AUTHOR'S NOTICE: So… Uhh… Am I the only one that immediately thought of Robert Baratheon when they saw the Bloody Baron? Also, I am merging the notice and the author's notes into one. The reason for this is that I am trying something new at the end. For those of you who would like a deeper look at my thought process while writing in this chapter I will be including my thoughts, opinions and my own interpretations of certain characters from the world of Overlord and how I see them fitting into the larger universe of the Witcher. If you guys like it, I might include it at the end of every chapter.

Updated Notice: Hello everyone… Regarding that Ainz rant at the end of the chapter – I do agree that it was a shit take and not up to my usual standards. It should have never been added. The idea was to feature just Geralt's character info but my sleep deprived ass just decided to add it late last night without giving it any serious thought. Please treat this as nothing more than the incoherent ramblings of a med student that has gone too long without coffee. It is a huge L for me.

P.S.: I openly welcome reviews and criticism in order to improve both this story and future works.

"_"- Speech

'_'- Inner thoughts

[_] – Tier Spells/ Skills/ Martial Arts

{_} – Signs and Magic

5th HUNT: Return To The Bog

"The draugirs are absolutely bound by the draug's orders. They feel no fear or pain, they cannot be forced to retreat. They are ideal soldiers."

- excerpt from a witcher's bestiary

But while the masked magic caster and the Viper made haste for Novigrad, another party was heading deep into Crookback Bog. It was quite a large group – twenty or so armed men on horseback. One would normally think them bandits or deserters but the ashen haired witcher and the mountain of a man in black plate riding at the back of the formation set them apart from the usual ne'er-do-wells.

'Trudging into the swamps without a second thought… Dunno whether to call the Baron a reckless fool or a brave one. What does that say about me fallowing him?' Ruefully thought Geralt, as Roach carried him deeper and deeper into the Witches' territory. Turns out, the Baron was as healthy and eager as the last time he had seen him and that his fears were unfounded. Perhaps, too eager. After completing his tale of Ciri's stay with him, the warlord had immediately set to organizing a posse to go retrieve his wife from the Sisters. Having spent so much time with the man, hell even becoming friends at some point, Geralt couldn't simply leave Strenger to rush to his death. And so, Geralt had reluctantly volunteered for the rescue.

Looking to his right, the witcher could see Momon riding a warhorse that looked tiny under the massive form of its rider. The knight's party had caused quite a commotion back in Crow's Perch. The Baron certainly hadn't minced his words in his surprise. 'Is that a giant fucking rat?!' It seemed Hamsuke had taken an exception to this exclamation and had, rather eloquently at that, corrected the warlord as to its species. This of course had resulted in an 'It can fuckin' talk?!' from the ruler.

Momon had actually been the first to volunteer for the posse. The Baron, too preoccupied with other things to be suspicious of the Nilfgaardian lookalike, had simply shook his hand and been on his way to gather the men. The knight had decided to leave his companions back in Crow's Perch, citing the need for them to rest. Momon's ability to keep going with all that armor for such long periods of time without rest boggled Geralt's mind. The sorceress had clearly taken an exception to this but after being drawn to the side and exchanging a few words with the warrior, she had hung her head and went to find lodgings for the night. After a long back and forth between the stable master of the castle (and a rather hefty pouch coming into his possession), the man had been convinced to allow Hamsuke to stay in the stables, albeit she was to keep her distance from the horses. Not that that was hard for her to do, as the animals tended to stay as far away from her as possible.

'Speaking of equines acting odd…' Momon's mount was acting strange. At times the creature would simply stop and paw at the ground or let out nervous neighs. As if it was afraid of something. And it wasn't the only one. Even Geralt's Roach, who had stared down the horrors of the Continent, was acting on edge. At first the witcher had thought that maybe some of Hamsuke's scent still clung to the man's armor. But then Geralt had realized he couldn't smell any such scent on him. In fact, now that the witcher focused on it he couldn't smell anything from knight. Even the cleanest man had a faint smell to them. Not Momon though. He was an olfactory empty spot.

Paring that with the man's unnatural strength… Something was definitely up with him. When pressed about it Momon had stated that it was due to several magic items he had on his person. The witcher hadn't been entirely convinced. However, for now Geralt would give him the benefit of the doubt. The man had helped him and Letho out after all, so he would cut him some slack. Besides, the man's skill with the blade would be needed if the party hoped to best whatever it was the Crones would send their way.

