In Ciri's attempt to flee the Wild Hunt, wounded and afraid, she makes a mistake as she jumps between worlds and ends up dragging two unwilling guests. Guts and Puck find themselves in the depths of Crookback Bog, lost, confused but ultimately better than ever as they continue their hunt for Apostles in this new world.
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Statistics (27 threadmarks, 130k words)
User Total Ideas-Guy 27
Casting off Destiny
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This is a story idea that I've been tossing around in my head for about a year now, and watching the Witcher series on Netflix inspired me to write it out. I'm not certain if this will become a fully-fledged story, but if there's an overwhelming demand for it to be, then I'll do my best to fit it into my schedule.
...
"Pweh?!" Puck sputtered, feeling...something wash over him. It was like the ocean waves, it started off gently then, before he knew it, the top of a wave came crashing down and dragged him underneath the surface. His skin felt all tingly and sensitive, Guts' rough leather pouch grating on him -- usually it was the perfect place for a nap, but now it felt cramped and suffocating.
Reaching out with an arm, he struggled to feed a bone button through the hole, but once he did Puck darted out. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to low light that managed to slip through a thick canopy of leaves and branches from the forest that surrounded him. Looking around, he saw a dying campfire and a giant black lump that was Guts with Dragonslayer in hand. That was rare, he was sleeping at night.
"What was that?" Puck asked himself darting around in search of whatever that feeling was. Already, his skin was becoming less tingly, the sensation of whatever it was already fading. It lingered just long enough to help him put his finger on it. It might have been years since he was home, but there was no mistaking the feeling of magic.
Outside of Alphelm, magic was so very rare that it might as well not exist. Feeling it again after so long was like a slap in the face. Especially when it was that strong...only now Puck was left wondering why exactly he was feeling magic again so suddenly in the middle of some random swamp.
With his trusty burdock in hand, Puck began his search. He circled trees, overturned stones, checked and doubled checked the shrubbery, only finding a rabbit that took off. With an annoyed huff, Puck turned his attention upwards. If he wasn't finding anything nearby, then maybe he needed to look further away? It was as good of an idea as any, so he waited no time taking off.
He punched through the thick canopy, twigs, and leaves breaking off as he zoomed by. The moonlight got stronger and stronger until he was basking in it directly above a bog, or a swamp. Puck wasn't sure if there was a difference, but the low hanging mist gave it a bog feel to it. It was a really big one too -- but, to his left, he saw an ocean that had some kind of tower built on an island at the center of it. To the northeast, there looked like there was some kind of city, or village, or whatever humans called places where they lived. It was maybe a day's walk away, maybe two.
"Whoa!" Puck gasped, cupping his eyes so he could get a better view.
He still didn't see what caused that wave of magic to wash over him. "This doesn't make any sense," Puck mused, idly spinning around in thought. He didn't know much about magic, or anything at all really, but he had enough experience with it to know when he felt it, usually because mages were throwing spells when they chased him around back home. They were definitely hit with a wave of it.
"Were we hit on accident?" He wondered, having to stop spinning because he was getting dizzy. If whoever was casting the spell wasn't nearby, then it must have been a massive one. What it did, Puck didn't have the slightest clue, but it must have done something. It also had to mean whoever cast the spell was as strong as the Elf King. At least.
Puck stared blankly for a moment, nothing running through his mind before he gave a careless shrug, "Meh, I'll just tell Guts." He decided, lazily drifting down. It was clear that they weren't the target for the spell because nothing happened to them, so why worry about it? Guts would decide what they did, so his job was done as far as he was concerned. With that thought in mind, Puck hummed a cheery tune as he reentered their campsite.
"Yo, Guts! Wakey, wakey!" Puck yelled out, floating in front of the human's face. It was hard to tell how old humans were most of the time. Usually, he went by wrinkles and size, but he knew that humans were meant to look younger when they were asleep. Guts just looked older.
His square jaw was clenched hard enough that muscles spasmed, his short black hair was plastered to his sweaty skin, his breathing was ragged...Puck had been traveling with Guts for a while now, and he still hadn't seen the human get a good night's rest. His sleep was plagued by nightmares that he never spoke about, though that didn't mean Puck didn't have an idea of what they were.
Puck fell silent, watching Guts twitch in his sleep, wondering if he should let him rest. Guts only did it every other day, and even then it was only for a few hours at most. A sigh escaped Puck, feeling the dark emotions roll off Guts in waves as he sunk deeper into his nightmare. With his decision made, he shot forward and began to smack his companion on the face with his small hand, "OIIII! Wake up!"
Guts' eyes snapped open- Puck had to stop himself, his own eyes going wide enough they could have fallen right out of his head as he shakily pointed, "Guts your eyes!" He shouted, Guts snapping to attention. They were a dark brown that almost looked black, but that wasn't the issue. It was the fact that he had eyes. As in, two of them.
"What-" Guts muttered more to himself than Puck, putting a gauntlet clad hand over his old eye so he could look through his returned one. Puck just gaped at him, a lone dark eye darting up to look at him.
"You regrew your eye! Can humans do that?!" Puck shouted, circling Guts to see if he grew eyes anywhere else. A thought struck him, "what about your arm? Did you grow that back too?!"
Guts responded with actions instead of words, he pushed aside his thick, tattered black cloak to reveal pitch-black armor that he never seemed to take off. Shrugging off his cloak revealed...a metal hand. Puck felt disappointed for Guts because that would have been pretty cool. Though, having a cannon in your arm was pretty cool too…
"The hell?" Guts asked no one particular, staring at his prosthetic for a long moment. Then he stood without any warning, testing his body, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "The hell?" He repeated, unable to keep the surprise out of his tone as he stretched his arms. "My body feels...great?"
"Hey, don't ignore me!" Puck demanded, smacking his burdock against Guts' head, only for the brute to keep on ignoring him. "Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuts!"
"I'm missing some old injuries," Guts' explained after a moment, shrugging off some of his armor with well-practiced ease. Even one-handed, he managed to take off his chest plate within a few seconds, revealing a torn and tattered black sleeveless shirt. After taking that off, Guts began inspecting his body, anxiety pouring off him. Puck didn't need the ability to sense emotions to know that.
Now that he mentioned it, Puck realized he was right. A few scars that should be there weren't, from deep long ones from major battles to cuts from where vengeful spirits got a lucky strike in. And he looked...a little less muscular? He was still easily the most powerfully built human Puck had ever seen, but his muscles looked like they were a little less likely to rip free of the pale skin covering them.
"I'm shorter too," Guts mused, his eyes narrowed into slits. Puck gave him a once over and...no, he was still utterly massive. Though, when you were only a few inches tall, everything seemed massive. Guts was just extra, extra massive. If he said he was shorter than Puck had to believe him.
"Weird," Puck summarized, tilting his head as he floated around Guts, who continued to test his body. "So, maybe that spell was targeting us?"
"What did you just say?" Guts growled, jerking his head up so sharply that he nearly headbutted Puck. If his one-eyed glare was scary then a two-eyed one was downright terrifying.
"Er, oh! That's why I woke you up! I felt magic again! I guess it must have been one heck of a healing spell or something," Puck quickly explained, waving his hands in surrender. Over the months, their friendship had become...well, a friendship but Guts had a nasty temper at the best of times and he didn't want to be banished to his pouch, only to be brought out to be used as medicine.
"Magic?" Guts questioned, looking unsure before he shook his head. "No, I shouldn't be surprised. Do you know who cast it?" Puck shook his head, floating around Guts' shoulders, catching him frown deeply. He went silent for a moment, thinking before a huff of air escaped through his nose. "Then there's no point dwelling on it. They healed me, and if they don't want to be known, then I doubt I could track them."
"That's…" Unusually accepting, Puck finished silently.
"Are you sure you don't want to hunt them down and do your usual routine?" Puck pestered, throwing on a scrap of cloth while his burdock stuck out in a similar manner as Guts' sword did. "Who are you and what did you do to me?" Puck mimicked Guts' growly voice he used whenever he was intimidating someone. For the longest time, Puck simply thought that was his voice but his recent interactions with Jill proved him wrong.
"Because they aren't here. They undid years of damage without me noticing until I woke up -- I'm betting that they don't want to be found, and if they don't, then I'll never find them," Guts explained, shrugging on his shirt. As he did so, Puck's gaze landed on his brand on the side of his neck.
He still didn't have to full story behind it, but he understood what that brand meant. Those godhand people marked him as a sacrifice -- meaning, someone had sacrificed Guts to become an apostle. Somehow, in spite of all odds, Guts survived long enough to make it to him so Puck could heal him after every fight.
It was only because he traveled with Guts for nearly a year that he noticed his tone. Puck couldn't quite figure out his tone, but, if he didn't know better, he would say that Guts sounded afraid.
With that, Guts put on his armor in silence. He kicked some dirt on the dying fire before he hooked Dragonslayer on a chain that served as a sheath. Guts gave one last look at the tree line, his eyebrows drawn together as his jaw clenched then he started walking down a path.
"Hey! Wait up!" Puck called out, flying forward before he dove back into his- Guts' pouch, sticking his head out to see the road. They traveled in silence for a long time, trees making it impossible to tell how long they traveled or how far. Eventually, as it always was, it was Puck that broke it.
"Hey, Guts?" He started, waiting until Guts let out a grunt to tell him that he heard, "are you okay?"
Guts let out a noise that sounded like it could have been a laugh if it hadn't died a brutal death by Guts. "I feel better than I have in years. Seeing out of two eyes is going to mess with my depth perception, I guess," he answered, the nervousness and anxiety simmering underneath betrayed his words.
"...That's not what I meant, you know," Puck pointed out. He wasn't surprised when he didn't get an answer.
…
There were times that Guts was nearly glad for his brand. As much as it attracted monsters and lost souls to him, forcing him to fight for his life, but as much as it lead them to him, it also lead him to them. Without the searing pain in his neck, as it wept blood, he would have never noticed that something was stalking him in the bog.
His eyes -- and it was going to take him a long time to get used to seeing through two eyes again -- scanned the bog, every shadow a suspect. A faint mist hung around the ground, the soft muck threatening to claim his boots with every step. It might have had some success if it wasn't for the fact that Guts had long since adapted to traveling at night, so the crescent moon above offered plenty of light so he could take the most secure path.
He gave no sign that he noticed as he steadily followed the pain in his neck. The more it hurt, the closer he was. It was rudimentary, but it worked well enough. Still, he didn't like this. Something healed him, undoing years of damage accumulated, and now there was an apostle lurking in the shadows?
All of the wounds that are gone...were caused by apostles. The stiffness in his fingers was gone that he had since Slug Count tossed him around, not to mention countless other little aches and pains that fight caused him. His hearing was a lot sharper, healed from whatever damage Rosine caused with those loud explosions.
The ones that remained all came from mortal hands. The cut across the bridge of his nose, his missing arm and the aches in his shoulder from the kickback of the cannon in his prosthetic.
Something about this stunk to high heaven, and Guts didn't trust it one bit.
"Guts...I'm hungry," Puck groaned into his ear for the third time in the past minute. For the third time, Guts ignored him as he made his way through the swamp, spotting what seemed to be a path. Puck said that there was civilization to the left, so once he reached it, Guts walked right. The pain in his neck flared, telling him that he was going the right way.
"Guuuuuutts! Stop ignoring me, and feed me! Catch a fish! Or, a swamp eel! Something before I starve to death," Puck whined at him, pinching his cheek to get his attention. Guts continued to ignore him as he walked down the path, the pain in his neck growing with every step. This was beyond mere vengeful spirits or reanimated corpses. It felt like someone was pressing a red hot poker into his neck -- that kind of pain only came when he was near an apostle.
Puck huffed at him, letting go of his cheek as he settled in around the tattered hood of his cloak. A small mercy. If it wasn't for his healing powder, Guts would have left the elf behind a long time ago. More than once, he tried when Puck became too irritating to be worth it.
Through the mist, Guts spotted what looked like a building. More than one. A hamlet in the middle of a bog? That raised some questions. He approached cautiously, a hand drifting up to Dragonslayer, stepping closer until he stood in the center of three buildings. The muck around the small buildings were well-walked paths, the largest of them seemed to be some kind of church, while a patch of green stood in the center.
In the center of lush green grass was a stone altar covered red handprints that looked like they were placed by a child. A dark spot of dried blood stained the top of it.
"Guts…" unlike before, Puck wasn't trying to annoy him. He sounded afraid as they both stared at the alter. Guts hadn't seen anything like it before, but he could feel...something coming off it. Like a miasma of fifth that left him feeling like he desperately needed to bathe. It felt vile. Evil, even. It meant that he was in the right place.
Slowly, Guts turned around, his gaze sweeping over the buildings in search of the searing pain in his neck. The silence was deafening, not so much as a single cricket to be heard. He waited for whatever that lurked in the shadows to make the first move. It didn't.
So, he simply had to go to it.
Despite his heavy armor, the massive sword on his back, and his size, Guts moved soundlessly across the small hamlet towards the first of the buildings. They were a single story, made of wood with thatched roofing. They didn't appear to be run down or rotting -- if anything, the roofing looked fresh. Someone was clearly living here.
Reaching out with his prosthetic hand, Guts gently pushed the door open. The hinges barely made a sound, telling him that they were well oiled. Inside, in the low light, Guts made out supplies. Sacks of grain, apples, cabbages and more. He saw castle larders that were emptier than this place, all without a single rat in sight. Though, he saw ingredients as well -- herbs that he didn't recognize, jars filled with fluids, among other things. Regardless, what he sought wasn't here.
Closing the door, Guts walked across the uneven wood planks that were set where the muck was at its worst to approach the other small building. Just as before, Guts pushed open the door, only this time instead of seeing a larder, he saw something far worse.
Children. Half a dozen of them sleeping soundly with thin blankets covering them. A few boys and a few girls, none of them looked to be related because he saw redheads, blondes and brunettes.
"Aw, don't wake them," Puck whispered at him when Guts made to step inside. The house looked much the same as any house he had ever been in -- a hearth with a pot hanging over it, a pile of hay that served as bedding for the kids, a table and that was about it. On the far end, Guts saw another bed, this one resided an elderly woman. She slept as soundly as the children -- possibly the apostle he was looking for, but the pain in his neck wasn't bad enough.
None of them were the apostle.
"Hmph…?" One of the kids muttered sleepily, shifting in her sleep to turn to stare directly at Guts as if she could sense his presence. They made eye contact, deep green eyes staring into his dark brown, and the child simply stared at him. Guts was at a loss -- he didn't know how to handle kids, but fortunately, they were one of the few things that Puck was good with.
"Hey there sleepyhead," Puck greeted in a stage whisper, darting out of Guts' cloak to hover in front of the girl. "You look awfully tired, don't you want to go back to bed?" He asked, floating in front of her face.
"...hnn? What are you?" The girl muttered, lying back down to stare at Puck.
"I'm an elf," Puck informed, planting his hands on his hips and throwing on a great big smile. He might be only a few inches tall, but he made up for it with his big personality. However, the girl shook her head as she fought off a yawn.
"Yer not an elf," she argued tiredly. "Elves are big like normal people. And you have blue hair," she muttered, her face scrunching up in confusion. All the while Guts narrowed his eye in thought. She wasn't surprised by the existence of elves? It could be a case of a child deciding that she knew what an elf looked like, but usually, with that kind of rigid thinking, then the kid wouldn't be able to see Puck in the first place.
"Ah, then what do you think I am then?" Puck asked in a singsong voice rather than his typical screeching.
"...a fairy?" The girl hazarded a guess, making Puck clap his hands lightly.
"Exactly right," Puck liked as he went to bring up her blanket until it was tucked underneath her chin. "And do you know what that means?"
"No?"
"It means you're going to have the best of dreams about rivers of juice and fish, mountains of candy and every single cake in existence." It sounded like Puck was just describing his own dreams to Guts. The girl muttered a tired 'really' before he continued, "really. But you have to go back to sleep. Sweet dreams…" Puck whispered as he floated away.
Guts watched the kid, her breathing becoming deep and even, fast asleep once again. He was almost jealous of how easily she fell asleep. He slept once every two days, and even then nightmares woke him up within a few hours. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in years.
Not wanting to ruin Puck's work, Guts silently stepped outside the home and closed the door behind him. Right. Only one building left.
"Guts, I have a really bad feeling about this," Puck muttered to him, perched on his shoulder.
"Did you pick anything up from the kids?" Guts asked, knowing that Puck could feel emotions. Normally, that ability of his was pretty useless, but now it could give a hint on just what was going on here. Did those kids know that they were living with an apostle? Were they here of their own will? Or were they stolen from their homes, or worse, sacrificed to keep a monster at bay?
"She didn't seem scared, or anything. Just sleepy and confused," Puck answered, making Guts frown. So the kids didn't know. Hopefully, they wouldn't get involved when he killed the apostle.
Puck fell silent when they approached the last building. Unlike the other two, it was two stories tall, made of oak logs sealed with tar. Despite being in a bog, the building almost looked brand new. No signs of rot, vegetation growth, or anything. Like this hamlet was a small paradise surrounded by muck and mud. Like the other two houses, Guts approached soundlessly and pushed open the door.
This time Guts was in the right place. Inside was nearly bare, the wood floor giving way to dirt that lead to a large tapestry of three beautiful women. Dozens of candles illuminated it, making the shadows longer and darker. Cautiously, Guts stepped forward into the center of the large room, noting that there was next to nothing in here except for the tapestry that nearly covered the wall. Lines of whispy twine connected the tapestry to shelves, pillars -- almost like it was some kind of spider web.
Puck shivered as Guts came to a stop, a deep sense of unease filling him. The pain in his neck grew, the brand seeping blood until it ran like a river to soak his shirt, but Guts paid it no mind. A stray wind that carried an unnatural chill entered through the door, making the candles flicker until they went out. As soon as they did, the whispers started. Barely audible, so low that, for the briefest of seconds, Guts thought he was hearing things.
However, they got louder. The words were a jumbled mess, just low enough that he couldn't make out what was being said, but it turned Guts' blood to ice in his veins.
Even still, Guts turned around, a hand on Dragonslayer to stare out of the doorway as mist leaked inside. Just over the whispers and Puck's teeth chattering, Guts heard them. Footsteps. The shuffling of dirt, the sound of grass being stepped on, then weight being pressed down on the wood. He didn't see who it was until they were crossing the threshold into the building.
The first was a hunched over old crone wearing a red cap, flies buzzing around her. One eye was covered with a bloodied bandage while the other was almost looked like a honeycomb that the flies entered and left. Her nose was large and covered with warts, her hair looked like it was made of straw. The hag was dressed in rags, a noose around her neck with a pair of what looked to be children's legs dangling from her waist.
"Another visitor? An unexpected one too," she croaked, her voice grating on his ears as she stepped inside, letting another creature walk inside. Another hunched over woman, only her face was covered in a bright red woven mask. The apron she wore was bloodied with what seemed to be fresh blood, her unnaturally long arms ended with claw-like hands.
"He's handsome! A suitor? Ah, it's been so very long since I've been seduced…" The other one spoke in a shrill voice, making Puck flinch and hide inside his cloak.
"No," a third one began, this one the most grotesque by far. Large and bulbous, the skin that she revealed was an unnatural pink and covered with blemishes and boils. A basket kept her face from view, but Guts couldn't help but think that her voice didn't match her body at all. In her arms was another girl -- a normal human that a quick glance at her told him. "A sacrifice."
"Ohhh! A sacrifice!" The first chirped, going to flank him on the left while the other one went right.
"An outlander?" The one on his right croaked, looking Guts up and down. His brand throbbed painfully as his grip tightened on his sword.
"A struggler that escaped the grasp of Destiny! Oh, how very rare." The center one observed, not so gently tossing the girl to the side. Guts didn't dare look away from the apostles that were making to surround him, but he caught a glimpse of steel. The girl was armed.
"What brings you here Struggler?" The one on his left questioned, using the same name that Skull Knight called him. Despite the situation, Guts' heartbeat remained at a steady pace, his breathing even as he prepared himself for what was to come. Three on one. He could win. He had to go into every fight with that belief, otherwise, he would certainly be defeated.
Guts glanced at all three of them, idly noting that they stunk of old blood and rot before he spoke. "Before we begin," he started, his voice even. "Did you have a hand in healing me?" He asked, curious if he had been healed with an apostle's abilities.
"Healed?" The one on the right echoed, cocking her head at him like a bird.
"The Struggler smells of old magic," the one in the center commented.
"And profaned blood and darkness and death!" The one on the left continued, sounding absolutely giddy at the prospect.
"But no, we had no hand in your restoration, Struggler," the center one finished, answering his question. She moved seductively, a malformed hand going to her breasts, a hip cocked -- a pose that Guts recognized from prostitutes looking for work back when the Band of Hawks were just another group of mercenaries.
So he couldn't solve that mystery with a neat bow. Unfortunate.
With nothing else to say, Guts sprung into action. Despite the other two apostles flanking him, he went for the fat one in the center as he unsheathed his sword, slashing at the one on his right as he dashed forward. The moment Dragonslayer made contact with her, the apostle erupted into a murder of crows, making his sword swing through her. That was fine.
"Oh-" The center one began as Guts angled Dragonslayer parallel with the ground before he thrust the oversized sword into the fat apostle. It punched through the center of her chest with enough force that it knocked her out of the door frame, letting him escape the building. The murder of crows followed them out, and instantly Guts realized something was wrong.
Along the wound he gave the apostle, veins of grotesque flesh began to race down his blade, like roots of a tree to keep him from tearing Dragonslayer free.
"Oh, it's been some time since a man penetrated me so deeply," the apostle flirted, the veins of flesh intersecting, growing and pulsating with every moment. She raised a malformed hand to strike him, forcing Guts to switch tactics. If he couldn't rip his blade free then he would just have to cut it out.
Gritting his teeth, Guts dodged the blow as he switched his grip while his prosthetic pressed against the underside of his sword. Pushing up, Guts lifted the apostle into the air as she was still attached to his sword before he sent her crashing down into the dirt. She landed with a loud 'oomph' that Guts silenced by planting a boot on her basket covered face to use the new angle to rip Dragonslayer free.
The veins of flesh tried to keep Dragonslayer in its place, but they gave way when Guts gave a savage pull. Blackish blood spilled onto the ground as Guts took a half step back, narrowly dodging a frustrated swipe at his legs. As he stepped onto the muck, at first he thought the shifting underneath his boots was the mud but when he felt two hands grab his legs, he realized that wasn't the case.
Glancing down, Guts saw Red Mask was half-buried in the mud, her claw-like hands keeping him in place. "How rude of you, Struggler," she hissed as the fat one pushed herself up onto her feet. All the while, Guts' hand went to a pouch filled with miniature explosives. Striking them on his armor, he dropped them onto the apostle's face.
The apostle let go of him, likely sensing the danger, and allowed Guts to jump away before a small explosion rang out where he dropped the mine. Guts rolled to his feet, spotting the crows that circled him overhead. A hand dipped down to the bandolier of knives across his chest and sent a few of them flying at the birds.
One struck home while the other crow managed to get out of the way fast enough. The crow that was struck curled into itself, falling to the ground, but before it landed, the bird crumpled to ash until the only thing left of it was the knife that landed in the mud. Guts didn't know if that hurt her, but, one way or another, he was going to find out.
"He brought toys from his sphere," Basket commented as she rose to her feet. The area where Guts had stabbed her hadn't quite healed, but the flesh around the wound bulged until only a trickle of blackish blood stained her torn dress. "And take care with that sword of his. He's spilled so much profaned blood with it that it has soaked into the iron."
"Interesting!" The one made of crows spoke, the murder of crows merging together as she approached from behind him. "First a child with the Elder Blood and now this Struggler? We have been blessed with luck tonight, my sisters!" Crow hissed as Red Mask emerged from the ground like she was stepping out of water.
"Guts…" Puck whispered to him, bringing his attention to the house with the children inside of it. The elderly woman peeked out of the door, while the kids poked their heads out wherever they could. He made eye contact with the redhead before, her gaze filled with fear but Guts couldn't tell if it was of him or the apostles. He supposed it didn't matter.
"And a spirit of the wind?" Basket observed, making Puck flinch before he dove back into the safety of his cloak. "Ah, what a treat you are. I'll be sure to drain you down to the last drop!" If she meant blood, or something else, Guts didn't know and didn't care to find out.
"Not interested," Guts rejected flatly as he rushed towards Basket. She lashed out with a hand, the malformed limb growing rapidly until it was nearly the size of him. Guts didn't so much as blink as he leaped into the air, glancing down just in time to see that Red Mask was attempting to grab hold of him again. Twisting, Guts brought Dragonslayer down on the offending limb of Basket, the rough edge of his sword tearing through the limb rather than cutting through.
"Ahhh!" Basket screeched, clutching at her new stump as what was left of her arm shrunk back down to a normal size. The severed limb itself rotted away within a moment, already half gone by the time Guts landed heavily in the muck. By the time he went to press the attack, it was already gone entirely. Basket backpedaled, eager to get away from him.
Guts would have pressed forward but a murder of crows rushed towards him, cutting him off. Tsking to himself, Guts turned Dragonslayer so the flat of the blade was facing towards them and he smacked nearly half a dozen of the birds. They fell to the ground while the others flew off, cawing and screeching in the near soundless bog -- it was a distraction that lasted for only a moment, but that was all they needed. Basket was gone.
Again, he stood alone in the hamlet, his heart steadily pounding in his chest as he was forced to wait for them to make the next move.
"He hurt us," Basket whispered, the mockery of a seductive tone gone from her voice that seemed to come from everywhere around him.
"He made us bleed!" Crow echoed an edge of ice-cold hate in her words. At the very least, he was making progress in killing them.
"We should return the favor," Red Mask finished as the mist got thicker. It rolled into the hamlet, surging like it was high tide until the ground was hidden in a thick fog. The sounds of something emerging from the bog nearly drowned out the sounds of whispering in his ears.
"Puck," Guts began, his gaze landing on the main entrance to the hamlet. "Go make sure those kids stay inside." He ordered -- the very last thing he needed right now was a snot-nosed brat getting in his way, ming him hesitate when the time came to kill these things. He learned the hard way what those brief moments of hesitation could cost him back when he was fighting Rosine.
"R-right!" Puck said, darting over towards the house. The woman shouted at Puck while the kids awed over the elf, but Guts paid them no mind. He couldn't afford to. Lurking in the heavy mist, something was moving around inside. He heard the sounds of mud squelching underneath someone's weight -- the movement sounded erratic and sloppy. Then, he saw what it was.
A humanoid creature that was covered in dark blue scales, its eyes wide and murky as its mouth was filled with jagged teeth. A sea creature, of some sorts judging by its webbed claws and feet. A dozen of them surged from the mist, hissing and spitting at him as they charged blindly.
Guts responded instantly by slapping his repeating crossbow onto his prosthetic and starting to turn the crank. Short bolts erupted from his crossbow with shocking force. They punched right through the scales of the creatures, some of them knocked onto their backs as they cried out in pain. The few that didn't, Guts met them halfway, gripping his sword with both hands as he grit his teeth and swung with all his might.
Dragonslayer cleaved through three of the monsters, cutting them in half. With the backswing, he killed another four. He was surrounded by severed limbs and corpses within a second, but there was more where that came from by the sound of the screeching that echoed through the forest. Between the houses from every direction, more monsters began to sprint towards him. More of the blue things, another dozen of some kind of corpselike creatures that rushed towards him on all fours.
Lagging behind them was a mutilated corpse stumbling through the fog, the pale and rotting flesh that held it together looked like it was harvested from a dozen other corpses and slapped together sloppily.
Guts simply turned his crossbow at the waves of monsters and started to pull the crank. Dozens of bolts leaped from his bow, slamming into the monsters hard enough to stop them dead in their tracks. He thinned out the herd, but it wasn't enough to get all of them. Lowering his hand, he grabbed Dragonslayer and went to meet the monsters halfway, only for something to grab his legs before he could take a step.
Snarling, Guts slashed down at the apostle grabbing hard enough that his armor creaked under the pressure just as the first of the monsters jumped at him. He caught a corpse thing with his prosthetic, stopping it from taking a bite out of him with its broken and rotting teeth. The stench, now that they were directly in his face, was nearly indescribable. "Get off me," Guts snapped, sending the creature flying into a blue monster, both of them collapsing to the ground.
The grip on his legs lessened, letting him take another step forward, only this time the muck gave out from underneath him like it was water. He sunk down to his knee, throwing him off balance even as he slashed at a blue thing, bisecting it. Something bit into the back of his knee, where his armor didn't protect him.
"He is delicious, my sisters," Red Mask whispered in his ear, her tongue licking the wound she inflicted. "We- AH!" She screamed when Guts plunges Dragonslayer down where she lurked beneath the surface, ignoring a blue thing as it started to tear at him, its claws ripping through his skin as a corpse thing jumped on his back. It bit down on his collar bone, his cloak offered up some protection, but not enough to save him from another wound.
Even still, Guts accepted the pain since Red Mask let go of him. The mud around his leg solidified, and it was only thanks to his incredible strength that he managed to pull his leg free. Reaching back, he grabbed the rotting monster off his back and slammed it into the blue thing that was trying to claw through his armor. Gripping his sword with two hands, Guts slashed through another five monsters that tried to swarm him.
"Kill him. We must kill him!" Basket hissed before Guts spotted her grotesque form in the mist. Guts pushed himself onto solid ground, the wound on his leg sending white-hot agony up his leg with every step, but he ignored the pain. He had to keep moving to stop himself from getting swarmed. He slashed through monsters, taking out at least three with every swing as he made his way towards Basket.
With her remaining arm, she slammed it into the ground. The only warning that Guts had that something was off was a slight rumble underfoot before a wall of flesh erupted from the ground. It slammed into, knocking the breath from his lungs before he felt the grotesque flesh start to wrap around him. His armor creaked under the pressure, making him hiss in pain as glared down at the apostle as she raised him into the air.
"Such a shame, handsome. You were so manly...I suppose I'll have to settle with having fun with your corpse," Basket spat at him as a crow flew down to claw out his eyes. Guts struggled to escape the grotesque flesh, and he was only released when it reared back a moment before it threw him.
Guts sailed through the air like a thrown stone, and it was only experience that braced him for his crash landing. His back slammed into the altar, breaking it and reducing it to rubble, his prosthetic protecting his head. Whatever breath was in his lungs left him in a ragged gasp, but his armor protected him from the worst of it.
Guts scrambled to get back on his feet, but Red Mask emerged from the fog like a ghost. Her twisted claws reached out for him, a low chuckle emitting from her throat as she neared. He was out of position to deal with her, but that had never stopped him before. He lashed out with his prosthetic-
A bright flash nearly blinded him for a moment made him pause as a streak of light rushed towards Red Mask. When the light faded, the girl that Basket was carrying stood there, a slender longsword in her hands that she drove into the heart of Red Mask. The apostle flinched at the feeling of cold steel piercing her. Unsure if that was enough, Guts swung his blade and cut the witch in half.
""NO!"" The two remaining apostles screamed, their combined voices nearly enough to drive Guts to a knee.
"Hello there," the woman greeted him as she turned her attention to the flood of incoming monsters. The wall of flesh coming from Basket expanded, bubbling like a pot over a fire as it stretched towards them. Much like the veins that had grown on his sword, they snaked towards them to capture them both.
"Cover your ears," Guts responded, taking aim with his prosthetic. His hand slid down, revealing a cannon loaded with black powder and a ball of iron. Grabbing a string, Guts fired his cannon arm, the ball of steel launching from it with a loud boom and a kickback that nearly dislocated his arm. The ball punched through the flesh as he expected, and slammed into Basket.
Half of her was blasted apart when the cannonball slammed into her upper chest. She spun around, gore flying everywhere before she collapsed to the ground. The wall of grotesque flesh began to fall apart, wilting like a flower in the middle of winter, while Crow unleashed a furious howl that spurned the monsters forward. That likely meant the apostle was dead, but Guts didn't trust it.
He rushed towards the apostle's fallen form, seeing that flesh bulged around the impact point. Guts didn't know if she could survive to wound since not all apostles were created equal, so he stabbed Basket in the head with Dragonslayer to make sure.
"What was that?!" The woman yelled before she threw herself at the monsters -- undeterred by their appearance and existence. She spun, her sword flashing as it beheaded a blue monster before she disarmed another -- not only was she an experienced swordswoman, but she moved with a near unnatural grace. Her movements were a little too fast, a little too fluid.
It set him on edge, but if she was willing to keep the monsters off him while he finished off the last apostle, then he would let her. It was impossible to tell if she was another apostle because his brand was already throbbing with agony, but once he killed the third one, Guts would see if he had to kill a fourth this night.
Hot blood dripped into his eyes as he searched for the crows even as he cleaved through another five monsters with a single swing. There seemed to be no end of them-
"Rotfiend! Get back," the woman yelled when he went to kill one of the shambling corpses. Guts obeyed the order, idly noting that it sounded like she had experience dealing with these things, which raised a great many questions. In his experience traveling Midland, there were very few that knew about the supernatural, and even fewer that believed what they saw was real.
As Guts retreated, he threw a few throwing knives into the shambling corpse before he saw why she told him to get away from it. The thing collapsed into a heap before it exploded into a bright red mist that blasted away the fog. A blue thing that was trying to rush past the Rotfiend was blasted apart.
"Stay away from that mist, it's toxic," the woman warned as she bisected a corpse creature, her sword flashing before it was thrust into the gaping maw of another that tried to jump on her from behind.
Guts just grunted in response as he searched for the remaining apostle. His brand still throbbed with agony, so she was still here. It was just a question of where. All the while more monsters swarmed towards them -- Guts ended up killing the bulk of them, his style far more suited to dealing with overwhelming amounts of enemies, a style that he honed after two years of fighting through the night, while the woman picked off the remainders.
"You killed my sisters," Crow whispered hatefully into Guts' ear. The woman fighting behind him went stiff, sweat dripping off her brow with every movement. "You will pay for this. Your suffering shall be eternal! I shall feast on your flesh and drink your blood! I will make you suffer!"
"If I had a sovereign for every time that I heard that," the woman muttered to herself as the mist began to shift. It condensed where the altar used to be, swirling around it until there was a tornado of fog so thick that Guts couldn't see through it. Even as the fog seemed to drift towards the tornado, the mist grew thicker all around them as well, lifting up from the ground until Guts could barely see the end of his sword.
"I will flay you to the bone! I shall rip your spirt from your body and torment it for all eternity," Crow hissed in Guts' ear. "What you suffered at the hands of the godhand will be a paradise compared to the things I shall inflict upon you!"
Memories of the Eclipse were all too quick to surface. To this day, he barely understood what that place was, who his enemies really were, or why it all happened. He simply knew that Griffith had betrayed them. He sacrificed the Band of the Hawk for power. He raped Casca. Black hate began to bubble in his chest, his face twisting into a ferocious snarl. Rage and hate consumed him, driving him forward, just as it like it drove him for the past two years.
Guts bisected another monster that jumped out of the heavy fog before he sprinted towards the tornado of mist. Something inside of him told him that's exactly where he would find Crow so he could rip her apart for reminding him of that night. With each step, Guts felt the mist get thicker until it felt like he was moving through a strong wind. Then water. Then mud. Each step was harder to take than the last, something pushing him away, and that was exactly how he knew he was going the right way.
"You are nothing. A sacrificial lamb so another can rise to power," Crow spat at him as Guts felt. "Your destiny is death, Struggler. Underneath your whore of a mother hanging from a tree, at the hands of the man that sold you, in battle, or at the hands of the profaned -- your fate is set!"
Guts pushed himself to take another step, hefting Dragonslayer onto his shoulder. He felt this force once before, and that time it was far stronger. His brand ached, his wounds burned with pain, but Guts took another step forward. Gritting his teeth, he lifted Dragonslayer, its incredible weight feeling like it had tripled before he swung it down. Its blunted and dulled edge tore through the mist, carving through it like a knife through butter, only to come to an abrupt stop.
Crow stood at the center of the tornado, her hands outstretched, catching Dragonslayer with an unseen wall. No, not unseen. Around his blade, the air seemed to shimmer, similar to water. A shield of magic. A savage smile appeared on Guts' face when he saw her hideous face twist into an expression of absolute fear.
There were precious few moments that Guts could say he enjoyed himself the past two years, whenever an apostle wore that expression...when they realized that despite all their power, he was still going to kill them...that was a moment he learned to cherish.
"No!" Crow spat at him, trying to push him away, but Guts braced himself for it. With one hand, he grabbed Dragonslayer, the blade slick with the blood of his enemies, and started to push the sword down, forcing the barrier to bend around the blade. "I am not destined to die here!"
"I," Guts began, Dragonslayer inching towards the twisted apostle. "Don't," he continued, gritting the word out as the barrier that separated them began to crack. An expression of terror flashed over Crow's face before the barrier gave way entirely. Dragonslayer crashed into her collar bone, breaking it, flesh tearing as his sword made its way through her. The sour stench of her blood came from the wound as he cut her in half, Dragonslayer slamming into the ground, escaping at her hip.
"Care," Guts finished, the apostle twitching, unable to believe what was happening right up until he stomped on her head. Instantly, the fog started to fall, the pressure vanished. However, Guts still heard the sounds of combat. Turning his blade to the side, Guts swung, forcing the mist back to reveal more monsters that still lurked within. It seemed that whatever these things were, simply killing their master wasn't enough to stop them.
"Guts! Guts! Help!" Guts heard Puck cry out, making him turn his attention to the faint outline he could make out of the building with the kids in it. He couldn't see the woman, but she would have to survive without him for a minute. Now that the apostles were dead, Guts noticed that his brand only throbbed with pain rather than the searing agony he felt before. It seems that woman wasn't an apostle after all.
It only took a moment for Guts to see why Puck was screaming for his help. Without the apostle to guide them, the monsters became mindless beasts. Mindless, hungry beasts. They tore at the door, trying to force their way into the building through the windows -- Guts could hear the children's muffled screaming coming indoors. That was good. Screaming meant that they were still alive.
Guts took aim with his crossbow, only to find that it had been damaged by the monsters tearing at it. With a snarl, Guts closed the distance between him and the monsters trying to get in, Dragonslayer raised high before slashed through a cluster of them trying to get in through a window. He cut through flesh, bone, and wood, sending limbs and splinters flying as he carved a line through the walls of the house. It rained down on those trying to get in through the door, bringing their attention to him.
Darting forward, Dragonslayer proved to be wide enough that he could cut a blue thing in half by stabbing it in the torso, its legs flopping over uselessly. All the while, Guts strode forward, punching another blue thing in the face with his prosthetic, caving the creatures face in. "Puck…"
"None managed to get inside!" Puck informed as he floated down from wherever he had been hiding. "But the kids are pretty scared," Puck pointed out as Guts killed another monster that rushed towards him. Guts didn't make a comment about that -- of course, they were scared. They nearly got eaten alive by monsters. It would be odd if they weren't freaking out.
It seemed that the sounds of the kids screaming drew the attention of the woman. She emerged from the lessening fog, her face and it was only now that Guts took a moment to examine her. White hair, deep green eyes that stood out that much more because of black smudgings around her eyes. A long scar hugged her cheekbone before going down her cheek -- as far as scars went, it looked like hers had healed nicely.
She didn't wear any armor -- a loose linen shirt that left her collarbones exposed, long leather gloves that nearly reached her elbows. At least around her torso and pants were pieces of leather armor that offered some protection. If she didn't move so well in them, Guts would have thought she was an idiot. A woman playing at combat that didn't know enough to even protect herself. Not like Casca.
"Are there children here?" She asked, giving him a look over as he did her. She settled in a position that protected the door, another blue creature rushing towards them. It lunged at her, the woman easily ducking beneath the wild swipe, as she slashed at its leg, cutting it off before she spun on her heel to behead the monster.
"Yeah! Micha, Merril, Garret, Morrigan, Lilly and Edward!" Puck answered as Guts punched a corpse monster, crushing its skull, as he slashed at another two that were rushing their position. Of all the tasks of war that he had hated over his considerable career of being a mercenary, protection jobs were the absolute worse. It was an odd thought, but one that nearly managed to make him smile as he recalled the banter shared between guards who were bored out of their mind.
What could have been a smile died a quick death when Guts recalled that they all died during the eclipse.
"What are you?" The woman questioned, staring at Puck and only managing to tear her gaze away when another two blue things rushed her. She dispatched them, her breathing deep but even. It was clear, whoever she was, that she had extensive experience in combat. Good. They would need it.
"I'm an elf!" Puck answered with confidence. Guts could practically see whatever stupid pose he was doing on top of his head.
"Unlike any elf, I've ever seen," the woman commented as Guts killed four blue things with a single swing of his sword. The mud, already slick, became thick with blood as the corpses began to pile up. The woman killed another two, her slender blade coated in blood as drops of it landed on her shirt and skin.
"How many are there?" She asked herself more than Guts, making him frown as he killed another grouping of monsters. These creatures were unlike anything he had fought before, even the reanimated corpses took a different form. His brand still ached, telling him that these things, whatever they were, were attracted to him. The number of monsters didn't matter because one simple truth remained. "When do you think it'll end?"
"When the dawn comes."
...
At the moment, this story does not have additional chapters written.
...
"Pweh?!" Puck sputtered, feeling...something wash over him. It was like the ocean waves, it started off gently then, before he knew it, the top of a wave came crashing down and dragged him underneath the surface. His skin felt all tingly and sensitive, Guts' rough leather pouch grating on him -- usually it was the perfect place for a nap, but now it felt cramped and suffocating.
Reaching out with an arm, he struggled to feed a bone button through the hole, but once he did Puck darted out. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to low light that managed to slip through a thick canopy of leaves and branches from the forest that surrounded him. Looking around, he saw a dying campfire and a giant black lump that was Guts with Dragonslayer in hand. That was rare, he was sleeping at night.
"What was that?" Puck asked himself darting around in search of whatever that feeling was. Already, his skin was becoming less tingly, the sensation of whatever it was already fading. It lingered just long enough to help him put his finger on it. It might have been years since he was home, but there was no mistaking the feeling of magic.
Outside of Alphelm, magic was so very rare that it might as well not exist. Feeling it again after so long was like a slap in the face. Especially when it was that strong...only now Puck was left wondering why exactly he was feeling magic again so suddenly in the middle of some random swamp.
With his trusty burdock in hand, Puck began his search. He circled trees, overturned stones, checked and doubled checked the shrubbery, only finding a rabbit that took off. With an annoyed huff, Puck turned his attention upwards. If he wasn't finding anything nearby, then maybe he needed to look further away? It was as good of an idea as any, so he waited no time taking off.
He punched through the thick canopy, twigs, and leaves breaking off as he zoomed by. The moonlight got stronger and stronger until he was basking in it directly above a bog, or a swamp. Puck wasn't sure if there was a difference, but the low hanging mist gave it a bog feel to it. It was a really big one too -- but, to his left, he saw an ocean that had some kind of tower built on an island at the center of it. To the northeast, there looked like there was some kind of city, or village, or whatever humans called places where they lived. It was maybe a day's walk away, maybe two.
"Whoa!" Puck gasped, cupping his eyes so he could get a better view.
He still didn't see what caused that wave of magic to wash over him. "This doesn't make any sense," Puck mused, idly spinning around in thought. He didn't know much about magic, or anything at all really, but he had enough experience with it to know when he felt it, usually because mages were throwing spells when they chased him around back home. They were definitely hit with a wave of it.
"Were we hit on accident?" He wondered, having to stop spinning because he was getting dizzy. If whoever was casting the spell wasn't nearby, then it must have been a massive one. What it did, Puck didn't have the slightest clue, but it must have done something. It also had to mean whoever cast the spell was as strong as the Elf King. At least.
Puck stared blankly for a moment, nothing running through his mind before he gave a careless shrug, "Meh, I'll just tell Guts." He decided, lazily drifting down. It was clear that they weren't the target for the spell because nothing happened to them, so why worry about it? Guts would decide what they did, so his job was done as far as he was concerned. With that thought in mind, Puck hummed a cheery tune as he reentered their campsite.
"Yo, Guts! Wakey, wakey!" Puck yelled out, floating in front of the human's face. It was hard to tell how old humans were most of the time. Usually, he went by wrinkles and size, but he knew that humans were meant to look younger when they were asleep. Guts just looked older.
His square jaw was clenched hard enough that muscles spasmed, his short black hair was plastered to his sweaty skin, his breathing was ragged...Puck had been traveling with Guts for a while now, and he still hadn't seen the human get a good night's rest. His sleep was plagued by nightmares that he never spoke about, though that didn't mean Puck didn't have an idea of what they were.
Puck fell silent, watching Guts twitch in his sleep, wondering if he should let him rest. Guts only did it every other day, and even then it was only for a few hours at most. A sigh escaped Puck, feeling the dark emotions roll off Guts in waves as he sunk deeper into his nightmare. With his decision made, he shot forward and began to smack his companion on the face with his small hand, "OIIII! Wake up!"
Guts' eyes snapped open- Puck had to stop himself, his own eyes going wide enough they could have fallen right out of his head as he shakily pointed, "Guts your eyes!" He shouted, Guts snapping to attention. They were a dark brown that almost looked black, but that wasn't the issue. It was the fact that he had eyes. As in, two of them.
"What-" Guts muttered more to himself than Puck, putting a gauntlet clad hand over his old eye so he could look through his returned one. Puck just gaped at him, a lone dark eye darting up to look at him.
"You regrew your eye! Can humans do that?!" Puck shouted, circling Guts to see if he grew eyes anywhere else. A thought struck him, "what about your arm? Did you grow that back too?!"
Guts responded with actions instead of words, he pushed aside his thick, tattered black cloak to reveal pitch-black armor that he never seemed to take off. Shrugging off his cloak revealed...a metal hand. Puck felt disappointed for Guts because that would have been pretty cool. Though, having a cannon in your arm was pretty cool too…
"The hell?" Guts asked no one particular, staring at his prosthetic for a long moment. Then he stood without any warning, testing his body, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "The hell?" He repeated, unable to keep the surprise out of his tone as he stretched his arms. "My body feels...great?"
"Hey, don't ignore me!" Puck demanded, smacking his burdock against Guts' head, only for the brute to keep on ignoring him. "Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuts!"
"I'm missing some old injuries," Guts' explained after a moment, shrugging off some of his armor with well-practiced ease. Even one-handed, he managed to take off his chest plate within a few seconds, revealing a torn and tattered black sleeveless shirt. After taking that off, Guts began inspecting his body, anxiety pouring off him. Puck didn't need the ability to sense emotions to know that.
Now that he mentioned it, Puck realized he was right. A few scars that should be there weren't, from deep long ones from major battles to cuts from where vengeful spirits got a lucky strike in. And he looked...a little less muscular? He was still easily the most powerfully built human Puck had ever seen, but his muscles looked like they were a little less likely to rip free of the pale skin covering them.
"I'm shorter too," Guts mused, his eyes narrowed into slits. Puck gave him a once over and...no, he was still utterly massive. Though, when you were only a few inches tall, everything seemed massive. Guts was just extra, extra massive. If he said he was shorter than Puck had to believe him.
"Weird," Puck summarized, tilting his head as he floated around Guts, who continued to test his body. "So, maybe that spell was targeting us?"
"What did you just say?" Guts growled, jerking his head up so sharply that he nearly headbutted Puck. If his one-eyed glare was scary then a two-eyed one was downright terrifying.
"Er, oh! That's why I woke you up! I felt magic again! I guess it must have been one heck of a healing spell or something," Puck quickly explained, waving his hands in surrender. Over the months, their friendship had become...well, a friendship but Guts had a nasty temper at the best of times and he didn't want to be banished to his pouch, only to be brought out to be used as medicine.
"Magic?" Guts questioned, looking unsure before he shook his head. "No, I shouldn't be surprised. Do you know who cast it?" Puck shook his head, floating around Guts' shoulders, catching him frown deeply. He went silent for a moment, thinking before a huff of air escaped through his nose. "Then there's no point dwelling on it. They healed me, and if they don't want to be known, then I doubt I could track them."
"That's…" Unusually accepting, Puck finished silently.
"Are you sure you don't want to hunt them down and do your usual routine?" Puck pestered, throwing on a scrap of cloth while his burdock stuck out in a similar manner as Guts' sword did. "Who are you and what did you do to me?" Puck mimicked Guts' growly voice he used whenever he was intimidating someone. For the longest time, Puck simply thought that was his voice but his recent interactions with Jill proved him wrong.
"Because they aren't here. They undid years of damage without me noticing until I woke up -- I'm betting that they don't want to be found, and if they don't, then I'll never find them," Guts explained, shrugging on his shirt. As he did so, Puck's gaze landed on his brand on the side of his neck.
He still didn't have to full story behind it, but he understood what that brand meant. Those godhand people marked him as a sacrifice -- meaning, someone had sacrificed Guts to become an apostle. Somehow, in spite of all odds, Guts survived long enough to make it to him so Puck could heal him after every fight.
It was only because he traveled with Guts for nearly a year that he noticed his tone. Puck couldn't quite figure out his tone, but, if he didn't know better, he would say that Guts sounded afraid.
With that, Guts put on his armor in silence. He kicked some dirt on the dying fire before he hooked Dragonslayer on a chain that served as a sheath. Guts gave one last look at the tree line, his eyebrows drawn together as his jaw clenched then he started walking down a path.
"Hey! Wait up!" Puck called out, flying forward before he dove back into his- Guts' pouch, sticking his head out to see the road. They traveled in silence for a long time, trees making it impossible to tell how long they traveled or how far. Eventually, as it always was, it was Puck that broke it.
"Hey, Guts?" He started, waiting until Guts let out a grunt to tell him that he heard, "are you okay?"
Guts let out a noise that sounded like it could have been a laugh if it hadn't died a brutal death by Guts. "I feel better than I have in years. Seeing out of two eyes is going to mess with my depth perception, I guess," he answered, the nervousness and anxiety simmering underneath betrayed his words.
"...That's not what I meant, you know," Puck pointed out. He wasn't surprised when he didn't get an answer.
…
There were times that Guts was nearly glad for his brand. As much as it attracted monsters and lost souls to him, forcing him to fight for his life, but as much as it lead them to him, it also lead him to them. Without the searing pain in his neck, as it wept blood, he would have never noticed that something was stalking him in the bog.
His eyes -- and it was going to take him a long time to get used to seeing through two eyes again -- scanned the bog, every shadow a suspect. A faint mist hung around the ground, the soft muck threatening to claim his boots with every step. It might have had some success if it wasn't for the fact that Guts had long since adapted to traveling at night, so the crescent moon above offered plenty of light so he could take the most secure path.
He gave no sign that he noticed as he steadily followed the pain in his neck. The more it hurt, the closer he was. It was rudimentary, but it worked well enough. Still, he didn't like this. Something healed him, undoing years of damage accumulated, and now there was an apostle lurking in the shadows?
All of the wounds that are gone...were caused by apostles. The stiffness in his fingers was gone that he had since Slug Count tossed him around, not to mention countless other little aches and pains that fight caused him. His hearing was a lot sharper, healed from whatever damage Rosine caused with those loud explosions.
