Chapter 1- A Great Favor
Geralt had a feeling that he was being watched.
He had had that instinctual feeling for a few days now whilst on route to slay a monster.
Whether he travelled at night or day, it didn't matter, something was always following him.
Or watching him when he slept.
He didn't like it one bit.
He was used to being the hunter.
The monster killer.
Not the prey.
But he was yet to determine what was following him and whether it was something sinister or not.
Something that he would need to kill.
Besides that, Geralt was distracted by a more pressing issue.
Dead townspeople.
He came across several bodies lying in the dirt.
It seemed that they had been here for a few days.
Their bodies were stone cold.
But whatever killed them was not yet gone.
Geralt sensed something was not right underfoot.
Dismounting his trusty steed Roach, the Witcher led his chestnut horse to safer territory before returning.
As Geralt guessed, ghouls rose up from underground, attacking him.
With sword drawn, Geralt fought off one, then another easily.
A few came at him at once, but he gallantly cut his way clear.
Losing his sword, he used his bare hands, ripping a limb from one ghoul and using it as a weapon on another.
After he had snapped the final ghoul's throat, Geralt breathed heavily.
Taking a step, he realised something was not right.
Glancing down at his left leg, there were teeth marks in his flesh.
'Fuck.' Geralt said to no one as he limped over to retrieve his sword.
Limping back to his horse, the Witcher fell to his knees.
Geralt knew he was dying.
'Not a happy ever after, after all...'
With ears pricked, Roach watched Geralt with interest.
'..a fitting end… huh Roach.'
Glancing towards his horse one last time, Geralt fell face first into the dirt.
xxxx
Geralt spent two nights barely conscious, tossing and turning, hallucinating.
Feverish.
With sweat beading on his forehead, he imagined floating, being lifted off the ground, without falling.
Geralt woke with a start to find himself in a bed.
He seemed to be in a room at a village inn.
The lively background noise gave it away.
Covered only with a sheet and wearing nothing but his medallion, his clothes were gone and his leg had been treated and bandaged.
Still tired and weak, Geralt looked around and seeing he was alone, returned to slumber.
Not long after, a maid, her face withered with a lifetime of hard work, entered with some fresh bandages and a pitcher of water.
Seeing the Witcher lightly dozing, she began chatting.
'Hello there, deary.' She started, dabbing his forehead with a cloth. 'How are you feeling?'
Not welcoming the disruption, Geralt mumbled in response.
The barmaid went about cleansing Geralt's chest with a cloth, admiring his physique as she went, to his displeasure.
Uncovering his injured leg from the sheet, the maid untied the bandage on his leg, appearing to be enjoying every part of it.
Geralt was not generally one for modesty, but he made a point that his groin remained well covered with the bedsheet.
'Oh, no need for that deary, I have already seen every part of you.' The maid responded cheerfully, continuing.
'Well someone had to give you a good clean.' She exclaimed after seeing Geralt's scowl. 'You smelt more like your horse than the beast itself.'
In no mood for such frivolity, Geralt grumbled, feeling worse for wear.
But he thought he might as well press her for information whilst she worked.
'How... did I get here?' He asked eventually.
'The Innkeeper found you on our doorstep early one morning. Three days ago now. There was coin left with you. We took it to pay for your board here whilst you recovered.' The maid said as she worked.
Geralt furrowed his brows.
How strange.
He had run out of coin days earlier.
Witchers were generally scorned.
Only wanted when needed.
Never welcomed, more… tolerated.
In some villages more than others.
Sometimes not even that.
Who would do such a thing… for a Witcher?
'My horse, a chestnut, have you seen her?'
'Yes, in the stables.' The maid said fixing the new bandage around Geralt's leg.
With this information, Geralt relaxed a little.
'Your clothes have been cleaned and there was enough coin to cover your lodging for the week.'
As the barmaid finished tidying up, she walked towards the door.
'Let me know if there is anything you need Witcher. Anything at all…' she winked suggestively, before closing the door behind her.
Geralt grumbled to himself again.
He didn't like any of this.
There were too many unanswered questions.
But for the meantime, he needed to heal.
A bite from a ghoul would kill most.
It was only because of his slow heartbeat and enough rest, that he was still alive.
xxxx
With dusk approaching, Geralt heard music start up in the tavern below as it grew busy for the supper crowd.
Grimacing, Geralt rose slowly, dressed and hobbled downstairs looking for answers.
Perhaps someone happened to have seen who brought him to the village.
A large rowdy crowd were keeping the maids busy serving bread, stew and ale.
