Kraeg’s Hill, Kaedwen
Summer, sometime in the 13th century

The witcher rode into the village astride his black steed halfway through the morning. The sun was not yet at its peak but the peasants had already begun to gather in the shade of the trees that dotted the valley, the lone suppliers of mercifully cool shadow between the amber fields of grain. Kraeg’s Hill had been constructed on top of the eponymous highland that rose towards the far end of the valley. Forests dominated the edges of the valley and snow-capped mountains rose beyond them on all sides, for such a land was Kaedwen; large swaths of it were uninhabitable mountain ranges. The wind, always a powerful force in the valley, was coming down from the mountains in the east and brought warm air with it. Even this far north, the summers could be hot. Clouds sailed lazily overhead like pieces of white cotton candy and the trees bowed their canopies gracefully. It was an idyllic sight, but appearances could be deceiving. Valker of Kerach knew this well.

He dismounted from his horse, a fine Mahakaman stallion that he had christened Charles after receiving it as a reward from a grateful baron in Velen about four years past, upon reaching Kraeg’s Hill’s inn. With trees in anything but short supply, the village’s houses were fashioned from wood and featured straw rooftops. Children were playing on the muddy main road, chasing after loudly protesting gaggles of geese, while the elders watched them from their porches. Their eyes were sure to find Valker as well and the witcher’s sharp hearing picked up on their mutterings without trouble. Peasants always thought they were being clever.

“That be a witchman, sure as sure. Two swords on his back. Bad omen, that.”

“Oh hush, Kerd. Might be he’s here about the contract. Nothing wrong with that. It’s honest work.”

“Finding out where that whoreson buggered off to? We’re all better off without him, and you know it. Damn waste of the lord’s coins, I say.”

Valker looked up from Charles’ saddlebags to glance in their direction. The sunlight brought out the blond in his hair and his beard and reflected brightly off the polished pommels and crossguards of the swords sheathed across his back. He stood out amongst the village’s population as much as a siren would be out of place in a forest. Every inch of him, from the steel toes of his sturdy boots to the midnight blue fabric of his robes, was decidedly extraordinary. And yet he seemed modestly and practically dressed, without vanity or pretense. Not fit for a village and not fit for a ball. A true outsider.

“Work,” Valker muttered to himself, a trait common to witchers. “Good.” He was in need of crowns. Well, he was always in need of crowns, for a man like him could never have enough. His feline eyes fell upon the notice board that had been erected outside the inn’s entrance. Having made sure sure that Charles, who carried the foreboding skull of a dead leshen on his flank, had enough water to drink and hay to eat from the inn’s modest stable, Valker made his way to the notice board and inspected it, his hands on his hips, spine straight as an arrow. As usual, the notice board was mostly filled with the kind of insignificant trifle that peasants bothered themselves with, but there was also an important looking piece of parchment signed with a genuine wax seal.

To all denizens of Kraeg’s Hill,

One of my guardsmen has gone missing two days hence. As my men are a reliable and professional regiment, I suspect foul play -- or worse. A full purse of crowns awaits the man that can discover his whereabouts and, if possible, rescue him from his predicament, whatever that may be.

Come to the manor for details. I wish to speak with all who attempt to complete this task personally. Men without a sword need not apply.

Signed,
The Right Honorable Lord of Kraeg’s Hill, Karthwin and Kingfisher’s Hollow,
Reeve Aunsellus

“Foul play, or worse,” Valker repeated under his breath. Peasants were liable to see monsters everywhere and blamed all their misfortunes on them -- if they weren’t too busy blaming mages, non-humans or even witchers -- but for the lord of the area to suggest such a thing, there might actually be a tangible reason. He turned around and looked behind him at the valley as it winded away into the distance, his eyes scanning the forests on either side. He had known monsters to hide in less ideal places. And even if there was no monster to be slain, finding out what happened to the guardsman should prove to be an easy task for one of the best trackers of the Northern Realms. And that meant easy coin.

First things first, however. He was both hungry and thirsty and did not trust the lord to provide nourishment or refreshment for every visitor. Valker turned back to the inn and stepped inside, the wooden doors swinging shut behind him. Predictably, everyone in the establishment stopped what they were doing and looked up to gawk at him. Four men were sitting at a table playing gwent, the innkeeper was pouring an old man at the bar a drink, and a gaggle of girls that barely looked old enough to be drinking rye were seated in the back. One of them giggled, staring at Valker with eyes the size of saucers. Another one shushed her.

Expertly sensing the tension in the room of her inn, the keep spoke up and cut through the silence with a warm voice. “Master witcher, welcome. What can I get you?”

After a further second or two of meeting everyone’s gaze with his own stern, piercing stare and forcing them to look away, Valker rolled his shoulders and stepped up to the bar, taking a seat on a stool on the opposite end of where the old man was sitting. “A stout and a meal. Your recommendation.” His voice was deep, pleasantly so, but bereft of mirth -- he spoke with the same commanding tone that a general might use, expecting to be obeyed. He looked up at the woman with a furrowed brow, his expression somewhere between silent judgement and mild impatience.

The innkeep, looking to be in her thirties, blue-eyed and with long brown hair down to her waist, flustered for a moment and cleared her throat while she fiddled with her fingers. “The grilled chicken with a side of mushrooms,” she said, regaining her composure. “Best we have, master witcher.”

Valker nodded. “Very well. Make it so.”

As people picked up their conversations in the rest of the inn Valker adjusted the tilt of his head slightly in order to overhear them, but found himself rudely interrupted by the old man at the bar, head devoid of hair save for a few straggles round the sides but sporting a magnificent mustache.

“What brings you to these parts, good man?” he asked, his voice as shaky as the hands with which he was nursing a drink that Valker did not recognize.

“The Path,” Valker said dryly without looking at him, not expecting -- nor wishing -- the man to understand him.

“Witcher’s lot, eh?” the old man retorted unexpectedly. He grinned a gaptoothed grin. “Name’s Mandring. Folks call me Manny.”

Valker looked at Manny for a few seconds, his face unchanged from when he had sized up the innkeep. “Valker.”

“Gods preserve ya, Valker. I hired one of your kind once when I was a young man. Was the ealdorman, y’see. Had a problem with one of them big… whatchamacallit? Rooster’s head, dragon’s wings, screams like a dying pig?”

“Cockatrice.”

“Aye, aye, that’s the one. Had a problem with a big cockatrice. Funny name, that. Either way, whole village pitched in to hire a witcher. Fellow killed the beast in a day. Slept with my daughter, gone the next morn. Good man,” Manny said, wheezing at his drink. Valker deduced that must have been laughter. “Now my Clara has young’uns of her own that are ‘bout the size of you! Ah, how time flies, eh?”

Valker nodded slowly. “On wyvern’s wings.”

Manny grinned his grin again and pointed a finger at Valker. “That’s just right. On wyvern’s wings. Nice turn of phrase, that. Have you read the notice yet? One the lord posted?”

“I have, and I’m going up to the manor to speak to him after my meal,” Valker said and glanced in the direction of where the innkeep had disappeared off to -- presumably the kitchen. “Couldn’t help but overhear people talking about the guardsman outside. Not a popular man, I take it?”

“Oh, no, no.” Manny shook his head and took a sip of his drink at the same time, turning both simple actions into a needlessly complicated procedure that resulted in him spilling some of it down his tunic. “Normally I wouldn’t be one to speak ill of the dead and all that, but Jon’s a right rotten bastard.”

“Mind your manners, Manny!” one of the gwent players said without looking up. The others laughed.

Valker ignored them. “He’s dead?” he asked. The innkeep finally returned with his stout and his meal. He ignored her too, save for the crowns he dropped on the countertop.

“I hope so,” Manny said darkly, dabbing at his tunic after having finally caught up to the mishap with his drink.

“Hm,” Valker hummed before he turned to his order and set about the task of devouring it in short order. The conversation was clearly over and even an old fool as daft as Manny could tell. He muttered something under his breath while he continued to dry himself with his handkerchief.

A few minutes later, Valker’s ravenous appetite sated and the stout having been downed in a single gulp that prompted a smattering of applause from the gwent players, the witcher heard light and trepid footsteps approaching from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find the same wide-eyed girl standing there that had giggled at his arrival earlier.

“Sorry to bother ya,” she began, her arms wrapped around herself. “But -- but are you a real witcher? From the stories, and all that? You look like one, with the swords and all that, but the other girls -- they don’t believe you are.”

Valker sighed, an almost imperceptible exhale through his nose, and turned on his stool to face her. Without a word, he simply held up his medallion for the girl to inspect.

Her eyes widened even further, an act Valker had previously thought impossible. Her grin was almost painfully enthusiastic and her stare flickered between his medallion and his eyes rapidly. “Ah! So it is true! Have you killed many--”

“My turn. Are you a real whore?” Valker interrupted her, dropping the medallion back to his chest. “You look like one.”

The girl’s excitement turned to offense in the blink of an eye. “Nay!” she huffed and took a step back, hands on her hips, all her knowledge about how dangerous witchers were forgotten in sight of this affront to her decency. “I’m a good and proper woman, thank you very much!”

“My mistake,” the witcher replied dryly. He got to his feet and towered over the girl for a few seconds. She took another step back, her indignation turning to uncertainty beneath Valker’s slit-eyed stare. Without another word, Valker strode out of the inn.

“Don’t ask witchers stupid questions, girl,” Manny piped up, shaking his head.

Kraeg’s Hill, Kaedwen
- Aunsellus Manor
Summer, sometime in the 13th century

---

Everything seemed to be as it usually was. The weather was the same, the familiar noises of the manor rang through the halls as they usually did at this hour, everything was the same. Such was the way of life in a small village like Kraeg's Hill, as idyllic as it was, it hardly had the extravagance of a city or even the intrigue of one either. But it had been the home of Reeve Aunsellus since his birth, and the home of his family for a long time too. More than a home, the village of Kraeg's Hill belonged to him, and it would stay that way.

There was a growing tension today, with one of his prized guardsmen missing his defenses were weakened. That of course was a gross exaggeration, but Reeve always thought ahead. The guardsman in question was known amongst his people as a very bad egg. This alone concerned Reeve, that the people were secretly celebrating his absence… It didn't make the guards look good - and by direct extension, he felt the people laughing at him too.

As he stood on his balcony overlooking the lands, his fingers gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles white. He had an incredibly austere appearance, he was still only shy of forty years, yet his hair was peppered with streaks of silver, and they seemed to grow in number by the day. He ran a bony hand through that oily hair as he continued to stare out at the horizon. Grey too were his eyes - like steel. They were small and beady against his face but could invoke terror in his subordinates nonetheless. Reeve was a gaunt and pale man, in some ways he was almost like a carved statue in that his tone was slightly greying too, come to think of it. His entire presence embodied a stormy day, he was even able to make his voice boom like claps of thunder when he needed to - but that was rare.

Despite having an unfortunately grim appearance, the man was actually at least somewhat affable - though the ghastly look did hamper at any charisma he might have been able to muster. He had good people around him too, that he was thankful for. A team of good advisors, some of whom had been in the manor since before his birth. He even had a Sorceress, not that she was entirely to be relied upon - but she at least kept a residence on his grounds and would be around for most occasions that she was required to be.

He took a sharp turn and left the balcony, on his way to take seat in his hall, hoping that the villagers would take his job as an invitation to please him. Maybe if they were thinking of catching the guardsman, they'd have less time to laugh about it and see that Reeve was a good man willing to reward his people for good work.

He did not care quite whether Jon was alive or dead, moreso what had happened in the first place. It wasn't a great secret that Reeve had been close to promoting him, and so his first thought was that dissent was brewing within the ranks. He absolutely hoped that was not it. He wanted for Jon to have simply taken bed with a woman as he was rumoured to, and with any luck he would be found in a drunken stupor. But Reeve understood that luck was not something afforded to him, something must have happened.

As he made his way through the manor he took long and purposeful strides, adopting a faster pace as he came to the longest corridor before the hall. On each side of the wall was painting after painting of his ancestors, all of them looking down on him - their expression forever that of judgement and disapproval. Reeve would never be like them and he felt it every time he was forced to walk that hallway.

Reeve took his seat at last, some of his more elderly advisors sat after him at either side, Alistaire Ferrand to his left, and Uriel Hamellen to his right. They had both been advisors to his father, and had served well indeed. While Reeve sat, he adjusted the lapels of his forest green jacket, a shade that at least added some colour to his features, his finger hovered over a brooch with his families sigil emblazoned on it and he sighed. The Lord then placed his hands out in front of him on the table, resisting the urge to tap his fingertips over the mahogany, it was just too quiet and tense for such a thing, he wasn't entirely sure why until Uriel finally turned to speak; “my Lord,” he began, his gruff voice a byproduct of his age. He had a face not entirely unlike a terrier of some kind, bearded and round, his eyebrows so long they were about to blind him, “I heard that your notice board has attracted the attention of a Witchman…”

Well, that piqued his interest and his eyes narrowed, head tilting to the side, “is that so, Uriel?” he asked - his voice was nasal and unpleasant sounding, his face curled to a sneer. “Then I suppose this situation just got a lot more interesting…”

As if on cue, the doors to the hall swung open and Valker stepped inside. His steel-toed boots were heavy on the stone floor and the sound of his footfalls echoed against the high, vaulted ceiling. Sunlight filtered into the room sideways, let in by stained glass windows spaced a few feet apart, and between every godray Valker’s eyes appeared to glow in the
dark as he approached the lord of the manor. The guards positioned in the corners of the hall eyed him, and the swords on his back, warily. Valker paid them no mind. His gaze was on Reeve Aunsellus, briefly flitting to observe what he assumed to be advisors on either side of him.

The witcher stopped at a respectable distance and clasped his hands behind his back. “My lord,” he began respectfully, though there was no deference in the sound of his voice. “I have come to inquire about the notice.”

From the moment the doors swung open, Reeve's eyes were glued to the Witcher. It really was true, he was a foreigner in these lands, and should have been a worry to him - but it brought a smile to Reeve's face that he had not known he could manage anymore, a smile reserved for young boys hearing tales meant to frighten them. He'd seen only one in passing years ago on a visit elsewhere but now he had one in his hall…

Alistaire cleared his throat beside his Lord as he watched Reeve lean back in his chair with that grin. With that old man's interruption, the spell was broken and Reeve's face fell sour once more. “Have you now? Seems a bit small fry for a Witcher really… Fetching one of my guards…” Suddenly there was an air of petty delight in his voice at the very idea of this Witcher working on such a job only to find Jon passed out in a brothel - no fighting or hunting to be done. “But I'm a man of my word and if you bring Jon back you'll be paid, simple as that.”

Reeve spoke true. A single missing person did not a monster make and normally something like this would be below him. But work had been scarce. Valker’s purse was light and winter was a long way off yet. “You know what they say,” he replied. “If you want justice, hire a witcher.” He cleared his throat and frowned slightly. “I must know beforehand that pay is guaranteed even if your man turns out to be deceased through no fault of my own. In turn, I will see to it that his killer is dealt with, should that be the case. Are we agreed?”

Reeve smiled again and was about to speak, when just as he leaned forwards to ‘close the deal’ the side door squeaked and groaned on its hinges loud enough to have him turn his head in the direction of the noise. Alistaire too turned, already knowing what it was. As the woman walked through the opening with polite steps he spoke; “nice of you to arrive in such a timely manner…” he had the voice of a man that probably ought to have retired years ago - that nauseating smugness that elders who followed tradition by the book so happily leaned on.

Avery simply smiled, and no sooner had he rolled out his annoyed sigh, she had choice words to pass back to him. “Ahhh, Alistaire Ferrand. Don't you know a lady is never late? Everyone else is simply early?” Her eyes twinkled as she gave her gaze to Reeve with a respectfully curt smile. “How nice of you to keep my seat warm though, very courteous of you but I'm here now so you may find your way to yours…”

For a moment, it looked as though the man was going to protest, perhaps it was the Witcher's company that held him back because he simply took in a deep breath and held it as he got up from the chair, it's legs making a terrible scraping sound against the stone floor that filled the awkward silence as Avery just watched him do it. Once he was up again, she took her seat and did not bother to wait for him to sit back down before she addressed Reeve with a simple “good day my Lord,” and yet she felt something was amiss, the energy in the room was strangely heavy and had a quality to it that she didn't recognise. It was intense and enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She turned her head to the man stood in the hall, how foolish of her to have assumed it would be only men from the village addressing Reeve today.

She could see from the orange of his eyes, and the slit pupils that he most certainly was not from the village. She all of a sudden could not look at anything else. “Oh my,” she said finally, “a Witcher in Kraeg's Hill… Well I never…”

Well aware of the dangers of being involved in politics, Valker had deliberately steered clear of the vicinity of kings and emperors during his career and was more or less a stranger to the effects a sorceress could have on a court. The way Avery shooed Alistaire out of his chair and her immediate dominance of the conversation, the very air of the hall itself, made sure that his cat eyes observed her heterochromic gaze just as intently as she did his. That, and his witcher medallion began to vibrate slightly. The moment stretched on until Valker spoke up.

“Valker of Kerach, madam. A pleasure,” he said and inclined his head ever so slightly. He managed to drag his eyes away from her and back to Reeve. “You were saying?”

Reeve gave Avery and Alistaire both a sidelong glance of disapproval, shaking his head before he ran his hand through his hair again. “Yes, Witcher,” he continued - his words almost sounded flustered. “I'll agree to your terms, I'd just like answers… I want to know what happened to him, dead or alive.” The admission may have been too much information, but Reeve did not mind saying it in front of Valker, honesty may have been the best way to tread with him. It seemed that Alistaire did not agree, if the quiet groan was anything to go by. It was likely that Alistaire would have haggled…

“Of course, in the spirit of that I would ask you to consult with Avery here, if this is to be an investigation,” he added as the caveat of his own, to which Avery raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes in response. It was also the moment that she pulled her eyes from Valker's. “She knows of Jon, she knows the village… She has a certain talent for investigating our citizens.” Reeve brought his hands together, and spoke with a finality that suggested he would not back down on it, just as the Witcher would not back down on matters of payment.

Valker nodded. He appreciated Reeve’s honesty. It was only too often that people tried to swindle him. All regretted it in the end. He had more questions to ask but it appeared that the responsibility of answering them would fall to the woman sitting next to her lord. He had never seen eyes like hers before and even the rest of her body, obviously deliberately put on display -- the neckline of that shirt was practically scandalous -- seemed almost unnaturally beautiful. This was no ordinary woman. His medallion had sensed it, too. Magic. A sorceress. But that begged the question; what was a sorceress doing here? Reeve Aunsellus held sway over a pretty vast tract of land, it had to be said. Kaerg’s Hill was merely the seat of his power but his dominion extended for quite a ways in all directions. But Kaedwen was vast, spread out, not densely populated. This was in no ways an exceptional court to make one’s home. Valker had only ever heard of the political guile and endless ambition that sorceresses appeared to unfailingly possess.

All in all, it would appear that all parties in the room were in agreement that today had become more interesting than any of them had expected.

“I have more questions to ask before I begin but I will direct those towards your advisor, as per your request,” the witcher agreed. He assumed that the audience was to be concluded and that Reeve did not wish for his time to be wasted by the details, so he returned his expectant gaze to Avery, as if to say lead the way.

Avery had been thinking today would be quiet, and here she was being put to work with a Witcher. She nodded in Reeve's direction and rose from her seat quickly, keen to get started. Valker was very fascinating, and it wasn't everyday they had a Witcher in their midst. She was planning on using every second to the fullest. “Come, Valker - I'll take you to the gardens of the manor. You can ask me anything you'd like.” She gave him a smile, although she could tell from his energy that he may not smile back, and so she did not wait for it. She then began with her usual short strides in the direction of the same door that Valker had entered into the hall from, hands placed across her stomach, fingers interlaced with each other.

---

The gardens looked exceptionally beautiful, it had been only the day prior that they had been fully tended to. The weeds had been removed, the lawns trimmed, and the gravel path had been turned over too. In the summer months, the flowers bloomed so well in the gardens as they were positioned to soak up so much of the sun. Hedges covered in white roses lined the gardens, and within were strips of honeysuckle, marigolds, and tulips - each with their own colours and scents. It was a place that Avery would often visit and walk through, she could appreciate the quiet serenity. As the two walked, the gravel crunched softly underfoot and that was about the only sound that could be heard.

“Alright then, question time.” Avery announced, her gaze falling on the flowers around her.

The garden was a far cry from the forests, swamps and caves that Valker usually plied his craft in. It was an unexpected change of scenery and he followed Avery’s eyes to the rich sea of colors formed by the blooming flowers. He saw the bugs that crawled up and down the stems of the flowers and milled about on their petals, too small to be seen at this distance by anyone that wasn’t a witcher. He noticed how the earth had been recently disturbed and observed the empty spots where weeds had previously grown. If he hadn’t known any better, he might have thought that the garden had been cleaned and straightened out to impress him.

But he had more important matters to think about. “Where and when was the guardsman last seen?” Valker asked and looked at Avery, following the bronzed edge of her cheek and the plump line of her lips while her gaze was averted from him.

Avery let the question linger on the air for a few moments before choosing to answer, that answer being that he was last seen where he always seemed to spend his free time. The inn, and he had been intoxicated. The Sorceress let her hands drop to her side, and as she walked she began to brush her fingers over the flowers. “Let me think about it… It was two nights ago, and he was piss drunk at one of the inns down in the centre of the village. Same as always,” she gave a quiet sigh. “I'm surprised at all this fuss, really. I expect he'll roll back into Kraeg's Hill soon enough.”

Such intense eyes the Witcher had, so much so that she could feel them looking at her, even if she didn't have her own eyes on Valker, his stare was giving her that very same chill she got when she'd entered the hall and she had half a mind to ask him to stop… “Seems a strange and out of the way place for a Witcher to make a stop,” she said - not directly asking anything, but letting him know she was curious. Once that had been said, she turned her face ever so to look him in the eyes again - now that she was in a closer proximity to him she could see more of the details that lay there. They looked like two suns.

Valker had to resist a sigh. That information made the job a lot less interesting than the notice had made it out to be. Drunkards went missing for a few days all the time, only to turn out still topsy-turvy in the attic of a barn somewhere down the fields. “Then I’ll start my search there.”

That said, he did not move to return to the village just yet. Avery had expressed her curiosity and he was not above indulging the unspoken questions of elegant, intelligent women. Her own eyes, like a twinned pair of resplendent gemstones, captured his attention again. So that is what that feels like, he thought to himself.

“Monsters most often call such places their home,” he explained. “Out of the way, at the edges of civilization. You won’t find a leshen anywhere near Novigrad. The Path takes me all over the map.” He raised an eyebrow slightly and gestured towards the manor they had just exited. “Small court for a sorceress, though.”

She hummed softly in response at his response, his mention of Novigrad made her lips almost turn upwards to a smile but she restrained herself. “The court feels smaller each and every year... More so since Reeve's father passed. I was advisor to him when I arrived here and actually I liked him very much. He was a good man.” She was surprised at how willingly she spoke to Valker, it was rare for her to indulge in her thoughts like this, but there was nothing signalling to her from what she could detect from the Witcher that made her feel like she couldn't. Being a talented empath allowed her to learn from first glance who could and could not be trusted. He was still hard to read, but he gave her a feeling of safety - and whatever calm he carried within himself was making its way to her too. He was no ordinary man, that was for sure.

“Funny you should say that about monsters, Valker, they come in many shapes and sizes, and yes - they do quite like to carve out a space for themselves indeed…” She stopped walking and turned to face the Witcher head on. “Do you have any more questions for me before we head to the inn?”

She did not deny it. And what was more, she admitted to being older than what she let on. Valker respected her candor. He couldn’t help but notice she reserved her praise solely for the late Aunsellus senior and made a note to himself to stay vigilant in his dealings with the current lord. He did have more questions -- he wanted to ask her about Jon’s status in the village and whether he had any real enemies, asides from malcontent villagers -- but her words caught him visibly by surprise.

“We?” he asked, something other than stone-faced professionalism on his face for the first time since his arrival at the manor.

That gave her reason to chuckle, the way that his face changed was almost endearing to her as she watched the penny drop for him. “Oh yes, you said it yourself… This is a small court for a Sorceress. It isn't everyday that opportunity arises to work alongside a Witcher…” She placed a hand on her hip and leaned into a more relaxed pose, an impish expression was on her face, and somehow her eyes seemed to light up with an ethereal glow as she continued to stare deeply into his, undeterred by them. “I'm going to savour every moment of this investigation…”

For a split second she almost felt bad, and like she should come clean and undo her mess… But Valker… She wasn't about to let him go just yet. She wanted him on her hook and something told her that would be no easy feat at all.

Valker was silent for a few seconds while he processed this. “If it’s adventure you’re looking for,” he began with uncertainty, “I wouldn’t expect too much. A witcher’s job is mostly following tracks through fields of mud for days. Hardly a place for a lady of the court.” Her eyes told him that there was no point in trying to dissuade her, however, and he shrugged. “Fine, see for yourself. I do have more questions before we go. Did the guardsman have any enemies? The villagers weren’t fond of him. Mandring, in particular, helpfully volunteered his opinion.”

“Jon? Enemies? Not at all,” she replied sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and laugh - that would be unfair of her. “Everyone loves Jon, especially the children he’s beaten, the women he harasses, the peasants he berates, and his string of mistresses… Actually, the mistresses must like something about him.” She pursed her lips after that, not too big of a fan of his other words, they were a man’s words after all. “And don't worry about me, I'm not afraid to get dirty - so you can leave me to decide where my place is…” She finished with a smile, breaking the eye contact she had maintained with him to begin in the direction of the inn. If he had further questions, he could ask as they walked.

There was that headstrong sorceresses’ independence he’d heard so much about, at least. Valker decided to keep his mouth shut while they walked. He would learn more from asking about at the inn and inspecting the area than by further prodding Avery, he figured.

---

“Master witcher! Back again, eh? Can’t resist the booze?” Manny, now obviously a few more of his mysterious drinks into his routine, almost fell off his stool as he greeted Valker with an enthusiastic and all too ambitious wave.

“That’s right,” Valker said.

“Made a friend, have ye? Miss Avery, so good t’see you,” the old man continued and raised his glass in a toast in her honor.

“You'll be seeing three of me if you don't stop with the drinking soon,” she responded quickly with a polite smile. She felt overdressed for the occasion as usual, as evidenced by the dirty look she received from a group of girls who were sat by one of the windows. She glanced down at where it was that their eyes were staring daggers. The line of flesh from her collarbone to stomach and the glimpse at the roundness of her breasts that the shirt allowed. She simply shrugged it off. It was a warm day afterall. They were not the only ones staring, another of the villagemen who was enjoying a drink of his own seemed quite enraptured by the revealed skin. Avery raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

“Hello there,” she began, and his eyes snapped from her chest to her face and he gulped, expression that of a frightened rabbit. “Were you here two nights ago?” her tone was direct, she could sense fear radiating from him. She was intimidating him with her very presence, and so was Valker. She could practically hear his heartbeat. It did no good for him to be frightened and so she gave him a sweet smile, locking her eyes to his and they flashed brightly at him with a magical vibrance. “Pardon me for being abrupt, but you see we're looking for someone.” She rubbed the thumb and forefinger of her left hand together, and it seemed to be invoking more of her ability because the man suddenly stopped feeling so terrified and smiled back.

“S'awright love. Yeah I was ‘ere coupla nights ago. Yer lookin’ for Jon the guard aren't ya?” he asked, his voice sounded as dumb as he looked, with a drastic overbite and an unusually long neck. Avery looked over to Valker, hoping that Manny would leave them alone so they could speak to the other villagers in peace.

Once again, Valker’s medallion twitched slightly and he looked at Avery. Whatever spell or talent she was employing reminded him very strongly of the Axii sign, but the effects were more subtle. Nobody else in the inn appeared to have noticed that the villager had been bewitched. He turned his back on Manny and stepped forward to take a seat at the man’s table. If he was grateful for Avery’s assistance, he did not show it.

“Yes. Did you see him the night he disappeared?” the witcher asked, his feline eyes drilling unwaveringly into the villager’s.

“That I did, he's in ‘ere quite a few nights. Likes his drink he does, an’ the women too. Handsome fella some would say but an ‘orrible temper. Yes I saw Jon, he was ‘ere and found himself a woman for the night…” As the villager spoke, he dared not look Valker in the eyes, and his head drooped forwards, hanging over his tankard which he fingered at idly as he spoke. “That's all I remember, promise on me life.”

After his admission, Avery's fingers ceased their motion and her hand found its way back to the curve of her hip. “Hmmm…” She brought a finger to her lips, and watched the Witcher, to see what he may do next.

Valker did not relent. “Who was this woman? One of the villagers? And do you know where they went? Which direction, even?”

His nervousness began to slip through again, he began opening and closing his hands, drumming his fingers over the wood of the table as he shook his head, “I dunno sir, she were cloaked, she were different. She ‘ad blonde ‘air. Brown eyes like mud. I dunno where they went… I left ‘afore they did.” The man commented before returning to his drink.

Avery placed a hand gently on his shoulder, “that's enough for us, I'm sure. Thank you for your help…” With the touch, he seemed to relax again, or maybe it was simply the fact he might be left alone now.

While Avery was probably right and there wasn’t anything more they could have gotten from him, Valker glanced up at her in annoyance all the same. He never agreed to having her interfere with his work. There was no point in quarrelling about it in front of the villagers, however, so he refrained from saying anything then and there. The witcher nodded at the man in gratitude before getting up from his seat and turning to address Avery in hushed tones.

“A woman with blond hair and brown eyes that stands out from the peasant crowd. Know anyone like in this area?” he asked, eyes intently staring to observe her reaction, slit pupils widening ever so slightly.

Ah! That shook him she thought as she sensed his calm temperament slowly begin to warm up. Interesting indeed, she decided she quite liked the subtleties of his countenance as he grew slightly displeased. Was it at her? It didn't matter, she only knew that she might like to press his buttons again. All that she could do now was smile in his direction - despite the fact that he clearly would not return the gesture.

“I tend to stay away from the crowds, Valker,” she said on the spot - and while that was not a lie, she was telling only half a truth. “Blonde hair and brown eyes… I really don't recall seeing such a beautiful woman in the courts. Maybe she was from another neighbouring village?” Her voice was alluring and thick as velvet, her smile still visible until the peasant spoke up once more -

“Actually there is one more ‘fing… She had a really strong smell of flowers. I ain't no florist but it were like ‘oneysuckle… Real strong, real heady like you know?” The man was thinking on it, as evidenced by the way he had brought a hand to his chin, the other fist clenched and his eyes almost closed. “I were ploughin’ soaked though… Maybe that ain't important. Just wanna help the Witcher you know?”

Now that was helpful. Valker ignored what Avery had said and turned back to face the villager. “Thank you for your help once more, good man. I have one last question for you. Jon and this woman -- where were they seated?”

The man was happy to comply with Valker, pointing his finger over to the furthest corner in the Inn, “over there - not much light o’er that way. They was having a real long chat I ‘fink. No dancin’ or laughin’ — just talkin’, can’t even recall him getting up for a drink now I come to ‘fink of it. Huh! Guess I do remember a bit about it after all.”

Wasting no further time, Valker made his way to the appointed corner with a few long strides and closed his eyes. Places like this were rarely cleaned often so their scent -- especially the woman’s -- should still be around. It must have looked strange to Avery to see him merely standing there, sniffing the air, but he did not care.