The ones that remained all came from mortal hands. The cut across the bridge of his nose, his missing arm and the aches in his shoulder from the kickback of the cannon in his prosthetic.
Something about this stunk to high heaven, and Guts didn't trust it one bit.
"Guts...I'm hungry," Puck groaned into his ear for the third time in the past minute. For the third time, Guts ignored him as he made his way through the swamp, spotting what seemed to be a path. Puck said that there was civilization to the left, so once he reached it, Guts walked right. The pain in his neck flared, telling him that he was going the right way.
"Guuuuuutts! Stop ignoring me, and feed me! Catch a fish! Or, a swamp eel! Something before I starve to death," Puck whined at him, pinching his cheek to get his attention. Guts continued to ignore him as he walked down the path, the pain in his neck growing with every step. This was beyond mere vengeful spirits or reanimated corpses. It felt like someone was pressing a red hot poker into his neck -- that kind of pain only came when he was near an apostle.
Puck huffed at him, letting go of his cheek as he settled in around the tattered hood of his cloak. A small mercy. If it wasn't for his healing powder, Guts would have left the elf behind a long time ago. More than once, he tried when Puck became too irritating to be worth it.
Through the mist, Guts spotted what looked like a building. More than one. A hamlet in the middle of a bog? That raised some questions. He approached cautiously, a hand drifting up to Dragonslayer, stepping closer until he stood in the center of three buildings. The muck around the small buildings were well-walked paths, the largest of them seemed to be some kind of church, while a patch of green stood in the center.
In the center of lush green grass was a stone altar covered red handprints that looked like they were placed by a child. A dark spot of dried blood stained the top of it.
"Guts…" unlike before, Puck wasn't trying to annoy him. He sounded afraid as they both stared at the alter. Guts hadn't seen anything like it before, but he could feel...something coming off it. Like a miasma of fifth that left him feeling like he desperately needed to bathe. It felt vile. Evil, even. It meant that he was in the right place.
Slowly, Guts turned around, his gaze sweeping over the buildings in search of the searing pain in his neck. The silence was deafening, not so much as a single cricket to be heard. He waited for whatever that lurked in the shadows to make the first move. It didn't.
So, he simply had to go to it.
Despite his heavy armor, the massive sword on his back, and his size, Guts moved soundlessly across the small hamlet towards the first of the buildings. They were a single story, made of wood with thatched roofing. They didn't appear to be run down or rotting -- if anything, the roofing looked fresh. Someone was clearly living here.
Reaching out with his prosthetic hand, Guts gently pushed the door open. The hinges barely made a sound, telling him that they were well oiled. Inside, in the low light, Guts made out supplies. Sacks of grain, apples, cabbages and more. He saw castle larders that were emptier than this place, all without a single rat in sight. Though, he saw ingredients as well -- herbs that he didn't recognize, jars filled with fluids, among other things. Regardless, what he sought wasn't here.
Closing the door, Guts walked across the uneven wood planks that were set where the muck was at its worst to approach the other small building. Just as before, Guts pushed open the door, only this time instead of seeing a larder, he saw something far worse.
Children. Half a dozen of them sleeping soundly with thin blankets covering them. A few boys and a few girls, none of them looked to be related because he saw redheads, blondes and brunettes.
"Aw, don't wake them," Puck whispered at him when Guts made to step inside. The house looked much the same as any house he had ever been in -- a hearth with a pot hanging over it, a pile of hay that served as bedding for the kids, a table and that was about it. On the far end, Guts saw another bed, this one resided an elderly woman. She slept as soundly as the children -- possibly the apostle he was looking for, but the pain in his neck wasn't bad enough.
None of them were the apostle.
"Hmph…?" One of the kids muttered sleepily, shifting in her sleep to turn to stare directly at Guts as if she could sense his presence. They made eye contact, deep green eyes staring into his dark brown, and the child simply stared at him. Guts was at a loss -- he didn't know how to handle kids, but fortunately, they were one of the few things that Puck was good with.
"Hey there sleepyhead," Puck greeted in a stage whisper, darting out of Guts' cloak to hover in front of the girl. "You look awfully tired, don't you want to go back to bed?" He asked, floating in front of her face.
"...hnn? What are you?" The girl muttered, lying back down to stare at Puck.
"I'm an elf," Puck informed, planting his hands on his hips and throwing on a great big smile. He might be only a few inches tall, but he made up for it with his big personality. However, the girl shook her head as she fought off a yawn.
"Yer not an elf," she argued tiredly. "Elves are big like normal people. And you have blue hair," she muttered, her face scrunching up in confusion. All the while Guts narrowed his eye in thought. She wasn't surprised by the existence of elves? It could be a case of a child deciding that she knew what an elf looked like, but usually, with that kind of rigid thinking, then the kid wouldn't be able to see Puck in the first place.
"Ah, then what do you think I am then?" Puck asked in a singsong voice rather than his typical screeching.
"...a fairy?" The girl hazarded a guess, making Puck clap his hands lightly.
"Exactly right," Puck liked as he went to bring up her blanket until it was tucked underneath her chin. "And do you know what that means?"
"No?"
"It means you're going to have the best of dreams about rivers of juice and fish, mountains of candy and every single cake in existence." It sounded like Puck was just describing his own dreams to Guts. The girl muttered a tired 'really' before he continued, "really. But you have to go back to sleep. Sweet dreams…" Puck whispered as he floated away.
Guts watched the kid, her breathing becoming deep and even, fast asleep once again. He was almost jealous of how easily she fell asleep. He slept once every two days, and even then nightmares woke him up within a few hours. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in years.
Not wanting to ruin Puck's work, Guts silently stepped outside the home and closed the door behind him. Right. Only one building left.
"Guts, I have a really bad feeling about this," Puck muttered to him, perched on his shoulder.
"Did you pick anything up from the kids?" Guts asked, knowing that Puck could feel emotions. Normally, that ability of his was pretty useless, but now it could give a hint on just what was going on here. Did those kids know that they were living with an apostle? Were they here of their own will? Or were they stolen from their homes, or worse, sacrificed to keep a monster at bay?
"She didn't seem scared, or anything. Just sleepy and confused," Puck answered, making Guts frown. So the kids didn't know. Hopefully, they wouldn't get involved when he killed the apostle.
Puck fell silent when they approached the last building. Unlike the other two, it was two stories tall, made of oak logs sealed with tar. Despite being in a bog, the building almost looked brand new. No signs of rot, vegetation growth, or anything. Like this hamlet was a small paradise surrounded by muck and mud. Like the other two houses, Guts approached soundlessly and pushed open the door.
This time Guts was in the right place. Inside was nearly bare, the wood floor giving way to dirt that lead to a large tapestry of three beautiful women. Dozens of candles illuminated it, making the shadows longer and darker. Cautiously, Guts stepped forward into the center of the large room, noting that there was next to nothing in here except for the tapestry that nearly covered the wall. Lines of whispy twine connected the tapestry to shelves, pillars -- almost like it was some kind of spider web.
Puck shivered as Guts came to a stop, a deep sense of unease filling him. The pain in his neck grew, the brand seeping blood until it ran like a river to soak his shirt, but Guts paid it no mind. A stray wind that carried an unnatural chill entered through the door, making the candles flicker until they went out. As soon as they did, the whispers started. Barely audible, so low that, for the briefest of seconds, Guts thought he was hearing things.
However, they got louder. The words were a jumbled mess, just low enough that he couldn't make out what was being said, but it turned Guts' blood to ice in his veins.
Even still, Guts turned around, a hand on Dragonslayer to stare out of the doorway as mist leaked inside. Just over the whispers and Puck's teeth chattering, Guts heard them. Footsteps. The shuffling of dirt, the sound of grass being stepped on, then weight being pressed down on the wood. He didn't see who it was until they were crossing the threshold into the building.
The first was a hunched over old crone wearing a red cap, flies buzzing around her. One eye was covered with a bloodied bandage while the other was almost looked like a honeycomb that the flies entered and left. Her nose was large and covered with warts, her hair looked like it was made of straw. The hag was dressed in rags, a noose around her neck with a pair of what looked to be children's legs dangling from her waist.
"Another visitor? An unexpected one too," she croaked, her voice grating on his ears as she stepped inside, letting another creature walk inside. Another hunched over woman, only her face was covered in a bright red woven mask. The apron she wore was bloodied with what seemed to be fresh blood, her unnaturally long arms ended with claw-like hands.
"He's handsome! A suitor? Ah, it's been so very long since I've been seduced…" The other one spoke in a shrill voice, making Puck flinch and hide inside his cloak.
"No," a third one began, this one the most grotesque by far. Large and bulbous, the skin that she revealed was an unnatural pink and covered with blemishes and boils. A basket kept her face from view, but Guts couldn't help but think that her voice didn't match her body at all. In her arms was another girl -- a normal human that a quick glance at her told him. "A sacrifice."
"Ohhh! A sacrifice!" The first chirped, going to flank him on the left while the other one went right.
"An outlander?" The one on his right croaked, looking Guts up and down. His brand throbbed painfully as his grip tightened on his sword.
"A struggler that escaped the grasp of Destiny! Oh, how very rare." The center one observed, not so gently tossing the girl to the side. Guts didn't dare look away from the apostles that were making to surround him, but he caught a glimpse of steel. The girl was armed.
"What brings you here Struggler?" The one on his left questioned, using the same name that Skull Knight called him. Despite the situation, Guts' heartbeat remained at a steady pace, his breathing even as he prepared himself for what was to come. Three on one. He could win. He had to go into every fight with that belief, otherwise, he would certainly be defeated.
Guts glanced at all three of them, idly noting that they stunk of old blood and rot before he spoke. "Before we begin," he started, his voice even. "Did you have a hand in healing me?" He asked, curious if he had been healed with an apostle's abilities.
"Healed?" The one on the right echoed, cocking her head at him like a bird.
"The Struggler smells of old magic," the one in the center commented.
"And profaned blood and darkness and death!" The one on the left continued, sounding absolutely giddy at the prospect.
"But no, we had no hand in your restoration, Struggler," the center one finished, answering his question. She moved seductively, a malformed hand going to her breasts, a hip cocked -- a pose that Guts recognized from prostitutes looking for work back when the Band of Hawks were just another group of mercenaries.
So he couldn't solve that mystery with a neat bow. Unfortunate.
With nothing else to say, Guts sprung into action. Despite the other two apostles flanking him, he went for the fat one in the center as he unsheathed his sword, slashing at the one on his right as he dashed forward. The moment Dragonslayer made contact with her, the apostle erupted into a murder of crows, making his sword swing through her. That was fine.
"Oh-" The center one began as Guts angled Dragonslayer parallel with the ground before he thrust the oversized sword into the fat apostle. It punched through the center of her chest with enough force that it knocked her out of the door frame, letting him escape the building. The murder of crows followed them out, and instantly Guts realized something was wrong.
Along the wound he gave the apostle, veins of grotesque flesh began to race down his blade, like roots of a tree to keep him from tearing Dragonslayer free.
"Oh, it's been some time since a man penetrated me so deeply," the apostle flirted, the veins of flesh intersecting, growing and pulsating with every moment. She raised a malformed hand to strike him, forcing Guts to switch tactics. If he couldn't rip his blade free then he would just have to cut it out.
Gritting his teeth, Guts dodged the blow as he switched his grip while his prosthetic pressed against the underside of his sword. Pushing up, Guts lifted the apostle into the air as she was still attached to his sword before he sent her crashing down into the dirt. She landed with a loud 'oomph' that Guts silenced by planting a boot on her basket covered face to use the new angle to rip Dragonslayer free.
The veins of flesh tried to keep Dragonslayer in its place, but they gave way when Guts gave a savage pull. Blackish blood spilled onto the ground as Guts took a half step back, narrowly dodging a frustrated swipe at his legs. As he stepped onto the muck, at first he thought the shifting underneath his boots was the mud but when he felt two hands grab his legs, he realized that wasn't the case.
Glancing down, Guts saw Red Mask was half-buried in the mud, her claw-like hands keeping him in place. "How rude of you, Struggler," she hissed as the fat one pushed herself up onto her feet. All the while, Guts' hand went to a pouch filled with miniature explosives. Striking them on his armor, he dropped them onto the apostle's face.
The apostle let go of him, likely sensing the danger, and allowed Guts to jump away before a small explosion rang out where he dropped the mine. Guts rolled to his feet, spotting the crows that circled him overhead. A hand dipped down to the bandolier of knives across his chest and sent a few of them flying at the birds.
One struck home while the other crow managed to get out of the way fast enough. The crow that was struck curled into itself, falling to the ground, but before it landed, the bird crumpled to ash until the only thing left of it was the knife that landed in the mud. Guts didn't know if that hurt her, but, one way or another, he was going to find out.
"He brought toys from his sphere," Basket commented as she rose to her feet. The area where Guts had stabbed her hadn't quite healed, but the flesh around the wound bulged until only a trickle of blackish blood stained her torn dress. "And take care with that sword of his. He's spilled so much profaned blood with it that it has soaked into the iron."
"Interesting!" The one made of crows spoke, the murder of crows merging together as she approached from behind him. "First a child with the Elder Blood and now this Struggler? We have been blessed with luck tonight, my sisters!" Crow hissed as Red Mask emerged from the ground like she was stepping out of water.
"Guts…" Puck whispered to him, bringing his attention to the house with the children inside of it. The elderly woman peeked out of the door, while the kids poked their heads out wherever they could. He made eye contact with the redhead before, her gaze filled with fear but Guts couldn't tell if it was of him or the apostles. He supposed it didn't matter.
"And a spirit of the wind?" Basket observed, making Puck flinch before he dove back into the safety of his cloak. "Ah, what a treat you are. I'll be sure to drain you down to the last drop!" If she meant blood, or something else, Guts didn't know and didn't care to find out.
"Not interested," Guts rejected flatly as he rushed towards Basket. She lashed out with a hand, the malformed limb growing rapidly until it was nearly the size of him. Guts didn't so much as blink as he leaped into the air, glancing down just in time to see that Red Mask was attempting to grab hold of him again. Twisting, Guts brought Dragonslayer down on the offending limb of Basket, the rough edge of his sword tearing through the limb rather than cutting through.
"Ahhh!" Basket screeched, clutching at her new stump as what was left of her arm shrunk back down to a normal size. The severed limb itself rotted away within a moment, already half gone by the time Guts landed heavily in the muck. By the time he went to press the attack, it was already gone entirely. Basket backpedaled, eager to get away from him.
Guts would have pressed forward but a murder of crows rushed towards him, cutting him off. Tsking to himself, Guts turned Dragonslayer so the flat of the blade was facing towards them and he smacked nearly half a dozen of the birds. They fell to the ground while the others flew off, cawing and screeching in the near soundless bog -- it was a distraction that lasted for only a moment, but that was all they needed. Basket was gone.
Again, he stood alone in the hamlet, his heart steadily pounding in his chest as he was forced to wait for them to make the next move.
"He hurt us," Basket whispered, the mockery of a seductive tone gone from her voice that seemed to come from everywhere around him.
"He made us bleed!" Crow echoed an edge of ice-cold hate in her words. At the very least, he was making progress in killing them.
"We should return the favor," Red Mask finished as the mist got thicker. It rolled into the hamlet, surging like it was high tide until the ground was hidden in a thick fog. The sounds of something emerging from the bog nearly drowned out the sounds of whispering in his ears.
"Puck," Guts began, his gaze landing on the main entrance to the hamlet. "Go make sure those kids stay inside." He ordered -- the very last thing he needed right now was a snot-nosed brat getting in his way, ming him hesitate when the time came to kill these things. He learned the hard way what those brief moments of hesitation could cost him back when he was fighting Rosine.
"R-right!" Puck said, darting over towards the house. The woman shouted at Puck while the kids awed over the elf, but Guts paid them no mind. He couldn't afford to. Lurking in the heavy mist, something was moving around inside. He heard the sounds of mud squelching underneath someone's weight -- the movement sounded erratic and sloppy. Then, he saw what it was.
A humanoid creature that was covered in dark blue scales, its eyes wide and murky as its mouth was filled with jagged teeth. A sea creature, of some sorts judging by its webbed claws and feet. A dozen of them surged from the mist, hissing and spitting at him as they charged blindly.
Guts responded instantly by slapping his repeating crossbow onto his prosthetic and starting to turn the crank. Short bolts erupted from his crossbow with shocking force. They punched right through the scales of the creatures, some of them knocked onto their backs as they cried out in pain. The few that didn't, Guts met them halfway, gripping his sword with both hands as he grit his teeth and swung with all his might.
Dragonslayer cleaved through three of the monsters, cutting them in half. With the backswing, he killed another four. He was surrounded by severed limbs and corpses within a second, but there was more where that came from by the sound of the screeching that echoed through the forest. Between the houses from every direction, more monsters began to sprint towards him. More of the blue things, another dozen of some kind of corpselike creatures that rushed towards him on all fours.
Lagging behind them was a mutilated corpse stumbling through the fog, the pale and rotting flesh that held it together looked like it was harvested from a dozen other corpses and slapped together sloppily.
Guts simply turned his crossbow at the waves of monsters and started to pull the crank. Dozens of bolts leaped from his bow, slamming into the monsters hard enough to stop them dead in their tracks. He thinned out the herd, but it wasn't enough to get all of them. Lowering his hand, he grabbed Dragonslayer and went to meet the monsters halfway, only for something to grab his legs before he could take a step.
Snarling, Guts slashed down at the apostle grabbing hard enough that his armor creaked under the pressure just as the first of the monsters jumped at him. He caught a corpse thing with his prosthetic, stopping it from taking a bite out of him with its broken and rotting teeth. The stench, now that they were directly in his face, was nearly indescribable. "Get off me," Guts snapped, sending the creature flying into a blue monster, both of them collapsing to the ground.
The grip on his legs lessened, letting him take another step forward, only this time the muck gave out from underneath him like it was water. He sunk down to his knee, throwing him off balance even as he slashed at a blue thing, bisecting it. Something bit into the back of his knee, where his armor didn't protect him.
"He is delicious, my sisters," Red Mask whispered in his ear, her tongue licking the wound she inflicted. "We- AH!" She screamed when Guts plunges Dragonslayer down where she lurked beneath the surface, ignoring a blue thing as it started to tear at him, its claws ripping through his skin as a corpse thing jumped on his back. It bit down on his collar bone, his cloak offered up some protection, but not enough to save him from another wound.
Even still, Guts accepted the pain since Red Mask let go of him. The mud around his leg solidified, and it was only thanks to his incredible strength that he managed to pull his leg free. Reaching back, he grabbed the rotting monster off his back and slammed it into the blue thing that was trying to claw through his armor. Gripping his sword with two hands, Guts slashed through another five monsters that tried to swarm him.
"Kill him. We must kill him!" Basket hissed before Guts spotted her grotesque form in the mist. Guts pushed himself onto solid ground, the wound on his leg sending white-hot agony up his leg with every step, but he ignored the pain. He had to keep moving to stop himself from getting swarmed. He slashed through monsters, taking out at least three with every swing as he made his way towards Basket.
With her remaining arm, she slammed it into the ground. The only warning that Guts had that something was off was a slight rumble underfoot before a wall of flesh erupted from the ground. It slammed into, knocking the breath from his lungs before he felt the grotesque flesh start to wrap around him. His armor creaked under the pressure, making him hiss in pain as glared down at the apostle as she raised him into the air.
"Such a shame, handsome. You were so manly...I suppose I'll have to settle with having fun with your corpse," Basket spat at him as a crow flew down to claw out his eyes. Guts struggled to escape the grotesque flesh, and he was only released when it reared back a moment before it threw him.
Guts sailed through the air like a thrown stone, and it was only experience that braced him for his crash landing. His back slammed into the altar, breaking it and reducing it to rubble, his prosthetic protecting his head. Whatever breath was in his lungs left him in a ragged gasp, but his armor protected him from the worst of it.
Guts scrambled to get back on his feet, but Red Mask emerged from the fog like a ghost. Her twisted claws reached out for him, a low chuckle emitting from her throat as she neared. He was out of position to deal with her, but that had never stopped him before. He lashed out with his prosthetic-
A bright flash nearly blinded him for a moment made him pause as a streak of light rushed towards Red Mask. When the light faded, the girl that Basket was carrying stood there, a slender longsword in her hands that she drove into the heart of Red Mask. The apostle flinched at the feeling of cold steel piercing her. Unsure if that was enough, Guts swung his blade and cut the witch in half.
""NO!"" The two remaining apostles screamed, their combined voices nearly enough to drive Guts to a knee.
"Hello there," the woman greeted him as she turned her attention to the flood of incoming monsters. The wall of flesh coming from Basket expanded, bubbling like a pot over a fire as it stretched towards them. Much like the veins that had grown on his sword, they snaked towards them to capture them both.
"Cover your ears," Guts responded, taking aim with his prosthetic. His hand slid down, revealing a cannon loaded with black powder and a ball of iron. Grabbing a string, Guts fired his cannon arm, the ball of steel launching from it with a loud boom and a kickback that nearly dislocated his arm. The ball punched through the flesh as he expected, and slammed into Basket.
Half of her was blasted apart when the cannonball slammed into her upper chest. She spun around, gore flying everywhere before she collapsed to the ground. The wall of grotesque flesh began to fall apart, wilting like a flower in the middle of winter, while Crow unleashed a furious howl that spurned the monsters forward. That likely meant the apostle was dead, but Guts didn't trust it.
He rushed towards the apostle's fallen form, seeing that flesh bulged around the impact point. Guts didn't know if she could survive to wound since not all apostles were created equal, so he stabbed Basket in the head with Dragonslayer to make sure.
"What was that?!" The woman yelled before she threw herself at the monsters -- undeterred by their appearance and existence. She spun, her sword flashing as it beheaded a blue monster before she disarmed another -- not only was she an experienced swordswoman, but she moved with a near unnatural grace. Her movements were a little too fast, a little too fluid.
It set him on edge, but if she was willing to keep the monsters off him while he finished off the last apostle, then he would let her. It was impossible to tell if she was another apostle because his brand was already throbbing with agony, but once he killed the third one, Guts would see if he had to kill a fourth this night.
Hot blood dripped into his eyes as he searched for the crows even as he cleaved through another five monsters with a single swing. There seemed to be no end of them-
"Rotfiend! Get back," the woman yelled when he went to kill one of the shambling corpses. Guts obeyed the order, idly noting that it sounded like she had experience dealing with these things, which raised a great many questions. In his experience traveling Midland, there were very few that knew about the supernatural, and even fewer that believed what they saw was real.
As Guts retreated, he threw a few throwing knives into the shambling corpse before he saw why she told him to get away from it. The thing collapsed into a heap before it exploded into a bright red mist that blasted away the fog. A blue thing that was trying to rush past the Rotfiend was blasted apart.
"Stay away from that mist, it's toxic," the woman warned as she bisected a corpse creature, her sword flashing before it was thrust into the gaping maw of another that tried to jump on her from behind.
Guts just grunted in response as he searched for the remaining apostle. His brand still throbbed with agony, so she was still here. It was just a question of where. All the while more monsters swarmed towards them -- Guts ended up killing the bulk of them, his style far more suited to dealing with overwhelming amounts of enemies, a style that he honed after two years of fighting through the night, while the woman picked off the remainders.
"You killed my sisters," Crow whispered hatefully into Guts' ear. The woman fighting behind him went stiff, sweat dripping off her brow with every movement. "You will pay for this. Your suffering shall be eternal! I shall feast on your flesh and drink your blood! I will make you suffer!"
"If I had a sovereign for every time that I heard that," the woman muttered to herself as the mist began to shift. It condensed where the altar used to be, swirling around it until there was a tornado of fog so thick that Guts couldn't see through it. Even as the fog seemed to drift towards the tornado, the mist grew thicker all around them as well, lifting up from the ground until Guts could barely see the end of his sword.
"I will flay you to the bone! I shall rip your spirt from your body and torment it for all eternity," Crow hissed in Guts' ear. "What you suffered at the hands of the godhand will be a paradise compared to the things I shall inflict upon you!"
Memories of the Eclipse were all too quick to surface. To this day, he barely understood what that place was, who his enemies really were, or why it all happened. He simply knew that Griffith had betrayed them. He sacrificed the Band of the Hawk for power. He raped Casca. Black hate began to bubble in his chest, his face twisting into a ferocious snarl. Rage and hate consumed him, driving him forward, just as it like it drove him for the past two years.
Guts bisected another monster that jumped out of the heavy fog before he sprinted towards the tornado of mist. Something inside of him told him that's exactly where he would find Crow so he could rip her apart for reminding him of that night. With each step, Guts felt the mist get thicker until it felt like he was moving through a strong wind. Then water. Then mud. Each step was harder to take than the last, something pushing him away, and that was exactly how he knew he was going the right way.
"You are nothing. A sacrificial lamb so another can rise to power," Crow spat at him as Guts felt. "Your destiny is death, Struggler. Underneath your whore of a mother hanging from a tree, at the hands of the man that sold you, in battle, or at the hands of the profaned -- your fate is set!"
Guts pushed himself to take another step, hefting Dragonslayer onto his shoulder. He felt this force once before, and that time it was far stronger. His brand ached, his wounds burned with pain, but Guts took another step forward. Gritting his teeth, he lifted Dragonslayer, its incredible weight feeling like it had tripled before he swung it down. Its blunted and dulled edge tore through the mist, carving through it like a knife through butter, only to come to an abrupt stop.
Crow stood at the center of the tornado, her hands outstretched, catching Dragonslayer with an unseen wall. No, not unseen. Around his blade, the air seemed to shimmer, similar to water. A shield of magic. A savage smile appeared on Guts' face when he saw her hideous face twist into an expression of absolute fear.
There were precious few moments that Guts could say he enjoyed himself the past two years, whenever an apostle wore that expression...when they realized that despite all their power, he was still going to kill them...that was a moment he learned to cherish.
"No!" Crow spat at him, trying to push him away, but Guts braced himself for it. With one hand, he grabbed Dragonslayer, the blade slick with the blood of his enemies, and started to push the sword down, forcing the barrier to bend around the blade. "I am not destined to die here!"
"I," Guts began, Dragonslayer inching towards the twisted apostle. "Don't," he continued, gritting the word out as the barrier that separated them began to crack. An expression of terror flashed over Crow's face before the barrier gave way entirely. Dragonslayer crashed into her collar bone, breaking it, flesh tearing as his sword made its way through her. The sour stench of her blood came from the wound as he cut her in half, Dragonslayer slamming into the ground, escaping at her hip.
"Care," Guts finished, the apostle twitching, unable to believe what was happening right up until he stomped on her head. Instantly, the fog started to fall, the pressure vanished. However, Guts still heard the sounds of combat. Turning his blade to the side, Guts swung, forcing the mist back to reveal more monsters that still lurked within. It seemed that whatever these things were, simply killing their master wasn't enough to stop them.
"Guts! Guts! Help!" Guts heard Puck cry out, making him turn his attention to the faint outline he could make out of the building with the kids in it. He couldn't see the woman, but she would have to survive without him for a minute. Now that the apostles were dead, Guts noticed that his brand only throbbed with pain rather than the searing agony he felt before. It seems that woman wasn't an apostle after all.
It only took a moment for Guts to see why Puck was screaming for his help. Without the apostle to guide them, the monsters became mindless beasts. Mindless, hungry beasts. They tore at the door, trying to force their way into the building through the windows -- Guts could hear the children's muffled screaming coming indoors. That was good. Screaming meant that they were still alive.
Guts took aim with his crossbow, only to find that it had been damaged by the monsters tearing at it. With a snarl, Guts closed the distance between him and the monsters trying to get in, Dragonslayer raised high before slashed through a cluster of them trying to get in through a window. He cut through flesh, bone, and wood, sending limbs and splinters flying as he carved a line through the walls of the house. It rained down on those trying to get in through the door, bringing their attention to him.
Darting forward, Dragonslayer proved to be wide enough that he could cut a blue thing in half by stabbing it in the torso, its legs flopping over uselessly. All the while, Guts strode forward, punching another blue thing in the face with his prosthetic, caving the creatures face in. "Puck…"
"None managed to get inside!" Puck informed as he floated down from wherever he had been hiding. "But the kids are pretty scared," Puck pointed out as Guts killed another monster that rushed towards him. Guts didn't make a comment about that -- of course, they were scared. They nearly got eaten alive by monsters. It would be odd if they weren't freaking out.
It seemed that the sounds of the kids screaming drew the attention of the woman. She emerged from the lessening fog, her face and it was only now that Guts took a moment to examine her. White hair, deep green eyes that stood out that much more because of black smudgings around her eyes. A long scar hugged her cheekbone before going down her cheek -- as far as scars went, it looked like hers had healed nicely.
She didn't wear any armor -- a loose linen shirt that left her collarbones exposed, long leather gloves that nearly reached her elbows. At least around her torso and pants were pieces of leather armor that offered some protection. If she didn't move so well in them, Guts would have thought she was an idiot. A woman playing at combat that didn't know enough to even protect herself. Not like Casca.
"Are there children here?" She asked, giving him a look over as he did her. She settled in a position that protected the door, another blue creature rushing towards them. It lunged at her, the woman easily ducking beneath the wild swipe, as she slashed at its leg, cutting it off before she spun on her heel to behead the monster.
"Yeah! Micha, Merril, Garret, Morrigan, Lilly and Edward!" Puck answered as Guts punched a corpse monster, crushing its skull, as he slashed at another two that were rushing their position. Of all the tasks of war that he had hated over his considerable career of being a mercenary, protection jobs were the absolute worse. It was an odd thought, but one that nearly managed to make him smile as he recalled the banter shared between guards who were bored out of their mind.
What could have been a smile died a quick death when Guts recalled that they all died during the eclipse.
"What are you?" The woman questioned, staring at Puck and only managing to tear her gaze away when another two blue things rushed her. She dispatched them, her breathing deep but even. It was clear, whoever she was, that she had extensive experience in combat. Good. They would need it.
"I'm an elf!" Puck answered with confidence. Guts could practically see whatever stupid pose he was doing on top of his head.
"Unlike any elf, I've ever seen," the woman commented as Guts killed four blue things with a single swing of his sword. The mud, already slick, became thick with blood as the corpses began to pile up. The woman killed another two, her slender blade coated in blood as drops of it landed on her shirt and skin.
"How many are there?" She asked herself more than Guts, making him frown as he killed another grouping of monsters. These creatures were unlike anything he had fought before, even the reanimated corpses took a different form. His brand still ached, telling him that these things, whatever they were, were attracted to him. The number of monsters didn't matter because one simple truth remained. "When do you think it'll end?"
"When the dawn comes."
...
At the moment, this story does not have additional chapters written.
More please
Zo-Kel
H̸o̴t̷-̵b̴l̶o̵o̵d̴e̸d̷ ̷A̸b̶o̷m̷i̸n̶a̴t̵i̶o̷n̶
- Location
- Meropis
Pretty good start, really liked it. I was a bit iffy on Guts being healed of old injuries but it seems like there are hints that there is more to it than just the author's whimsy. Curious about where that plot thread will lead.
Foolish Endeavors
- Location
- USA
He was simply unreal, Ciri thought to herself, and not for the first time either. It wasn't the first time she thought it through a very long night, as every monster in a ten league radius was drawn right to them -- drowners, ghouls, a water bag, and even a werewolf seemed paltry compared to the fiend that came charging through the hamlet. His sword was too rough and big to be called a sword. It had to be at least a hundredweight of raw iron, but the man wielded it all the same and with deft speed that seemed impossible.
Ciri watched him slam its rough edge into the side of a ghoul, and between his impossible strength and the sheer weight of the blade that was bigger than the equally large man that wielded it, the rotten ghoul was split apart, as were the drowners that had the misfortune of standing next to it. Her own sword arm felt stiff after a night spent fending off the unending horde of creatures, and every movement sent a flash of pain through her shoulder blade, her injuries flaring under the strain -- her shirt was soaked with blood and most of it was her own. She hung near the door, the mud around the small hovel was so thick with bile and blood that each step threatened to claim her boots.
A ghoul came in low to the ground, jumping off of the corpses of its brethren to bypass the bog and leaping for her. Ciri sucked in a sharp breath, ignoring how everything in her body just screamed for her to stop, and sidestepped the lunge, using the ghoul's own momentum against it to help her slide her blade down through its collarbone, skewering its intestines. Ripping her blade free with a splash of black bile, her gaze slid to the man in time to watch him stomp on a drowner's chest, crushing its ribs, before bisecting another with an almost casual backswing.
"What is he?" Ciri questioned -- she had been trained by some of the greatest swordsmen in the world. Even without the Witcher mutations, she had gone through the gauntlet. For hours upon hours, Ciri had fought while conserving her endurance for the sake of this drawn-out battle and as dawn started to brighten the sky, Ciri found herself flagging. The man however, whose name she still has yet to learn, fought with the same vigor that he started with. He looked human, if a rather big example of one, but Ciri was rapidly forming doubts about his true nature.
"He!" An energetic voice announced into her ear, making Ciri flinch. Floating just over her shoulder was a… Ciri wasn't entirely certain what he was. Three inches in height, insectoid wings, no genitalia, a mop of dark blue hair, wide eyes, and pointed ears. Ciri wanted to call him a fairy, but despite a world full of monsters and creatures, the existence of fairies was unconfirmed. The common folk made them up in their ignorance of the true monsters of the world. "Is! My black castle property! The one! The only! It's… Guuuuutttssss!"
That was entirely too much enthusiasm for Ciri. Her entire body ached, her wounds flared with pain, her stomach felt like it had shriveled up to the size of a peanut, and despite the bile and rotting corpses that littered the hamlet, Ciri was pretty sure she could smell herself over the stench of death. Still, he had a name now. "Guts?" She echoed.
Her gaze dartedto a Scurver stumbling forward at the edge of the hamlet. "Guts!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the titan of a man as he strode forward to dispatch it.
Guts glanced over to her with eyes so dark they were nearly black in hue -- he did look tired, but it was seemingly confined to his face. A pair of dark bags under his eyes told Ciri that this wasn't the first time that he had stayed up all night. Likewise, there was a weight to his gaze that told her that this wasn't the first time he spent that night fighting a long and drawn out battle.
"Scurvers explode on death," she told him, earning a curt nod as he continued toward it. He reared his sword back, and when he swung, instead of striking it with the edge of the sword, he hit the Scurver with the flat of it. Ciri watched in dull awe as the Scurver was launched into the air a good dozen feet before it crashed against one of the buildings, reduced to a mangled mass of twitching flesh, where it exploded into a toxic mist that launched shards of needle-like bone everywhere.
It was then that the first rays of dawn emerged through the thick canopy of trees. Almost as if a curtain was being raised up for the new day. Guts stood where he was, now fully illuminated by the morning sun -- his pale skin sweaty, a slight droop in his shoulders that betrayed the tension leaving him. Ciri stumbled a step back and leaned heavily on the front door of the building she had been protecting.
"And I'm Puck!" Puck introduced himself, his hands on his hips. "I'm a first aid kit! And an elf!' He tacked on, going to the wound on her side. Ciri just about swatted him away, only to stop herself -- throughout the night, she had seen an odd figure darting through the air to distract some of the monsters. That had to be Puck based on the size. More than that, the moment that his tiny hands touched her wound, Ciri felt the pain vanish.
A breath that she had been holding left her, "An elf, huh? I have to say -- you seem a little small compared to the elves that I know." Elves like Avallac'h, her mentor and friend. Who could take care of himself but given how they had parted… Ciri was worried. Wherever here was -- it wasn't the target destination to that hastily made portal.
"What?! I'll have you know that I'm the tallest of all the elves! Well, except for Danan. And Pick. And Peck. And Pock. And… no, I'm pretty sure I'm taller than Pyok." Puck defended, emerging from her bloody shirt to plant his hands on his hips and thrusting his chest out, as if he trying to make himself taller to prove his point. He seemed playful. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous, though. Godlings were playful as well, and more than a few people died because of their playful pranks.
"I'll take your word for it," Ciri said, deciding to humor him. Her gaze slid over to Guts, who was sheathing his massive blade on his back. "My name's Ciri. Witcher," she tacked on, expecting a reaction from the two, and while she did get one, it wasn't the one she expected.
"You're a witch? Cool!" Puck exclaimed, his eyes going so wide that they could have fallen right out of her head. "Do a magic spell!"
"I don't care," Guts dismissed her gruffly. Ciri didn't take that to heart -- they did just fight through the night. He was probably just cranky.
Still, an odd reaction to her profession. Well, desired profession. "I just hope there aren't any others looking for work around here. We've done a year's worth of work in a single night. Now, let's go check up on the damsels in distress," Ciri decided, turning around to knock at the door. Her sharp hearing picked up the shuffling within, "You can come out now! The coast is clear."
She waited while Puck went over to Guts to take care of his injuries. After a long minute, whatever furniture had been shoved in front of the door was cleared away, and almost as soon as the door cracked open, curious children poured from the house like a flood. All of them looked unharmed, and at some point the fear must have faded because a little boy started gaping around like he couldn't tell which monster corpse he wanted to look at first. He was spoiled for choice in that regard.
"Travik! Aynara! Don't touch anything, either of you! Monsters are poisonous and they'll kill you dead if you touch them even a little," an elderly woman barked out, using an ancient yet tried and true tactic to prevent children from sticking their noses where they didn't belong -- with a warning that it'd get bitten off if they got into mischief. While keeping an eye on the children to make sure they didn't get themselves killed, Ciri turned her attention to the woman who emerged from the hovel. She was older -- her hair gray and her skin sagging with wrinkles. Her eyes were bloodshot, telling Ciri she had stayed up through the night as well to protect the children.
She looked lost, though as she stepped outside of the hovel, she seemed to be basking in the children complaining that they couldn't touch the monster corpses. "I'm Ciri," Ciri introduced herself, gesturing to Guts as she very carefully, and pointedly, set her sword to the side. Neither her nor Guts would look like a friendly face after this ordeal. "That's Guts, and-"
"I'm Puck!" Puck introduced himself where he was nearly being torn limb from limb by curious children as they poked and prodded at him. He didn't seem to mind it overly much though. The old woman's gaze flickered between them, not sure what to make of what had happened or the sight that she saw before her.
The elderly woman nodded shakily, glancing down at the smooth palms of her hands, eyeing them like a snake hidden in the grass. "I...I'm Anna," she introduced herself, her voice rough and sounding as lost as she looked. "They're dead. Those...horrid monsters are dead." Despite having killed them throughout the night, Ciri knew exactly which monsters she was talking about.
"They are. Guts and I made sure of it," Ciri reassured, hoping that wasn't a lie. Monsters like that, whatever those crones were, they had a habit of cheating death. Anna simply nodded, though looking like she couldn't quite believe it. "Can you tell me why you're here, why the children are…?"
Anna nodded, a thumb going over the smooth flesh of her palm. Ciri recognized it as the action of someone that expected something to be there, and couldn't bring themselves to believe that it wasn't. If she had any money, she would have bet that there was a magic mark, of binding most likely, that was missing. Anna nodded again, visibly steeling herself as she spoke.
"I had made a deal with them. A horrid deal that I...I will regret to the end of my days," Anna began, already on the verge of tears. Puck floated over to her, somehow escaping the children who protested his departure, landing on her shoulder and placing a hand on her cheek. Despite Puck being all of three inches tall, Anna leaned into the touch as she swallowed a sob. "My husband was a vile man. He wasn't always so, but war...war changes folk. For the worst. He beat me and my daughter, raped me whenever he wished, and he murdered a dear friend of mine."
Ciri nodded, showing that she understood and giving Anna time to find the strength to keep speaking. "One day I found I was with child. I...I couldn't bear it. I hated him more than anything in this world, and...I heard wives' tales about the three witches of Crookback Bog." Anna let out a shuddering breath, a tear sliding down her wrinkled cheek, "I asked them to get rid of it in a desperate prayer...and they answered it. We made a deal -- they would get rid of...of my baby and I would serve them for a year."
Ciri knew there was a but coming before Anna continued, "but they didn't tell me how they would get rid of it. They killed the babe growing in my belly, but it was killing me as well. I was given a talisman when I realized what they had done." A hand went up to Puck for reassurance, which he happily gave, "My daughter and I were going to leave Crow's Perch, but my husband caught us. He beat me so bad I miscarried the babe there...when he passed out, we left. But I dropped my talisman, and they caught me."
"It sounds like the world is a brighter place without them," Ciri noted, her heart clenching in her chest at the thought of what this woman must have gone through. Anna nodded, fighting back tears and wiping away another that had managed to trail down her other cheek.
"I think they meant it as a cruel jest when they made me look after the children, but they were the only light in my life for the past months. I don't know what they intended for them, and I hope I never learn," Anna swore, looking over at the children. Ciri smiled lightly at the sight, but she didn't know if Anna had noticed.
"So now it's just a question on what those things were," Ciri muttered to herself, standing up. Puck hugged Anna's cheek, an odd sight, but if there was ever proof that not all monsters were inherently evil, then she was looking at it. Anna looked like she was about to break down crying at the contact.
"They were apostles," Guts' deep voice informed from behind her, standing at an odd angle. As if he had in the process of turning and walking away, only for the story to catch his interest. Ciri turned around, trying to connect the name with a type of monster, but came up empty. "Humans that sacrificed their humanity for power," he explained as if he could sense her confusion.
"I've never heard of anything quite like that before," Ciri commented, more to herself than to Guts. She had heard of pacts between people and monsters, usually, one being subservient to the other, but sacrificing their humanity directly for power?
"Guts…" Puck muttered, turning his attention to the massive human. Anna did as well.
"Thank you-" she started, swallowing around the lump in her throat before she tried to thank him, only for Guts to cut her off.
"Don't thank me," he interrupted gruffly. "I didn't kill them to save you or the kids." Guts shifted and Ciri was taken back by the anger simmering in his gaze. Enough so that Ciri found herself glancing at her sword resting by the door. Now that he wasn't a figure dressed in black in the middle of the night, Ciri got her first proper look at him.
He was a handsome man, with short black hair and a strong jawline, but his eyes detracted from it more than the scars that littered his face ever could. The bags were so pronounced that it looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in his entire life. The anger simmering in his eyes wasn't born from being missing some sleep. It was a part of him. The children were oblivious to it. They walked up to him, poking at his armor, pestering him with questions about whether he was a knight or if they could see his sword.
"Meh, don't listen to him! Guts is a good guy. Deep down. Like, way, way, way deep down," Puck insisted, and that wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement. Guts' nostrils flared before he turned away, nearly knocking one of the children over, and began to walk away. He… he-
"You're just leaving?!" Ciri was quick to snatch her sword back up and press after him. The callousness-! "We need to get these children out of here. We need to bring them back home," Ciri insisted, cutting ahead of Guts, only to find that he was more than willing to walk through her. She slammed a hand on his chest, not at all daunted by his size or the scowl he wore. "I get that you're an ass, but can you really leave a bunch of children in the middle of a bog with no protection?"
Ciri didn't think so. Guts fought hard. Incredibly hard throughout the night. It didn't matter what had charged towards him, Guts never allowed anything to get near that hovel. The fact that he stopped when she slammed a hand on his black armor told her that she had made a point. Just not one good enough to him from brushing her hand off to the side.
"Not without protection. You'll stay with them," Guts stated, certain of it. And… that was incredibly frustrating. He was right. She would. Worse, he knew it too. "They're your problem, not mine."
He made to move on, but Ciri shoved him back, making the perpetual scowl on his face deepen. "Them being with me is going to put them in more danger," Ciri told him, catching Guts' attention. "I'm being chased by the Wild Hunt. I managed to give them the slip thanks to a friend, but it is only a matter of time before they track me down again. The children will slow me down, and traveling with me will only put them in more danger." she said, hating the truth of it.
She had been so confident that she had given the Wild Hunt the slip. She spent a year in Night City -- a city that was as wondrous as it was awful and deadly. She thought it was finally safe to come out. She wanted to go home. Only to discover that the Wild Hunt had been waiting for her to come out of hiding. Apparently, despite there being thousands upon thousands of worlds out there, it still wasn't enough to hide in. All because of the cursed Elder Blood that flowed through her veins.
"That," Guts began, his voice a low and menacing growl, "is not my problem." With an almost casual shove, Ciri was nearly knocked off of her feet when he pushed her aside to move past her. She wasn't sure she could have stopped him even if she tried. Her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing into slits as she stared at Guts' back.
"What happened last night," Puck told her, landing on her shoulder after watching the exchange, "happens every night to Guts."
What?
"He's cursed or something. Every night monsters attack him endlessly or until the monsters run out. So, don't get too mad at him. Guts is worried that the kids will be in danger or killed because he's near them. It's… happened before," Puck explained and that completely drained the anger out of Ciri, leaving her feeling a bit hollow. Guts was cursed? With a curse that drew all the nearby monsters to him every night? That was… rather ineffective if whoever had cursed him was trying to kill him -- well, it would be effective for most. Just not Guts, as it would seem.
But, if that happens every night, then maybe Guts was right. Maybe, despite the Wild Hunt chasing her to the ends of the earth, the children were somehow safer with her. It seemed impossible.
However… "Your wound," Ciri called out to a retreating Guts on the edge of the property. "On the nape of your neck. Was it from a necrophage? The ghouls? If it was, then I need to brew a poultice for you before you go, because that bite will kill you if left untreated." That got Guts to stop. She had noticed it early in the fight. After a long night, he had to at least be feeling some of the effects -- a fever, lightheadedness, and worse as the mother of all infections spread through his veins from the skin torn by that bite. "You could take your chances with Puck's healing powder, but I know a Witcher's brew that'll take care of it. It'll taste like death, and make you feel worse, but you'll live."
"Oh~! You've already figured out how to get through to that big dumb idiot," Puck exclaimed, and that comment almost sent Guts walking off out of spite. But, thankfully, not even he was stubborn enough catch his death just to prove a point. Guts didn't say anything when he walked by, but she did sense that he was distinctly unhappy that he had to spend a even second longer with them.
Anna watched the exchange transpire, before approaching them again, bringing the less adventurous children that clung to her old ratty and faded skirts with her. "Sers," Anna asked, floundering for the proper way to address them before settling on treating them as if they were knights. "What… what will be done with us?" Her gaze slid to Guts, perhaps because he was the only one of them in full armor, a silent question there. She was thankful, but she seemed to realize that Guts was more than willing to leave them behind to fend for themselves.
"We can take you to the nearest village," Ciri offered, but there was fear in Anna's expression at that prospect. "Unless… we shouldn't?"
"All the villages around the Crookback Bog swore to the Crones, sers," she informed them, and that seemed to get a reaction out of Guts. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Anna, almost as if demanding an explanation, so she continued fearfully. "They offer gifts to them. And prayers. And…" her hands fell upon the children at her sides, what went unsaid abundantly clear. "If… if it at all possible… could you bring us to Crow's Perch. My… My husband there is the Baron. He's a cruel man, but he'll take the children in and raise them up right."
Ciri's lips thinned -- Her destination was ultimately Novigrad, the last independent city in the Northern Kingdoms. There, she would have friends. Triss, Yennefer. Geralt. People that she could rely on to help her rescue Avallac'h. The Wild Hunt wouldn't have killed him. Not when they could use him to bait her out. It was a trap she would be walking into, but she intended to walk into it armed enough to overcome whatever they threw at her.
Still, Anna was afraid. Terrified. She would be returning to a hell of her own making for the sake of the children, and Ciri was reluctant to let her suffer whatever fate her husband would give her for her defiance. "Do you have any family that I could take you to? Beyond your husband?" Ciri questioned, making Anna swallow thickly before she offered a small nod.
"My daughter… We sent her to Oxenfurt for study. She's rooming with my sister and her kin," Anna informed, her tone a little more hopeful. Oxenfurt was a detour, and one that would take at least a week of travel, but it was only a stone's throw away from Novigrad.
Avallac'h would live. He was as crafty as anyone she had ever known. She'd put even odds that Avallac'h had escaped capture himself. Ciri knew that she didn't need to worry about him, but she did anyway. Taking in a slow breath, Ciri forced herself to prioritize, and the answer as to what she should do was clear -- help the people that she knew she could help rather than rushing off blindly to save someone that might not need saving.
"I can do that. It'll be hard travel. We'll need supplies," Ciri said, committing herself to this. Puck threw up a hand while Anna looked so relieved that she could weep. She just might anyway.
"That building has a bunch of food and freaky stuff, o'Capi-tan!" Puck offered, pointing at the third building that must house the larder.
Her gaze slid to Guts, "With luck, it'll have the ingredients needed for the poultice." Guts gave a curt nod as the two of them broke off to head to the larder. Upon opening the door, Ciri saw that it was very well stocked. Both with foodstuffs and herbs. She had everything she needed to make the poultice three times over. It was almost a shame to leave it all behind, but they would need to travel light to save time.
"Last night," Ciri began, gathering the necessary herbs for the poultice, keeping an eye on Guts as he lingered by the door, watching her carefully. He looked like he thought that she was going to poison him. It was a real wonder how someone as chipper as Puck could travel with someone like Guts, who looked like he didn't even know how to laugh. A smile might actually kill him dead. "Puck said that that was your doing? Or, rather, a curse?" she asked, fishing for information for information, trying to understand the little that she had heard from the Crones.
They called Guts a Struggler. They also called him a sacrifice. She'd also like to know why Guts and Puck were even here -- she dropped in because of a hastily made portal, but that didn't explain why Guts was here. There were also some things that didn't add up about him.
When he looked at her, he tilted his head to the side. A habit that she recognized well enough, only those that had it tended to only have one eye. It was how they kept someone in their focus. There was his odd arsenal of weapons, the oddest of all was his metal arm that had some kind of loud weapon in it that tore through one of the Crones. Above all else was that mockery of a sword that he wielded. In short, Guts was a conundrum wrapped in an enigma. He also struck her as the type that'd rather rip out their own teeth than give an honest answer.
"Puck," Guts growled, his voice low and gruff, "needs to keep his mouth shut."
"Do you know who cursed you?" Ciri questioned and based on the look of pure murderous rage that lit up in Guts' eyes, the answer was a definitive yes. He said nothing, simply glowering at her, as if daring her to probe deeper.
Naturally, Ciri did. "How long have you been cursed for? Is it usually this bad?" she continued, her hands moving on their own as she prepared the herbs for the poultice.
"Whats it to you?" Guts bit out, an undertone of promised violence if she didn't stop pestering him. Guts struck her as someone dangerous. Impressively so. It was hard to say if he'd actually try to kill her or not, but Ciri was leaning towards not. After all, he did defend the children against a horde of monsters. He could put up the unfriendly act all that he wanted, but she knew knights that would cut and run long before even the first monster showed up.
"I'm a Witcher," Ciri repeated and… there was nothing in his expression. Part of that was because Guts' face seemed stuck in a perpetual scowl, but there was no confusion. No shock. No revulsion or hatred. It was like the word meant absolutely nothing to him. "It's my job to help out with things like curses. My thoughts were that you were here to hunt down the Crones -- the apostles, as you call them -- because they cursed you, but that doesn't line up. Why are you here, then?"
Guts didn't answer, rather predictably. He just glared at her as she finished preparing the bundle of herbs that she then put in a bowl and doused in spirits. "How long until the poultice is done?" He questioned instead, his tone telling her that there was a correct answer to that question and it was sometime within the next five minutes.