Pushing such thoughts out of his mind, Geralt instead focused his attention on the thicket on both sides of the trail they were riding along, his lingering on every shadow that seemed out of place. They had entered the Witches' territory now, so caution was of the greatest importance. Not that the Baron and his men understood that judging by the jests and laughter. Then again, the White Wolf wasn't all that surprised given how the warlord had laughed the Sisters as nothing more than some old women. They would soon learn the truth. They were nearly at the Orphanage.

The monster-slayer was broken out of his thoughts by something in the distance. The sound of necrophage growls and of steel meeting flesh. There was no mistaking it, someone was fighting drowners up ahead. The slight nod from Momon showed that he had heard it too. The two wasted no time in rushing forth and past the rest of the posse, much to their surprise. To the Baron and his men's credit the momentary confusion of seeing their rearguard rush forth, seemingly without reason, quickly wore out. They too could now hear the clatter of battle ahead. Putting two and two together, the group launched after the duo, the Baron at the front of the lot.

In the clearing between the huts of the Orphanage several figures could be seen fighting an abnormally large mob of drowners and hags. The men's garb was unmistakable. In fact, Geralt was sure that even a village fool would recognize the group for what they were. Witch Hunters. The same ones he had met while looking for Tamara in Oxenfurt. Said girl who he could also see standing in the midst of the battle. 'Rushing in to save her mother… Like father, like daughter.'

However, while zealous, Tamara was clearly lacking in actual combat experience. This became clear when a water hag managed to slip past her guard and sent her sprawling to the ground. Her fate would have been sealed then and there, if not for the monster's head separating from its body, courtesy of Geralt's silver blade.

"Witcher?!" Came the girl's surprised exclamation.

"You all right?"

"Fine. It simply got lucky." Tamara said as she got up, her sword coming up in a, to Geralt's experienced eyes, sloppy guard.

Geralt wasn't so sure about that and was about to protest but the rushing forms of more necrophages cut him off. Moving out of the way of the creatures'claws, fire erupted from the witcher's hand, the sign setting the drowners on fire. As the monsters were consumed by the flames, Geralt took in his surroundings. It seemed that Momon had simply decided utilize his size and had barreled through several of the necropahges, judging by the trail of mangled bodies littering the ground in his wake. Said armored giant had grouped up with several Witch Hunters on the left. Each swing of his greatswords left bisected drowners in its wake. Furthermore, the Baron's men had also joined fray, several of them moving to cut off the monsters escape routes. Still, the things were fighting unusually hard, their attacks seeming to only grow fiercer.

"TAMARA!"

The monster-slayer heard the Baron before he saw him. His large frame was making his way towards them. Any drowner unfortunate enough to be in his way met a swift end. Hell, Geralt even saw the man punch a water hag off balance before running her through.

By the time the warlord had reached them, it was over. Most of the creatures had been dealt with but even with the henchmen cutting off their retreat, some of them had still managed to slip through the loose formation. Geralt had felled eight. However, while they had emerged victorious, they had still paid a steep price. The monsters' sheer numbers had proven too much for some. Here and there Geralt could see fallen Hunters and henchmen. Several of the survivors appeared badly wounded. Most of them would either bleed out in a couple of minutes or bear the scars for the rest of their lives. All in all, apart from Geralt, only Momon and the Baron looked to be in a relatively fine shape. It was a sad picture. But in that moment, Philip Strenger couldn't give a damn about their circumstances. His daughter was standing mere meters in front of him.

"Tamara, dear daughter! It-" But as he moved to embrace her, she sidestepped him and roughly cut him off.

"Stay away from me. I've come for mother. Unlike you, I'll not see her rot in this swamp."

"Why the hell do you think I'm here? To take her home."

"You'll never lay a finger on her. Never again."

"You've the right to be cross… But I have changed. I have. Come on, tell her Geralt."

But the witcher, still on edge, was preoccupied with other matters. He was examining the bodies. Counting them. 'Over forty of them…' Drowners tended to stick together but Geralt had never seen a group this big. If it had been insectoids or nekkers, then those numbers would make sense to him. But not drowners. Something was off here. He was getting one of those feelings. The kind that usually heralded incoming disasters. Momon must have felt it too, seeing as he hadn't let his guard down either. "But what could cause so many monsters to gather… Is it the Crones? No. If it was them the drowners wouldn't have retreated… Unless…" He quietly murmured to himself as different scenarios played in his head. Finally, he settled on the most likely one. 'Something drove them out of their nests. They fought so ferociously because they were cornered.