Sitting alone at the bar, the barmaid from earlier placed a bowl in front of him.
'You should eat something Witcher. Get your strength back.'
Geralt nodded once in thanks and picked up the wooden spoon.
'Glad to see you up and about. There are not too many of you left now.' She said, continuing to speak whilst Geralt peered at the contents of the bowl in front of him.
'We don't see Witcher's around these parts much.' The maid went on.
Looked edible enough.
'I would have hated if you perished here in this inn. Some might think the place was cursed and never come back again.' She chuckled.
Geralt looked wholly unimpressed.
'I am glad you are so concerned about my wellbeing.' Geralt spoke sarcastically.
xxxx
Halfway through eating his stew, Geralt stopped suddenly.
He had that same feeling again.
Whomever had been following him was here in this very tavern.
They were watching him again right now.
Geralt grumbled to himself as he finished his ale.
Whoever it was, he resoved that he would find them out and force them to talk.
Turning around, Geralt discreetly surveyed the room whilst he pretended to listen to one of the villager's tale.
'...then, he knelt down to remove a stone from the donkey's hoof...'
A small crowd relished every word the farmer spoke as the tale grew more interesting.
'...a huge fox ran out of the brushes and startled the donkey...' The man said, in full command of the crowd.
The crowd was hushed, waiting for more.
Even the music had hushed for the story to continue, playing only a suspensful beat.
'…the donkey kicked him with such force, it snapped the bone in his leg like a twig. He was screaming in agony. The healers said he may never walk properly again. But then… he went to bed that night and woke up the next morning... like nothing had ever happened…' The storyteller spoke enthusiastically knowing he had the crowd at his feet.
Ohhs and ahhs came from the listeners as the story continued.
'…It was like a miracle. No one can quite explain it. The farmer said that he dreamt a woman, a beautiful angel visited him in the night….she placed her hand on his leg and it was healed….'
The crowd began to seem less convinced, some with confused looks at the impossibility of the tale.
Until, with perfect timing, the injured man himself, walked into the tavern unaided.
'Look, here he is, right now.' The storyteller pointed energetically to the doorway.
The previously injured farmer, escorted by his attentive wife, waltzed in like he was some sort of prophet and raised his hands in a 'yes it's me' gesture and proceeded to stroll over to the front of the crowd.
Knowing he had the attention of the whole tavern, he spoke.
'Indeed it is true. It was the best night of my life...to be able to walk again...not be a burden on my family for the rest of my life.' He said quite sincerely, looking towards his wife.
His wife smiled, looking up at him as he went on.
'But, I do hope she comes and visits me again!' The healed man joked suggestively.
His wife slapped him on the arm, annoyed, as the crowd laughed.
One man called out, 'Perhaps I should hurt myself so she can pay me a visit!'
The crowd laughed harder.
'I'm not injured but she can come and treat my 'leg'.' Another villager shouted in jest.
The crowd cheered, raising their glasses, they drank at such a fine story as the music rose to full volume once more.
Geralt's eyes landed on a lone cloaked figure, with the hood up over their head, masking their face in shadow.
They were sitting at a table in the far corner.
Quietly.
Whomever they were, they were watching him.
But why…
Geralt was determined to find out what this person wanted.
Turning his gaze away only for a moment, he was distracted as a drunk villager knocked into him, spilling ale on his freshly washed black shirt.
Well there goes that.
Geralt grumbled, annoyed.
The next time he looked over, the mysterious figure had vanished.
Searching the room with his eyes, he failed to locate the hooded figure again.
'Fuck.' Geralt cursed under his breath.
Reluctantly, the Witcher was left with nothing to do except slowly limp upstairs and retire to his lodging for the night after he had his fill of ale and the rowdy crowd.
xxxx
Not having drunk that much for some time, Geralt woke late in the day.
After rising from bed and dressing, he ventured to the stables to check on Roach.
Busily munching on hay inside the barn, Roach tossed her head and whinnied in greeting as Geralt limped into the barn.
'I'll be fine, thanks for your concern. Glad to see you missed me too, Roach.' Geralt said patting the mare on the neck as Roach went back to busily munching away.
'Don't eat too much. You will get too fat to carry me.'
Roach stomped her hoof.
More prepared this time, Geralt headed back to the tavern as dusk once again approached.
He took up a seat at the bar again and it wasn't long before the maid brought him a hearty bowl of soup.
'So what brought you out this far in the first place, Witcher?' She asked. 'We are a peaceful village. There are no monsters here, that I know of.'
