[i]Kraeg’s Hill, Kaedwen - Aunsellus Manor Summer, sometime in the 13th century[/i] [hr] 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 [i]bad egg[/i]. 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 [i]was not[/i] 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 [i]investigating[/i] 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 [i]lead the way.[/i] 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. [hr] 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. [hr] “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. [i]Ah! That shook him[/i] 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 [i]nice romantic[/i] 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. [i]Because of course she did.[/i] 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 [i]thing[/i] 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.” [i]Werewolf?[/i] 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. [hr] 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 [I]is[/I] 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 [i]”that was nothing.”[/i] 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 [i]whoosh[/i]. “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 [i]very[/i] 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 [i]clunk[/i] 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.