“Honeysuckle indeed, and something else… lavender? Arenaria?” Valker mumbled to himself. “Either way, strong scent… easy enough to follow.” He turned to face Avery and pointed towards the exit. “Come. We have a lead.”

Watching him with keen eyes, she followed behind the Witcher as they left the inn, not quite as fast as he. He looked to be following the scent that was left behind as the lead. Avery knew that Witcher's had such hyper senses but to watch Valker in action was fascinating, for a moment she forgot herself and appeared to be watching his physique as opposed to anything he was doing. “Care to elaborate?” she asked in a coy tone.

“Scent hasn't died yet,” Valker explained. The trail took him down the village's main road briefly but it quickly veered off between the houses, down the hill and towards the edge of the forest that awaited them on the western side of the valley. It looked like a path the villagers had used before, possibly whenever they went logging, but the overgrown weeds told Valker it hadn't been maintained recently. Perhaps a path that Jon would be familiar with but not one that saw a lot of foot traffic these days. Clever. Halfway down the hill Valker stopped and focused on his hearing, tilting his head so that he could hear as much as possible from the forest at the foot of the hill.

There was the ever-present rustling of the wind and the small animals that called the underbrush their home, but nothing notable appeared to be on the move. Satisfied, Valker continued. It had rained not long ago and the slope of the hill was muddy in places. “Still glad you came along?” he asked Avery without looking over his shoulder.

“I'd rather not be stuck in the halls with Alistaire,” she said in quick response to his question, “besides, I'm having a blast. Not really in the shoes for this but… they'll come clean.” Avery sighed as she glanced down to her boots, they were caked in mud already - she couldn't make out the buttons anymore. But it was worth it, for he was smart indeed, and efficient and his tracking. She almost wished they were up to something that was actually dangerous instead of a wild goose chase for a village idiot.

“How do you find our lovely village then? Still glad that you stopped through on your way?” Her lips curled into a smirk behind him and her fingers twitched at the ends of her arms as she stretched them out just enough to maintain a graceful balance as she moved down the slippy hillock.

“As long as your lord pays, yes,” Valker said with a noticeable hint of weariness in his voice. “Kraeg’s Hill is superficially no different from any number of villages that I have visited. Though none of them were graced by the presence of a sorceress.” He looked over his shoulder as he said that and gave her a look that indicated he had not finished making up his mind about what his thoughts were concerning her.

She noted the look, and flashed one back that was in a way similar in what it communicated to Valker. It was an interesting feeling to know she was on his mind in some capacity - probably just as much as he was on hers.

Back to the task at hand, the slope of the hill bottomed out and the forest loomed ahead. It began rather abruptly, evidence of the logging industry that had undoubtedly taken place here in years past, and quickly became too dense and dark beneath the whispering canopy to see far into. It was an old forest, the type Valker knew could hide all sorts of monsters. The scent continued beyond the periphery and into the gloom. He was reminded of the leshen he had killed as his last contract. It was almost like the shape of its antlered skull awaited him once more behind every tree.

Valker frowned. “Strange place for a date,” he said. “Nothing romantic about it. Whoever lured Jon here had other plans. A succubus, perhaps, or a hostile doppler.”

As soon as he had spoken the words he pulled his silver sword free from its sheath in an incredibly quick, fluid motion, whirled around on the spot and pressed the flat of the blade against the exposed skin of Avery’s chest. Nothing happened. “Good,” Valker mumbled and resheathed the weapon.

It was safe to say that the sorceress wasn’t expecting that, and yet there was something mysteriously captivating about the sensation of the cold silver on her bare skin - so much so that it took the breath from her lungs and she took a soft step back, followed by a sharp intake of breath. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her a start like that, if ever. The moment of confused magnetism passed as quickly as it had come over her, and her mouth formed into a grimace and her shoulders hunched defensively. “No doppler but you might have a hostile sorceress on your hands if you try that again, watch it!” She tugged at the edges of her shirt, as if in an attempt to cover the skin, her eyes firing a piercing glare right back into his.

That was to be expected. “There will be no need to try that again,” Valker said and shrugged non-apologetically. “You passed the test.” He turned his attention back to the forest and inhaled deeply. Witcher senses were hypersensitive and, unknown to most, also interlinked. He could almost see the fragrance trail suspended in the air. “Come.”

The atmosphere beneath the canopy was immediately different from the hillside behind them. The wind was muffled, only audible in the rustling of the leaves above them, and it was the small, subtle noises of the forest that came to the forefront. Mice and other critters burrowed their way through the dead leaves, birds jumped from one treebranch to the next, twittering softly amongst themselves, and the old wood creaked and groaned in the distance, a living thing that protested against their presence. The trees were packed densely together and hunched over low, creating an oppressive roof over their heads, with only a few shafts of sunlight piercing through. Winged insects hovered lazily in these rays like specks of dust.

Valker’s strides were long and his pace was fast and yet it was as if he moved without making any sound at all, a far cry from his heavy footsteps in Reeve’s manor. He moved with weight and authority when it suited him. The same was true for silence and grace. It wasn’t long until the scent brought him upon an old cabin that revealed itself suddenly when Valker rounded the corner of a cluster of pine trees. “Aha,” he whispered to himself, and tentatively approached. The windows were boarded and the slanted roof was covered in what looked like a solid decade of dead leaves and other debris. “A logger’s cabin. Or maybe a hunter’s.”

His medallion shivered ominously against the fabric of his poncho.

“There’s magic here,” he said, louder this time, loud enough for Avery to hear as she caught up to him.

“Looks like a nice romantic shack to me…” she said in a cool tone, stepping from behind Valker towards the derelict building. It was no larger than a supply shed that would be found on the outskirts of a manor garden. Long abandoned, it sat in it’s place with the trees growing beside it - treating to break through and bring it down once and for all. The thick pines were the only protection for this shack from a swift breeze taking it down to rubble.

Avery admired the creeping ivy that grew over it’s edges, it reminded her of her own plants in her quarters and that brought a quick smile to her lips. With her back now to Valker, she approached the door. “A romantic shack, or a doghouse.” Her tone changed even more so, it was unimpressed, and she practically spat out her last words, as if she knew something. Because of course she did.

The shack was quieter than she had left it, and that did cause her some level of worry, but there was also a feeling of great pride in her work as she gazed upon the wooden slats covering the windows, at the leaves piled on the roof. The perfect location to act out a devious plot. She had worn a similar expression when she stumbled upon the shack in the first place. It wasn’t the first time she’d transformed it into the backdropped stage for her nefarious schemes and pranks. She chuckled from the back of her throat, unable to resist conjuring up in her mind the image of Jon on all fours stripped to his bloomers.

Valker frowned and sighed, exasperated. He couldn’t be sure exactly what Avery was talking about but everything about the way she walked and spoke indicated she knew way more than she was letting on about Jon’s fate. The word ‘doghouse’ was especially poignant. From what Valker had heard, he wasn’t about to argue that the man couldn’t stand to be taken down a notch. “You didn’t think to tell me? No, of course not. Then you wouldn’t have been able to see me at work. Glad to know I danced along to your strings,” the witcher said, voice dripping with sarcasm, his eyes contracted to narrow slits. “Hope it was to your satisfaction.” He turned away from her and shook his head. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled and kicked down the door.

There was a huge hole in the back wall of the shack. The wood was splintered and shattered inwards, as if a catapult had been fired at it from point blank range, and debris from the impact lay strewn throughout the entirety of the small cabin. There were signs of a struggle; claw marks on the floor and a few splotches of human blood. But even more bizarre were the shattered mirrors that lay against the cabin’s walls.

Avery followed the Witcher inside, immediately taken aback by the sight. This wasn’t how she’d left the room. Her mirrors were smashed, and she stepped slowly over the shards that were strewn across the dusty floor, kneeling down to place her fingers on the ground. “Damn…” she cursed under her breath, the illusion was supposed to have worn off by now but the mirrors looked covered in a slight spattering of fresh dust and the blood was dry. She didn’t need the heightened senses of a Witcher to notice those details in the room. This had happened earlier.

Valker backed away and looked at Avery, his face a cold mask of anger. In a flash his sword was in his hand again -- but steel this time. Steel for humans.

“What is this?” he asked, sharp and commanding.

While she was down on her haunches she heard the sound of Valker drawing his sword in the cold silence of the room, and she felt it once more in her direction. Avery turned to face him too, his eyes looked far more foreboding from her position on the ground and as a result of her submissive vantage, they became far less alluring all of a sudden. She held her hands up at either side of her head like as a child would. She didn’t like being backed into a corner though, least of all with steel in between her and the Witcher. “This was not my doing, so put that thing away at once!” She snapped, before rising to her full height, still shy of his even in her heels. “Yes I put him here and tricked him, but the rest is a mystery to me, alright!” Her temper flared and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips rounded into a scathing pout.

Valker sneered. “Forgive me if I don’t immediately believe you,” he said. His sword stayed in his hand. “I don’t like being deceived and I most certainly don’t like being played for a fool. Tell me exactly what you did. Then we’ll see about putting this thing away.”

She scuffed her foot over the mirror on the ground, “enchanted the mirrors to alter his reflection…” Avery said, sounding almost disappointed that the witcher was not in the mood to see the humour in it. “Gave him a lot of alcohol… Seduced him down here… It was to wear off this morning and he'd have been almost none the wiser - save for a strange desire to fetch a thrown stick, and maybe a memory of being… Well, a dog. He'd have come right back to the village with his tail between his legs…” Now that the truth was revealed, her pout softened and she scuffed her boot again. “He was not supposed to be hurt, at least not physically…”

After a few seconds of deliberation, Valker put his sword back where it belonged. Listening to her heartbeat while she talked revealed to him that she was either an exceptional liar, in which case he almost deserved to be fooled again, or that she was telling the truth. He decided to believe the latter. If the stories were anything to go by, sorceresses were independent and frequently mischievous. This didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Looking around the remnants of the enchanted mirror after his indignance had subsided, he had to admit that there was a certain charm to Avery’s methods.

“Unfortunately for you, it appears these woods are home to something beastly after all,” Valker said, finishing the sad tale of Jon the guardsman. “Funny. Smell that?” He sniffed the air and knelt down by the claw marks on the floor. “Wet dog.” He ran a gloved finger along the damaged wood and looked at the forest floor outside. “Large, deep tracks. Something heavy. Splayed toes. Long claws. And the way it broke into the cabin; strong and aggressive. This wasn’t a spooked fiend or a bear defending its cubs. This was something actively looking for blood.”

He straightened up and crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “It’s a werewolf. I’m sure of it. We should go back. I have oils to brew, bombs to make. Then a trap to set. Have to draw it out at night.” Valker exhaled sharply, the closest sound to laughter he’d made all day. “Looks like lord Aunsellus and I need to have another conversation about my reward. Job just became a lot more interesting.”

Werewolf? That was of concern to her, but she remained silent and kept her thoughts to herself as Valker investigated all that he could. Now that he'd calmed down, she continued to hold her distance but she looked on admiringly at his work and manner. Her hand cupping her chin as her fingers ran over her lips absentmindedly.

Finally she spoke up, when it had appeared that he was done, “I shall ensure you get paid adequately for your work, I’ll slip a good word or two in my Lord’s ear for you. Surely once he hears of this werewolf, he’ll do the honourable thing for you…” The sorceress brushed the dust off her sleeves, and clapped her hands together gently to let it fall away from her palms and fingertips too. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d rather not go traipsing through the mud again, you’re free to of course but I have a much more exciting way for us to travel…” Before she clapped her hands louder, she made sure that Valker’s eyes were on her. She then bowed her head enough so as to make her smile appear all the more impish in the slight gloom of the shack before her portal opened with the resounding boom that all portals did. The oval doorway was surrounded by mystical flame and she just about skipped through it.

Valker narrowed his eyes and recoiled slightly in response to the abrupt and obnoxiously loud coalescence of the magical portal. It was a method of transport he had never used before and it was an inadvertent side-effect of their line of work that all witchers had a deep-seated mistrust of magic that was outside of their control. Still, there was no reason not to try it at least once. He stepped into the portal and was immediately subjected to the disorienting sensation of having one’s environments changing within an instant. It took him a few seconds of blinking and looking around to realize that he must be in Avery’s quarters. The cacophony of trinkets, scrolls and plants was almost overwhelming, and a stark contrast to his own quarters in Gwynban. Valker was about to say something when he was interrupted by the anxious hissing of multiple cats coming from several directions.

“Ah,” he said with a slight frown. “You have cats. Don’t be alarmed, they always do that around witchers.”

Avery blinked, noticing the swinging plantpot with a bushy tabby tail hanging from it and hissing from within. Cordelia. “Hey Miss, shhh and calm!” With a wave of her hand, she shooed her cat from inside of the planter, the cat spilling soil as she went bolting under the bed, where Lorne had already found his spot. Avery smiled as she bent down to look at him, smiling and cooing as if he were a newborn child.

That left only one cat - the most monstrous of all, but Winifred was nowhere to be found yet, or heard. That was concerning. “Hmmm, there's one more around here somewhere…” She stood back up, looking down at her boots. They were still muddy and so she sat down on her bed to remove them, looking on as Valker’s eyes scanned every nook and cranny of her room. “Find a space to work in here if you'd like, or outside even, or we can speak to Reeve…” Her own eyes darted over the surfaces, she suddenly hoped that nothing had been left out of place, that one of the cats hadn't strewn her underwear from a drawer, that one of her novels wasn't left out on an open page... It wasn't often that anyone ever came in here. It showed.

After looking around for a bit, Valker settled on a windowside desk that was covered with books -- easy enough to pick up and pile together on the floor for the time being. “Too windy outside to work and I’d prefer to talk to your lord once my preparations are finished. Always makes a better impression on employers.” After clearing enough space on the desk he stood still for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, deep in thought, before suddenly turning and stalking out the door. He returned within minutes, carrying two boxes he retrieved from his saddlebags, and put them down on the desk without another glance at Avery. It was obvious he wasn’t used to other people’s presence during his preparatory phase and he practically forgot about her. He undid the clasps of the bandolier that was slung diagonally across his chest and carefully placed it next to the boxes. After that he removed his high-collared poncho, draping it across the chair, and took off his gambeson, leaving his torso dressed only in the sleeveless brown shirt he wore underneath, swords propped up against the desk. Doing so revealed his powerful arms and the multitude of scars visible there. If one didn’t know better, it almost looked like he had been thrown into a sawmill. Valker sat down on the chair, his back ramrod straight, and set to work.

Avery simply shrugged and stood up from the bed, the most timid of the three cats following behind her as she made her way to the cupboard where she had stored the buns given to her by Maebh. She took one out of the hamper, and made her way back to the bed where she lay down on her side and simply watched Valker. She had more observations to make, and her eyes almost widened as she caught sight of his bare arms, it was completely unlike her to forget herself like this. She felt younger than she really was, and so she opted to rightfully distract herself instead. Without second thought, she let loose the curtain of the four poster bed and plucked a spell tome from her night stand. She sighed, and relaxed herself on the spread, the curvature of her waist and hips was displayed in this pose, the soft curls of her hair falling loose from the gust of the portal. All just a feminine silhouette behind a magenta silken veil. Lorne came up to join her, laying against her chest where she proceeded to once again rub his ear softly between her thumb and forefinger while he purred happily.

Meanwhile, in the Witcher's workspace, something was afoot. A rustling from within one of the boxes, and the quiet sound of something sharp picking away at a surface.

The witcher froze mid-movement, gently putting his tools down and keeping one eye on the half-finished Moon Dust bomb while he lifted the lid from the box to reveal the source of the disturbance within. Blissfully unaware amidst the toxic substances Valker used to brew his blade oils was, without a doubt, the ugliest cat he had ever seen. Black and hairless, Winifred was pawing away at a glass vial before looking up at Valker and uttering a pitiful, off-key mew.

“Shit,” Valker hissed.

He turned around in his chair and his eyes fell on Avery’s form behind the veil that hung over the frame of her bed, the shape of her waist delaying his words for a split second. “Come here. I think I found your cat.”

Avery looked up from her page and sat upright. She certainly couldn't hear the cat… Quickly she slipped out of bed, parting the curtains delicately with her hands before walking over to Valker - her steps quiet enough now to rival his own as she tiptoed over. Having closed the distance, she looked down into the box, leaning over Valker to peer inside. She let out the quietest giggle, amazed that the usually antagonistic feline seemed relaxed in amongst the Witcher's belongings. She turned her head to look at Valker with a bemused expression, “what have you got in there? This is the quietest and most placid I've ever seen this terror…” She bit her lip to stifle another laugh. “Must I move her?”

Valker glanced up and met Avery’s gaze, cognizant of how little distance remained between them, before he returned his attention to the intruder amidst his belongings. “Most of those ingredients are toxic, so I think that would be best.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I understand it’s rude to touch people’s pets without their permission.”

Avery's own eyes hung on Valker's once more until after he had spoken, and she too cleared her throat - moving away quickly and reaching a hand into the box to scoop up Winifred, who responded in kind by latching her vicious claws into her hand - looking joyous about it too as she playfully bit at the thumb of the Sorceress. She had to restrain for cursing at the wretched thing for it, instead settling for placing her down on the floor where she strutted off back into another hiding hole. “Sorry about that…” she muttered before making her way back across the room. “Oh, once you're ready I'll accompany you to meet Reeve again…” she added as she looked over her shoulder towards him again with a half smile this time.

“Thank you,” Valker said, who returned her half-smile with a nod. He put the image of Avery hovering over his shoulder with her soft eyes and warm smile out of his mind and returned to his work.

After thirty minutes of tinkering Valker was finished and looked down with satisfaction at a cluster of Moon Dust bombs. The silver shrapnel spread by their detonation would embed themselves into the werewolf’s skin and prevent it from using its regenerative abilities, which would otherwise prove problematic. Werewolves were notoriously hard to put down and many a warrior had fallen prey to a lycanthrope after turning their back on one, erroneously believing it to be defeated. For the oils he turned towards the hearth and lit a fire there with a flick of his wrist. A travel-sized cauldron was suspended over the fire and for the next hour he was busy brewing, meditating on his knees in front of the hearth while the oil simmered, occasionally opening his eyes to add more ingredients as necessary. Winifred showed up every so often to stare at the witcher with great interest and sniff his hands. Valker did his best to ignore her.

After dousing the fire with another flick of his wrist and scooping up the finished oil, potent against anything afflicted with a curse, into a flask, he turned to Avery. “I’m ready.”

It had been the gentle sounds of her guest at work that had sent her into a drowsy state. The gentle scraping and ticking, tapping and twisting and the occasional sigh. Then of course the delightful warmth of the hearthfire, and the scent of the pine logs burning to keep it going… For some reason it was comforting to her, and the feeling of Lorne's quiet purr against her chest had been the straw to break the camel's back. By the time Valker spoke to her she was in a blissfully light nap, her head propped up from the bed, the book still open on the same page she had left it. “Mmm?” was the soft noise she made as she came back to her senses.

She opened her eyes and rose slowly from the bed, running her fingers through her hair carefully and checking that she too was ready. Figuring that the shirt was inappropriate for battle, she let energy coalesce in her palms and moved them over her chest, stomach, and hips - replacing her indoor attire for something suitably more ready for potential action. A soft cloud of shimmering smoke formed around her as the glamour took its place against her body as intended. A sleeved cotton shirt in white, cinched around her torso with a rich brown leather corset. She settled for velveteen trousers tucked into hunting boots, still showing her shape of course but without the jacquard detailing and bright colouring. “Well, let's go and see about your payment then…”

There was no denying that that magic trick looked useful. Valker stared at her new outfit with an almost invisible hint of appreciation before he met her gaze again, suddenly aware of what he had been doing. “I'm afraid that takes longer when I do it,” he said and moved to don his armor and weapons again. Once that was finished and his new bombs and oil had found a place in his bandolier, Valker nodded and motioned for Avery to lead the way. He did not know where in the manor they were, after all. It was a realization he did not particularly enjoy.

“You might not have taken me seriously if I went out donning my last outfit again, besides - now it might be harder for your sword to touch me should you be so bold again.” Avery's tone was sharp but not ill-mannered, she was simply in the frame of mind she needed to be in to hunt down a werewolf. She flashed a quick grin at him before setting off out of her room once again.

---

The hall was quieter at this hour, but Alistaire still made his presence known with an audible scoff in the direction of his female colleague. “I see you've made yourself decent at last,” he commented with a shake of his head before returning to his writing. Reeve, on the other hand was merely sipping quietly from his goblet, watching the two of them as they made their way through.

“Find Jon?” he asked abruptly, and with little patience. There was a slur on his tongue. That wasn't his first drink of the evening.

“My lord,” Avery replied with a bow of her head. “We had some findings, yes-”

“Hush, let me hear it from the Witcher. Hear enough of your voice already.” From his corner, Alistaire chuckled. “Tell me Witcher!” demanded Reeve from his high seat, an amused grin on his face.

Valker raised an eyebrow at the lord's inebriated state but said nothing of it. “Jon was lured to a secluded cabin in the woods by an unidentified blonde woman with brown eyes,” he lied smoothly and without looking at Avery. “She was not recognized by your people, which leads me to conclude she is a drifter. We found the cabin empty, severely damaged and covered in blood. Signs point to the woman having wanted to play a prank on Jon of some sorts, to teach him a lesson, but she failed to foresee the presence of a monster in the woods. My professional evaluation is that we are dealing with a werewolf. The alternative is that she is the werewolf. Either way, my plan is to set an ambush for the beast tonight and bring you its head. The appropriate bombs and oils have been prepared.”

He paused and tilted his head, curious how the drunk lord would react. “I charge a higher rate for the slaying of a lycanthrope than I do for a missing person. I'm sure you understand.”

Avery listened to him, that he did not speak of the real culprit of the prank - that he did not throw her to Reeve as being guilty of magical wrongdoing. She was taken aback by it, afterall he didn't owe her anything. She glanced sidelong at him, so strange the feeling was that she did not smile, her expression remained plain in fact.

“The head of the beast?” asked Reeve, a sudden hunger in his eyes that in the candlelight made him look beastly in some way. Everything else that Valker had said was suddenly inconsequential now that he had been given word of a trophy piece. “If you bring me the head of that beast you will be paid handsomely…” He took another sip from the goblet, slurping noisily at it. Avery shook her head and rolled her eyes in his direction.

“I will assist the Witcher, Sir, and see to it that the beast is slain without it distracting the attention of the people,” she remarked in a disappointed tone. “Take care of yourself this evening,” she finished casting her cold stare toward Alistaire who looked smug in his seat.

Reeve exhaled and placed the goblet back down, his face softened slightly and he leaned back in his chair once more, waving the two away with his hand.

Valker gave a curt nod towards Reeve and his eyes lingered on Alistaire for a second or two before the witcher turned around and strode out of the hall, trusting Avery to follow him. Once the two were outside and descending the manor’s stairs towards the village below, Valker spoke up in a low voice. “Now you owe me,” he said and looked sidelong at Avery.

She walked along behind him - not quite able to keep up with him until they reached the set of stone steps, frowning at his words, and so she moved on ahead. “Alright, I'll help you kill this beast, squeeze an extra crown or two from Reeve and we can be even.” She shook her head as she spoke, she didn't want to know what kind of favours were owed to Witcher's, and she didn't want to learn either, lest it ruin a good day. “Where to then?”

“No, Avery. I don’t need your help killing the werewolf. You’re coming along because you want to, nothing more. As for the crowns from Reeve, I think you’ll find that he was perfectly willing to reward me handsomely, as I believe he put it, without your persuasion,” Valker said. There was no malice in his voice, just certainty. “I will call upon that favour another time.” He looked at her again and frowned, unsure of what she was thinking. “Don’t worry, it will be professional in nature.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs and moved into the village proper, Valker changed topics and answered her question. “Back to the forest. I have a plan. You’ll see when we get there,” he explained unhelpfully.

She said very little, mulling over what he'd said. It was cryptic in nature and now she felt that she was just on his hook until he needed something. It wasn't a nice feeling at all, but it was ultimately better than having to look at Alistaire's face and the subsequent fallout had Valker revealed all there and then, and it was only because of that, that the woman softened.

“Well I suppose we'll get there quicker if we stop talking and save our breath,” and with that she shut her mouth and picked up the pace finding her way through the paths, retracing their steps from earlier.

Their journey in silence brought them to the edge of the forest in short order and Valker stopped just before the periphery of the treeline to produce two flasks from his bandolier and took a healthy swig from both. Almost immediately, his face hardened and was given an inhuman quality by the swelling and dark discoloration of the veins in his skin, his mutations working hard to process the toxic decoctions that the flasks contained. He was neither the greatest swordsman nor the most powerful sorcerer, but his skill with alchemy and his body's resistance to toxins was almost unparalleled.

Satisfied with the enhanced strength and fortification of his skin provided by the distilled monster brews, Valker entered the forest proper, his long legs carrying him until he found a clearing suitable for his purposes. He knelt in the center of the spot and placed the bombs in a small mound of dirt and undergrowth. As a finishing touch, a crucial detail, he unwrapped a strand of buckthorn from an airtight seal and wove the extremely smelly seaweed into the boobytrap. It stank like a carcass, which is exactly what Valker needed it to do.

He turned around and inspected the trees surrounded the clearing until he found one with sturdy branches that hung low enough for his purposes. With inhuman strength and agility, Valker scaled the tree and hunkered down on one of the branches. He looked down at Avery and extended a hand to her, offering to pull her up.

So that's what he'd been doing then. She was impressed at his skill, she knew alchemy herself but she would not have been able to create anything like that in the time that he had. She'd made a mistake in thinking that Witcher's were just swordsmen. There was something in the way that she had observed Valker over the course of the day that had given her a glimpse into his life of quiet isolation - that and she could sense it on him. With that in mind she'd let him carry out his preparations, remaining silent until the buckthorn was released and the smell hit her nostrils. “Urgh!” she groaned, swatting her hand in front of her face.

Even the way he got himself into the tree was spectacular, and she caught herself gawking at him just in time for him to reach out his hand. She may have been in better clothing, but there was no way she would manage to scale a tree in any way that could compare to the Witcher, and so she found herself taking his hand gingerly, pulling it away at the last minute to drop it against her hip yet again; “I'm not going to owe you for this now, am I?” she asked, her face entirely serious except for her eyes, which had that playful glint somewhere underneath the demeanor she was trying to pass off as being stern.

Valker scoffed. “No. Come on, take my hand.”

She shrugged and did as was asked of her, placing her hand into his. She also placed a foot against the trunk, ready to be lifted up into his safe spot.

She was light as a feather to him and Valker pulled Avery up to join him on the branch without much effort, scooting further along to make room for her.

Avery was reminded of a children's rhyme as she sat herself down in the branches, a thought she pushed to the back of her mind lest she start laughing. Instead she turned her attention to Valker, up close now she could see the details in how his face changed and she looked on at him quite intensely with another soft “hmmm…”

Turning away again, she looked over upon his set trap and brought her finger to her lips as she took it all in. “Very clever of you,” she finally said, “I suppose even if I offered you some back up you'd refuse?”

Thinking on it for a bit, Valker retorted with a question of his own. “How much can you do from up here?”

She placed her palms flat on the branch beside her, whispering an incantation in the Elder Speech so as to connect her with it in some way. Down below, a new root twisted out from the ground. “One or two of them ought to hold him in one spot, don't you think?” she asked with an almost proud grin. “Between that and a shield for you, I think Reeve will get his trophy head tonight.”

The way she controlled the roots of the forest was practically identical to what a leshen could do. It was a sobering realization of how closely magic and the monsters of this world were related; both were spawns of the Conjunction of the Spheres, after all. Valker kept his balance with one hand and formed a Sign with the fingers of the other; a whisper of magic blurred his form for a moment before a small spark began to circle around his torso. “Quen,” he explained. “The witcher’s shield. Focus on the roots. It’ll help.”

“Fine, as you wish,” she replied before relaxing her hands on the branch, and the root slipped back underground like a worm. Still, watched the movements of his hand as he performed his own magic. She had heard of their use of signs, it was interesting and seemed so limited, but it was their way. She sighed once more before landing back on his eyes - they were steeled and determined. “And now we wait,” Avery said with a sigh turning once more from the Witcher and out over what she could see through the thick canopy of the tree.

Wait they did, but not for very long. Valker heard the monster’s approach long before it appeared in view of their hiding place. “It’s coming,” he whispered and slowly drew his silver sword, the blade already coated with oil. He felt himself tense up. The sun had set by now and his hand reached for another concoction, an ordinary potion this time; Cat. It only took a few seconds after he swallowed it for the perfect night vision to kick in. The veins in his face darkened further. He remembered how unpleasant the sensation of being close to dangerous levels of toxicity had been when he was a fresh-faced witcher. Years of experimentation and practice had flipped that feeling upside down and now it was much closer to a sense of euphoria.

The hulking shape of the werewolf burst into the clearing with savagery and violence. It stood well over seven feet tall, tattered strips of clothing clung to its limbs and strings of saliva hung from its blood-maddened snout. It grunted and snorted and growled involuntarily, spasms fueled by an unholy bloodlust, and it went straight for the bomb trap, the smell of the strands of buckthorn irresistible.

Up above, Valker drank one more potion. The veins in his face had turned practically black but his muscles bulged with strength.

The trap detonated with a fearsome bang and an immensely bright flash of light. Silver shrapnel sprayed out into the werewolf’s maw and torso and the flashbang effect of the Samum bombs blinded it to the world. It howled and staggered backwards, clutching its head with his claws.

Valker kissed his medallion and dropped from the branch.

He landed gracefully just a few feet behind the werewolf and sprang into motion like a bolt from a crossbow. Valker closed the remaining distance between himself and the beast in the blink of an eye and his sword sank deep into its flank. Its howl turned into a primal scream that was loud enough to make the witcher wince. He pulled his blade free and dashed out of the range of the werewolf’s claws, narrowly avoiding the monster’s backhanded swipe as it instinctively tried to swat away that which had hurt it so. The werewolf turned to face him, blinking rapidly and shaking its head, trying to regain its vision and hearing. Not about to give it much opportunity to recover, Valker grabbed his sword in a two-handed grip and turned a pivot into a powerful strike, slashing the werewolf across its face. It jumped away from him, snarling and screeching in defiance.

“Now!” Valker called to Avery.

She didn't need to be told again, as soon as the words had left his mouth, Avery sprung to action, the same incantation she had used to demonstrate was spoken again only louder. Three roots burst forth from the ground as an eruption of nature herself - long and gnarled and threatening. They were as flexible as vines but strong and solid as the trunk, with an elasticity given by the magic. They creaked as they twisted, surrounding the werewolf at both sides. It's head looked sharply at them, and then up towards their master in the tree whom it had smelled. He roared aggressively, and looked as though he may try to make a leap, a desperate last attack.

With a flourish of her hands the two roots at its sides went to action, binding it by the hind legs - the creaking of the tension in them intensifying. It yelped out in pain, only for the third to take hold over the back of the creature, dragging it forcefully to the ground. Avery could feel the beast still fighting back, and she continued to pour her power down upon him, yelling out to the witcher from her spot, “hurry, take him now!”

Valker didn’t have to look to remove one of the Northern Wind bombs from his belt with swift and dexterous fingers. He tossed the spherical contraption at the werewolf and followed close behind, blade in hand, ready to strike. The bomb detonated on contact and coated the werewolf in a layer of ice, freezing it and the roots that coiled around it solid. Valker was close enough to see the beast’s undying rage in its eyes and he paused, just briefly, as if he was taunting it, before he pulled back his arm and thrust the silver sword deep between the frozen and trapped werewolf’s ribs.