"I'm asking," Ciri continued, ignoring the question, "because I could be in a position to help-"
"I don't want your help," he snapped at her, his eyes narrowing. "The kids, an old woman, and now me? Aren't you being hunted yourself?" He shot back at her, not at all accepting the idea that she just wanted to help. That it was her job to break curses. That no one on this planet deserved to spend every night in a fitfulstruggle for their lives. Ciri didn't know his story, but she suspected that he had a hard life long before he was cursed. He was incredibly distrustful.
Diplomacy was never one of her strong suits -- not as a princess, nor as a witcher. Still, those old lessons weren't entirely forgotten in favor of poultice making and swordplay. "It's because I'm being hunted," Ciri answered, catching his attention. "I don't know when the Wild Hunt will find me. They could be in the trees watching us now for all I know. I'm trying to help you so you'll make a deal with me -- if I have to leave, or if I get captured, that you'll be there to protect Anna and the children and escort them to Oxenfurt."
Guts wouldn't accept a helping hand. Ciri barely knew him and that was already abundantly clear. But, he didn't seem beyond making a deal.
"And why would I do that?" He questioned, and how he spoke… that was the tone of a mercenary fishing for a price.
"I happen to know two of the greatest Sorceresses in the world," Ciri stated, quite proud of that fact. Triss Merigold and Yennefer of Vengerberg -- they might not share blood, but they were family to her all the same. "If anyone can help you break your curse, then it would be them."
"I don't want it broken," Guts dismissed the offer out of hand, catching her flatfooted. That was insane. Who would want to live like that?
"Even if it means never getting a full night's sleep for the rest of your life?" Ciri questioned and, try as he might, Guts couldn't quite keep the desire out of his gaze after hearing that. The man looked tired. The kind of tired that you felt deep in your bones, when you were scraping the bottom of the barrel for energy to keep going. "Help me help Anna and the kids, and I swear to you, I will help you with your curse. If I can't… well, at the very least you won't be fighting hordes of monsters on your own."
Taking out the soaked herbs, she gave them a squeeze before putting them in a bandage. Handing that to Guts to put on his wound, she also offered the bowl filled with residue and spirits to drink. "Deal?" she asked him, searching his gaze. Guts was the most monstrously strong fighter that she had ever seen before in her life, and that included every Witcher she had ever met. If the Wild Hunt did come for her, she knew that Guts would be able to protect the children.
Guts snatched the bowl from her hand and swallowed the residue with a single gulp, his expression not so much as twitching at the foul taste.
"Deal," he said, almost as if he were forcing the word past his lips.
Ciri gave him a beaming smile in response, "I look forward to traveling with you then. I expect it's going to be… interesting."
...
It's been two years since I last updated this story. Feels like it's been a lot longer. Castoff has been resurrected from the dead as a commission story. I planned for it to be updated on Wednesdays alongside Legends Never Die, a new story that went up today, but updating two stories on the same day at the same time was way more involved than I thought it would be, so Castoff will be updated every other Thursday at least twice a week. I hope you all enjoy!
Ciri watched him slam its rough edge into the side of a ghoul, and between his impossible strength and the sheer weight of the blade that was bigger than the equally large man that wielded it, the rotten ghoul was split apart, as were the drowners that had the misfortune of standing next to it. Her own sword arm felt stiff after a night spent fending off the unending horde of creatures, and every movement sent a flash of pain through her shoulder blade, her injuries flaring under the strain -- her shirt was soaked with blood and most of it was her own. She hung near the door, the mud around the small hovel was so thick with bile and blood that each step threatened to claim her boots.
A ghoul came in low to the ground, jumping off of the corpses of its brethren to bypass the bog and leaping for her. Ciri sucked in a sharp breath, ignoring how everything in her body just screamed for her to stop, and sidestepped the lunge, using the ghoul's own momentum against it to help her slide her blade down through its collarbone, skewering its intestines. Ripping her blade free with a splash of black bile, her gaze slid to the man in time to watch him stomp on a drowner's chest, crushing its ribs, before bisecting another with an almost casual backswing.
"What is he?" Ciri questioned -- she had been trained by some of the greatest swordsmen in the world. Even without the Witcher mutations, she had gone through the gauntlet. For hours upon hours, Ciri had fought while conserving her endurance for the sake of this drawn-out battle and as dawn started to brighten the sky, Ciri found herself flagging. The man however, whose name she still has yet to learn, fought with the same vigor that he started with. He looked human, if a rather big example of one, but Ciri was rapidly forming doubts about his true nature.
"He!" An energetic voice announced into her ear, making Ciri flinch. Floating just over her shoulder was a… Ciri wasn't entirely certain what he was. Three inches in height, insectoid wings, no genitalia, a mop of dark blue hair, wide eyes, and pointed ears. Ciri wanted to call him a fairy, but despite a world full of monsters and creatures, the existence of fairies was unconfirmed. The common folk made them up in their ignorance of the true monsters of the world. "Is! My black castle property! The one! The only! It's… Guuuuutttssss!"
That was entirely too much enthusiasm for Ciri. Her entire body ached, her wounds flared with pain, her stomach felt like it had shriveled up to the size of a peanut, and despite the bile and rotting corpses that littered the hamlet, Ciri was pretty sure she could smell herself over the stench of death. Still, he had a name now. "Guts?" She echoed.
Her gaze dartedto a Scurver stumbling forward at the edge of the hamlet. "Guts!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the titan of a man as he strode forward to dispatch it.
Guts glanced over to her with eyes so dark they were nearly black in hue -- he did look tired, but it was seemingly confined to his face. A pair of dark bags under his eyes told Ciri that this wasn't the first time that he had stayed up all night. Likewise, there was a weight to his gaze that told her that this wasn't the first time he spent that night fighting a long and drawn out battle.
"Scurvers explode on death," she told him, earning a curt nod as he continued toward it. He reared his sword back, and when he swung, instead of striking it with the edge of the sword, he hit the Scurver with the flat of it. Ciri watched in dull awe as the Scurver was launched into the air a good dozen feet before it crashed against one of the buildings, reduced to a mangled mass of twitching flesh, where it exploded into a toxic mist that launched shards of needle-like bone everywhere.
It was then that the first rays of dawn emerged through the thick canopy of trees. Almost as if a curtain was being raised up for the new day. Guts stood where he was, now fully illuminated by the morning sun -- his pale skin sweaty, a slight droop in his shoulders that betrayed the tension leaving him. Ciri stumbled a step back and leaned heavily on the front door of the building she had been protecting.
"And I'm Puck!" Puck introduced himself, his hands on his hips. "I'm a first aid kit! And an elf!' He tacked on, going to the wound on her side. Ciri just about swatted him away, only to stop herself -- throughout the night, she had seen an odd figure darting through the air to distract some of the monsters. That had to be Puck based on the size. More than that, the moment that his tiny hands touched her wound, Ciri felt the pain vanish.
A breath that she had been holding left her, "An elf, huh? I have to say -- you seem a little small compared to the elves that I know." Elves like Avallac'h, her mentor and friend. Who could take care of himself but given how they had parted… Ciri was worried. Wherever here was -- it wasn't the target destination to that hastily made portal.
"What?! I'll have you know that I'm the tallest of all the elves! Well, except for Danan. And Pick. And Peck. And Pock. And… no, I'm pretty sure I'm taller than Pyok." Puck defended, emerging from her bloody shirt to plant his hands on his hips and thrusting his chest out, as if he trying to make himself taller to prove his point. He seemed playful. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous, though. Godlings were playful as well, and more than a few people died because of their playful pranks.
"I'll take your word for it," Ciri said, deciding to humor him. Her gaze slid over to Guts, who was sheathing his massive blade on his back. "My name's Ciri. Witcher," she tacked on, expecting a reaction from the two, and while she did get one, it wasn't the one she expected.
"You're a witch? Cool!" Puck exclaimed, his eyes going so wide that they could have fallen right out of her head. "Do a magic spell!"
"I don't care," Guts dismissed her gruffly. Ciri didn't take that to heart -- they did just fight through the night. He was probably just cranky.
Still, an odd reaction to her profession. Well, desired profession. "I just hope there aren't any others looking for work around here. We've done a year's worth of work in a single night. Now, let's go check up on the damsels in distress," Ciri decided, turning around to knock at the door. Her sharp hearing picked up the shuffling within, "You can come out now! The coast is clear."
She waited while Puck went over to Guts to take care of his injuries. After a long minute, whatever furniture had been shoved in front of the door was cleared away, and almost as soon as the door cracked open, curious children poured from the house like a flood. All of them looked unharmed, and at some point the fear must have faded because a little boy started gaping around like he couldn't tell which monster corpse he wanted to look at first. He was spoiled for choice in that regard.
"Travik! Aynara! Don't touch anything, either of you! Monsters are poisonous and they'll kill you dead if you touch them even a little," an elderly woman barked out, using an ancient yet tried and true tactic to prevent children from sticking their noses where they didn't belong -- with a warning that it'd get bitten off if they got into mischief. While keeping an eye on the children to make sure they didn't get themselves killed, Ciri turned her attention to the woman who emerged from the hovel. She was older -- her hair gray and her skin sagging with wrinkles. Her eyes were bloodshot, telling Ciri she had stayed up through the night as well to protect the children.
She looked lost, though as she stepped outside of the hovel, she seemed to be basking in the children complaining that they couldn't touch the monster corpses. "I'm Ciri," Ciri introduced herself, gesturing to Guts as she very carefully, and pointedly, set her sword to the side. Neither her nor Guts would look like a friendly face after this ordeal. "That's Guts, and-"
"I'm Puck!" Puck introduced himself where he was nearly being torn limb from limb by curious children as they poked and prodded at him. He didn't seem to mind it overly much though. The old woman's gaze flickered between them, not sure what to make of what had happened or the sight that she saw before her.
The elderly woman nodded shakily, glancing down at the smooth palms of her hands, eyeing them like a snake hidden in the grass. "I...I'm Anna," she introduced herself, her voice rough and sounding as lost as she looked. "They're dead. Those...horrid monsters are dead." Despite having killed them throughout the night, Ciri knew exactly which monsters she was talking about.
"They are. Guts and I made sure of it," Ciri reassured, hoping that wasn't a lie. Monsters like that, whatever those crones were, they had a habit of cheating death. Anna simply nodded, though looking like she couldn't quite believe it. "Can you tell me why you're here, why the children are…?"
Anna nodded, a thumb going over the smooth flesh of her palm. Ciri recognized it as the action of someone that expected something to be there, and couldn't bring themselves to believe that it wasn't. If she had any money, she would have bet that there was a magic mark, of binding most likely, that was missing. Anna nodded again, visibly steeling herself as she spoke.
"I had made a deal with them. A horrid deal that I...I will regret to the end of my days," Anna began, already on the verge of tears. Puck floated over to her, somehow escaping the children who protested his departure, landing on her shoulder and placing a hand on her cheek. Despite Puck being all of three inches tall, Anna leaned into the touch as she swallowed a sob. "My husband was a vile man. He wasn't always so, but war...war changes folk. For the worst. He beat me and my daughter, raped me whenever he wished, and he murdered a dear friend of mine."
Ciri nodded, showing that she understood and giving Anna time to find the strength to keep speaking. "One day I found I was with child. I...I couldn't bear it. I hated him more than anything in this world, and...I heard wives' tales about the three witches of Crookback Bog." Anna let out a shuddering breath, a tear sliding down her wrinkled cheek, "I asked them to get rid of it in a desperate prayer...and they answered it. We made a deal -- they would get rid of...of my baby and I would serve them for a year."
Ciri knew there was a but coming before Anna continued, "but they didn't tell me how they would get rid of it. They killed the babe growing in my belly, but it was killing me as well. I was given a talisman when I realized what they had done." A hand went up to Puck for reassurance, which he happily gave, "My daughter and I were going to leave Crow's Perch, but my husband caught us. He beat me so bad I miscarried the babe there...when he passed out, we left. But I dropped my talisman, and they caught me."
"It sounds like the world is a brighter place without them," Ciri noted, her heart clenching in her chest at the thought of what this woman must have gone through. Anna nodded, fighting back tears and wiping away another that had managed to trail down her other cheek.
"I think they meant it as a cruel jest when they made me look after the children, but they were the only light in my life for the past months. I don't know what they intended for them, and I hope I never learn," Anna swore, looking over at the children. Ciri smiled lightly at the sight, but she didn't know if Anna had noticed.
"So now it's just a question on what those things were," Ciri muttered to herself, standing up. Puck hugged Anna's cheek, an odd sight, but if there was ever proof that not all monsters were inherently evil, then she was looking at it. Anna looked like she was about to break down crying at the contact.
"They were apostles," Guts' deep voice informed from behind her, standing at an odd angle. As if he had in the process of turning and walking away, only for the story to catch his interest. Ciri turned around, trying to connect the name with a type of monster, but came up empty. "Humans that sacrificed their humanity for power," he explained as if he could sense her confusion.
"I've never heard of anything quite like that before," Ciri commented, more to herself than to Guts. She had heard of pacts between people and monsters, usually, one being subservient to the other, but sacrificing their humanity directly for power?
"Guts…" Puck muttered, turning his attention to the massive human. Anna did as well.
"Thank you-" she started, swallowing around the lump in her throat before she tried to thank him, only for Guts to cut her off.
"Don't thank me," he interrupted gruffly. "I didn't kill them to save you or the kids." Guts shifted and Ciri was taken back by the anger simmering in his gaze. Enough so that Ciri found herself glancing at her sword resting by the door. Now that he wasn't a figure dressed in black in the middle of the night, Ciri got her first proper look at him.
He was a handsome man, with short black hair and a strong jawline, but his eyes detracted from it more than the scars that littered his face ever could. The bags were so pronounced that it looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in his entire life. The anger simmering in his eyes wasn't born from being missing some sleep. It was a part of him. The children were oblivious to it. They walked up to him, poking at his armor, pestering him with questions about whether he was a knight or if they could see his sword.
"Meh, don't listen to him! Guts is a good guy. Deep down. Like, way, way, way deep down," Puck insisted, and that wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement. Guts' nostrils flared before he turned away, nearly knocking one of the children over, and began to walk away. He… he-
"You're just leaving?!" Ciri was quick to snatch her sword back up and press after him. The callousness-! "We need to get these children out of here. We need to bring them back home," Ciri insisted, cutting ahead of Guts, only to find that he was more than willing to walk through her. She slammed a hand on his chest, not at all daunted by his size or the scowl he wore. "I get that you're an ass, but can you really leave a bunch of children in the middle of a bog with no protection?"
Ciri didn't think so. Guts fought hard. Incredibly hard throughout the night. It didn't matter what had charged towards him, Guts never allowed anything to get near that hovel. The fact that he stopped when she slammed a hand on his black armor told her that she had made a point. Just not one good enough to him from brushing her hand off to the side.
"Not without protection. You'll stay with them," Guts stated, certain of it. And… that was incredibly frustrating. He was right. She would. Worse, he knew it too. "They're your problem, not mine."
He made to move on, but Ciri shoved him back, making the perpetual scowl on his face deepen. "Them being with me is going to put them in more danger," Ciri told him, catching Guts' attention. "I'm being chased by the Wild Hunt. I managed to give them the slip thanks to a friend, but it is only a matter of time before they track me down again. The children will slow me down, and traveling with me will only put them in more danger." she said, hating the truth of it.
She had been so confident that she had given the Wild Hunt the slip. She spent a year in Night City -- a city that was as wondrous as it was awful and deadly. She thought it was finally safe to come out. She wanted to go home. Only to discover that the Wild Hunt had been waiting for her to come out of hiding. Apparently, despite there being thousands upon thousands of worlds out there, it still wasn't enough to hide in. All because of the cursed Elder Blood that flowed through her veins.
"That," Guts began, his voice a low and menacing growl, "is not my problem." With an almost casual shove, Ciri was nearly knocked off of her feet when he pushed her aside to move past her. She wasn't sure she could have stopped him even if she tried. Her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing into slits as she stared at Guts' back.
"What happened last night," Puck told her, landing on her shoulder after watching the exchange, "happens every night to Guts."
What?
"He's cursed or something. Every night monsters attack him endlessly or until the monsters run out. So, don't get too mad at him. Guts is worried that the kids will be in danger or killed because he's near them. It's… happened before," Puck explained and that completely drained the anger out of Ciri, leaving her feeling a bit hollow. Guts was cursed? With a curse that drew all the nearby monsters to him every night? That was… rather ineffective if whoever had cursed him was trying to kill him -- well, it would be effective for most. Just not Guts, as it would seem.
But, if that happens every night, then maybe Guts was right. Maybe, despite the Wild Hunt chasing her to the ends of the earth, the children were somehow safer with her. It seemed impossible.
However… "Your wound," Ciri called out to a retreating Guts on the edge of the property. "On the nape of your neck. Was it from a necrophage? The ghouls? If it was, then I need to brew a poultice for you before you go, because that bite will kill you if left untreated." That got Guts to stop. She had noticed it early in the fight. After a long night, he had to at least be feeling some of the effects -- a fever, lightheadedness, and worse as the mother of all infections spread through his veins from the skin torn by that bite. "You could take your chances with Puck's healing powder, but I know a Witcher's brew that'll take care of it. It'll taste like death, and make you feel worse, but you'll live."
"Oh~! You've already figured out how to get through to that big dumb idiot," Puck exclaimed, and that comment almost sent Guts walking off out of spite. But, thankfully, not even he was stubborn enough catch his death just to prove a point. Guts didn't say anything when he walked by, but she did sense that he was distinctly unhappy that he had to spend a even second longer with them.
Anna watched the exchange transpire, before approaching them again, bringing the less adventurous children that clung to her old ratty and faded skirts with her. "Sers," Anna asked, floundering for the proper way to address them before settling on treating them as if they were knights. "What… what will be done with us?" Her gaze slid to Guts, perhaps because he was the only one of them in full armor, a silent question there. She was thankful, but she seemed to realize that Guts was more than willing to leave them behind to fend for themselves.
"We can take you to the nearest village," Ciri offered, but there was fear in Anna's expression at that prospect. "Unless… we shouldn't?"
"All the villages around the Crookback Bog swore to the Crones, sers," she informed them, and that seemed to get a reaction out of Guts. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Anna, almost as if demanding an explanation, so she continued fearfully. "They offer gifts to them. And prayers. And…" her hands fell upon the children at her sides, what went unsaid abundantly clear. "If… if it at all possible… could you bring us to Crow's Perch. My… My husband there is the Baron. He's a cruel man, but he'll take the children in and raise them up right."
Ciri's lips thinned -- Her destination was ultimately Novigrad, the last independent city in the Northern Kingdoms. There, she would have friends. Triss, Yennefer. Geralt. People that she could rely on to help her rescue Avallac'h. The Wild Hunt wouldn't have killed him. Not when they could use him to bait her out. It was a trap she would be walking into, but she intended to walk into it armed enough to overcome whatever they threw at her.
Still, Anna was afraid. Terrified. She would be returning to a hell of her own making for the sake of the children, and Ciri was reluctant to let her suffer whatever fate her husband would give her for her defiance. "Do you have any family that I could take you to? Beyond your husband?" Ciri questioned, making Anna swallow thickly before she offered a small nod.
"My daughter… We sent her to Oxenfurt for study. She's rooming with my sister and her kin," Anna informed, her tone a little more hopeful. Oxenfurt was a detour, and one that would take at least a week of travel, but it was only a stone's throw away from Novigrad.
Avallac'h would live. He was as crafty as anyone she had ever known. She'd put even odds that Avallac'h had escaped capture himself. Ciri knew that she didn't need to worry about him, but she did anyway. Taking in a slow breath, Ciri forced herself to prioritize, and the answer as to what she should do was clear -- help the people that she knew she could help rather than rushing off blindly to save someone that might not need saving.
"I can do that. It'll be hard travel. We'll need supplies," Ciri said, committing herself to this. Puck threw up a hand while Anna looked so relieved that she could weep. She just might anyway.
"That building has a bunch of food and freaky stuff, o'Capi-tan!" Puck offered, pointing at the third building that must house the larder.
Her gaze slid to Guts, "With luck, it'll have the ingredients needed for the poultice." Guts gave a curt nod as the two of them broke off to head to the larder. Upon opening the door, Ciri saw that it was very well stocked. Both with foodstuffs and herbs. She had everything she needed to make the poultice three times over. It was almost a shame to leave it all behind, but they would need to travel light to save time.
"Last night," Ciri began, gathering the necessary herbs for the poultice, keeping an eye on Guts as he lingered by the door, watching her carefully. He looked like he thought that she was going to poison him. It was a real wonder how someone as chipper as Puck could travel with someone like Guts, who looked like he didn't even know how to laugh. A smile might actually kill him dead. "Puck said that that was your doing? Or, rather, a curse?" she asked, fishing for information for information, trying to understand the little that she had heard from the Crones.
They called Guts a Struggler. They also called him a sacrifice. She'd also like to know why Guts and Puck were even here -- she dropped in because of a hastily made portal, but that didn't explain why Guts was here. There were also some things that didn't add up about him.
When he looked at her, he tilted his head to the side. A habit that she recognized well enough, only those that had it tended to only have one eye. It was how they kept someone in their focus. There was his odd arsenal of weapons, the oddest of all was his metal arm that had some kind of loud weapon in it that tore through one of the Crones. Above all else was that mockery of a sword that he wielded. In short, Guts was a conundrum wrapped in an enigma. He also struck her as the type that'd rather rip out their own teeth than give an honest answer.
"Puck," Guts growled, his voice low and gruff, "needs to keep his mouth shut."
"Do you know who cursed you?" Ciri questioned and based on the look of pure murderous rage that lit up in Guts' eyes, the answer was a definitive yes. He said nothing, simply glowering at her, as if daring her to probe deeper.
Naturally, Ciri did. "How long have you been cursed for? Is it usually this bad?" she continued, her hands moving on their own as she prepared the herbs for the poultice.
"Whats it to you?" Guts bit out, an undertone of promised violence if she didn't stop pestering him. Guts struck her as someone dangerous. Impressively so. It was hard to say if he'd actually try to kill her or not, but Ciri was leaning towards not. After all, he did defend the children against a horde of monsters. He could put up the unfriendly act all that he wanted, but she knew knights that would cut and run long before even the first monster showed up.
"I'm a Witcher," Ciri repeated and… there was nothing in his expression. Part of that was because Guts' face seemed stuck in a perpetual scowl, but there was no confusion. No shock. No revulsion or hatred. It was like the word meant absolutely nothing to him. "It's my job to help out with things like curses. My thoughts were that you were here to hunt down the Crones -- the apostles, as you call them -- because they cursed you, but that doesn't line up. Why are you here, then?"
Guts didn't answer, rather predictably. He just glared at her as she finished preparing the bundle of herbs that she then put in a bowl and doused in spirits. "How long until the poultice is done?" He questioned instead, his tone telling her that there was a correct answer to that question and it was sometime within the next five minutes.
"I'm asking," Ciri continued, ignoring the question, "because I could be in a position to help-"
"I don't want your help," he snapped at her, his eyes narrowing. "The kids, an old woman, and now me? Aren't you being hunted yourself?" He shot back at her, not at all accepting the idea that she just wanted to help. That it was her job to break curses. That no one on this planet deserved to spend every night in a fitfulstruggle for their lives. Ciri didn't know his story, but she suspected that he had a hard life long before he was cursed. He was incredibly distrustful.
Diplomacy was never one of her strong suits -- not as a princess, nor as a witcher. Still, those old lessons weren't entirely forgotten in favor of poultice making and swordplay. "It's because I'm being hunted," Ciri answered, catching his attention. "I don't know when the Wild Hunt will find me. They could be in the trees watching us now for all I know. I'm trying to help you so you'll make a deal with me -- if I have to leave, or if I get captured, that you'll be there to protect Anna and the children and escort them to Oxenfurt."
Guts wouldn't accept a helping hand. Ciri barely knew him and that was already abundantly clear. But, he didn't seem beyond making a deal.
"And why would I do that?" He questioned, and how he spoke… that was the tone of a mercenary fishing for a price.
"I happen to know two of the greatest Sorceresses in the world," Ciri stated, quite proud of that fact. Triss Merigold and Yennefer of Vengerberg -- they might not share blood, but they were family to her all the same. "If anyone can help you break your curse, then it would be them."
"I don't want it broken," Guts dismissed the offer out of hand, catching her flatfooted. That was insane. Who would want to live like that?
"Even if it means never getting a full night's sleep for the rest of your life?" Ciri questioned and, try as he might, Guts couldn't quite keep the desire out of his gaze after hearing that. The man looked tired. The kind of tired that you felt deep in your bones, when you were scraping the bottom of the barrel for energy to keep going. "Help me help Anna and the kids, and I swear to you, I will help you with your curse. If I can't… well, at the very least you won't be fighting hordes of monsters on your own."
Taking out the soaked herbs, she gave them a squeeze before putting them in a bandage. Handing that to Guts to put on his wound, she also offered the bowl filled with residue and spirits to drink. "Deal?" she asked him, searching his gaze. Guts was the most monstrously strong fighter that she had ever seen before in her life, and that included every Witcher she had ever met. If the Wild Hunt did come for her, she knew that Guts would be able to protect the children.
Guts snatched the bowl from her hand and swallowed the residue with a single gulp, his expression not so much as twitching at the foul taste.
"Deal," he said, almost as if he were forcing the word past his lips.
Ciri gave him a beaming smile in response, "I look forward to traveling with you then. I expect it's going to be… interesting."
...
It's been two years since I last updated this story. Feels like it's been a lot longer. Castoff has been resurrected from the dead as a commission story. I planned for it to be updated on Wednesdays alongside Legends Never Die, a new story that went up today, but updating two stories on the same day at the same time was way more involved than I thought it would be, so Castoff will be updated every other Thursday at least twice a week. I hope you all enjoy!
Severance
- Location
- USA
Casca would like her, Guts decided as he brought up the rear of the makeshift caravan they had going. The kids in front of him marching in a line, holding hands with the old woman while Ciri led upfront. In the early light, the bog still retained its ominous feel but, at the very least, the mist was gone.
His eyes landed on the woman's back, a slender longsword sheathed on it as she routinely scanned the trees for any sign of trouble. Despite how outlandish it sounded, Guts believed her claim that she was a monster hunter. Throughout the night, not only had she handled herself rather well, but she was knowledgeable about the creatures they fought despite Guts having never seen their like before.
The undead took many forms, but he hadn't recognized the 'necrophages.' More often than not, whatever vengeful spirit that inhabited a rotting corpse kept whatever form they found their host in. The ones he fought last night seemed to be the corpses of a matching breed of animals. The Drowners and Fiend, however, were new. They weren't possessed by a vengeful spirit, but they had attacked him all the same.
Which raised more questions than Guts wanted to bother with. Those things -- the Drowners, the Nekkers, the Fiend and Water Hags. What were they? Guts was no stranger to the supernatural, but those creatures had simply been monsters. Could it be something similar to what Rosine did? Capture a bunch of humans and twist them into monsters to serve and protect her?
Guts didn't know. He didn't think so simply because of how calm Ciri had been throughout the night. It didn't take him long to realize that he didn't have to worry about protecting her, leaving him free to fight on his own. Either she was an outlier, and given how those crones spoke about her that was probably the case, or wherever here was had a very different kind of wildlife running amok.
He had many questions, and he would get them a lot faster if he could ditch the children. Even if he didn't quite know where he was, all he needed to do was find the coast or a road and eventually he would find a town he could get directions from. Being near the kids was uncomfortable and, thankfully, they seemed scared shitless of him so they clung to Ciri after he gave them a few mean looks. That was enough for Guts for now. It was slower, but he would get his answers. Though, it was the fact that she managed to get that promise out of him…
Casca would have liked her. Not only was she a warrior, her demeanor even reminded him of Casca. How...she was before that night. Confident, borderline cocky at times, but capable. He could imagine them getting along rather well. Too well, even.
However, that observation made his thoughts drift to Casca. Her short black hair, her bronze skin...her smell and taste, how her body felt pressed against his. Guts did his best to push the memories away, knowing that they would do him more harm than whatever empty comforts they offered. Without fail, every time he thought of the woman that he loved, his memories turned to that night.
Worse than the nightmares was the ache in his heart that pained him more than any wound. The proud, confident, capable woman that Casca was...was lost. Broken by what happened that night, her mind shattered like a glass cup and Guts...he had no hope that the pieces would put themselves together again.
At first, he had hoped that it was shock. He saw it plenty of times on the battlefield -- a greenhorn after their first battle staring off at nothing for hours on end, trapped in their own head. More than once, after a bad battle, Guts saw greenhorns that never left their heads, forever trapped inside. He didn't know if any of them ever recovered, but he didn't have high hopes.
Or, rather, Guts didn't let himself have hope.
"Guts?" Puck asked, turning around to face him as he distracted the children from a long day of walking. Guts glanced at the elf, the annoyance's blue eyes were filled with concern. Odds were he was picking up on the negative emotions brewing inside him, the rage that was simmering underneath the surface that always came when he thought about Casca. What happened to her, to the Band of the Hawk, on that night.
He looked away, turning his attention back to the treeline. Puck, over time, learned when not to pester him, and thankfully he let the matter drop to return to entertaining the children. Some of the kids glanced back at him, though most looked away quickly except for one boy that glared at him like he kicked his dog. Guts stared him down, the kid's small face was set into a deep scowl and he only looked away when he nearly fell face-first into the much over a root.
The kid opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by the sound of howling in the distance. Guts' gaze snapped in the direction that it came from, his one hand twitching towards Dragonslayer as he tried to find the wolf pack through the dense shrubbery.
From the sound of it, they were close, but not-
"Help!" Guts heard someone shout in the distance. A high-pitched voice thick with panic. A girl's voice. He glanced over at Ciri to see that she was gazing off in the same direction before she turned her attention back to him. There was a question in her gaze and he had to fight off the urge to dismiss it, to tell her to deal with it herself. Only she beat him to it.
"You continue on," Ciri said before she leapt into the bog with little hesitation, heading in the direction of the shout for help. Her exhaustion showed, but she pressed onward despite it. Guts watched her go, his hand still on Dragonslayer and momentarily debated going after her. Wolves were dangerous in their own way. His gaze slid over to the kids and woman that watched after Ciri with great concern before swallowing a sigh.
"We'll follow the path," he told her before he let go of his sword. If she was taking this chance to drop the brats on him, he'd make her wish that she had died to the wolves instead. Ciri flashed him a look of gratitude and Guts left her to it. Either she would come back or she wouldn't. He pressed on ahead and, for a moment, the kids didn't follow him. "Don't think for a second I won't leave you all behind. Get going."
"Don't mind him, he's just a big grouch! Follow me!" Puck told the old woman and the children and the brats were too dumb to realize that by following Puck, they were following him. Guts strode forward, a hand resting on Dragonslayer, searching for threats as much as he was Ciri. All the while he thought back on his own childhood -- the children were around five through eight years old. Maybe nine at the absolute oldest.
By that time, Guts had killed a hundred men and he had seen thousands die. It was hard to believe how helpless the brats were.
With a shake of his head, Guts continued forward, leading the way. The path was winding, but there was a clear path to the Hamlet if you saw the signs. Along where there was solid ground where the muck didn't threaten to claim a boot for each step taken, was a trail of berries. Blackberries for the most part, but raspberries as well. They were the only spots of color against the drab marsh, making them stand out clearly.
It was a simple trick to lead unassuming folk straight to the apostles, but Guts wasn't surprised that it worked. Food was always a worry. For some, they'd follow that trail of berries through the gates of hell if it meant their belly would be full by the end of it.
They traveled in silence for a long hour before they caught sight of the end of the bog -- no such luck that there was a village there, but Guts did see a dirt road. When they neared it, he also noted that it had seen recent use. The air felt wet and now that he could see the sky above, he saw nothing but gray clouds. Based on the tracks, a good dozen people complete with a company of wagons, had used the road. Going west by the look of things.
"Ser," the old woman spoke up, the children huddled around her as if she could offer any protection, "What of Lady Ciri? She… should she not be back yet?"
She should. "She's likely dead," Guts dismissed gruffly. Or, that Wild Hunt she spoke of had found her. Meaning that he was saddled with the brats. Maybe he should have gone to investigate the cry for help.
The children started to get choked up, as if tears could solve anything. Much less bring the dead back to life. Guts' lips thinned ever so slightly, looking over his shoulder at them. If he snapped at them to shut up, would that stop their weeping or would that just make it worse? The old woman tried to soothe them, but she seemed on the verge of tears herself at the thought that Ciri got herself killed like an idiot.
A sigh escaped him, "Or she couldn't come back for some reason. Or she's on the road behind us and she needs to catch up," Guts offered, thinking the latter was unlikely. However, it was the one that the children latched onto.
"Then we should wait!" A pudgy boy named Travik decided, going as far as to take a seat as he looked at the road they had taken.
"Yeah! Let's wait for Ciri!" A girl with a reddish brown braid of hair named Aynara seconded. She at least looked up at the old woman for permission. She, in turn, looked to him for guidance. If they waited here, the they'd be waiting until the end of their days for a woman that wouldn't show up. In the rain, most likely.
"We'll leave a sign," Guts decided, his voice a low growl that told the kids that it wasn't a matter of debate. They debated it anyway and Guts had to crush a flash of annoyance while the old woman began to shush them. When Guts unsheathed Dragonslayer, that shut them right up, letting him put down a sign that they were heading west.
Guts didn't know how to read or write, but he knew how to communicate through signs. The one he put down was an old one from his father's band of mercenaries.
"Your sword is big," one of the brats remarked as Guts wordlessly began heading down the dirt road, expecting to be followed. Genny, Guts recalled. Red cheeks and brown hair. "Can I hold it?"
"No," Guts intoned, wondering how far it was to Oxenfurt.
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please? I won't drop it! Promise! My Da says I'm really strong!" Genny pleaded, puffing out his chest. Guts narrowed his eyes at that.
"And where is your Dad?" He asked the boy quietly, wary of the answer. Predictably, his face twisted ever so slightly, as if he were fighting off a wave of tears, but the boy put on a brave face and refused to let them fall.
"He went off to fight intha war," Genny explained. A common tale, really. "Mum got really sad about that, but me and my brothers kept her company. She took care of us until she got sick. Then we all went hungry for a bit before she sent me down the trail of treats!"
Guts really didn't ask for his life story, as short as it was, but that last bit caught his attention. "You mean the berries?"
"Hm!" Genny nodded enthusiastically, "Now, can I hold your sword?"
"No," Guts responded and the brat got it in his head that by answering the questions, he was earning the right to play with Dragonslayer. His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond the trail -- the bog was clearly marked on one side, but he saw smoke off in the distance. Too much to be from a hearth fire. Less than if a building had been put to the torch. The smoke was an oily black that Guts recognized with ease -- someone was burning bodies. Quite a few of them.
The walk over was miserable. Guts would sooner part with his tongue before he admitted it, but Puck made himself useful by distracting the children so they would leave him alone. He was good with children. Better than him, at any rate and it was better for the brats than hanging around him. All the same, as they neared a round in the bend and on top of a small hill, Guts caught glimpse of the village.
It was small. Few buildings and the source of the fire seemed to be coming from the center of the village. Given that none of the children were shouting about how they recognized it, Guts suspected that there were a number of villages on the edge of the bog. A curious thing, Guts noted because he sure as shit didn't see any farms. The hills could contain ore, but if they did, then the village wouldn't be as small as it was nor would it look so old. A dozen buildings at his count made it too big for a hunting village, not to mention that between a bog and rolling hills, the territory didn't strike him as rich with game.
Which begged the question of how could this small village support itself? Without a river? Without farms or a trade?
Guts suspected the answer and he strode forward, a deep scowl on his face as the stench of charred meat and burning hair reached his nose. The villagers were a rough motley looking bunch, Guts noticed as they stood around a pyer in the heart of their village. Puck drifted forward, whispering in his ear," They're afraid. Really afraid. Will the sun rise in the morning kind of afraid so… try not to be yourself."
The mayor of the village made himself known. A portly man wearing a old stained tunic that his gut was straining against while his face was covered in pox scars. More interestingly, Guts noticed that he was missing an ear. "Hold there strangers," he said, stepping forward, bringing the attention of the rest of the village to them. Their eyes were red and swollen. Many had been weeping. "You've come at a poor time. There's a pox in the village. Claimed half of us in the night."
The same night that he killed the Crones. After years on the road, hunting for Apostles by nothing more than his Brand or by rumor, Guts knew a coincidence when he saw one. And this was one. This was cause and effect.
"We're looking for supplies and directions," Guts answered, his eyes sliding over the villagers. Their gazes weren't welcoming. That was no surprise given that they arrived at a point of mourning. However, Guts watched them carefully, spotting the exact moment that one of the village men took notice of the band of children and the old woman behind him. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed… and he began to think. "We're traveling to Oxenfurt."
The Mayor's lips thinned, a hand going to his greasy and thinning hair. "You're on the proper path for it, but you'd be better off going back east to Velen. The Nilfgaardian army is out west and all sorts of monsters are prowling the old battlefields," The Mayor advised.
Nilfgaard. That wasn't a name he wasn't familiar with.
"Is that so? Who are they at war with? I'm a mercenary," Guts questioned, and the Mayor just looked at him like he was daft.
"The whole northern bloody Kingdoms," the Mayor answered, sounding perplexed that Guts didn't already know. Guts narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"The Kingdoms of Dis? Balden? Tudor?" Guts questioned, listing the three northern most kingdoms off of the top of his head. He had helped end the century spanning war between the Midlands and Tudor. He would have heard if the hostilities resumed. However, Guts wasn't certain where Nilfguard entered into the scene. To the west of the Midlands was the Kushan Empire, and there was nothing to the south but empty ocean.
"Wut? I don't know any places by them names. King Radovid has gone and united Redania and Kaedwen with force. The rest of the Northern alliance is offering what they can, but if you ask me, it's just a lot of blood spilled over nothing," The Mayor stated, offering his opinion with a small shrug of his shoulders.
Guts had never heard of Kaedwen. Nor Redania. Were they lands that belonged west of the Kushan Empire? Even if they were, that begged the question how he managed to get here in the first place. He had been traveling through Midland yesterday. The fact he was displaced wasn't a surprise -- he had been camped on top of a hill near some ruins, not in the middle of a bog. Now, however, Guts was forced to wonder how far he had been taken and, better yet, why?
The man that Guts noticed earlier stepped forward, nearly stumbling a step as he approached. "Stranger, what's with those children behind ya'?" He spoke, sounding like he already knew the answer. There was a soft muttering from the villagers while the children huddled around the old woman behind him. "Where did you find them?"
"In a bog. With three old crones," Guts answered, a snarl in his voice, making the Mayor's eyes bulge. The reaction was immediate through what was left of the village. Based on the pile of corpses piled up, about half of their number were struck down. Men, women, and children. "Anyone you know?" He demanded, a hand going to Dragonslayer when the man that put it together stepped forward.
"You! You did this to us! This is your fault!" The man screamed, veins bulging in his neck, clenching his hands into fists. The sentiment was shared by the rest of the village while the mayor stammered, at a complete loss for words. They shouted and jeered, stepping forward and their protests made Guts sneer at them.
They weren't the first to bend their knees and offer their necks to apostles. Guts learned at the start of his journey to not expect gratitude for bringing the apostles low, no matter how tyrannical they had been to the populace. Nor did he want their gratitude.
"You did this," Guts snarled back at them, hefting Dragonslayer and that brought the villagers up short. Their eyes widened at the size of the blade and how easily he wielded it. In his ear, he heard Puck sigh dramatically. "What was the deal? You feed your children to the Crones, sacrificing them for… what exactly?" The villagers recoiled at the accusation, some flipping between indignant anger to tears. "You disgust me. I've murdered plenty, but don't go dropping your dead families at my feet. It's your own fault for worshiping an apostle."
"I knew this would happen," Puck muttered while the children whimpered behind him. Guts didn't move an inch, standing steadfast against the village, daring them to make a move against him.
From what Guts saw, they were every bit as wretched as any other peasants he had ever seen in his life. They had no fields that needed a bountiful harvest. They had no river that needed plenty of fish. As far as he could tell, they were a village located on a half important road that existed here as easily as it could have existed elsewhere. For what, exactly, were they murdering their children?
Something dark and violent welled in his chest, a sinister anger surging in his veins. Guts wanted to kill them for it. Just hack them apart, no matter what their reasons were.
"We didn't have a choice!" The Mayor protested, a heartbroken sob escaping him. "We couldn't leave the village! Anyone that did would be stuck dead. When we didn't offer enough, we suffered a pox. The Crones… they… they asked for our unwanted children and damn us all, we gave them what they wanted." He said, a hand going to cover his face as he shook his head. Guts' lips peeled back, not at all satisfied with the answer.
"That's not true!" Genny protested, brushing past Guts. "You're lying! You're a liar!" He swore, going red in the face with anger. "My Mum wanted me! She did! You're lying," He shouted at the top of his lungs with a ferocity that only children truly possessed. It wasn't an easy thing, Guts reflected.
Learning that you were an unwanted child.
"Guts!" Puck shouted, but his voice was drowned out by Guts' heartbeat thundering in his ears and Genny's screeching. "Guts! Guts! I feel magic! I feel magic!" Puck shouted, screaming right in his ear, and Guts' gaze snapped to him. Puck looked at him with wide eyes before he started pointing back to the bog.
"Shut up," Guts demanded, his voice a low growl as he looked out into the bog, narrowing his eyes. Genny kept screaming until Guts got his attention by resting his prosthetic hand on his head, getting his attention. Guts narrowed his eyes, not seeing anything or hearing… but… he heard it. The splashing, the thumps of hooves… "Everyone, get inside. Get inside!" Guts shouted, bearing Dragonslayer, recognizing the sound of calvary.
Despite the tension between him and the villagers, with how quickly the children and the old woman fled indoors, it prompted the others to do the same. Guts stood alone before the village and the pyre of bodies, Dragonslayer in hand as he waited for the calvary to draw near.
It did, just not before Guts caught sight of a person sprinting through the underbrush.
Ciri escaped the bog, looking far worse for wear, with a girl clutched into her arms as she sprinted forward, her eyes wide. Guts was already moving, spotting exactly what she was running from -- heavy calvary by the looks of it. A poor choice for the thick muck, but Guts suspected that was what saved Ciri from capture. They were tall, wearing sterling silver armor stylized to look like skeletons, seated upon white war horses.
The first of the calvary leapt through the underbrush, intent on riding her down. Guts strode past Ciri, who whipped around upon seeing him, her face, shirt, and hair drenched with sweat. The heavy calvary leveled their weapons at him -- great swords. A poor choice for calvary. Guts hefted Dragonslayer, gritting his teeth as he swung his blade at the two of them, just as they prepared to run him through.
Their own momentum worked against them as Guts cleaved them in half, horses and all. The horses lost their head while the riders were bisected, their fine armor not being worth shit. That's what they get for choosing style over substance. The horses crashed to the ground, stumbling into the dirt while the bodies sailed forward before crashing into the ground, sending up clumps of dirt.
Ciri came to a stop behind him while the rest of the calvary fanned out, pouring from the treeline. Guts watched them -- a good dozen riders. Ten now. To his surprise, all of them were large. It wasn't often that Guts found himself being towered over, but they would even without being seated on war horses. They encircled them, the horses neghing and digging their hooves into the dirt as the warriors took note of him.
"These those Wild Hunt guys you were going on about?" Guts questioned, shouldering Dragonslayer, keenly aware that he was surrounded. Guts saw axes, swords, but no lances. The closest thing that one had was a stave.
"It's them. They found me," Ciri breathed, clutching a child to her side while she wielded her slender sword.
"How about a new deal then," Guts spoke, his gaze flickering between the Wild Hunt, picking out the most imposing. "I slaughter them and you deal with the kids from now on. About drove me up the wall the hour that I had them."
A disbelieving laugh bubbled from Ciri at his confidence and the Wild Hunt stopped circling him. The largest one, wearing a helmet with a skull motif complete with a pointed crown, urged his head forward. "You will give her to us," he spoke and Guts thought that he sounded like a king. He didn't know many. Really just one. However, he spoke with the tone of someone that was used to being obeyed and learned to expect it in all things.
Guts smiled. "Why don't you try taking her?" He asked, hefting his blade and flicking the excess blood off of it. It splashed on the ground and between the two men and horses, there was enough excess on his blade that a man could have died from bloodloss. He already proved that he could kill them and with their numbers, he'd hack them to pieces before they realized they were dead.
In response, the two Huntsmen at his sides rushed him, intent on bisecting him. Guts leaned out of the way of one blade, striking down the offending huntsman as he passed before pivoting to do the same to the one that flanked him. A dozen became eight with two swings of his sword, their horses dying with them. It proved to be a distraction, Guts saw when the one wielding the staff thrusted out with it and he felt like he had been kicked by a horse.
Guts sailed back, his ribs aching, but it was nothing. He killed his momentum by backflipping, driving Dragonslayer into the earth and the mighty blade acted as a plow for a good half dozen feet before he touched down on the ground again. Perfectly because he was in swinging distance of the Huntsman behind him.
His horse reared back, saving his master, but not managing to save his legs because Guts cut right through them along with the horse. Blood splashed out in a flood, soaking the dirt while the member of the Wild Hunt went down with a heavy thud. Never to leave things to chances, Guts thrusted the tip of Dragonslayer into his chest, skewering him, before he hefted the corpse and flung it at a charging member of the hunt.
"So that's magic, huh?" Guts growled, crouching low as he pinned a sharp look at the one wielding the staff. The rest of the Hunt was reacting, not at all expecting to lose another three so easily. And, with a flash of blue, Ciri proved that the one with the staff wasn't the only one that had it. Out of the corner of his eye, Guts saw Ciri wink out of existence, startling him, before she reappeared ontop of the one that Guts unhorsed with the corpse. She thrusted her slender blade into his neck, making him gargle, but before anyone could respond, Ciri vanished before reappearing next to him.
Just like that, twelve became six.
"You're going to explain why we couldn't have just teleported to Oxenfurt later," Guts told her, wanting to know exactly what that was. He was no stranger to the supernatural. His first instinct was to assume the abilities came from an apostle, but his brand didn't burn when he was near her. Her talk of knowing sorcerers carried a lot more weight after the display. He had been expecting to be led to some herbwomen that peasants called a witch because they didn't know any better.
"Well, you're looking at the reason. I can't use it without this lot finding me," Ciri informed while the rest of the Wild Hunt quickly grouped up. From the looks of it, the ones that they had killed were chaff. The few remaining were close to the king of the hunt, and he could see from their posture that they were eager to avenge their losses.
Guts prepared himself for a charge, only to be surprised when the one wielding the staff shook his head. The king looked to him, some unspoken conversation passing between them for a moment. The staff wielding one lifted the staff and it started to shine brightly before he slammed the butt of it against the ground. Guts' eyes narrowed when a hole appeared behind them -- a black void framed by fire.
"You have found an able protector, child of the Elder Blood, but know this -- we will come for you, and none shall be spared our wrath," the king voiced before the lot of them started retreating. Last words from someone retreating from the fight. A desperate act from someone that didn't want to feel like they had lost.
A second later, they vanished from sight entirely. Guts looked around, making sure that they weren't around him. The action brought his attention to his neck. He was used to the sensation, so he knew what it was without looking. His brand was bleeding… however, it didn't hurt. That hadn't happened before.
"I'm trying to be polite about this, so don't take this the wrong way, but what are you? You just sent the Wild Hunt with their tales tucked between their legs!" Ciri blurted, the girl that was clutched to her side was watching him with curiosity and awe.
Guts looked to her, his lips pressed into a thin line. Everything the Crones had said, combined with what the Mayor had said all painted a very clear picture once he put the pieces together.
He had no idea where here was… but it wasn't Midland.
His eyes landed on the woman's back, a slender longsword sheathed on it as she routinely scanned the trees for any sign of trouble. Despite how outlandish it sounded, Guts believed her claim that she was a monster hunter. Throughout the night, not only had she handled herself rather well, but she was knowledgeable about the creatures they fought despite Guts having never seen their like before.
The undead took many forms, but he hadn't recognized the 'necrophages.' More often than not, whatever vengeful spirit that inhabited a rotting corpse kept whatever form they found their host in. The ones he fought last night seemed to be the corpses of a matching breed of animals. The Drowners and Fiend, however, were new. They weren't possessed by a vengeful spirit, but they had attacked him all the same.
Which raised more questions than Guts wanted to bother with. Those things -- the Drowners, the Nekkers, the Fiend and Water Hags. What were they? Guts was no stranger to the supernatural, but those creatures had simply been monsters. Could it be something similar to what Rosine did? Capture a bunch of humans and twist them into monsters to serve and protect her?
Guts didn't know. He didn't think so simply because of how calm Ciri had been throughout the night. It didn't take him long to realize that he didn't have to worry about protecting her, leaving him free to fight on his own. Either she was an outlier, and given how those crones spoke about her that was probably the case, or wherever here was had a very different kind of wildlife running amok.
He had many questions, and he would get them a lot faster if he could ditch the children. Even if he didn't quite know where he was, all he needed to do was find the coast or a road and eventually he would find a town he could get directions from. Being near the kids was uncomfortable and, thankfully, they seemed scared shitless of him so they clung to Ciri after he gave them a few mean looks. That was enough for Guts for now. It was slower, but he would get his answers. Though, it was the fact that she managed to get that promise out of him…
Casca would have liked her. Not only was she a warrior, her demeanor even reminded him of Casca. How...she was before that night. Confident, borderline cocky at times, but capable. He could imagine them getting along rather well. Too well, even.
However, that observation made his thoughts drift to Casca. Her short black hair, her bronze skin...her smell and taste, how her body felt pressed against his. Guts did his best to push the memories away, knowing that they would do him more harm than whatever empty comforts they offered. Without fail, every time he thought of the woman that he loved, his memories turned to that night.
Worse than the nightmares was the ache in his heart that pained him more than any wound. The proud, confident, capable woman that Casca was...was lost. Broken by what happened that night, her mind shattered like a glass cup and Guts...he had no hope that the pieces would put themselves together again.
At first, he had hoped that it was shock. He saw it plenty of times on the battlefield -- a greenhorn after their first battle staring off at nothing for hours on end, trapped in their own head. More than once, after a bad battle, Guts saw greenhorns that never left their heads, forever trapped inside. He didn't know if any of them ever recovered, but he didn't have high hopes.
Or, rather, Guts didn't let himself have hope.
"Guts?" Puck asked, turning around to face him as he distracted the children from a long day of walking. Guts glanced at the elf, the annoyance's blue eyes were filled with concern. Odds were he was picking up on the negative emotions brewing inside him, the rage that was simmering underneath the surface that always came when he thought about Casca. What happened to her, to the Band of the Hawk, on that night.
He looked away, turning his attention back to the treeline. Puck, over time, learned when not to pester him, and thankfully he let the matter drop to return to entertaining the children. Some of the kids glanced back at him, though most looked away quickly except for one boy that glared at him like he kicked his dog. Guts stared him down, the kid's small face was set into a deep scowl and he only looked away when he nearly fell face-first into the much over a root.