"Geralt! Still with us?" The Baron's meaty hand shook him out of his thoughts. Geralt hadn't even noticed him approaching. "You alright? Come on, say something. Starting to scare me." But he wasn't focusing on the words. Instead, his enhanced senses zeroed in on a series of sounds coming from the swamp. First, the frightened calls of crows. The rustling of small woodland critters scurrying away from the clearing. Then complete, unnatural silence descended upon the forest. Momon's hand twitched slightly. However, it seemed that nobody else had noticed it. Too busy tending to the dead and wounded.

"We need to find Anna and go! Now!" Shouted the witcher.

"Wha-" Tamara's question was cut off by Momon.

"I concur. The faster we get out of here the better. Something is coming."

The duo's uneasiness snapped the men into action. The witcher and the knight had swept through the seemingly unending numbers of drowners like it was nothing, whatever it was that had them on edge, well it was better they not met. With great haste, the wounded were led away on horseback, while several small groups began searching the huts. Hopefully they would find Anna quickly and be on their way as well. Somehow Geralt knew that that was just wishful thinking. The fact that Momon had never sheathed his greatswords (he was drawing looks of awe from all present) further added to the witcher's worries. One thing was for sure – his eyes weren't leaving the treeline until they the Baron's wife was secure. Suddenly, he got a bad feeling about this. Sort of like when he was meeting with the Witches.

'Though this feels different from the Crones.'

Deep in his thoughts, the witcher missed the sight of Momon stealthily tilting his helm away from him

…no matter how noble a mage's motives might be, necromancy will always lead to evil.

Its heavy steps splashed the bog's waters as it continued its steady stride. Its black carapace-like armor, stained with viscera and dirt, creaked as it moved. Hatred burned in its eye sockets. The flamberge trembled slightly, betraying its excitement. The moaning remains of several bandits limped after its hulking form. Its newest servants.

The Master had sent it here as a show of force. Its last orders had been to start building up an army of squires using the local monster, animal and peasant populations. Nobody would look for them. Villages disappeared or were abandoned all of the time in Velen after all. If only its visage wasn't so rotten it was skeletal, it would have smiled at the memory. Still the glee was easy to see in its eyes. In only a short amount of time it had managed to accumulate a rather sizable force. It was sure its Master would be proud. The Great Lord who had given it such a wonderful task.

Continuing its march through the bog it ran across several drowners, the creatures scurrying away from it, however it ignored them. It had received new orders. 'Crush the vermin at the Orphanage. Waste no time, oh and be sure to bring all your zombies'. Said minions were already racing ahead of it. They were so eager to slaughter, it made it feel proud of them, of itself for creating them. But what excited it even more was the fact the Master would be there. It would get to gaze upon its creator and serve a greater purpose in His plans. The red flames in its empty sockets seemed to glow even brighter all of a sudden.

Still, it felt a little disappointed. It had been eyeing up one of the local villages. Gathering numbers to deal with its inhabitants more effectively. How sweet their screams would have been. Sadly, it had missed its chance. No matter, it would carry out its current orders to perfection.

The Death Knight's heavy steps splashed the bog's waters… Ignorant of the ghostly lights fallowing in its wake.

…no matter how noble a mage's motives might be, necromancy will always lead to evil.

"I refuse to go! Not without the Ladies permission! They said I was to wait for the sign."

Geralt sighed and rubbed his temples. They had found Anna. Quite easily actually. She had been huddled in front of that damn tapestry. The witcher had half a mind to let the Witch Hunters burn the thing and be done with it. However, he couldn't risk it. Who knows how Anna would react to that or if the Crones had booby-trapped it. Still, they couldn't stay here for much longer.

"Come on Annie… Stop this nonsense. Let us go home."

"As much as I hate agreeing with him, the bastard is right. Mother we need to go."