It died with naught more than a pathetic gurgle.

The effects of the frost-bomb wore off and the werewolf slumped over in the embrace of the roots. Valker took a step back to admire their handiwork before he looked up at Avery’s perch in the tree. “Nice work.”

The woman watched as the beast sunk to the ground, lifeless - and so did her roots wither as if they had caught death from that which they had trapped. She smiled down at Valker, holding her hands out either side of her in a playful shrug, as if to say ”that was nothing.” Truthfully, she couldn't remember the last time she’d used her magic in such a way, and that realisation hit her hard so that her smile almost faded. It was food for thought for a better time. Preferably when she wasn’t stuck up a tree.

“You’re quite impressive yourself Witcher,” she said, downplaying the words while the image of him with his blade in hand ran through her mind. It was like watching one of the brooding heroes of her books in real time. She could get used to it. Her smile flickered back, and something else in her eyes too… But she turned from him to lower herself from the branch she had been hiding in, letting her legs dangle over the edge until she had lowered herself enough to let go.

With a soft thud, she landed, brushing strands from her face as she gazed down upon the corpse of the fallen werewolf. “We made quick work of him…”

Valker nodded before retrieving his sword from the werewolf’s chest. He produced a cloth from one of his pouches and began methodically wiping down the blade. “Preparation is key. Some of my brothers would have relished the challenge of taking on the beast in single combat, blade against claw. You know, a long, protracted affair that ends with both parties bloodied and bruised.” He scoffed and shook his head. In the dim lighting of the forest, his iridescent eyes and vein-crossed face looked almost as beastly as the creature they had slain. “Not my style. I have enough scars. I don’t plan on acquiring any more.”

“I’d meet you halfway… Sometimes a dash of spontaneity does wonders afterall. Mind you, take that with a pinch of salt from the Sorceress who spends her days in the company of politicians…” She couldn’t take her eyes off the creature as it lay there, almost peacefully. Avery glanced at Valker after a few moments, with an almost squeamish downturned grimace. “We’d best collect the head, and by we I mean you.” Satisfied with having seen it, and satisfied enough that they’d killed it quickly and efficiently enough to not attract attention, she took several long strides forwards out of the way, her back turned. She was not averse to gore, but something about watching a head be removed was not sitting well in her stomach.

“Naturally.” The witcher had not expected any different. He pulled his dagger free from its sheath situated on his lower back and knelt down next to the werewolf.

It was grisly work and while his dagger was sharp, the tendons and vertebrae of the werewolf were tough. It took more than a minute of cutting to finally liberate the head from its shoulders. Valker planted it firmly on his trophy hook and got to his feet, carefully avoiding the pool of blood around the werewolf’s corpse. “All done,” he said and an idea came to him. “Perhaps a portal straight to your lord’s hall would make for a suitably dramatic entrance, no?”

He need only mention a portal, and she was on board. “I like your style, and who knows, maybe it will make Alistaire shit himself,” she said gleefully with a girlish giggle before clapping her hands just like she had earlier. The portal opened in front of them with the same resounding boom, blowing away any debris of dirt and stones back from it with a whoosh. “See you on the other side,” she said with a wink before stepping into the darkness.

It was as though she left the joy of the hunt behind, as the woman who stepped into the hall was every bit a politician. Avery was suddenly austere, a hand on each hip as she looked on at the sight. Alistaire may have well shat himself indeed, but she could not crack a smile as Reeve was slouched over his desk, eyelids fluttering. Her lips pursed and she drew a long breath in. She could smell the alcohol, and the energy that was radiating from her Lord was that of a man inebriated completely. She stormed through the hall with unusually long strides, casting a viciously piercing stare at her colleague in the corner who had seemingly also been saucing himself since they had left.

She plucked up Reeve’s goblet into her hand, dipping a finger into the contents to taste. “Wine. Mixed with vodka, that doesn’t even taste good Reeve,” she groaned. Forgetting that Valker had accompanied her through the portal. “I grow tired of this.”

Reeve was clearly not interested in Avery for long, as soon as he caught glimpse of the trophy head he rose from his seat, swaying on his feet, “you did it!” He called out, banging his fist on the desk triumphantly. “Bring me my trophy, Witcher. I’ll get… get your crowns.” His sudden motion had caught up with him and he placed a closed fist over his mouth, belching quietly into it. Avery sneered and turned away. “You embarrass yourself Reeve, sit down…”

Valker shrugged and stepped up to the lord’s table. He grabbed the werewolf’s head by a tuft of hair, pulled it free from the trophy hook with a sickening sound and placed it in front of Reeve. “I did indeed,” the witcher said and frowned. Though the effects of the decoctions and potions were slowly receding as his body’s incredible metabolism worked hard to remove them from his bloodstream, his face was still fearsome to behold, and he decided to seize the opportunity.

“It wasn’t easy. Very large specimen, fought like a demon. Give its head a prominent place in your hall, it’s a very fine trophy. One deserving of a very fat pouch of crowns.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t looking for disagreement.

Without looking away from his prize, Reeve motioned to Alistaire who nodded curtly, producing the requested fat pouch from his belt. He let it drop onto the wood of the desk so that Valker could hear the weight of its clunk before he slid it down to Reeve. “I’m feeling generous too Witcher, you’ve done me a good deed by slaying this beast — avenging Jon. Head into the village tonight and choose the best whore on offer, whichever suits, tell them it’s by order of the Lord,” he laughed in the juvenile manner that only a drunkard could, and Alistaire joined him as if it were the funniest comment he’d ever heard.

“I think it’s time you got yourself to bed my Lord before you further embarrass our village in the presence of company,” Avery commented in a light tone, so as not to make him angry, she then looked over to Valker with an apologetic look on her face, there was a tired and exhausted glaze over her eyes and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the kitchenhands bring you some water and something to soak that… monstrous drink up.”

“As you wish, as you wish…” he replied after he had calmed down from his outburst of laughter, waving a dismissive hand in front of Avery and Valker both. “I’ve got what I wanted, and so have you - let’s end the meeting.”

That much was true. Valker picked up the pouch and was satisfied by its weight indeed. For the first time since he arrived, there was something approaching joy visible in his eyes. “Pleasure doing business with you, my lord,” Valker said and gave the besotted nobleman a grateful inclination of his head. As he turned to leave, collect his belongings and head down to the village as Reeve had suggested, his eyes fell on Avery and lingered there for a moment while Valker paused, mid-turn. It almost looked like he was about to say something when he settled for a smile instead; faint, but distinct.

And with that, he was gone. After a night full of comforts in Kraeg’s Hill, he was gone from the village come the morn as well, back in the saddle and on the road.

The Path beckoned.

5 years later…
Hierarch Markets, Novigrad

---

It was when the sun reached its height that two impeccably dressed women took to the streets of Novigrad for a gander through the markets. At first glance, one could easily mistake them for regular ladies of the town - walking together to go about their day arm in arm with each other, both of the women had a basket hung over their free arm.

The streets were not completely noisy, the drunks hadn’t come out yet and there were no shady individuals lurking around the corners. A rare hour where most was peaceful and still, just the happy chattering of passers by and the calling out of market stall owners peddling their wares to the people. Nothing was out of place in Novigrad today. The sky was a clear and bright blue and only a few clouds drifted lazily against the backdrop. There was a scent of lemon cake wafting over the air from a bakery, and the gentle sound of a lute being strummed behind the crowds. Everything was perfect today.

“You know Avery, it won’t be long until we’re dressing for the banquet tonight,” came the soft voice of the red-haired woman. She was short of height, and shorter than her companion - lean of figure too. Her eyes that were the colour of rich chocolate and the shape of almonds blinked excitedly, her lips formed a smile. She looked over her shoulder, back at two gentlemen who had watched the women saunter past with wide eyes, mouths open. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at them as she looked forwards once more. “Hopefully the attendants are decidedly more interesting and attractive than the rabble of Novigrad…” she rounded off, her voice more cutting now.

The woman at her side simply rolled her eyes and exhaled - as if she’d heard the words before a dozen times. She was dressed in blue hues, her shirt low cut and sleeveless, tucked into a figure hugging skirt that clung to the voluptuous shape of her thighs and rear, almost sinfully. “Celes…” she began in a serious, somewhat authoritative voice, “it’s not an opportunity for you to sleep around, it’s a high-class affair and it’s important we represent ourselves correctly. Stay away from the men,” she cast a stern glance over into the narrowed eyes of Celes.

“Alright then, I’ll stay away from the men,” she responded coyly with a smug grin, before she was pulled out of it once more by Avery.

“That doesn’t mean you can sleep with the women either, you’re to be on your best behaviour.” The stern glance was once again thrown.

“Fine, but what if they try to sleep with me?” Celes continued with a giggle, much to the visible displeasure of her friend who sighed again, stopping in her tracks. The arm that was entwined through Celes’s tightened as a warning. “I need to trust you’re just jesting with me right now and you’re not serious, you’ve got a lot to learn and you’re going the right way for me to pull your invitation…” Celes’s expression changed as she was drawn closer to the eyes of Avery, the violet and emerald orbs burning down at her with a severity she did not enjoy too much. “I was jesting, I was jesting!” She whispered back up at her. Avery relaxed and nodded, continuing to walk forwards.

The two remained in silence for a while, Celes looking sheepish, and Avery calm and slightly smug. “You’re right though, we’ll soon be getting dressed… Let’s see if we can’t find a nice something to wear for the occasion. A pretty brooch… a hairpin, something nice to remember it by and keep as a memento.” Try as she might, Avery could not stay perturbed at the younger sorceress for too long, she meant well enough - they were just both shared very different ideas of how the banquet would play out, clearly.

It was a table of glistening jewels that caught her interest first. They weren’t real jewels of course, just very fancy trinkets set with coloured glass. The handiwork of it was exquisite, and Avery found herself drawn to a flower shaped brooch in the corner, it appeared to be made of copper, and the detailing was incredibly delicate. She wondered why she was in fact so drawn to that piece. It wasn’t a memorable looking flower, in fact she couldn’t recognise what it was - it was shaped like a bunch, petals not outspread in a circle, but twisting around the buds. It was obviously modelled from a wildflower, the kind that would grow in bunches on a windy hillside or mountain. In the centre of each bud was a tiny droplet of amber coloured glass, dazzling in the sunlight - and yet, each droplet reminded her of something that she was unable to put her finger on.

“I’ll take this one,” she said slowly to the vendor, not for one second taking her eyes from the piece, simply handing over what she hoped was an adequate amount. “Curious piece…” she said dreamily as she turned it on it’s stalk, enjoying the way that the light changed the colours from amber to gold to honey. “Curious indeed…”

“Sir?”

The herbalist frowned quizzically as the witcher he had been haggling with -- tiresomely, he might add -- suddenly stared past him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Valker blinked and looked at the merchant, now visibly annoyed. “Yes, yes, fine. Fifteen crowns per root and may it buy you a fine carriage,” he said and deposited the coins into the man’s outstretched hand with a tangible amount of disapproval.

“Thank you kindly,” came the venomous reply and the herbalist quickly turned to his next customer, glad to be rid of the witcher.

Valker stuffed the mandrake root into one of his manifold pouches and strode away with purpose, his boots ringing pleasantly on the cobblestones of Hierarch Square. Peasants and notables alike made way for the tall, heavily-armed witcher as his long legs carried him to the woman whose unmistakable eyes had suddenly grabbed his attention. She was not alone and he slowed down to avoid startling a stranger. He came to a halt in front of the pair of sorceresses, garbed in the same battledress that the tallest of them had seen him in before, five years ago, a kingdom or two away from here. It was an unlikely meeting. Valker did not believe much in coincidences.

“Avery,” he said, drawing her attention away from the amber droplets to his own amber-colored eyes. “Fancy meeting you here.” He stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, and inclined his head towards her red-headed friend. “Madame.”

Now that was a surprise, and quite a startling one at that too. “Valker?” She asked, taking a step back. It wasn’t normally that she came upon figures from her past like this, in such an ordinary setting too. Immediately as she looked at him she remembered the details of their short adventure together - not that she had ever truly forgotten any of it. “Fancy it indeed,” she said in a quiet voice of wonder, for she did not believe in coincidences either.

Celes cleared her throat and bowed her head in the direction of the Witcher, surprised that Avery seemed to know him. “Good day to you,” she said in a voice that was far sweeter than her usual one. The red-head eyed Valker up from head to toe, more than once. “Friend of yours Avery?” She asked, looking up at Avery’s face, finding a small slice of delight in it after her scolding moments ago.

“Acquaintance, would be the better term,” she responded, letting the trinket fall into her basket. “This is Valker, a Witcher who delivered on a contract in a village I stayed in some years ago… Valker, this is Celes, I suppose you could say she’s my mentee of sorts.” Finally, she smiled down at Celes, and back up at Valker, catching herself looking into his eyes just as she had five years ago, and then it clicked as to why she had picked up the brooch.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Valker said to Celes. He did not smile, for he almost never did, but he did not fail to notice the way she looked at him and his face softened somewhat from its usual stoic expression. Like all men, he enjoyed making a good first impression. It paled in comparison to the way Avery’s eyes gazed into his own when he turned his attention back to her, however, and Valker paused for a second. He had seen the brooch before she’d dropped it into her basket.

He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely towards Novigrad, all around them. “You tired of the countryside, I take it?”

She felt as though she had been put on the spot - she had been, in fact. She was a different woman than she had been five years ago, as evidenced by the fact that she was mentoring a younger sorceress for a start. “I have not been there in some time, if that’s what you mean to ask. Yes, I’m more of a city dweller now,” she didn’t wish to say too much, not with Celes there, Celes who at the point was filled with the kind of mischief in her eyes that Avery had left behind. Celes who was about to interrupt…

“We’re getting ready for a banquet actually, that’s why we’ve been in Novigrad.” She said with a smile as she looked between Avery and Valker slowly, watching them carefully. “It’s tonight,” she continued before her mentor placed a hand on against the girl’s shoulder. “Celes, I doubt a Witcher is interested in our affairs. Why don’t you head back to our room at the inn now, I’ll finish up here.” She did not seem visibly irritated, but she could do without anymore of her meddling.

“Of course,” she sighed, unlike Avery, Celes absolutely was visibly irritated by her dismissal, “nice to meet you Valker.” She said with finality before turning to head back in the direction they came in.”

Valker frowned slightly as he watched Celes stalk away. “Are you so eager to be rid of me already?” he asked, not unkindly, and looked back at Avery. “Shame.”

Was he this eager to talk last time? She could’ve sworn he was not, but it made her smile again, and for a just a moment it was her famously roguish smile. “That’s not it now, I’ve already had to scold her today - I don’t wish to have to scold her again.” Her voice had softened now that Celes was gone. “I could ask you the same question anyway, hunting a monster in Novigrad?”

Based on the way he remembered her talking to Reeve when the lord had misbehaved, Valker assumed that Celes might have gotten more than she bargained for when she signed up with Avery. “Fair enough. And no, I'm not here on business. I've just returned from Toussaint, did some work there, and now I'm restocking my supplies, figuring out my next move,” he explained and sighed. “Everything is more expensive than I remembered.”

He was more talkative. “That’s the city for you I’m afraid,” she replied tilting her head with a shake and a light shrug of her shoulders. “Toussaint you say? Now that’s a beautiful place, lush meadows and mountains, the city square… The colours,” she sighed and moaned aloud, wishing she could be there. “I don’t know how you could bring yourself to leave.” If she closed her eyes she could picture it very clearly.

It wasn’t until a passerby walked around Avery, that she realised they had been fixed in the same spot - blocking the view of the stall. She turned her head from left to right, before settling back on Valker, “come, walk with me.” She wasn’t asking.

Obeying without question, Valker fell in line next to the sorceress. “Yes, Toussaint is all that, and also the land of pompous knights and insufferable traditions,” he said. “The culprit of my contract turned out to be a very creative godling with the same opinions. I almost didn't put a stop to him. Long story.” He paused as if lost in thought before continuing. “But you can't say they're not a generous people. My saddlebags are full of wine, if you'll believe it.” He glanced sidelong at Avery and cleared his throat, thinking better of something. “But I'm sure the wine at your banquet will be just as fine.”

Her eyes closed and her lip curled at the mention of the banquet. “I'll stay as long as I can handle it, I don't know how much I'll enjoy it, but if the wine is as fine as you seem to think then maybe it won't be so bad. I shall have to try them all.” She laughed as they walked, enjoying his company. It was unexpected, and that had been just what she needed to warm her mood. An idea struck her all of a sudden, and she almost stopped in her tracks to share it, “do you like banquets Valker?” she asked, meeting his glance with her own while her finger traced the outline of her lips - her mind ticking with thoughts.

The old witcher Bram's words rang loud and clear in his mind. “Stay away from the nobility and their courts. Deal with ealdormen, farmers, soldiers if you have to. Politics are bad for business. A room full of people who might have a use for you is a room where you don't want to be.” But the food, the drinks, the luxury, the company… the truth was that Valker enjoyed a good banquet. It was the closest thing he could experience to feeling normal and carefree for a spell, even if everyone there tended to look at him like they might inspect a Zerrikanian stallion. “I do,” he admitted.

“If you're not ready to move on just yet, then maybe you'd like to join me at this one? Unless you're starting to feel eager to be rid of me,” her voice was suddenly a low purr as she asked, laced with mischief. She looked ahead again, smiling as though she had a trick up her sleeve.

“If it's not too much trouble,” Valker said and inclined his head in gratitude, “I should very much like to. It will be… nice, I think. A change of pace. Thank you.” The intimate tone Avery's voice had taken on and the smirk on her face were a mild cause for alarm. “I trust I won't be the subject of one of your pranks?” he asked. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

It was at that point that her steps veered away from the Witcher as the path they were walking on began to fork, and she was slowly heading towards the left. “Oh I'll only have need to do that if you have a change of heart,” she gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow before she had fully left his side. “Dress sharp, be timely… I'll be waiting.” And off she went, she wondered if he would appreciate the level of mystery she had left him with regarding the event, but she knew just how much a Witcher liked a hunt, this was just a different sort altogether. He'd figure it out, somehow.

---

The usual midnight blue battledress had been replaced by a brown doublet, the lapels stitched with pale beige felt, and a dash of ultramarine in the inside of the popped collar. Valker deliberately kept the top buttons undone, creating a deeper neckline to put his medallion proudly on display and reveal a few scars. Over his left shoulder hung a cape from an epaulet, his feet were clad in comfortable, tall boots of supple leather and his practical trousers replaced with poofy -- but very stylish -- pants. Truth be told, Valker fancied himself to be quite dashing, and he had even bothered to apply some oil to his beard.

He arrived at the residence of the Nilfgaardian ambassador, Var Attre, perfectly on time. A little early, even, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to events for which he did not carry his own invitation. He was not alone; others were already there, waiting for their own dates or just conversing amongst themselves before entering the fray, as it were. Valker kept an eye out for Avery while he sauntered over to join them.

It felt like it had been a long time since Avery had attended an event such as this, whereas truthfully they had occurred quite frequently. They all just seemed to blur and become one. The same music, wine, food, and usually many of the same people. It shouldn’t have felt too different to her element of being in courts and halls, but somehow being surrounded by nobility during their costly revelry was not all that fun for the sorceress. It always seemed that there was still a wall between she and them, that despite all of her successes she still sat on the outskirts of high society deep down. Some things she couldn’t shake off, afterall.

This evening's occasion may well have been the first that she had been looking forward to in a long while - and she attributed that to having asked Valker to join her. She’d at the very least have someone truly interesting to talk to. As well as that, it was always wonderful to have a chance to dress up and tonight she had. Her dress was shoulderless with sleeves that ran to her hands. It was so well fitting to her chest and torso, it was as if it had been painted on. Her breasts were given a plentiful amount of lift by the lacing of the corset, tied with a charcoal coloured ribbon in the centre. The pattern looked like the scales of a dragon, but it was merely fancy stitchwork which contrasted perfectly with the almost tapestry-esque embroidery of the triangular insert that ran the length of the skirt. As for the brooch, she had repurposed it for the evening as a hairpin to hold up her curls.

The sorceress spotted Valker walking towards the gate, he had been early it seemed - whereas she had been right on time, her own time, anyway. She walked alongside Celes who was also suitably dressed for the evening, long locks of auburn hair falling in waves around her over an emerald green velvet dress - the colours so perfectly suiting of the wearer. The younger sorceress raised an eyebrow as the Witcher came also to her sight, “so let me get this straight, I’m not allowed to flirt tonight, but you’re allowed to bring him?”

“Benefits of being your elder,” she said with a light shrug. “Besides, it's not what you think. Just because you are looking for something tonight, does not mean that I am.” She smiled and unlinked her arm from Celes, “now be a dear and find us some seats - and don't get distracted.”

As Celes parted, Avery continued in the direction of Valker her hands held together in front of her, as she came to closing the distance, she couldn't resist but remark on his choice of attire; “my my Witcher, don't you look dashing when you're not splattered with werewolf…” As he came into her view fully, she noted the colours that lined his shirt almost matched those of her skirt. “Well what do you know? We match,” her hand reached out delicately as she brushed her fingers against his collar, after that her eyes were drawn to the neckline, and what he had chosen to reveal before they snapped back up to his, and she gave a friendly smile.

There she was. Valker admired her dress, hair and makeup, his eyes lingering on the repurposed brooch for a second. “Great minds think alike, as I believe those Oxenfurt students like to say,” the witcher retorted and returned her smile with a rare one of his own. There was a glimmer of life to his eyes that was usually missing. To a stranger he would have simply looked like someone in an agreeable mood, but to people that knew him the difference would be night and day.

“You look beautiful,” he added with sincerity and offered Avery his arm. “Have you managed to shake off that student of yours or have I merely missed her in the crowd?”

She had to admit, it was nice to see him smile and as she took his arm, Avery tilted her head upwards and gave him a beaming smile in return. They looked quite the pair indeed, and Valker especially was turning many heads. “Thank you,” she said with a cheerful grin at his compliment as the two began to walk into the grounds. There was a coolness to the air, and the moon was full and iridescent, reflected so clearly on the surface of a still pond that it looked like a big pearl.

“Celes? She's here. I shall have to keep my eye on her… She has a lot to learn,” her smile faded and her face tensed at the thought. She really had left the girl to her own devices. That might prove to be a mistake… “She'll make her presence known soon enough.” Avery let it go with a soft laugh, “I should lighten up, this is a celebration after all.” In the quiet moment, she slowly scanned the crowd and recognised a few faces but there were many she did not.

Valker was silent for a spell while he drank in the sights, sounds and smells of the beautiful grounds of the Var Attre estate. Unlike Avery, the witcher was entirely among strangers, but since many of the other attendees took their time to look at him (even out of his armour and without his swords the viper eyes were unmistakable) he shamelessly stared right back. He made a game of trying to guess the status and positions of the people around him but quickly had to admit he knew too little about high society to be able to tell.

“A celebration, indeed,” Valker replied eventually and leaned in a little closer to speak in conspiratorial tones. “I hope it won't be a problem that I am totally unfamiliar with the baron in question.”

“Baron Artek Krych. He loves his horses and owns some of the finest racers around… The most famous and successful being a mare named Pie o My,” she chortled, voice soft and breathy in a recognitory response to him moving closer to her. “He enjoys music, so I expect there will be a range of bards tonight as well as an array of game meats to taste that he had brought from his own land. He has fine tastes, a typical Baron, really.” While she spoke she made note of Valker staring back out at those who looked at him first, it must be strange to be a Witcher here, to be looked at like something strange. She was reminded of the feeling of isolation she had tapped into on their last meeting. “That might help you, anyway. Just don’t make fun of his moustache whatever you do, Valker.” She stole something of a cheeky glance at him while she waited for him to register what she had said.

The witcher was listening along silently, his eyes wandering while Avery talked, until she warned him about the baron’s moustache. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised significantly higher than the other. “And here I thought people tried to avoid becoming stereotypes.” He was quite the avid reader and was well familiar with the moustache-twirling nobleman character that so often riddled fiction, either as a villain or as a bumbling nincompoop -- neither were positive. He cleared his throat and wiped his surprised expression off his face. “I suspect we are going to need something to drink, sooner rather than later. Agreed?”

“Where do you suppose such stereotypes come from in the first place?” She asked quietly with a smirk as they continued their slow walk through the grounds - it was beautiful and while busy with people, it was significantly quieter than inside from what Avery could gather as she looked through the windows. “I’m not so fond of these parties, but I do enjoy the opportunity to peruse nice places like this…” slowly, she tilted her head to the side until it almost rested on Valker’s shoulder. “Agreed on the drink, I feel sooner is best - what’s your poison, then?” Avery asked, the breathy voice gone and the pleasantry returned.

“Good point,” Valker conceded and followed Avery’s gaze around the estate. He, too, enjoyed the opportunity to observe how the wealthiest in this world decorated their homes and spent their days. It was enviable, in a way, though Valker was sure he would grow restless in a place like this before long. He had been on the Path for far too many decades to just settle down all of a sudden now. A tiger couldn’t change its stripes, after all. “I became quite the admirer of Sansretour chardonnay while I was in Toussaint,” he began and quickly realized how that made him sound. It wasn’t a bad thing, to appear cultured, but it was dishonest. “But that’s only recently. I’ve been a Kaedweni stout man all my life. And you?”

“Ahhh, that would be a chilled Mettina rose, or a glass of Erveluce,” she replied quickly without giving it too much thought. Really, she didn't even mind a homebrewed vodka but he needn't know that, and so she continued, “both of which they should have here, I'd bet they even have your stout… If you'll excuse me.” She removed her arm from Valker’s gracefully and took a step back. The heels of her strapped sandals tapped lightly on the cobblestone path, she hoped that the path wasn't going to give her any difficulty in her shoes later… “Don't go anywhere now,” she added with a sprinkling of humorous warning in her eyes, a brow raised as she turned toward to the direction of the bar, or to at least find a member of staff. It was also best to check on Celes too, she'd seen no sign of the girl yet.

Having observed the elder sorceress alight the path to collect drinks, the junior sorceress made her way across the lawns towards the now lone Witcher, her auburn tresses falling in long waves to the middle of her back, a drink held in her hand in a crystal flute - she pinched the stem delicately as she approached, her lids heavy, smile seductive and the scent of cloves lingering around her as an almost intoxicating aura. “Good to see you again Valker,” she said, speaking out to him to grab his attention. Her lips were painted a deep, sinful red. “I see you're enjoying the soiree so far…”

“Celes,” Valker said by way of greeting and inclined his head gracefully. He knew it was no coincidence that the younger woman chose to show up now. The look on her face and the sound of her voice all but confirmed that. “Avery is looking for you, I’m afraid you just missed her,” he said, feigning ignorance, and keeping his own expression neutral. He was curious to see what she would do.

“Oh, I thought she was going to fetch drinks? At least when she returns I'll be here… I'd best not wander off and look for her.” She smiled innocently, but the finger that was tracing lazily across her collarbones was anything but. “I never knew she had a friend who was a Witcher… Seems like you both know each quite well,” she commented suggestively, sipping from the glass to hide her smirk.

Valker’s eyes flitted down to her finger for a split second before coming back up to meet her gaze again. “Funny,” he said and stroked his beard with his left hand, planting his right hand on his hip, “because we’ve only met each other once before. She was filling me in about whose party this actually is and trying not to be obvious about it. I think that’s what you saw.” He paused for a second and tilted his head at Celes slightly, asking his next question bluntly and without pretense. “Do you spy on Avery often?”

Her response was a quiet and coy titter, “I don’t spy on her, ever. But what can I say? If a tall and handsome Witcher walks into Novigrad the same night we attend an important banquet… I might take to spying on him.” There was a quality to her words that almost curled her coquettish smile to a cunning smirk. “I have to make sure that nothing untoward happens to my mentor tonight - and that she doesn’t get caught in anything…” she did not finish her sentence, and instead stepped increasingly closer to Valker. He was far taller than her, and it was imposing but also incredibly electrifying.

So that’s how it was. “I see,” Valker said, taking his time to choose his words. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight on his back foot, utilizing his height to maintain some conversational distance between the two of them. Under normal circumstances he would most decidedly not be opposed to the advances of a beautiful redheaded woman, but these weren’t normal circumstances. He wasn’t sure why, considering he had no concrete reasons to feel this way, but he felt very strongly that he wanted to avoid doing something to negatively influence Avery’s perception of him. It was a strange realization. Why did he care?

“You think so lowly of me, Celes? That I might tempt your mentor into something untoward?” The witcher made a show of tutting, frowning and shaking his head. “I am but a lowly monster slayer. Avery’s invitation to tag along was an act of kindness, if I may be so frank. I’m afraid you have the wrong idea about me.”

“Oh, on the contrary I think somewhat highly of you, actually - that much is clear is it not? Slaying monsters and helping the helpless - noble really. Nothing lowly about that work.” She did back up from him, moving over to the railing of the wall, swaying her hips as she went - she could feel the sumptuous velvet brushing against the backs of her legs. “I don’t mean for us to get off on the wrong foot Valker,” Celes began as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned her back to him as if to just look out over the gardens. The dress was almost completely backless, and the image off her porcelain skin against the edges of the rich green fabric was striking, Especially with the line of delicate freckles that ran down her spine from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. “I apologise if you felt that way,” she finished, looking over her shoulder at him with narrowed eyes and her mouth slightly open.

It was so transparent that it would’ve been just amusing, if she weren’t also so attractive. Valker was definitely going to need a drink or two (or three, or four…) to get through the evening, he suspected, and wondered what was holding Avery up. “Apology accepted,” he said and shrugged. “Tell me about your apprenticeship with Avery. When did that start, and how did you meet?”

The fact that he wasn’t responding was only making her want to try harder. Men (and the occasional women) never lasted this long once she had made advances. Now he was asking boring questions, questions that veered them away from the path she was trying to lead him down. She closed her mouth and looked back out over the crowds, properly this time. “Two months ago, I knew of her because of her past associations to Aretuza and for having hailed from Novigrad. I wanted a good mentor, I got one.” Her voice was curt all of a sudden. How dreadfully boring a question to ask, and her fingers tapped against the stone with her impatience. “And now it’s our turn…” her eyes widened, this could be a game after all… “Where do you come from?”

Valker had to suppress a smile when Celes told him two things about Avery he didn’t know yet. So this was her hometown? He wondered why she ever left it. Deciding to play along, for this game she wanted to play could be useful to him yet, he joined her by the railing, leaning against it, one leg casually crossed over the other, his body facing her. “Kerach,” he lied effortlessly, as he had done so many times before. The truth was that he had no idea. Bram had always refused to tell Valker where he’d picked him up. “Standard procedure,” the old witcher had gruffly said when asked about it. “To stop your stupid ass from trying to go back.”

“But that was a long time ago. Before you were born, I’d say. And you?” he asked. Valker knew he had to intersperse questions about Avery with questions about Celes herself, give her some false hope that he might be interested after all.

The red-head turned around, this time leaning back in a relaxed way, her elbows resting on the stone, her eyes following him as he drew nearer to her now. She blinked slowly at him, her long lashes fluttering. “Oxenfurt…” she said in a lower voice now that he was close once more, “can’t you tell by my free spirit?” The question was flirtatious, an invitation to see just how free-spirited she could be… She couldn’t decide whether to ask something crude or personal - it was too soon for crude, he’d only just come back to her after all, her gaze was drawn now to the scars that decorated his neckline - the slight glimpse of tanned flesh he was allowing her, she bit her lip and sidled closer to him, “what you do, it must be very dangerous… I think you’re very brave you know. Is it? Dangerous?”