The kid opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by the sound of howling in the distance. Guts' gaze snapped in the direction that it came from, his one hand twitching towards Dragonslayer as he tried to find the wolf pack through the dense shrubbery.
From the sound of it, they were close, but not-
"Help!" Guts heard someone shout in the distance. A high-pitched voice thick with panic. A girl's voice. He glanced over at Ciri to see that she was gazing off in the same direction before she turned her attention back to him. There was a question in her gaze and he had to fight off the urge to dismiss it, to tell her to deal with it herself. Only she beat him to it.
"You continue on," Ciri said before she leapt into the bog with little hesitation, heading in the direction of the shout for help. Her exhaustion showed, but she pressed onward despite it. Guts watched her go, his hand still on Dragonslayer and momentarily debated going after her. Wolves were dangerous in their own way. His gaze slid over to the kids and woman that watched after Ciri with great concern before swallowing a sigh.
"We'll follow the path," he told her before he let go of his sword. If she was taking this chance to drop the brats on him, he'd make her wish that she had died to the wolves instead. Ciri flashed him a look of gratitude and Guts left her to it. Either she would come back or she wouldn't. He pressed on ahead and, for a moment, the kids didn't follow him. "Don't think for a second I won't leave you all behind. Get going."
"Don't mind him, he's just a big grouch! Follow me!" Puck told the old woman and the children and the brats were too dumb to realize that by following Puck, they were following him. Guts strode forward, a hand resting on Dragonslayer, searching for threats as much as he was Ciri. All the while he thought back on his own childhood -- the children were around five through eight years old. Maybe nine at the absolute oldest.
By that time, Guts had killed a hundred men and he had seen thousands die. It was hard to believe how helpless the brats were.
With a shake of his head, Guts continued forward, leading the way. The path was winding, but there was a clear path to the Hamlet if you saw the signs. Along where there was solid ground where the muck didn't threaten to claim a boot for each step taken, was a trail of berries. Blackberries for the most part, but raspberries as well. They were the only spots of color against the drab marsh, making them stand out clearly.
It was a simple trick to lead unassuming folk straight to the apostles, but Guts wasn't surprised that it worked. Food was always a worry. For some, they'd follow that trail of berries through the gates of hell if it meant their belly would be full by the end of it.
They traveled in silence for a long hour before they caught sight of the end of the bog -- no such luck that there was a village there, but Guts did see a dirt road. When they neared it, he also noted that it had seen recent use. The air felt wet and now that he could see the sky above, he saw nothing but gray clouds. Based on the tracks, a good dozen people complete with a company of wagons, had used the road. Going west by the look of things.
"Ser," the old woman spoke up, the children huddled around her as if she could offer any protection, "What of Lady Ciri? She… should she not be back yet?"
She should. "She's likely dead," Guts dismissed gruffly. Or, that Wild Hunt she spoke of had found her. Meaning that he was saddled with the brats. Maybe he should have gone to investigate the cry for help.
The children started to get choked up, as if tears could solve anything. Much less bring the dead back to life. Guts' lips thinned ever so slightly, looking over his shoulder at them. If he snapped at them to shut up, would that stop their weeping or would that just make it worse? The old woman tried to soothe them, but she seemed on the verge of tears herself at the thought that Ciri got herself killed like an idiot.
A sigh escaped him, "Or she couldn't come back for some reason. Or she's on the road behind us and she needs to catch up," Guts offered, thinking the latter was unlikely. However, it was the one that the children latched onto.
"Then we should wait!" A pudgy boy named Travik decided, going as far as to take a seat as he looked at the road they had taken.
"Yeah! Let's wait for Ciri!" A girl with a reddish brown braid of hair named Aynara seconded. She at least looked up at the old woman for permission. She, in turn, looked to him for guidance. If they waited here, the they'd be waiting until the end of their days for a woman that wouldn't show up. In the rain, most likely.
"We'll leave a sign," Guts decided, his voice a low growl that told the kids that it wasn't a matter of debate. They debated it anyway and Guts had to crush a flash of annoyance while the old woman began to shush them. When Guts unsheathed Dragonslayer, that shut them right up, letting him put down a sign that they were heading west.
Guts didn't know how to read or write, but he knew how to communicate through signs. The one he put down was an old one from his father's band of mercenaries.
"Your sword is big," one of the brats remarked as Guts wordlessly began heading down the dirt road, expecting to be followed. Genny, Guts recalled. Red cheeks and brown hair. "Can I hold it?"
"No," Guts intoned, wondering how far it was to Oxenfurt.
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please? I won't drop it! Promise! My Da says I'm really strong!" Genny pleaded, puffing out his chest. Guts narrowed his eyes at that.
"And where is your Dad?" He asked the boy quietly, wary of the answer. Predictably, his face twisted ever so slightly, as if he were fighting off a wave of tears, but the boy put on a brave face and refused to let them fall.
"He went off to fight intha war," Genny explained. A common tale, really. "Mum got really sad about that, but me and my brothers kept her company. She took care of us until she got sick. Then we all went hungry for a bit before she sent me down the trail of treats!"
Guts really didn't ask for his life story, as short as it was, but that last bit caught his attention. "You mean the berries?"
"Hm!" Genny nodded enthusiastically, "Now, can I hold your sword?"
"No," Guts responded and the brat got it in his head that by answering the questions, he was earning the right to play with Dragonslayer. His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond the trail -- the bog was clearly marked on one side, but he saw smoke off in the distance. Too much to be from a hearth fire. Less than if a building had been put to the torch. The smoke was an oily black that Guts recognized with ease -- someone was burning bodies. Quite a few of them.
The walk over was miserable. Guts would sooner part with his tongue before he admitted it, but Puck made himself useful by distracting the children so they would leave him alone. He was good with children. Better than him, at any rate and it was better for the brats than hanging around him. All the same, as they neared a round in the bend and on top of a small hill, Guts caught glimpse of the village.
It was small. Few buildings and the source of the fire seemed to be coming from the center of the village. Given that none of the children were shouting about how they recognized it, Guts suspected that there were a number of villages on the edge of the bog. A curious thing, Guts noted because he sure as shit didn't see any farms. The hills could contain ore, but if they did, then the village wouldn't be as small as it was nor would it look so old. A dozen buildings at his count made it too big for a hunting village, not to mention that between a bog and rolling hills, the territory didn't strike him as rich with game.
Which begged the question of how could this small village support itself? Without a river? Without farms or a trade?
Guts suspected the answer and he strode forward, a deep scowl on his face as the stench of charred meat and burning hair reached his nose. The villagers were a rough motley looking bunch, Guts noticed as they stood around a pyer in the heart of their village. Puck drifted forward, whispering in his ear," They're afraid. Really afraid. Will the sun rise in the morning kind of afraid so… try not to be yourself."
The mayor of the village made himself known. A portly man wearing a old stained tunic that his gut was straining against while his face was covered in pox scars. More interestingly, Guts noticed that he was missing an ear. "Hold there strangers," he said, stepping forward, bringing the attention of the rest of the village to them. Their eyes were red and swollen. Many had been weeping. "You've come at a poor time. There's a pox in the village. Claimed half of us in the night."
The same night that he killed the Crones. After years on the road, hunting for Apostles by nothing more than his Brand or by rumor, Guts knew a coincidence when he saw one. And this was one. This was cause and effect.
"We're looking for supplies and directions," Guts answered, his eyes sliding over the villagers. Their gazes weren't welcoming. That was no surprise given that they arrived at a point of mourning. However, Guts watched them carefully, spotting the exact moment that one of the village men took notice of the band of children and the old woman behind him. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed… and he began to think. "We're traveling to Oxenfurt."
The Mayor's lips thinned, a hand going to his greasy and thinning hair. "You're on the proper path for it, but you'd be better off going back east to Velen. The Nilfgaardian army is out west and all sorts of monsters are prowling the old battlefields," The Mayor advised.
Nilfgaard. That wasn't a name he wasn't familiar with.
"Is that so? Who are they at war with? I'm a mercenary," Guts questioned, and the Mayor just looked at him like he was daft.
"The whole northern bloody Kingdoms," the Mayor answered, sounding perplexed that Guts didn't already know. Guts narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"The Kingdoms of Dis? Balden? Tudor?" Guts questioned, listing the three northern most kingdoms off of the top of his head. He had helped end the century spanning war between the Midlands and Tudor. He would have heard if the hostilities resumed. However, Guts wasn't certain where Nilfguard entered into the scene. To the west of the Midlands was the Kushan Empire, and there was nothing to the south but empty ocean.
"Wut? I don't know any places by them names. King Radovid has gone and united Redania and Kaedwen with force. The rest of the Northern alliance is offering what they can, but if you ask me, it's just a lot of blood spilled over nothing," The Mayor stated, offering his opinion with a small shrug of his shoulders.
Guts had never heard of Kaedwen. Nor Redania. Were they lands that belonged west of the Kushan Empire? Even if they were, that begged the question how he managed to get here in the first place. He had been traveling through Midland yesterday. The fact he was displaced wasn't a surprise -- he had been camped on top of a hill near some ruins, not in the middle of a bog. Now, however, Guts was forced to wonder how far he had been taken and, better yet, why?
The man that Guts noticed earlier stepped forward, nearly stumbling a step as he approached. "Stranger, what's with those children behind ya'?" He spoke, sounding like he already knew the answer. There was a soft muttering from the villagers while the children huddled around the old woman behind him. "Where did you find them?"
"In a bog. With three old crones," Guts answered, a snarl in his voice, making the Mayor's eyes bulge. The reaction was immediate through what was left of the village. Based on the pile of corpses piled up, about half of their number were struck down. Men, women, and children. "Anyone you know?" He demanded, a hand going to Dragonslayer when the man that put it together stepped forward.
"You! You did this to us! This is your fault!" The man screamed, veins bulging in his neck, clenching his hands into fists. The sentiment was shared by the rest of the village while the mayor stammered, at a complete loss for words. They shouted and jeered, stepping forward and their protests made Guts sneer at them.
They weren't the first to bend their knees and offer their necks to apostles. Guts learned at the start of his journey to not expect gratitude for bringing the apostles low, no matter how tyrannical they had been to the populace. Nor did he want their gratitude.
"You did this," Guts snarled back at them, hefting Dragonslayer and that brought the villagers up short. Their eyes widened at the size of the blade and how easily he wielded it. In his ear, he heard Puck sigh dramatically. "What was the deal? You feed your children to the Crones, sacrificing them for… what exactly?" The villagers recoiled at the accusation, some flipping between indignant anger to tears. "You disgust me. I've murdered plenty, but don't go dropping your dead families at my feet. It's your own fault for worshiping an apostle."
"I knew this would happen," Puck muttered while the children whimpered behind him. Guts didn't move an inch, standing steadfast against the village, daring them to make a move against him.
From what Guts saw, they were every bit as wretched as any other peasants he had ever seen in his life. They had no fields that needed a bountiful harvest. They had no river that needed plenty of fish. As far as he could tell, they were a village located on a half important road that existed here as easily as it could have existed elsewhere. For what, exactly, were they murdering their children?
Something dark and violent welled in his chest, a sinister anger surging in his veins. Guts wanted to kill them for it. Just hack them apart, no matter what their reasons were.
"We didn't have a choice!" The Mayor protested, a heartbroken sob escaping him. "We couldn't leave the village! Anyone that did would be stuck dead. When we didn't offer enough, we suffered a pox. The Crones… they… they asked for our unwanted children and damn us all, we gave them what they wanted." He said, a hand going to cover his face as he shook his head. Guts' lips peeled back, not at all satisfied with the answer.
"That's not true!" Genny protested, brushing past Guts. "You're lying! You're a liar!" He swore, going red in the face with anger. "My Mum wanted me! She did! You're lying," He shouted at the top of his lungs with a ferocity that only children truly possessed. It wasn't an easy thing, Guts reflected.
Learning that you were an unwanted child.
"Guts!" Puck shouted, but his voice was drowned out by Guts' heartbeat thundering in his ears and Genny's screeching. "Guts! Guts! I feel magic! I feel magic!" Puck shouted, screaming right in his ear, and Guts' gaze snapped to him. Puck looked at him with wide eyes before he started pointing back to the bog.
"Shut up," Guts demanded, his voice a low growl as he looked out into the bog, narrowing his eyes. Genny kept screaming until Guts got his attention by resting his prosthetic hand on his head, getting his attention. Guts narrowed his eyes, not seeing anything or hearing… but… he heard it. The splashing, the thumps of hooves… "Everyone, get inside. Get inside!" Guts shouted, bearing Dragonslayer, recognizing the sound of calvary.
Despite the tension between him and the villagers, with how quickly the children and the old woman fled indoors, it prompted the others to do the same. Guts stood alone before the village and the pyre of bodies, Dragonslayer in hand as he waited for the calvary to draw near.
It did, just not before Guts caught sight of a person sprinting through the underbrush.
Ciri escaped the bog, looking far worse for wear, with a girl clutched into her arms as she sprinted forward, her eyes wide. Guts was already moving, spotting exactly what she was running from -- heavy calvary by the looks of it. A poor choice for the thick muck, but Guts suspected that was what saved Ciri from capture. They were tall, wearing sterling silver armor stylized to look like skeletons, seated upon white war horses.
The first of the calvary leapt through the underbrush, intent on riding her down. Guts strode past Ciri, who whipped around upon seeing him, her face, shirt, and hair drenched with sweat. The heavy calvary leveled their weapons at him -- great swords. A poor choice for calvary. Guts hefted Dragonslayer, gritting his teeth as he swung his blade at the two of them, just as they prepared to run him through.
Their own momentum worked against them as Guts cleaved them in half, horses and all. The horses lost their head while the riders were bisected, their fine armor not being worth shit. That's what they get for choosing style over substance. The horses crashed to the ground, stumbling into the dirt while the bodies sailed forward before crashing into the ground, sending up clumps of dirt.
Ciri came to a stop behind him while the rest of the calvary fanned out, pouring from the treeline. Guts watched them -- a good dozen riders. Ten now. To his surprise, all of them were large. It wasn't often that Guts found himself being towered over, but they would even without being seated on war horses. They encircled them, the horses neghing and digging their hooves into the dirt as the warriors took note of him.
"These those Wild Hunt guys you were going on about?" Guts questioned, shouldering Dragonslayer, keenly aware that he was surrounded. Guts saw axes, swords, but no lances. The closest thing that one had was a stave.
"It's them. They found me," Ciri breathed, clutching a child to her side while she wielded her slender sword.
"How about a new deal then," Guts spoke, his gaze flickering between the Wild Hunt, picking out the most imposing. "I slaughter them and you deal with the kids from now on. About drove me up the wall the hour that I had them."
A disbelieving laugh bubbled from Ciri at his confidence and the Wild Hunt stopped circling him. The largest one, wearing a helmet with a skull motif complete with a pointed crown, urged his head forward. "You will give her to us," he spoke and Guts thought that he sounded like a king. He didn't know many. Really just one. However, he spoke with the tone of someone that was used to being obeyed and learned to expect it in all things.
Guts smiled. "Why don't you try taking her?" He asked, hefting his blade and flicking the excess blood off of it. It splashed on the ground and between the two men and horses, there was enough excess on his blade that a man could have died from bloodloss. He already proved that he could kill them and with their numbers, he'd hack them to pieces before they realized they were dead.
In response, the two Huntsmen at his sides rushed him, intent on bisecting him. Guts leaned out of the way of one blade, striking down the offending huntsman as he passed before pivoting to do the same to the one that flanked him. A dozen became eight with two swings of his sword, their horses dying with them. It proved to be a distraction, Guts saw when the one wielding the staff thrusted out with it and he felt like he had been kicked by a horse.
Guts sailed back, his ribs aching, but it was nothing. He killed his momentum by backflipping, driving Dragonslayer into the earth and the mighty blade acted as a plow for a good half dozen feet before he touched down on the ground again. Perfectly because he was in swinging distance of the Huntsman behind him.
His horse reared back, saving his master, but not managing to save his legs because Guts cut right through them along with the horse. Blood splashed out in a flood, soaking the dirt while the member of the Wild Hunt went down with a heavy thud. Never to leave things to chances, Guts thrusted the tip of Dragonslayer into his chest, skewering him, before he hefted the corpse and flung it at a charging member of the hunt.
"So that's magic, huh?" Guts growled, crouching low as he pinned a sharp look at the one wielding the staff. The rest of the Hunt was reacting, not at all expecting to lose another three so easily. And, with a flash of blue, Ciri proved that the one with the staff wasn't the only one that had it. Out of the corner of his eye, Guts saw Ciri wink out of existence, startling him, before she reappeared ontop of the one that Guts unhorsed with the corpse. She thrusted her slender blade into his neck, making him gargle, but before anyone could respond, Ciri vanished before reappearing next to him.
Just like that, twelve became six.
"You're going to explain why we couldn't have just teleported to Oxenfurt later," Guts told her, wanting to know exactly what that was. He was no stranger to the supernatural. His first instinct was to assume the abilities came from an apostle, but his brand didn't burn when he was near her. Her talk of knowing sorcerers carried a lot more weight after the display. He had been expecting to be led to some herbwomen that peasants called a witch because they didn't know any better.
"Well, you're looking at the reason. I can't use it without this lot finding me," Ciri informed while the rest of the Wild Hunt quickly grouped up. From the looks of it, the ones that they had killed were chaff. The few remaining were close to the king of the hunt, and he could see from their posture that they were eager to avenge their losses.
Guts prepared himself for a charge, only to be surprised when the one wielding the staff shook his head. The king looked to him, some unspoken conversation passing between them for a moment. The staff wielding one lifted the staff and it started to shine brightly before he slammed the butt of it against the ground. Guts' eyes narrowed when a hole appeared behind them -- a black void framed by fire.
"You have found an able protector, child of the Elder Blood, but know this -- we will come for you, and none shall be spared our wrath," the king voiced before the lot of them started retreating. Last words from someone retreating from the fight. A desperate act from someone that didn't want to feel like they had lost.
A second later, they vanished from sight entirely. Guts looked around, making sure that they weren't around him. The action brought his attention to his neck. He was used to the sensation, so he knew what it was without looking. His brand was bleeding… however, it didn't hurt. That hadn't happened before.
"I'm trying to be polite about this, so don't take this the wrong way, but what are you? You just sent the Wild Hunt with their tales tucked between their legs!" Ciri blurted, the girl that was clutched to her side was watching him with curiosity and awe.
Guts looked to her, his lips pressed into a thin line. Everything the Crones had said, combined with what the Mayor had said all painted a very clear picture once he put the pieces together.
He had no idea where here was… but it wasn't Midland.
Humans and Monsters
- Location
- USA
"Oh," was Ciri's response the moment that Guts' words registered with her. His smoldering expression narrowed into a dull glare, telling her that he wasn't at all satisfied with the response and that he clearly expected more. However, the glare wasn't accusatory. Which was a good sign, but also a pretty terrible one.
"Oh?" Guts echoed, his voice low and rumbly. "I tell you that I'm from a different continent and your response is 'Oh?'" he continued, clearly suspicious of her response. Mostly because she wasn't trying to poke him with a pitchfork or decry him as a liar. Those would probably be the more understandable responses, Ciri reflected, just not with her.
Ciri's gaze drifted over to the corpses of the Wild Hunt. She could still barely believe what she had seen despite seeing it. Watching Guts fight all night drove home how strong he was, but she had underestimated just how monsterous his strength truly was. He cut through enchanted steel and a member of the Hunt along with their horse as if they had been made of butter. Terrifying. Doubly so when he had killed another member of the Wild Hunt with the same swing.
That was insane. Downright impossible. Only it clearly wasn't.
All that made this very awkward. Guts struck her as a walking apocalypse with anger issues, "How… certain are you that you're on a different continent?" She asked, keenly aware that she was within striking distance. Gretta, the girl she had rescued, had thankfully joined the other children so she would be safe even if Guts took the news… badly.
Guts' eyes narrowed while Puck tilted his head while he crossed his arms. "Meaning?"
Outlander. That's what the Crones called him. That, and Struggler, which made less sense. The former Ciri had encountered before. Both in personal experience and in history books that she had been forced to read as a princess and as an aspiring Witcher. It was a relatively common enough term. In her experience, when she traveled to other worlds…
They called her an Outlander. More or less meaning someone that wasn't from here.
From a historical perspective, it was applied most frequently to the Conjunction of Spheres. An event that made the world what it was today. Thousands of 'spheres', each its own world with their own history, people, magic, and dangers, all crashed into one another. In doing so, the spheres overlapped. In this world's case, humanity along with a wide variety of monsters had been deposited here. Originally, those strangers to this sphere were called Outlanders.
Ciri hadn't thought much of it on account of the wound on her side, the deadly fight, and then every monster in that bog trying to kill them. But, now that he brought it up, the use of the word stood out to her.
"I mean how certain are you that you're not from a different sphere?" Ciri asked him, making Puck hum loudly.
Ciri wasn't exactly sure what expression she had expected. Maybe rage of the murderous variety. But it certainly wasn't for Guts to pale, his face going bloodless and Puck looking up at him with an expression filled with concern. Ciri quickly continued, not sure what to make of the reaction. "I could be wrong," she offered, though she didn't think that she was. "But I don't think that I am. Puck introduced himself as an elf, but elves here are as tall as humans with pointed ears."
Not to mention his arm. This world wouldn't know what it was, but Ciri spent time in far more advanced worlds than this -- so advanced that it had taken her some time to make the connection. Guts, for some inexplicable reason, had a cannon in his prosthetic. Gunpowder. Something that this world didn't know about. Thankfully. Wars were bad enough without guns or cannons, and she had seen what gunpowder lead to in Night City in another Sphere -- complete and utter chaos and butchery.
"Why," Guts growled, the shock fading to give way to the predictable anger, "do you sound guilty?" He questioned and… had she sounded guilty? Her eyes flickered down to Puck, seeing him look at her and she wondered if he had picked up on it.
No point in hiding it, "Because it could be my fault that you're here," Ciri told him, owning up to it. "I can travel between Spheres. I jumped through a portal -- a hastily made one, but I had used my powers not long before that. Given how close you landed to me, I think your arrival can't be coincidental." Ciri told him, knowing that his reaction was going to be… well… a lot like a volcano exploding and shitting lava everywhere.
"Take me back," Guts snarled, taking a threatening step forward until her nose could touch his breastplate. "Now," he growled the word, his expression becoming more beast than man with the fury glimmering in his eyes.
She expected that, so she had an answer ready, "If I could bring you back right now, I would," Ciri told him, her tone honest. "But I can't. I can only jump straight to Spheres that I've been to before and I have no idea where I might have picked you up. Or how you came with me. Jumping between Spheres takes a lot out of me, so if we don't jump straight to it, it'll be months before we can try again. With blind jumps, we could be at it for years. Decades."
Guilt weighed heavily on her. Ciri wasn't sure how she did it or why it happened, but she kidnapped Guts and Puck from their Sphere. Nothing like this had ever happened before -- it took effort to bring someone with her, and picking up an extra passenger… but what else could it be? How else could she explain Guts appearing in the same bog as her, uttering tales of being from a different continent that were filled with kingdoms she knew nothing about?
Guts seemed to process that for a moment, still visibly angry, but she liked to think that her sincerity and her lack of fear stopped him from doing anything rash.
A small sigh escaped her, "It also comes with its own risks. The Wild Hunt wants me for that ability. They might not seem much to you, but they have hunted me since I was a girl and two will replace every one killed."
"How do I get back?" Guts asked, his tone terse.
He wasn't shouting or raging. That was reassuring. "The same Sorceresses that I mentioned before. And Avallac'h, a friend of mine. Between the three of them, we should be able to locate your Sphere, and then I can take you back," Ciri reassured him, looking up at his face. Despite the scars and the anger, when the latter faded…
Guts struck her as young. Around her age, even.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen, and I'll do whatever I can to make it right, Guts. You have my word," She told him, giving him a firm nod.
"Meh," Puck interjected. "You said you were sorry, so no worries," Puck dismissed the topic completely out of hand. Guts looked like he bit into something sour, but he said nothing as he stepped back and walked away. From the looks of it, to go steal a wagon. Puck didn't join him, choosing to hover near Ciri to give her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him! He's just a big grump… and looking at you makes him sad."
Sad? Not the usual reaction she had when people looked at her. "Really? I tend to inspire murderous rage or mindless lust when men look at me," Ciri remarked, earning a giggle from the pixie. Or fairy. It looked like she would be adding an entry into the Witcher bestiaries. Likely the first one in about two hundred years.
"Guts will be fine," Puck said, seeing through her worry. "Just let him sulk for a little bit," Puck added. And what he described as sulking, Ciri would describe as stewing in murderous anger. It seemed to exude from him like an aura that everyone picked up on. The village, which had suffered a terrible loss for some reason, possibly in a battle between Redanian and Nilfgaardian forces, didn't say a word as Guts stole a wagon and two work horses.
Anna approached Ciri after a moment, clutching her hand, "I'm glad you're alright," the older woman said and Ciri was touched by the concern. She tried to brush it off by throwing on a lopsided grin.
"All in a day's work," she replied as the children began loading onto the wagon after they had their fill of petting the horses. Anna smiled lightly in response, her gaze going to Gretta, who eagerly shared the tale of being chased by the Wild Hunt. She was young. She really had no idea how close to death she had come -- first by a pack of wolves, then by the Wild Hunt.
Guts took a seat at the front of the wagon, setting his sword down on the back of the seat and it proved to be longer than the wagon was wide. The wagon wasn't large, between a half dozen children and Anna, there wasn't a lot of room in the back. Leaving Ciri to sit with Guts at the front. He didn't acknowledge her presence beyond urging the horses to move forward down the well trodden road, leaving the village and its dead behind.
The dead horses would feed what was left of the village and they could sell the arms and armor for coin. Beyond that, the future of the village was up to them.
Ciri was intensely aware of the tension between her and Guts. Or maybe it was just her because Puck kept giggling to himself when he looked at her. She gave a mild glare, but said nothing in favor of distracting herself. From a lot of things. First and foremost was the fact that the Wild Hunt had found her, and they would be trying again to capture her. She hoped Avallac'h was okay. He could take care of himself, but so could Geralt and Yennifer and she had saved them both from a pinch more than once.
Guts was a secondary concern in comparison, but she was worried about him as well. Or, rather, for him. Guts stared at the road ahead, following it as he lightly held the reins to the horses, glaring at something only he could see. Ciri tried to not pay him too much attention, sending that he wouldn't like it, and she found herself keeping an eye on their surroundings. Because of that, she quickly noticed something out of place.
"Huh," Ciri muttered, narrowing her eyes at the edge of the swamp. The edge of the underbrush was dying. The plants were wilting and it seemed that the water and mud were drying out. Unusual. Especially considering that it was the rainy season based on how wet the air felt. Ciri glanced over at Guts to see that he was looking at her and their eyes met. Ciri opened her mouth to say something, only for Guts to narrow his eyes at her, like she did something wrong by catching him looking at her, before looking away.
Awkward. Very awkward. If a stray arrow fell from the sky and put her down, Ciri think she'd welcome it. But, by her very nature, Ciri knew she wasn't the type to be cowed so easily. If she was, then she never would have made it through the Gauntlet. "Do you want to talk about your Sphere? Or this one? I'm sure you have some questions-"
"No," Guts cut her off. Right. Ciri was rapidly finding that dealing with Guts was like dealing with a particularly angry brick wall.
"Well, I have questions," Ciri decided. "What were you doing before you arrived here? This is the first time I've ever picked up a passenger by accident. I want to make sure what happened to you doesn't happen to anyone else. So, does anything come to mind?"
Guts sullenly refused to answer her for a long moment and right when Ciri decided that she would use the tried and tested 'be so annoying that they give in to get her to shut up' Guts spoke in a low terse tone, "I was resting. I had just killed another apostle. The battle was… a difficult one."
Ciri took a moment to size Guts up, looking for injuries. She didn't see any. Though, his ratty black cloak did show signs of fire damage -- charred blackened points that told her that Guts had been completely consumed by flames at one point. His face and hair didn't show any signs of the fire, though. "That's it?"
"I also escaped some fanatics. Dealt with another long night. I found a hill with some ruins on it and passed out there," Guts continued and she was right. Getting answers out of him was less pleasant than pulling teeth. Still, he gave her something to work with.
"These ruins -- describe them for me," Ciri instructed, earning a long sideways glance from Guts along with a small frown. With the greatest reluctance, he described where he had camped out at as shortly as possible. Featureless stone blocks that had once been stacked up, but time wore them away and some toppled over. It was impossible to say because Guts treated words as if they cost him something for every one he spoke but from the sounds of it… "That sounds like a Place of Power. An old ritualistic place where ley lines intersect. That's actually good news."
Guts narrowed his eyes at her, clearly asking how so. So, Ciri answered the unspoken question. "It means that your Sphere is probably close if I could pick you up by accident just because you were at a Place of Power," she answered, earning a small pleased grunt from Guts. At least she thought it sounded pleased.
Ciri decided to take the hint and swallowed her remaining questions simply because Guts wouldn't answer her. Maybe she could extract some information out of Puck when they had a moment. Puck seemed to love the sound of his own voice, so it shouldn't be too hard. Still, Ciri was curious. Was Guts his world's version of a Witcher? It would explain why he was hunting down things he called apostles. As well as explain his monstrous strength.
And, despite herself, Ciri found her eyelids growing heavy as the events of the past few days caught up with her. The Wild Hunt finding her, teleporting to Skellige, the battle there, then the crones, and a long fight all night, only to be found once again by the Wild Hunt. As the rhythmic bumps of the wagon rocked her to sleep, Ciri found herself closing her eyes and slipping into a trance rather than sleep. At least, that was her intention but as the hours slipped by, Ciri found herself waking up from a deep slumber hours later with the sun starting to dip towards the horizon.
The first thing that she noticed was that the pain in her side was gone. The second was that the sun was angled wrong for her few hours of trance rest. Glancing down at her self, she saw Puck was resting on her -- his feet kicked up on the button of her shirt while he reclined back into her cleavage, looking right at home. It was tempting to flick him out of it, but when a hand shifted to her side, she found that the wound she suffered was nonexistent.
She completely underestimated his healing power, Ciri decided. Over the course of a day, a wound that should have taken at least a month to properly heal vanished. Something like that… sorcerers could do something like it, but only if they specialized in healing magics. And precious few did because healing didn't bring the kind of power that sorcerers craved, in her experience.
She had to protect him. Witchers protected monsters from humans as much as they protected humans from monsters -- if anyone found out about the healing powder, or how effective it was, whether they be sorcerer, king, or a peasant, they'd lock Puck up in a cage and never let him go.
"There's a village up ahead," Guts spoke, seeing that she was awake. She glanced at him, then up at the sky that was dimming. She saw smoke. A normal amount that told her that the village was decently sized and not that far away. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the back of the wagon to see that the children and Anna were asleep, exhausted from the night prior. They held it together pretty well, but the fact of the matter was, they had spent all night in a house that was under attack by monsters.
Lastly, she looked to Guts, "Do you want to catch a quick nap before we arrive? Seems like it'll be another hour until we do," Ciri offered a hand to take the reins, only for Guts to hold them. He grunted a response, which Ciri was forced to interpret as a no. "When was the last time that you slept?" She asked him because Guts looked exhausted. Sleep was a lot easier to push off when you were forced to move around, or fight. But Ciri knew it was a lot harder to stave off when you were forced to sit for hours on end.
Ciri really didn't expect an answer, but she got one anyway, "Three days? Maybe four?" Ah. That's why. Guts was sleep deprived. It really was just too much. Guts really was just too… much.
"Right. How about you hand the reins over to me so you don't pass out and steer us into a ditch," Ciri stated, giving Guts a sweet smile and opening and closing her hands expectantly. Guts scoffed while Ciri heard an amused snort coming from her cleavage. "Don't trust me?"
"No," Guts answered with a very telling lack of hesitation. The kind of lack of hesitation that the blanket answer to that question would never change, no matter who asked.
"Can you trust me to not steer the wagon full of kids into a ditch?"
"No."
"Are you always this cheery or is it only after you haven't slept for the better part of a week?" Ciri sighed and Guts seemed vaguely thoughtful, as if he were thinking about it.
"No," he decided, sounding like he was doing it specifically to annoy her.
"Hint taken," Ciri decided, accepting defeat in this. She knew she could be stubborn but at the very least she didn't decide to be a stubborn bastard about every little thing. They traveled in silence towards the village, the sky starting to get darker. As the wagon bumped along since Guts insisted on hitting every single patch of uneven ground between them, Ciri felt a stirring in the air. Almost as if it were a stray breeze of unnaturally cool air.
"Damn you…" Ciri stiffened when she heard a whisper in her ear. A sound so faint that she almost wasn't sure that she had heard it.
Guts didn't look at her as he spoke, "Just ignore 'em. They're not capable of anything beyond cursing you for their own weakness," Guts dismissed the whispers that seemed to emerge from the shadows. This hadn't happened last night, Ciri noted, glancing at Guts to see that blood seemed to be welling up in his brand. Not enough to spill, but enough to fill the odd marking.
What she wouldn't give to be able to use the Yrden sign. The magic she could have used was given up, and most of the magic's out there weren't usable for her as a Source. Yrden would be enough to drive away the spirits whispering their spite -- at least in theory. This was a bit different than the average wraith. Lesser, but different was a danger of its own kind.
Despite saying to ignore them, Ciri found that she couldn't even as they reached the edge of the village. The sound played at the edges of her ears, pulling at her attention. The village itself was a few dozen building with no real layout to be seen but she spotted a number of signs -- an inn, blacksmith, butcher, and so on. A handful of people were standing in the dirt road, looking at them with curiosity.
Ciri's stomach clenched when she spotted Niflguardian uniforms in the village, recognizing that it was a sign of occupation. They seemed interested in them -- a odd group of soldiers playing Gwent outside a tavern -- but that could be because of Guts, the children, or because of her. And not because they were looking for the lost princess of Cintra or whatever her father wanted her for.
"Can I help you, serahs?" A hesitant voice questioned, a man in his thirties wearing a stained leather apron but he had clean hands questioned. An innkeeper if she ever saw one.
"We need lodgings," Guts growled, stepping off of the wagon to reveal that the full-grown man barely reached his shoulder. "Food. Directions too." The man took a step back, his gaze darting to Ciri, then Anna, and finally, the half dozen children that were poking their heads out from the edge of the wagon. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at them.
Could just be that he was confused about why they were traveling with a bunch of kids.
Could be something else.
"Of course," the man said, taking another step back as he offered Guts a nervous smile. "We have two rooms available? Shall I book them both? And, ah, perhaps a bath?" He asked and it seemed while they all went nose blind to the stench, they smelled bad enough that the average peasant was about to start pinching his nose. To that, Guts grunted. "We have a hot stew. Will you just be staying the night or longer?" The Innkeep began firing off rapid questions.
Ciri recognized it as someone trying to find out exactly how many crowns they could squeeze out of someone. Which, naturally, led to a pretty big issue. Ciri didn't have a single crown on her. And she couldn't imagine that Guts did either.
"The night," Guts answered. "But," he continued, interrupting the innkeeper, "we don't have any coin on us."
The innkeeper started to go red and she could see that man working up the courage to snap and tell them to go sleep in a ditch and eat dirt if they were hungry. Then his face rapidly paled when he watched as Guts hefted his sword, the blade standing taller and wider than the man himself before Guts sheathed it on his back. "A-ah-ahhhh…"
"Is there any work nearby for a mercenary?" Guts questioned, his tone flat but Ciri knew he knew exactly what he looked like to the man. Just about drove him to fill his trousers.
"Or for a Witcher?" Ciri tacked on, throwing on a confident smirk, and damn near possibly, that seemed to scare the man more. However, he quickly gathered himself.
He glanced between them, "Well… there's no official bounty on 'em yet, but some bandits have been raiding the village farmsteads nearby. Can't rightly say if it's one really big group, or two big groups, or just a bunch of small ones. After the last battle… there are more deserters than soldiers and that lot won't be doing much to protect us. Even if they don't cut and run." Ciri glanced out of the corner of her eye from her position on the wagon, spotting the squad of Nilfgaardian soldiers that were watching them with far less subtlety than she was watching them with.
"For monsters?" The innkeeper offered a shrug of his shoulders, looking nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. "I know we've been getting sights of 'em more often lately. I can't say for sure, but the mayor will give you at least a crown for every dead monster you bring proof of," he offered a shrug. A crown? Completely not worth it. Especially when you didn't know what monster you were dealing with. It was an old trap that people in power liked to use.
Used it as an excuse to not pay a Witcher, or anyone, what they were due.
"Fine," Guts decided, accepting the tasks with little preamble. "Get everything set up for them. I'll be back some point tonight," he decided, starting to walk off out of the village in the same direction that they came from. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, struck by just… indomitable Guts was.
"R-Right away," the innkeeper responded, also understanding the implication. Guts heard that there could be a large group of bandits -- not exactly a solid figure, but large tended to mean more than ten bandits. He heard that there were nests of monsters roaming the countryside. And he just went back out with a vague promise that he would be back with such certainty that the innkeep decided to take him at his word.
"Stay here with the brats," Guts told her, not looking over his shoulder as he walked away. Ciri's lips thinned until Puck rested a hand on her cheek.
"He'll be back," Puck stated with confidence, as if sensing her thoughts that Guts might be leaving for good. It was clear how uncomfortable staying with other people made him, and how much danger it put them in. "He just wants to make sure that the kids are all okay. He'd rather you be here to protect them than out there protecting him," Puck continued, killing whatever argument that Ciri was about to make.
A sigh escaped her, her gaze going back to the kids, who were all eagerly waving Guts by with promises that they would share some of their stew with him. Guts didn't speak much, and when he did, he was a gruff asshole. But, his actions were speaking loud and clear.
"Alright," Ciri decided to herself, "alright, kiddies -- let's get you stuffed up and into bed," Ciri said, urging the children into the inn. It was a quiet place, for the most part. Dirt floors with a few tables for breakfast, white washed walls that seemed clean enough, and a stone hearth on the side of the building. The innkeeper gave her two keys to their rooms, looking everywhere but at her face when she took them.
The sun descended, letting night fall over the village that clamored down until morning. All of them ate a hearty stew, the kids stuffing themselves until they were about to burst, all promises to save some for Guts forgotten after the first spoonful. With that, they were shuffled off into a room upstairs, sleepy despite the naps that they had on the way over.
Ciri kept a careful watch on the front door to the tavern, her sword close at hand at all times. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, more than once, she caught the Nilguardian patrol venturing to the inn -- an irregular route to be certain. In the end, Ciri decided to take a position outside of the rooms, seated at the end of the hall, ready for anyone to come at some point during the night.
Hours went by, time slowing to a crawl and the only marked passage of it was her own slow deep breathing. Her senses were honed, hearing every cough and snore coming from the room of kids, every creaking board in the inn from a strong wind. It was the witching hour when she heard it. The sound that she expected.
A soft squeal of hinges in need of a good oiling. The sound of chainmail jingling, but quietly. Enough to tell her that the chainmail was covered and tied down. The sound of metal on metal, hinted that the men entering the inn in the dead of night were armored. Dirt shuffling and the sound of one of them bumping into a table, a sharp curse, and a muttered 'be quiet.' They were nearing the staircase, and it was then that Ciri decided to draw her blade, the sound deafly loud in the low silence.
Ciri was rather curious. Why exactly would she be getting visitors in the dead of night for?
One way to find out.
"Oh?" Guts echoed, his voice low and rumbly. "I tell you that I'm from a different continent and your response is 'Oh?'" he continued, clearly suspicious of her response. Mostly because she wasn't trying to poke him with a pitchfork or decry him as a liar. Those would probably be the more understandable responses, Ciri reflected, just not with her.
Ciri's gaze drifted over to the corpses of the Wild Hunt. She could still barely believe what she had seen despite seeing it. Watching Guts fight all night drove home how strong he was, but she had underestimated just how monsterous his strength truly was. He cut through enchanted steel and a member of the Hunt along with their horse as if they had been made of butter. Terrifying. Doubly so when he had killed another member of the Wild Hunt with the same swing.
That was insane. Downright impossible. Only it clearly wasn't.
All that made this very awkward. Guts struck her as a walking apocalypse with anger issues, "How… certain are you that you're on a different continent?" She asked, keenly aware that she was within striking distance. Gretta, the girl she had rescued, had thankfully joined the other children so she would be safe even if Guts took the news… badly.
Guts' eyes narrowed while Puck tilted his head while he crossed his arms. "Meaning?"
Outlander. That's what the Crones called him. That, and Struggler, which made less sense. The former Ciri had encountered before. Both in personal experience and in history books that she had been forced to read as a princess and as an aspiring Witcher. It was a relatively common enough term. In her experience, when she traveled to other worlds…
They called her an Outlander. More or less meaning someone that wasn't from here.
From a historical perspective, it was applied most frequently to the Conjunction of Spheres. An event that made the world what it was today. Thousands of 'spheres', each its own world with their own history, people, magic, and dangers, all crashed into one another. In doing so, the spheres overlapped. In this world's case, humanity along with a wide variety of monsters had been deposited here. Originally, those strangers to this sphere were called Outlanders.
Ciri hadn't thought much of it on account of the wound on her side, the deadly fight, and then every monster in that bog trying to kill them. But, now that he brought it up, the use of the word stood out to her.
"I mean how certain are you that you're not from a different sphere?" Ciri asked him, making Puck hum loudly.
Ciri wasn't exactly sure what expression she had expected. Maybe rage of the murderous variety. But it certainly wasn't for Guts to pale, his face going bloodless and Puck looking up at him with an expression filled with concern. Ciri quickly continued, not sure what to make of the reaction. "I could be wrong," she offered, though she didn't think that she was. "But I don't think that I am. Puck introduced himself as an elf, but elves here are as tall as humans with pointed ears."
Not to mention his arm. This world wouldn't know what it was, but Ciri spent time in far more advanced worlds than this -- so advanced that it had taken her some time to make the connection. Guts, for some inexplicable reason, had a cannon in his prosthetic. Gunpowder. Something that this world didn't know about. Thankfully. Wars were bad enough without guns or cannons, and she had seen what gunpowder lead to in Night City in another Sphere -- complete and utter chaos and butchery.
"Why," Guts growled, the shock fading to give way to the predictable anger, "do you sound guilty?" He questioned and… had she sounded guilty? Her eyes flickered down to Puck, seeing him look at her and she wondered if he had picked up on it.
No point in hiding it, "Because it could be my fault that you're here," Ciri told him, owning up to it. "I can travel between Spheres. I jumped through a portal -- a hastily made one, but I had used my powers not long before that. Given how close you landed to me, I think your arrival can't be coincidental." Ciri told him, knowing that his reaction was going to be… well… a lot like a volcano exploding and shitting lava everywhere.
"Take me back," Guts snarled, taking a threatening step forward until her nose could touch his breastplate. "Now," he growled the word, his expression becoming more beast than man with the fury glimmering in his eyes.
She expected that, so she had an answer ready, "If I could bring you back right now, I would," Ciri told him, her tone honest. "But I can't. I can only jump straight to Spheres that I've been to before and I have no idea where I might have picked you up. Or how you came with me. Jumping between Spheres takes a lot out of me, so if we don't jump straight to it, it'll be months before we can try again. With blind jumps, we could be at it for years. Decades."
Guilt weighed heavily on her. Ciri wasn't sure how she did it or why it happened, but she kidnapped Guts and Puck from their Sphere. Nothing like this had ever happened before -- it took effort to bring someone with her, and picking up an extra passenger… but what else could it be? How else could she explain Guts appearing in the same bog as her, uttering tales of being from a different continent that were filled with kingdoms she knew nothing about?
Guts seemed to process that for a moment, still visibly angry, but she liked to think that her sincerity and her lack of fear stopped him from doing anything rash.
A small sigh escaped her, "It also comes with its own risks. The Wild Hunt wants me for that ability. They might not seem much to you, but they have hunted me since I was a girl and two will replace every one killed."
"How do I get back?" Guts asked, his tone terse.
He wasn't shouting or raging. That was reassuring. "The same Sorceresses that I mentioned before. And Avallac'h, a friend of mine. Between the three of them, we should be able to locate your Sphere, and then I can take you back," Ciri reassured him, looking up at his face. Despite the scars and the anger, when the latter faded…
Guts struck her as young. Around her age, even.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen, and I'll do whatever I can to make it right, Guts. You have my word," She told him, giving him a firm nod.
"Meh," Puck interjected. "You said you were sorry, so no worries," Puck dismissed the topic completely out of hand. Guts looked like he bit into something sour, but he said nothing as he stepped back and walked away. From the looks of it, to go steal a wagon. Puck didn't join him, choosing to hover near Ciri to give her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him! He's just a big grump… and looking at you makes him sad."
Sad? Not the usual reaction she had when people looked at her. "Really? I tend to inspire murderous rage or mindless lust when men look at me," Ciri remarked, earning a giggle from the pixie. Or fairy. It looked like she would be adding an entry into the Witcher bestiaries. Likely the first one in about two hundred years.
"Guts will be fine," Puck said, seeing through her worry. "Just let him sulk for a little bit," Puck added. And what he described as sulking, Ciri would describe as stewing in murderous anger. It seemed to exude from him like an aura that everyone picked up on. The village, which had suffered a terrible loss for some reason, possibly in a battle between Redanian and Nilfgaardian forces, didn't say a word as Guts stole a wagon and two work horses.
Anna approached Ciri after a moment, clutching her hand, "I'm glad you're alright," the older woman said and Ciri was touched by the concern. She tried to brush it off by throwing on a lopsided grin.
"All in a day's work," she replied as the children began loading onto the wagon after they had their fill of petting the horses. Anna smiled lightly in response, her gaze going to Gretta, who eagerly shared the tale of being chased by the Wild Hunt. She was young. She really had no idea how close to death she had come -- first by a pack of wolves, then by the Wild Hunt.
Guts took a seat at the front of the wagon, setting his sword down on the back of the seat and it proved to be longer than the wagon was wide. The wagon wasn't large, between a half dozen children and Anna, there wasn't a lot of room in the back. Leaving Ciri to sit with Guts at the front. He didn't acknowledge her presence beyond urging the horses to move forward down the well trodden road, leaving the village and its dead behind.
The dead horses would feed what was left of the village and they could sell the arms and armor for coin. Beyond that, the future of the village was up to them.
Ciri was intensely aware of the tension between her and Guts. Or maybe it was just her because Puck kept giggling to himself when he looked at her. She gave a mild glare, but said nothing in favor of distracting herself. From a lot of things. First and foremost was the fact that the Wild Hunt had found her, and they would be trying again to capture her. She hoped Avallac'h was okay. He could take care of himself, but so could Geralt and Yennifer and she had saved them both from a pinch more than once.
Guts was a secondary concern in comparison, but she was worried about him as well. Or, rather, for him. Guts stared at the road ahead, following it as he lightly held the reins to the horses, glaring at something only he could see. Ciri tried to not pay him too much attention, sending that he wouldn't like it, and she found herself keeping an eye on their surroundings. Because of that, she quickly noticed something out of place.
"Huh," Ciri muttered, narrowing her eyes at the edge of the swamp. The edge of the underbrush was dying. The plants were wilting and it seemed that the water and mud were drying out. Unusual. Especially considering that it was the rainy season based on how wet the air felt. Ciri glanced over at Guts to see that he was looking at her and their eyes met. Ciri opened her mouth to say something, only for Guts to narrow his eyes at her, like she did something wrong by catching him looking at her, before looking away.
Awkward. Very awkward. If a stray arrow fell from the sky and put her down, Ciri think she'd welcome it. But, by her very nature, Ciri knew she wasn't the type to be cowed so easily. If she was, then she never would have made it through the Gauntlet. "Do you want to talk about your Sphere? Or this one? I'm sure you have some questions-"
"No," Guts cut her off. Right. Ciri was rapidly finding that dealing with Guts was like dealing with a particularly angry brick wall.
"Well, I have questions," Ciri decided. "What were you doing before you arrived here? This is the first time I've ever picked up a passenger by accident. I want to make sure what happened to you doesn't happen to anyone else. So, does anything come to mind?"
Guts sullenly refused to answer her for a long moment and right when Ciri decided that she would use the tried and tested 'be so annoying that they give in to get her to shut up' Guts spoke in a low terse tone, "I was resting. I had just killed another apostle. The battle was… a difficult one."
Ciri took a moment to size Guts up, looking for injuries. She didn't see any. Though, his ratty black cloak did show signs of fire damage -- charred blackened points that told her that Guts had been completely consumed by flames at one point. His face and hair didn't show any signs of the fire, though. "That's it?"
"I also escaped some fanatics. Dealt with another long night. I found a hill with some ruins on it and passed out there," Guts continued and she was right. Getting answers out of him was less pleasant than pulling teeth. Still, he gave her something to work with.
"These ruins -- describe them for me," Ciri instructed, earning a long sideways glance from Guts along with a small frown. With the greatest reluctance, he described where he had camped out at as shortly as possible. Featureless stone blocks that had once been stacked up, but time wore them away and some toppled over. It was impossible to say because Guts treated words as if they cost him something for every one he spoke but from the sounds of it… "That sounds like a Place of Power. An old ritualistic place where ley lines intersect. That's actually good news."
Guts narrowed his eyes at her, clearly asking how so. So, Ciri answered the unspoken question. "It means that your Sphere is probably close if I could pick you up by accident just because you were at a Place of Power," she answered, earning a small pleased grunt from Guts. At least she thought it sounded pleased.
Ciri decided to take the hint and swallowed her remaining questions simply because Guts wouldn't answer her. Maybe she could extract some information out of Puck when they had a moment. Puck seemed to love the sound of his own voice, so it shouldn't be too hard. Still, Ciri was curious. Was Guts his world's version of a Witcher? It would explain why he was hunting down things he called apostles. As well as explain his monstrous strength.
And, despite herself, Ciri found her eyelids growing heavy as the events of the past few days caught up with her. The Wild Hunt finding her, teleporting to Skellige, the battle there, then the crones, and a long fight all night, only to be found once again by the Wild Hunt. As the rhythmic bumps of the wagon rocked her to sleep, Ciri found herself closing her eyes and slipping into a trance rather than sleep. At least, that was her intention but as the hours slipped by, Ciri found herself waking up from a deep slumber hours later with the sun starting to dip towards the horizon.
The first thing that she noticed was that the pain in her side was gone. The second was that the sun was angled wrong for her few hours of trance rest. Glancing down at her self, she saw Puck was resting on her -- his feet kicked up on the button of her shirt while he reclined back into her cleavage, looking right at home. It was tempting to flick him out of it, but when a hand shifted to her side, she found that the wound she suffered was nonexistent.
She completely underestimated his healing power, Ciri decided. Over the course of a day, a wound that should have taken at least a month to properly heal vanished. Something like that… sorcerers could do something like it, but only if they specialized in healing magics. And precious few did because healing didn't bring the kind of power that sorcerers craved, in her experience.