The father-daughter duo had been trying to convince her that the Crones couldn't hurt her anymore. And as much as it pleased the witcher seeing the two finally agreeing on something, they had been having this same conversation for the last ten minutes. The Witch Hunters and the Baron's men had thrown in the towel at around the five minute mark and had joined Momon in keeping watch on the treeline. Though it was much more likely that they would be too busy talking to the knight to do any guarding. Seems like he had landed himself some new admirers.

"No, no, no… The Ladies… They will be back… They always come back. The things in the shadows are always watching. Always listening. They will know. "

Enough was enough. Geralt had had enough. {Axii} sprung into existence.

"Anna, come with us. You want to leave this place, right?"

It took a second for the sign to take effect but eventually the woman's eyes glazed over and she wordlessly nodded. Slowly standing up from her position on the ground in front of the tapestry, she passed by the trio and patiently waited for them by the door.

"Bloody hell witcher, ya couldn't have done that earlier?!" Bellowed the Baron.

"Don't like using {Axii} willy-nilly but she left us no choice."

"How da-"

It seemed Tamara might have had something to say about the usage of magic on her mother but her words were cut off by a roar and a crash from the outside. Then the first yells and screams rang out. Silver word unsheathed, Geralt wasted no time bolting out of the hut.

A massacre. That's the only to describe what was unfolding in the clearing. Monsters and beasts, of all sorts, kept pouring of the depths of the swamp. Drowners and ghouls tearing the intestines of fallen men here, a pack of wolves and a bear ripping through the Hunters' ranks there. Such scenes were playing out all over the place. Momon was nowhere to be seen though judging by the large hole in one of the huts and the distinctive sound of greatswords slamming into something coming from it, he could guess where he was. 'Guess that explains the crash'

Refocusing on the battle, Geralt spotted a nearby group of henchmen struggling to deal with two foglets. They were so close, yet he wouldn't reach them in time. 'Shit!' Thinking fast witcher reached for something on his back. It was a crossbow. The bolt struck one of the foglets straight in the eye, knocking it off balance just as it was stepping over its latest victim about to slash at another. Seeing the bolt sticking out of its comrade, second necrophage, confused, stopped its attack. It traced the path of the projectile back to Geralt but by then the witcher had already closed the distance. A flash of silver and the monster found itself bisected. Turning to the one he had shot, the monster-slayer sent it back and away from the group with an {Aard}.

Just as he was about to move to finish the downed monster, a scream broke from the men behind him. Whipping around, Geralt couldn't fathom what he was seeing. The bodies of those the foglets had killed were slowly rising up, clawing at the survivors. Now that he looked, similar scenes were playing out all over. The dead coming back to life to murder their former friends. So transfixed was he on the sight that he almost missed the bisected form of the monster he thought he had slew, crawling towards him. Just as it was about to grab his ankle, its head met with the witcher's boot, crushing it. Now that it was finally dead, Geralt got a good look at the thing. "What the hell?!"

On its back was a large gash. The witcher could see its inside through the wound. There were no two ways about it – it was a fatal blow. Damn thing shouldn't have been alive even before he had bisected it. Upon closer inspection, much to Geralt's horror, he realized that the attacking creatures all bore similar wounds. Gashes, broken limbs, caved in torsos…

"Necromancy…? " He had seen it used a few times but never to this extent. A spell that could create soldiers that would only grow in number with every victory. The sheer destructive potential of such magic sent chills down his spine. A plague of the living dead sweeping through Velen. This could be worse than Vergen. The good news was that magic this complex required an anchor, either an entity or an object. All Geralt had to do was destroy it. Easier said than done as what remained of the living were being pushed back by the ever increasing horde. It was clear to Geralt they couldn't hold the clearing for much longer.

However, just as it seemed the survivors would give in, the dead halted their advance. As confusing as the radical shift in their behavior was, the survivors didn't waste time pondering on it. Instead, they gathered their wounded and retreated back to the relative safety of the hut with the tapestry. Inside the building ideas and propositions were exchanged…

"-barricade ourselves. We can pick them off from behind cover. "

"Fool, they break in, we are trapped! I say we go out the back, run for our lives."

"With all the wounded slowing us down?! We will never outrun them! They have stopped for now. I say we make a break for the horses."

"Forget about the wounded! We gotta save our own hides first or we'll end up like Graden!"

"Coward!"

"What did you say?!"

However, it wasn't long before the impromptu strategy meeting descended into chaos and arguments.