As much as they had all hurt to receive, Valker could not deny the effectiveness of his scars on the ladies. They never failed to impress. He looked down at himself and shrugged, moving the wyvern medallion aside and tugging at the fabric of his doublet to give Celes a slightly better look -- he knew what he was doing. “I could feign modesty now,” he said and looked at Celes. She was very close to him now. Gods, she smelled good. Valker blinked and reminded himself not to get carried away. “But that would be a lie. Yes, it’s dangerous. That’s why we train our whole lives, why we undergo the Trial of the Grasses… and why you should always hire a professional.” He looked up and scanned the crowd while shaking his head, as if he was judging the people present and finding them all unworthy. “If you ever meet a man that says he can do a witcher’s job with a few sharp swords and a few good men, he’s lying -- or worse, a fool.”

He looked back down at Celes while straightening the lapels of his doublet and dropping the medallion back where it belonged. Peeking time was over. “What about you? What have you learned to do from Avery? Any specialties she’s passed on to you?”

She made all the signs of a woman seduced when he flashed more of his skin for her eyes. They widened, she took in a breath and found herself leaning in more, as if to inhale his scent - intoxicating. “It sounds it, I bet you’ve saved so many people with your strength… Mmmmm…” The realisation that she was slipping out of control hit her and she moved back, bringing the glass to her lips for another sip, a long one. She needed to cool down. She let him speak, and ask his question. A question that just annoyed her again. “The very basics, if that… At the rate she’s teaching me, I’ll have learned what she does by the time I’m 100 years old. She has me reading, practicing my speech… Fetching food for her cats! I picked her for a reason and she won’t even tell me how she does it.” Celes pouted, showing her youth and immaturity before downing the last of the contents of the glass.

Sensing an opportunity, Valker pressed on. “I sympathize. My first few years in the keep were the same. All the older boys were practicing swordplay against each other and I was stuck with the dummy every time,” he said. “Rite of passage, I think. What’s this mysterious skill that Avery is withholding from you, then?”

She nodded along with his anecdote, realising that she probably sounded ungrateful and childish…”Well, you know, she reads emotions but it’s more than that, she can conjure up projections of memories - bring what’s inside your mind…” she lifted her finger from the stone and slowly moved it towards Valker’s face before she gently pressed his forehead, “she can make it real. Or, make it seem real…” Celes abruptly stopped what she was doing, she had divulged things about her mentor to someone she’d just met, and that had been a lesson in things to not do. Lesson number one in fact. “Shit, I shouldn’t be talking about her like this.”

Valker frowned when she pressed a finger against his forehead, apprehensive about what was to come next. When nothing happened, he was relieved. He didn’t relish the idea of someone entering his mind without an invitation. Or with an invitation, for that matter. His mind was his fortress. “My bad,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t mean to make you divulge things you weren’t supposed to. I assure you I’ve already forgotten everything you just said.”

---

Artek Krych was an important man and he knew it. The turnout for his party, graciously hosted by the Nilfgaardian ambassador -- “great people, really, so civilized, good jockeys too!” -- pleased him and he strutted about the premises with a smug smile, mostly hidden beneath the prodigious moustache he so dearly liked to stroke thoughtfully. That’s what he thought it looked like, anyway. He fluttered from guest to guest, accepting compliments and well wishes with grace and laughing affably at the various jokes his guests told me. The reality was, of course, that he appeared somewhat lecherous, and that his bellowing, chortling laughter put off more than one attendee from her snack or drink. Not that anybody would dream of telling him that.

Meandering past the desserts table brought a particularly beautiful guest in his vision, however, and he rubbed his hands together, beady eyes twinkling. Avery Vexx, the sorceress herself. She looked positively irresistible in her dress and he stepped up to her with only a half-hearted attempt at disguising the glances he stole at her prodigious bossom. “Avery! So good of you to come,” Artek said and spread his arms out wide. “Do you like my party?”

She was on her fourth profiterole when he breezed past her, the Baron himself. Her eyes were wide, as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. Soon, she settled that feeling of guilt when she felt him look at her chest, the intense feeling of lust was all around him. He was certainly enjoying the party, she doubted he cared if she did, but for the sake of diplomacy, she licked the chocolate frosting from her finger tip and replied as politely as she could, “yes of course, it’s a truly special affair!” His eyes were still down there as opposed to on her own eyes, and so she saw fit to narrow them and they took on a very serpentine quality as she did so. “It seems to be moving into full swing now, I suspect the bards will be coming out soon, no?”

“Ah, now now,” Artek said and wagged a finger admonishingly, “must you already spill my secrets? Too sharp you are, too sharp indeed! Though I suppose that is your job as a sorceress, no?” He laughed at his own joke, if it could be called that, and he abruptly put an arm around Avery’s shoulder and pulled her into a camraderely embrace. “Look at them,” he said and gestured widely at the other people in the spacious manor, talking and drinking amongst themselves. “This is probably the best party they’ve ever been to! Peasants, bah. Not like you or I though, eh? We know all about the finer things in life.” He paused, unsure where he was going, and finished his train of thought with a charming -- or moderately frightening -- grin. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, you know. You come highly recommended. I have a matter I want to discuss with you, something I need your help with.” He stared into her eyes now, his instincts as a conman overpowering his desires as a man in order to help him gauge her reaction. “But enough of that now. First we must enjoy ourselves, eh? Here,” the baron said and stopped one of the servants to bark orders at him. The boy returned post-haste with a bottle of expensive erveluce. “Take this. Something tells me you’re a woman of taste. I must know what you think of it when you’re finished with it,” Artek said and winked, barely able to suppress his chuckles of anticipation.

Why did this man talk so much? It made a change from some of the politicians she’d been around, but his talk just reeked of bullshit. Or was that some kind of expensive and obnoxious cologne he’d slathered himself in? Whatever it was it was overpowering her senses, and when she grabbed her into his embrace she cringed, he was so quick and rough with it, for a brief moment she feared the ribbon was going to snap on her corset. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Still, she stood there and took it, not one to cause a scene at a banquet - especially not with the guest of honour himself.

How little he knew about her past, it was a bold assumption of him to make that she knew about the finer thing indeed… That said, he was holding out a nice bottle of chilled Evreluce. His offer was worth thinking about, but not if he was going to be this lascivious. She could really use the crowns, and the Baron had a lot of them. Perhaps she could seek the advice of Valker… She took the bottle with a smile. Finally the Baron had slowed down to catch a breath and she could speak. Once more, politely, she addressed him, “your words are very kind Baron, I am pleased to know that you have heard such good things about me - it would please me also to assist you with your affairs indeed. I am glad to be of service, and I’ll accept this wine as a deposit shall I?”

“Good, good, very good,” the baron said, nodding along to his own words, his rotund cheeks glistening in all their oily glory in the candlelight of the hall. “And yes, yes! By all means. Before you go and enjoy that wine, there are a few people I want you to meet. Come with me.” He took her by the arm, lacking the decency to merely offer his own and wait for Avery to accept, and dragged the sorceress along on a tour of meeting a string of utterly boring but, unfortunately, important people. It was rather obvious that the baron was showing off the woman on his arm and he did not fail to mention that she was helping him with “something important” at any opportunity, garnering the desired -- but ultimately just polite -- oooh’s and aaah’s from his guests.

After far too many minutes of obliviously awkward introductions, Artek had run out of important guests. “That was all of them, I think,” he mumbled to himself before looking back up at Avery with a smile. “Thank you for your patience, very gracious of you! Now go and enjoy yourself, eh? I shall fetch you later to discuss these matters in more detail.” He bowed as well as he could and kissed one of Avery’s hands before leaving her and snatching up the first drink he found. Grifting was hard work.

---

She felt as though she’d just been ripped through the inside of a hurricane. She daren’t head back inside to find the stout for Valker, lest she run into the Baron again. Feeling flustered and dizzy, she made her way back across the path, stopping by a waiter on her way to collect two glasses. This was starting to feel strange to her, making her way past couples who were doing the same thing - drinking wine together and just talking. Did she see Valker that way? She hadn’t known him long enough that was for sure - but maybe tonight it was fun to pretend.

The smile came back to her face as she turned the corner, expecting to see Valker waiting by the wall for her - only she saw Celes first. She saw Celes looking out over the garden below, and Valker looking at Celes. Oh, she thought to herself, deflating for just a moment, before she picked herself back up again, feeling rather silly for having gotten swept up so quickly and easily…

“No stout I’m afraid,” she confessed with a shrug, handing a glass to Valker. “Sorry it took so long, had a really strange — never mind.”

“Not to worry,” Valker replied and looked at the bottle of erveluce that Avery brought with her, “Celes had plenty of interesting things to -- hold on, isn’t this very expensive?” He mouthed the year of the vintage and raised an eyebrow at Avery. “You had a really strange what? Go on, I’m curious,” he said, immediately ending his conversation with Celes. Something about Avery had changed, he could tell. Had he overdone it with her mentee? Valker shot the younger sorceress a sidelong glance and quietly hoped that she would excuse herself for a moment.

The look did not go unnoticed by Avery, who really rather felt like opening the bottle all of a sudden. She placed her glass on the wall, and without need for a corkscrew she tapped her fingers against the neck of the bottle, forcing out the cork with a quick spell. She could immediately smell the wine, and without waiting to let it breathe, she poured a serving of it into her glass.

Celes, on the other hand, looked back at Valker - expecting that he might actually tell Avery what she had been saying. She wanted to leave, but she also wanted to know that wasn’t going to happen, and she also wanted some of the incredibly expensive wine… She held out her glass to Avery, who obliged.

“Strange, yes. I just had a tour and met some of the guests. The Baron walked me around, actually.” She took a quick sip of the wine, it was as refreshingly cool as she remembered and she gave a content sigh. “It’s beautiful—“ with the taste of the wine on her lips, she forgot what she had been so concerned about, and she fell back into her usual relaxed state.

After Valker's own glass had been filled he used the time gained by taking a measured sip and evaluating the wine as he had seen the sommeliers of Toussaint do by inspecting Avery more closely. Whatever it was that he had seen before was gone now. Perhaps it was just the baron that had had that effect on her. “Very good,” he declared and had another, larger gulp, betraying his real nature as a man of fieldwork. Thinking quickly, he cleared his throat and spoke up again. “Celes told me that you're from Novigrad.” The comments about the nature of her powers were confidential, but Valker assumed that her birthplace was an innocent enough topic. “I had no idea. What was it like, growing up in the city?”

Hearing Valker ask her about her childhood, even as innocently as he had done, was jarring. It took her by surprise and before she could answer, she brought the glass to her lips again and took another healthy swig. “It’s true that I was born in Novigrad. Growing up was…” the moment of hesitation was enough to suggest it wasn’t something she talked about often, or liked to. “I had a nice childhood here, I remember that Novigrad was thriving, the streets were bustling and people were generally happy and friendly.” She drank again.

“Celes, I believe that the bard will be arriving soon, in the manor there is a spread of food if you’re hungry.” No eye contact was made between the two of them, nor words. Celes made herself scarce for the time being.

Valker exhaled slowly, relieved to be alone with Avery again, and gave her a look that could almost be construed as sheepish. “She appeared the second you were gone. She's… well, you know what young girls are like. I have to confess that I may have taken advantage in order to obtain some information from her.” He took another sip and looked at Avery over the rim of his glass, his eyes striking in the moonlight. “Three guesses what about.”

Oh she knew what Celes was like alright, the way that Valker talked about her was interesting. She was a pretty young thing, reckless and brazen in her approaches. She raised an eyebrow at his confession though, that was surprising. It sounded like the sort of thing a man would do. “I’ll have to implore you not to do that again,” she uttered, unimpressed by it. She also didn’t feel like a guessing game, “I don’t need to know Valker. If you are interested in Celes, she would be more than happy to…” Her glass was empty and so she reached for the bottle to refill it during the silence. Unaware she’d misunderstood what he was actually trying to communicate to her.

The witcher frowned. This wasn't working. “I was asking her about you,” Valker said bluntly. “She wouldn't have it, I showed her a scar or two to… throw her a bone, as it were. I'm not interested in her.” He drained the rest of his glass in one go and sighed. It was disappointing that she'd misunderstood him, that she'd think him so crass. Without another word, he held out his glass for her to refill.

Avery laughed, it was either the wine taking hold, or she found it genuinely amusing that he wasn’t interested in her. “You’d be about the only person in Novigrad who isn’t interested in her. You know, if you wanted to know something about me there was an easier way to get that information…” she lifted the bottle towards him, tilting it in order to fill his glass again. “Can’t promise I’d tell you anything though.”

“I know.” Valker stared at her quizzically. Was she playing a game that he wasn't wise to? “That's why I asked Celes,” he explained. “You're the--”

He was forced to shut his mouth when they had to make way for two servants carrying a table somewhere. “Nevermind,” Valker mumbled and reacquainted himself with the bottom of his glass. Fighting a cockatrice was easier than navigating this.

“You should really try to savour the taste of this wine, you said it yourself - it’s expensive,” Avery commented with a small smile, sensing a small amount of frustration from him, it wasn’t too often she read him. It was hard, he had a powerfully strong mind - that and he was so calm that it was nice to just enjoy his company. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you, about earlier.” She lifted her glass to her lips, watching his eyes, focussing on his pupils.

“Right, sorry,” the witcher said and slowed down on the drinking. It was very tasty but he found himself wishing for the familiarity of a stout. “I'm listening.”

Before she got the chance to tell him about the Baron's proposal, there was a loud crash and clatter over to their left, followed quickly by the sound of drunken nobles cheering and jeering. When she looked, Avery gathered one of them had fallen and broken a large pot. A definite reason for cheer. She rolled her eyes, suddenly a fire behind them. “I hate these events, always ends up like this…” Forgetting her own words to Valker about the wine, she too finished her glass quickly - not realising the hypocrisy of her getting drunk as a way to handle other drunks.

“They'll take it to the streets next, go out in their group and find someone to harass… Urgh,” she groaned.

“Do you want me to do something about it?” Valker asked, looking back at Avery after shaking his head at the drunk nobles. Truth be told, it reminded him a lot of the drinking sessions between himself and his brothers when they were holed up for the winter, but at least they didn't have anyone to harass up there aside from themselves. “Never taken an intimidation contract on a bunch of drunkards before, but there's a first time for anything.” He sounded perfectly sincere, but the glint in his eyes and the small smile around his lips revealed that he was joking. The wine was slowly kicking in.

“What’s this I see? Valker of Kerach, making jokes?” she gave a playful scoff before nuding his arm with her elbow, the displeasure faded from her expression. “My you've changed since I saw you last,” her voice had softened towards the end, to be genuinely sincere in her meaning. He really had, or maybe it was the wine. She took quite a long look at the smile almost hidden by his beard. Maybe she had gazed at him too long, and so she tilted her head upwards to look into the nights sky instead.

“It helps that I'm not working right now,” Valker said. When Avery looked away from him he finished his glass and internally congratulated himself for turning the situation around after all. But what was he even trying to do? It wasn't just sex he was after -- Celes would have been the far easier option. Ridiculously easy, even. Valker scratched the back of his head and let the silence between them stretch on for a bit before he gestured towards the bottle of erveluce. “Any left?”

There was enough left to split between them two of them, they’d gotten through it quite quickly and Avery could feel the tingling warmth of it on her cheeks, the light kind of dizziness that accompanied alcohol. She was quite enjoying the night now, the setting seemed more beautiful with her somewhat blurring sight, everything appeared softer. As night had carried on the cicadas and crickets had come out to chatter in the bushes and somewhere inside she could finally hear performance music, as opposed to the lute and drums that had been providing a backdrop for dancing.

Alcohol also had the ability to allow one to speak candidly, and oftentimes say too much, which was precisely what was about to happen now that Avery had refilled both of their glasses with the last of the wine. “I often wondered when it was I’d see you again, I was surprised it was here.”

Valker swilled the contents of his glass thoughtfully. “I always assumed it would be when I would have need of your skills,” he said and took another sip. It was growing on him and he desired his Kaedweni stout less and less. “To call on that favour you owe me. There would probably have been danger and hard work involved. This is much more pleasant.” After a brief pause he added: “Thank you for inviting me.”

“That's what I mean, I owe a debt to you,” her eyes met his again, the golden shadow on her lids sparkling under the moonlight, her lashes long. She blinked slowly, as one does following a drink. “This ominous favour I owe to you... You make it sound like an adventure now.” She pressed a finger to her lips in thought before lowering her voice and looking at him in a demure fashion - lips pouting and eyes alight with a flirtatious warmth, “I very much enjoyed our last one. Danger and all.”

Before he even became consciously aware of what he was doing, Valker had taken a small step closer to Avery, his own eyes on hers. The emerald and amethyst were so expressive, so full of warmth, that it was impossible to look away. He briefly lamented that his own cat eyes were the way they are, even though their stark edge was useful in practically every other situation. “I remember how that werewolf was a split second away from leaping up at you and tearing you to shreds,” the witcher said, his voice matching hers, “but you were ready for him. I was impressed.” He never would have admitted that without wine. His heart paced nervously in his chest. “Not a lot of people can stare down danger like that.”

Avery began to twist on the ball of her foot coyly as he drew closer, gently swaying with the motion. His stare was intense and penetrating but she couldn't look away. “It takes a lot more than a big bad wolf to scare me, Valker…” she spoke slowly now, the atmosphere suddenly palpable. “I'm glad I got to look at that trophy head everyday,” she admitted, her hands found their way to the hair that framed her face and she started to wind the curls around and around her index finger.

Was it just the alcohol and general setting of the evening, or was there something more there? She found him attractive and mysterious, that much was true… She didn't get to think for too much longer. The two were interrupted by Celes as she made her way back over, panting as if she had hurried out, “they're bringing in the feast now - we should take to our table.”

---

Avery must have taken a little too long to take to her place, as the young mage made sure to take the seat beside the Witcher. This left Avery the seat beside Celes - and not wanting to make a scene, or make the girl move, she allowed it. The action had definitely rubbed her the wrong way. Why did she allow it? She closed her eyes tightly as if to banish the thoughts, to quell the onslaught of overthinking. It was only a seat. Maybe Celes was just trying prevent Avery from giving way to desire tonight, something that when she really thought about it, she did not want to do.

Typical. Valker picked up on the fact that Avery said nothing about Celes’ decision to plant herself in the middle between them and kept his own words of reprimand to himself. He decided to focus on the food and the drink on the table, hoping that indulging some would lift his spirits, and was pleasantly surprised to find a bottle of Kaedweni stout amongst the selection of alcohol available. He leaned forward to look past Celes and raised an eyebrow at Avery, bottle of stout in hand, before he smiled and poured himself a large glass. The woman seated opposite him frowned at the sight of his beverage filled to the brim and Valker shrugged. “I’m a witcher,” he explained, and the woman merely tutted before looking away. “Fine, be that way,” he muttered beneath his breath and took a long, deep swig. He was going to need it now.

More out of politeness than anything, he turned to face Celes -- and, by extension, Avery behind her. “What had you so out of breath, Celes?” he asked conversationally.

As both Celes and Valker poured themselves drinks, Avery spotted a bottle of sweet honey mead amongst the offerings. She was unable to resist it, and so that’s what she took to accompany her meal. Celes, on the other hand, continued with wine. She grinned suggestively when she was spoken to and Avery glared. “Oh, I just dashed from one end of the manor to the other so that we could get our seats before someone else did. This is the front of the house, best for watching the performance.” She sipped from her glass, once again using it to hide her smile.

The red-head brought the beverage back down to the table, she couldn’t help but prod in return, “I could ask what you were up to Witcher, you two looked like you were getting close. I recall you telling me you were up to nothing untoward tonight.”

At that, Avery brought her mug to her lips, picked up her fork from its place and began twirling it between her fingers.

“You’re flushed,” Valker replied coldly. “You’re breathing fast, your heart is still racing, and your lipstick isn’t nearly as vibrant as it was before. And that smell…” He trailed off and shook his head slightly. “Pheromones. Don’t try to lie to a witcher. It doesn’t work.”

“Didn’t lie. Just skipped over that part, that’s private.” Celes sounded almost smug. Valker had sensed that she’d been up to no good, maybe he was thinking about it, and the look she turned to give him was as inviting as she could make it. Under the table, she made sure to brush her thigh against his, accidentally, of course.

“Please,” Avery interrupted, the fork was placed back down onto the table with just enough force to signify her annoyance. The conversation had taken a turn that she wasn’t impressed with. It had made her decidedly uncomfortable, actually. “We’re at dinner, let’s talk about something else.”

Celes sighed, stroking the stem of her wine glass again as she took it upon herself to be the one that moved the conversation; “so tell me Witcher, what are you really doing in Novigrad?” The question seemed to interest Avery too, who leaned her head over Celes to listen to his answer, and also to watch him — looking for anything else that might indicate further information about his recent travels — and future plans.

As much as her behavior annoyed him, the quality of her Celes’ sultry look and the brush of her thigh against his would make a succubus proud and the witcher sought comfort and distraction in his glass for a moment while Avery reigned in her student. He looked back up when she asked him what he was doing in Novigrad and he sighed. An idea came to him and he leaned forwards, motioning for both Celes and Avery to come closer. “You two can keep a secret, right?”

The young mage did not need to be told twice, she sidled right up to Valker, her thigh once again brushing him under the table. She cast a careful glance to Avery who seemed far more interested and lost in his eyes to have noticed… Her eyes were glassy too, she was drunk. Celes let her body press against him, she did not back off. He had wanted her closer after all. The two women looked at each other in regards to his question before nodding in his direction, both smiling, both curious.

“Alright,” Valker said and cleared his throat. He wanted to send some kind of signal to Avery that what he was about to say was total poppycock but with Celes practically rubbing off on him, that wasn’t really possible without giving it away. He just had to trust that the elder sorceress was keen enough to realize that he was teasing her mentee. “Maybe you can actually help me. There are… fears, suspicions, rumors, that Novigrad has been infiltrated by a very dangerous monster.” He lowered his voice into practically a whisper. “A higher vampire, capable of moving among us unnoticed. They look just like an ordinary person until their true form is revealed, which they only do at their convenience. Blood is like booze to them and they are most drawn to it during a full moon.” He looked between Celes and Avery, the implication obvious; it was a full moon that night. “Where better to find unsuspecting victims, clean victims, free of disease or warts, than at a banquet attended by nobles and notables?”

He let his words hang in the air. “Keep a sharp eye out, you two. If you see anyone behaving suspiciously, let me know. And you, Celes…” Valker had to suppress a smirk, finally getting to the point of all this, “should probably avoid… well, you know. Being alone with anyone.”

Avery could tell that his story was not true, and she had to turn her face away so as not to start laughing. To see Valker trying a prank was more amusing than the prank itself. Was this his own way of trying to impress a master trickster? By playing her game? She brought her hand to her lips and closed her eyes. She could feel Celes growing tense beside her, wrapping her arms around her chest as if to shield herself.

“I see…” she finally said, sounding equal parts bewildered and fearful. “You haven’t caught him or seen him have you?” She asked, her eyes flitting between Avery and Valker both.

Out of nowhere, a thought occurred to Avery, was Valker playing this prank to keep Celes near him? To scare her so she would stay by his side and be prevented from flirting with any more of the guests? Surely not - after all, he’d said he wasn’t interested in the girl. Her expression grew tense and she bit down on her lip, holding her mug in both hands in front of her face. She’d rather not think of that, but she couldn’t help but also notice the close proximity that Celes had to Valker. Avery could hold her own in an intellectual debate, but on sexual prowess and willingness to be so… like that, it seemed that Celes had her beat.

“No, and I don’t expect that to happen tonight,” Valker said ruefully. “My presence here is just as a deterrent. Any vampire would think twice about striking with a witcher in the area. I just hope it’s enough.”

That said, he leaned back and broke the spell of physical contact with Celes. “Go on, pretend everything is normal,” he said and motioned at Celes for sit straight again. He met Avery’s gaze over the rims of their respective beverage containers and, quite possibly for the first time in a decade, the witcher winked.

Celes did as she was asked and she straightened herself up in her seat, her eyes still rapidly scanning the room. “Well in that case I’m glad you’re here…” she said with a long sigh, a smarter girl might have put the pieces together and realised that he was being playfully deceitful, but not Celes. Avery on the other hand, had put the pieces together - just the wrong ones, or in the wrong order. It wasn’t what Valker had intended, but she surely felt slighted by it. She would not stand in the way of the two of them, however. They had a connection, and even when Valker winked, she just returned it with one of her own, raising her mug as if to toast to his prank with her approval.

Satisfied that his bid to put an end to Celes’ scandalous behavior, which had annoyed and unimpressed Avery so, worked out and garnered Avery’s approval, Valker finished the rest of his glass and poured himself another one. It had been a while since he had been this drunk, but what better way to celebrate such good company? He deserved the chance to let loose every so often, he thought.

But it quickly became apparent to his still very sharp senses that Avery wasn’t as pleased as he might have hoped. Valker had difficulty looking at her without making it obvious to Celes he was deliberately staring past her head so he slumped back in his chair a little and filled his plate with food, brooding on what went wrong.

Avery looked at the display of food, there looked to be some pheasant roast which she took a serving of, as well as a pouring bowl of some kind of berry sauce. Having picked her vegetables, and a delicate serving of the meat she proceeded to pour over the sauce, recognising the scent as cranberry laced with fennel and something floral. She poured what would be considered too much for any regular palette, but she liked things to be sweet. Even so, she really only picked at it slowly - taking more to the honey mead. Her eyelids were actively drooping now, and she quietly swayed in her seat.

Beside her, Celes was less interested in the food and far more interested in satisfying a different hunger. With Avery seemingly becoming as sauced as her plate, Celes’s hand reached under the table and she placed it on Valker’s thigh, giving him a squeeze - he seemed to be in another world and she wanted his attention. “Witcher, you should stay alert, just in case…” she looked at him with doe-like eyes, her chin tilting into her chest, her fingers stroking his leg out of sight.

Valker looked up, almost startled by the sudden touch, and frowned at Celes while he tried to focus on what she was saying. The first bottle of stout was empty and he had opened a second. “Alert, yes, of course,” he muttered and made a show of looking about the room. It was only then that he realized that the young woman was still touching his leg -- stroking it, even. He glanced at Avery behind her and was disheartened to see that the sorceress appeared to have lost all interest in him. But Celes hadn’t. Not at all. He turned his attention back to her, to the faux innocent look she was giving him, and he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. Wouldn’t it be nice to end in a tangle of limbs with someone and forget this failure of a night?

She could sense the thoughts of lust emanating from Celes. The girl had not been working hard enough to strengthen her mind and protect herself. Avery shook her head and placed her elbow down onto the hard wood of the table with more of a thump than she had intended, resting her head against her open palm. She did not have to sit for this way for too long, from behind her came a tap on the shoulder that jolted her out of the stupor.

“Miss Vexx, I’ve been sent to collect and bring you to the Baron now - to discuss your business.” He was a smiling, and well-postured servant, one hand now behind his back, the other gesturing towards the hallway and stairs. Avery looked down at her plate awkwardly, it was still rather full of food, and noticing this the servant chuckled; “he has brought a more pleasant menu for your meeting, and more of the Evreluce.”

She wasn’t going to leave the honey mead that was for sure, and as she rose from her seat she skulled the remained of the mug, placing it back down on the table. She’d stood too fast, and she blinked quickly to regain her equilibrium, gripping the back of her chair for good measure. Before she would leave, she took a step towards Valker, “my apologies. I hope this won’t take long, I’ll be back when I can.” She managed to conjure up one of her affable and warm smiles for him. “Celes, stay sharp and don’t scamper off…” she patted the shoulder of her student before finally she was ushered down the hall by the servant.

“But what if the baron is the vampire?” is what Valker would have said if he hadn’t caught himself in time. He closed his mouth again, momentarily confused by himself, and by the time he’d properly remembered that the higher vampire was just his own invention Avery was already gone. He chuckled at his own expense and partook of some more stout. When he put the glass back down, Celes was there, eyes fixed on him.

“I thought she liked me,” Valker blurted out. Immediately, his eyes went wide and he covered his mouth. “Don’t tell her I said that,” he added in a low hiss.

The opportunity was there at last. Celes didn’t stop to wonder why Avery was meeting the Baron, and if there was any foul play there, she was too caught up in Valker. A good student would have been suspicious, and cease all activity until her mentor had returned - but Celes was not a good student, nor a good friend. As evidenced by the hand that crept further up Valker’s leg. She was barely gone, and Celes had dragged her chair and closed the distance between the two of them. “Maybe she did, but clearly she came here with a motive…” She was already writing the narrative in her head, she just had to hope that Valker was easy to convince.

The mage picked up her glass and took a tiny sip of it before leaning back in the chair - letting her hair slip over the back of her shoulders, the bare flesh of her chest that the dress allowed to be seen was on display now. “I’m sorry that you’re hurt, I won’t tell her - I promise.”

That prompted a frown from the witcher. He threw back the last remnants of the stout in his glass and sidled even closer to Celes, gesturing for her to lean in again, unable to hide the look he stole at her breasts. “Motive?” he asked softly, his eyes moving back up and watching hers intently. Even inebriated, they were piercing and they glowed faintly in the atmospheric lighting of the dining hall.

“Oh but of course… The Baron has power and influence and wealth. All the things that someone born in Silverton can only dream of.” Celes watched as Valker’s eyes peered at her breasts. Good. She began to run her finger up and down the length of the deep v of the dress. She also moved closer to him as he had demanded. “It’s said that making love to a sorceress is, well, magical, for want of a better phrase. What better currency to tempt him with?” The young mage moved closer to him still, her face drawing to his neck as she whispered, her breath warm on his skin. “It won’t be long now, he’ll have her on her knees I’d bet...” Celes wanted Valker’s thoughts of Avery to be marred, but she also wanted to arouse him. It would be all too easy, she’d been working him up all night — even if he didn’t realise it.

Valker bit his lip and cursed under his breath. That was more in line with the things he’d always heard about sorceresses. The alcohol and the rich smell of cloves, combined with the pheromones he’d mentioned before, worked hard to cloud Valker’s mind and he found himself believing every word Celes said. Why did it hurt him to think of Avery doing something like that? They weren’t together, they hadn’t even kissed. Why should he care? And he should have known better, anyway. He was just a witcher. Valker had nothing to offer someone that desired influence and wealth. Maybe all that talk about ‘adventures’ was just something Avery would have liked to do with him as a diversion. His hand found the small of Celes’ back. “Thanks for telling me,” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. “Almost made a fool of myself. You’re nice.” He was slurring his words now and his eyes were heavy-lidded. “I like you.”

The feeling of his hand on her back practically made her purr. It was rumoured that the touch of a Witcher had a certain… quality about it, and now she knew that to be true. For if men dreamt of bedding sorceresses, Celes dreamt of bedding a Witcher, it didn't matter who. She brazenly placed her hand on his chest, fingers grasping at his shirt. “I like you too,” she confessed, right into his ear - but it was a sinful whisper. “I should be leaving but… I'm frightened of what may be hiding in the dark…”

That wasn’t the first time a woman had used that line on him. “Oh, master witcher, can’t you walk me to my home?” Valker knew exactly what Celes was after. He leaned back a little so that he could look her in the eyes. She really was quite pretty, and that hair… “Have no fear,” he mumbled, his lips close to hers. “I’ll see you in bed safely -- I mean, home safely. The vampire won’t dare attack you while I’m there.” Any voices of opposition in his mind were long ago silenced by booze and frustration at his own failings. “Lead the way.”