She had to protect him. Witchers protected monsters from humans as much as they protected humans from monsters -- if anyone found out about the healing powder, or how effective it was, whether they be sorcerer, king, or a peasant, they'd lock Puck up in a cage and never let him go.
"There's a village up ahead," Guts spoke, seeing that she was awake. She glanced at him, then up at the sky that was dimming. She saw smoke. A normal amount that told her that the village was decently sized and not that far away. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the back of the wagon to see that the children and Anna were asleep, exhausted from the night prior. They held it together pretty well, but the fact of the matter was, they had spent all night in a house that was under attack by monsters.
Lastly, she looked to Guts, "Do you want to catch a quick nap before we arrive? Seems like it'll be another hour until we do," Ciri offered a hand to take the reins, only for Guts to hold them. He grunted a response, which Ciri was forced to interpret as a no. "When was the last time that you slept?" She asked him because Guts looked exhausted. Sleep was a lot easier to push off when you were forced to move around, or fight. But Ciri knew it was a lot harder to stave off when you were forced to sit for hours on end.
Ciri really didn't expect an answer, but she got one anyway, "Three days? Maybe four?" Ah. That's why. Guts was sleep deprived. It really was just too much. Guts really was just too… much.
"Right. How about you hand the reins over to me so you don't pass out and steer us into a ditch," Ciri stated, giving Guts a sweet smile and opening and closing her hands expectantly. Guts scoffed while Ciri heard an amused snort coming from her cleavage. "Don't trust me?"
"No," Guts answered with a very telling lack of hesitation. The kind of lack of hesitation that the blanket answer to that question would never change, no matter who asked.
"Can you trust me to not steer the wagon full of kids into a ditch?"
"No."
"Are you always this cheery or is it only after you haven't slept for the better part of a week?" Ciri sighed and Guts seemed vaguely thoughtful, as if he were thinking about it.
"No," he decided, sounding like he was doing it specifically to annoy her.
"Hint taken," Ciri decided, accepting defeat in this. She knew she could be stubborn but at the very least she didn't decide to be a stubborn bastard about every little thing. They traveled in silence towards the village, the sky starting to get darker. As the wagon bumped along since Guts insisted on hitting every single patch of uneven ground between them, Ciri felt a stirring in the air. Almost as if it were a stray breeze of unnaturally cool air.
"Damn you…" Ciri stiffened when she heard a whisper in her ear. A sound so faint that she almost wasn't sure that she had heard it.
Guts didn't look at her as he spoke, "Just ignore 'em. They're not capable of anything beyond cursing you for their own weakness," Guts dismissed the whispers that seemed to emerge from the shadows. This hadn't happened last night, Ciri noted, glancing at Guts to see that blood seemed to be welling up in his brand. Not enough to spill, but enough to fill the odd marking.
What she wouldn't give to be able to use the Yrden sign. The magic she could have used was given up, and most of the magic's out there weren't usable for her as a Source. Yrden would be enough to drive away the spirits whispering their spite -- at least in theory. This was a bit different than the average wraith. Lesser, but different was a danger of its own kind.
Despite saying to ignore them, Ciri found that she couldn't even as they reached the edge of the village. The sound played at the edges of her ears, pulling at her attention. The village itself was a few dozen building with no real layout to be seen but she spotted a number of signs -- an inn, blacksmith, butcher, and so on. A handful of people were standing in the dirt road, looking at them with curiosity.
Ciri's stomach clenched when she spotted Niflguardian uniforms in the village, recognizing that it was a sign of occupation. They seemed interested in them -- a odd group of soldiers playing Gwent outside a tavern -- but that could be because of Guts, the children, or because of her. And not because they were looking for the lost princess of Cintra or whatever her father wanted her for.
"Can I help you, serahs?" A hesitant voice questioned, a man in his thirties wearing a stained leather apron but he had clean hands questioned. An innkeeper if she ever saw one.
"We need lodgings," Guts growled, stepping off of the wagon to reveal that the full-grown man barely reached his shoulder. "Food. Directions too." The man took a step back, his gaze darting to Ciri, then Anna, and finally, the half dozen children that were poking their heads out from the edge of the wagon. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at them.
Could just be that he was confused about why they were traveling with a bunch of kids.
Could be something else.
"Of course," the man said, taking another step back as he offered Guts a nervous smile. "We have two rooms available? Shall I book them both? And, ah, perhaps a bath?" He asked and it seemed while they all went nose blind to the stench, they smelled bad enough that the average peasant was about to start pinching his nose. To that, Guts grunted. "We have a hot stew. Will you just be staying the night or longer?" The Innkeep began firing off rapid questions.
Ciri recognized it as someone trying to find out exactly how many crowns they could squeeze out of someone. Which, naturally, led to a pretty big issue. Ciri didn't have a single crown on her. And she couldn't imagine that Guts did either.
"The night," Guts answered. "But," he continued, interrupting the innkeeper, "we don't have any coin on us."
The innkeeper started to go red and she could see that man working up the courage to snap and tell them to go sleep in a ditch and eat dirt if they were hungry. Then his face rapidly paled when he watched as Guts hefted his sword, the blade standing taller and wider than the man himself before Guts sheathed it on his back. "A-ah-ahhhh…"
"Is there any work nearby for a mercenary?" Guts questioned, his tone flat but Ciri knew he knew exactly what he looked like to the man. Just about drove him to fill his trousers.
"Or for a Witcher?" Ciri tacked on, throwing on a confident smirk, and damn near possibly, that seemed to scare the man more. However, he quickly gathered himself.
He glanced between them, "Well… there's no official bounty on 'em yet, but some bandits have been raiding the village farmsteads nearby. Can't rightly say if it's one really big group, or two big groups, or just a bunch of small ones. After the last battle… there are more deserters than soldiers and that lot won't be doing much to protect us. Even if they don't cut and run." Ciri glanced out of the corner of her eye from her position on the wagon, spotting the squad of Nilfgaardian soldiers that were watching them with far less subtlety than she was watching them with.
"For monsters?" The innkeeper offered a shrug of his shoulders, looking nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. "I know we've been getting sights of 'em more often lately. I can't say for sure, but the mayor will give you at least a crown for every dead monster you bring proof of," he offered a shrug. A crown? Completely not worth it. Especially when you didn't know what monster you were dealing with. It was an old trap that people in power liked to use.
Used it as an excuse to not pay a Witcher, or anyone, what they were due.
"Fine," Guts decided, accepting the tasks with little preamble. "Get everything set up for them. I'll be back some point tonight," he decided, starting to walk off out of the village in the same direction that they came from. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, struck by just… indomitable Guts was.
"R-Right away," the innkeeper responded, also understanding the implication. Guts heard that there could be a large group of bandits -- not exactly a solid figure, but large tended to mean more than ten bandits. He heard that there were nests of monsters roaming the countryside. And he just went back out with a vague promise that he would be back with such certainty that the innkeep decided to take him at his word.
"Stay here with the brats," Guts told her, not looking over his shoulder as he walked away. Ciri's lips thinned until Puck rested a hand on her cheek.
"He'll be back," Puck stated with confidence, as if sensing her thoughts that Guts might be leaving for good. It was clear how uncomfortable staying with other people made him, and how much danger it put them in. "He just wants to make sure that the kids are all okay. He'd rather you be here to protect them than out there protecting him," Puck continued, killing whatever argument that Ciri was about to make.
A sigh escaped her, her gaze going back to the kids, who were all eagerly waving Guts by with promises that they would share some of their stew with him. Guts didn't speak much, and when he did, he was a gruff asshole. But, his actions were speaking loud and clear.
"Alright," Ciri decided to herself, "alright, kiddies -- let's get you stuffed up and into bed," Ciri said, urging the children into the inn. It was a quiet place, for the most part. Dirt floors with a few tables for breakfast, white washed walls that seemed clean enough, and a stone hearth on the side of the building. The innkeeper gave her two keys to their rooms, looking everywhere but at her face when she took them.
The sun descended, letting night fall over the village that clamored down until morning. All of them ate a hearty stew, the kids stuffing themselves until they were about to burst, all promises to save some for Guts forgotten after the first spoonful. With that, they were shuffled off into a room upstairs, sleepy despite the naps that they had on the way over.
Ciri kept a careful watch on the front door to the tavern, her sword close at hand at all times. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, more than once, she caught the Nilguardian patrol venturing to the inn -- an irregular route to be certain. In the end, Ciri decided to take a position outside of the rooms, seated at the end of the hall, ready for anyone to come at some point during the night.
Hours went by, time slowing to a crawl and the only marked passage of it was her own slow deep breathing. Her senses were honed, hearing every cough and snore coming from the room of kids, every creaking board in the inn from a strong wind. It was the witching hour when she heard it. The sound that she expected.
A soft squeal of hinges in need of a good oiling. The sound of chainmail jingling, but quietly. Enough to tell her that the chainmail was covered and tied down. The sound of metal on metal, hinted that the men entering the inn in the dead of night were armored. Dirt shuffling and the sound of one of them bumping into a table, a sharp curse, and a muttered 'be quiet.' They were nearing the staircase, and it was then that Ciri decided to draw her blade, the sound deafly loud in the low silence.
Ciri was rather curious. Why exactly would she be getting visitors in the dead of night for?
One way to find out.
Witching Hour
- Location
- USA
People feared mercenaries for good reason, especially bands of them. Guts grew up in them. He knew exactly what mercenaries were when it came right down to it. Some managed to lie to themselves better than others, wrapping what they were under scarves of silks and pleasant lies, but the heart of the matter was that mercenaries were hired killers. They fought for coin, willing to kill whoever their employer payed them to. Even when he was most blinded by what Griffith was, Guts never forgot that fundamental truth.
For that reason, it was damn easy to discover where the bandits were. After all, the only difference between a bandit and a mercenary was a contract. With the sun having made its descent, their fire made their location obvious when you knew what to look for -- a good view of the road from an elevated position that was close enough to prepare a quick ambush. It was difficult to tell if the dirt road that ran by the village of Todor was a popular one, but at the very least, the bandits thought it was worth ambushing whatever trade caravans made their way down it.
When the skies darkened, Guts' curse made itself known. The shadows twisted in the corners of his vision, becoming faces and bodies of spirits that clung to him in a desperate attempt to escape their own personal hells. They were pathetic. Desperately clinging to a hope, but completely unable to do anything more than cling to it. They waited until he was too weak to pounce. All the while, they whispered their hate and curses into his ears, forcing him to listen to their complaints.
His feet trudged up a dark twisting path, his gaze well adept at seeing in the dark after the past few years. Some days he saw better in the dark than he did during the day. Beyond the spirits, he heard the sounds of bandits laughing and cheering. Guts had stumbled across a handful of hamlets and homesteads on his way up -- most were burnt out and empty, either due to the war or the bandits. Because, more often than not, the only difference between soldiers and bandits was a nation.
These men used to be soldiers, Guts thought as he approached in the dead of night. Their position was fortified, with sentries posted, and from the sounds of it, the rest of the bandits were making fun of their sentries for getting scared. They didn't believe them about what they were hearing. It started as a distant whisper in the wind, half-formed words, but as Guts neared, the sentries weren't the only ones that heard the damned spirits that clung to him.
He came to a stop just outside of their camp, just before a wire trap tied to a ladle and a pan to alert them if someone tripped the wire. Guts' brand started to weep blood, a single slow drop spilling from it, warning him that soon it would be more than just ghosts that were going to bother him. From his count, there were a good thirty bandits in the camp -- some around a bonfire, others were in tents, but more were sleeping on blankets on the ground. He listened carefully to the bandits that were becoming increasingly aware that something wasn't right.
They began getting up, their hands going for their weapons, and forming up. Guts watched them in the darkness, a hand drifting up to Dragonslayer. There were no hints that there were captives in the camp that told him that one of three things were true.
First, that the bandits didn't take anyone from the homesteads that they raided.
That was about as likely as the sun rising in the west and setting in the east.
The second possibility was that the bandits took captives, but they were no longer here -- due to the bandits either letting them go or giving them to a third party. Or they could be kept elsewhere. From the looks of it, given that there was no one but bandits in the camp, that one also struck Guts as unlikely.
The third possibility and the one that was true most of the time in Guts' experience, was that the bandits did take people -- normally women -- from the farmsteads, raped them until they all had had their fill, then killed them when they were done. Rage burned in his chest, just as it did every night. His body ached, he was exhausted, but he was still far more than enough to deal with some bandits and whatever else this world had to throw at him.
He purposely tripped the wire, making the ladle bounce off the pan noisily, alerting the bandits to exactly where he was. They flinched to face him, but they were distracted by the spirits in the shadows cursing them, hating them. Wishing that they would die so that they could have their corpses. The bandits were pale in the flickering flames, the air growing colder with an unnatural chill.
Just as Guts stepped into the fringes of the light, the monsters began to make themselves known. He heard a flapping of wings from over head. He wasn't the only one because a bandit looked up and shouted, "Harpies!" A split second later, his throat was torn out when one swooped down from the sky. The harpy was fairly small, between two and three feet, humanoid in body except for the talons for hands and feet along with a set of feathered wings protruding from its back.
The bandit's eyes turned to the skies above, and because of it, they nearly missed Gut as he strode towards them. Guts knew he needed to replace the string to his crossbow, because they would have been easy pickings with how they were grouped up, but it didn't make much of a difference when he swung Dragonslayer, carving his way through six men in a single swing, sending their torsos up in a spray of blood and gore. Taking a step forward, he killed another three with the back swing.
A harpy dove for him, and found itself bisected along with a man, another launching itself at him, but Guts blocked a swipe from the wicked talons with his armor. A backswing killed another bandit and they had no idea what they should be doing. One broke off to flee, only to be killed by a harpy, but before the monster could claim its prize, a ghoul leapt from the darkness to start feasting upon the corpse, even as it started to rise when a spirit possessed the body.
The camp became filled with the sounds of panicked screaming, then death. The bandits broke form, some standing to fight, others trying to flee, but it didn't make much of a difference either way. Guts knew all too well how quickly discipline could break down and the disasters that came from it. In minutes, the only bandits that still stood were those that were possessed by spirits.
They lunged for Guts, drawn to him because of the brand on his neck, but the monsters attacked the undead just as much as they attacked him. A ghoul tore off the leg of a shambling corpse, feasting on it with the sound of bone snapping under powerful jaws and while it was distracted, Guts cleaved it in half. With the back swing, he killed a harpy before another slammed into his back, making him stumble forward. He used the momentum to stomp on the corpse that was crawling toward him, grabbing the head of the harpy and crushed it underneath his palm with a squeeze.
It wasn't as bad as the swamp, which seemed to have a few monsters for every tree, so it was less than thirty minutes later that Guts found himself standing alone in the remains of the camp. He was surrounded by corpses, human and monster alike, breathing deeply to pace himself.
The undead were drawn to him like a moth to the flame. They couldn't help themselves. Monsters of this world, however, were only attracted to him like he was bait. If there was an easier meal nearby, then they would go for it. At least, that's how it seemed to Guts.
"Why," Guts began, taking a knife out of his belt to start collecting proof of his kills, "do you react to the Brand?" He asked the monsters, uncertain of the answer and that made him uneasy. To him, the Brand had always been a tool to help him hunt Apostles. What it was didn't matter to him in the slightest, only what it could do for him. Now, he was in a new world and the Brand attracted monsters and spirits alike.
Why? How? Those two things that never mattered before suddenly mattered a great deal. The Crones had recognized it. They called him Struggler, just as the Skull Knight did. As much as he was traveling with Ciri because of the promise that she could return him to his 'sphere', he needed answers about the Brand itself now. Her sorcerer friends may be able to give him those answers.
With well-practiced ease, Guts butchered the dead for trophies. It was a common practice on the battlefield. It motivated soldiers to kill the enemy for an extra coin or two instead of hiding on the fringes, trying to survive the battle rather than win it. He wasn't certain what exactly the mayor would be looking for, but the easiest way to prove that he wasn't trying to inflate his numbers was to take something that the bandits and monsters only had one of.
He took the right hands of the bandits, the right claws of the necrophages, and the wings of the harpies. Hooking them together, he slung the lot over his shoulder. Just as he was finishing up, Guts looked off in the distance, a source of light piercing the heavy dark veil that had fallen on the world with only a sliver of the moon visible. It was easy enough to make out the source.
A building was on fire.
He really couldn't take his eyes off of Ciri, could he? Frowning deeply, Guts took off into the night, sprinting towards the village of Todor. He ran down the tall hill that gave him a view of the village, and he could distantly make out figures that were trying to put the fire out with water gathered from a communal well. Leaping down the path, loose gravel shifting under his feet when he landed, Guts made his way back to the village in a fraction of the time he had taken to get to the bandit hideout.
Reaching the outer edge minutes later, he leapt over a low fence, sprinted between two buildings, and emerged on the main road. The building that was on fire was the inn, he noticed. Ciri was in the road before it, the children nowhere to be seen, holding a bloodied blade while she was surrounded by men in black and white armor. One was carrying a net and trying to circle around.
From the look of things, Ciri had already dealt with most of them. Her blade was steady, undaunted by facing multiple opponents. He already knew she was a fighter by how she fought the monsters, but fighting men was different. Men thought. They flailed dangerously when they were about to die, willing to do whatever it took to survive a second longer.
"Just come with us, girl. If it ain't you, then no harm done, yeah?" One of the men spoke. Nilfgaardians, if Guts had to guess. They were well armored and equipped, but it seems the net was improvised because it was a fishing net. Even as the man said the words, there was a snarl in his voice that told Guts that consequences were coming regardless.
These people weren't the Wild Hunt, Guts deduced, striding forward. Vengeful spirits gathered around him, writhing in the shadows. They were drawn by the extreme emotions that were felt, echoes of those that died. Tonight was a light night, Guts decided, because the only corpses that seemed to be animated were the ones that were crawling out of the burning building. The Nilfguaardians heard the whispers in their ears, starting to twitch as they looked around for the source.
"Ciri," Guts uttered, bringing all attention to him. One of the men dropped his sword at the spirits that clung to him, clawing at him, whispering their hatred in his ears.The Nilfguaardians paled, their expressions shifting to one of pure terror while some stumbled back. A mistake when one of their undead comrades managed to escape the fire, crawling on the ground, and stabbed him in the back of the leg with a dirk.
"Guts!" Ciri called out, "We need to leave!" She decided, as if that wasn't evident enough. Her eyes were wide, gazing into the shadows around him. She was holding it together better than the Nilfgaardians. That wasn't saying much, given how poorly they were reacting. Guts could smell their fear, and the spirits gathered around them just as much as they did him.
Three of them took off running, fleeing the village. The others were taking desperate swings at the spirits, their despair only growing when their swords passed through them harmlessly. Just as his had before Skull Knight had gifted him a sword on that first night that was capable of dealing with the spirits. They still swung on anyway.
"He's the source!" One shouted in blind panic, sprinting towards Guts. His sword was clutched in trembling hands, making a running thrust directly at Guts. There was not a thought in his head beyond pure fear, instinct that was trying to make this stop, and as far as the soldier could tell, he was the source of it. He wasn't wrong. He and that band of fanatics back in his own 'Sphere' made the same mistake because it was easy to make. His existence eroded the line between the undead and the living.
He couldn't kill them. It would just mean more possessed corpses in the middle of a village. Drawing Dragonslayer, he batted the springing man away, knocking him to the side and into the dirt. In a low growl, Guts looked to the remaining soldiers, "Run." He snarled, and that was all the convincing they all needed to flee.
"How was your night?" Ciri asked, decapitating the crawling corpse. He voice was tight and controlled, swallowing her fear and uncertainty. Casca really would have liked her. Whoever trained her did a good job of it.
"The kids okay?" Guts questioned, looking at the burning inn, feeling… exasperated for lack of a better word. So much for making coin here.
Ciri nodded, "They've already gone ahead with Puck and Anna."
"Good-" Guts started before a boot hit him in the back of the head. It clattered to the ground and he turned around to see a teenager behind him, another boot held up in a threatening manner. His face was covered in pimples and pox scars, blue eyes wide with terror and his greasy skin was stark white in terror.
"G-go away! G-get! I'm not afraid of you," the teenager boldly lied, getting ready to throw his other boot. "You aren't welcomed here, you demons! You have to leave!" Seemed like it was some peasant tale on how to deal with spirits -- throw down some salt, mutter a set of prayers in order, or, in this case, tell the spirits to get lost. In any case, the boy was brave. Stupid, but brave.
Guts grunted, looking to Ciri for a moment, before he did as bade. He picked a direction to leave from and headed out of the village, Ciri in tow. As he started to leave, emboldened by the one teenager, every villager started to scream and shout for them to leave from the safety of their homes. One even went as far as to throw a bag of salt at them that thunked off of his armor, accomplishing nothing but wasting perfectly good salt. Ciri traveled with him in absolute silence, the spirits more than filling the silence with their venomous words.
"Would a city pay for monster trophies?" Guts questioned after a long walk. Long enough that the village should be free of the undead spirits that plagued him. If there were any lingering, then that was for the village to deal with.
Ciri took a long minute to find her voice, offering a small nod. "They should, but they'll likely rip you off. Villagers are… more honest since a monster attack could spell the end of the village." She voiced after a while, her gaze going to him and she looked in the space around him. "It wasn't like this yesterday."
"Because there were monsters and undead. When they don't have a medium to possess, then this is all they can do," Guts grunted. He shifted his trophies to see that a hand was groping at him, as if it were trying to strangle him through his bicep. Seeing no point any longer, he dumped the human hands. Wasn't like a city was going to believe him that they came from bandits plaguing a village. "Do you want to explain why the inn was on fire?"
Ciri but her lip as they made their way down a well-walked path, hopefully to find the children. Idly sometime after morning. "Well, in for an ounce, in for a pound -- I'm a princess. Was a princess. Sort of. Originally, I was a princess of Cintra, a kingdom that fell when I was a child. Now I'm princess of Nilfgaard because my father became emperor after being lost at sea and being pronounced dead for the better part of a decade. He's hunting me down. As if invading the northern kingdoms wasn't enough, he also has them looking for an ashen-haired woman with a scar on her face."
Guts glanced at Ciri, who narrowed her eyes at the glance, clearly expecting a very specific reaction. Instead, what she got was a disinterested grunt. "You don't act much like a princess," Guts decided. He only met one, but the girl had been completely useless. Nobles generally were, but Princess Charlotte was the kind of useless that she'd end up raped and dead within the hour if left unattended on a random street in the city. It made her easy to manipulate. Which was likely why Griffith had presented himself as the ideal knight to her.
"Thank you," Ciri stated, taking it as a compliment. Guts supposed it was, though he hadn't meant it as one.
"Will this be a problem?" Guts questioned, his eyes scanning the writhing shadows in search of the children. There was a war going on. If there were deserters this nearby, that usually meant that there had been a battle somewhere nearby. Everyone was happy about a war until they saw the aftermath of the killing field. That's when most would break off and run, turning into bandits to survive. If the children came across a battlefield… and if Guts came across them…
Should he even look for them? Would it be safer to send Ciri ahead and wait until morning to find them both?
This was why he never traveled with anyone. Too much of a risk for them and himself. It was a lesson well learned at this point because people couldn't endure the dangers around him when the sun fell. The only companion he could tolerate was Puck, and that was mostly because of his healing powder. And even then, Guts barely tolerated him.
"Shouldn't be," Ciri answered after a moment of thought. "We'll be heading into Redanian territory at Oxenfurt, and while I'm sure my father has spies in there, they shouldn't be anything we can't handle. I can outrun them pretty easily with my abilities. The only issue is that using them attracts the Wild Hunt. We just need to get ahead of whatever message the village will have sent to whoever -- the Northern Kingdoms or Nilfgaard."
Guts grunted in acknowledgment and they lapsed into silence.
However, it was anything but silent between them. As they walk, the damned made their hate known. And it was when Guts heard the screams of frightened children, he knew that they had found the brats and so he did the best thing he could for them.
He stayed away.
…
The city of Oxenfurt looked much like any city that Guts had seen before, and it was a well-defended one. Bridges were great chokepoints and whoever designed Oxenfurt was keenly aware of it. The walls that surrounded the city were almost to the shoreline on the islands that Oxenfurt was located on. Leaving enough of a beach to be worth spreading out, but not enough to amass a significant force. A trap, in essence, to tempt attacking forces to thin themselves out in search of a weak point on the walls.
It was situated on two large islands in the middle of a very large river -- slow moving one, but fast enough. In front of the bridge was a refugee camp that had once been a normal village. It was filled with people that were fleeing the battles. They all gave Guts and their wagon a wide berth, mostly because of the smell that was coming off of it.
"I'm almost home, baby," Anna muttered, her hands clutched together. Puck was eagerly peaking out of his spot at Guts' belt, knowing better than to fly around. So far, everyone had managed to see Puck. Possibly as a result of monsters being a common occurrence. The children were eagerly glancing around them to find something of interest.
"Halt there," a Redanian soldier spoke up as they approached the bridge to Oxenfurt. He took notice of Guts' blade, then Guts himself. There wasn't any hint of recognition on his greasy and red face, telling Guts that not only had they arrived ahead of the message from Todor, but the guardsman was used to being in the shade. That could be anything -- perhaps he changed shifts as a favor. Perhaps he pissed someone off. Or, perhaps, someone had paid him to stand at the gate to keep an eye on who comes and goes.
It could be nothing. But, it could be something.
"We're here to collect some bounties -- monsters," Ciri spoke up, a confident swagger in her voice. Guts had no right to throw stones, but she couldn't blend in even if she tried. She just didn't have it in her to keep her head low. To prove her point, Ciri picked up a hook that was hanging off the side of the wagon. One of many. Primarily ghouls, alghouls, and nekkers -- the latter were particularly annoying. Mostly because they were knee height for Guts. "We thought the Academy might be interested."
The guard narrowed his eyes at the wagon -- hanging from the sides were ten hooks on each side, with roughly fifteen heads per hook. "Wouldn't count on that, love. The Academy has been shut down by order of the Sacred Flame. At least until they get rid of all the heresy they teach. But, you'd have better luck with the Witch Hunters. They'd give you a decent price for slaying monsters."
Witch Hunters. Sacred Orders. If he wound up in another pillory getting whipped by some crazy girl, he was going to burn this entire city to the ground.
"We'll take you up on that. Thanks," Ciri said, flashing a smile that looked practiced.
"Eh, think nothing of it. You did the public a service killin' them," the guard shrugged before he gestured for them to go across the bridge. "You'll find 'em up near where the university is. May the Eternal Flame guide you." The guard said, allowing them in. Guts nodded at him, thinking that he was overly helpful. With the number of refugees, Guts expected to have to bribe his way in. Could be the monster parts hanging off of the wagon.
Or it could be his expression. He hadn't slept in the past five days. The nights were plagued by spirits and monsters while the days were filled with traveling and he could afford to let his guard drop.
"Tamara should be here," Anna whispered to herself, looking at everyone in the city as they entered. "This was where we were supposed to meet. It feels like a lifetime ago. You don't think anything happened to her?" Anna asked, looking for reassurance but Guts had none to give as they made their way into the city. The roads were good -- made of cobblestone -- and the buildings were made of wood and stone.
There was a war going on and Anna's daughter, who she had tried to escape with, had traveled here alone. It was entirely possible, even likely, that some terrible fate had befallen her on her journey here.
"I'm sure she's fine," Puck offered, giving Anna a thumbs up.
Guts looked at the people that gave his wagon a wide berth. Most of them were human and peasants. Standing at a corner in front of a back alley was a group of women -- prostitutes, by the look of them, all beautiful… and all with pointed ears. Elves, according to Ciri. One of them caught him looking and fluttered her eyelashes and blew him a kiss. Seeing was believing, Guts supposed as he looked away to follow the main road. He took note of a blacksmith on the way -- while repairing Dragonslayer was likely beyond them, he could have a replacement string for his crossbow. His armor and knives could do with some touches as well.
"Where should we start looking?" Ciri asked while the children hummed and hawed over seeing a real city for the first time.
"The Academy. It's terrible what these heretics are doing to it, but it's still the best landmark in the city. It's where we were going. If… if she made it here, then that's where she would go," Anna voiced, giving them a direction.
Guts shifted the wagon towards the university, thinking that it was a waste. A real one. He didn't know the terrain for the surrounding area particularly well, but turning this island into a university of all things was an absolute waste. It should be a fortress. It likely had been one before until some fool king decided otherwise. Fortifications were quickly forgotten about when a war ended, and if there wasn't one for long enough, the kings and queens would forget why they needed them and repurpose them for something useless.
"We need to break into the Academy," Ciri remarked as they made their way up.
He sent her a glance before she nodded at his Brand, "It was the center of learning before the Cult of the Eternal Fire got their hands on the place. It's the best bet we have to learn about it, so when we get you to Triss and Yennefer, they know what they're dealing with."
Guts offered a small nod. Ciri was determined to follow through on her promise. And after five very long days, Guts desperately missed sleep.
It was as they arrived at the outer wall of the Academy that seemed to take up about half of the island itself that Guts caught the first glimpse of the Witch Hunters. They stood out. Even if it wasn't for the badges of office -- they walked on the streets like they owned them, and there was tension between them and the citizens around them that filled the air. The elves and dwarves made themselves scarce, outright avoiding them.
Guts had wondered if things would be different in another Sphere, but it was a very familiar sight to him. There would always be those on the fringes of society that suffered. Guts imagined having pointed ears or being half the size of a man made it pretty easy to decide who was on the fringes of society.
He noticed their approach, but he intended to leave them be -- he'd had his fill of religious lunatics. However, that plan died a dogs death when Anna all but leapt out of the wagon. The Witch Hunters were just as shocked as they were, right up until Guts saw who Anna was running to.
"Mother?!" One of the Witch Hunters blurted right before she was all but tackled by Anna, who swept her up in her arms, a sob escaping her. The other Witch Hunters lowered the hands that had gone for their weapons. Guts got a good look at the girl -- pretty with short brown hair. She also had a sword at her belt and on her vest was the same badge that marked the other Witch Hunters. "Yo- how- I saw that monster take you!" The girl blurted, hugging her mother back when it clicked in place that her mother was here.
The other children took that as a cue to hop out of the wagon to join the hug to start pestering the girl with questions and based on her expression, she was quickly getting overwhelmed.
Anna pulled back, wiping tears out of her eyes before she looked to Guts and Ciri, "These blessed people saved me. It was awful, Tamara. These old Crones took me -- me and these children -- and they saved us. They brought us here, to you," Anna declared, her eyes shining.
It was hardly the truth, Guts thought. He put her and the kids in as much danger as he rescued them from.
Still, for the moment, deep down… it was nice to be looked upon with eyes of admiration rather than the hate and fear he was used to.
For that reason, it was damn easy to discover where the bandits were. After all, the only difference between a bandit and a mercenary was a contract. With the sun having made its descent, their fire made their location obvious when you knew what to look for -- a good view of the road from an elevated position that was close enough to prepare a quick ambush. It was difficult to tell if the dirt road that ran by the village of Todor was a popular one, but at the very least, the bandits thought it was worth ambushing whatever trade caravans made their way down it.
When the skies darkened, Guts' curse made itself known. The shadows twisted in the corners of his vision, becoming faces and bodies of spirits that clung to him in a desperate attempt to escape their own personal hells. They were pathetic. Desperately clinging to a hope, but completely unable to do anything more than cling to it. They waited until he was too weak to pounce. All the while, they whispered their hate and curses into his ears, forcing him to listen to their complaints.
His feet trudged up a dark twisting path, his gaze well adept at seeing in the dark after the past few years. Some days he saw better in the dark than he did during the day. Beyond the spirits, he heard the sounds of bandits laughing and cheering. Guts had stumbled across a handful of hamlets and homesteads on his way up -- most were burnt out and empty, either due to the war or the bandits. Because, more often than not, the only difference between soldiers and bandits was a nation.
These men used to be soldiers, Guts thought as he approached in the dead of night. Their position was fortified, with sentries posted, and from the sounds of it, the rest of the bandits were making fun of their sentries for getting scared. They didn't believe them about what they were hearing. It started as a distant whisper in the wind, half-formed words, but as Guts neared, the sentries weren't the only ones that heard the damned spirits that clung to him.
He came to a stop just outside of their camp, just before a wire trap tied to a ladle and a pan to alert them if someone tripped the wire. Guts' brand started to weep blood, a single slow drop spilling from it, warning him that soon it would be more than just ghosts that were going to bother him. From his count, there were a good thirty bandits in the camp -- some around a bonfire, others were in tents, but more were sleeping on blankets on the ground. He listened carefully to the bandits that were becoming increasingly aware that something wasn't right.
They began getting up, their hands going for their weapons, and forming up. Guts watched them in the darkness, a hand drifting up to Dragonslayer. There were no hints that there were captives in the camp that told him that one of three things were true.
First, that the bandits didn't take anyone from the homesteads that they raided.
That was about as likely as the sun rising in the west and setting in the east.
The second possibility was that the bandits took captives, but they were no longer here -- due to the bandits either letting them go or giving them to a third party. Or they could be kept elsewhere. From the looks of it, given that there was no one but bandits in the camp, that one also struck Guts as unlikely.
The third possibility and the one that was true most of the time in Guts' experience, was that the bandits did take people -- normally women -- from the farmsteads, raped them until they all had had their fill, then killed them when they were done. Rage burned in his chest, just as it did every night. His body ached, he was exhausted, but he was still far more than enough to deal with some bandits and whatever else this world had to throw at him.
He purposely tripped the wire, making the ladle bounce off the pan noisily, alerting the bandits to exactly where he was. They flinched to face him, but they were distracted by the spirits in the shadows cursing them, hating them. Wishing that they would die so that they could have their corpses. The bandits were pale in the flickering flames, the air growing colder with an unnatural chill.
Just as Guts stepped into the fringes of the light, the monsters began to make themselves known. He heard a flapping of wings from over head. He wasn't the only one because a bandit looked up and shouted, "Harpies!" A split second later, his throat was torn out when one swooped down from the sky. The harpy was fairly small, between two and three feet, humanoid in body except for the talons for hands and feet along with a set of feathered wings protruding from its back.
The bandit's eyes turned to the skies above, and because of it, they nearly missed Gut as he strode towards them. Guts knew he needed to replace the string to his crossbow, because they would have been easy pickings with how they were grouped up, but it didn't make much of a difference when he swung Dragonslayer, carving his way through six men in a single swing, sending their torsos up in a spray of blood and gore. Taking a step forward, he killed another three with the back swing.
A harpy dove for him, and found itself bisected along with a man, another launching itself at him, but Guts blocked a swipe from the wicked talons with his armor. A backswing killed another bandit and they had no idea what they should be doing. One broke off to flee, only to be killed by a harpy, but before the monster could claim its prize, a ghoul leapt from the darkness to start feasting upon the corpse, even as it started to rise when a spirit possessed the body.
The camp became filled with the sounds of panicked screaming, then death. The bandits broke form, some standing to fight, others trying to flee, but it didn't make much of a difference either way. Guts knew all too well how quickly discipline could break down and the disasters that came from it. In minutes, the only bandits that still stood were those that were possessed by spirits.
They lunged for Guts, drawn to him because of the brand on his neck, but the monsters attacked the undead just as much as they attacked him. A ghoul tore off the leg of a shambling corpse, feasting on it with the sound of bone snapping under powerful jaws and while it was distracted, Guts cleaved it in half. With the back swing, he killed a harpy before another slammed into his back, making him stumble forward. He used the momentum to stomp on the corpse that was crawling toward him, grabbing the head of the harpy and crushed it underneath his palm with a squeeze.
It wasn't as bad as the swamp, which seemed to have a few monsters for every tree, so it was less than thirty minutes later that Guts found himself standing alone in the remains of the camp. He was surrounded by corpses, human and monster alike, breathing deeply to pace himself.
The undead were drawn to him like a moth to the flame. They couldn't help themselves. Monsters of this world, however, were only attracted to him like he was bait. If there was an easier meal nearby, then they would go for it. At least, that's how it seemed to Guts.
"Why," Guts began, taking a knife out of his belt to start collecting proof of his kills, "do you react to the Brand?" He asked the monsters, uncertain of the answer and that made him uneasy. To him, the Brand had always been a tool to help him hunt Apostles. What it was didn't matter to him in the slightest, only what it could do for him. Now, he was in a new world and the Brand attracted monsters and spirits alike.
Why? How? Those two things that never mattered before suddenly mattered a great deal. The Crones had recognized it. They called him Struggler, just as the Skull Knight did. As much as he was traveling with Ciri because of the promise that she could return him to his 'sphere', he needed answers about the Brand itself now. Her sorcerer friends may be able to give him those answers.
With well-practiced ease, Guts butchered the dead for trophies. It was a common practice on the battlefield. It motivated soldiers to kill the enemy for an extra coin or two instead of hiding on the fringes, trying to survive the battle rather than win it. He wasn't certain what exactly the mayor would be looking for, but the easiest way to prove that he wasn't trying to inflate his numbers was to take something that the bandits and monsters only had one of.
He took the right hands of the bandits, the right claws of the necrophages, and the wings of the harpies. Hooking them together, he slung the lot over his shoulder. Just as he was finishing up, Guts looked off in the distance, a source of light piercing the heavy dark veil that had fallen on the world with only a sliver of the moon visible. It was easy enough to make out the source.
A building was on fire.
He really couldn't take his eyes off of Ciri, could he? Frowning deeply, Guts took off into the night, sprinting towards the village of Todor. He ran down the tall hill that gave him a view of the village, and he could distantly make out figures that were trying to put the fire out with water gathered from a communal well. Leaping down the path, loose gravel shifting under his feet when he landed, Guts made his way back to the village in a fraction of the time he had taken to get to the bandit hideout.
Reaching the outer edge minutes later, he leapt over a low fence, sprinted between two buildings, and emerged on the main road. The building that was on fire was the inn, he noticed. Ciri was in the road before it, the children nowhere to be seen, holding a bloodied blade while she was surrounded by men in black and white armor. One was carrying a net and trying to circle around.
From the look of things, Ciri had already dealt with most of them. Her blade was steady, undaunted by facing multiple opponents. He already knew she was a fighter by how she fought the monsters, but fighting men was different. Men thought. They flailed dangerously when they were about to die, willing to do whatever it took to survive a second longer.
"Just come with us, girl. If it ain't you, then no harm done, yeah?" One of the men spoke. Nilfgaardians, if Guts had to guess. They were well armored and equipped, but it seems the net was improvised because it was a fishing net. Even as the man said the words, there was a snarl in his voice that told Guts that consequences were coming regardless.
These people weren't the Wild Hunt, Guts deduced, striding forward. Vengeful spirits gathered around him, writhing in the shadows. They were drawn by the extreme emotions that were felt, echoes of those that died. Tonight was a light night, Guts decided, because the only corpses that seemed to be animated were the ones that were crawling out of the burning building. The Nilfguaardians heard the whispers in their ears, starting to twitch as they looked around for the source.
"Ciri," Guts uttered, bringing all attention to him. One of the men dropped his sword at the spirits that clung to him, clawing at him, whispering their hatred in his ears.The Nilfguaardians paled, their expressions shifting to one of pure terror while some stumbled back. A mistake when one of their undead comrades managed to escape the fire, crawling on the ground, and stabbed him in the back of the leg with a dirk.
"Guts!" Ciri called out, "We need to leave!" She decided, as if that wasn't evident enough. Her eyes were wide, gazing into the shadows around him. She was holding it together better than the Nilfgaardians. That wasn't saying much, given how poorly they were reacting. Guts could smell their fear, and the spirits gathered around them just as much as they did him.
Three of them took off running, fleeing the village. The others were taking desperate swings at the spirits, their despair only growing when their swords passed through them harmlessly. Just as his had before Skull Knight had gifted him a sword on that first night that was capable of dealing with the spirits. They still swung on anyway.
"He's the source!" One shouted in blind panic, sprinting towards Guts. His sword was clutched in trembling hands, making a running thrust directly at Guts. There was not a thought in his head beyond pure fear, instinct that was trying to make this stop, and as far as the soldier could tell, he was the source of it. He wasn't wrong. He and that band of fanatics back in his own 'Sphere' made the same mistake because it was easy to make. His existence eroded the line between the undead and the living.
He couldn't kill them. It would just mean more possessed corpses in the middle of a village. Drawing Dragonslayer, he batted the springing man away, knocking him to the side and into the dirt. In a low growl, Guts looked to the remaining soldiers, "Run." He snarled, and that was all the convincing they all needed to flee.
"How was your night?" Ciri asked, decapitating the crawling corpse. He voice was tight and controlled, swallowing her fear and uncertainty. Casca really would have liked her. Whoever trained her did a good job of it.
"The kids okay?" Guts questioned, looking at the burning inn, feeling… exasperated for lack of a better word. So much for making coin here.
Ciri nodded, "They've already gone ahead with Puck and Anna."
"Good-" Guts started before a boot hit him in the back of the head. It clattered to the ground and he turned around to see a teenager behind him, another boot held up in a threatening manner. His face was covered in pimples and pox scars, blue eyes wide with terror and his greasy skin was stark white in terror.
"G-go away! G-get! I'm not afraid of you," the teenager boldly lied, getting ready to throw his other boot. "You aren't welcomed here, you demons! You have to leave!" Seemed like it was some peasant tale on how to deal with spirits -- throw down some salt, mutter a set of prayers in order, or, in this case, tell the spirits to get lost. In any case, the boy was brave. Stupid, but brave.
Guts grunted, looking to Ciri for a moment, before he did as bade. He picked a direction to leave from and headed out of the village, Ciri in tow. As he started to leave, emboldened by the one teenager, every villager started to scream and shout for them to leave from the safety of their homes. One even went as far as to throw a bag of salt at them that thunked off of his armor, accomplishing nothing but wasting perfectly good salt. Ciri traveled with him in absolute silence, the spirits more than filling the silence with their venomous words.
"Would a city pay for monster trophies?" Guts questioned after a long walk. Long enough that the village should be free of the undead spirits that plagued him. If there were any lingering, then that was for the village to deal with.
Ciri took a long minute to find her voice, offering a small nod. "They should, but they'll likely rip you off. Villagers are… more honest since a monster attack could spell the end of the village." She voiced after a while, her gaze going to him and she looked in the space around him. "It wasn't like this yesterday."
"Because there were monsters and undead. When they don't have a medium to possess, then this is all they can do," Guts grunted. He shifted his trophies to see that a hand was groping at him, as if it were trying to strangle him through his bicep. Seeing no point any longer, he dumped the human hands. Wasn't like a city was going to believe him that they came from bandits plaguing a village. "Do you want to explain why the inn was on fire?"
Ciri but her lip as they made their way down a well-walked path, hopefully to find the children. Idly sometime after morning. "Well, in for an ounce, in for a pound -- I'm a princess. Was a princess. Sort of. Originally, I was a princess of Cintra, a kingdom that fell when I was a child. Now I'm princess of Nilfgaard because my father became emperor after being lost at sea and being pronounced dead for the better part of a decade. He's hunting me down. As if invading the northern kingdoms wasn't enough, he also has them looking for an ashen-haired woman with a scar on her face."
Guts glanced at Ciri, who narrowed her eyes at the glance, clearly expecting a very specific reaction. Instead, what she got was a disinterested grunt. "You don't act much like a princess," Guts decided. He only met one, but the girl had been completely useless. Nobles generally were, but Princess Charlotte was the kind of useless that she'd end up raped and dead within the hour if left unattended on a random street in the city. It made her easy to manipulate. Which was likely why Griffith had presented himself as the ideal knight to her.
"Thank you," Ciri stated, taking it as a compliment. Guts supposed it was, though he hadn't meant it as one.
"Will this be a problem?" Guts questioned, his eyes scanning the writhing shadows in search of the children. There was a war going on. If there were deserters this nearby, that usually meant that there had been a battle somewhere nearby. Everyone was happy about a war until they saw the aftermath of the killing field. That's when most would break off and run, turning into bandits to survive. If the children came across a battlefield… and if Guts came across them…
Should he even look for them? Would it be safer to send Ciri ahead and wait until morning to find them both?
This was why he never traveled with anyone. Too much of a risk for them and himself. It was a lesson well learned at this point because people couldn't endure the dangers around him when the sun fell. The only companion he could tolerate was Puck, and that was mostly because of his healing powder. And even then, Guts barely tolerated him.
"Shouldn't be," Ciri answered after a moment of thought. "We'll be heading into Redanian territory at Oxenfurt, and while I'm sure my father has spies in there, they shouldn't be anything we can't handle. I can outrun them pretty easily with my abilities. The only issue is that using them attracts the Wild Hunt. We just need to get ahead of whatever message the village will have sent to whoever -- the Northern Kingdoms or Nilfgaard."
Guts grunted in acknowledgment and they lapsed into silence.
However, it was anything but silent between them. As they walk, the damned made their hate known. And it was when Guts heard the screams of frightened children, he knew that they had found the brats and so he did the best thing he could for them.
He stayed away.
…
The city of Oxenfurt looked much like any city that Guts had seen before, and it was a well-defended one. Bridges were great chokepoints and whoever designed Oxenfurt was keenly aware of it. The walls that surrounded the city were almost to the shoreline on the islands that Oxenfurt was located on. Leaving enough of a beach to be worth spreading out, but not enough to amass a significant force. A trap, in essence, to tempt attacking forces to thin themselves out in search of a weak point on the walls.
It was situated on two large islands in the middle of a very large river -- slow moving one, but fast enough. In front of the bridge was a refugee camp that had once been a normal village. It was filled with people that were fleeing the battles. They all gave Guts and their wagon a wide berth, mostly because of the smell that was coming off of it.
"I'm almost home, baby," Anna muttered, her hands clutched together. Puck was eagerly peaking out of his spot at Guts' belt, knowing better than to fly around. So far, everyone had managed to see Puck. Possibly as a result of monsters being a common occurrence. The children were eagerly glancing around them to find something of interest.
"Halt there," a Redanian soldier spoke up as they approached the bridge to Oxenfurt. He took notice of Guts' blade, then Guts himself. There wasn't any hint of recognition on his greasy and red face, telling Guts that not only had they arrived ahead of the message from Todor, but the guardsman was used to being in the shade. That could be anything -- perhaps he changed shifts as a favor. Perhaps he pissed someone off. Or, perhaps, someone had paid him to stand at the gate to keep an eye on who comes and goes.
It could be nothing. But, it could be something.
"We're here to collect some bounties -- monsters," Ciri spoke up, a confident swagger in her voice. Guts had no right to throw stones, but she couldn't blend in even if she tried. She just didn't have it in her to keep her head low. To prove her point, Ciri picked up a hook that was hanging off the side of the wagon. One of many. Primarily ghouls, alghouls, and nekkers -- the latter were particularly annoying. Mostly because they were knee height for Guts. "We thought the Academy might be interested."
The guard narrowed his eyes at the wagon -- hanging from the sides were ten hooks on each side, with roughly fifteen heads per hook. "Wouldn't count on that, love. The Academy has been shut down by order of the Sacred Flame. At least until they get rid of all the heresy they teach. But, you'd have better luck with the Witch Hunters. They'd give you a decent price for slaying monsters."
Witch Hunters. Sacred Orders. If he wound up in another pillory getting whipped by some crazy girl, he was going to burn this entire city to the ground.
"We'll take you up on that. Thanks," Ciri said, flashing a smile that looked practiced.
"Eh, think nothing of it. You did the public a service killin' them," the guard shrugged before he gestured for them to go across the bridge. "You'll find 'em up near where the university is. May the Eternal Flame guide you." The guard said, allowing them in. Guts nodded at him, thinking that he was overly helpful. With the number of refugees, Guts expected to have to bribe his way in. Could be the monster parts hanging off of the wagon.
Or it could be his expression. He hadn't slept in the past five days. The nights were plagued by spirits and monsters while the days were filled with traveling and he could afford to let his guard drop.
"Tamara should be here," Anna whispered to herself, looking at everyone in the city as they entered. "This was where we were supposed to meet. It feels like a lifetime ago. You don't think anything happened to her?" Anna asked, looking for reassurance but Guts had none to give as they made their way into the city. The roads were good -- made of cobblestone -- and the buildings were made of wood and stone.
There was a war going on and Anna's daughter, who she had tried to escape with, had traveled here alone. It was entirely possible, even likely, that some terrible fate had befallen her on her journey here.
"I'm sure she's fine," Puck offered, giving Anna a thumbs up.
Guts looked at the people that gave his wagon a wide berth. Most of them were human and peasants. Standing at a corner in front of a back alley was a group of women -- prostitutes, by the look of them, all beautiful… and all with pointed ears. Elves, according to Ciri. One of them caught him looking and fluttered her eyelashes and blew him a kiss. Seeing was believing, Guts supposed as he looked away to follow the main road. He took note of a blacksmith on the way -- while repairing Dragonslayer was likely beyond them, he could have a replacement string for his crossbow. His armor and knives could do with some touches as well.
"Where should we start looking?" Ciri asked while the children hummed and hawed over seeing a real city for the first time.
"The Academy. It's terrible what these heretics are doing to it, but it's still the best landmark in the city. It's where we were going. If… if she made it here, then that's where she would go," Anna voiced, giving them a direction.
Guts shifted the wagon towards the university, thinking that it was a waste. A real one. He didn't know the terrain for the surrounding area particularly well, but turning this island into a university of all things was an absolute waste. It should be a fortress. It likely had been one before until some fool king decided otherwise. Fortifications were quickly forgotten about when a war ended, and if there wasn't one for long enough, the kings and queens would forget why they needed them and repurpose them for something useless.
"We need to break into the Academy," Ciri remarked as they made their way up.
He sent her a glance before she nodded at his Brand, "It was the center of learning before the Cult of the Eternal Fire got their hands on the place. It's the best bet we have to learn about it, so when we get you to Triss and Yennefer, they know what they're dealing with."
Guts offered a small nod. Ciri was determined to follow through on her promise. And after five very long days, Guts desperately missed sleep.
It was as they arrived at the outer wall of the Academy that seemed to take up about half of the island itself that Guts caught the first glimpse of the Witch Hunters. They stood out. Even if it wasn't for the badges of office -- they walked on the streets like they owned them, and there was tension between them and the citizens around them that filled the air. The elves and dwarves made themselves scarce, outright avoiding them.
Guts had wondered if things would be different in another Sphere, but it was a very familiar sight to him. There would always be those on the fringes of society that suffered. Guts imagined having pointed ears or being half the size of a man made it pretty easy to decide who was on the fringes of society.
He noticed their approach, but he intended to leave them be -- he'd had his fill of religious lunatics. However, that plan died a dogs death when Anna all but leapt out of the wagon. The Witch Hunters were just as shocked as they were, right up until Guts saw who Anna was running to.
"Mother?!" One of the Witch Hunters blurted right before she was all but tackled by Anna, who swept her up in her arms, a sob escaping her. The other Witch Hunters lowered the hands that had gone for their weapons. Guts got a good look at the girl -- pretty with short brown hair. She also had a sword at her belt and on her vest was the same badge that marked the other Witch Hunters. "Yo- how- I saw that monster take you!" The girl blurted, hugging her mother back when it clicked in place that her mother was here.