Geralt stood of to the side, keeping watch on the creatures outside through a window. He wasn't the only one not participating in the discussion though. All around the room there were small groups of men too terrified by what they had seen to do anything. In the far corner, the witcher could see the Baron bandaging a gash on his arm. Geralt had lost sight of him after bolting out of the door but it seemed that he had had his share of action too. Anna and Tamara stood a distance from him, near another window. They looked shaken but otherwise okay. Momon was still missing. 'Twelve survivors' They had been over thirty strong before the attack.

Geralt had been one of the few lucky enough to actually 'kill' one of the dead. After some information sharing with the others who had managed to do so, the witcher had identified a problem. It seemed that the only sure way to bring them down for good was to either decapitate them or destroy the head, otherwise they would just get back up or start crawling. Taking that and their numbers into account, fighting them would be a death sentence. They had two options: Run or Find the source of the spell and destroy it.

The monsters were showing no signs of attacking anytime soon, so Geralt left his spot near the window and headed towards the Baron and his family. A spell this powerful in the heart of the Crones' territory? Couldn't be a coincidence. 'Anna ought to know something about it.'

His approach didn't go unnoticed as the Baron met him halfway there.

"Geralt… I saw one of those things tearing apart one of my men, Hans. By the time it was done with him, you could see his spine through his chest. But then Hans sat up, only to lung at me. Be honest with me, what are we dealing with?"

"Right now, best guess – A necromantic ritual."

"Ever seen anything like this before?"

"Half a year ago near Vergen but this is worse. I've also never heard or read of such a thing happening before."

At those words Strenger's already pale face seemed to lose its color entirely.

"So we are right buggered then…" He uttered quietly after a moment.

"Not necessarily. Powerful magic like this usually has a source. We get rid of it, we break the spell."

"Any leads?"

"No. Was hoping to ask your wife whether she knows anything, seeing as she has been here longer than us."

Just as the Baron was about to respond, a quiet voice interrupted him.

"The Master's Hound… "

It was Anna. Apparently she had heard Geralt's words.

"The Ladies spoke of it… Said it could trap the souls of those it slew and puppet their bodies. That it was a being from somewhere beyond our world."

"Sounds like some sort of draug or maybe a demon. This 'Hound', can you describe it?"

"It is a rotting carcass, almost skeletal, in black armor. Like the pictures of the Wild Hunt in my nana's storybook."

Suddenly, the witcher remembered his first meeting with the woman '…skeletal and as big as a tree.' and the words of the spirit in the tree 'A perverse power…'. 'Even Eredin isn't crazy enough to dabble in necromancy. So who the hell is this Master then?

"Gotta find this thing, fast."

"Don't think that will be a problem, witcher." Tamara called out. Her voice trembled and her face could only be described as 'sheet white'. With a shaking hand she pointed out the window.

At some point the living dead had split into two neat rows, as if lining up to receive an important dignitary. Then Geralt saw it. Its form was covered in black armor. Most of its body was hidden behind a tower shield, so big it would be more accurate to call it a wall. A flamberge, stained red with the blood of countless victims, sat in its hand. Two pinpricks of red fire sat in empty eye sockets on a rotting face. It reminded Geralt of the draugir he had faced at Vergen. Plants withered and rotted away in its wake, as if its very nature was anathema to life. A several human corpses fallowed close behind it and even further behind them Geralt could see the distinctive greenish glow of wraiths. 'Probably drawn by the being. Wraiths love negative emotions.'

One thing was clear: they were in for one hell of a fight.

CHARACTERS: THE WOLF

Geralt of Rivia, what can I say about him that hasn't been said already? A freak, a mutant, an outcast. A friend, a father, a hero. The White Wolf. He is all this. Yet let us not forget his other nickname – "The Butcher of Blaviken". Geralt, and witchers in general, is in a unique position. He is the result of cruel experimentation, made to slaughter monsters by other monsters. Yet he is also treated like a monster himself. Accepted by neither humans nor non-humans. He has seen the evils of both monster and man and come out the other side. Geralt is a good person, in a cruel world, forced by circumstance to choose between evils he would rather not choose at all. The pain of having to make these choices has forced him to put on the mask of an emotionless monster-slayer and hide behind the witchers' supposed neutrality, yet as we see time and time again he is more than that, much more. He is a protector of both worlds, for he lives in both. Despite what fate has thrown at him, he has remained a good person.