'Just passing through.' Geralt started. 'I had word that there is a fire breathing monster two towns from here and a Lord who is willing to pay much coin for each of it's three heads.'
The barmaid's eyes widened, both terrified and also intrigued at Geralt's bravery, adding to her lust for him.
As the tavern grew busier, music started up and Geralt once again surveyed the crowd.
And... once again, the lone hooded figure had appeared after entering discreetly with a crowd.
Sitting quietly.
In the corner.
Watching him.
Refusing to take his eyes off the mysterious figure this time, Geralt remained still, also watching, waiting.
A silent standoff...
A rowdy drunkard, ale in hand, walked by the hooded figure sitting alone and started rambling and ranting to anyone that would listen, placing a hand on their shoulder for support.
Noticing that something was different about this person, the drunkard stopped talking and peered closer, trying to see a face beneath the hood.
Not welcoming the proximity of the drunkard, the hooded figure stood up abruptly.
It seemed that they had a hunchback or some sort of deformity hidden by the cloak.
Geralt watched as the mysterious figure headed for the door, leaving the tavern swiftly.
Slinging his sheathed sword over his shoulder, this time Geralt followed the hooded figure.
He hastily hobbled between villagers, chairs and tables, making his way to the night outside.
Geralt continued to follow the hooded figure, away from the receeding light of the tavern
'You... What do you want?... Why are you watching me?' Geralt called, but the figure did not stop their retreat.
Determined not to let this unknown man run off without answers, in a final effort, Geralt took some quick steps and lunged.
Geralt caught hold of their long cloak, as it flowed behind them.
Clutching a fistfull of fine velvet, Geralt held firm and the cloak fell off the figure entirely as they continued their escape.
Expecting to see a crippled old man, Geralt was shocked when it revealed a dark haired woman with…white feathered bird like wings tucked neatly behind her back.
The young woman gasped, as she realized that the cloak was no longer covering her.
Turning to face the Witcher, she knew that her true identity had been revealed.
Geralt was taken back for not even he had seen anything like her before.
Only meters apart, the woman and the Witcher stood facing each other for a few moments.
Both catching their breath.
Geralt noticed the woman seemed to be preparing herself to flee from imminent attack as Geralt evaluated the situation.
Although her clothes were tattered and well worn, they appeared to be made of very fine thread.
She was wearing boyish style clothes rather than a dress.
An ornate tunic, cinched in at the waist with a belt and underneath, well tailored pants.
Like she had once lived in a wealthy residence.
A castle perhaps?
Was she noble?
The woman slowly backed away to put more space between herself and the monster hunter.
Still holding the woman's soft cloak, Geralt raised his hand.
'Wait.'
The woman froze, her big frightened eyes watching him closely, trying to anticipate his intentions.
At the same time, a few rowdy villagers sprawled out of the inn interrupting the tense stand-off.
Both Geralt and the winged woman looked towards them simultaneously.
The drunk trio laid eyes on the two, standing motionless in the dark, witnessing the strange encounter.
After a few blank stares and blinks, realising they were not imagining the sight before them after all of their drinking, they all started shouting at once.
'Hey! Who are you?'
'You don't belong here… you are not one of us.'
'She's come to kill us all.'
'It's some sort of demon.'
'A sorcerer! She is going to bewitch us and take our coin.'
'…or kidnap our children…'
Another man, not quite as drunk as the trio, who had been carrying a crossbow from hunting earlier in the day, decided to be the hero.
Loading his weapon, he quickly lined up his target and fired.
The winged woman's eyes widened.
She saw it coming and turned to run, unfolding her wings to their full breadth.
But the arrow reached it's target and pierced her shoulder.
Geralt saw her stagger a little in pain, but she recovered enough to complete a running take off.
They all watched the winged female fly off and disappear into the dark of night.
In awe at what they had just seen, after standing in silence for a few moments looking up at the dark sky, the villagers eventually turned their sights to Geralt.
'Well, go on Witcher, do your job.'
'Yes Witcher, go after her.' Another cried.
'Get rid of the sorcerer.'
'We will pay you when it is done.'
Annoyed, Geralt turned to face them.
'The Witcher has forgotten how to do his job.' One laughed.
'Perhaps you would make a better Witcher, Dorian.' The first three chuckled to the man with the crossbow.
'You may not have killed it but at least you scared it off.' They laughed.
Wholly unimpressed, Geralt grumbled to himself.
Drawing his sword, he limped away into the dark of night after the woman...