The other children took that as a cue to hop out of the wagon to join the hug to start pestering the girl with questions and based on her expression, she was quickly getting overwhelmed.
Anna pulled back, wiping tears out of her eyes before she looked to Guts and Ciri, "These blessed people saved me. It was awful, Tamara. These old Crones took me -- me and these children -- and they saved us. They brought us here, to you," Anna declared, her eyes shining.
It was hardly the truth, Guts thought. He put her and the kids in as much danger as he rescued them from.
Still, for the moment, deep down… it was nice to be looked upon with eyes of admiration rather than the hate and fear he was used to.
- Location
- Canada
Interesting story so far. I look forward to reading more of it.
A couple of major typo notes. Mounted soldiers are "cavalry". By contrast, "calvary" is either the killing of Christ or an experience of intense mental suffering. This led to an unintentionally strange fight against the Wild Hunt's riders, although I imagine that Guts has had plenty of calvaries in his day that he would love to be able to cathartically cleave in twain. Less pleasantly, "Nilfgaard" doesn't have a 'u' in it, as the country is more likely to invade than merely guard anything.
A couple of major typo notes. Mounted soldiers are "cavalry". By contrast, "calvary" is either the killing of Christ or an experience of intense mental suffering. This led to an unintentionally strange fight against the Wild Hunt's riders, although I imagine that Guts has had plenty of calvaries in his day that he would love to be able to cathartically cleave in twain. Less pleasantly, "Nilfgaard" doesn't have a 'u' in it, as the country is more likely to invade than merely guard anything.
Just Rewards
- Location
- USA
The Witch Hunters paid well, Guts reflected, a pouch heavy with gold placed into his hand. Ciri went ignored for the most part, something that seemed to suit her rather well. While the gold was placed into his hand, a scarred man that was missing an ear along with a few pock marks on his face that didn't seem to come from a pox along his face spoke, "Two royals for every Drowner ear, three for every ghoul claw, five for harpy wings. You're a rich man… Guts," the leader of the Witch Hunters informed.
Ciri made a low noise in the back of her throat at that. Either at the generosity or because she saw that the reason Aiden, the leader of the Witch Hunters, was being so generous. They wanted him to stay. That attitude wouldn't last too long once night fell.
Guts grunted a response, tying the coin pouch off in his belt. He had taken in his surroundings and this lot seemed crazier than the last religious bunch that he encountered. There wasn't a young woman whipping him in some odd sexual awakening while also acting as a crisis of faith, and more scarred men that were in power and used that power. As if to agree with him, Guts heard a scream managing to reach the office that they were in. A blood-curdling scream of someone being tortured.
These men were thugs. Slapping on a religious ideology wouldn't change that. It just made them thugs with an excuse for their actions.
"Since the war started with those fuckin' Nilfguards and those treacherous sorcerers, we haven't been able to patrol and protect the common folk like we should be. Ya' did good work," the man praised, giving what he probably thought was a charming smile. Instead, it revealed that he had a few rotting teeth. Whatever melted half of his face had melted some of his teeth together. "You could continue doing good work for us. We could use a big lad like you. How old are you?" The man asked, making Guts frown.
He had no interest in joining, but he needed to remain in the city for a day. His equipment needed repair and replacement, which would take time. Time that he wouldn't get if he gave the Witch Hunters reason to come for him. They likely would anyway when the children inevitably blabbed their stories, but a head start would be invaluable. For that reason, Guts gave the question a moment of thought.
"I'm… twenty. Twenty-one, maybe?" Guts hazard a guess and for some reason that surprised everyone in the room. Aiden raised his eyebrows at that, not believing it for a moment. Guts never knew exactly how old he was, mostly because it never mattered, nor did he know when his birthday was. Because it never mattered. He had been around fourteen or fifteen when Griffith had found him.
He spent four years with the Band of the Hawk. After the Eclipse, he spent two years wandering the country in search of apostles. So, adding it all up, he was somewhere in his twenties. Maybe a little older or younger. It was hard to tell when he had always been large for his age.
"You're a real young buck, then!" Aiden said with a laugh, thumping a fist on the table while greed shone in his eyes. "I won't ask for an answer right now. We is a religious order, first and foremost. You need the Enternal Flame burning in ya' chest to join up," he stated. One band worshiped fire and another band worshiped the White Hawk. From how he said the words, it was clear that all he needed to do was lie so he could join.
"I'll consider it," Guts allowed, earning a small nod from Aiden in response, who seemed a bit disappointed that he wasn't instantly joining up. However, he seemed to like his chances because he gestured to the door with a smile that told Guts he fully expected him to come back through it when he spent his coin on women and booze. Without another word, Guts turned around and ducked his head so he could leave the office.
The headquarters of the Witch Hunters was more of a barracks. Some officers got rooms, but most slept on cots or hammocks put up in the main hall. There was another scream coming from the basement that faded off into a whimper that was drowned out by the good cheer of the men. Anna and her daughter Tamara were in the center of attention, surrounded by all sides as their reunion was celebrated. The children clung to Anna, frightened by the rough-looking men, so they kept their mouths shut for now.
They would be fine, Guts decided, heading down the stairs that creaked under every footstep. They'd likely be taken in by the Witch Hunters, indoctrinated by them, but that was about as kind of a fate that a bunch of orphans in war were going to get. They'd be fed. They'd never have to worry about the cold or being able to ply a trade. They may not grow up into anything resembling a decent person, but few did. What they would become in the future was ultimately their decision.
Guts did his part.
"W-wait!" One of the kids shouted, pushing through the crowd of Witch Hunters and ran right up to him. Genny. "Are you leaving? Could you take me-"
"Get lost, kid," Guts gruffly responded, brushing past the child. His face instantly twisted into one of confusion and hurt. There was once a point in time when that would have been enough to get Guts to stop. To feel ashamed. Those days were two years behind him now. It would be better this way -- when the children inevitably talked about the spirits that plagued him, or word reached from the village, they wouldn't be impacted in any way.
"You're leaving me too?" Genny started, a sob in his voice and Guts almost missed a step.
"I am," Guts answered curtly, heading for the front door without another word. He opened it with more force than necessary, Ciri lagging behind him to do damage control. He felt Puck climbing up his clothing, staying hidden as he made his way up to his neck. Anger began to simmer in his chest as he walked away from the Witch Hunter building, people eyes drawn to him because of one reason or another, and he knew that Puck was about to say something.
"They'll be okay, Guts. Anna will look out for them," Puck said, dousing the anger in his chest for but a moment. "You don't have to worry about them!"
"Keep your voice down," Guts muttered to Puck, not entirely certain if he was grateful or not for the reassurance. In response, Guts received a salute while he walked through the streets. The wagon and horses would be left with Anna to do what they willed with. The comforts of not having to walk were severely outweighed by the liability animals proved to at night. Some basic supplies wouldn't go amiss, though.
"Stealth Puck activated!" Puck announced in a stage whisper. By now, Guts knew the creature well enough to know that the small creature was trying to distract him from his thoughts. He wasn't much good at it, but he tried.
Guts grunted in response, his eyes going to signs. His ability to read had always been rudimentary -- Gambino never taught him because he couldn't himself, and it was only when he started leading the Gut's Raiders that he started to learn. Mostly at Griffith's insistence. His thoughts darkened as the fond memories of Griffith badgering him for his very blunt opinions on the so-called great works of literature were tainted by his betrayal. As all things were.
But, as it would turn out, most peasants were illiterate, so shops conveyed what they were through signs. They were different from the ones he was used to, yet simple enough that he had no difficulty telling the difference between a general store from a tailor. If the difference wasn't evident enough, Guts heard the rhythmic clanging as a good dozen blacksmiths plied their trade. They were hard at work from the sounds of it as Guts approached the wide building -- in times of war, being a blacksmith could be more profitable than being a mercenary.
"Ho, there! Interested in some arms or armor?" A relatively cleaned-up man noticed his approach. His face and hands were still marked with soot, but that was a great deal cleaner than the near two dozen men working in the large forge behind him. "The streets aren't safe with Nilfgaardian spies and monsters a prowl-"
"Repairs," Guts cut him off from whatever pitch that he was about to make. He reached to his belt and took out his crossbow, making the blacksmith frown as he picked it up to inspect. "I also need five balls of iron -- it should weigh about twelve pounds at this size," Guts informed, putting the last of his cannon balls on the table. He would need to buy the alchemical ingredients to make more black powder elsewhere. The blacksmith's frown deepened but he nodded slowly.
"Aye, seems simple enough. This here just needs a string-"
"The draw weight needs to be about five hundred pounds," Guts continued, and the blacksmith narrowed his eyes at him, as if he thought Guts was joking. "How long would it take to craft three dozen arrowheads of this shape?" He pressed, holding up an arrow as an example.
The blacksmith pursed his lips, "Shouldn't be more than a day. But the King's commanded all blacksmiths to fire day and night to support his war. It'll cost you a pretty royal to get this done any time soon. I'm guessing time is of the essence?"
"You do," Guts agreed, his tone flat with the barest edges of a growl in it. He shifted his cloak, letting the man see the heavy pouch of coin, and he saw greed in the man's eyes. Greed that vanished the moment he looked up and met his eyes. Then the blacksmith caught sight of something else.
"What in the name of the Flame is that?" The blacksmith gaped, looking at Dragonslayer and realizing that the length of the blade ran as long as Guts was tall. Guts hesitated a moment before he began to unsheath it, nearly making the man's eyes fall out his head when the wood table between them groaned pitifully underneath his blade's weight.
Dragonslayer had seen better days, Guts could admit to himself. Maintenance was never his strong suit because it never really mattered for him -- his swords had always been thick enough that they cut through flesh, bone, and armor because of his raw strength. In the past two years, he never stopped to sharpen Dragonslayer. The sword never felt like it needed it because of its thickness and weight. However, after hundreds of hard-fought battles against spirits and apostles alike, the once proud blade almost seemed brittle. The edges were dull and chipped, rust gathered in nooks and upon the blade itself.
It needed to be reforged. Preferably at the hands of Godot, but that wasn't an option. Not anymore. It felt wrong to let anyone else put their hands on the blade, but he vastly preferred tarnishing the old man's professional pride over the blade breaking on him. He affixed a sharp glare at the man who was looking at his sword in utter bafflement, "Can you do anything for it?"
"Can-" the man spluttered, throwing up his hands. "Are you having me on? I don't even know what this thing is beyond not being a bleedin' sword? I could smelt the damn thing down. Seems like that's all it's good for-" he fell silent when Guts started to snarl at the mere thought of it. There were precious few things that Guts was capable of trusting. Rickert, Erica, Godot, Puck, and Dragonslayer. "The metal's taken a real beating. Dented and warped," the blacksmith found his words, rapping a knuckle on the flat of the blade.
"It's holding up because of how thick it is, but wouldn't surprise me at all if it was filled with cracks at this point. I can give it a sharpen and scrub, but I don't even know how'd I go about reforging it. As is -- I'd say you're a bad swing away from being down half a blade. Good news is that it'd still be long enough to be a broad sword." It wasn't what Guts wanted to hear. The exact opposite, really.
It became more imperative than ever that he find a blacksmith. A good one. He wasn't sure if he would ever see Godot again, but if the old blacksmith saw that Dragonslayer had been touched with amateur hands, then he'd try to kill him. Of that, Guts had no doubt.
"The rest of my order?" Guts grunted, resheathing Dragonslayer and the blacksmith marveled at him as he did so. There was a small beat of silence between them for but a moment, the smaller man's throat bobbing as he gulped.
"I'll start on it right away. Shouldn't take more than a handful of hours with some apprentice hands. With 'em, it'll cost a good thirty crowns," he informed and Guts realized that the Witch Hunters paid very well indeed. That didn't stop him from arguing the price down.
"Twenty. Ten now and ten when the job is done," Guts refuted, a hand going to his pouch and he could see that the man wanted to haggle the price back up. Back in Midland, blacksmiths made a profit for commissions. He wouldn't be making much from this order, but Guts found that he didn't care. Not in the same way he would if it was someone like Godot, someone he wanted to work on his equipment.
"Aye, sir," the blacksmith nodded, scooping the coins up as soon as they hit the table. "Anything else, serah?"
Guts looked down the road -- they were on a street of steel. Metalworking from blacksmiths to jewelers. "A tavern. One that sells rum," he decided, earning a nod and a name.
As far as names went, Junior's Delights was a poor one.
…
Ciri decided that Guts really had no idea what kind of impact he had on the children. Every single one of them was utterly inconsolable, fat tears streaming down their faces because they couldn't understand why Guts was being so cruel to them. The only one who didn't was Greta, the girl that she had saved from a pack of wolves, and then the Wild Hunt. She stood by her side, looking at the others like she couldn't understand why they were crying.
Anna was doing the best that she could, along with her daughter. It felt good to see them reunited. How they would part ways did sour things a bit -- Ciri had hoped for tears of joy and a happy farewell, but she understood why Guts did what he did.
"W-will we ever see you again?" Genny questioned, snot dripping from his nose that he wiped away on a sleeve, stumbling to Ciri through blurry eyes. The Witch Hunters watched on, choosing to give the children their space. Either because they wanted to respect their privacy, or because they wanted to be away from weeping children.
"Maybe one day," Ciri allowed, dropping down to a knee and placing a hand on Genny's shoulder. She couldn't make any promises. Ciri didn't have in her to protect the children as Guts had -- with overt cruelty so that even if the Witch Hunters did come for them, they wouldn't think to use the children as bait. Their practices were known to her. They were near formulaic.
Anyone could justify anything if they had a cause. Such as using children to draw people out to murder them. Burning down homes filled with people to murder a single person. Terrorizing communities and villages, drunk on power and knowing that those that they tormented had no recourse of action.
"But you have to keep the trip a secret, Genny. You and everyone else," Ciri whispered into the boy's ear after pulling him into a hug. Ciri wasn't sure if they would manage it or not, but at the very least, Ciri trusted that they would make the attempts. She felt Genny nod into her shoulder, giving her a rib-squeezing hug in response, and she pretended she didn't notice the snot stain on her shirt. She offered a smile as Genny wiped away his tears, going to spread the message to the others.
"Thank you," Ciri heard and looked over to see it was Tamara, Anna's daughter. She took Ciri's hands in hers and gave them a small squeeze, gratitude shining in her eyes. "The words seem so little now that I've said them, but I don't know what else to say. I thought I'd never see my mother again. Thank you. If there's anything you ever need, then please, tell me. I'll do everything in my power to see it through."
In her experience, people that said those words weren't the type to follow through with them, but Tamara uttered them with sincerity. If she could actually follow through was another thing entirely, but that was neither here nor there. She didn't help Anna or the kids to run up some debt.
"I'll hold you to it," Ciri returned with a kind smile, knowing that she would never call in that debt. Refusing would be a sign of ingratitude on her behalf. It was a part of people's pride -- with those that had little would always try to give something for a favor owed, while those with excess guarded what they had jealously. Better for Tamara to feel like she was paying something, even if she never would.
Tamara smiled, one that grew when Anna approached. "Share our thanks with Guts. He… can be very cold, but I think he has a very kind heart," Anna said, taking her turn to embrace Ciri for but a moment. The children had certainly picked up on it.
"I do too," Ciri admitted. "It seems I'll be leaving all of you in good hands. Stay safe, Anna. Enjoy the time that you have," she continued, making the mother hold the hand of her daughter.
"I shall, Ciri. Safe travels to you. I suspect you'll need it," Anna remarked as they said their farewells. The children waved her off, tears streaming down their faces, and as far as goodbyes went, it was one of the kinder ones she had received. Giving them a smile and a sad wave off, she left the Witch Hunter headquarters, knowing that there was nothing else to be done for them.
A sigh heaved out of her, feeling melancholic as she walked the streets of Oxenfurt. It wasn't the first time she had been to this small city on the Ponter. The last time, she had been a much younger girl, but the streets were still familiar to her. Idly, she wondered if Shani would be in the area -- she had been learning at the Academy to become a doctor- healer.
And, luckily, Guts stood out in a crowd.
"You broke some hearts back there," Ciri announced her presence to Guts from behind, earning a flat glance and a grunt before he resumed looking at the signs above doors to shops. A weight scale for general goods, a leaf for alchemical goods, an sword and shield for arms and armor. And so on and so on.
"Will they be okay?" Puck spoke up, peaking out from Gut's cloak, only to be swatted back down by a meaty hand.
"They'll be fine, Puck. Just a little sad that they didn't get to see you off," Ciri admitted, looking up at Guts as they walked. It was a real shock to learn that Guts was around her age. Possibly even younger. She had entered her twenty-third year, if her estimates were right. The flow of time didn't match in all spheres, but the year she spent in Night City seemed to mostly match up with how long she had been gone in this sphere.
She thought Guts was in his thirties. Maybe even forties. The idea that he could be younger than her was a weird one.
"I know," Puck muttered mournfully. Having him out and about inside the Witch Hunter base was a recipe for disaster by any measure.
"What does that sign say?" Guts interjected, gesturing to a halfway run-down-looking tavern. It had been nice at one point in time -- painted with bright vibrant colors meant to catch the eye, finely decorated with engravings into the wood, but its best days were behind it. The paint was chipped and faded, stains gathered on the fine engravings that seemed well weathered away, and standing before the tavern were two men in pants and boots, showing off their muscles and tattoos.
"Junior's Delights," Ciri answered without missing a beat and was mildly surprised when Guts started heading towards it. She followed along, idly wondering what exactly Guts had gotten into the moment she took her eyes off of him. The two bouncers- guards outside of the tavern puffed out their chests the moment they saw Guts, hands going to their clubs.
Guts didn't miss a pace, "Move." He uttered, his voice dipping to a low growl that promised violence and a bloody end. The two guards opened their mouths, one looking to the other for a moment, then to Ciri, then back at Guts before he made an incredibly wise decision to step out of Gut's way. Ciri didn't think he had it in him. Upon seeing his partner's wisdom, the other did so as well, letting them enter the tavern unmolested.
The exterior was run down, but the interior was worse. She could almost see hints of grandeur that it might have once had -- a central stage for a minstrel, tables and booths, painted walls that had fine works… now the interior reeked of swill, piss, and vomit and the patrons smelled little better.
Guts approached the barman, "Bottle of rum." He ordered before adding on, "and news."
The barkeep looked Guts up and down before deciding that he would grab the bottle of rum, "Mercenary, eh?" He questioned, setting the bottle on the counter. "You showed up just in time if ya' want to fight on the right side of tha' war."
Guts seemed to understand what that meant instantly, "Which army is on the move?" He questioned, and that caught Ciri's attention. As far as she heard, the war between Nilfguard and the Northern Kingdoms had stalled out for the most part. There were a number of battles -- some bad ones, but both sides had gone about consolidating their territory and defenses over actively attacking the other side.
"Nilfgaard. Scouts have been a muttering about them trying their luck getting through the swamp. Used ta' be they had to cross the Ponter and tha best way to do it was here in Oxenfurt," the barman explained as Guts tore the cork out with his teeth and took a long swig of the rum. He made a dismissive sound, telling them both what he thought of the possibility.
Before, she would have said taking Oxenfurt would be a breeze. The position was good, but it was an city for scholars first and foremost. Now it was a city of fanatics. Ciri resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, just to make sure that a Witch Hunter hadn't followed her here. Leaving the children in their care left her feeling deeply uneasy, wondering if it would have been better to just take them to Novigrad with them.
Only if they did, they could be bringing them to a city that was imminently close to being sacked.
"Damn fools, those lot is. Everyone knows that no army is gonna get through that swamp. Teemin' with monsters and mud. But, where Nilfgaard is gatherin', King Radovid will follow, so I'd sign up before head hunters start comin'. Get in early when the pay is better," the barman advised. Guts accepted the information with a nod of his head.
"Any notable bounties in the area?" Ciri spoke up, bringing the barman's attention to her. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her shirt with an extra button left undone before his expression tightened when his gaze landed on her scar. She could practically see what the man was thinking when he glanced at Guts. 'Keep your woman in line.'
"Answer," Guts demanded, his tone very much a threat.
The barman shrugged, "None that I know of. I'm sure you could find something if you look up on tha' board, but most folk are dealing with the war. Most of the money is there. None for bandits plaguing the roads." He said that with the barest hints of a smirk, like he was in on a joke that they didn't know.
Ciri's eyes drifted to the jester tattoo on the man's bicep, one that the guards outside had shared. It seemed that the information wasn't coming from an unbiased source. Even if there were bounties, they wouldn't find out about them here. However, that was good news to Ciri. He was looking at her like a piece of meat that he wanted to fuck, not as a potential payday.
Meaning that it was only Nilfgaard that was looking for her due to her father. Provided that they stay out of his reach, she would only have to deal with his spies.
Guts opened his mouth to ask another question, only to snap it shut before he looked at the door. Her gaze lingered on the Brand on his neck, noticing how a single drop of blood dripped down from the engraving into his flesh, lazily rolling down his neck. It was a warning that something was coming. She glanced at the door just in time to see a man striding through it. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin that was flushed an angry red.
Clothing hinted that he was upper-class. Tailor-made boots and breeches that were form fitting. His shirt was looser and more casual. The kind of clothing that someone of wealth would toss on for a trip down to a tavern, but their worst clothing was still more expensive than everything in the tavern itself. The swill included. The man didn't look around the tavern itself, almost as if he were blind to it.
Instead, as if they were drawn to him, his gaze landed on Guts.
"Gael," the barman spoke up, sounding mildly surprised. "Don't usually see you up at this hour." He remarked. A night owl from the sounds of it. Pale white skin as well that was heavily aggravated by the sun. While that wouldn't normally be enough reason to assume that he was a monster, the reaction of Gut's brand did. With the two pieces of evidence, her assumption was a species of vampire.
Not something that was ideal. There were several species of vampires that ranged from animals that were little better than beasts to neigh unkillable hyper-intelligent people. Given that he was here, in the tavern, told Ciri that he was some species of higher-grade vampire because only they could portray themselves as humans. The irritation to the sun ruled out Alps, Nosferats, Mula, and Higher Vampires, which were extremely rare. Still possible, but highly unlikely.
Katakan species was most likely.
"Had good reason to step out during the day," Gael responded, his tone musical while his eyes never left Guts. The Brand had an effect on sapient monsters as well, Ciri quickly noticed, stepping out of the way of Gael since he nearly went through her to approach Guts. There was lust in his eyes. Desire.
Ciri gave Guts a pointed glance, telling him to play along. Katakans were dangerous. Especially in an enclosed space with numerous people inside. Best play along for now until they could isolate the vampire-
"Good evening my good-" Gael started to speak, only to be cut off when Guts grabbed him by the head and slammed his face into counter with enough force that the wood splintered. The barman flinched back, a shout quickly going up when the illusion of the vampire's humanity faded away as he recoiled from the blow. If only it were so simple to kill a vampire.
"Monster!" Ciri heard someone shout as Gael slipped out of Gut's grip, his hand fading right through the creature's skull before Gael reappeared on the side of the counter. Seven feet tall, a face shaped like a bat with horns engraved with gold. No wings to speak of, but large talon-like hands.
Gael snarled at Guts, who simply grabbed hold of his sword, ready to draw it. However, a split second later, Puck emerged from his coat.
"Final! Flash!" Puck screeched at the top of his lungs before the room became filled with a bright light that pierced her eyes even though she clenched them shut.
"Damn it, Puck!" Guts snarled, Ciri hearing a clatter and something being smashed. Wood. A chair maybe? It wasn't the first time she would have to fight blindfolded, but there was too much noise -- sounds of panic from the patrons, Gut's heavy footsteps, glass breaking, and then wood splintering. Her brow furrowed as she drew her sword, separating the sounds of Gael and Guts.
"Get 'em while he's distracted," Puck shouted and she saw the logic. He was trying to arrange a surprise attack. "Ah- he's getting away!" Puck shouted a split second before Ciri heard the sound of smashing. She lashed out with a blade, catching Gael in the side as he passed by her, a pained cry filling the air, but the wound was too shallow. He smashed through the door behind them.
"Coward!" Puck shouted while Ciri pivoted on a foot.
Seems like the hunt was on.
Ciri made a low noise in the back of her throat at that. Either at the generosity or because she saw that the reason Aiden, the leader of the Witch Hunters, was being so generous. They wanted him to stay. That attitude wouldn't last too long once night fell.
Guts grunted a response, tying the coin pouch off in his belt. He had taken in his surroundings and this lot seemed crazier than the last religious bunch that he encountered. There wasn't a young woman whipping him in some odd sexual awakening while also acting as a crisis of faith, and more scarred men that were in power and used that power. As if to agree with him, Guts heard a scream managing to reach the office that they were in. A blood-curdling scream of someone being tortured.
These men were thugs. Slapping on a religious ideology wouldn't change that. It just made them thugs with an excuse for their actions.
"Since the war started with those fuckin' Nilfguards and those treacherous sorcerers, we haven't been able to patrol and protect the common folk like we should be. Ya' did good work," the man praised, giving what he probably thought was a charming smile. Instead, it revealed that he had a few rotting teeth. Whatever melted half of his face had melted some of his teeth together. "You could continue doing good work for us. We could use a big lad like you. How old are you?" The man asked, making Guts frown.
He had no interest in joining, but he needed to remain in the city for a day. His equipment needed repair and replacement, which would take time. Time that he wouldn't get if he gave the Witch Hunters reason to come for him. They likely would anyway when the children inevitably blabbed their stories, but a head start would be invaluable. For that reason, Guts gave the question a moment of thought.
"I'm… twenty. Twenty-one, maybe?" Guts hazard a guess and for some reason that surprised everyone in the room. Aiden raised his eyebrows at that, not believing it for a moment. Guts never knew exactly how old he was, mostly because it never mattered, nor did he know when his birthday was. Because it never mattered. He had been around fourteen or fifteen when Griffith had found him.
He spent four years with the Band of the Hawk. After the Eclipse, he spent two years wandering the country in search of apostles. So, adding it all up, he was somewhere in his twenties. Maybe a little older or younger. It was hard to tell when he had always been large for his age.
"You're a real young buck, then!" Aiden said with a laugh, thumping a fist on the table while greed shone in his eyes. "I won't ask for an answer right now. We is a religious order, first and foremost. You need the Enternal Flame burning in ya' chest to join up," he stated. One band worshiped fire and another band worshiped the White Hawk. From how he said the words, it was clear that all he needed to do was lie so he could join.
"I'll consider it," Guts allowed, earning a small nod from Aiden in response, who seemed a bit disappointed that he wasn't instantly joining up. However, he seemed to like his chances because he gestured to the door with a smile that told Guts he fully expected him to come back through it when he spent his coin on women and booze. Without another word, Guts turned around and ducked his head so he could leave the office.
The headquarters of the Witch Hunters was more of a barracks. Some officers got rooms, but most slept on cots or hammocks put up in the main hall. There was another scream coming from the basement that faded off into a whimper that was drowned out by the good cheer of the men. Anna and her daughter Tamara were in the center of attention, surrounded by all sides as their reunion was celebrated. The children clung to Anna, frightened by the rough-looking men, so they kept their mouths shut for now.
They would be fine, Guts decided, heading down the stairs that creaked under every footstep. They'd likely be taken in by the Witch Hunters, indoctrinated by them, but that was about as kind of a fate that a bunch of orphans in war were going to get. They'd be fed. They'd never have to worry about the cold or being able to ply a trade. They may not grow up into anything resembling a decent person, but few did. What they would become in the future was ultimately their decision.
Guts did his part.
"W-wait!" One of the kids shouted, pushing through the crowd of Witch Hunters and ran right up to him. Genny. "Are you leaving? Could you take me-"
"Get lost, kid," Guts gruffly responded, brushing past the child. His face instantly twisted into one of confusion and hurt. There was once a point in time when that would have been enough to get Guts to stop. To feel ashamed. Those days were two years behind him now. It would be better this way -- when the children inevitably talked about the spirits that plagued him, or word reached from the village, they wouldn't be impacted in any way.
"You're leaving me too?" Genny started, a sob in his voice and Guts almost missed a step.
"I am," Guts answered curtly, heading for the front door without another word. He opened it with more force than necessary, Ciri lagging behind him to do damage control. He felt Puck climbing up his clothing, staying hidden as he made his way up to his neck. Anger began to simmer in his chest as he walked away from the Witch Hunter building, people eyes drawn to him because of one reason or another, and he knew that Puck was about to say something.
"They'll be okay, Guts. Anna will look out for them," Puck said, dousing the anger in his chest for but a moment. "You don't have to worry about them!"
"Keep your voice down," Guts muttered to Puck, not entirely certain if he was grateful or not for the reassurance. In response, Guts received a salute while he walked through the streets. The wagon and horses would be left with Anna to do what they willed with. The comforts of not having to walk were severely outweighed by the liability animals proved to at night. Some basic supplies wouldn't go amiss, though.
"Stealth Puck activated!" Puck announced in a stage whisper. By now, Guts knew the creature well enough to know that the small creature was trying to distract him from his thoughts. He wasn't much good at it, but he tried.
Guts grunted in response, his eyes going to signs. His ability to read had always been rudimentary -- Gambino never taught him because he couldn't himself, and it was only when he started leading the Gut's Raiders that he started to learn. Mostly at Griffith's insistence. His thoughts darkened as the fond memories of Griffith badgering him for his very blunt opinions on the so-called great works of literature were tainted by his betrayal. As all things were.
But, as it would turn out, most peasants were illiterate, so shops conveyed what they were through signs. They were different from the ones he was used to, yet simple enough that he had no difficulty telling the difference between a general store from a tailor. If the difference wasn't evident enough, Guts heard the rhythmic clanging as a good dozen blacksmiths plied their trade. They were hard at work from the sounds of it as Guts approached the wide building -- in times of war, being a blacksmith could be more profitable than being a mercenary.
"Ho, there! Interested in some arms or armor?" A relatively cleaned-up man noticed his approach. His face and hands were still marked with soot, but that was a great deal cleaner than the near two dozen men working in the large forge behind him. "The streets aren't safe with Nilfgaardian spies and monsters a prowl-"
"Repairs," Guts cut him off from whatever pitch that he was about to make. He reached to his belt and took out his crossbow, making the blacksmith frown as he picked it up to inspect. "I also need five balls of iron -- it should weigh about twelve pounds at this size," Guts informed, putting the last of his cannon balls on the table. He would need to buy the alchemical ingredients to make more black powder elsewhere. The blacksmith's frown deepened but he nodded slowly.
"Aye, seems simple enough. This here just needs a string-"
"The draw weight needs to be about five hundred pounds," Guts continued, and the blacksmith narrowed his eyes at him, as if he thought Guts was joking. "How long would it take to craft three dozen arrowheads of this shape?" He pressed, holding up an arrow as an example.
The blacksmith pursed his lips, "Shouldn't be more than a day. But the King's commanded all blacksmiths to fire day and night to support his war. It'll cost you a pretty royal to get this done any time soon. I'm guessing time is of the essence?"
"You do," Guts agreed, his tone flat with the barest edges of a growl in it. He shifted his cloak, letting the man see the heavy pouch of coin, and he saw greed in the man's eyes. Greed that vanished the moment he looked up and met his eyes. Then the blacksmith caught sight of something else.
"What in the name of the Flame is that?" The blacksmith gaped, looking at Dragonslayer and realizing that the length of the blade ran as long as Guts was tall. Guts hesitated a moment before he began to unsheath it, nearly making the man's eyes fall out his head when the wood table between them groaned pitifully underneath his blade's weight.
Dragonslayer had seen better days, Guts could admit to himself. Maintenance was never his strong suit because it never really mattered for him -- his swords had always been thick enough that they cut through flesh, bone, and armor because of his raw strength. In the past two years, he never stopped to sharpen Dragonslayer. The sword never felt like it needed it because of its thickness and weight. However, after hundreds of hard-fought battles against spirits and apostles alike, the once proud blade almost seemed brittle. The edges were dull and chipped, rust gathered in nooks and upon the blade itself.
It needed to be reforged. Preferably at the hands of Godot, but that wasn't an option. Not anymore. It felt wrong to let anyone else put their hands on the blade, but he vastly preferred tarnishing the old man's professional pride over the blade breaking on him. He affixed a sharp glare at the man who was looking at his sword in utter bafflement, "Can you do anything for it?"
"Can-" the man spluttered, throwing up his hands. "Are you having me on? I don't even know what this thing is beyond not being a bleedin' sword? I could smelt the damn thing down. Seems like that's all it's good for-" he fell silent when Guts started to snarl at the mere thought of it. There were precious few things that Guts was capable of trusting. Rickert, Erica, Godot, Puck, and Dragonslayer. "The metal's taken a real beating. Dented and warped," the blacksmith found his words, rapping a knuckle on the flat of the blade.
"It's holding up because of how thick it is, but wouldn't surprise me at all if it was filled with cracks at this point. I can give it a sharpen and scrub, but I don't even know how'd I go about reforging it. As is -- I'd say you're a bad swing away from being down half a blade. Good news is that it'd still be long enough to be a broad sword." It wasn't what Guts wanted to hear. The exact opposite, really.
It became more imperative than ever that he find a blacksmith. A good one. He wasn't sure if he would ever see Godot again, but if the old blacksmith saw that Dragonslayer had been touched with amateur hands, then he'd try to kill him. Of that, Guts had no doubt.
"The rest of my order?" Guts grunted, resheathing Dragonslayer and the blacksmith marveled at him as he did so. There was a small beat of silence between them for but a moment, the smaller man's throat bobbing as he gulped.
"I'll start on it right away. Shouldn't take more than a handful of hours with some apprentice hands. With 'em, it'll cost a good thirty crowns," he informed and Guts realized that the Witch Hunters paid very well indeed. That didn't stop him from arguing the price down.
"Twenty. Ten now and ten when the job is done," Guts refuted, a hand going to his pouch and he could see that the man wanted to haggle the price back up. Back in Midland, blacksmiths made a profit for commissions. He wouldn't be making much from this order, but Guts found that he didn't care. Not in the same way he would if it was someone like Godot, someone he wanted to work on his equipment.
"Aye, sir," the blacksmith nodded, scooping the coins up as soon as they hit the table. "Anything else, serah?"
Guts looked down the road -- they were on a street of steel. Metalworking from blacksmiths to jewelers. "A tavern. One that sells rum," he decided, earning a nod and a name.
As far as names went, Junior's Delights was a poor one.
…
Ciri decided that Guts really had no idea what kind of impact he had on the children. Every single one of them was utterly inconsolable, fat tears streaming down their faces because they couldn't understand why Guts was being so cruel to them. The only one who didn't was Greta, the girl that she had saved from a pack of wolves, and then the Wild Hunt. She stood by her side, looking at the others like she couldn't understand why they were crying.
Anna was doing the best that she could, along with her daughter. It felt good to see them reunited. How they would part ways did sour things a bit -- Ciri had hoped for tears of joy and a happy farewell, but she understood why Guts did what he did.
"W-will we ever see you again?" Genny questioned, snot dripping from his nose that he wiped away on a sleeve, stumbling to Ciri through blurry eyes. The Witch Hunters watched on, choosing to give the children their space. Either because they wanted to respect their privacy, or because they wanted to be away from weeping children.
"Maybe one day," Ciri allowed, dropping down to a knee and placing a hand on Genny's shoulder. She couldn't make any promises. Ciri didn't have in her to protect the children as Guts had -- with overt cruelty so that even if the Witch Hunters did come for them, they wouldn't think to use the children as bait. Their practices were known to her. They were near formulaic.
Anyone could justify anything if they had a cause. Such as using children to draw people out to murder them. Burning down homes filled with people to murder a single person. Terrorizing communities and villages, drunk on power and knowing that those that they tormented had no recourse of action.
"But you have to keep the trip a secret, Genny. You and everyone else," Ciri whispered into the boy's ear after pulling him into a hug. Ciri wasn't sure if they would manage it or not, but at the very least, Ciri trusted that they would make the attempts. She felt Genny nod into her shoulder, giving her a rib-squeezing hug in response, and she pretended she didn't notice the snot stain on her shirt. She offered a smile as Genny wiped away his tears, going to spread the message to the others.
"Thank you," Ciri heard and looked over to see it was Tamara, Anna's daughter. She took Ciri's hands in hers and gave them a small squeeze, gratitude shining in her eyes. "The words seem so little now that I've said them, but I don't know what else to say. I thought I'd never see my mother again. Thank you. If there's anything you ever need, then please, tell me. I'll do everything in my power to see it through."
In her experience, people that said those words weren't the type to follow through with them, but Tamara uttered them with sincerity. If she could actually follow through was another thing entirely, but that was neither here nor there. She didn't help Anna or the kids to run up some debt.
"I'll hold you to it," Ciri returned with a kind smile, knowing that she would never call in that debt. Refusing would be a sign of ingratitude on her behalf. It was a part of people's pride -- with those that had little would always try to give something for a favor owed, while those with excess guarded what they had jealously. Better for Tamara to feel like she was paying something, even if she never would.
Tamara smiled, one that grew when Anna approached. "Share our thanks with Guts. He… can be very cold, but I think he has a very kind heart," Anna said, taking her turn to embrace Ciri for but a moment. The children had certainly picked up on it.
"I do too," Ciri admitted. "It seems I'll be leaving all of you in good hands. Stay safe, Anna. Enjoy the time that you have," she continued, making the mother hold the hand of her daughter.
"I shall, Ciri. Safe travels to you. I suspect you'll need it," Anna remarked as they said their farewells. The children waved her off, tears streaming down their faces, and as far as goodbyes went, it was one of the kinder ones she had received. Giving them a smile and a sad wave off, she left the Witch Hunter headquarters, knowing that there was nothing else to be done for them.
A sigh heaved out of her, feeling melancholic as she walked the streets of Oxenfurt. It wasn't the first time she had been to this small city on the Ponter. The last time, she had been a much younger girl, but the streets were still familiar to her. Idly, she wondered if Shani would be in the area -- she had been learning at the Academy to become a doctor- healer.
And, luckily, Guts stood out in a crowd.
"You broke some hearts back there," Ciri announced her presence to Guts from behind, earning a flat glance and a grunt before he resumed looking at the signs above doors to shops. A weight scale for general goods, a leaf for alchemical goods, an sword and shield for arms and armor. And so on and so on.
"Will they be okay?" Puck spoke up, peaking out from Gut's cloak, only to be swatted back down by a meaty hand.
"They'll be fine, Puck. Just a little sad that they didn't get to see you off," Ciri admitted, looking up at Guts as they walked. It was a real shock to learn that Guts was around her age. Possibly even younger. She had entered her twenty-third year, if her estimates were right. The flow of time didn't match in all spheres, but the year she spent in Night City seemed to mostly match up with how long she had been gone in this sphere.
She thought Guts was in his thirties. Maybe even forties. The idea that he could be younger than her was a weird one.
"I know," Puck muttered mournfully. Having him out and about inside the Witch Hunter base was a recipe for disaster by any measure.
"What does that sign say?" Guts interjected, gesturing to a halfway run-down-looking tavern. It had been nice at one point in time -- painted with bright vibrant colors meant to catch the eye, finely decorated with engravings into the wood, but its best days were behind it. The paint was chipped and faded, stains gathered on the fine engravings that seemed well weathered away, and standing before the tavern were two men in pants and boots, showing off their muscles and tattoos.
"Junior's Delights," Ciri answered without missing a beat and was mildly surprised when Guts started heading towards it. She followed along, idly wondering what exactly Guts had gotten into the moment she took her eyes off of him. The two bouncers- guards outside of the tavern puffed out their chests the moment they saw Guts, hands going to their clubs.
Guts didn't miss a pace, "Move." He uttered, his voice dipping to a low growl that promised violence and a bloody end. The two guards opened their mouths, one looking to the other for a moment, then to Ciri, then back at Guts before he made an incredibly wise decision to step out of Gut's way. Ciri didn't think he had it in him. Upon seeing his partner's wisdom, the other did so as well, letting them enter the tavern unmolested.
The exterior was run down, but the interior was worse. She could almost see hints of grandeur that it might have once had -- a central stage for a minstrel, tables and booths, painted walls that had fine works… now the interior reeked of swill, piss, and vomit and the patrons smelled little better.
Guts approached the barman, "Bottle of rum." He ordered before adding on, "and news."
The barkeep looked Guts up and down before deciding that he would grab the bottle of rum, "Mercenary, eh?" He questioned, setting the bottle on the counter. "You showed up just in time if ya' want to fight on the right side of tha' war."
Guts seemed to understand what that meant instantly, "Which army is on the move?" He questioned, and that caught Ciri's attention. As far as she heard, the war between Nilfguard and the Northern Kingdoms had stalled out for the most part. There were a number of battles -- some bad ones, but both sides had gone about consolidating their territory and defenses over actively attacking the other side.
"Nilfgaard. Scouts have been a muttering about them trying their luck getting through the swamp. Used ta' be they had to cross the Ponter and tha best way to do it was here in Oxenfurt," the barman explained as Guts tore the cork out with his teeth and took a long swig of the rum. He made a dismissive sound, telling them both what he thought of the possibility.
Before, she would have said taking Oxenfurt would be a breeze. The position was good, but it was an city for scholars first and foremost. Now it was a city of fanatics. Ciri resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, just to make sure that a Witch Hunter hadn't followed her here. Leaving the children in their care left her feeling deeply uneasy, wondering if it would have been better to just take them to Novigrad with them.
Only if they did, they could be bringing them to a city that was imminently close to being sacked.
"Damn fools, those lot is. Everyone knows that no army is gonna get through that swamp. Teemin' with monsters and mud. But, where Nilfgaard is gatherin', King Radovid will follow, so I'd sign up before head hunters start comin'. Get in early when the pay is better," the barman advised. Guts accepted the information with a nod of his head.
"Any notable bounties in the area?" Ciri spoke up, bringing the barman's attention to her. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her shirt with an extra button left undone before his expression tightened when his gaze landed on her scar. She could practically see what the man was thinking when he glanced at Guts. 'Keep your woman in line.'
"Answer," Guts demanded, his tone very much a threat.
The barman shrugged, "None that I know of. I'm sure you could find something if you look up on tha' board, but most folk are dealing with the war. Most of the money is there. None for bandits plaguing the roads." He said that with the barest hints of a smirk, like he was in on a joke that they didn't know.
Ciri's eyes drifted to the jester tattoo on the man's bicep, one that the guards outside had shared. It seemed that the information wasn't coming from an unbiased source. Even if there were bounties, they wouldn't find out about them here. However, that was good news to Ciri. He was looking at her like a piece of meat that he wanted to fuck, not as a potential payday.
Meaning that it was only Nilfgaard that was looking for her due to her father. Provided that they stay out of his reach, she would only have to deal with his spies.
Guts opened his mouth to ask another question, only to snap it shut before he looked at the door. Her gaze lingered on the Brand on his neck, noticing how a single drop of blood dripped down from the engraving into his flesh, lazily rolling down his neck. It was a warning that something was coming. She glanced at the door just in time to see a man striding through it. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin that was flushed an angry red.
Clothing hinted that he was upper-class. Tailor-made boots and breeches that were form fitting. His shirt was looser and more casual. The kind of clothing that someone of wealth would toss on for a trip down to a tavern, but their worst clothing was still more expensive than everything in the tavern itself. The swill included. The man didn't look around the tavern itself, almost as if he were blind to it.
Instead, as if they were drawn to him, his gaze landed on Guts.
"Gael," the barman spoke up, sounding mildly surprised. "Don't usually see you up at this hour." He remarked. A night owl from the sounds of it. Pale white skin as well that was heavily aggravated by the sun. While that wouldn't normally be enough reason to assume that he was a monster, the reaction of Gut's brand did. With the two pieces of evidence, her assumption was a species of vampire.
Not something that was ideal. There were several species of vampires that ranged from animals that were little better than beasts to neigh unkillable hyper-intelligent people. Given that he was here, in the tavern, told Ciri that he was some species of higher-grade vampire because only they could portray themselves as humans. The irritation to the sun ruled out Alps, Nosferats, Mula, and Higher Vampires, which were extremely rare. Still possible, but highly unlikely.
Katakan species was most likely.
"Had good reason to step out during the day," Gael responded, his tone musical while his eyes never left Guts. The Brand had an effect on sapient monsters as well, Ciri quickly noticed, stepping out of the way of Gael since he nearly went through her to approach Guts. There was lust in his eyes. Desire.
Ciri gave Guts a pointed glance, telling him to play along. Katakans were dangerous. Especially in an enclosed space with numerous people inside. Best play along for now until they could isolate the vampire-
"Good evening my good-" Gael started to speak, only to be cut off when Guts grabbed him by the head and slammed his face into counter with enough force that the wood splintered. The barman flinched back, a shout quickly going up when the illusion of the vampire's humanity faded away as he recoiled from the blow. If only it were so simple to kill a vampire.
"Monster!" Ciri heard someone shout as Gael slipped out of Gut's grip, his hand fading right through the creature's skull before Gael reappeared on the side of the counter. Seven feet tall, a face shaped like a bat with horns engraved with gold. No wings to speak of, but large talon-like hands.
Gael snarled at Guts, who simply grabbed hold of his sword, ready to draw it. However, a split second later, Puck emerged from his coat.
"Final! Flash!" Puck screeched at the top of his lungs before the room became filled with a bright light that pierced her eyes even though she clenched them shut.
"Damn it, Puck!" Guts snarled, Ciri hearing a clatter and something being smashed. Wood. A chair maybe? It wasn't the first time she would have to fight blindfolded, but there was too much noise -- sounds of panic from the patrons, Gut's heavy footsteps, glass breaking, and then wood splintering. Her brow furrowed as she drew her sword, separating the sounds of Gael and Guts.
"Get 'em while he's distracted," Puck shouted and she saw the logic. He was trying to arrange a surprise attack. "Ah- he's getting away!" Puck shouted a split second before Ciri heard the sound of smashing. She lashed out with a blade, catching Gael in the side as he passed by her, a pained cry filling the air, but the wound was too shallow. He smashed through the door behind them.
"Coward!" Puck shouted while Ciri pivoted on a foot.
Seems like the hunt was on.
Poor Dragonslayer. I don't know Witcher, are there any particularly awesome smiths able to help the blade?
Harsh Truths
- Location
- USA
"You couldn't have waited five seconds?!" Ciri snapped at him the moment they were both out of the door, chasing the monster down. He almost thought it was an apostle given how it spoke and acted. It transformed like one too, but he hadn't encountered an apostle that would flee like this. The creature was bipedal, moving on all fours at times, but between clinging to shadows it seemed to… glide. Almost as if it were fading out of existence to avoid the sunlight, a slight afterimage blurring where it was and where it had been. As far as monsters went, it was a very different breed compared to the others he encountered.
They were basically animals. This one was closer to the Crones than not.
"Didn't think I needed your approval to act," Guts snapped back at her, sprinting through the streets that parted for the monster with panicked shouts. His crossbow would be useful about now, but instead, a hand went to the throwing knives across his chest.
"If you waited, I could have told you what we were dealing with," Ciri continued, very unhappy with him. The conversation felt familiar to him. More than he wanted to admit. How many times has Casca berated him for acting too early in battle or rushing things along? The number was probably around as many battles as they had been in together. The thought was as painful as it was nostalgic. "Katakans are dangerous. They aren't something you fight unprepared."
"Something you wouldn't fight," Guts responded, flinging a knife forward through the air just as the Katakan emerged in a patch of shadow across an intersection. The leaf-shaped blade landed directly in its ankle, making it cry out in pain before it slashed at a man that was too slow scrambling away. It's claws tore through the man like a cleaver through meat and bone. Blood and bile flew free before the creature grabbed what amounted to a snack to carry with it.
Then it leaped up, using a sign as leverage to hurl itself on top of a roof. Guts pivoted, following along, letting the sharp pain in his neck tell him if he was getting closer or further away.
"What happened to quietly leaving so we can get to Novigrad?" Ciri questioned, looking up just in time for blood to splash down in front of them. The Katakan was doubling back. It thought that it was clever. Guts snarled to himself, coming to a stop when he did, Ciri grabbed onto his arm to stop him from following, but Guts ripped his wrist out of her grip. "We let it get away. For now."
"No," Guts rebuked, not even considering it for a second. That creature -- whatever Ciri wanted to call it -- reacted to his brand. That meant it died. Period. It may not be an apostle, but that didn't matter. It died.
Ciri punched him. Not with her full strength, but not exactly gentle either. Her fist slammed against his jaw, tilting his head a bit, but beyond feeling some warmth as blood rushed to where she hit him he felt little. Based on how her lips peeled back into a scowl, she hurt her hand more than she managed to hurt him. It did get his attention. "Stop and fucking listen to me! You're going to get people killed chasing it through the city!"
"I don't care," Guts snapped back at her, his temper flaring. This was why he worked alone and tossed Puck away when he made a nuisance of himself. However, even as he uttered the words, Guts was forced to consider if that was the truth. He was no stranger to collateral damage. He hunted the apostles, relentlessly, no matter where they were. Sometimes, he managed to catch them alone and unaware. Most of the time?
What was the point of power if you didn't have those to lord it over? More often than not, his hunt took him to villages or towns. Sometimes they burnt down or people were slaughtered as a result. Guts didn't care. Not enough to prevent the slaughter or destruction. The hate that burned in his chest only cared about killing an apostle, regardless of how much everyone around him suffered for it.
"It's not an apostle, Guts!" Ciri snapped at him, shoving his shoulder with minimal success. "Why do you have to kill it right this fucking second?!"
Guts opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed him as Ciri threw an irrefutable proof right in his face. That thing -- Gael -- wasn't an apostle. It was just a… thing.
Ciri had her own issues she needed to vent because she dragged a hand down her face, snarling to herself before she followed it with another curse. "I don't even know why you're hunting apostles -- but if it's not to protect people from them then what? What is it Guts?" She pressed, making his lips press together into a thin line, almost as if he was refusing to answer. "Use your words! I can't read your bloody mind!"
He knew the reason. Revenge. That moment when the Band of the Hawk found themselves in hell… surrounded by apostles, all there to welcome Griffith. He understood that day better now -- now that he knew what apostles were. How they were made. Why. It didn't help. The knowledge just twisted his guts into knots and made his blood boil with a searching rage that could only be quenched with blood.
They slaughtered the Band of the Hawk. His friends. His family. To his dying day, he would carry that regret with him -- he never should have left them. He should have stayed. Not for Griffith, but for them. Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, Rickert, Gaston. Casca. Griffith himself stated that his quest for vengeance meant nothing. That he couldn't possibly kill all of the apostles or hinder whatever he was planning.
And he was right. In the past two years, he had killed dozens. A hundred, even. Yet, there always seemed to be more. God Hand could replace every one that he killed and create two new ones on top of that. But that didn't mean he could give up.
He had to kill them. He needed to kill them. The same way he needed to breathe, eat, and shit -- he couldn't live in a world that still had the creatures that butchered the Band of the Hawk. That branded them, slaughtered them, and dragged their souls into the depths of hell where they would suffer endlessly. He couldn't free them. He couldn't lift them up from hell and kick their asses up to heaven. What he could do was kill their killers.
For that reason, he would never stop.
