind - holding his ear in his hand, he turned back to the pair.
"There's payment. Take it to the Ladies, will ye?"
He extended his open hand, bloodied, mutilated ear, in offering to Philippa. She took a step back, and her stomach coiled. She wanted to smack his hand away, but that risked her touching it.
"What the fuck is this?" She demanded, though she didn't know if she actually wanted an answer. The Ealdorman's hand was still extended, looking at her as if she was the strange one in this situation. Philippa looked up, to see the reactions of the rest of the villagers - they were looking at her in unassuming expectation. Upon further inspection, Philippa realized that several men and women also had their right ears missing, the areas scabbed over and scarred.
"Tis' our pact. Ye're a stranger, ye don't know life here. It's honest pay for their protection." The Ealdorman explained, as if he was explaining some banal custom. "Now please-"
The Ealdorman took a step towards Philippa, and she recoiled back.
"Get away from me!" She demanded, hair on her neck standing on end, and ready to blast the man back. The Ealdorman looked confused, not able to parse why Philippa was reacting the way she was.
"But you must!" He insisted. "The Ladies must have their payment. It is what we owe!"
"It's insane!"
"It is just payment, flesh is no different than gold or silver. What did you get for your eyes?"
"What did you just say to me?!" Philippa seethed.
The Ealdorman moved to step towards Philippa again, and the sorceress was ready to send the man to pieces to join his ear when Geralt stepped in front of her.
"Strange form of payment." Geralt commented. He had seen some strange things in his time, but never anything like this. Villagers were a superstitious lot by nature, but something told him that this might have some truth to it - the Ladies did not seem like very benevolent mistresses.
"Put it out yer mind, master. Ye soon be leavin', and we must tarry on." The Ealdorman said." Our young'uns, and their young'uns after them. No gods nor masters watch over Velen. The land is no man's. He who wants to survive must seek his own protectors."
Geralt thought that that sounded a lot like indentured servitude. But kept his comment to himself. He eyed the ear in the man's hand - he didn't particularly want to touch it himself, but he was degreably less squeamish than Philippa. He took the ear, and placed it in his pocket.
"I think our business here is done." Geralt said.
"Good." Philippa bit sharply. "Let's get the hell out of here.