A wicked smile took over her face and she rose from her seat, taking Valker by the hand to do exactly as he had asked. She took him from the dining hall and towards the exit and off into the night.

---

Avery had been sat waiting for some time, for a man so keen to see her he was hardly being timely himself. The room which she was taken too was exactly what she would have pictured. Gaudy, clashing colours and velvet furnishings, even gaudier portraits lining the walls. There was a large window with a balcony that overlooked the grounds too. As she peered down she could see the pond, still reflecting the full moon perfectly. She recognised the spot where she had been stood with Valker too and she thought on the quietly intimate moment they had shared with a smile. She hoped that this meeting wouldn't take too long, despite his apparent fondness for Celes she was still eager to speak with him again before the night was through.

It must have been fifteen minutes of waiting and pacing before the door finally opened and the Baron joined her at last.

He was utterly sloshed. Artek stumbled into the room and would have fallen flat on his face if it weren’t for the liquor cabinet that he grabbed on to. It held his weight, fortunately, and he scrambled back to his full height, laughing rambunctiously as he did so. “Wahey! What a party! Who are you?” he asked, squinting at Avery. “Oh! Avaline! Adrianne! Damnit, woman, what’s your name? Avery, that’s the one.” He laughed again, patting himself on his prodigious belly, and staggered over to where she was standing. “Still as beautiful as ever, eh? So supple, so plump, just delicious. Mhmm, I could just eat you right now. Anyway, anyway, sit down, have a seat, sit,” Artek rambled on and pointed at the chair opposite his desk before making his way to his own and slumping down in it.

It was safe to say that she did not appreciate his choice of awkward compliments, and it showed with a scornful look. Not that he'd have noticed, he was drunker than she. In fact the anger that bubbled inside of her was almost enough to sober her. “Yes, thank you for that,” was her cold response, she felt that she wouldn't need to take her seat, the way things were going made her wonder if this was a genuine request after all. She was not about to be rude, so she sat - on the edge of the seat. “Baron, you'll have to excuse me but what is this business - will this be better discussed come morning when we are both… Less inebriated?”

“No, no, that would -- no,” he said with as much certainty as his flappy drunk-mouth could muster. “What do you think the erveluce was for? I have a -- hicc -- a modest proposal. It pays well. In fact, you get to name your price. Ha! Isn’t that generous?” Artek did his very best to meet Avery’s gaze but his eyes insisted, entirely through no fault of his own, in being cross-eyed enough to conveniently and independently land on where her dress playfully hid her nipples from sight. “Won’t take long,” he said, the first self-aware thing he’d managed all night.

She was getting annoyed, this felt like the cherry on top of the cake that had been a shit night. As his eyes landed once more on her breasts she folded her arms across them and cleared her throat. “Then let's discuss the details of the proposal, then I can name my price.”

An unsanity grin crept across his countenance. “They say all manner of things about sorceresses. I want to see if some of them are true.” Artek took a deep breath and blurted out his next few words. “I wish to bed you, Avery, and for you to confirm it after the fact when asked.” It was more coherent than he would have been able to come up with in the moment; the man had clearly been practicing that particular phrase. “Now name your price.”

Her jaw almost hit the floor, and her suspicions were confirmed. Had things have turned out differently, and she wasn’t already feeling soured and not to mention drunk, Avery would have used the silence to think up a spectacular way to humiliate him. But all she could really think of, was how she just wanted to get out, find Celes and Valker, and continue their evening elsewhere.

Slowly she rose from her chair, her eyes burning daggers at the Baron, who was looking spectacularly smug with himself. “I am not a product to be bought by a man with more money than grace.” She felt angry at herself, angry at him, angry at Novigrad even. Every time she came here she felt off her game, unlike herself, and it was for that reason and that reason alone that this had even gone as far as it had.

She lifted her right hand, and pointed it in his direction before speaking her incantation in the Elder Speech, ”dearme.” Baron Artek Krych’s face hit the desk with an obnoxiously loud thud as he was hit with a powerful wave of magic that sent him right to sleep. It was for the best.

She made her way out of the room with long, purposeful strides. It was definitely time to leave now, and as she rounded the corner to the dining hall she glanced over the heads of the remaining guests, only to see that Celes and Valker’s chairs were empty. She nodded to herself, feeling less angry and more foolish now, the same feeling of deflation taking over her body again. Her fingers twisted around her loose curls once more and she pursed her lips to the side of her mouth before heading towards the door, alone. “Fucking Novigrad,” she cursed under her breath.

2 years later
Blackbough, Velen

Autumn, sometime in the 13th century

---

Everything was tense. Just like it had been the day before, and just like it would be the day after. There was a dense fog surrounding Blackbough tonight, and a heavy rain had only just let up so the scent of mud and wet grass was pungent throughout the air - even from inside the inn room. The windows were not well sealed, and so the condensation crept in - leaving an eerie mist against the already dirty windows. The sky had not been clear all day, and so it felt even darker, even though the time indicated that the sun would not have yet set.

She was roomed next to the stables, and so the prominent sound was that of horses whinnying, snorting, and nickering. The walls were thin, she thought that if a horse were to get upset and kick that its legs might burst through. Hopefully there would be no thunder to disturb them tonight. Still, there was a humble hearthfire in this room to keep her warm, and it was kept mostly away from the common room. She didn’t have to listen to the drunken chatter of the patrons. Just horses.

Just horses and a howling wind.

Avery sat on the wooden stool, biting her thumb as she looked down at pages of parchment lined up on the floor (there had been no desk here), a series of missives from an old friend from years ago, who had recently gone missing. In the corner by the bed, she had set up the three stands that were her megascope, and beside from that, there a small trunk of various other items. The emptiness of this room was a stark contrast to what she had grown used to, but it didn’t bother her right now. What was bothering her was the contents of the letters. The letters that she had been chasing leads on for what had felt like forever, and that is what had brought her to Velen.

In the tavern of the inn, all anybody was able to talk about was the Odd-Eyed sorceress who left her room only for food, and to tend to her own horse in the stables. The horse in question was a beautiful creature, definitely well bred. Black as coal, with a white flash shaped like a diamond between her eyes. A quiet animal too, she did not fuss like the other horses did.

There was little else to learn from the letters, and she reached into her pocket and took from a pouch a single sugared almond and popped it into her mouth. “Where are you?” she whispered under her breath, feeling as though she was still no further forward in her search, fearful that the trail was about to dry up.

The man with two swords galloped into the village of Blackbough at full speed. His steeds was clearly spooked and almost kept running past the inn; only with decades of experience as a rider was the man able to coerce the horse to stop. He brought her into the stables, where he briefly admired a black horse with a white patch on its head. When he discovered that his saddlebags had been torn, the man cursed.

“Fucking drowners,” Valker said and sighed. Not much was missing but he'd have to find someone that could tailor leather properly to sow the bag back up. That wasn't a guarantee in every village in a place like Velen. His clothes (a leather jacket fortified with chainmail and padded fabric over a black shirt, clay-colored pants with armoured knee guards, sturdy boots and thick leather gauntlets) were still wet from the heavy rain from before, and his hair was a mess. Blood was plastered on the side of his head and there was a dark red spot on his left leg. Alongside his swords was a new weapon on his back; a crossbow, small enough to be wielded in one hand.

With heavy, painful footfalls the witcher entered the tavern's common room. Before anyone could say anything, Valker spoke up. “A bottle of stout, innkeep. No, fuck that, make it vodka.” His voice was rough and bitter and he sat down at one of the empty tables with a crash. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and laid out the contents of his first aid kit in front of him. A dose of Swallow had taken care of the worst of it but he would have to stitch the wounds back together himself.

The innkeep, an older gentleman with greying hair, and forlorn eyes, did as requested. He reached under his bar, feeling the painful creaking of his knees as he went. He walked to the table, just bringing the bottle. “Looks like yer need the --” he noticed the eyes. Those were the eyes of a Witcher. He backed up slowly, trying not to seem rude, but he felt very unlucky at that moment. A Witcher and a sorceress under his roof. It felt like a bad omen, an accident waiting to happen - but he held his tongue and hobbled back over behind the bar, face visibly strained. “Agnes, did yer get the soup done? She’ll be through soon - don’ make her be waitin’ like yes’day…” It was true, Avery’s visits to the common room had been as regular as clockwork.

“Aye papa, hot an’ ready on her table… Will ye just sit down already, me an’ ma can handle the folk tonight, alri’? An’ I won’t take no for an answer t’day.” A girl, who could have been no older than sixteen faced off against her father, hands on her hips and an exceptionally stern expression, that was matched by that of the mother who had popped her head around a corner to see what the fuss was about. “She’s ri Bill, she be ri. You sit your arse down.”

From the hallway came the sound of heeled boots taking small steps, it was indeed the Odd-Eyed sorceress, as expected. Dressed in an unusually practical garment - a low cut, hooded tunic - with sleeves that ran over the backs of her hands. It was belted in the middle with an armour styled corset, rich brown in colour. As bottoms, a long leather skirt split into three distinct sections. Thigh high sienne toned boots peeped through the splits that sat over the front. Her hair was, as always, fixed in a bun.

She came through and into the tavern, her table positioned at the very back, the steam rising from the bowl of soup was welcoming tonight, there was a haunting chill in the air - almost ethereal in its quality. Avery wasted no time in digging in, she didn’t want to waste too much of her time in here - there was work to be done, even if she didn’t know what that was. As she looked up to view the patrons, as she had grown accustomed to doing, she saw a strange figure hunched over a table, his back to her. Strangely familiar, was that silhouette - and the energy she felt from him was too. “Valker?” she asked herself, squinting in his direction. If it was, he looked in bad shape. It had been two years…

She pushed herself up from her seat, leaving the soup behind as she strode over, she had to know if it was him, and as she came closer, her suspicions were confirmed. “It is you.”

The witcher was in no mood to be bothered by the townsfolk and was about to turn around with a scowl on his face when he realized who it was that was talking to him. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Avery?” he said and by the time the two of them were face-to-face, his expression had changed to one of surprise. With his bloodied face and the heavy bags beneath his eyes, it was almost comical. He stared at her for a few more seconds, from her ever-remarkable eyes to her decidedly more practical outfit than the last time they had seen each other. She looked fit for the road -- well, as fit as a sorceress would ever deign herself to look.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, the question itself more hostile than his tone. Valker scratched his head and gestured at the table. “Sorry -- you’re welcome to sit, if you want. It’s just… a very big surprise to see you all the way out here.”

Avery herself took on an expression of surprise when she saw his face properly, in the orange glow of the hearthfire and the candlelight he looked exceptionally worse for wear and a far cry from the distinguished gentleman from Novigrad. But his eyes, his eyes were the same. She was about to give him a scornful answer until he remembered himself, still, she had leaned back as if to take a deep breath and scold… It wasn’t until then that she realised how tense she was too…

“Looking for a friend,” she replied softly, her eyes falling over his wounds. “You’re hurt.” Talk about stating the obvious. “You’re hurt and your clothes are soaked through…” The woman’s hand fell over the kit he’d placed on the table, and she gave him a rather piercing glare - “you’re not going to do this yourself now, are you?”

“Why not? Got my vodka to dull the pain,” Valker said and looked around the tavern. “Don’t trust any of these people to do it right.” He looked back up at Avery and thought about what she’d said. Strange. He did not believe in coincidences, and yet when it came to Avery they appeared to be piling up. What could it mean? “Is your friend missing, or just hard to find?”

She ruminated on his question for a moment, her thumb tracing over her lip as she thought how best to answer, she was not in the business of letting her secrets be known. “Well…” she began with as playful a smirk as she could - considering her mood, “she’s winning this round of hide and seek by a spectacular margin.” That would do. How did she feel about Valker being here? Avery wasn’t sure, last she’d seen of him was at the banquet for the Baron, which hadn’t ended well. He’d left, probably with Celes.

Without giving it too much thought, the sorceress began plucking up the items of Valker’s kit, rolling them back into the bag. “Come on then, nobody wants to see you do it out here. Follow me.” With that said, she turned around and began on her way back to her own room. They could speak privately in there, she just hoped he could get up.

Ever mysterious. “Fine, keep your secrets,” Valker muttered under his breath as Avery walked away. He got to his feet, grabbed the bottle of vodka and took a long swig. Feeling the eyes of the villagers on him, Valker turned his head to glare at them and they all hastily returned to what they were doing. Satisfied, the witcher followed the sorceress into her room. His eyes immediately fell on the rolls of parchment spread on the ground but he respectfully refrained from inspecting them too closely.

“Nice,” he remarked sarcastically. It was nothing like the comfort Avery had been privy to in Kraeg’s Hill. “Must be some friend to see you living like this.” He leaned against the wall and took another swig of vodka. “You don’t happen to be any good with a needle and thread, are you?”

The first thing that Avery did was scoop up the parchments, and place them face down on the round, crooked seat of her stool. She moved in such a way that it appeared natural, and not so as to hide their contents - just a simple and graceful tidy up of needless clutter. “I don’t live here, merely staying temporarily.” She replied in a quick and curt manner, casting a sidelong glance at him as he leaned against the wall, knocking back the vodka from the bottle. She wasn’t going to say anything else about her friend.

“I’m not a tailor, so sadly I’m not any good at all,” she held a pause, letting half of a smile flicker over her lips. “I am however, a sorceress. I can enchant your needle. It will be much tidier than anything either of us could achieve with our bare hands.” Avery lifted her hand, fingers waggling back and forth as she mumbled under her breath. The needle in the first aid kit began to squirm and glow with a similar aura to the one that was suddenly alive in her hand. “Show me where it hurts then.”

Valker raised an eyebrow at the sight of the wiggling needle but he wasn’t about to argue, nor did he care about preserving his modesty. The witcher swiftly stripped down to his underwear, displaying a cut on his arm, a series of bite marks on his right flank and a rather large and unsightly gash on his thigh, the one responsible for the dark red blotch on his pants. And there was the wound on his head, of course. He looked at Avery with a little uncertainty. “Where do you want me? On the chair? Or does it not matter?”

It took her a moment for her to realise she was staring at him. She held a finger between her lips thoughtfully as she observed his body and each wound. His stripping down reminded her somewhat of their first meeting - when the Witcher had done the same thing then (even if was in less of a fashion as this). To be reminded of it now was strangely disarming. Avery blinked and looked away before bringing a hand to her cheek to cover a slight redness she could feel forming on her cheeks. “Just… Sit on the bed,” she blurted out as she turned away from him to a dresser which had seen better days. She took a bowl from within, and with another wave of her hand it was filled with warm water. Had she a cloth? Never mind, she could conjure one.

That he could do. Valker made himself as comfortable as the bed would allow and let out a soft groan as his body disapproved of sitting down, getting back up and then sitting down again. He silenced it with some more booze. He wasn’t looking to get drunk, exactly, but he knew everything would be more manageable with a warm buzz. It was really nice to see Avery again, he realized. Especially with Celes nowhere in sight. He almost opened his mouth to ask about that but caught himself in time. Just shut up and drink, idiot, the witcher scolded himself and did as he was told.

“Looks like whatever you were hunting tonight gave you a good fight…” Avery commented as she approached with her water, and now a clean cloth too. She took a seat at his side, leaving a comfortable distance between the two of them. One leg hung over the bed with her foot on the floor, and the other she tucked under her rear on the edge of the bed. “Is that why you’re here? A contract?” She asked politely as she took the cloth, dipping it delicately into the water before she began to brush it over the blood on his arm from his cut, almost hesitant at first, until she got going.

“Bah,” Valker grunted and scowled. “Just drowners.” He did not like to admit that the necrophages had almost gotten the better of him, but any seasoned witcher worth his salt would still tell you not to underestimate a group of determined enemies, even if they’re just nekkers. Pushing the frustration aside, Valker focused on her second question. “No contract. I’m looking for one of my brothers. We’re pretty sure he’s dead but we don’t know where or how.”

He looked at Avery with a heavy, serious gaze. “Dead witchers should be burned.”

She listened to him as she continued to clean his arm, the needle now starting its work on pulling the open wound on his leg back together. “Hmmm…” She lifted her head when he looked at her, and could feel a deep intensity from him that, had she not met him before, might be off putting. “You were close to him,” she said, an assumption based on what she could gather from his emotions, from the way he spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she added sympathetically.

“Mhm.”

Valker fell silent and stared ahead. Had he been close to Domren? In the same way he was close to all his brothers, yes. But their deaths were to be expected. It was only ever a question of when. Witchers did not mourn. There was no time for that, no place in their culture. One could only appreciate their efforts and achievements and give them a proper funeral pyre and that was that. He wasn’t looking for Domren just out of sentiment. There was a weight to his words that Avery might have missed. A witcher turned into a wraith was a very dangerous thing indeed, one that the world should be spared from wherever possible. It did not happen often and usually witchers did not have any unfinished business that tied them to this world, but if one were to fall in battle against a particularly important and hated enemy… it was possible. As long as Domren’s fate was a mystery, the School of the Wyvern had a duty to find him and recover his remains.

He sighed and looked back at Avery. “Thank you,” he said and gestured at her efforts with his free arm. “It’s… nice to see you again. I would have liked for it to be under more pleasant circumstances.”

She let him have his silence, the Witcher’s had their culture and way of dealing with loss that was different to her own. She was not as stoic as Valker seemed to be, she was turbulent inside, but that was as much to do with what she knew was in her friend’s possession as it was anything else. Avery stopped dabbing at his arm, biting her lip nervously at his comment.

“It’s good to see you too,” was all that the usually talkative woman could say at that time, she glanced down to the needle and noted that it was about halfway through the task, the glowing aura setting a numbness against the wound so it wouldn’t have been uncomfortable to bear. Finally she found words for him, “if you would like my help, you need only ask. I’ll be heading out come morning, so if there’s anything I can do - a spell… Well, just name it.”

Now that was an interesting offer. Valker looked at Avery with appreciation and began to ponder how she could best help him in his quest when his ears caught something at the far edge of his hearing, and the gaping maw of the wyvern’s head resting against his chest shivered. The chilling mist that crept up against the windows began to spread. On the other side of the wall, the horses whinnied nervously.

“Something’s wrong,” the witcher said softly. He turned his head so that his good ear faced the windows and he frowned in concentration. Was that just the wind howling, or… “We had best finish this another time,” Valker continued, more urgently. “I have to get dressed.”

One did not need to have superhuman senses to feel the chill that crept through the air, to watch the mist spread across the windowpane. Avery stood quickly, moving to her trunk of belongings. She took from inside a black velveteen capelet, and what appeared to be a silver dagger which she sheathed and wore around her belt. She acted so quickly, her only thought being that this was more than had happened in Blackbough since she’d been here, and that meant it could potentially be a sign from Urszula. It was as though she had been waiting for the moment to arrive; “I’m going out there.” she announced with a steeled expression, not waiting for his response. Whatever it may be, she was equipped with enough magic to send it back, and if it was in fact something to do with her missing sorceress, nobody else in Blackbough was more qualified to stop her, either.

---

There was a silence outside. A cold, grating silence broken only by a sharp wind that seemed to be encircling the village of Blackbough. It ran through long blades of grass, whistling discordantly as it went. There was something hauntingly spectral about the quality of this wind, it was picking up small pieces of debris as round and round it moved - but the severe tension that was hanging in the atmosphere made everything feel slow, and slower still as a gloom began to rise from the ground.

It was grey at first, but the more form that it took then the brighter it appeared. Touched by moonlight, opalescent and alive. There was a green haze to it where it could not rise, a heaviness - plumes of sulphur dragged from the swamp bringing an otherworldly stench with it that tinged the air.

As the mist continued to fill the town from the outside in, villagers took to their homes, barred their doors and hid - children were told to stay under the bed as their parents held tight in a frightened embrace. Even they knew that something was horribly wrong.

Avery stood outside of the stables, her breathing was heavy as she let her eyes take in everything. She could feel the immense foreboding dread as if it were a physical touch against her bare skin. There was something malignant behind that fog. From the corner of her violet eye she caught sight of a flashing light from behind the curtain and she turned her head to face it, her posture taking a defensive stance in case she needed to move…

“Urszula?” She spoke aloud, even though she already knew that this was something else entirely.

From behind the mist, a tall and torn cloaked figure swooped through like some kind of bird - there was a corrupt grace to it, the same wind caught hold of the clothing and it flapped noisily. That was a recognisable sound - the movement of clothing, it was recognisable and natural, far unlike the noise that came from the creatures mouth. It was a shrieking sound, a disembodied wailing that was hard to place where it came from. It certainly did not come from the mouth of the creature, for it had none - just an empty space where a jaw should have been found… There was skin there, but it was apparent the flesh was gone, for it clung to the creature’s protruding bones. The hands were gnarled and claw like, the way they were posed was unnatural, it looked painful and grotesque.

“A wraith…” Avery whispered under her breath, pulling free the silver dagger, a spell forming in her free hand. Where was Valker? She could hold off a wraith by herself, sure, but killing one would prove to be a far more difficult feat for her. She was about to take aim at the wraith in front of her, when once more in her peripherals, she caught sight of a similar flash of light that had preceded this one… Then another… Then another, followed by a chorus of the phantom shrieking. “Valker!” She yelled out, voice cracking.

Now she was scared.

At last, the witcher emerged from the tavern, fully dressed and with a grave expression on his face. His silver sword looked as sharp as ever in the baleful moonlight -- it was already in his hand.

“If you know a binding spell, a magical trap of some kind, now would be the time to use it,” he said as he joined Avery’s side, his own voice calm and steady. The wraiths were circling as they closed in and Valker knew it was only a matter of time before they would disappear and reappear right next to them -- such was their way. With a single, fluid motion, Valker made the Sign of Yrden with his fingers and a circle drawn in glowing, purple runes appeared on the ground around them. “Within this circle they will become slowed and, most importantly, tangible. Strike then.” His gaze had been fixed on the wraiths but he briefly glanced aside to look at Avery. “Everything will be alright.”

As if on cue, the first of the wraiths appeared to flicker out of existence in a puff of ash and dust. Valker raised his sword defensively, his teeth bared and brow furrowed in anticipation. With a loud, piercing scream, the apparition materialized behind him and swung at him with a ghostly blade. Valker pivoted and sidestepped out of the way, quickly bringing down his sword across the wraith’s exposed back. The silver blade struck true, cutting into the nightmare’s skin and bone as if it was living flesh and blood, and it howled as it made for the edge of the circle. Valker tried to strike again but was forced to evade another attack as a second wraith swooped in. How many were there? Valker rolled, sprang to his feet and thrust his sword forward, the tip digging deep into this new foe’s chest -- or what remained of it. The tattered rags that were draped around its horrendous form swam in the air like fabric through water as it recoiled from the touch of the sword. Valker spat at it.

“Come on then, you ugly piece of filth!”

Valker needed one of them closer, to strike a killing blow - now that she could do. “Get ready!” She said in his direction, her voice was an angry growl from under her hood and she scowled at the wraith, her jaw clenched. She let go of the dagger but it remained where it had been, as if she were still holding it. She aimed a hand towards the recoiling spectre and clenched her fist as if she was grabbing it; she spoke her incantation through gritted teeth, feeling the creature reject and fight back against the binding spell that snapped around it. It howled out in terrible pain. Avery began to pull her hand back slowly, and the wraith moved too - as if there was a long chain that she had the creature on as it was dragged towards Valker. She was strong, and fighting against every bit of power that Avery was using, the sorceress prayed that the Witcher would act quickly for she couldn’t keep this up for long.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Valker dashed towards the wraith as Avery reeled it in and turned a running leap into a full-body turn, rending the wraith across with a wide slash from his blade. The ghostly, disfigured woman screamed her last, a warbled and distorted sound that ended abruptly as she burst apart in a cloud of green flame.

One down. Looking around, Valker saw that there were still five left -- and they were all moving in. “Shit.” The witcher dove to the ground and unceremoniously pulled Avery down with him as the five wraiths appeared in a circle over their heads, their ghastly weapons and claws tearing through empty air a split second later. “Run!” Valker yelled in Avery’s ear as he got to his feet, dragging her back up and supporting her during a mad dash deeper into the town. Horrible screams and ragged bellows pursued them.

Valker pushed Avery further behind him as he turned around to the sight of the five wraiths soaring at him in formation. Valker cast Yrden again and quickly pulled a flask from his hip; Tawny Owl. He would need to cast as many Signs as he could against these magical foes. He backed away to the edge of the circle, forcing the wraiths to approach him through it, which slowed them down and forced them to materialize again. Valker raised his hand and a blast of flame and sparks shot forth from his palm, breaking the wraith’s formation as some of them caught fire and backed away while they shrieked and writhed in the air. He had never seen ghosts move in unison like this.

“That spell,” he said over his shoulder, interrupted by the attack of one of the wraiths, which he handily parried and forced back with an overhead swing. “Can you cast it on all of them at once?”

With barely any time to catch her breath, she watched as Valker pushed back against the wraiths, each of them she could feel - she could sense their anger and torment, she could practically taste it. “Yes,” she replied breathlessly, before raising her two hands into the air, one foot behind the other as if to steady her balance. It was almost futile in this weather, the ground was caked in slippery sludge from the rainfall. It was a thick bog, surrounding by the mist and heavy evil presence.

Her hands looked to be holding something round, like an invisible ball - there was even weight to it. Once again, Avery spoke out the words of her spell; ”I bind you to this plane - I bind you to your bones - I bind you to this plane…” Over and over she repeated the words in the magical tongue, a shimmering circle of magic rose around the five wraiths as they tossed and turned through the air like fish in water - their dresses like delicate fins. This was far more difficult than holding just one, the five of them pushed back, and Avery was forced backwards through the mud but she held her stance upright and spoke the words louder.

Trapped in her ring like this, surrounded by her essence they screamed out and whatever pain and anguish she had felt before she now felt tenfold. It broke her chanting, only for a moment as she herself yelled out in pain. She would only do it once, the circle began to slip away and one almost escaped until the sorceress continued her spell, with conviction and authority in her voice, despite the fact that her ears were ringing and her head felt as though it would split. She damn well hoped Valker had a good plan.

Valker backed away from the wraiths, trapped as they were in the Yrden circle by Avery’s spell. He hooked something loose from a loop on his belt and threw it at the spectres with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The Dragon’s Dream bomb detonated and a cloud of gas cloyed the air over the wraiths.

“Brace yourself,” Valker said to Avery.

A second blast of Igni struck the gas cloud. An enormous plume of fire roared to life as the gas was ignited, the force of the explosion sending a shockwave through the village, rattling doors and rooftops. The inferno consumed the wraiths entirely and their screams were drowned out by the noise of the searing flame, consuming the oxygen around it at an alarming rate. Valker felt the breath being snatched from his mouth and he backed away even further, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the brightness of the destruction wrought by the chemicals.

The fire turned to smoke and billowed up into the sky, leaving behind naught but five piles of crystallized dust -- the only remnants of the wraiths’ essence. They had been destroyed entirely. Not confident that they could rest easy, Valker cast a glance at Avery to make sure that she was still alive before he stalked through the village, blade at the ready, making sure that there wasn’t a second wave of wraiths -- or something worse -- coming. The cold and unnatural mist dispelled and the sounds of nature, silenced until then, came back from beyond the limits of the village. Satisfied, the witcher returned to the sorceress. “Are you alright?”

Once the smoke had fallen, and the air had cleared - so did the ringing from Avery’s ears. Her head was still sore but it was subsiding now. She regained her balance and relaxed her posture, her arms fell to her sides languidly. She observed their surroundings almost suspiciously, she still had a sour feeling in her. Something wasn’t right, but there were no more threats now, at least. Valker’s quick thinking had ended the battle in a spectacular fashion that, had Avery been less concerned, she might have appreciated a lot more. She nodded in response to his question. Physically, yes, she was fine - but inside… She was not feeling quite so well. “I’m… Yes, I’m alright, thank you…” she said, her tone and manner dazed. The sorceress stepped towards the Witcher, and as she met him she placed a hand on his arm and looked right into his eyes, “I want to talk, if you’re done here, then let’s go.”

Avery stepped around the piles of the dust, her eyes falling over them momentarily before she carried along on her way - back towards the inn. Valker would either follow her now, or meet her there later. She just needed to be back in the comfort of her room once more.

Valker sighed as he looked around. The explosion that had ended the threat of the wraiths had left a large scorch mark on the ground and burned the leaves off a nearby tree. He had a feeling the villagers would find a way to blame him -- and Avery too, probably -- for the emergence of the spectres, despite their efforts to defeat them. Before any of the peasants got the brave idea to unlock their doors and actually verbalize such an insult, the witcher turned and followed Avery back to her room. He was curious what she wanted to talk about but also concerned by her apparent dazed state of mind.

Once back in the room, Valker returned to his place on the bed and looked at Avery a little awkwardly. “Could you do that thing with the needle again while we talk? I think I reopened something with all that exercise out there.”

He need not have asked, the needle, having sensed his presence was already getting back to work. Avery had set it the task of closing Valker’s wounds - the enchantment would not end until it had been done.

Meanwhile, she paced the floor - eyes glancing over the mud that was splattered up her clothing and over her boots. She removed her capelet, pulling back the hood. Her hair had fallen loose from her bun in the scuffle, and it lay in thick, unruly waves to her collarbones. She turned a sneer at the rest of the mud, and began to remove the jacket - revealing nothing but a white cotton vest shirt underneath. “Damn dirt,” she cursed in an agitated tone. “Urgh,” she groaned before shaking her head, trying to ignore it as best she could, so that she could verbalise what had happened. “Valker, there was something wrong with those wraiths,” she spoke directly, not bothering to say anything but what had happened. “They were unusually strong, even in their great number, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Valker said with a frown. He, too, had stripped back down to his shirt and underwear so that the enchanted needle could get back to work, and had picked up the cloth that Avery had used earlier to wipe down the fresh blood from his reopened wounds off of his skin. Despite the severity of the situation, his eye could not help but land on Avery’s body. The cotton vest did not do a very good job of concealing the shape of her curves, or the effects the cold was having on her--

He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined they would be half-naked in a bedroom together for the first time. “And they were organized. Did you notice how they moved in unison? I’ve never seen anything like it. The whole situation is wrong. Wraiths haunt a place, they don’t appear in a village like this without a good reason. I’ve heard of them being drawn to botchlings or other cursed creatures but I highly doubt we’re dealing with something like that here,” the witcher said, thinking out loud. He noticed he’d left the bottle of vodka on the nightstand and reached for it. Before he took a swig of his own though, he looked back up at the sorceress and offered it to her. “You look like you need a drink.”

“I’m afraid if I start with that I won’t stop…” she confessed with a sigh, she had been on the road for a while. As she made her way over to the bed, she began to undo the clips that held the skirt in place finally pulling it away before scornfully dropping it with some annoyed force, the wet leather slapped against the floor. As she took the bottle from the Witcher’s hand, it occurred to her only then that she was almost entirely nude - save for the vest, her boots, and some (thankfully modest) shorts. She let the thought sit, and found that after she had taken a long drink from the bottle, it didn’t bother her. She’d seen the strumpets wearing less on the streets of Novigrad.

The strong heat of the vodka burned her throat but it was rather nice considering how cold it was, she let the warm feeling wash over her, and found that after the first drink she wanted another - the second wound up being a significantly larger mouthful than the first. The sorceress quickly handed the bottle back to Valker before she began with the third… “I’m worried. Damn, fuck,” her fist clenched and she made her way back around the room again. “I did notice, and… When I trapped them I could feel them inside of me, their hatred was like a flame burning up inside of my mind. I’ve never had that before from a monster or ghost…” She stopped walking and wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling a chill fall over her. “I don’t know if I sensed something behind the wraiths. But there was something else, Valker… it scared me.”