"Guts," Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm. His prosthetic. The snarl was gone, replaced with an expression of alarm. Fear. Concern and confusion. It was only then that Guts realized that his own expression was twisted into one of hate. The maddening rage he felt within leaking out through his expression. He wiped it away and jerked his prosthetic out of her grasp, grinding his teeth. "Okay -- you hate apostles. But he's not one."
That was why he couldn't respond because she wasn't wrong. Gael wasn't there during the Eclipse. He was some random fucking thing that tried to flirt with him. He didn't have to kill him. He didn't need to. However, Guts wanted to. Even if it was a pointless act.
"We know he's in the city. I can prepare some oils and a potion that'll hurt him if he does manage to get a drink from us. Your brand made him brave sunlight -- it clearly has a pretty strong influence on him. We can use it. Draw him out to somewhere isolated, then we can kill him," Ciri continued, her brow drawing together as she looked up at him. "Okay?"
"Fine," Guts bit the word out as if it was bitterer than poison. Ciri looked surprised at the concession, her eyebrows climbing high as she looked at him like he was going to run after the creature the moment that she turned her back. She couldn't understand. She could never understand. The only one that could was Casca and she was driven insane by that day. And there were days that Guts was forced to wonder if he hadn't been driven insane by it too.
"... Right. Sorry for punching you," Ciri offered, earning a noncommittal grunt. Guts looked around them, at the peasants that had been watching the entire argument. They looked upon them with fear and hope -- fear of them, and hope that they would kill that monster. Because he was looking, he saw who was coming.
The Witch Hunters. Far too late to actually do anything or even to chase that thing down. They shoved through the crowd, weapons in hand. Guts recognized the one at the front from the barracks -- it was hard to forget a mug that ugly. Half of his face looked like it had melted ever so slightly, like cheese that had been left too close to a fire. He still had his eye, however, so whoever healed him certainly knew their stuff.
They seemed shocked to see him and Ciri standing in the back road as they skidded to a halt. The one at the head of the pack gave a wide smile, revealing a few teeth that had been blackened. "Seems you have a habit of a fallen inta' trouble, friend," he greeted them. "Where's the monster?"
"It got away," Ciri answered. "Killed a man and took off to the rooftops. Strange behavior from a Katakan."
"A fookin' vampire?" one of the Witch Hunters exclaimed, his face going bloodless. Guts noted that Ciri seemed impressed that he knew what a Katakan was.
"Vampires hate the sun. Couldn't be one of them," Another Witch Hunter said, cuffing the younger man on the back of the head. "Lass is mistaken. Easy one to make. All monsters look alike," he continued with a laugh. Guts noticed that they were standing around, utterly at ease. They were asking about the monster itself, but they certainly weren't in a rush to hunt it down. It was a little early to tell, but Guts had his measure of the Witch Hunters.
Quick to run towards a fight but quick to run away as well.
Ciri narrowed her eyes at the man that spoke, who seemed undaunted. However, it was the leader of the group that spoke. "I am curious, friend. Seems like you bath in monster bait. Haven't been in the city for more than a few hours and you're already tripping over another. Don't strike me as a monster lover, so how do you do it?" He asked, striding towards Guts, his face all smiles as he showed off his wounded face.
He was trying to be intimidating, Guts realized. It was a struggle at times to recall what normal men would find threatening. He supposed a heavy-set man with a half-melted face surrounded by a handful of men would intimidate most.
"Do we really have time for this?" Ciri interjected, knowing that the Witch Hunter was asking a dangerous question. "The monster is getting away why we gab away," she added, her opinion completely reversing to get them to move along.
"Don't worry about that thing. Got another group tracking it down right now. Perks of being with the Witch Hunters," he said, his eyes sliding to Guts. It sounded like he believed that, at least. For whatever that was worth. "I imagine that beasty is in pieces by now. So, why don't you come with us and explain your techniques? They'd be… invaluable," the man said. A bribe.
His crossbow was still needing repairs. The arrows and cannon balls needed replenishment. He also needed to purchase the alchemical ingredients to make more black powder. The sun was nearly directly overhead, meaning that he had a number of hours until he needed to leave Oxenfurt, or risk bringing a tide of vengeful spirits here. Given what he saw of the Witch Hunters, he imagined that there would be many.
Ciri glanced up at him, expecting him to refuse. It was tempting. The Witch Hunters didn't seem that plentiful, so killing them all would be easy enough. It would complicate things with the children, however. That's not something he could risk. He would just waste some time with them and make his escape easily enough.
"Fine," Guts answered, his voice a low growl as he took a step towards the Witch Hunter with half a face. Making him take a step back and the half of a face that he had displayed an expression of alarm for the briefest of seconds. "Let's get this over with."
…
"HNNNNNGGHHHHHHH… AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Puck screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing the two iron bars before him and pulling with his incredible might. Yet, the bars refused to bend. "RAHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!" He continued to scream, shifting his leverage so his feet were braced on one bar while he deadlift against the other. The thin bar felt like it was cutting into the bottoms of his feet, and he wasn't so desperate to leave that he was willing to give them up.
"Quite down!" Puck heard a moment before he felt someone grab his prison before giving it a hard shake. Puck tried to hold onto the bars, but they were ripped from his grasp, flinging him into the ceiling and the floor of his cage. "You keep screaming and I'll take your tongue, monster." His captor declared, setting his prison down on a shelf.
Batter and bruised, Puck picked himself off of the floor to look at the man who captured him. All humans kind of looked the same, really, but the guy had a memorable face. Puck would give him that much. His face looked bit like a mouse, blondish brown hair pulled back, and he had tattoos near his eyes. He was ugly. U. G. L. Y. He got hit a lot with the ugly stick as a baby because he was hideous. And smelly. And a kidnapper.
"Let me go!" Puck shouted, biting at the iron bars that kept him within. The gap was pretty narrow. He could fit pretty much his entire body through the thin wires, but his head was too big to fit. The one thing he couldn't valiantly cut off. Like a wolf with a leg pinned. Or arm. Puck wasn't too sure how animals counted arms or legs.
"Won't be doin' that," Ugly said, peering into his cage so Puck gave every rude gesture he could think of. That just made Ugly laugh. "Ain't ever seen a monster like you before. I'm sure those posh cunts will be knifing each other to own you."
"You can't own people, ugly!" Puck shouted, stomping a foot. He wasn't having PTSD flashbacks. This was like the circus all over again. He hated those guys. He never thought he'd end up in a cage again and that jerk Guts was sooooooo focused on killing that Gael guy that he completely abandoned Puck in his hour of need.
"Ya' have to be a person to be people," Ugly returned before he thumped the birdcage that he was in, making Puck's entire world shake. "Now, be quiet. I've heard bout enough of your whinging."
"Never!" Puck shouted, his Bardock emerging from hand and he noisily dragged it across the bars to make as much noise as possible. Ugly just sighed before he tossed a dirty -- and foul smelling -- rag over the cage, muffling his righteous rebellion. He tried to grab the cloth from the bottom and pull it up, but there was too much excess. Throwing his Bardock on the floor, Puck looked around at the cage -- it had a small swing for a bird to sit on. So, technically, it was an upgrade from the last cage he was trapped in.
"Guts… how could you let me get captured like this?!" Puck demanded, shaking a fist up in the air. Ciri and Guts both took off after Gael, leaving him behind. Then he got swatted to the ground. When he came to, he was in a cage with no escape. Now that guy was talking about selling him? "You better come save me-"
Puck paused and he thought about the words he was saying. Guts. Save him?
"He's totally going to abandon me," Puck realized, his hands going to his cheeks. Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. If he couldn't rely on his Black Castle property to escape then how was he going to?! With renewed desperation, Puck started trying to bust out of the cage but it was no use. How long he tore at the bars was unknown to him, but at some point, Ugly picked up the cage and started moving.
The cloth muffled a lot of sounds, but in his experience hiding out in his private room in Guy's pouch, he could make out what people were saying. Something, something monster roaming the streets, something, something, Witch Hunters are useless, something, something, people are dead. Puck felt the fear around him. The uncertainty. Ever since he arrived, Oxenfurt has been filled with an air of fear. It just got worse.
Puck realized he had to change tactics when he heard the sound of a door opening. Looking around, he searched for a method of escape before his eyes found his trusty Bardock. Grabbing it, he held it up for a moment.
He knew what he had to do.
"Whoreson Junior," someone greeted Ugly, and wow… even his name sucked. No wonder he was such a jerk. Guy never stood a chance. If Puck had a tiny violin, he might have played a song. Unfortunately, his hands were busy with another task. "It will be a cold day before I allow you to enter these hallowed halls."
"It's a bleedin' auction house, not a temple," Junior replied. "And I know you, Horst. You'sa man of business, such as meself. And it is business that has brought me to your… hallowed halls," Junior replied, copying the man's faint accent in a mocking way.
"A bird, is it? How droll," Horst replied and Puck could practically hear him rolling his eyes. His annoyance didn't match what he felt, though.
"Not a bird. A monster," Junior informed, lifting the cover on the cage to reveal where they were. Puck saw that they were in a much nicer building, to start. Stone floors, stone walls or dark wood in some places. They stood in a wide room that was filled with all kinds of stuff -- swords, armor, paintings, and a bunch of random junk.
Horst was a self-important-looking human. Nicer clothes, scruffy beard, shiny head. Puck leapt to the bars of his cage, "You gotta get me out of here! This guy's crazy!" Puck shouted, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. Horst flinched back at his shouting, his eyes flickering to Junior.
"What is it?" Horst questioned and Puck was crestfallen to learn that he was a jerk too. Why was it that only kids had anything resembling a conscious and basic decency?
"Do I look like a fookin' Witcher to you? Dunno what it is, but it can light up a room. And talk," Junior answered with a scoff.
"How am I supposed to sell this to the nobility?" Horst questioned, crossing his arms, but Puck felt his emotions. Greed. Want. Jerk. Looks like he was going with plan B after all.
"Do what you do with all the junk you peddle," Junior scoffed. "Talk it up. Make it sound rare. Somethin' that blue bloods would want to talk about while they're kicking their feet up by the fire. You's a fine businessman, Horst. I'm sure you can rouse a little interest," Junior retorted.
Horst's lips thinned, "The docket is rather full, Junior. This war has people worried. Everyone is shipping off what they can and going to me to sell what they can't."
Junior smiled a nasty smile, "Then I suppose I should go straight to the blue bloods meself. Not cut you in at all if you're so busy makin' money that you don't need a little extra in these troublin' times." Junior knew he won the argument, even before Puck felt Horst cave.
"I'll see what I can do. Do know that I can't force anyone to purchase anything, you understand," Horst stated, holding out a hand for his cage. Junior just chuckled before he passed Puck over while he was busy twisting the stem into a knot.
"I'm sure you'll manage, Horst. That's what the Borsody Auction House is for, ain't it?" Junior added before he started to leave. Puck stuck his tongue out at his back, before nearly choking on it when Junior glanced over his shoulder, a deadly smile playing at the edges of his lips.
He closed the door behind him with a sense of finality, and it was only then that Horst let out a sigh he had been holding. "I do detest that man…" he muttered under his breath before he lifted Puck up to eye level. Puck stuck his tongue out and widened his eyes at the man. "But he does bring the most interesting items. I expect you'll fetch a wonderful price. A talking monster the size of a thumb. I thought I had seen it all," he muttered to himself before exchanging the filthy-smelling rag with a cleaner and softer red velvet one.
Puck was placed to the side, left deaf to what was going on. He spent his time bending the stubborn stem into place and waiting for something to happen. It felt like three separate eternities later when Puck heard something start happening. A faint echo of it managed to reach him.
"Lord's and Ladies, as the head of the Borsodi family, it is my greatest honor to once again welcome you all to the Borsody Auction House. The war looms ever closer and the cursed Nilfgaardians arrogantly posture near our sacred gates, but there is no need to fear. The good king Radovid shall surely trounce them, and run them off!" There was some applause at the proclamation. "Today, we have a fine selection of items that'll surely catch the eye and heart. You all have familiarized yourselves with the docket, but, for those that take risks, I have a number of items that were… left out."
There was some general muttering at that, sounding interested. "I shall save those towards the end, my dear friends. Our first item is a fearsome and striking portrait of a fierce black dragon painted by the now, sadly deceased, artist Laurent Debouis. The starting bid is three hundred gold! Do I hear three fifty?" Horst started and the number kept going up until someone bought it for five hundred pieces of gold.
Someone came into the room and Puck heard them shuffle something around before the process resumed. Horst would describe something, give a starting price, then he would see who would bid higher. Sometimes an item went for way, way, way more than the starting bid. Other times, it was raised once before Horst sold it. Puck was forced to wait as they went down the entire list of items, bored out of his mind after his preparations were done.
It felt like another eternity had passed before Puck felt his cage shake again, telling him that it was go time. He looked up at his trusty Bardock, lamenting its sacrifice, before he righted himself. The cage came to a stop. "Our final item of the night is one of a kind. A rarity unlike any other. A creature never before seen by the eyes of mortal men! A creature that knows the language of men, that shines as bright as the sun! I present to you-" Horst started, ripping the cover off of the cage.
A gasp rang out as Puck was revealed. One end of the Bardock tied around the swing in the cage while the other was tied around his neck. Puck hovered in midair, but to the untrained eye, it would look like he hung himself.
"By the Eternal Flame!" Horst cursed, fumbling with the latch as there were noises of protests from the crowd of people before Puck. Not that he had supposedly killed himself. That they wouldn't get to hit him. Though, that didn't stop some from throwing out bids on his corpse. Jerks. He was so going to make them suffer for that. "Shit! Shit! Junior is going to murder me-" Horst started, filling with a sudden burst of fear as he finally got the patch undone.
The moment it was, Puck sprung into action. Jerking his head out of the noose, he threw himself through the gap as Horst reached into the cage. "FFFREEEEDDOOOMMM!" Puck screamed, flying directly up at Horst and punching him square in the eye. The man flinched back, shouting in pain and nearly crushing Puck when a hand went to cover it. Puck flew up above the cage, out of reach, and there was sounds of panicking as everyone looked up at him.
"Final… Flash!" Puck exclaimed, throwing his head back and screaming while his fists were clenched at his sides, shining brightly and filling the auction house with pure light. The panicked screaming of the jerk humans became ones of pain as they were flash banged. "You all suck and I hate you!" Puck shouted, darting away from the scene of the crime, weaving around a chandelier and heading right to the door. The fleeing people helped him get out easily enough.
Escaping out into the city, Puck flew directly up, determined to get out of reach of any humans. Because of that, he noticed the darkening sky. Guts was probably long gone by now, Puck realized as he overlooked the city. The shadows were getting longer and darker, people were lighting their torches and lamps to keep them at bay. That jerk. That total jerk! He-
Just as Puck started to tear at his hair, plotting his vengeance against his Black Castle property, he heard it. A faint whisper in the wind. "Damn you…" Puck heard whispered in his ear and he felt a huge wave of relief crash over him. Guts was still in the city. He hadn't left him behind. Puck placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thumping against his palm, and let out a huge sigh of relief.
Wait.
Guts was still in the city.
It was nighttime.
Oh no. That was a bad thing!
The whispers were growing louder and there were sounds of panic coming from below as people realized that it wasn't just the wind. Puck looked around the city, searching for Guts and Ciri so he could get them out of here. It was when Puck heard a familiar loud explosion that he knew where to look. The sound of Guts' cannon arm going off was unmistakable. With his arms pressed forward, Puck took off into the darkening sky as the sun made its descent. It was as he made his way over the wall, and heading to the breach, that Puck saw Guts.
Gael was still darting around, but the white sand of the beach they were on was dyed red. There were a lot of chunks of bodies thrown around, spilling out organs and blood. The Witch Hunters, Puck realized, seeing a handful of them hovering around the edges, their faces pale and fear radiated from all of them.
Gael himself looked heavily injured. A bunch of arrows sticking out of him, missing an arm, but Guts was still directly in front of him, exuding a murderous focus that only he seemed capable of possessing. The two clashed while Puck neared, and just as he was about to scream out to announce himself, and lay into Guts and Ciri for their lack of a rescue, he paused.
"What is that?! You hear it too, right?! Vampires can't do that!" Puck heard one of the Witch Hunters exclaim, his tone betraying his fear. He had half of a face, half melted like someone pressed his face against a grill. His knees were trembling and his breathing was ragged. The only reason he hadn't already run was because he lacked the strength to actually flee.
That's not good. Very not good. That was as bad as it could get. If they figured out it was Guts… then the kids would suffer for it. And Guts didn't want that. Meaning he had to do something…!
A brilliant plan sparked in Puck's mind as a wide smile tugged at his cheeks while Guts battled Gael below. Taking in a deep breath, he clasped his hands together and made himself glow brightly, illuminating the dark beach that was cast into a harsh darkness, illuminated only by a moon. Naturally, all of the attention shifted up to him.
"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Puck threw back his head and laughed evilly. "Go, my minions! Plague this city with your… evilness! Haunt the citizens and stuff!" Puck proclaimed as he descended from above, and Guts was used to his antics, Puck saw. That much was confirmed when Gael looked up above and because of it, Dragonslayer took his head. The guy crumpled to the ground, dead, and Puck looked down at Guts and Ciri.
Ciri looked like she was trying really hard not to laugh. Guts looked like he was about to lose his other eye with how hard ithis was rolling.
"What is that?! What kind of monster is that?!" The Witch Hunters cried, scrambling back at the ghosts that darted around them, whispering hateful and mean things. The shadows twisted and churned like they were alive as if they were going to open up and swallow them whole.
"I am… your… DOOM!" Puck boldly proclaimed, lowering himself to eye level, casting a far reaching bright light. "I shall steal your mightiest of champions… and teleport away! Because I can do that!" Puck said, hoping that Ciri would catch the hint. "I'll do it! Right… Now-" Puck said before he felt that weird feeling again. Magic.
Then, all of a sudden, they were standing in a field with no beach around.
"You really saved our hides there, Puck," Ciri remarked, a laugh in her voice. There was a lightness in her mirth and Puck basked in it. It was a really nice change from Guts' constant brooding.
"Naturally! It's what I do," Puck declared, puffing out his chest with a smirk. "Now, where are we?" He wondered, his attention drifting to Guts, whose gaze was drawn to something. A wall. Did they just teleport out of Oxenfurt? Puck would have taken them a little further away-
Ciri took a step forward, standing next to Guts. "Novigrad. We're finally at Novigrad."
They were basically animals. This one was closer to the Crones than not.
"Didn't think I needed your approval to act," Guts snapped back at her, sprinting through the streets that parted for the monster with panicked shouts. His crossbow would be useful about now, but instead, a hand went to the throwing knives across his chest.
"If you waited, I could have told you what we were dealing with," Ciri continued, very unhappy with him. The conversation felt familiar to him. More than he wanted to admit. How many times has Casca berated him for acting too early in battle or rushing things along? The number was probably around as many battles as they had been in together. The thought was as painful as it was nostalgic. "Katakans are dangerous. They aren't something you fight unprepared."
"Something you wouldn't fight," Guts responded, flinging a knife forward through the air just as the Katakan emerged in a patch of shadow across an intersection. The leaf-shaped blade landed directly in its ankle, making it cry out in pain before it slashed at a man that was too slow scrambling away. It's claws tore through the man like a cleaver through meat and bone. Blood and bile flew free before the creature grabbed what amounted to a snack to carry with it.
Then it leaped up, using a sign as leverage to hurl itself on top of a roof. Guts pivoted, following along, letting the sharp pain in his neck tell him if he was getting closer or further away.
"What happened to quietly leaving so we can get to Novigrad?" Ciri questioned, looking up just in time for blood to splash down in front of them. The Katakan was doubling back. It thought that it was clever. Guts snarled to himself, coming to a stop when he did, Ciri grabbed onto his arm to stop him from following, but Guts ripped his wrist out of her grip. "We let it get away. For now."
"No," Guts rebuked, not even considering it for a second. That creature -- whatever Ciri wanted to call it -- reacted to his brand. That meant it died. Period. It may not be an apostle, but that didn't matter. It died.
Ciri punched him. Not with her full strength, but not exactly gentle either. Her fist slammed against his jaw, tilting his head a bit, but beyond feeling some warmth as blood rushed to where she hit him he felt little. Based on how her lips peeled back into a scowl, she hurt her hand more than she managed to hurt him. It did get his attention. "Stop and fucking listen to me! You're going to get people killed chasing it through the city!"
"I don't care," Guts snapped back at her, his temper flaring. This was why he worked alone and tossed Puck away when he made a nuisance of himself. However, even as he uttered the words, Guts was forced to consider if that was the truth. He was no stranger to collateral damage. He hunted the apostles, relentlessly, no matter where they were. Sometimes, he managed to catch them alone and unaware. Most of the time?
What was the point of power if you didn't have those to lord it over? More often than not, his hunt took him to villages or towns. Sometimes they burnt down or people were slaughtered as a result. Guts didn't care. Not enough to prevent the slaughter or destruction. The hate that burned in his chest only cared about killing an apostle, regardless of how much everyone around him suffered for it.
"It's not an apostle, Guts!" Ciri snapped at him, shoving his shoulder with minimal success. "Why do you have to kill it right this fucking second?!"
Guts opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed him as Ciri threw an irrefutable proof right in his face. That thing -- Gael -- wasn't an apostle. It was just a… thing.
Ciri had her own issues she needed to vent because she dragged a hand down her face, snarling to herself before she followed it with another curse. "I don't even know why you're hunting apostles -- but if it's not to protect people from them then what? What is it Guts?" She pressed, making his lips press together into a thin line, almost as if he was refusing to answer. "Use your words! I can't read your bloody mind!"
He knew the reason. Revenge. That moment when the Band of the Hawk found themselves in hell… surrounded by apostles, all there to welcome Griffith. He understood that day better now -- now that he knew what apostles were. How they were made. Why. It didn't help. The knowledge just twisted his guts into knots and made his blood boil with a searching rage that could only be quenched with blood.
They slaughtered the Band of the Hawk. His friends. His family. To his dying day, he would carry that regret with him -- he never should have left them. He should have stayed. Not for Griffith, but for them. Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, Rickert, Gaston. Casca. Griffith himself stated that his quest for vengeance meant nothing. That he couldn't possibly kill all of the apostles or hinder whatever he was planning.
And he was right. In the past two years, he had killed dozens. A hundred, even. Yet, there always seemed to be more. God Hand could replace every one that he killed and create two new ones on top of that. But that didn't mean he could give up.
He had to kill them. He needed to kill them. The same way he needed to breathe, eat, and shit -- he couldn't live in a world that still had the creatures that butchered the Band of the Hawk. That branded them, slaughtered them, and dragged their souls into the depths of hell where they would suffer endlessly. He couldn't free them. He couldn't lift them up from hell and kick their asses up to heaven. What he could do was kill their killers.
For that reason, he would never stop.
"Guts," Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm. His prosthetic. The snarl was gone, replaced with an expression of alarm. Fear. Concern and confusion. It was only then that Guts realized that his own expression was twisted into one of hate. The maddening rage he felt within leaking out through his expression. He wiped it away and jerked his prosthetic out of her grasp, grinding his teeth. "Okay -- you hate apostles. But he's not one."
That was why he couldn't respond because she wasn't wrong. Gael wasn't there during the Eclipse. He was some random fucking thing that tried to flirt with him. He didn't have to kill him. He didn't need to. However, Guts wanted to. Even if it was a pointless act.
"We know he's in the city. I can prepare some oils and a potion that'll hurt him if he does manage to get a drink from us. Your brand made him brave sunlight -- it clearly has a pretty strong influence on him. We can use it. Draw him out to somewhere isolated, then we can kill him," Ciri continued, her brow drawing together as she looked up at him. "Okay?"
"Fine," Guts bit the word out as if it was bitterer than poison. Ciri looked surprised at the concession, her eyebrows climbing high as she looked at him like he was going to run after the creature the moment that she turned her back. She couldn't understand. She could never understand. The only one that could was Casca and she was driven insane by that day. And there were days that Guts was forced to wonder if he hadn't been driven insane by it too.
"... Right. Sorry for punching you," Ciri offered, earning a noncommittal grunt. Guts looked around them, at the peasants that had been watching the entire argument. They looked upon them with fear and hope -- fear of them, and hope that they would kill that monster. Because he was looking, he saw who was coming.
The Witch Hunters. Far too late to actually do anything or even to chase that thing down. They shoved through the crowd, weapons in hand. Guts recognized the one at the front from the barracks -- it was hard to forget a mug that ugly. Half of his face looked like it had melted ever so slightly, like cheese that had been left too close to a fire. He still had his eye, however, so whoever healed him certainly knew their stuff.
They seemed shocked to see him and Ciri standing in the back road as they skidded to a halt. The one at the head of the pack gave a wide smile, revealing a few teeth that had been blackened. "Seems you have a habit of a fallen inta' trouble, friend," he greeted them. "Where's the monster?"
"It got away," Ciri answered. "Killed a man and took off to the rooftops. Strange behavior from a Katakan."
"A fookin' vampire?" one of the Witch Hunters exclaimed, his face going bloodless. Guts noted that Ciri seemed impressed that he knew what a Katakan was.
"Vampires hate the sun. Couldn't be one of them," Another Witch Hunter said, cuffing the younger man on the back of the head. "Lass is mistaken. Easy one to make. All monsters look alike," he continued with a laugh. Guts noticed that they were standing around, utterly at ease. They were asking about the monster itself, but they certainly weren't in a rush to hunt it down. It was a little early to tell, but Guts had his measure of the Witch Hunters.
Quick to run towards a fight but quick to run away as well.
Ciri narrowed her eyes at the man that spoke, who seemed undaunted. However, it was the leader of the group that spoke. "I am curious, friend. Seems like you bath in monster bait. Haven't been in the city for more than a few hours and you're already tripping over another. Don't strike me as a monster lover, so how do you do it?" He asked, striding towards Guts, his face all smiles as he showed off his wounded face.
He was trying to be intimidating, Guts realized. It was a struggle at times to recall what normal men would find threatening. He supposed a heavy-set man with a half-melted face surrounded by a handful of men would intimidate most.
"Do we really have time for this?" Ciri interjected, knowing that the Witch Hunter was asking a dangerous question. "The monster is getting away why we gab away," she added, her opinion completely reversing to get them to move along.
"Don't worry about that thing. Got another group tracking it down right now. Perks of being with the Witch Hunters," he said, his eyes sliding to Guts. It sounded like he believed that, at least. For whatever that was worth. "I imagine that beasty is in pieces by now. So, why don't you come with us and explain your techniques? They'd be… invaluable," the man said. A bribe.
His crossbow was still needing repairs. The arrows and cannon balls needed replenishment. He also needed to purchase the alchemical ingredients to make more black powder. The sun was nearly directly overhead, meaning that he had a number of hours until he needed to leave Oxenfurt, or risk bringing a tide of vengeful spirits here. Given what he saw of the Witch Hunters, he imagined that there would be many.
Ciri glanced up at him, expecting him to refuse. It was tempting. The Witch Hunters didn't seem that plentiful, so killing them all would be easy enough. It would complicate things with the children, however. That's not something he could risk. He would just waste some time with them and make his escape easily enough.
"Fine," Guts answered, his voice a low growl as he took a step towards the Witch Hunter with half a face. Making him take a step back and the half of a face that he had displayed an expression of alarm for the briefest of seconds. "Let's get this over with."
…
"HNNNNNGGHHHHHHH… AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Puck screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing the two iron bars before him and pulling with his incredible might. Yet, the bars refused to bend. "RAHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!" He continued to scream, shifting his leverage so his feet were braced on one bar while he deadlift against the other. The thin bar felt like it was cutting into the bottoms of his feet, and he wasn't so desperate to leave that he was willing to give them up.
"Quite down!" Puck heard a moment before he felt someone grab his prison before giving it a hard shake. Puck tried to hold onto the bars, but they were ripped from his grasp, flinging him into the ceiling and the floor of his cage. "You keep screaming and I'll take your tongue, monster." His captor declared, setting his prison down on a shelf.
Batter and bruised, Puck picked himself off of the floor to look at the man who captured him. All humans kind of looked the same, really, but the guy had a memorable face. Puck would give him that much. His face looked bit like a mouse, blondish brown hair pulled back, and he had tattoos near his eyes. He was ugly. U. G. L. Y. He got hit a lot with the ugly stick as a baby because he was hideous. And smelly. And a kidnapper.
"Let me go!" Puck shouted, biting at the iron bars that kept him within. The gap was pretty narrow. He could fit pretty much his entire body through the thin wires, but his head was too big to fit. The one thing he couldn't valiantly cut off. Like a wolf with a leg pinned. Or arm. Puck wasn't too sure how animals counted arms or legs.
"Won't be doin' that," Ugly said, peering into his cage so Puck gave every rude gesture he could think of. That just made Ugly laugh. "Ain't ever seen a monster like you before. I'm sure those posh cunts will be knifing each other to own you."
"You can't own people, ugly!" Puck shouted, stomping a foot. He wasn't having PTSD flashbacks. This was like the circus all over again. He hated those guys. He never thought he'd end up in a cage again and that jerk Guts was sooooooo focused on killing that Gael guy that he completely abandoned Puck in his hour of need.
"Ya' have to be a person to be people," Ugly returned before he thumped the birdcage that he was in, making Puck's entire world shake. "Now, be quiet. I've heard bout enough of your whinging."
"Never!" Puck shouted, his Bardock emerging from hand and he noisily dragged it across the bars to make as much noise as possible. Ugly just sighed before he tossed a dirty -- and foul smelling -- rag over the cage, muffling his righteous rebellion. He tried to grab the cloth from the bottom and pull it up, but there was too much excess. Throwing his Bardock on the floor, Puck looked around at the cage -- it had a small swing for a bird to sit on. So, technically, it was an upgrade from the last cage he was trapped in.
"Guts… how could you let me get captured like this?!" Puck demanded, shaking a fist up in the air. Ciri and Guts both took off after Gael, leaving him behind. Then he got swatted to the ground. When he came to, he was in a cage with no escape. Now that guy was talking about selling him? "You better come save me-"
Puck paused and he thought about the words he was saying. Guts. Save him?
"He's totally going to abandon me," Puck realized, his hands going to his cheeks. Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. If he couldn't rely on his Black Castle property to escape then how was he going to?! With renewed desperation, Puck started trying to bust out of the cage but it was no use. How long he tore at the bars was unknown to him, but at some point, Ugly picked up the cage and started moving.
The cloth muffled a lot of sounds, but in his experience hiding out in his private room in Guy's pouch, he could make out what people were saying. Something, something monster roaming the streets, something, something, Witch Hunters are useless, something, something, people are dead. Puck felt the fear around him. The uncertainty. Ever since he arrived, Oxenfurt has been filled with an air of fear. It just got worse.
Puck realized he had to change tactics when he heard the sound of a door opening. Looking around, he searched for a method of escape before his eyes found his trusty Bardock. Grabbing it, he held it up for a moment.
He knew what he had to do.
"Whoreson Junior," someone greeted Ugly, and wow… even his name sucked. No wonder he was such a jerk. Guy never stood a chance. If Puck had a tiny violin, he might have played a song. Unfortunately, his hands were busy with another task. "It will be a cold day before I allow you to enter these hallowed halls."
"It's a bleedin' auction house, not a temple," Junior replied. "And I know you, Horst. You'sa man of business, such as meself. And it is business that has brought me to your… hallowed halls," Junior replied, copying the man's faint accent in a mocking way.
"A bird, is it? How droll," Horst replied and Puck could practically hear him rolling his eyes. His annoyance didn't match what he felt, though.
"Not a bird. A monster," Junior informed, lifting the cover on the cage to reveal where they were. Puck saw that they were in a much nicer building, to start. Stone floors, stone walls or dark wood in some places. They stood in a wide room that was filled with all kinds of stuff -- swords, armor, paintings, and a bunch of random junk.
Horst was a self-important-looking human. Nicer clothes, scruffy beard, shiny head. Puck leapt to the bars of his cage, "You gotta get me out of here! This guy's crazy!" Puck shouted, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. Horst flinched back at his shouting, his eyes flickering to Junior.
"What is it?" Horst questioned and Puck was crestfallen to learn that he was a jerk too. Why was it that only kids had anything resembling a conscious and basic decency?
"Do I look like a fookin' Witcher to you? Dunno what it is, but it can light up a room. And talk," Junior answered with a scoff.
"How am I supposed to sell this to the nobility?" Horst questioned, crossing his arms, but Puck felt his emotions. Greed. Want. Jerk. Looks like he was going with plan B after all.
"Do what you do with all the junk you peddle," Junior scoffed. "Talk it up. Make it sound rare. Somethin' that blue bloods would want to talk about while they're kicking their feet up by the fire. You's a fine businessman, Horst. I'm sure you can rouse a little interest," Junior retorted.
Horst's lips thinned, "The docket is rather full, Junior. This war has people worried. Everyone is shipping off what they can and going to me to sell what they can't."
Junior smiled a nasty smile, "Then I suppose I should go straight to the blue bloods meself. Not cut you in at all if you're so busy makin' money that you don't need a little extra in these troublin' times." Junior knew he won the argument, even before Puck felt Horst cave.
"I'll see what I can do. Do know that I can't force anyone to purchase anything, you understand," Horst stated, holding out a hand for his cage. Junior just chuckled before he passed Puck over while he was busy twisting the stem into a knot.
"I'm sure you'll manage, Horst. That's what the Borsody Auction House is for, ain't it?" Junior added before he started to leave. Puck stuck his tongue out at his back, before nearly choking on it when Junior glanced over his shoulder, a deadly smile playing at the edges of his lips.
He closed the door behind him with a sense of finality, and it was only then that Horst let out a sigh he had been holding. "I do detest that man…" he muttered under his breath before he lifted Puck up to eye level. Puck stuck his tongue out and widened his eyes at the man. "But he does bring the most interesting items. I expect you'll fetch a wonderful price. A talking monster the size of a thumb. I thought I had seen it all," he muttered to himself before exchanging the filthy-smelling rag with a cleaner and softer red velvet one.
Puck was placed to the side, left deaf to what was going on. He spent his time bending the stubborn stem into place and waiting for something to happen. It felt like three separate eternities later when Puck heard something start happening. A faint echo of it managed to reach him.
"Lord's and Ladies, as the head of the Borsodi family, it is my greatest honor to once again welcome you all to the Borsody Auction House. The war looms ever closer and the cursed Nilfgaardians arrogantly posture near our sacred gates, but there is no need to fear. The good king Radovid shall surely trounce them, and run them off!" There was some applause at the proclamation. "Today, we have a fine selection of items that'll surely catch the eye and heart. You all have familiarized yourselves with the docket, but, for those that take risks, I have a number of items that were… left out."
There was some general muttering at that, sounding interested. "I shall save those towards the end, my dear friends. Our first item is a fearsome and striking portrait of a fierce black dragon painted by the now, sadly deceased, artist Laurent Debouis. The starting bid is three hundred gold! Do I hear three fifty?" Horst started and the number kept going up until someone bought it for five hundred pieces of gold.
Someone came into the room and Puck heard them shuffle something around before the process resumed. Horst would describe something, give a starting price, then he would see who would bid higher. Sometimes an item went for way, way, way more than the starting bid. Other times, it was raised once before Horst sold it. Puck was forced to wait as they went down the entire list of items, bored out of his mind after his preparations were done.
It felt like another eternity had passed before Puck felt his cage shake again, telling him that it was go time. He looked up at his trusty Bardock, lamenting its sacrifice, before he righted himself. The cage came to a stop. "Our final item of the night is one of a kind. A rarity unlike any other. A creature never before seen by the eyes of mortal men! A creature that knows the language of men, that shines as bright as the sun! I present to you-" Horst started, ripping the cover off of the cage.
A gasp rang out as Puck was revealed. One end of the Bardock tied around the swing in the cage while the other was tied around his neck. Puck hovered in midair, but to the untrained eye, it would look like he hung himself.
"By the Eternal Flame!" Horst cursed, fumbling with the latch as there were noises of protests from the crowd of people before Puck. Not that he had supposedly killed himself. That they wouldn't get to hit him. Though, that didn't stop some from throwing out bids on his corpse. Jerks. He was so going to make them suffer for that. "Shit! Shit! Junior is going to murder me-" Horst started, filling with a sudden burst of fear as he finally got the patch undone.
The moment it was, Puck sprung into action. Jerking his head out of the noose, he threw himself through the gap as Horst reached into the cage. "FFFREEEEDDOOOMMM!" Puck screamed, flying directly up at Horst and punching him square in the eye. The man flinched back, shouting in pain and nearly crushing Puck when a hand went to cover it. Puck flew up above the cage, out of reach, and there was sounds of panicking as everyone looked up at him.
"Final… Flash!" Puck exclaimed, throwing his head back and screaming while his fists were clenched at his sides, shining brightly and filling the auction house with pure light. The panicked screaming of the jerk humans became ones of pain as they were flash banged. "You all suck and I hate you!" Puck shouted, darting away from the scene of the crime, weaving around a chandelier and heading right to the door. The fleeing people helped him get out easily enough.
Escaping out into the city, Puck flew directly up, determined to get out of reach of any humans. Because of that, he noticed the darkening sky. Guts was probably long gone by now, Puck realized as he overlooked the city. The shadows were getting longer and darker, people were lighting their torches and lamps to keep them at bay. That jerk. That total jerk! He-
Just as Puck started to tear at his hair, plotting his vengeance against his Black Castle property, he heard it. A faint whisper in the wind. "Damn you…" Puck heard whispered in his ear and he felt a huge wave of relief crash over him. Guts was still in the city. He hadn't left him behind. Puck placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thumping against his palm, and let out a huge sigh of relief.
Wait.
Guts was still in the city.
It was nighttime.
Oh no. That was a bad thing!
The whispers were growing louder and there were sounds of panic coming from below as people realized that it wasn't just the wind. Puck looked around the city, searching for Guts and Ciri so he could get them out of here. It was when Puck heard a familiar loud explosion that he knew where to look. The sound of Guts' cannon arm going off was unmistakable. With his arms pressed forward, Puck took off into the darkening sky as the sun made its descent. It was as he made his way over the wall, and heading to the breach, that Puck saw Guts.
Gael was still darting around, but the white sand of the beach they were on was dyed red. There were a lot of chunks of bodies thrown around, spilling out organs and blood. The Witch Hunters, Puck realized, seeing a handful of them hovering around the edges, their faces pale and fear radiated from all of them.
Gael himself looked heavily injured. A bunch of arrows sticking out of him, missing an arm, but Guts was still directly in front of him, exuding a murderous focus that only he seemed capable of possessing. The two clashed while Puck neared, and just as he was about to scream out to announce himself, and lay into Guts and Ciri for their lack of a rescue, he paused.
"What is that?! You hear it too, right?! Vampires can't do that!" Puck heard one of the Witch Hunters exclaim, his tone betraying his fear. He had half of a face, half melted like someone pressed his face against a grill. His knees were trembling and his breathing was ragged. The only reason he hadn't already run was because he lacked the strength to actually flee.
That's not good. Very not good. That was as bad as it could get. If they figured out it was Guts… then the kids would suffer for it. And Guts didn't want that. Meaning he had to do something…!
A brilliant plan sparked in Puck's mind as a wide smile tugged at his cheeks while Guts battled Gael below. Taking in a deep breath, he clasped his hands together and made himself glow brightly, illuminating the dark beach that was cast into a harsh darkness, illuminated only by a moon. Naturally, all of the attention shifted up to him.
"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Puck threw back his head and laughed evilly. "Go, my minions! Plague this city with your… evilness! Haunt the citizens and stuff!" Puck proclaimed as he descended from above, and Guts was used to his antics, Puck saw. That much was confirmed when Gael looked up above and because of it, Dragonslayer took his head. The guy crumpled to the ground, dead, and Puck looked down at Guts and Ciri.
Ciri looked like she was trying really hard not to laugh. Guts looked like he was about to lose his other eye with how hard ithis was rolling.
"What is that?! What kind of monster is that?!" The Witch Hunters cried, scrambling back at the ghosts that darted around them, whispering hateful and mean things. The shadows twisted and churned like they were alive as if they were going to open up and swallow them whole.
"I am… your… DOOM!" Puck boldly proclaimed, lowering himself to eye level, casting a far reaching bright light. "I shall steal your mightiest of champions… and teleport away! Because I can do that!" Puck said, hoping that Ciri would catch the hint. "I'll do it! Right… Now-" Puck said before he felt that weird feeling again. Magic.
Then, all of a sudden, they were standing in a field with no beach around.
"You really saved our hides there, Puck," Ciri remarked, a laugh in her voice. There was a lightness in her mirth and Puck basked in it. It was a really nice change from Guts' constant brooding.
"Naturally! It's what I do," Puck declared, puffing out his chest with a smirk. "Now, where are we?" He wondered, his attention drifting to Guts, whose gaze was drawn to something. A wall. Did they just teleport out of Oxenfurt? Puck would have taken them a little further away-
Ciri took a step forward, standing next to Guts. "Novigrad. We're finally at Novigrad."
The Path
- Location
- USA
Novigrad was under siege, but it wasn't by Nilfgaard. It was being besieged by an army of refugees, Ciri saw as she and Guts approached the city in the early morning, almost as soon as the first rays of sunlight crested the horizon of the Great Sea. It wasn't the first time she had visited the city, but it had radically changed from what she recalled in her memory. The shanty town outside of the city was greatly expanded, almost tripling in size in almost every direction, with only the western side free simply because people hadn't figured out how to build on the water.
The word ramshackle came to mind when they reached the outermost edges of the shantytown. The buildings were made from twigs and mud, little more than huts. And even that couldn't house everyone in the shantytown because Ciri saw men and women, entire families even, sleeping in the dirt roads that had become a terrible muck as so many people walked back and forth. Her nose burned from the stench, and she didn't dare breathe through her mouth because she knew that she'd be able to taste the foul air on her tongue.
"Good thing we didn't bring the children here," Ciri decided, taking one look at the city and knew that the children wouldn't have been able to make it. All around Ciri, she heard the sounds of survival -- from men fighting over scraps, to the sounds of rutting in tents as women whored themselves for a few coppers, and shouts as children picked pockets because their lives depended on it. It was something primal and fierce. A place where survival was determined by instinct and luck.
It made her heart ache just looking at it all. It was almost indescribable. She knew that the war was going to be devastating the moment that she heard about it after arriving. Her lessons in history hadn't been wasted -- the most devastating wars were when both sides spent years preparing for them. This wasn't the first Northern war where one side was caught off guard. This was a slugging match between the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire, and neither side would stop until the other was completely broken and dead.
It was going to be the last Northern war. Either the Northern Kingdoms would manage to break the Nilfgaardian grip or they would be ground into dust. There would be no in between. Worse, as great as the death toll would be for the battles, what surrounded her would be the true devastation of the war. The countless displaced families, left suffering because refugees were rarely welcomed anywhere, and the trauma of doing what needed to be done just to survive day to day.
Ciri didn't think there was a greater blight on the face of the world than war. It was worse than any monster. And it was one that was celebrated until the cost of it became apparent.
"I doubt they're going to let us through the gate," Guts observed, and Ciri could hear it in his voice. He was utterly exhausted. Which he should be. He hadn't slept in a week. It was honestly alarming how Guts was even functioning at the moment, but it was wearing him down. Meaning that they had a time limit on finding someone that could help with his Brand. "We'll have to bribe our way in."
"I could teleport us in," Ciri returned, and as if to disagree with her, she saw Witch Hunters pushing through the crowds of people. There was a general muttering as they passed by, but Ciri paused for the group to brush past them with little difficulty despite her worst fears. It should take at least a day for the news from Oxenfurt to reach the city. Hopefully, they could keep their heads down low enough that the Witch Hunters wouldn't realize that the 'champions' that had been 'kidnapped' by Puck were walking around free.
Guts grunted but seemed against the idea. Thanks to Geralt, she was pretty used to deciphering grunts. Leaving the possibility open, they continued onward. It was pretty easy to tell where the old shantytown ended and where the newer buildings began. They were equally ramshackle, but the older buildings had signs that they had been there for about as long as there was a city. But, a far better indication was… the bodies.
Ciri narrowed her eyes at the burnt pieces of wood that were laid underneath the blackened corpses of people, their bodies kept up by a single piece of dark wood that they were bound to because their flesh fused to it in death. The skeletal structure made it easy to tell them apart -- dwarves being the most obvious. There were a fair number of elves and even a few humans tossed into the mix. The pyres flanked the main road leading up to the gates of Novigrad, one on each side and they were near evenly spaced apart.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Guts frowning at the pyres. "Too much soot," he remarked, looking down at the ground, and Ciri found that he was right. There was too much soot and ash. Meaning that it wasn't the first time a pyre had been placed there. If she had to guess, the Witch Hunters had been reusing the same locations about a half dozen times. Ciri did the math on reflex, wondering how many had been burnt at the stake… and she found the answer regrettable.
"Puck, you can't come out at all," Ciri said in a low voice as she walked, a deep frown tugging at her lips. "Novigrad might be called a free city, but it's ruled by the Eternal Flame now. If you're anything other than a human… your life is in constant danger here," Ciri told the fairy, glancing down at Gut's belt to see that he was peering through the slight gap in the pouch. It felt like it wasn't that long ago when the only issue were the gangs that ruled Novigrad.
That seemed to catch Guts' attention. "Free city?" he grumbled as they neared the bridge that would take them to the gate. Despite the sheer volume of people outside of the city that wanted to get in, the bridge itself was sparsely populated. Only those that hadn't been rebuffed once before were making the attempt.
"Novigrad is self-governed by a ruling council. Allegedly. It's mostly run by gangs, merchant families, banks, and the secret police. It's within King Radovid's domain, but he has no real claim to it. Nor does it pay him any kind of homage or taxes. I'm not entirely sure how that happened, to be honest. But, it's always been an independent city, no matter how much anyone tried to leverage them one way or another," Ciri answered as they passed by a barker.
For a child that couldn't be any older than eight, he had a pair of lungs in him. "Enlistment in tha army! Skills hands wanted! Labors wanted! Fighters wanted! Fightin' for King Radovid is fightin' for the North!" The child shouted at the top of his lungs, looking bored out of his mind as he seemed to have been repeating those words for hours on end. "Pays a wage! Two meals a day! Enlistment in tha army! Skills hands wanted!"
The war was still going strong, it would seem. It wasn't a surprise that Radovid was trying to recruit from the population that had been displaced. How much success he would find was anyone's guess. Especially considering how bad the shanty town was proving to be.
"It ever been sacked?" Guts questioned and Ciri took a second to ponder the question as Guts inspected the walls around the city. It was almost like Oxenfurt. Novigrad seemed to just rise out of the water, seated on a handful of islands located in the mouth of the Pontar. She still remembered the first time she saw it.
"I don't think so?" Ciri hesitated to answer, not coming up with a specific example. She gave him an expectant look when he just grunted, not explaining what the information meant to him.
"It's a prize, then," Guts elaborated. "Sounds to me the war is a drawn-out one. Wars like that, it's all about who has the resources to keep fighting. Someone better take it soon because if they don't, you could end up in a hundred-year war," he muttered to himself as he glared at the city, almost as if he was planning to conquer it himself.
A hundred years of war. That sounded like a nightmare. "I wouldn't wish a sack on anyone," Ciri returned as they finally approached the gate. There was a small line and long before they reached the front of it, Ciri knew what they were going to be greeted with.
"Piss off! Novigrad ain't acceptin' any refugees anymore. You lot are all too late, so go back to the shantytown and fuck off," the guard told them, his voice almost strained with how much he had been repeating himself, only changing the words around while the message itself remained the same. No one was welcomed in Novigrad.
"We're not refugees," Guts growled at the man, reaching into his coin pouch before pulling out ten royals. The guard started to sneer, and Ciri could see it in his face. The bribe wasn't going to be enough. High demand increased everything, including the price of bribes. However, the guard abruptly swallowed whatever he was about to say when Guts pressed the coins into his hand.
"Er… right," the guard fumbled, glancing at his mates -- a good dozen guardsmen posted at the gate, who looked torn between laughing at his misery and jumping in to help. "Well, folk with business are more than welcomed. Welcome to Novigrad," the guard decided, gesturing that they could enter the city. And as soon as they passed the gate by, she heard the guards forced to deal with other refugees that were shouting to be let in as well.
Despite her fears, Novigrad didn't strike her as overcrowded. It was always a fairly densely packed city of some thirty thousand people, making it one of the most populous cities in the North. Which wasn't that big, but the city itself wasn't particularly large. If Novigrad was more densely packed than normal, it wasn't immediately obvious.
"Where do we start to look?" Guts questioned and, she had to admit, it was a very good question. A very good question, she decided, seeing another group of Witch Hunters on the street. They seemed drunk based on how they moved, possibly off duty, but they still had their weapons on them and people gave them a wide berth. In the initial plan, it would have been extremely simple to find either Triss or Yennifer.
Basically, she would just ask where the most expensive and luxurious hotel or villa in the city was and go there, and she was bound to find one of the two. Or find someone who could tell her where they were. But, she wasn't expecting the Witch Hunters to have such a presence. It meant that the smart sorcerers and sorceresses would keep a low profile. It wouldn't make it impossible to find them, just a little more difficult than anyone wanted. Especially her.
She wanted to see Yennefer again. She wanted to see Triss again. She wanted to see Geralt again. And everyone else.
"A tavern," Ciri decided. That's where news flowed in cities.
"... Are you sure that's a good idea?" Puck said in a stage whisper, just loud enough to hear. "We don't have a good track record with taverns," he added. A point. To that end, Ciri looked at Guts.
"Is your Brand bleeding?" She questioned, making Guts nod. Meaning that there were monsters in the city. Not ideal. "Did we learn anything from Oxenfurt?" She asked, making him narrow his eyes at her before grunting again. A confirmation. That was good. "Just hold off on taking action. Monsters in the city are a different breed. They need to be able to blend in so they will be sapient. Some are going to be like Gael, but others… they can be better people than most people."
Guts' gaze drifted to a central square where there were more pyres being made as they passed by. "Not a high bar," he remarked, speaking the truth of it.
"Just keep an open mind and don't smash first," Ciri advised, and she knew that was the utmost that she could ask for. To her memory, she knew where a few brothels and taverns were located. They tended to be strategically placed where people coming into the city could find them or where nearby to where the laborers finished their day. And despite the dire situation Novigrad was facing, it didn't seem to affect the people overly much. That was likely because they kept everyone outside of the city that would bring down the mood.
It was as they continued through the city that Guts started to seem more irritable. And it was when she looked at him, she saw a small drop of blood spill out from his brand, telling her that a monster was near. He met her eyes and Ciri nodded, turning her gaze to the crowd, searching for who it could be. There was enough shade that she couldn't rule out another vampire. However, vampires were hardly the only monsters that inhabited cities.
As it would turn out, she wouldn't have to search overly hard because her gaze spotted a man looking at her with a slack jaw and wide eyes. A halfling. Closely shaven head, ears that stuck out, clean shaven, and he wore fine merchant attire. A smile found its way on her face before she even realized it. "Dudu?" Ciri called out, offering the doppler a wave to confirm that she saw him. And Dudu smiled right back, all but leaping over the heads of bystanders before forcing his way through the rest of the people.