Nodding in approval at the sight of Avery partaking quite generously of the vodka, Valker accepted it back just quick enough to hide his smile behind a large swig of his own. Perhaps this day could be salvaged after all -- and by extension, the mess he’d made of things in Novigrad. He brought his thoughts back to the present and thought about her words. “Well… my guess is that there’s something here in Velen that isn’t happy about my presence. Something that can control wraiths,” he said and raised his eyebrows and his hands. “But I have no idea what that could be. A more powerful spirit, perhaps. Then again, I’ve been in Velen for two weeks already… so it’s either something decidedly local to this area, or it’s only angry now because we’re back together.” He paused and frowned at his own words. “You know, now that we’ve met again.” He sighed and silenced himself with more vodka.

“A sorceress could control wraiths,” she said quietly, a level of shame in her voice while she walked back to the bed to take the bottle again. She had been right, she wasn’t going to stop now that she’d started. She placed it to her lips and walked back across the room. “Or summon them… Valker, I told you about my lost friend… Why is it that my first thought was that she might be behind this?” She couldn’t bear to look at him now, and so she turned away and moved back to the dresser, placing the bottle on its surface before placing her own hands there too. Avery shook her head and looked down only to find herself staring intently upon the grain of the dresser, at the fibres of the wood and the pattern they made. He’s been here for two whole weeks? she asked herself, a strange feeling clawed at her, as if she was upset she hadn’t seen him until now. She’d been in Velen for long enough too…

“Really?” Valker asked, surprised. The extent of the magic that sorcerers and sorceresses were capable of was largely unknown to anyone except them, and even then it varied greatly between individual practitioners. “Sounds like the worst kind of necromancy.” He narrowed his eyes when it transpired that Avery kept the bottle for herself as she stared at the dresser, all mysterious and enigmatic and decidedly alluring. Valker got to his feet and crossed the distance, the enchanted needle following him, unfailing in its work. He hesitated for a moment before he brushed a hand against her back in a vague attempt at reassurance while he grabbed the bottle with his other hand. “But it doesn’t make sense that a friend of yours would send wraiths to kill us,” he said. Valker looked down at her. “Avery,” he added, imploring her to meet his gaze. “Why are you looking for her? Who is this friend of yours?”

Something happened when he touched her, the way that his fingers felt against her - even through the fabric of her shirt. A vibration, that tingled through her powerfully. She released a shuddered breath and her eyelids fluttered, it had taken her by surprise. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed it before, it was very, very pleasant, and it was for that reason that made her take a small step back. This wasn't the time for those things. Not now! she told herself, concentrating on his words instead, trying not to look back at his fingers.

“You're right, she wouldn't,” she said aloud so as to reassure herself. Valker was of course, right to have questions, she just didn't know how much she wanted to answer. “Urszula was a mentor to me when I studied, she helped me and taught me. A few weeks ago she began to send me a series of letters implying some danger, that she must go into hiding.” Avery needed another drink, she hated sharing these things, being vulnerable. “I'm trying to find her because it's the right thing to do. I owe her that much.”

“That makes more sense,” Valker said and handed the bottle back to Avery after he was done with it. For now. “The last person to see Domren alive said he was headed for Velen. A sorceress goes into hiding and a witcher is killed…” he added and let the words hang in the air for a second, his eyes studying Avery closely. The way her body had reacted to his touch had not gone unnoticed by the witcher. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Avery took the bottle and drank again, the burn becoming less and less the more she did so. It was not as satisfying without it, she decided. “It almost seems like too big of a coincidence… Besides, she's been even more cryptic and spiteful in her letters than usual, it wouldn't surprise me if she wasn't here at all now.” She held the bottle back out to Valker, noticing that it was getting rather close to being empty. When he mentioned his brother, she felt the tension grow. She hadn't heard of another witcher being spotted in Velen while she'd been travelling, two witchers in a short space of time seemed unusual enough to warrant gossip. “Where did you begin your search?” she asked him, meeting his eyes with her own.

“South of Oxenfurt. You wouldn’t believe what the people near Downwarren say about the swamps. No sign of Domren, though,” Valker said and shrugged. He, too, noticed that the bottle was almost empty. He finished it and put it down on the dresser a little harder than he’d intended to do. “Oops.” Valker looked at Avery, a calculating look in his eyes. “Listen, you should make yourself comfortable. I’ll ask the innkeep to wash our clothes for us and get some more to drink. Doubt they have any erveluce in a place like this, but I’ll ask.” He gestured towards the bed and nodded reassuringly. “Alright?”

“Actually, I'd prefer more vodka,” she admitted with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “Oh! Since you're going that way anyway…” a smirk tugged at her lips as she did as requested and made her way to the bed, “please get some iced buns!” Her words were a little too enthusiastic… Vodka. Avery sat herself down on the edge of the mattress, and began to unlace her boots - it was proving to be slightly more difficult after… How many shots was it? She giggled at her efforts quietly although it soon began to frustrate her, why were they so tightly wound? “A dʼyaebl aép arse!” she cursed under her breath, her lips curling.

Valker smirked at the profanity in the Elder Speech while he gathered up their clothes. “Vodka and iced buns. You got it.” With that, he left the room and found the innkeep and his family arguing in hushed tones, no doubt animatedly discussing the events that had transpired outside the walls of their inn. They fell silent as Valker approached and before they could ask any impertinent questions, the witcher made his desires known instead and the thunder on his brow indicated that he would accept no delays and no prying. In return for their efforts, two more bottles of vodka and some iced buns, Valker left a little more coins than strictly necessary on the bar.

He stepped back into the room and held up the spoils of his exchange with the locals. “I’ve always found that the best way to get over a traumatic event is to drink myself into a stupor,” he admitted casually and made his way back, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He handed one of the bottles and the iced buns to Avery before he uncorked his own and immediately downed a healthy dose of the stuff. “Be nice to do it with some good company for a change.”

“The locals must think this to be quite the scandal, really,” she chortled as she finally succeeded with her boots. Now that was taken care of, she scooched herself into the middle of the mattress, the bun in one hand and the vodka in the other. With a tap of her fingers against the neck of the bottle, the cork flew out. It was a bit of a show off move, but she was amused nonetheless. She gave Valker a smug glance too as she mirrored him and drank from her own bottle. She had forgotten just what they'd been talking about already. “Good company? Where?” she laughed, turning her head from left to right - a playful sparkle in her eyes.

He waved dismissively. “I don’t give a shit what the locals think. This isn’t a church of the Eternal Fire, after all.” The way her loose locks of hair bounced around her head and the way her eyes glistened with mischief made Valker crack a smile of his own and he playfully punched Avery in the shoulder. “You, of course.” He, too, forgot momentarily about his search for Domren and the weeks of miserable treks through mud and frequent bouts of combat against drowners that lay behind him. A feeling of frustration and impotence had clawed at the edges of his mind for the last few days, but that was nowhere to be found now. “How did Reeve take it when you left?” he asked suddenly. “I always wondered.”

Reeve? She hadn’t thought of him in a long time, the smile fell from her lips and she took another long swig from her bottle as she thought of how best to answer that. “He was angry, he was drunk. He threw a temper tantrum like a child, and all that did was validate my decision… Alistaire on the other hand, he practically jumped for joy. It was the most movement I’ve ever seen from him.” Avery could picture the petulant old codger very clearly in her mind. Always drinking, always eating - everything in excess. He was stupid too, always a terribly greedy opinion on things too. “Urgh…” she shuddered and turned a frown. “I gave a lot of my life to that court…” she sighed wistfully before taking a bite from the iced bun. Not wishing to say anymore, hoping that Valker wouldn’t pry further.

Valker shrugged with a grunt. “Fuck them both. They can rot in their miserable little town forever. Meanwhile, us globetrotters now get to enjoy the sights and luxury of such illustrious places as Blackbough,” the witcher said and raised his arms around him. It was clear that the vodka had loosened both his tongue and his wit. “Where the bannisters are made of gold and the blankets spun from the tail hairs of Zerrikanian stallions.” He grabbed the raggedy blanket that covered the bed and pulled it free, only to hold it up for Avery to see. “Behold! See the beauty, the craftsmanship? Ah, if only those drunkards could see us now.” Valker shook his head in mockery before he raised his bottle in a toast to Avery. “Cheers.”

Avery did laugh, at the sight of the very same serious Witcher who had ridden through Kraeg’s Hill - now sat in little more than his bloomers, waving a blanket around. “Speak for yourself, the only drunkard around here is you.” She could not deny him his toast though, but she had something more apt in mind; “to our adventures, long may they continue.” There was a soft sincerity in her voice as she settled down from the laughter. It was so very nice to see him here, despite how things had last ended. With that thought in mind, she had a question of her own now - since it seemed to be that time, “so… What did you do after Novigrad? After the banquet?” Technically that was two questions, and when she realised it was, she shifted her glance to the side and ate more of the bun.

Valker braced himself at the question and bought himself some time by throwing back vodka like it was going out of style. He looked at Avery and wondered very hard if honesty was the best policy. Then again, there was no way she didn't know. That's why he had left, after all. “Well… after I'd made a right fool of myself, I packed my bags the next morning and left. I thought… you see, I didn't… I wasn't… equipped to deal with that kind of fuck-up. I fled,” he confessed. “Went right back to work. In hindsight, that was a mistake.”

He paused and something, though whatever it was was probably heavily influenced by the vodka, made him grab Avery's hand in his own. “I'm sorry.”

There it was again, that tingling sensation - although it was significantly less surprising when he was only touching her hand, but her eyes still widened. She’d known about it immediately when she saw Celes the morning after. Celes was not good at blocking thoughts from those who could hear them, and Avery had heard a lot of it. A lot more than she’d have liked to. It was both her disobedience, and that she had left Avery alone at the banquet that were cited as reasons for their working relationship ending shortly after.

She looked down at his hand on hers and blinked. “It’s all in the past now, you’ve nothing to apologise for anyway.” There was an awkward feeling that took over, and so instead of shaking it off, she attempted to drown it out with a sizeable amount of the vodka.

“Either way, I regretted it,” he said softly. He could feel his heart beating faster the longer he looked at Avery. Or was that just the alcohol? An interesting question that could only be answered by putting it to the test. He shifted closer to her and, after a moment's hesitation, put an arm around her shoulders. “What a day, huh?” the witcher said absent-mindedly. His heart was beating even faster. Even now, she still smelled good. Nope, that's definitely her and not the booze.

Avery watched the way he moved, and glanced to watch as his arm came around her - it was nice, actually. She hadn't expected it, she hadn't done anything for it. The alcohol took over her now, allowing her to feel relaxed and she leaned into him. Was that what he wanted? It was what she wanted. “Valker…” she uttered softly, with a smile and a redness on her cheeks. As she moved closer to him too, his nerves tipped over into her and she may have heard more than she should have, and answered too - “what did I do?” she asked, looking confused.

It was a big relief to feel Avery responding so well to his touch and the way she whispered her name to him caused a shiver to go down his spine. It had only taken him years to figure it out, but here they were. “What?” Valker replied, confused as well. “I didn't say anything. You didn't do anything.” He smiled and squeezed her arm. “Aside from being… wonderful.” The witcher blinked and quickly took another swig of vodka, feeling his own cheeks turn red.

She blinked again, several times. “Well you're wonderful too you know. Wonderful and strong…” she giggled, pressing her finger to his nose with a smile. The vodka had well and truly settled within her now, in fact it had felt a little like it had hit the hardest in the last few moments. “Ohhh…” she gasped before sitting up, looking suddenly like a woman on a mission. Like a woman who had just remembered something very, very, urgently important. She pulled herself away from Valker, hopping out of the bed with a wobble. “My babies!” she squeaked as she tip toed across the floor, heading with purpose to her Megascope. Not realising how utterly inopportune it was to do this now. She began fiddling with the dials on each stand, but nothing really seemed to be happening. Alcohol had put up a wall that was impossible to break through with logic. “Valker!” she said, alarmed. “Help me with this thing!”

A bittersweet mixture of disappointment and amusement spread through Valker as Avery abandoned him in favour of the machine at the other end of the room. He sighed and pushed the feeling aside. “Avery's babies…” he mumbled to himself, wondering what it could mean. “Her cats!” he exclaimed, believing himself to have solved the riddle. “Alright, alright, I'm coming,” he said and got up with a groan. He had to steady himself before he made his way over, bottle still in hand. Valker stared at the megascope with a puzzled expression. “Avery, I have no idea how this thing works,” he admitted.

“I don’t either…” she groaned, even though she knew she'd used it recently. “Fandangled thing,” she continued with a crossed brow before sighing. “I'm sure all you do is tweak and rub the dials, say the incantation… But I can't for the life of me remember which one to do first or how.” She was struck with disappointment, and she really did miss the cats too. “It's alright it's alright its alright…” she slurred as she began to wander around the room. “They're sulf-sefficent.”

“Absolutely,” Valker said. “Cats -- why, cats can do anything.” He followed her around the room with his gaze but almost fell over when he had to turn his head to keep up with her. “Where are you going?” he asked, bemused. “Come here. I wanna give you a hug.” The witcher began to stumble after her and drank more as he did so. Should anyone have seen them, it would surely be a conical sight.

The sorceress chuckled as Valker followed her around. It was a game now, and she liked games. As he staggered towards her, she hopped up onto the bed and walked over it to the other side. “I'll let you have a hug,” she said in a coy voice, breath laced with alcohol. “You can have a hug if you tell me something. Something… Something… A fact! A fact about yourself! Then you can have a hug.” Once again, she looked incredibly proud of herself, and she watched in anticipation of what he might share with her.

What an odd game. “Very well,” Valker said as graciously as he could and leaned against the dresser for support. “Well…” he thought, wondering what Avery might like to know about him. He decided to go with the first thing that came to mind. “I'm sixty-four years winters old.”

He did not look it. That made him older than Reeve, older than the Baron - but still younger than her. Only by a few years. He didn't need to know that. “That will suffice, come and get your hug,” she remained in her spot, and only just realising what was about to happen she fell shy, and brought her arms to her sides and looked around the room rapidly, at anything other than the witcher. If she had been sober, there would have been none of this nonsense - but for now, she was enjoying it.

What the hell was he getting himself into? Valker wasn't a hugger. He wasn't afraid of physical intimacy at all but his various forays with women in that field had rarely included something as innocent as a hug. And yet, with Avery standing timidly before him, it felt like anything but innocent. He sensed that, despite all the alcohol, this meant a great deal to her. And that meant that it meant a great deal to him. Valker approached slowly, like a man trying not to startle a nervous animal, and stopped in front of Avery. They were close enough to kiss now, if only she'd look up at him. But that wasn't the agreement. Gingerly, tenderly, the scarred witcher put his arms around Avery and pulled her into an embrace.

How could the same man she'd witnessed tear across the battlefield with the wraiths be so gentle now? She hadn't realised just how long it had been since she'd been held like this until he did. Until Valker held her, and that (despite the fact she was drunk) took her breath away. The brunette smiled against his chest, radiating happiness from her being, and her arms began reciprocating the hug. Slowly they reached around him too - one around his middle and the other over his shoulder. There wasn't a great difference in their heights and so it didn't take much for her to lean up to whisper in his ear - his own words back to him, “what a day…”

As her arms returned the hug and he felt her simple joy at being held, Valker tightened his embrace slightly and pulled her against him -- this was a hug with conviction now, one of intimacy, and Valker closed his eyes. “I should have done this years ago,” the witcher murmured and pressed his splayed hand against her lower back, his fingers moving in small, slow circles against her skin through the fabric of her shirt. Her voice in his ear, her body against his, her arms around him -- it was everything. His cheek grazed hers as he moved his head to look her in the eye. Their noses almost touched. “You are a very special woman, Avery Vexx,” he mumbled.

“You're doing it now,” she replied quietly, her eyes closed too, but her mouth hung open and she bit her lip. Those circles, that part of her back. It felt heavenly, and was provoking feelings of arousal. Her cheeks began to feel hot, and the softest of moans escaped her. She opened her eyes with a start and shuffled, hoping to stop that. His words felt better than his touch could have though, and the mild embarrassment melted away with them as they pierced the air. She felt safe, free, and comfortable with him - in his arms. The arms she had been so enamoured with on their first meeting. “That's not my real name,” she whispered softly, removing a hand from his back to rest on his chest, her own fingers painting circles on him now. “My name is… it's just Averina.”

She almost scoffed at how completely silly that sounded, and when she realised what she'd confessed she looked at him sternly, “don't you dare tell anyone though, I mean it.” The finger that had been painting his chest was now jabbing him half-playfully, and half-threateningly, but the embarrassed laugh soon followed and she buried her face in his chest.

“Averina?” Valker repeated and resisted the urge to laugh. “I shan't tell anyone, I promise. I can see why you introduce yourself as Avery.” He smiled, sincerely and fully, and laughed a soft, warm laugh in his chest when she buried her face in it. She had tried to play it off but Valker was sure he had felt her react to the way his hand caressed her back the way women usually did. If she did not want to pursue that sort of thing, he would respect that, but he had to be sure. Maybe he'd imagined it. And so he ran his fingers up her spine while his other hand moved up to the back of her neck, his strong thumb just behind her ear while his fingers entwined with her hair. They were so close together…

Oh it feels good, he feels so good, she thought to herself, unable to stop herself from tipping her head back and moaning out his name, “Valker,” she purred sensually, her body pressed against his with the motion of his finger on her spine. His magic connecting to hers - electrifying. She began to feel a familiar sensation in her stomach, one that was private and intimate and she smiled until she remembered where she was, abruptly. This had all happened quickly, so quickly. She was in Velen, searching for Urszula. Flushed, she pulled herself out of their embrace at once. “I'm sorry,” she muttered as she turned away from him. “Maybe… I don't…” she continued as she backed away, hiding her red face. “I… Don't want this to spoil our work together…”

For a second, Valker looked like he had been slapped in the face. He quickly did his best to regain his composure and smoothed a hand through his beard. His breathing was heavy, laboured almost, and he averted his gaze in bewilderment. Never had a rejection stung like this before. He chastised himself -- whether or not to allow him that level of intimacy was her call alone, she did not owe him anything. The witcher nodded, first to himself and then in Avery's direction, even though she was looking away from him.

“I understand,” he said, and although his voice was slightly strained, it was obvious he did his best to sound sincere and unwounded. “It could… get in the way, yes.” The more he looked at her, the more he wondered if that was the real reason. Why was she hiding her face? Was she… ashamed of something? “It's alright,” he added. “I'm not mad or… anything.” He hovered in place for a second, wondering if it was time for him to go and get his own room.

Truth was, he didn't want to go.

“We can just talk,” he said softly. “Like before.”

But she did want him, whether that was the alcohol or a desire that had been there all along - that was where she remained uncertain. She knew she liked him, but did she like him that much? Surely she did, even as she briefly thought on it, Avery knew there hadn’t been many days in the last seven years where he had not crossed her mind in some way or another. She felt so young, so naive. So incredibly unsure of this territory. In a politicians hall she could dominate and control conversations about all manner of things - but right now, behind closed doors with Valker she had no idea of what to do.

The sorceress had been enjoying their closeness, that much was true. To save herself from standing awkwardly, quietly she began to potter across the room - walking on tip toes again with a tipsy wobble added. In a quick motion she plucked up the Zerrikanian stallion blanket from the floor where it had been dropped, and wrapped herself in it before climbing back over the bed - stealing a glance at Valker’s eyes as she got comfortable on her side. She could see he was confused, slightly hurt. Was it her telempathy or her own real feelings that made her feel hurt too?

“I'd like to talk,” she said in a soft voice, blinking slowly. She placed her hand on the empty space beside her. “What were we talking about before?”

Valker returned to his place on the bed and thought long and hard about her question. “I can't remember,” he said eventually and laughed quietly to himself. The vodka brought more solace. “Oh, wait, I remember now. The angry ghosts and your friend and my dead brother. Damn, gloomy topic.” He was slurring his words now. “You know, we should save that for tomorrow. Tell me about yourself. What are your powers?”

That made her smile. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, giggling in a demure fashion. “You know what I can do. I make things what they're not…” Her face grew more serious, the vodka still had a hold of her and had loosened her lips. “I was a very… sensitive child. I could feel… emotions, read thoughts.” Avery sighed and closed her eyes, “I can use that. To make things what they're not.” Even she knew that she'd said too much, and so she rolled back onto her side with a smirk, “oh and I can hold lightning in my hands, make the earth move to my will, trap wraiths… And conjure the most beautiful outfits too.”

“Read thoughts?” Valker asked, suddenly concerned. He stared at her quizzically, the way only drunk men trying to bring their vision back into focus could do. “You do that often? Oh!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself, and waved at her urgently. “Conjure a pretty outfit for yourself. I wanna see.”

She did not answer his question, she merely wiggled her eyebrows with an impish grin. As for his next request… Shr could conjure a pretty outfit alright. The witcher should have known better…

She dragged herself up from the bed and gave a modelesque strut around it, the blanket still wrapped tight around her like a cocoon. She made sure that his eyes were on her and her only, she swayed and shook her hips underneath the woolen cape - adding a feeling of theatre to the spell. After some more suggestive shaking and twirling she let the blanket drop dramatically to the ground, revealing that she was still in her vest and shorts. Valker, on the other hand was in an especially pretty scarlett doublet, and for extra effect, she'd had a feather boa draped around his shoulders. “Oh… Oops!” she feigned surprise, holding her hand up to her open mouth, hiding a grin. “Must be the vodka…”

Valker stared at Avery through squinted eyes. “Yeah, I don't see anything different,” he mumbled. “Try again?”

“No… there's a difference alright,” she replied in a honeyed tone as she moved back towards the bed. It looked very good on the witcher, she almost wished she'd conjured matching trousers for him too. He looked just as handsome in it as he did at the banquet. “Look closer,” she said through a yawn as she crawled over the mattress to her spot of the bed, her head landing softly on the pillow but she still watched Valker with mischief in her eyes. “Keep looking, handsome…”

It was then that the grizzled witcher noticed the conjured garments on his person. As he looked down at the doublet and, with growing amazement, at the boa, nothing happened at first. Nothing continued to happen.

And then he burst into laughter -- loud, raucous peals of laughter. He laughed and howled until he had tears in his eyes and he collapsed on his back on the bed. “Yoouuu she-devil,” came his strangled voice through hiccups and giggles. “Not what I meant! Nice jacket, though. Thanks.”

“I made you laugh,” she slurred against another yawn - this time stretching her arm above her and bringing it back down to rest her hand in the curls of her hair. Her eyes were drooping and the pillow was extremely comfortable all of a sudden. Her whole body felt so heavy that pulling her knees up was a struggle. “I made you laugh…” she mumbled again, the hand that had been in her hair dropped towards Valker, landing on his own. After that, her eyes were closed and her breaths soft. The sorceress had fallen asleep.

“Not many that can say that,” Valker said, still smirking like an idiot. As Avery fell asleep and her hand fell into his, he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and gave her hand a soft squeeze. “Sleep well,” he mumbled and decided that Avery had the right idea. He closed his eyes and drifted off himself, into an uneasy maelstrom of dreams where Avery rejected him for the spectral form of Domren over and over again.

---

Why did her head hurt so much? Why was the morning sun so aggressive? “God where am I?” she croaked out, her mouth as dry as a handful of sand. She slowly dragged herself up from the bed and immediately caught the scent of vodka in the room. It made her gag. “God no,” she protested and moved quickly to clear the bottles away - to purge the room of the smell that was so aggravating. There was nowhere to put them, “God,” she repeated again, the necks of the three bottles positioned between her fingers. She had no choice, she was hungover and desperate to not have to look at them… At once she opened the window and dropped them outside into the long grass, “poison!” she spat as she brought the shutter back down, finally turning to look at the bed only to see Valker in it, his tall form stretched out over the spread, feathers around his neck and a red doublet adorning his chest. “What in the name…?”

Avery then caught a glimpse of herself, hair like a birds nest, her face unattractively pale - she had no pants on. Just undergarments. She crept gingerly to her trunk and picked at what was inside, until she realised that she could just cheat this morning… While Valker lay sleeping she ran her hands over her body dress and bring back colour and glamour to herself once more. The very same outfit she had worn when they went to hunt a werewolf, as it happened.

Thinking to spare him any embarrassment of them making eye contact when he woke up, she quietly left the room. Electing to wait for him in the tavern. She was in dire need of food, too…

Fifteen minutes later, the witcher appeared, dressed in his own gear (the innkeeper had put the basket of washed clothes just outside the door to Avery's room) and with his weapons on his back. He looked remarkably spry and fresh for a man who had just drank more than a liter of vodka the night before, but witchers were gifted with extraordinary metabolisms and the slightest hint of darkened veins on his face betrayed his use of Swallow to wash away the headache. He ordered a plate of food for himself and sat down opposite Avery.

“Are we going to talk about the doublet and the feathered… thing?” he asked bluntly. His expression was inscrutable.

Avery was already tucking into her breakfast - bread with a side of bacon, and an especially sweet honeyed tea to wash it down with. She looked up at Valker, her expression as nonchalant as it could be, she shrugged, “you spent the evening with a trickster…” Her eyebrows raised, her smile turned downwards as if to say ‘what did you expect?’, but she meant nothing by it.

“I may have a lead on Urszula,” she said, carrying on into normal conversation after clearing her throat. “I'm heading out soon, I don't know where your search for your brother takes you next but I can help you, I still want to help you find him…” Avery brought the warm mug to her lips and inhaled the scent, the sweetness of it was far preferable to the vodka.

“I’m glad you have a lead because I don’t,” Valker said. The innkeeper’s daughter brought him his food with a mixture of awe and barely-contained excitement and Valker had to resist from rolling his eyes. Young girls and their misplaced love for swashbucklers and warriors… he ignored her and focused on Avery and his food instead. “Like I said, I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s possible, maybe even likely, that whatever Urszula is dealing with is related to what Domren was investigating before he disappeared, especially after that business with the wraiths yesterday. I’d like to come along, if you’ll have me,” he said and looked up from his food to observe Avery’s reaction.

“I couldn't get out of the inn yesterday, the storm… Hardly the weather for horses, as calm as mine is.” she began to explain as she took a healthy drink of the tea, she watched from over the rim of the mug as the girl practically fawned over Valker. She was pretty, and shapely too. She wondered if a girl like that interested Valker. It had been no secret in Kraeg's Hill that he'd visited the brothel after their encounter with the werewolf. The daughter reminded her very much of a typical small town girl. Avery smiled pleasantly up at her, after she had clearly felt the gaze of the Odd-Eyed sorceress upon her - enough so to turn her attention from the witcher and to his female companion, whose smile suggested that she was relishing in spoiling the girls moment.

After she'd left, Avery nodded along to Valker's words. “There's a place quite deep in the swamp where it meets a large, very steep rockface. There was a great magical interference in the surrounding area that I could sense, so much that I have not been able to teleport to it. I suspect it's some kind of veil that is hiding a cave or den…” She was keeping her voice quite low, and spoke with absolute confidence. “With sober mind, I wonder if such an interference could be linked to the attack. In any case, I’ve been wanting to check it out.” When it came to him requesting to tag along, she flashed him something of a delighted smile, “oh, and yes, you're coming along, so you'd best eat up.”

Valker’s eyes lingered on the retreating girl perhaps a tad too long, but he returned Avery’s smile with a small one of his own. “Good. Thank you. I will,” he said and proceeded to wolf down his food. He had nothing to say about her suspicions, really. When it came to magic witchers were little more than conjurers of cheap tricks and, with experience, capable cursebreakers. He assumed she knew what she was talking about. “That black horse in the stable, I assume it’s yours?” he asked in between bites.

“Her name is Midnight,” she responded with a smile, tucking a curl behind her ear as she ate a mouthful of the bacon. That would help soak up the alcohol at least, she was already feeling better for it. His eyes on the behind of the girl did not go unnoticed by Avery either. That answered her own query, and she smirked. Truthfully, she was feeling nervous now, she would either find something, or nothing. She wasn't sure which she preferred. Something else to talk about…

“I have to ask… Pardon if it's considered rude, but…” Her fingers began to tap across the table, and she tilted her head to one side curiously as she looked upon Valker's face. At the thin dark lines. She'd seen them before too… “Does… that hurt you?” she asked in a quiet voice, some concern in her tone.

“Good name for such a beautiful steed,” Valker said with approval. He, too, was feeling much better now that he’d filled his stomach and he leaned back in his chair, slowly nursing the apple juice the girl had brought. As for Avery’s question, he stared at her without comprehension initially before he understood what she was referring to. “It used to, but that changed with time and experience. Now it just feels… hm… potent? Witcher potions are toxic and it’s only because of our mutations that our bodies can process them. If I imbibe a lot of them in a short period of time, especially the decoctions I derive from monsters, feeling the toxicity coursing through my veins is like that tingling in your mouth if you eat too much pineapple, but much stronger. It makes me feel alive.” He shrugged and smiled apologetically. “I don’t know if that makes sense. Hope it answers your question.”

Unsure of what to make of the information, she just gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and raised her finger to her lips as she often did when in thought. “I know very little about witchers, the processes, traditions… I've never given much of it any thought. At least not until I met you, now I find it all quite fascinating…” Realising she probably sounded like the fawning women and common folk who probed him for information, she retreated behind her mug and finished the last of her tea, turning her face away to gaze off into the distance while he finished his food too.

“Most people just think we're freaks,” Valker said, his voice revealing neither here nor there what he felt about that. “Genuine curiosity is refreshing. There's a lot I can't really tell you about because… well, I don't know. Knowledge has been lost. We're a dying breed. But if you have any questions, ask away.”

“Some people feel the same way of mages,” she added, somewhat sympathetically. They had that in common. “Anything different…” she sighed, looking at her fingers as she rubbed them together gently causing a small sparkle to appear there. She could feel the eyes of the patrons on she and Valker both, and so didn’t take him up on his offer of more questions. More than anything, she wanted to quiz him about the scars across his body - but that would mean admitting she’d taken a long look at them, and it would mean bringing up that she’d done such a thing last night. “If I think of any more, I shall take you up on that.” With a final glance she noted that his plate was empty, as was hers. “Ready when you are.”

“Suit yourself.” Valker got to his feet and made his way to the stables, expecting the sorceress to follow him. He made sure that the contents of his saddlebags were still there -- it wouldn’t be the first time if some peasant turned out to have sticky fingers -- before guiding his horse outside. It wasn’t the same animal he’d arrived at Kraeg’s Hill with, seven years ago. That horse was long dead. This was a chestnut mare with cream spots on her flanks, not particularly large but with a very staunch and unflinching temperament. An excellent horse for a witcher. He mounted the horse and squinted against the rising sunlight. “Fuck off,” he mouthed quietly.

And follow she did, making sure to give as polite a smile as she could to the Innkeep and his family. She followed behind Valker, moving from him to reach her own horse - who, judging by the noise she made, was happy to see Avery again. She responded by placing her hand under the chin of the mare, and pressing their foreheads together briefly. “Good morning sweetie,” she cooed before opening the gate and walking her out. Once out of the stable, Avery set her foot into the stirrup, using her weight on it to get the boost she needed to mount the house. “Good girl,” she said, patting Midnight’s neck affectionately.

The horse began to trot back and forth as if impatient, giving her head a nod. “I know, I know… You know where we’re going.” Avery clicked her tongue and let Midnight find her way to the side of Valker’s horse. “We’re heading north until the path forks and then I’m afraid it’s the winding road… Through swamp.”

Of course it just had to be the swamp. “Wonderful,” Valker grumbled and made sure his necrophage oil was fastened to a strap that was easy to reach. Drowners and water hags infested those waters like nowhere else, it seemed. He looked at Avery and frowned. “How do you usually make your way through the swamp without a witcher by your side?” he asked, fishing for an excuse to keep his sword sheathed for once.

“With great difficulty. I can hold off some monsters… As long as I keep going and don’t look behind me.” She knew it sounded reckless, and she waited for his words of admonishment as she began to lead Midnight out of Blackbough at a gentle pace. They could speed up once they hit the open roads. “That said, the interference is quite powerful in the area. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s cleared most threats off. Can’t be sure of that until we get there.” There was of course, her silver dagger for if a threat got too close and magic just wasn’t going to cut it in the same way that a blade would.

As they approached the exit of the town, she began to feel as impatient as the horse had been. She hoped they could make it to their location as quickly as possible, especially seeing as Valker’s mood had seemed to shift and he was far less talkative than he’d been the day before.

“Ah,” was all Valker had to say about that. It was looking like he was going to have to get his hands dirty after all if they needed to defend themselves. He looked at Blackbough one last time and muttered something under his breath as he saw at least six faces that were glad to see them go. Turning back to Avery, he motioned for her to lead the way.

Avery clicked her tongue again, and gave a gentle nudge to the horse to speed her up into a comfortable gallop. It was pleasant to be able to ride again after several days of being cooped inside by the storm. Had her hair not been in a bun, she imagined it would feel good to have the wind through it, and of course the company was very welcome but her mind was occupied with thoughts of her mentor.

It was a fair ride to their destination, and by the time they’d made it through the swamp - even having ridden over the sandbars had left the legs of each horse coated in a layer of mud, dirt splashed across the shoulders. It was particularly noticeable on the black coat of Midnight. But they were here, and it was as the sorceress had expected - very few monsters had been lurking and any that were had kept their distance. Now, they came face to face with a tall wall of rock, that crested at its peak into a grass covered hill from what could be seen. A darkness surrounded the area, a lack of light from all of the trees that were growing against each other, knotted branches and roots made it a treacherous place to be… A slip into the swamp here had undoubtedly caused a sticky end for more than one unlucky individual.

There was a stinging vibration in the air that she felt across her skin, giving goosebumps even under the warm layers of her gear. It was so prominent it almost seemed that she could hear it too. “Feel that?” She directed at Valker as the dismounted her horse, landing with a light splash as she touched the ground.

She paced towards the centre of the rocks surface, a hand on each hip and focussed expression. “It’s definitely an illusion or enchantment of some kind… There’s an entrance here.”

Valker joined her by her side and followed where she was looking. Predictably, his medallion hummed. He’d had to deal with illusions once before when hunting a foglet and the witcher had been forced to ask a mage that lived in the area for help. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Not my area of expertise. Do you know how to dispel it?”

“I do…” she remarked with a sigh as she glanced across to him. She held out both of her hands and began to move them in a manner which made her look as though she was simply rummaging through the air. After what felt like a few moments too long, a purple light began to emit from what had been seen to be rock - it began to peel away like paper and disintegrate - revealing a small, dark mouth to a cave. They would each have to stoop down to pass through it. Avery moved first, taking a careful step in the direction, placing a hand either side of the opening as she steadied her step, bowing her head to get in.

After several fumbled steps, the entrance opened out into a vast cavern - cold and damp, and dark too. It was the echo of her steps on the stone that gave indication as to how big. Now, to turn on the lights… The sorceress hastily formed a shining ball of white light in her palm, with a flick of her wrist she threw it to the ceiling of the cave, and as the light travelled upwards she could make out the path before her, and the unmistakable shapes of torches on the walls. It had definitely been inhabited recently, then.

More agile and dexterous than the sorceress, Valker slipped into the cavern with ease and his cat eyes were in the process of adjusting to the gloom when Avery’s magelight bathed everything in stark white. He did not say anything as he advanced into the cave; not because he was upset with Avery in any way, but because he had slipped into the focus and determined silence that he adopted whenever he was working. This was no different. However, it quickly became apparent that while the cave might have been home to someone or other recently, it wasn’t anymore. The placed was furnished; a desk, a bed, a few chairs and even a carpet on the floor emerged from the gloom as they advanced. A locked chest stood by the foot end of the bed and two half-eaten meals were sitting neatly on plates on the table. Mold had already set in.

As Valker walked around the table to inspect the other side of the vaulted cavern he nearly tripped over something on the ground. “Shit,” he said quietly and took a few steps back. It was Domren’s corpse. Unmistakable. Something (no man could do this) had nearly ripped him to pieces but Valker recognized his armor, his weapons and what little remained of his face. There was no time to mourn, however. The place was still saturated with magical energy and it was too soon to tell if the witcher’s killer was still around. Plenty of creatures were accomplished masters of stealth, after all. Valker drew his silver sword and resumed methodically inspecting every inch of the place.

Avery was less methodical, she moved to the desk, opening drawers only to find them empty… She checked the shelves only to find blank parchments and a dry quill. Even the barrels and crates were just filled with straw and burlap fabric. The chest was of interest to her, but it was locked - and probably with an enchantment too. There was no doubt about it that Urszula had been here, the blankets on the bed had her perfume… It wasn’t until Valker spoke - as quiet as it was, that she was pulled from her frantic search and she too approached the body. She gasped and put a hand across her mouth, turning away instantly.

“Is that…?” She asked quietly, looking back over her shoulder to observe Valker. He was now extra cautious, his Witcher’s sword held as he carried on. Did he want to talk about it? Move the body? Was there anything she could do? If she asked him if he was alright would he even tell her whether he was or not?

It took a few seconds Valker to register and respond to the question. “Yes,” he said without looking up at Avery, his voice devoid of emotion. “Yell if you see anything unusual.” It wasn’t necessary to explain why, he figured. The more he looked, however, the more he became convinced that there wasn’t anything dangerous here. His medallion appeared equally affected on either side of the cavern by whatever residue lingered here. It really was just a cave with cold and damp walls of rock and a few pieces of furniture. That was it. Admitting defeat, Valker resheathed the sword and returned to Domren’s corpse, kneeling down beside it to inspect it more closely.

“Where is your medallion, brother?” he muttered under his breath.

Finally, she resigned herself to the fact that there was little she could do to help him - he didn’t need it, and maybe it was silence that he needed more. Meanwhile, she needed to continue searching for anything that could be of use to her. It was the chest that kept drawing her attention. As Valker continued to examine the corpse, Avery stepped with hesitation towards the chest - it was rather grand looking. Made of a heavy metal - this was not a chest that would be forced open either, Urszula had been diligent in selecting it…

As she knelt down beside it, she felt an energy emanating from the surface - or was it from inside? There was a keyhole, but something in her instinct told her that a key was not going to open this chest. Had Urszula left it here for Avery? If that was the case, then it would only be Avery who could open it. Had there been a cipher in the letters? They had seemed quite normal and nothing about Urszula had ever suggested she has a type for written puzzles. No, this was a chest of sentiment… Her eyes lingered over the keyhole and she grew frustrated thinking of how many attempts it was going to take her to open it. Urszula had always lamented that Avery could be impatient during her schooling… Was it that easy? Stealthily, Avery turned her head to check one last time what is was that Valker was doing. He was still occupied, and so she took the opportunity to speak to the chest - or rather, command it, “open” she said bluntly.

Nothing happened.

“Damn!” She cursed as she rose to her feet with her eyes closed and an angry scowl. She held her breath in anger for a long time, before sighing out - exasperated. “I don’t think there’s anything here, Valker…” she spoke quietly from where she stood.

It was hard to tell what it had been that had killed Domren so violently. The deep gouges cut into him would suggest claws, but they would have had to be enormous to nearly bisect him they way he had been. Valker could not think of anything that would follow a witcher and, presumably, a sorceress into a cave to fight them there that had claws like that. Ancient leshens, draconids and fiends were the only creatures he could think of that had that much tearing power. Half of them wouldn’t have even fitted in the cave without destroying everything else inside. Looking up, Valker confirmed that the furniture wasn’t even slightly damaged. Whatever had killed Domren in here had done so suddenly and without a struggle. It was a worrying realization.

“I think you’re right,” he said in response to Avery and got to his feet, surprised to see her anger at being stumped by a chest. He quickly realized it was merely displaced anger, of course, and that she was just upset they hadn’t found her mentor. Valker’s mission, on the other hand, was technically complete, except…

The witcher gestured towards Domren’s corpse. “His medallion isn’t here. Whatever killed him probably took it. That means it might be sentient, or at least covetous in nature. However… there are no signs of a fight, no signs of a struggle. Anything large enough to physically tear him apart like that would have destroyed everything in here by merely being inside the cavern. Domren wasn’t killed elsewhere and moved here, there’s no trail of blood and the amount of it caked onto the ground here suggests he died where he stood. So we’re dealing with something that can control wraiths, kill a witcher without leaving a trace and probably purposefully take his medallion,” Valker summarized. For the first time since they entered the cave, he showed any emotion. He scowled. “That is bad news.”

“And that’s based only on what we’ve seen…” It was time to shake off the feeling of anger, or at least let it sit at one side for now. She brought her thumb to her mouth and gently nibbled as she thought about what he’d said. It didn’t sound like a common creature that was for sure. “A being like this probably has more powers too… That we have yet to see.” A chill ran down her spine at what she was suggesting to herself. She questioned yet again if this was the work of a sorceress, of Urszula. “I can’t reasonably rule her out Valker. That would be dishonest of me, and I don’t want to lie to you…” she admitted as her arms wrapped around her torso. It really was cold in the cave. “I don’t believe it was, but… I can’t rule her out until I am able to locate her.” Slowly she turned her head to meet his eyes, under the magelight they looked like embers, flickering - alive with an intensity that suddenly she found herself looking away from, for the first time.

Urszula. “Possible, I suppose,” Valker mused and looked at Domren again. “Seems rather inelegant for a sorceress. Still, you are right that she can only be eliminated as a suspect once we find her. I assume she sent you those letters with the expectation that you would eventually find this place. There must be a clue of some kind she’s left behind.” His gaze turned on the chest and he approached it to inspect it properly, sinking down on his haunches in front of the lock. “No luck?” he asked.

“None.” Avery sighed, stepping back to the chest, taking a position behind Valker - watching him more than she looked at the chest. “There’s no key but it’s clearly magical, or has something magical inside. Maybe it’s not for me… Maybe she’ll be back when she’s ready.”

Or, what if the chest is the key? She wondered, and upon the realisation she sprung into action, slipping down to her knees beside the Witcher, reaching out a hand to finally touch the lid - the same spell that she had used on the entrance was once again forming from her body. Her energy shifted so as to dispel the last illusion in the cave. To her absolutely amazement, it worked. Just as had occurred with the entrance, purple magic tore at the fabric of the spell and burnt it away with a slow but ferocious energy - dissolving away the rectangular shape into nothing. What was left in the place of it, was a small talisman, hung around a cord of leather. An amulet of some kind… Carefully, Avery reached out a hand to pick it up, string first. It was nothing like the medallion that Valker wore. As she held it up to their eye level, she began to lean ever so slightly into him so that their shoulders brushed. She did not realise, for she was too busy inspecting the detail of the talisman. It looked like a sun, just a simple gold sun on a string. “Hmmmm…”

Valker, too, was too busy watching Avery’s actions to notice her arm against his. “Is that Nilfgaardian?” he wondered out loud. Their symbol was the Great Sun, after all. Her perceptive success at dismantling the illusion did not go unnoticed. “Well done, by the way.”

“It looks it, but somehow I think that’s secondary to whatever magic she might have imbued this with… She has worked in Nilfgaard, however…” She took the necklace into her hand again and found her way back to standing, slipping it into a pocket for now. “Thanks, but it’s not a job well done until, well… I find out what it’s for. I feel better though… For having found it.” She gave him a half smile, before her gaze fell upon the corpse once more. “What do we do with Domren, do you need help?”

“No,” the witcher replied and walked back to Domren. He removed the dead man's swords and scabbards from his body. “We burn him and bury his bones in the swamp.” Valker hoisted him up and placed the corpse on the table, swatting away the plates of food. After taking a step back, Valker raised his hands and a burst of flame erupted from his hands, engulfing Domren and immediately setting his clothes and the table beneath him on fire. Now it was simply a matter of waiting. Valker stared at the improvised pyre and crossed his arms again. “Rest in peace. Your Path ends here,” he mumbled.

It was not a place she wanted to remain, and so the sorceress retreated from the smoke and headed back to the swamp. As her eyes adjusted to the natural light she took a seat on a rock by the horses, who, had surprisingly stayed exactly as they had been. In fact, Valker's mare had joined to Midnight's side and each seemed to be enjoying the company of the other. Valker would want some time and space, and truthfully, so did Avery. She removed the necklace from her pocket and kept looking at it, studying it closely - as if to find a chip or scratch that would give indication to its secrets.

After ten minutes, Valker emerged from the cave and fastened Domren's swords to his horse's saddlebags before he turned to face Avery. “It only happens very rarely that I end up without any clues to work with,” he began, “but I'm out of my depth here. If that amulet is going to tell us anything, you're going to have to be the one to figure it out.” It annoyed him to have to admit that and he looked away, kicking a small stone across the swamp. “I'll help however I can. I want to recover his medallion.”

Her eyes followed the stone as far as she could. She heard it fall and land into one of the pools of water with a gentle splash. “I'll figure it out, I'll take it to another sorceress if I have to…” Avery was sat cross legged, swinging her foot back and forth absentmindedly. She realised that it hurt her to see him this way. He was defeated, or disappointed… Hard to read as always, that would never change. “I'm sorry, Valker.” She spoke comfortingly, having decided that anything was better than nothing - even if it only soothed her.

When had anyone ever said that to him, especially with such sincerity? Valker didn’t quite know what to do with it and shrugged. “It’s alright. Witchers don’t die in their beds. This is our fate,” he said, but his voice did not sound like he was entirely at peace with it, nor had the furrowing in his brow ceased to set his face to thunder. “Some monster will eventually get the best of us and that will be that. Way of the world.”

To that, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to approach him, to put an arm around him or show him anything, any small piece of kindness - but she resisted and stayed where she was. “It’s hard for me to comprehend it… Death, I mean. I haven’t thought about it since I was much younger… But it follows you, doesn’t it?” Avery hadn’t meant to say such a thing, she hoped he wasn’t offended or found it callous. But, the more time she spent with Valker, the more she came to understand his way of life - and that of witchers in general. To her, they’d always been a mysterious caste, alluring and inviting. Like handsome strangers in a cheap novel. She was coming to learn it was not a lifestyle to be fetishised. The sorceress began to experience pangs of guilt for ever having done so.

“It does,” Valker said in agreement and without judgement. He was all too aware of how different his life and that of his fellows was compared to that of almost everyone else. It was only career soldiers that Valker had ever felt any sort of kinship with, but even they did not understand what it was like to test yourself against something inhuman time and time again. “But I have no plans for dying just yet. Witchers can live for a long time if we’re cautious and clever.” He looked back at the cave and wondered where Domren had failed. With a sigh, Valker turned back to Avery and gestured towards the amulet. “Another sorceress, you said?”

She stood and nodded, “perhaps another can decipher the meaning. Someone not part of this, but that’s a last resort. Not until I’ve tried everything anyway.” Avery tried to smile, the mood had been on the heavy side for a little too long, and she took her place in front of the horses, touching the underside of each mare’s chin. “I know some still, but I’d rather be cautious - I’m well aware of the reputation we have for being, well…” manipulative, intrusive, self-seeking… It didn’t need to be said, and she’d rather not have those words in her mouth around Valker - even if she had been guilty of many of the qualities. “Oh, and yes - I hope that you have many more years in you… So keep being clever.” The whimsical way in which she said it, and the spark that appeared in her eyes as she stole a look at him was almost flirtatious, but she turned away shortly after, to continue fussing over the horses.

That was unexpected enough to draw an unseen smile from Valker, whose eyes lingered on Avery while she busied herself with their mounts. He found Avery to be a confusing and often contradictory woman. For some reason, it didn’t bother him. Something told him that if he simply gave it time, she would… what, exactly? Come around to him? Open up to him? Something like that. Valker cleared his throat and swung himself in the saddle. “Where to? Back to the inn?” he asked. The witcher did not relish the idea of returning to Blackbough, where they would undoubtedly be seen as unwelcome troublemakers.

“I think that the trail is cold for me now… I don’t suppose I have need to stay in Velen any further, so yes - I have to collect my things.” The brunette wasn’t entirely sure of where her path was to take her next, and she almost hoped that Valker might ask her to accompany him for at least a little longer. “What are you going to do now?” She asked curiously while mounting the black mare. An innocent question that she hoped would allow her a glimpse into his plans - to gauge if there was room for her there. Upon noticing she was hoping for that, she cleared her throat and took hold of the reigns of the horse, as if by performing a mundane action she could rattle those thoughts and ideas free.

Valker stared at her with one raised eyebrow. “I’m coming with you, of course.”

Avery laughed a little louder than she should have - but she could not work out whether his answer was facetious, or if he was just being deliberately obtuse about it. She felt more awkward now and so pushed forwards back over the path, avoiding eye contact. “Come on then,” she said laconically.

There she was again, being confusing. “I’m perfectly serious, Valker declared and irritably urged his horse to follow her. “Once you’ve collected your things we can leave this swamp behind, rightfully so, and go elsewhere for you to do your magic… stuff... ” He rolled his eyes at himself and started over. “The point is that I’m not going anywhere until we’ve learned what happened and I have Domren’s medallion back.”

Now she felt even more awkward, and it was just as well that she was riding in front of him, so he didn’t have to see the pained grimace on her face when she realised her own mistake. She almost didn’t know how to respond. “I just assumed you would continue on elsewhere, I didn’t think you’d want to wait for me to do my magic stuff...” Even just speaking the truth made her feel worse, and she brought her palm up to her face, placing it over one eye and cheek while she sighed. “My mistake…” she muttered under breath. “With my things at the inn, I should manage to work it out… I won’t keep you from finding the medallion…” Oh God shut up! She told herself, not able to decipher how she’d gotten here.

“I have nothing better to do,” Valker said without thinking. “I mean -- there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. I could use a break,” he corrected himself and groaned inwardly. It seemed both of them were entirely unsure of what to expect from the other. “And I’m curious to see what you’re going to do, and where you’re staying these days.”

Moving the conversation on seemed preferable to sidestepping perplexing questions and interactions. The night before had left her so… Unsure of Valker, or at least of her real feelings. “Lyria,” she answered. “I’ve been staying in Lyria. I have been for quite a while actually, it’s nice there. It’s warm, and not wet… No swamps or gaseous marshes in sight...” That was better. She found her words again, and the fervent blush began to leave her face. “I actually advise a Lady now, believe it or not,” she let out a soft chuckle, and held her head higher, letting the mare pick up speed as the path began to open up.

“That must be an improvement over Reeve,” Valker quipped, He, too, was pleased that they seemed to have moved past that bizarre moment. “I haven’t been to Lyria in ages. Let us be off.”

Some time later,
Lyria

Autumn, sometime in the 13th century

It was probably jarring to anyone unattuned to the arcane, to be instantly transported from a small peasant town to the scenic meadows of Lyria in as short a space of time as Valker and Avery had been. The two places were as different as fire and ice. While Blackbough had been bitten by the chill of autumn, Lyria was holding on to warmth. Flowers were blooming, the grass was incredibly green, and the path was practically made of gold. It was almost to be an assault on the senses after having them dulled by Velen and the severe grey that seemed to be its entire atmosphere.

The sky was visible, a bright blue with nary a cloud in sight. Perhaps it felt extra beautiful having just stepped through the portal. Out of the frying pan and onto a rug by a hearthfire… At least that was how Avery felt, and her expression and entire energy had changed exponentially. She was even dressed as a Lyrian - or more accurately, as herself. An infamously revealing shirt had replaced her huntress gear. Soft silks adorned her curves now - hugging and pinching in exactly the right places. Of course, such a shirt was tucked tightly into her bottoms - high waisted and striped with silver thread. Painted onto the contours of her hips and thighs. Scandalous, really. But she liked to make an entrance. This was her domain, and she was relishing at the thought of dragging Valker through it, as evidenced by the devilish smirk she gave him before clicking her tongue again to have Midnight gallop over the empty path.

As she crested the hill that she brought them on to, the city came into view. It’s long white wall was like a line of bright white chalk - topped with the homely orange sloping rooftops and the welcoming peaks of the towers around the defenses. Beyond that, Lyria’s buildings were all lined up, squashed together in blocks. She could even make out the town square and the clock tower from her point. It was entirely picturesque and beautiful. So very unlike Velen and Blackbough. She was home.

“Fucking hell,” Valker hissed to himself as the world changed and the sun blasted its light across the painfully vibrant landscape. He squinted and blinked repeatedly to get his eyes to adjust and fell silent at the sight of Lyria in the distance; a welcome one indeed. Turning to Avery, he was once again struck mute, his gaze incorrigibly traveling up and down her body and her curves. Her new clothes were even more salacious than what he remembered from their encounters in Kraeg’s Hill and Novigrad. After their almost-moment of intimacy the night before her body was practically a black hole for his eyes, drawing them in with no chance of escape. The way she moved as her horse galloped beneath her did absolutely nothing to alleviate that and Valker followed closely behind her, blind to the world around them.

“Lady Vexx, you’ve returned,” announced one of the guardsmen as they approached the gates and she slowed down, giving him a friendly bow of her head. “He’s with me,” she replied nodding in Valker’s direction. “He’s a friend, he’ll be with me while he’s here,” she added reassuringly. The guard narrowed his eyes and glanced sidelong at his partner, who had a similarly concerned expression. “Now now, don’t you trust me and the people I bring through these walls?” she asked in an overly feminine tone, looking down at them both from her seat on the horse. “Must I fetch her to vouch for me?” That did it, they gave up any resistance there and then and allowed the two to pass through the gate.

Once they had moved out of the earshot of them, Avery addressed Valker quietly. “Sorry about that, things can sometimes be tense here, they’re wary of me. Like to throw their weight around...”

The encounter with the guards had been enough to finally drag Valker’s attention away from Avery’s shape. “That’s alright, I’m used to distrust,” he reassured her and smirked, casting his gaze across the city streets that they entered beyond the gate. Lyria was just as pleasant as he remembered and his eyes wandered from one finely dressed citizen to the next. “I quite enjoyed seeing you demonstrate your importance, actually.”

“Where we’re headed, we won’t be bothered by anyone else,” she replied as they moved through the streets, people were generally affable enough to simply make way with little protest. It was a nicer atmosphere to be in. “Sure beats Blackbough doesn’t it?” she asked, casting a glance over at him with a smile. It didn’t go unnoticed that he looked quite disheveled indeed. Out of place. It didn’t bother the sorceress, in fact she rather liked the look of him like this. The slightest streaks of dirt on his clothes and face, the way his hair had been ruffled about by the wind. He looked as much like himself as he should as she did. “You remember my cats, don’t you?” she remarked, changing the subject and looking away lest she begin to undress him with her eyes. “You’ll get to see them again soon.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. He was looking forward to some time alone with Avery, even if nothing… well, either way, he enjoyed her company. “Yes, I remember them alright,” Valker said in response to her comment about her cats and he shook his head to himself. He had no idea anymore what the one inquisitive bald cat was called, but he had found the creature hard to forget. Without thinking about it, he lifted a hand to try to style his hair back into shape a little. He could use a bath, he realized. He looked at Avery again. A bath with her would be -- stop that, he chided himself.

She chuckled at his response, she remembered that he hadn’t been too taken with them the last time. She laughed again as she remembered plucking Winifred from his box of belongings. The memory of it amused her for the rest of their ride back to her dwellings.

It was as modest and quaint looking as her last home in Kraeg’s Hill. Built in the careful style of Lyria. The bricks were straight and painted white, the roof as sloped as all the others - only with a skylight window right in the centre. With excitement she dismounted Midnight, fastening her reigns to a block by the door. She fumbled for the key, her body jittering as she swung it open only to be greeted by a slightly fatter, and older looking Lorne. His nose was peppered with greying hairs now but he’d heard his mistress and had mustered up the energy that he could to greet her. Still unable to properly meow. She plucked him up into her hand and stepped inside. No sign of the other two yet, but they were far more aloof than her youngest. “Make yourself at home!” she called out to Valker, for now, he was playing second fiddle to the adored cat in her arms who was purring away.

Just like her room in Kraeg’s Hill, her home here was littered with trinkets - perhaps more organised now and spread out due to there being more space. She still had a taste for the Ofiri style, as evidenced by the plush furnishings in vibrant shades of turquoise, magenta, and topaz yellow. Throw pillows, blankets, and rugs everywhere. At least the cats would always find somewhere comfortable to lay their heads. In the far left corner, by a window overlooking a herb garden was her desk - covered in magical tools and crystals. Strangely, a half full jar of some kind of candy too. A long bookshelf stretched the length of a wall too. Most of the offerings being fictional novels, but there was a number of shelves dedicated to magical tomes - and there was section that appeared to be the start of a new collection. The first book being one about werewolves, another about the properties of silver, and finally one about simple folklore.

It had clearly been tended while she was away. Fresh flowers in vases were spread throughout, most notable on her dressing table beside perfumes and glamyres. There was not a single speck of dust to be found. “Valker?” she called out, realising she’d already made her way through her home and kicked off her shoes without even checking that he was off his horse.

Valker followed Avery inside after a minute or so of rummaging through his saddlebags until he found the soap he was looking for. Despite everything, the witcher was quite particular when it came to certain things. In opposition through Avery’s whirlwind return he took his time and only entered the main living space after a thorough inspection of the hall. “Yes, I’m here,” he said and raised his hand like a schoolboy being called for attendance. “Do you mind if I take a bath? I don’t want to make your home dirty again,” he explained as his eyes fell on the cat in her arms. The witcher and the feline regarded each other warily.

Avery watched as he came through to the main space, offering him a smile, but taking a step back. She remembered that while Winifred had taking a liking to Valker, the other two had absolutely not. She felt the purring stop, and so placed Lorne down on the desk so he could scarper to a safe spot. “Of course… Upstairs, it’s just one room…” It occurred to her that Valker would be in her bedroom - and just as she had done seven years ago, she hoped that she hadn’t left anything peculiar lying around, certainly not any underwear. Or, maybe she did -- No… she thought, turning her face away. “There are fresh towels up there… I can get you a candle or two if you’d like,” she commented with a giggle.

Regaining her composure, she took the amulet from her satchel and held it in her hand. “But really, this may take time, so do whatever pleases you.”

That was quite an inviting statement but Valker ignored the surely unintentional implication. “Thank you,” he said and responded to her giggle with a smile. “That won’t be necessary. You should focus on that amulet.” He inclined his head respectfully and retreated from the room to make his way upstairs. The bathroom that greeted him was nice -- very nice, in fact. Avery’s touch was evident in the interior here as well and he laughed at the ornate mirror on the wall. “I’d look in the mirror often too if I looked like that,” Valker murmured to himself and began drawing the bath. He undressed while the bathtub filled up slowly and inspected the injuries he’d sustained in Velen. Avery’s enchanted needle had done good work and there was no sign of infection anywhere. Satisfied, Valker ran his hands over the towels and marveled at their softness. It had been entirely too long since he’d been among high society like this, he mused. Aside from all her other pleasant qualities, it was nice that Avery was a window into that world as well.

After the bathtub was finally filled with warm water the witcher stepped in and lowered himself into it, groaning in satisfaction as his sore, weary muscles immediately felt relief. The water steamed pleasantly and Valker took a few minutes to just relax before he would set about to scrubbing himself clean and he closed his eyes.

Silently, from behind a large vase, the hairless cat Winifred made her appearance. Having already stalked Valker up the stairs - showing no signs of excitement towards Avery as Lorne had. In the seven years she had not changed much at all. Still rebellious and aggressive, although strangely not in the presence of the witcher. With her head tilted in a calm curiosity, she padded over the floor to the tub - gracefully scaling it in a single leap - landing with a perfect balance on the rim. Her huge green orbs fixated on Valker as he lay back relaxing. She moved slowly around the rim to where he had planted an arm to dangle over the side. Her head tilted in the other direction. Her tail flickered and touched the tips of his fingers with such a softness that it could have been a feather.

Valker almost leapt out of his skin. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath and he gasped, eyes shooting open wide, hands uselessly reaching for a blade that was no longer on his back. “Fuck!” he cursed as his eyes fell on Winifred and her unwavering emerald gaze. “You scared the shit out of me, stupid cat,” he hissed. They were one of the very few creatures silent enough to be able to sneak up on a witcher and Valker certainly hadn’t expected to be ambushed here. “What do you want?”

Downstairs, while setting up her apparatus, Avery could have sworn she heard something…

Meanwhile upstairs, while Valker had almost leapt out of his skin, Winifred sat as steady as a rock in hers. Just watching him. She knew that he'd been startled and so offered a light chirp in apology but remained where she was. Only now, she delicately and deliberately raised a front leg and began to lick her paw. Her tail continued to flicker, and she was not going to move.

“Hmph.” The witcher sank back and did his best to relax again, but the sound of the cat licking her paw was an incessant annoyance in his ear and he could feel the cat’s gaze on him still. He stared back. The cat stared back. Neither of them moved. “How am I supposed to relax with you sitting there?” Valker asked Winifred. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare at strangers when they’re naked?”

A thought occurred to him. What if Avery was actually puppeteering the cat and using her as a second pair of eyes? What if that’s how she was secretly spying on him precisely because he was naked? Valker narrowed his eyes. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about Winifred and his medallion wasn’t humming. Unlikely. Valker raised a wet hand and flicked it in Winifred’s direction, splashing the cat with droplets. “Shoo.”

Sat in her chair, Avery couldn't help but think of Valker in the bath. The hot bath. Naked. Surrounded by steam. In the bath. The amulet was in one hand, and her other hand was resting on her thigh. As her thoughts continued to distract her from her task, the fingers of that hand began to stroke backwards and forwards against the fabric of her trousers…

The water splashed Winifred, and that she did not enjoy. As much as it pained her to do so, she gave a defensive hiss at the witcher and plopped down back to the floor again, strutting away from the tub to leave him to his business. Maybe later he would appreciate her company.

“Another monster defeated,” Valker hummed to himself and allowed himself a smile at his own joke. With Winifred having left his side, he closed his eyes again and sank into the water until his ears and his face were only just above the surface. “I really needed this…”

The amulet was truly nothing remarkable - a simple golden pendant in the shape of a sun. It was giving no magical energy. Not that it mattered right now, the sorceress felt too hot to really take it in. The sudden change in climate? She placed it down into a clamp and began to tighten it so that it could be held in place. Slowly she turned it as her fingers gently stroked the handle from top to bottom, while with her other hand she continued to grasp at her thigh. She thought of Valker again and even glanced upwards to where she knew the tub sat. “Oh God…” she whispered and let go of the brass to fan herself with her hand.

Now that Winifred had left him alone, Valker found his mind wandering -- but not very far, as it immediately turned to Avery and the fresh memory of her bouncing up and down in the saddle. The form-fitting silk had left little to the imagination. The water was hot, no doubt about it, but Valker felt another type of heat in his body. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t sure where exactly sitting in someone’s bathroom while fantasizing about them ranked on the rudeness scale, but he was confident it was fairly high up. That said, it wasn’t really his fault. Avery had wilfully transmogrified her outfit into something so provocative. This was a game like she liked to play, evidently. “Two can play that game,” he grumbled to himself and sat up straight, reaching for the soap. His mind continued to wander over Avery’s curves while he cleaned himself and he had to remind himself of what he was doing several times.

Under the table, she was bouncing her foot on her heel, her leg shaking with it. She couldn’t block the thoughts of him from her mind - coupled with the events of the night before… The way that he’d touched her, how he’d almost... She’d known him for seven years now, could he be? She released her hand from her thigh, a sensation of relief flooding over her as it became apparent how hard she had been gripping. The thought of him naked upstairs was enjoyable, but frustrating. It was too frustrating and she had work to do. She reached for the candy jar and removed a square of chocolate and brought it to her lips quickly. Eating something would help, eating more of that same something would keep helping - and so she continued to eat the chocolates one by one. She upbraided herself internally for it, and began wondering if he’d be quite so interested by her if he learned that she had never been fully intimate. That was enough to quell it for now, and so she fell back into the work.

After Valker was finished scrubbing himself, he stepped out of the bath and dried himself off with one of the towels… but not too thoroughly. A faint glistening remained on his dewy skin and he wrapped the towel around himself, adjusting its height until it was just so, covering anything inappropriate but revealing the chiseled shape of his abdomen and hips. He scooped up his clothes and belongings from the ground and, with them in his arms, made his way back downstairs. Valker descended down the steps as quietly as he could and slipped into the main space silently. Avery was at her desk, presumably hard at work, though it looked more like she was stuffing herself with chocolate at the moment. The witcher smirked and placed his stuff on the couch before he spoke up. “Any progress?”

That gave her a start, and she jumped in her seat before turning around to face him. “Oh…” she said in a girlish sigh, her posture relaxing as the very sight of him like… that. It almost caused her to melt in the seat. Her eyebrows raised as her eyes were drawn to the outlines created by the towel, her hand gripped the brass handle of the clamp again. “I…” she began uselessly before painfully tearing her eyes from -- and following his body up to his eyes. Those eyes. “I, no… not yet. I don’t think it’s magical. I gave it a good rub and nothing happened.” Avery turned away and looked at the amulet, as he could no longer see her face, her lips formed a small circle and she near silently exhaled an aroused and shuddered sigh. The ‘climate change’ taking over again.

A childish sense of victory almost made Valker break out into a proper laugh at seeing Avery’s reaction to his current state of dress, but he maintained his composure and resisted the urge to say “Now you know what that feels like.” That sensation was short-lived as he realized that Avery was looking as fiendishly attractive as before and he was not dressed to hide his reaction to that, should his body be rebellious and have a mind of its own. Like most men, it often did. “Ah, well, keep at it,” he said and tore his gaze away to look at the bookshelf. He pretended to peruse the selection while his mind pictured the deep cold of Skellige’s winters.

She was thankful immediately that he got to occupying himself - she could hear him shuffling around, probably looking at things. He had always been so interested in her, her powers, her life… Maybe she could leave him to get some answers as she worked. The thought amused her, all of her strange bits and bobs could barely tell him the story of her life but maybe he’d make one up in his mind. She let go of the clamp now and let her hand hover over the amulet, a magical energy pulsating from her against it. Nothing was happening, but even just attuning herself to whatever energy it did have might help. She closed her eyes meditatively as she focused on it. “There is… probably some food if you’re hungry…” she said to him as she continued with what she was doing. “Just… make yourself at home… I don’t know how long this will take…”

That seemed like a good idea. As Valker pretended to look at the books he eventually noticed that they were divided into sections and that the last section, the new collection, seemed to be about topics related to a witcher’s life and enemies. That made him smile. He’d really made an impression on her. It strengthened his conviction that there might be something there, something real, with her, if he managed to maintain his patience. Valker cleared his throat and checked to see if Avery was looking at him -- she wasn’t -- before he gathered his belongings and scampered off to the kitchen, where the first thing he did was getting dressed again, feeling rather sheepish about the whole thing. He opened one of the kitchen windows and let the breeze cool him down a little. Satisfied, Valker rummaged around until he found a loaf of bread and a jar of jam that looked good to eat.

Now armed with something to munch on, Valker returned to the living room and pottered about some more. The amount of fantasy novels did not escape his notice. Nothing wrong with a little light reading, he knew, but it was still amusing to picture Avery being swept up by the romance books like a young girl. Perhaps that was why she’d taken a liking to him in the first place. He thought back to their conversation in the swamp earlier that day and remembered the look on her face when she spoke of death. For a sorceress, there was an innocence and naivety about her that surprised him. Or at least, there had been. Maybe her encounters with him had been enough to dispel those qualities. He picked up one of the books, intrigued and amused by the painting on the cover that depicted a very sculpted man and a very voluptuous woman in an almost comically exaggerated embrace, and leafed through it. His eyes fell on several words immediately and he then noticed how well-worn the pages were. “My, my,” he mouthed to himself, stealing a glance at Avery to make sure she hadn’t heard him. Now he knew where she got the ideas for her outfits from. It was cute, but it was also… frustrating. If she was so into these sorts of stories, he didn’t fully understand why she’d rebuked him the night before. Characters in these novels engaged in all manner of extracurricular activities while they went about their adventurers. What had given the Avery the idea that it would risk their professional relationship? He wasn’t going to find out by reading more of the novel so he put it back down and made himself comfortable on the couch instead while he finished his toast.

The sorceress was well into her work now - but nothing had really come up, even from feeling her way over the item with magic. She tapped her fingers over the desk and opened her eyes again, staring out into the garden, and at some herbs that were boxed in the planter on the sill. Maybe the answer was something alchemical? The smoke of a herb could perhaps crack the code. She stood up from her seat, forgetting that she had company having been so focussed on her mission. Avery then reached across the desk to open the window, bending across to flip the latch. After a few attempts and wiggles it came loose and she managed to push the pane open. She pulled back to grab a small knife from her desk and resume her position of leaning across the polished walnut surface so that she could take cuttings from the plants in the window. She soon also realised that the soft and cooling breeze was very pleasant, it seemed to carry through the delightful scents of Lyria, unlike Velen which just smelled rather a lot like sulphur. The comparison elicited a quiet chuckle as she worked.

The thought to let her know that he was still there crossed his mind but Valker quickly decided against it, and watched in silence as Avery bent over and stretched herself out to reach into the garden. He felt his hands ball into fists and he had to work to stop himself from breathing in too fast, like a bull seeing red. She was absurdly sexy. Valker bit his lip and, at a loss for what to do with himself, crossed his arms. He’d always considered her attractive, of course, but it was like she’d only become even more beautiful and voluptuous over the course of the past seven years. Had he ever felt so strongly about a woman? He tried to look away and distract himself by thinking back on the women he’d been with but Valker didn’t last more than a few seconds before he inadvertently turned his head back to look at Avery’s shapely buttocks, the arch of her back, the silk of her revealing shirt brushing against her breasts while she cut the plants…

Satisfied with the cuttings, she removed herself from the desk and dropped back into her seat with a content sigh - entirely unaware of the effect such a simple thing had on Valker. She cleared her throat and reached for another chocolate. She began arranging the cuttings, trimming away at any of the excess leaves, and fibres of the stalk. The room was completely silent save for the trimming and clipping at the desk, and the occasional sound of a cat moving around somewhere.

Finally, she tied the bunch off with a short piece of twine - turning it in front of her face to check that it was correctly bound. This was hardly magic, really. It was more the work of Druids to use nature like this. But the method of burning the herbs was said to cleanse energies. It was worth a try, anything was worth a try. Avery ran a finger over the top of the bunch, letting a flame flicker. She had half expected the thing to catch fire completely but to her surprise it just began to smoke. A thin wisp began to pour from the herbs - the smell strong, but not obnoxious or nauseating. It just smelled… Clean.

The entire process must have taken fifteen minutes, swirling the herbs over the apparatus and the clamp that was housing the amulet. Feeling suitable optimistic about it now, Avery placed her hand once more on the amulet - expecting to feel that something was different, but there was nothing. It felt like the last straw and she groaned at first, a groan that turned her face to a scowl as she drooped over the desk with her hands running through her hair in frustration. “Damnit…” she muttered quietly.

“Damnit!” she spoke louder, voice laced with irritation.

Before he himself even really knew what he was doing, Valker had gotten to his feet, walked over to where Avery was sitting and placed an arm around her shoulders while he sank down on his haunches next to her. “Hey,” he said and gave her upper arm a squeeze. “It'll be alright. How can I help?”

How could she possibly stay annoyed at the amulet, when Valker was beside her? His eyes were so soft and he felt relaxed. The arm he’d placed around her was relaxed. When he was this close, it did not go unnoticed how good he smelled. “I just need to take a break. Or find another angle. I don’t know…” She looked at him, and then back to the amulet a few times. “It’s been a while since I’ve had such a challenging task…” Whether it was still the feeling of the anger at the amulet, or something else, she could feel her heart beating faster.

Valker leaned in and kissed her. He knew she didn't want to ruin their working together, or whatever reasons she had, so he kept it at that. “There,” he said and smiled. “That ought to refresh your system.” It was only then that the reality of what he'd just done set in and his expression quickly turned sheepish. Should he pull his arm back? He wasn't sure. With bated breath, he waited to see how she would react.

All she could do was stay silent in the shock of the moment. There was a tension between them now, and he had taken her by surprise, whatever she had been thinking before that had gone. What amulet? Velen? Blackbough... She slowly blinked - knowing she had to do something, anything. Or else he was going to… To what? Leave? She didn’t want that. She didn’t want it at all and so she allowed something else to act for her. Her hands found their way to his shirt which she grabbed at - to pull him back to her. This time, it was Avery who kissed him.

An immense wave of relief washed over Valker and he relished the kiss she returned with every fiber of his being as seven years of tension was resolved in an instant. It felt like his heart was going to burst. He'd never felt an emotion like this before -- how could he? He was a witcher. Valker pushed the thought aside and placed cupped her face with both of his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Avery,” he stammered when their kiss finally broke. “I know what you said, but I -- I needed you to know how I feel.”

That familiar tingle… It brought a smile to her face and eyes. Or had it been the kiss? Or what he said? She wasn’t sure, she only knew one truth in the moment. “I feel… Show me again… I--” Avery decided not to wait for him, especially since words were not coming to her. She took the opportunity to lead the way by kissing him again. A feeling of regret washed over her for not having kissed him last night, and at the banquet. She wanted to have those kisses now. As she pulled back from the kiss again, she bit her lip. “Sorry I… Is that too much?”

The look on her face was both adorable and irresistible. “Not at all,” Valker purred. He placed one arm around her waist and pulled her forward until she was sitting on the edge of the chair. Their bodies touched as Valker pulled her into a proper embrace and he kissed her again, more passionately this time. She'd wanted him to show her again, he was going to let her feel it too.

She was taken over by a delightful feeling of ecstacy at the sensation of Valker’s tongue on her lips - she gave in to it and her mouth opened while her own hands found the back of his neck. She let her tongue brush over his and it was then that she felt how agonising it had been to have held herself back for so long from intimacy with him. There was an electrifying feeling to being this close to him. “I should have done this years ago,” she mumbled against his lips in between breaths, using a deliberate repetition of his own words.

Valker smiled at that. “But now we have,” he said and pulled her even closer against him, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, fingers trailing up her spine. His tongue found hers again but slowly this time, savoring every second. She was a delight in every sense; her mouth tasted of chocolate and she smelled of flowers. He wanted to move his hands and his tongue, to feel and taste every part of her, but she had been decidedly not ready the night before. He pulled back from the kiss and the hand that had been on her cheek brushed down against her collarbone, his fingers struggling against the temptation to go lower. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his other hand sliding down to her lower back.

She'd kissed men before. In fact she'd kissed a lot of men, and yet with Valker - it was like any past experience was forgotten. This was different, he was intense, the magic that ran through him amplified her senses and so for Avery, this was a first kiss. She was so close to him, she had felt his heartbeat and the vibrations of his medallion on her skin. The sorceress knew he was holding back, last night had made him cautious… But his fingers on her bare skin, the way they trailed there… She bit her lip, feeling a fire within her. A deep longing for more of him. “It's very okay…” she whispered, closing her eyes to lean in to his lips again. Everything he was doing was so soft and gentle, but she knew that he was holding back from his real desires.

Those whispered words were like music to his ears. The witcher wrapped his arms around her and lifted Avery up with great strength, continuing their slow, deep kiss while he did so. He carried her to the beautiful Ofieri sofa and sat them both down on it -- now they had much more room to work with than on that chair by the desk. He looked her deep in the eyes and saw that she wanted him, her burning desire for more of him… perhaps even all of him. One hand moved down from her lower back and onto her buttocks, grasping at the flesh through the fabric of her pants with splayed fingers, while the other slipped into her shirt and cupped one of her breasts, gently squeezing and gripping, his thumb drawing circles on her nipple. Feverish heat burned in his mind and his body and his kissing intensified, his whole body moving against hers with the motions of his tongue.

It felt so special to be here with him, alone. It wasn't like Blackbough, the room next to the stables - empty and bare of anything luxurious. But here she was home. She grabbed at his shirt again, to pull him down with her as she let herself fall slowly back into the sofa. The searing pleasure she felt as his fingers caressed her breast was euphoric and she arched her back against him in response, that yes, this really was more than okay. “Valker…” She moaned out at him between their kisses, feeling something of an unfamiliar ache in her loins as she continued to become aroused by him.

While their passionate embrace continued, Winifred made her way across the room and towards Avery's desk. Not before stopping to watch her mistress and her witcher engage in whatever it was they were doing. She clambered up and hissed at the amulet and began wildly swatting at it - powerfully enough to send it flying with the apparatus, alongside numerous crystals from the desk and to the floor with an almighty crash. After that, she simply sat on the edge and nonchalantly raised her paw again, as if to make out that she'd simply been cleaning herself the whole time.

Valker leapt to his feet and cursed up a storm at the sight of Winifred licking her paw besides the mess on the floor. That blasted cat had startled him today more than anything else had in the past year combined. He looked back at Avery after the fact, suddenly aware of the vulgar tirade he’d just spewed. “Sorry about that,” he breathed and rolled his shoulders. “I don’t take well to surprises. I didn’t mean what I said, I’m sure she’s a very nice cat…”

He trailed off as his eyes fell on the amulet. It had split open and revealed something inside of it -- something silver and shiny. “What the hell?” he said and knelt down to pick up the piece of metal.

It looked like a piece of a witcher’s medallion. Not of his own School, Valker realized immediately, but the School of the Bear. What were the odds of two witchers that had nothing to do with each other being involved in the same mystery? Valker could only assume that the witcher that this medallion had belonged to was also dead. Parting willingly with one’s medallion was unthinkable. He returned to the sofa and sat down next to Avery, all thoughts of passion momentarily forgotten. “Look at this,” he said and held the piece up for her to inspect.

As the sorceress sat up, she tucked her feet underneath herself and looked at the treasure from within the medallion. Unlike Valker she could not recognise what it was, but it did indeed seem to be familiar to him. She could tell based on the way his features changed. Suddenly, Avery shot an annoyed glance at the cat on the desk before turning back to the witcher.

Carefully she took it between her own fingers, the way metal felt was similar to his own medallion and at that she gave him a knowing look, “did this belong to your brother?” she asked quietly, handing it back to him. Her mind already working at what she could possibly do with the piece to gauge any information.

“No,” Valker said immediately. “Look at the design. It’s the lower half of the face of a bear. This belonged to a witcher from a different School. So either Urszula has turned killing witchers into a hobby, or she stole this from the one who did… maybe it came after her and killed Domren. I wonder why he was with her?” He was thinking out loud now and ran a hand through his hair. “Is there anything you can learn from this?”

“She left it there for me to find… She knows that I am,” Avery paused and looked into Valker’s eyes, away from the medallion, “she knows that I am acquainted with a Witcher. I think this is why she had me follow a trail to Velen.” This all seemed a lot like the coincidences that Valker had been considering, and she began to feel bad about having let momentary passion take over what was clearly an important task given to her by the mentor.

“As for what I can learn. I can use aeromancy to find out any information, that will be much easier than trying to solve the mystery of the necklace…” She sighed, and if Valker hadn’t been in such a serious mood all of a sudden she may have allowed herself to laugh at the ridiculousness of it just being a breakable outer shell. “It’s not too dangerous of a spell, whatever happened to the witcher who wore that, I can show it to you.”

There was a split second’s moment of hesitation as Valker’s eyes fell on Avery’s shirt, still loose from where his hand had been, that offered a tantalizing view of her cleavage. If the cat had waited just a little while longer with solving the puzzle for them, who knew what would have happened? But Domren was dead, they had a new clue, now really wasn’t the time for that sort of thing anymore. Later.

“Yes, please,” the witcher said and leaned forwards in his seat, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, eager to see what Avery would do -- and to distract himself from missed opportunities.

With the necklace fragment in her hand, she began to utter her incantation under her breath. It wasn’t a particularly taxing or difficult spell, and within moments it appeared to be working. The piece levitated from her hand, and a gust formed around it that moved it away from the two as they sat. Her hands began to glow with a pale, otherworldly green and the movements that her hands made was like those made when unfurling a scroll. Before their eyes, a portal opened around the floating jaw of the bear. It was different to a portal, in that it appeared more as a floating image - a window into a moment past.

As Avery focussed her words, the picture became clearer for them both to see, and as sure as she had said there would be, there was a masculine figure in the centre of what appeared to be another cave, the walls were highlighted and streaked with blue and violet - the rocks were coated in moss, and there was a body of water running across the ground. The witcher in the picture must have been wading knee deep through it.

“Do you see?” She asked, now that the spell was in effect. The sorceress was unable to remove her eyes from the scene as it played out, slower than it would have in reality so that they could take in every detail of the event. So far, just a witcher with his Bear Medallion wading through water in a cavern.

Valker nodded and narrowed his eyes at the mirage, trying to identify the species of moss that grew on the rocks in an attempt to divine anything concrete from the image. It was hopeless -- this cave could have been most anywhere. One of his feet began to tap on the floor while they waited for something to happen.

He was short of height, but very muscular. His hair was clipped short, and unlike Valker he had no beard but his face was scarred. She began to feel a ringing in her ears, just faintly but enough to be noticeable. It did not deter her from looking deeper, pushing further with her spell. Her hands moved again and brought out more of the image, gave clarity to what had been there.

The face of the witcher began to turn, frame by frame as something clearly appeared in his vision. Bit by bit his eyebrows raised and eyes widened, it didn’t take too long for his lips to part into an open-mouthed scowl - as if he was terrified but wanted to appear as menacing as a witcher should. Whatever he was looking at, the shock on his face indicated he had never seen such a thing before. Avery was desperate to know what he was looking at, and only she had the power to do so - Valker was simply an observer of the mirage. It was her connection to it that made it materialise, he could not interact as she could.

She whispered more of the incantation, but nothing happened and the moment of the Witcher’s death continued to play out until finally she caught a glimpse on the surface of the water of a shadowed figure growing larger and larger. A reflection, it was not too dissimilar to the shape and form of the werewolf that she and Valker had hunted down years ago. Could it have been a werewolf that killed Domren? Surely not. They were not common creatures, but she could not think of a reason that a witcher would not recognise one.

The ringing in her ears grew louder to the point of distraction, and the mirage flickered in front of them, breaking up and knitting itself back together. She looked closer at the reflection of the beast on the water's surface, instinctively she reached for Valker’s hand and wrapped hers around it, squeezing him. “There,” she said, although her voice was pained. “The water, look,” the woman continued as she struggled with the way the spell was beginning to hurt her. It was the same feeling she’d had when she’d tried to push back the wraiths. She did not tear her eyes away, soon there would be nothing left to see and the scene would end, but they were in luck. Two bright green orbs flashed open, the creatures eyes… Such big eyes, so bright, and harbouring such a burning rage.

Then it happened. It was when she was studying the eyes that they moved, the stare meeting hers abruptly. This was… Unheard of. How could it be possible for any kind of being to detect her via aeromancy. It was impossible, and yet the creature was indeed looking at her and just like that the pain in her head grew until she could not take it anymore. It felt as though her brain was melting, as though knives were being thrust into her. Sharp, jabbing pains that she recognised immediately as an incredibly potent blocking response to magic of the mind. She had been blocked in the past, but it was a simple buzz… This was agony. Blood began to stream from her nose and she shut her eyes tightly so as not to have to look at the image any longer. Her hands trembled, as the blood continued pouring from her nose to her chin and down her front. “M-move the piece,” she pleaded, unable to look at Valker, retreating into herself.

“Shit,” Valker whispered at the sight of blood and his eyes went wide. So much for a harmless spell. He, too, had been intently fixed on the shadow-shape reflected in the water and its unnaturally bright gaze and it wasn’t until Avery had said anything that he had noticed her distress and injury. What the hell was going on?

The witcher did as he was asked and snatched the piece of the medallion out of the air and threw it across the room with enough force to shatter a small jar on Avery’s desk. He paid it no mind and instead turned to Avery, grabbing her shoulders with both of his hands, his normally stoic expression alive with concern. “Are you alright now? Can you stem the bleeding? Do I need to fetch a healer?” Valker had enough means with which he could heal himself but nothing that was suitable for the unmutated bodies of others.

As the spell ended, the pain quickly began to subside and she took in several deep breaths in an attempt to steady herself, to bring her back from her panicked state. She could tell that the bleeding had stopped too. The presence was gone. For a while she could not speak and simply dabbed at her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, finally meeting Valker’s gaze - the distress across his face for her strangely helped her to settle, she wasn’t alone after all. “How could it reach me…?” She asked desperately, eyes flitting around the room to ensure it hadn’t snuck out, it seemed that anything was possible. “It looked at me,” she breathed out in disbelief.

"That confirms that it's not just a monster, at least," Valker said and leaned in a little closer to inspect Avery's pupils. He motioned for her to follow his finger with her gaze. Satisfied that she didn't have any initial symptoms of brain damage, he sat back and rubbed his chin. "Something versed in magic. A shadow only reflected in water… a demon of some kind, perhaps. Their presence in our world is so rare that it didn't cross my mind before."

Valker stared at Avery for a bit. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

It took her a moment to answer, to truly come back to herself after the shock, but she knew that the threat had gone for now. “Yes.” She tried to smile at him, realising then that she was still bloodied and it probably looked rather awful. Avery stood up, her legs wobbling just a little as she teetered over to the desk, facing away from the witcher as she gathered what magic she could to clean it away. “Strong mages can block spells of the mind to a similar effect… Not to such a vicious degree but that's all it was. Whatever we're dealing with knew that we would come looking… This is incredibly dark magic, Valker. It scares me,” she admitted, a forlorn expression on her now clean face. She turned back to him with worry in her eyes. “What do you want to do now?”

That question would have elicited an entirely different response just ten minutes ago, but the look on Avery's face and the sight of her wobbling on her legs made it clear to Valker that she needed to rest. "The spell weakened you," he said. "You should recover. I haven't tangled with demons before so I'm going to learn what I can. Lyria has at least one temple and an academy, from what I remember. I'll start there."

Valker also got to his feet and gathered his belongings. He paused once his swords were on his back again, stepped up to Avery and kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster, cupping her head with one hand. "Take it easy, alright?" he whispered.

She felt a relief when he kissed her, but a sense of anxiety knowing he would leave her. Damn it, this was exactly what she'd wanted to avoid - but, she couldn't deny that it was nice. She placed her fingers on the place where his lips had been and smiled, “of course I will.” Avery let her hands fall to her sides and she leaned back against the desk, “be careful — if anyone troubles you then tell them you’re my guest. Avoid the guards if you can,” her voice fell sheepish at the mention of them, “they’re not my biggest fans.” She tried to laugh it off, but he’d already witnessed their apprehension earlier. “I’ll be here, don’t go disappearing if you find the answers…”

---

Dusk had already fallen over Lyria by the time Valker returned from his quest. He carried a number of scrolls in his arms, dutifully copied for him by the scribes of the academy’s library from an old tome about the various supernatural threats of the world. It was a book that Valker vaguely remembered from his own education at Gwynban but it would be good to refresh his memory, in particular because he had paid no mind to the passages about demons before. The witcher didn’t announce his return and simply entered the house and returned to the living room, deep in thought and his face set in its usual scowl. He placed the scrolls on the desk and it was only then that he thought to look around for Avery.

“I’m back,” he said, raising his voice so that it would travel throughout the house.

She had been in a state of half-sleep, submerged from the neck down in a bath of her own when his voice rang out. Her eyes opened with a start, the water significantly less hot than it had been when she had entered, the room was still steamed up nonetheless. The fragrance of rose and lychee practically humming in the bathroom. She quickly got herself out, a swift motion of her hand to dry herself off, and a teal and orange robe materialised to cover her form. Her hair was still damp and she ran a hand through it to pull it atop her head, fastening it in place with a clip.

All three of the cats had joined her in the makeshift sauna and were just as happily relaxed and sprawled out as she had been. Little evidence of her headache remained. She made her way down the stairs with as much of a spring in her step as she could. “Fruitful trip out I hope?” she quizzed with a smile, her voice more subdued than usual but sweet all the same.

“I think so,” Valker said while he unfurled the scrolls and placed paperweights on them. He looked up at Avery and nodded in approval at the sight of her in a robe and with her damp hair in a bun. “You look relaxed. Good. Come, see for yourself.”

The sorceress stepped beside him, tipping her head to the side to gaze down at the scrolls - they were covered in text. In very small text. So small that she had to lean closer to the parchment to make out the neat words. She squinted to read it, releasing a long sigh as she did so. “Demons…” she said aloud, as she made note of the repetition of that word in particular. “Demons?” she repeated as a question and looked up towards Valker. “Makes sense in a way… No run of the mill monster could, well...”

Valker nodded. “It’s a possibility. There aren’t a lot of options when it comes to entities that can control wraiths, kill witchers and resist magic. They’re poorly understood and rarely seen in our world. The author talks about some methods he’s heard about, but not in great detail, to bind a demon to your will and subsequently banish it. And look at this,” he explained and pointed towards one of the scrolls. “Turns out there used to be a witcher school, the School of the Moth, that were specialists in demonology. The bad news is that they’re all dead and the school was disbanded.” His face was grim and he tapped a finger on the parchment. “I’m not sure what we’re getting ourselves into, to be honest.”

“Nor I, but that thing has to be stopped…” she replied, bringing her thumb to her lips while she thought on what Valker had explained to her. A disbanded witcher school was certainly cause for curiosity and she paced across the living room floor, deep in thought on it. “A witcher school, binding, demons…” Even just putting something of a word to the culprit of the witcher murders made her temples ache, and Avery wondered if she was missing something. Had this demon tried to contact her during the aeromancy? A shiver ran down her spine. It was powerful, and that alone scared her. “Do you have any idea of how to fight one? How can I help?” She turned back to face him, staring into his eyes that had a pleasant glow about them in the candlelight, despite his austere expression. “Do you think that we can fight it?”

“I don’t know,” the witcher admitted. Overconfidence was considered a severe sin in their line of work and Valker had no qualms about acknowledging the gaps in his knowledge. “Demons aren’t like the other monsters that crossed over into our world during the Conjunction of the Spheres. It’s not so much a matter of fighting them as it is a matter of controlling them, according to this book. Take away their powers with magic and you can banish them from this plane. That, I’m sure, you can help with,” he added and nodded, as if to empower his own words. “If any two people can defeat a demon, a witcher and a sorceress have to be it.”

“We both saw what it did to the witcher — and then to me…” Her voice tapered off and she brought her arms around herself. “I don’t doubt you’re right - but… I want us to be careful, Valker.” Avery began to pace the floor again, heading to the long shelf of books, her finger ran across the spines as she moved. She had books on monsters, sure, but nothing on demons. “We can fight it, we could probably harm it but,” she paused and brought her thumb to her lips and closed her eyes. “We have to accept that we might not be ready.” The sorceress already knew that Valker might not like the implication of what she was saying. This demon was targeting witcher’s, after all. “Controlling them - controlling it would require very strong magic, very strong...”

He sighed. “That may be, but it knows you exist now. It might even know where you are. We can’t stay here,” Valker said and crossed his arms, thinking. His brow furrowed even deeper and he ran his fingers through his beard. “There is only one place where I can guarantee your safety. It’s just… well... “

He had caught her attention with whatever it was he was about to say. Her head tipped to the side and her eyes flashed open. “Where?” She asked, her tone brittle at the suggestion of the demon knowing her whereabouts.

“Gwynban,” Valker said, visibly feeling awkward about the whole thing. “It’s our fortress. Our home. I’ve never brought an outsider before.” He cleared his throat and laughed. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I bring you,” he admitted and then immediately realized how that sounded. “That’s nothing personal, don’t get me wrong, and I love my brothers, but… you know what men are like.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t matter, of course. Your safety might be at stake.” Stop talking already, he hissed to himself.

For a while she didn’t say anything, and Valker needn’t have worried about the words that followed his first, she was too busy mulling it over to take them in. “I’ve been away from my work too long already…” she muttered quietly, as if it was to herself more than to him. “The Countess relies on me… Her nephew… I was teaching him, I’ve already been gone weeks—“ Avery sighed and pinched her lip between the thumb and forefinger. She remained quiet for a moment more, staring blankly at the bookshelf.

“You’re right,” she finally said, having come round to herself once more. “If we’re at this… Gwynban of yours, we can put our heads together in safety. They know I’m aloof in my work, it’s just… another way of protecting the Continent. By extension, Lyria.” She nodded and began to move around the room again, only this time with purpose. She took several items from shelves and began piling trinkets up in her arms. After all, she was still Avery. She still liked her things. Before he could say anything about it, she shot Valker a look, “these are important. For studying the magic.” Her expression was dead serious as she lifted the pillow from the sofa and stuffed it under her arm. “Wait,” she said, blinking — Valker’s words finally catching alongside her train of thought, “what men are like? What [i]are[i] they like?”

“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly. “I mean, nothing you have to worry about,” he added and turned to face the scrolls on the desk, busying himself by rolling them up to be put in his backpack when he was ready. “Gwynban is built into the peak of one of the mountains west of Kaedwen. Nobody except us knows where it is or how to get there. I take it you can’t create a portal to somewhere you haven’t been before?” Valker asked, his awkward demeanor forced to make way for pragmatism.

She cocked an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle, the realisation that she may be thinking of packing too much dawning on her. “Oh dear… Yes it’s something like that. I can get us to Kaedwen. As close as you can tell me… I’ve travelled it quite extensively. I guess it will be horseback after that…” She began to mutter incomprehensibly to herself after that, putting some of the trinkets back. “Are you going to have to blindfold me on the ride there?” She asked playfully while crouched down, scrambling through a small cupboard for something or other, hiding her sly smirk with the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Valker retorted, incredulous. After a second his eyes widened and he turned to face Avery. “Or should I?” he asked, thinking out loud. There was the distinct possibility that old Bram would skin his hide for giving away such a secret to a stranger. Then again, Avery wasn’t the first guest that Gwynban had ever housed. Just Valker’s first. “No,” he realized and went back to work. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Alright then, I’ll be sure to remember every step of the trek there to tell my colleagues,” she joked with another stifled laugh. It suddenly felt a little ridiculous to be so concerned with the things she wanted to bring with her, they wouldn’t be there long, would they? Most likely not. She rose back up to standing and glanced at Valker. “Ready when you are,” she said as she brought the bag to her side. “We’ll take the horses and be on our way.”