"Ciri! I thought that was you!" Dudu greeted her warmly, approaching with a broad smile. The Doppler was more of a friend to Geralt than her, but that didn't mean he wasn't a friend all the same. The Doppler could take any living form that he desired, but in recent years, he favored the form of a halfling -- the supposed cousin of a notable merchant. Because of his true nature, Dudu looked the exact same despite a number of years passing since their last meeting. For one, he wasn't taller than her anymore.
Ciri's smile abruptly fell when she realized that Guts was standing right next to her and a quick glance saw that his hand was drifting up to his sword. "Guts! This is Dudu. A friend," she stressed, making Guts narrow his eyes at her before looking down at Dudu, not even bothering to disguise his look of contempt. Dudu cast a nervous look in Ciri's direction. "Dudu, this is Guts. He's also a friend." Sort of.
"Guts. That's a name. Well, nice to be making your acquaintance, Guts," Dudu said, his tone perfectly polite while he looked up at Guts. Ciri noted that his gaze was shifty. With Gael, the vampire looked at Guts like he was the very last bottle of wine in the world for an alcoholic. His gaze had portrayed naked greed and desire, as if he were a moth drawn to a flame. Like he couldn't help himself. Dudu was far more restrained but there was clearly still some kind of draw that Guts had on him.
Guts just grunted in response. Dudu seemed a bit uneasy, looking at Ciri and finding her car easier to talk to. "What brings you to Novigrad? I figured you'd be walking the Path with Geralt now that he has his memories again.*
Wait, what? "Memories? What?" Ciri blurted, unable to contain her surprise. Dudu seemed uncertain for a moment, scratching at his ear as he looked between the two of them.
"How about we go to someone that has the full story? They'll probably be able to help you more than I can, at any rate," Dudu offered, gesturing for them to follow him. Ciri cast a meaningful look at Guts as she followed the Doppler, one that he caught, but gave no indication that he would abide what she was silently asking -- to show some self restraint. His arms were hidden underneath the ratty black cloak he wore, but she knew that his hands would be clenched into fists at his sides.
Dudu led them through the city, talking all the while. He was a merchant at heart and news flowed to him easily enough and he had a keen ear for rumors. Apparently, the Nilfgaardian army was advancing on Oxenfurt, having cut through dry areas in the crookback bog -- a first in history according to Dudu. There was no word on any battles yet, but the general consensus was that Radovid was planning to give it rather than hide behind the tall walls of Oxenfurt. Beyond that, Dudu alluded to making a real profit off of the war.
By the time that he was done describing how he finessed a number of merchants, they arrived at a… brothel?
"Rosemary and Thyme?" Ciri questioned as Dudu pushed the doors open, seeing the name painted over a sign rather sloppily. Despite the attempts of making it more appealing by adding painted on pictures of rosemary and thyme.
"You'll never guess who the cat drug in!" Dudu announced to a completely empty brothel that seemed to be in the middle of a number of renovations. Perhaps it was because it was a brothel, Ciri almost expected to see who popped their head up from beneath a counter, looking absolutely frustrated up until the moment their eyes met.
"Ciri?!" Dandelion exclaimed, his eyes going wide while a laugh spilled out of Ciri's mouth. "Sweet heavens, it's you!" He continued, leaping over the counter, and they raced forward, sweeping each other up in a warm embrace. "Oh, it's been entirely too long. Where have you been? I started to worry I might never see you again!"
"I'm fine, Dandelion," Ciri told him in all honesty. In truth, she was the most fine she had been since leaving Night City. Seeing Dandelion again was like a balm to her aching soul. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the lecherous bard until she saw him. "It's a long story, I'm afraid."
"I imagine," Dandelion said, taking a step back and resting his hands on her shoulders. His gaze only barely lingered on the scar on her cheek, but he seemed to drink her in, as if she would vanish the moment he looked away. Given her habit of exactly that, it was hard to blame him. "And who is your fine companion?"
"He's Guts. He… it's complicated," Ciri decided, knowing that if she begun her tale then it would be some time before the one she wanted to hear would be told. Geralt lost his memories. How? The last time she saw him was that he had been riding with the Wild Hunt, though she never learned why. He had been bait for her, which she had no choice but to take. Freeing him had nearly cost her her freedom and it was the reason why she had been forced to bounce between worlds, jumping blindly, before settling in Night City for a year.
Dandelion seemed sorely disappointed, "Of all the things you could have inherited from Geralt, it had to be that," Dandelion remarked with a theatrical shake of his head. Ciri smiled at the bard, reaching up and giving one of his hands a squeeze. "I'm not surprised, mind you. It's very expected. And just like Geralt, I imagine you aren't here solely for the pleasure of my magnificent company?"
He had her there. "A few reasons, but what's this about Geralt losing his memories?" She pressed and a sorrowful look passed over Dandelion's face as he gestured for Ciri to take a seat at the bar while Dudu made drinks for all of them. She hardly noticed Guts leaning against the wall.
"That tale sadly begins with a group you rather well know -- the Wild Hunt," Dandelion began and Ciri was forced to recall that Dandelion was one of the most famous minstrels in the sphere for good reason. His tale began with Geralt having arrived at Kaer Morhen without any memories and clueless on why he lacked them, to an attack that cut the number of Witchers in the world even lower and Geralt's quest to find answers and revenge. He gained both, but he then found himself in service to King Foltest until the king was unceremoniously assassinated and Geralt subsequently blamed.
Dandelion told her how Geralt joined forces with a member of the Temerian secret service, a man named Vernon Roche. Working together with him and Triss, Geralt went about proving his innocence while hunting the real assassin and stumbled assbackward into a conspiracy of the Lodge of Sorceresses, alliances made between the Northern Kingdoms, and the plots of her father to destabilize the north in preparation for another invasion.
And now, there was little weird about Geralt beyond that he was looking for Yennefer, who had been missing for the past year.
In short, it wasn't the story that she wanted to hear. Especially about Yennefer, but if she were here, Ciri knew that she'd just get a scolding for worrying about her. Yennefer was capable and could protect herself. She wasn't the one Ciri had to worry about. Geralt was.
"Do you have any idea where Triss is?" Ciri questioned, digesting the story after a long pause. She really couldn't take her eyes off of Geralt for one second. It was like he wasn't satisfied unless he stumped into every single spot of trouble.
To that, Dandelion shook his head. "Rumors, my dear. I know she's the head of the mage underground. Novigrad started out as a safe haven for mages initially, but they soon became the source of all its woes according to the Mage Hunters. Which, incidentally, is how they got their nickname. And you know how the populous do love to have someone to blame for all of their woes."
Guts spoke up, almost startling her, "Have they gotten any?"
"Oh! You do speak," Dandelion remarked before frowning. "The answer to that question is far fewer than they claim, but they've managed to capture and burn at least three that I recognize." He answered, making Ciri wince. It was horrible all around, she decided. How many people had been burnt at the stake because of a false accusation? She couldn't tell what was worse -- the false accusations or the fact that the Witch Hunters were effective enough to actually capture sorcerers. "I can put the word out that we're looking for her, but I suspect that the mage underground will be suspicious by nature of any reaching out."
We. This was why she missed Dandelion -- as much as he may mock Geralt for attracting so much trouble, he would be right next to him through it. If only to complain. It was a reassuring feeling.
"How long would that take?" Ciri questioned, glancing at Guts. "We only have until sundown before we have to leave the city. Though, we could come back in the morning." It would just be an issue with the guards and why they keep going in and out.
"I don't rightly know, dear. But that does sound like an interesting stipulation. Is your dear friend a werewolf by chance? He certainly smells like one," Dandelion remarked, a teasing smile on his lips that faded slightly when Guts didn't so much as twitch, much less laugh at the joke.
"There's something weird with him," Dudu said, squinting his eyes at Guts. In response, Guts narrowed his eyes right back, clearly unhappy with his restraint, even if Ciri was thankful that he was bothering to show any. "Its… I don't know. It's weird."
Interesting. Very interesting. Sadly, their efforts to learn what effect the brand had on sapient monsters hadn't amounted to much. The most that they had gotten was some incoherent ranting and the evidence that Gael was willing to risk his life just to take a bite of Guts, ignoring all thoughts of self preservation. The effects on Dudu seemed far less pronounced, but there was still a clear draw to him.
"That's part of why we need Triss," Ciri offered because Guts wouldn't give an explanation. "Dudu… could you tell me what you're feeling right now? Because, come nightfall, all non-sapient or sentient monsters are going to come after Guts like he bathed in monster bait," she offered and Dudu seemed a little affronted that he was included in the category of monster.
However, he swallowed his indignation as he looked at Guts, his face pinching as he tilted his head. "It's… I dunno. Like I said, it's weird. But, I just have this… gut feeling that he has something that I want. Or… hm… or it's like… you know how you feel after a long shitty day where nothing went right? And you just want to go home and fall asleep for… forever? It kind of feels like that, except that guy feels like 'home.'" Dudu explained, making Ciri's brow furrowing. "Don't read into it big fella. You aren't my type."
Guts grunted. That one sounded amused. Ciri glanced at him, "Does that mean anything to you?" She asked him, keenly aware how little she knew about the Brand. She didn't even know how Guts got it.
He seemed to think on it for the briefest of moments and based on how his face tightened, it did mean something to him. "No," he lied through clenched teeth. The answer demanded an end to the line of questioning and Ciri nodded in response, knowing that she wouldn't get the truth from him.
Still, it was an interesting observation. Her first instinct was to say that it was a homing instinct. Just like birds had when they migrated -- they would fly off for the winter, and come back to the same spot in the spring. It was an instinct that drove them home. However, that didn't quite fit. If the Brand registered as 'home' to everything not native to the sphere, then by that logic, every human should give Guts the same reaction. He should be getting mobbed on the streets by humans instead of given a wide berth because of his size and scowl.
No, there was more to it. She would need more information to come to a conclusion, but she was increasingly convinced that the Brand was somehow connected to the spheres themselves. Somehow.
"I need to find Triss," Ciri decided, muttering the words out loud. She was far more educated on the nature of magic than she was. If Yennefer really was missing, then Triss became her best hope of helping Guts out. Once they figured out how to mask the draw of the Brand, then she could focus on getting him back where he belonged.
Ciri nearly jumped in her chair when the doors to the brothel swung open with an alarming amount of force, making her spin around in her stool, jumping to her feet. She wasn't the only one, though she froze in her tracks.
A single figure stepped into the doorway, dressed in fine, but practical clothing complete with a clock that was pushed back to reveal a mane of fiery red hair that was tied up, bright green eyes, and a beautiful face that was lightly dusted with freckles. "Dandelion, do you-" Triss began, cutting herself short when she nearly tripped over her own two feet when her eyes landed on Ciri.
A disbelieving laugh escaped Ciri.
That was certainly a lot easier than she expected.
The word ramshackle came to mind when they reached the outermost edges of the shantytown. The buildings were made from twigs and mud, little more than huts. And even that couldn't house everyone in the shantytown because Ciri saw men and women, entire families even, sleeping in the dirt roads that had become a terrible muck as so many people walked back and forth. Her nose burned from the stench, and she didn't dare breathe through her mouth because she knew that she'd be able to taste the foul air on her tongue.
"Good thing we didn't bring the children here," Ciri decided, taking one look at the city and knew that the children wouldn't have been able to make it. All around Ciri, she heard the sounds of survival -- from men fighting over scraps, to the sounds of rutting in tents as women whored themselves for a few coppers, and shouts as children picked pockets because their lives depended on it. It was something primal and fierce. A place where survival was determined by instinct and luck.
It made her heart ache just looking at it all. It was almost indescribable. She knew that the war was going to be devastating the moment that she heard about it after arriving. Her lessons in history hadn't been wasted -- the most devastating wars were when both sides spent years preparing for them. This wasn't the first Northern war where one side was caught off guard. This was a slugging match between the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire, and neither side would stop until the other was completely broken and dead.
It was going to be the last Northern war. Either the Northern Kingdoms would manage to break the Nilfgaardian grip or they would be ground into dust. There would be no in between. Worse, as great as the death toll would be for the battles, what surrounded her would be the true devastation of the war. The countless displaced families, left suffering because refugees were rarely welcomed anywhere, and the trauma of doing what needed to be done just to survive day to day.
Ciri didn't think there was a greater blight on the face of the world than war. It was worse than any monster. And it was one that was celebrated until the cost of it became apparent.
"I doubt they're going to let us through the gate," Guts observed, and Ciri could hear it in his voice. He was utterly exhausted. Which he should be. He hadn't slept in a week. It was honestly alarming how Guts was even functioning at the moment, but it was wearing him down. Meaning that they had a time limit on finding someone that could help with his Brand. "We'll have to bribe our way in."
"I could teleport us in," Ciri returned, and as if to disagree with her, she saw Witch Hunters pushing through the crowds of people. There was a general muttering as they passed by, but Ciri paused for the group to brush past them with little difficulty despite her worst fears. It should take at least a day for the news from Oxenfurt to reach the city. Hopefully, they could keep their heads down low enough that the Witch Hunters wouldn't realize that the 'champions' that had been 'kidnapped' by Puck were walking around free.
Guts grunted but seemed against the idea. Thanks to Geralt, she was pretty used to deciphering grunts. Leaving the possibility open, they continued onward. It was pretty easy to tell where the old shantytown ended and where the newer buildings began. They were equally ramshackle, but the older buildings had signs that they had been there for about as long as there was a city. But, a far better indication was… the bodies.
Ciri narrowed her eyes at the burnt pieces of wood that were laid underneath the blackened corpses of people, their bodies kept up by a single piece of dark wood that they were bound to because their flesh fused to it in death. The skeletal structure made it easy to tell them apart -- dwarves being the most obvious. There were a fair number of elves and even a few humans tossed into the mix. The pyres flanked the main road leading up to the gates of Novigrad, one on each side and they were near evenly spaced apart.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Guts frowning at the pyres. "Too much soot," he remarked, looking down at the ground, and Ciri found that he was right. There was too much soot and ash. Meaning that it wasn't the first time a pyre had been placed there. If she had to guess, the Witch Hunters had been reusing the same locations about a half dozen times. Ciri did the math on reflex, wondering how many had been burnt at the stake… and she found the answer regrettable.
"Puck, you can't come out at all," Ciri said in a low voice as she walked, a deep frown tugging at her lips. "Novigrad might be called a free city, but it's ruled by the Eternal Flame now. If you're anything other than a human… your life is in constant danger here," Ciri told the fairy, glancing down at Gut's belt to see that he was peering through the slight gap in the pouch. It felt like it wasn't that long ago when the only issue were the gangs that ruled Novigrad.
That seemed to catch Guts' attention. "Free city?" he grumbled as they neared the bridge that would take them to the gate. Despite the sheer volume of people outside of the city that wanted to get in, the bridge itself was sparsely populated. Only those that hadn't been rebuffed once before were making the attempt.
"Novigrad is self-governed by a ruling council. Allegedly. It's mostly run by gangs, merchant families, banks, and the secret police. It's within King Radovid's domain, but he has no real claim to it. Nor does it pay him any kind of homage or taxes. I'm not entirely sure how that happened, to be honest. But, it's always been an independent city, no matter how much anyone tried to leverage them one way or another," Ciri answered as they passed by a barker.
For a child that couldn't be any older than eight, he had a pair of lungs in him. "Enlistment in tha army! Skills hands wanted! Labors wanted! Fighters wanted! Fightin' for King Radovid is fightin' for the North!" The child shouted at the top of his lungs, looking bored out of his mind as he seemed to have been repeating those words for hours on end. "Pays a wage! Two meals a day! Enlistment in tha army! Skills hands wanted!"
The war was still going strong, it would seem. It wasn't a surprise that Radovid was trying to recruit from the population that had been displaced. How much success he would find was anyone's guess. Especially considering how bad the shanty town was proving to be.
"It ever been sacked?" Guts questioned and Ciri took a second to ponder the question as Guts inspected the walls around the city. It was almost like Oxenfurt. Novigrad seemed to just rise out of the water, seated on a handful of islands located in the mouth of the Pontar. She still remembered the first time she saw it.
"I don't think so?" Ciri hesitated to answer, not coming up with a specific example. She gave him an expectant look when he just grunted, not explaining what the information meant to him.
"It's a prize, then," Guts elaborated. "Sounds to me the war is a drawn-out one. Wars like that, it's all about who has the resources to keep fighting. Someone better take it soon because if they don't, you could end up in a hundred-year war," he muttered to himself as he glared at the city, almost as if he was planning to conquer it himself.
A hundred years of war. That sounded like a nightmare. "I wouldn't wish a sack on anyone," Ciri returned as they finally approached the gate. There was a small line and long before they reached the front of it, Ciri knew what they were going to be greeted with.
"Piss off! Novigrad ain't acceptin' any refugees anymore. You lot are all too late, so go back to the shantytown and fuck off," the guard told them, his voice almost strained with how much he had been repeating himself, only changing the words around while the message itself remained the same. No one was welcomed in Novigrad.
"We're not refugees," Guts growled at the man, reaching into his coin pouch before pulling out ten royals. The guard started to sneer, and Ciri could see it in his face. The bribe wasn't going to be enough. High demand increased everything, including the price of bribes. However, the guard abruptly swallowed whatever he was about to say when Guts pressed the coins into his hand.
"Er… right," the guard fumbled, glancing at his mates -- a good dozen guardsmen posted at the gate, who looked torn between laughing at his misery and jumping in to help. "Well, folk with business are more than welcomed. Welcome to Novigrad," the guard decided, gesturing that they could enter the city. And as soon as they passed the gate by, she heard the guards forced to deal with other refugees that were shouting to be let in as well.
Despite her fears, Novigrad didn't strike her as overcrowded. It was always a fairly densely packed city of some thirty thousand people, making it one of the most populous cities in the North. Which wasn't that big, but the city itself wasn't particularly large. If Novigrad was more densely packed than normal, it wasn't immediately obvious.
"Where do we start to look?" Guts questioned and, she had to admit, it was a very good question. A very good question, she decided, seeing another group of Witch Hunters on the street. They seemed drunk based on how they moved, possibly off duty, but they still had their weapons on them and people gave them a wide berth. In the initial plan, it would have been extremely simple to find either Triss or Yennifer.
Basically, she would just ask where the most expensive and luxurious hotel or villa in the city was and go there, and she was bound to find one of the two. Or find someone who could tell her where they were. But, she wasn't expecting the Witch Hunters to have such a presence. It meant that the smart sorcerers and sorceresses would keep a low profile. It wouldn't make it impossible to find them, just a little more difficult than anyone wanted. Especially her.
She wanted to see Yennefer again. She wanted to see Triss again. She wanted to see Geralt again. And everyone else.
"A tavern," Ciri decided. That's where news flowed in cities.
"... Are you sure that's a good idea?" Puck said in a stage whisper, just loud enough to hear. "We don't have a good track record with taverns," he added. A point. To that end, Ciri looked at Guts.
"Is your Brand bleeding?" She questioned, making Guts nod. Meaning that there were monsters in the city. Not ideal. "Did we learn anything from Oxenfurt?" She asked, making him narrow his eyes at her before grunting again. A confirmation. That was good. "Just hold off on taking action. Monsters in the city are a different breed. They need to be able to blend in so they will be sapient. Some are going to be like Gael, but others… they can be better people than most people."
Guts' gaze drifted to a central square where there were more pyres being made as they passed by. "Not a high bar," he remarked, speaking the truth of it.
"Just keep an open mind and don't smash first," Ciri advised, and she knew that was the utmost that she could ask for. To her memory, she knew where a few brothels and taverns were located. They tended to be strategically placed where people coming into the city could find them or where nearby to where the laborers finished their day. And despite the dire situation Novigrad was facing, it didn't seem to affect the people overly much. That was likely because they kept everyone outside of the city that would bring down the mood.
It was as they continued through the city that Guts started to seem more irritable. And it was when she looked at him, she saw a small drop of blood spill out from his brand, telling her that a monster was near. He met her eyes and Ciri nodded, turning her gaze to the crowd, searching for who it could be. There was enough shade that she couldn't rule out another vampire. However, vampires were hardly the only monsters that inhabited cities.
As it would turn out, she wouldn't have to search overly hard because her gaze spotted a man looking at her with a slack jaw and wide eyes. A halfling. Closely shaven head, ears that stuck out, clean shaven, and he wore fine merchant attire. A smile found its way on her face before she even realized it. "Dudu?" Ciri called out, offering the doppler a wave to confirm that she saw him. And Dudu smiled right back, all but leaping over the heads of bystanders before forcing his way through the rest of the people.
"Ciri! I thought that was you!" Dudu greeted her warmly, approaching with a broad smile. The Doppler was more of a friend to Geralt than her, but that didn't mean he wasn't a friend all the same. The Doppler could take any living form that he desired, but in recent years, he favored the form of a halfling -- the supposed cousin of a notable merchant. Because of his true nature, Dudu looked the exact same despite a number of years passing since their last meeting. For one, he wasn't taller than her anymore.
Ciri's smile abruptly fell when she realized that Guts was standing right next to her and a quick glance saw that his hand was drifting up to his sword. "Guts! This is Dudu. A friend," she stressed, making Guts narrow his eyes at her before looking down at Dudu, not even bothering to disguise his look of contempt. Dudu cast a nervous look in Ciri's direction. "Dudu, this is Guts. He's also a friend." Sort of.
"Guts. That's a name. Well, nice to be making your acquaintance, Guts," Dudu said, his tone perfectly polite while he looked up at Guts. Ciri noted that his gaze was shifty. With Gael, the vampire looked at Guts like he was the very last bottle of wine in the world for an alcoholic. His gaze had portrayed naked greed and desire, as if he were a moth drawn to a flame. Like he couldn't help himself. Dudu was far more restrained but there was clearly still some kind of draw that Guts had on him.
Guts just grunted in response. Dudu seemed a bit uneasy, looking at Ciri and finding her car easier to talk to. "What brings you to Novigrad? I figured you'd be walking the Path with Geralt now that he has his memories again.*
Wait, what? "Memories? What?" Ciri blurted, unable to contain her surprise. Dudu seemed uncertain for a moment, scratching at his ear as he looked between the two of them.
"How about we go to someone that has the full story? They'll probably be able to help you more than I can, at any rate," Dudu offered, gesturing for them to follow him. Ciri cast a meaningful look at Guts as she followed the Doppler, one that he caught, but gave no indication that he would abide what she was silently asking -- to show some self restraint. His arms were hidden underneath the ratty black cloak he wore, but she knew that his hands would be clenched into fists at his sides.
Dudu led them through the city, talking all the while. He was a merchant at heart and news flowed to him easily enough and he had a keen ear for rumors. Apparently, the Nilfgaardian army was advancing on Oxenfurt, having cut through dry areas in the crookback bog -- a first in history according to Dudu. There was no word on any battles yet, but the general consensus was that Radovid was planning to give it rather than hide behind the tall walls of Oxenfurt. Beyond that, Dudu alluded to making a real profit off of the war.
By the time that he was done describing how he finessed a number of merchants, they arrived at a… brothel?
"Rosemary and Thyme?" Ciri questioned as Dudu pushed the doors open, seeing the name painted over a sign rather sloppily. Despite the attempts of making it more appealing by adding painted on pictures of rosemary and thyme.
"You'll never guess who the cat drug in!" Dudu announced to a completely empty brothel that seemed to be in the middle of a number of renovations. Perhaps it was because it was a brothel, Ciri almost expected to see who popped their head up from beneath a counter, looking absolutely frustrated up until the moment their eyes met.
"Ciri?!" Dandelion exclaimed, his eyes going wide while a laugh spilled out of Ciri's mouth. "Sweet heavens, it's you!" He continued, leaping over the counter, and they raced forward, sweeping each other up in a warm embrace. "Oh, it's been entirely too long. Where have you been? I started to worry I might never see you again!"
"I'm fine, Dandelion," Ciri told him in all honesty. In truth, she was the most fine she had been since leaving Night City. Seeing Dandelion again was like a balm to her aching soul. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the lecherous bard until she saw him. "It's a long story, I'm afraid."
"I imagine," Dandelion said, taking a step back and resting his hands on her shoulders. His gaze only barely lingered on the scar on her cheek, but he seemed to drink her in, as if she would vanish the moment he looked away. Given her habit of exactly that, it was hard to blame him. "And who is your fine companion?"
"He's Guts. He… it's complicated," Ciri decided, knowing that if she begun her tale then it would be some time before the one she wanted to hear would be told. Geralt lost his memories. How? The last time she saw him was that he had been riding with the Wild Hunt, though she never learned why. He had been bait for her, which she had no choice but to take. Freeing him had nearly cost her her freedom and it was the reason why she had been forced to bounce between worlds, jumping blindly, before settling in Night City for a year.
Dandelion seemed sorely disappointed, "Of all the things you could have inherited from Geralt, it had to be that," Dandelion remarked with a theatrical shake of his head. Ciri smiled at the bard, reaching up and giving one of his hands a squeeze. "I'm not surprised, mind you. It's very expected. And just like Geralt, I imagine you aren't here solely for the pleasure of my magnificent company?"
He had her there. "A few reasons, but what's this about Geralt losing his memories?" She pressed and a sorrowful look passed over Dandelion's face as he gestured for Ciri to take a seat at the bar while Dudu made drinks for all of them. She hardly noticed Guts leaning against the wall.
"That tale sadly begins with a group you rather well know -- the Wild Hunt," Dandelion began and Ciri was forced to recall that Dandelion was one of the most famous minstrels in the sphere for good reason. His tale began with Geralt having arrived at Kaer Morhen without any memories and clueless on why he lacked them, to an attack that cut the number of Witchers in the world even lower and Geralt's quest to find answers and revenge. He gained both, but he then found himself in service to King Foltest until the king was unceremoniously assassinated and Geralt subsequently blamed.
Dandelion told her how Geralt joined forces with a member of the Temerian secret service, a man named Vernon Roche. Working together with him and Triss, Geralt went about proving his innocence while hunting the real assassin and stumbled assbackward into a conspiracy of the Lodge of Sorceresses, alliances made between the Northern Kingdoms, and the plots of her father to destabilize the north in preparation for another invasion.
And now, there was little weird about Geralt beyond that he was looking for Yennefer, who had been missing for the past year.
In short, it wasn't the story that she wanted to hear. Especially about Yennefer, but if she were here, Ciri knew that she'd just get a scolding for worrying about her. Yennefer was capable and could protect herself. She wasn't the one Ciri had to worry about. Geralt was.
"Do you have any idea where Triss is?" Ciri questioned, digesting the story after a long pause. She really couldn't take her eyes off of Geralt for one second. It was like he wasn't satisfied unless he stumped into every single spot of trouble.
To that, Dandelion shook his head. "Rumors, my dear. I know she's the head of the mage underground. Novigrad started out as a safe haven for mages initially, but they soon became the source of all its woes according to the Mage Hunters. Which, incidentally, is how they got their nickname. And you know how the populous do love to have someone to blame for all of their woes."
Guts spoke up, almost startling her, "Have they gotten any?"
"Oh! You do speak," Dandelion remarked before frowning. "The answer to that question is far fewer than they claim, but they've managed to capture and burn at least three that I recognize." He answered, making Ciri wince. It was horrible all around, she decided. How many people had been burnt at the stake because of a false accusation? She couldn't tell what was worse -- the false accusations or the fact that the Witch Hunters were effective enough to actually capture sorcerers. "I can put the word out that we're looking for her, but I suspect that the mage underground will be suspicious by nature of any reaching out."
We. This was why she missed Dandelion -- as much as he may mock Geralt for attracting so much trouble, he would be right next to him through it. If only to complain. It was a reassuring feeling.
"How long would that take?" Ciri questioned, glancing at Guts. "We only have until sundown before we have to leave the city. Though, we could come back in the morning." It would just be an issue with the guards and why they keep going in and out.
"I don't rightly know, dear. But that does sound like an interesting stipulation. Is your dear friend a werewolf by chance? He certainly smells like one," Dandelion remarked, a teasing smile on his lips that faded slightly when Guts didn't so much as twitch, much less laugh at the joke.
"There's something weird with him," Dudu said, squinting his eyes at Guts. In response, Guts narrowed his eyes right back, clearly unhappy with his restraint, even if Ciri was thankful that he was bothering to show any. "Its… I don't know. It's weird."
Interesting. Very interesting. Sadly, their efforts to learn what effect the brand had on sapient monsters hadn't amounted to much. The most that they had gotten was some incoherent ranting and the evidence that Gael was willing to risk his life just to take a bite of Guts, ignoring all thoughts of self preservation. The effects on Dudu seemed far less pronounced, but there was still a clear draw to him.
"That's part of why we need Triss," Ciri offered because Guts wouldn't give an explanation. "Dudu… could you tell me what you're feeling right now? Because, come nightfall, all non-sapient or sentient monsters are going to come after Guts like he bathed in monster bait," she offered and Dudu seemed a little affronted that he was included in the category of monster.
However, he swallowed his indignation as he looked at Guts, his face pinching as he tilted his head. "It's… I dunno. Like I said, it's weird. But, I just have this… gut feeling that he has something that I want. Or… hm… or it's like… you know how you feel after a long shitty day where nothing went right? And you just want to go home and fall asleep for… forever? It kind of feels like that, except that guy feels like 'home.'" Dudu explained, making Ciri's brow furrowing. "Don't read into it big fella. You aren't my type."
Guts grunted. That one sounded amused. Ciri glanced at him, "Does that mean anything to you?" She asked him, keenly aware how little she knew about the Brand. She didn't even know how Guts got it.
He seemed to think on it for the briefest of moments and based on how his face tightened, it did mean something to him. "No," he lied through clenched teeth. The answer demanded an end to the line of questioning and Ciri nodded in response, knowing that she wouldn't get the truth from him.
Still, it was an interesting observation. Her first instinct was to say that it was a homing instinct. Just like birds had when they migrated -- they would fly off for the winter, and come back to the same spot in the spring. It was an instinct that drove them home. However, that didn't quite fit. If the Brand registered as 'home' to everything not native to the sphere, then by that logic, every human should give Guts the same reaction. He should be getting mobbed on the streets by humans instead of given a wide berth because of his size and scowl.
No, there was more to it. She would need more information to come to a conclusion, but she was increasingly convinced that the Brand was somehow connected to the spheres themselves. Somehow.
"I need to find Triss," Ciri decided, muttering the words out loud. She was far more educated on the nature of magic than she was. If Yennefer really was missing, then Triss became her best hope of helping Guts out. Once they figured out how to mask the draw of the Brand, then she could focus on getting him back where he belonged.
Ciri nearly jumped in her chair when the doors to the brothel swung open with an alarming amount of force, making her spin around in her stool, jumping to her feet. She wasn't the only one, though she froze in her tracks.
A single figure stepped into the doorway, dressed in fine, but practical clothing complete with a clock that was pushed back to reveal a mane of fiery red hair that was tied up, bright green eyes, and a beautiful face that was lightly dusted with freckles. "Dandelion, do you-" Triss began, cutting herself short when she nearly tripped over her own two feet when her eyes landed on Ciri.
A disbelieving laugh escaped Ciri.
That was certainly a lot easier than she expected.
Snazzy Snake
Devouring Swarm
Well… that was easy.
The Hidden Cost
- Location
- USA
Guts couldn't say that he enjoyed the reunion that was going on with Ciri. He felt decidedly out of place, surrounded by people he didn't know and didn't know what to make of. He didn't let the creature Dudu out of his sight, constantly keeping him in the corner of his vision to make sure that he didn't lunge for him. Having his other eye back was proving to be rather convenient in that regard.
In general, he didn't know what to make of any of the characters he found himself surrounded by. Dudu was a creature -- a monster. It was a difficult change to make, Guts reflected in silence -- he spent the past few years guided by the Brand on his neck, letting it guide him to apostles. Without fail, when he found one that made his Brand bleed, he killed them. Without fail. It made standing in the room with a creature and not killing it… feel unnatural.
He had to remind himself that Dudu wasn't an apostle. He hadn't sacrificed his humanity for the sake of power, enslaving himself to the Godhand. Dudu was never human in the first place. Still, the creature made Guts uneasy, especially when he seemed so unassuming or stole brief glances at Guts before returning his attention to the reunion.
Dandelion was… Guts wasn't even sure. His outfit was loud and obnoxious -- bright purple, burnished gold jewelry, and white ruffles. It was beyond impractical by any metric. Unless you were trying to be the center of attention in every single room that you were in, and based on what Guts gleamed from the brief interaction he had with the man, that didn't seem far off. What relationship he had with Ciri was a bit of a mystery, but he seemed to be some kind of parental figure.
Guts wasn't sure how Ciri managed to talk him into this, he thought to himself, watching the redheaded woman and Ciri hug, both overjoyed to see one another. Triss -- the red head -- didn't seem that old. Guts would put her in her early to mid-twenties. Her clothing told Guts that she was trying to be discrete and avoid attention, but she didn't know what it was like to be poor. Her clothing and cloak were finely made, and more importantly, they were clean. A dead giveaway that she had money, and that would bring all the wrong kinds of attention right to her.
"Triss! I- what are you doing here? We were about to start looking for you!" Ciri exclaimed, breaking the hug, but still holding onto Triss by her hands. Triss seemed to drink Ciri in, her dark green eyes lingering on the scar on her cheek, a small disbelieving laugh escaping her.
"I'm- well, I was looking for something. Some of my instruments picked up a magical disturbance, and I thought it might have been a mage. I was here to find them before the Witch Hunters did," Triss confessed. "Was that you? Wait, no… it was… you?" Triss questioned, sounding surprised by it and her expression grew increasingly surprised as she took measure of Guts.
Ciri looked between them because Guts didn't respond verbally beyond looking at Ciri with an expression that conveyed 'you explain.' Ciri picked up on it with no issue, "That's actually what we wanted to find you for. This is Guts -- he's a friend. One that I think I kidnapped from his Sphere on my way to this one," Ciri explained and Dandelion threw back his head, looking to the heaven as if he were praying for strength.
While Dudu chuckled, Triss seemed contemplative. "That could explain it, I suppose," Triss remarked, approaching Guts with a complete absence of fear. That either meant that she was an idiot, or there was truth to what Ciri said. Guts had never seen a magician before. In his travels across Midgard, fighting as a mercenary, he had met plenty that claimed to be, but they always turned out to be con artists.
Any thought that Triss was just another con artist in a long line of con artists was brushed away when sparks of light emerged from her fingertips when she came to a stop directly infront of him, something flashing over her eyes. Whatever she saw made her brow furrow, "I don't suppose you could bend down for me? There's something on your neck I need to see," she requested.
She sensed the Brand. More than the little sparks of light, that convinced Guts that Triss had… something. He wasn't sure if he was willing to believe in magic outright, but Triss had something that was supernatural. Beyond what any regular human would have.
"You can trust her, Guts," Ciri echoed, offering an encouraging smile. "If there's anyone that can help you, its Triss," she added and Guts just grunted in response. Trust. That wouldn't happen. The days of trust died with the Band of the Hawk. But, Guts couldn't deny it.
His joints felt like they were filled with sand. Every muscle ached and was sore. His strength was sapped and his thoughts were sluggish. It had been a week since he last slept and while it wasn't the longest he had gone without, it didn't mean the effects weren't wearing him down. When Ciri made her offer, Guts hadn't put an ounce of stock into it. It was clearly a desperate move, trying to use the closest thing he had to a weakness against him to prevent him from abandoning her and the kids.
Because of it, Guts never really stopped to consider…
Could Triss help him? To get rid of the side effects of the Brand while keeping the reasons why he needed it -- to help him hunt apostles?
Ciri almost seemed to sense his thoughts because her smile took a sadder edge to it, "Come on, Guts. The worst thing that can happen is that she can't help you, and that just means we try something else," she encouraged, making Guts scowl at how easily she had been able to read him. Guts couldn't hear it, but he was sure that Puck was having a laugh in his pouch.
"Fine," Guts growled the word out, reaching back to unsheath Dragonslayer, making Triss' eyes widen while Dandelion sputtered when Guts leaned it against the bar.
"No- no! The floor, you'll ruin the fl- oh, never mind," he grumbled, dragging a hand over his face as Guts took a seat on a bench, allowing Triss to look down at him. He clenched his jaw when he first felt Triss' hands lightly touch the side of his neck. Where the Brand was.
He hated being touched. It was a hatred that never faded. There had only been one person whose touch he learned to welcome… and she was more than a world away.
If Triss noticed then she kept it to herself, "I recognize the root of the marking." Triss remarked, surprising Guts because he fully expected this to be a dead end. "But, I've never seen it used like this before. How did it wind up on you? Because this is… it's incredible magic. I've never seen anything like it."
An image of the Eclipse flashed in his mind, making him clench his teeth. However, it was Ciri that spoke up.
"What do you mean by that? It's a curse, right?" That's what it was. A Brand of Sacrifice, marking him for eternal damnation in that chaotic tide of consciousness to suffer for eternity. Guts had no faith in heaven's existence, but he had seen hell with his own eyes.
"A curse?" Triss questioned and when Guts refused to speak, Ciri spoke for him.
"It attracts monsters to him. And evil spirits. I've never seen anything like it, but as soon as the sun goes down, shadows become alive with ghosts that can possess corpses. Guts would know more, but he doesn't seem to be in the mood for using his words," she remarked, earning an agreeing grunt from Guts. Triss did seem faintly amused by the byplay while Dandelion paled at the prospect, realizing why they had a deadline to get out of the city.
Triss lightly touched near the Brand, making Guts tense and grit his teeth. "This is preliminary, but that could be a side effect rather than intention," Triss said, a frown in her voice. "The reason why I noticed you -- that my instruments picked up on your presence -- is because this Brand is… weird, for a lack of a better word. The reason why I noticed it was because it's drawing a huge amount of power towards it. I almost mistook it for a Source, but it's the exact opposite."
What that meant, Guts didn't have a clue but it did mean something to Ciri based on how startled she seemed. Triss continued without missing a beat, "It acts… almost like a spigot, in a way. It's drawing power -- chaos -- from this world and funneling it through the Brand." Guts twitched at that, something that Triss didn't miss. "Does that mean something to you?"
He didn't want to tell them. It was his business. And try as they might, they could never understand what transpired that day. "The Brand. It's a mark of sacrifice," Guts stated, knowing that he had to offer the information. There wasn't a point to withholding it beyond his pride and privacy. "It was put on me for the ascension of another."
"Is someone feeding off of it? Like a parasite?" Ciri questioned, sounding genuinely alarmed by what she heard, a hand going to her sword as if she was willing to fight. Guts felt tired seeing it. A deep exhaustion that seemed to hollow out his bones and fill them with lead.
"I wouldn't say that yet," Triss stated, withdrawing her hands form his neck. "The Brand itself, in function, seems to be a signal fire and a hole. I can't be certain if the chaos that it draws to it is being funneled away somewhere else, or if it's just being released from our world and dispersed. The difference being akin to whether a waterskin with a hole in it is being used to fill up a cup or simply spilling out on the floor."
Guts grunted, understanding what she meant. "And how could you learn which it is?" He questioned, his voice a low growl at the mere idea that Griffith could be feasting off of him. While he didn't really understand everything that they were saying -- Sources, chaos, magic -- he understood more than enough to paint a picture. He could be acting as a parasite in this world, leeching away at this 'chaos' to feed it to Griffith, making him stronger.
He'd sooner slit his own throat than allow that.
"I… would need rather specialized tools. And help," Triss admitted after a long moment, her gaze flickering to Ciri. "Just peering past our Sphere is an incredible feat, Ciri. Looking into another would normally be outright impossible. The only reason why I won't say that it isn't in this case is because of the Brand and… you. If this Brand is connected to another Sphere, then that means there is, in theory, a trail to be followed. Your ability to jump between Spheres, if focused, in theory, could allow us to see where that trail leads. But, to even see if it is possible, we need your help."
"You have it," Ciri decided, speaking without a moment of hesitation. Guts felt a pang of… something in his chest. What it was, he didn't know before he crushed it into nothing. "But if the curse aspects of the Brand are side effects, then can you do anything about them?" She pressed and Guts prepared himself for the no that was coming. He didn't mind it. If it meant the Brand helped him find apostles, then he was more than happy to trade sleepless nights filled with violence.
Triss hesitated for a long moment, giving Guts his answer- "I should be able to," Triss answered after a long pause. "Knowing exactly what the Brand is sure would help with that, but in theory a powerful enough suppression charm should suppress the curse symptoms."
"Meaning what?" Guts questioned, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the other foot to drop. What would it cost him? What would it take?
"Meaning that you can finally go to bed," Ciri informed him, earning a sharp look from him. "And not have to worry about monsters every time the sun sets. I'm sure that you'll miss that a little, but you'll have a lot fewer reasons to be so grumpy." She remarked, trying to break the tension with a joke. Guts didn't laugh. It felt like something heavy was sitting on his chest, and the tension was forming a powerful knot between his shoulderblades.
He worked his jaw for a moment, not even knowing what he was feeling. Relief, maybe? Uncertainty, for certain. It wasn't that he wasn't… happy that the effects of the Brand would be sealed away, it was that he didn't trust it. Good things didn't come for free. It was the opposite. Good things had the greatest cost of all and it could only be paid for in suffering and blood. "How would you do it?" He questioned, not trusting it. Not in the slightest.
"I have a place that I'm staying within the city," Triss informed. "I should have what I need there. And I think I might even have something that would help in figuring out what that Brand is too," she remarked, her tone down right friendly.It made Guts trust her less and less with every word she spoke. "I think it would be best if we relocate there as soon as possible. I managed to find you because I was already looking. If someone else happens to be…"
Guts suppressed a twitch at that, unease coursing through him. It could be true. It was even probably true. It was how she found them. Or so she said. But it felt like Guts was being lead around by the nose, something he wasn't at all comfortable with. His gaze darted to Ciri, seeing her mod in agreement. Ciri trusted Triss. What their relationship was wasn't clear, but there was absolute trust there. She knew that she could rely on Triss.
That was the only reason why Guts didn't walk away, he knew deep in his soul. "Fine," Guts bit the word out, agreeing before he changed his mind and rose to his full height. Triss cocked an eyebrow at his tone but Ciri was quick to smooth over any ruffle feathers. "Don't take it personally. He's not a very trusting fellow."
"Who clearly doesn't mind being talked about to his face," Dandelion remarked, earning a grunt of agreement from Guts. "Well, it's a sad thing to see you go so soon, my dear. Just know that the Hall of Rosemary and Thyme shall always open its doors for you. And you as well, Triss, even if I do feel a mit ignored." Dandelion said, throwing in a theatrical bow that had both women rolling their eyes but smiles tugged at their lips.
"You'll be less ignored when you get this place up and running, Dandelion. I only stayed away because of the smell. And because I didn't want to bring trouble to your doorstep," Triss offered, earning a roguish grin from Dandelion.
"Why, I always welcome trouble at my doorstep, Triss. Especially when it's friends that bring it," Dandelion stated, raising from his bow. Guts gave the bard a measuring look that lingered before he looked away, grabbing Dragonslayer to resheath the blade on his back. Flowery appearance aside, Guts could hear the sincerity in the man's statement. He had more mettle than Guts gave him credit for.
With a promise to return, the three of them left the run down brothel, following Triss through the streets. Guts noticed something quickly. Or, rather, it was the absence of something. He was tall and wide. He drew attention genuinely everywhere he went, if only out of a sense of self preservation. However, people didn't give him so much as a glance as they walked through the streets.
"I'm guessing that's how you managed to remain hidden?" Ciri questioned as they walked, proving that she noticed it too.
"A careful bit of spell work," Triss admitted without pause. "It helps you blend in, but it won't stop anyone from seeing you if they're looking for you and have a description. Such as a witch with red hair," Triss admitted and Guts' guard rose with the statement. She was using magic to manipulate people's perception? Their minds? How did he knew that wasn't the case for him as well? Did she make him more agreeable-
"Psst. PSST!" Puck whispered from his pouch and Guts looked down at the e- fairy to see that a pale blue hand was giving him a thumbs up. "She's okay. You can trust her." Puck vouched for Triss and Guts swallowed a scoff. As if. The only reason he was willing to entertain that idea was because Triss shouldn't know about Puck. Then again, he didn't know the limitations of magic, so perhaps she did and she was merely not giving an indication that she did.
His instincts were screaming at him, but they were screaming wordlessly. He felt like he was walking into a situation that he wasn't equipped to handle because he didn't know how to fight against magic. Not this kind.
"In Novigrad, I'm Trancisica Meriden. Lower mobility fleeing the war. I doubt that the cover will last forever, though. The Witch Hunters are surprisingly proficient. Some of us think that they have mages working for them," Triss spoke as they walked through the city. They were entering finer parts of it, that was for certain -- the roads were less crowded, the buildings were made out of fine stone and the area was cleaner. Noble quarters, if Guts had to guess.
"Willingly?" Guts questioned, trying to get a handle on the dynamics of the land. Now that he knew that mages had actual magic, the Witch Hunters' existence was questionable. He thought they were fools that were grabbing hedge witches, wise women, and anyone else that was a social outcast to take to the torch, calling them mages because they couldn't understand what they did. But, if mages had this kind of power -- to move unseen in a crowd of people… it became a very real question of how they could be captured.
Triss glanced over her shoulder at him, her face a grimace. "Most… I imagine are tortured into compliance, but I'm certain there are a few that would help the Witch Hunters to be spared their wrath." That partly answered his question, but not all of it. It made since that a mage would be able to handle a mage, but not so much how regular men were able to capture and torture mages that they did get their hands on. Did they have their magic stolen? Suppressed? Or was there a hard limit to what magic could do?
"Do you know where?" Ciri questioned, an edge in her voice.
"I have an idea," Triss confirmed, saying nothing but everything at the same time. However, before Ciri could respond, Triss came to a stop. "This is us," she informed, pushing open the door to a high-class inn. Marble floors, statues and art lined the walls, the furniture was luxurious and the air was a sickening blend of perfumes. A single cushion was likely worth enough to feed a family of ten for a month.
Guts wasn't immune to wealth. He fought for years for coin, risking his life more times than he cared to count for a pouch of gold. But, he could never understand this -- the finery and splendor. It felt wasteful and pointless. Then again, he didn't have a drop of blue blood in him, maybe if he did, it wouldn't strike him as a complete waste of money.
Triss' entrance didn't go unnoticed by a well-dressed man with graying hair, his gaze flickering to Guts. It seems that he had been looking for them. Guts wondered if it was going to be a problem until Triss easily dismissed the man by claiming that Ciri was a noble friend while Guts was their mercenary bodyguard. A lie that the man easily swallowed and allowed them to enter Triss' quarters with no further issue.
Guts wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't to be greeted by the smell of old books and ink. The apartment was fine, equal to anything he saw in Midland during his brief tenure as a knight. However, it was completely cluttered with books and odd instruments that Guts couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of. It struck him as more of a storage room than it did a bedroom.
"Ciri, I need a drop of Ghoul's blood, ground Nostrix, and a vial of Arachas venom to start," Triss informed, navigating the mess while Ciri was left gaping at it for a long moment.
"Started hoarding, I see?" Ciri remarked as she followed through with the instructions, recognizing them amongst the mess of alchemical ingredients. Guts had visited an herbalist back in Oxenfurt to create more blackpowder, but he hadn't seen many of the reagents that were in the room in the shop. Telling him they were far more specialized and rarer in nature.
"Not by choice," Triss answered as she started to take stacks of books apart, looking for something in particular. "I'm looking for storage for most of it, but with the refugee crisis, it's become next to impossible. I was smuggling it out where I could, only for the men that I used to get hanged by the law." Meaning that she couldn't just outright mind-control people? Guts stood silently by the door, watching the two women work at their own tasks.
"Have things really gotten that bad for sorcerers in the city?" Ciri questioned, gathering another list of ingredients and begining to prepare them with practiced ease. From Guts' view, the mixture was becoming a thick paste.
"Things have gotten that bad in general," Triss admitted, a sigh in her voice, grabbing a book and setting it to the side before she took over making the paste. "Don't tell Yen this, but she was right. The Lodge overreached and now everyone is suffering for it."
Ciri perked up, "Have you heard anything about her? Dandelion told me that she was missing."
To that, Triss shook her head. "The last I heard, Geralt was looking for her." There was an odd tone in her voice. Almost like she was nervous about him finding her. "I've heard rumors on the occasion, but mages have learned to keep hidden. Even from each other. I'm sorry, but I don't know any more than you do." Triss told her, and she did sound genuinely sad about that.
Guts got the impression that the relationship between Triss, Yennifer, and Geralt was complicated in nature.
"Now," Triss spoke up while Ciri looked sad momentarily, "despite the Witch Hunters best efforts, I think I may have something about that Brand." Triss said, picking up the book that she set to the side. Guts felt doubt well up inside of him but his curiosity got the better of him. He never cared about the answers of who and what or even why in regard to the Brand. He only cared about what it could do. Now, answers were being offered and he found himself wanting to know.
"I don't have any talent for mystic languages, but I managed to rescue this from a book burning," Triss informed, flipping the heft tome open and Guts saw that it was ancient. "It's a theory proposed by a Magnus Pemberton two centuries after the Convergence about the nature of language."
Guts frowned at the book while Ciri cocked an eyebrow, also not seeing the connection. Leaving Triss to elaborate. "Guts, you're from a different Sphere, correct?" She questioned, earning a curt nod from him. "Yet, here we are, conversing without any difficulty despite all the rules of linguistics and local dialects. By all means, you should be hearing gibberish from me. We shouldn't be speaking the same language, yet we are."
His eye narrowed, understanding exactly what she was getting at while Ciri's face pinched. "I… I've never had any difficulty communicating. Some places have additional languages, but I've never been to a Sphere where I couldn't talk to anyone." She admitted, earning a small laugh from Triss.
"Poor Pemberton. Born a few centuries too early," Triss remarked, flipping through the pages with great care. "What he purposed was that all languages, throughout the Spheres, had a single root language. He called it the true language of men: Babel. He spent the entirety of his life searching for signs that his theory was correct -- he was a real adventurer in his time -- but he never found concrete evidence. What he did find is a working theory," Triss continued, flipping to a page before stopping.
Guts couldn't read a single word on the pages, but he did see one thing that made his heart clench in his chest. It wasn't the Brand that was on his neck, but it was damn close. The only difference was there wasn't a line through the intersection or a third prong. "How did he find this?" Guts growled the question, his Brand throbbing with a phantom pain. A pain received when it seared itself into the side of his neck.
"I wish I knew," Triss answered him, sounding apologetic. "If Pemberton ever wrote it down, then the Witch Hunters burned it. If he didn't, then he took the secret to his grave. But, he did theorize that if you find ruins old enough in any Sphere, then you could find evidence of Babel."
"Okay," Ciri muttered, taking the book while Triss seemed to be placing the finishing touches on whatever it was that she was making. "So… we… what, exactly?" Ciri asked, sounding at a loss on what to do with the information.
The Eclipse flashed through his mind, all of it. "The only types to use it would be gods," Guts grunted, earning a puzzled look from Ciri. "Making it powerful, right?" He ventured and Triss seemed surprised that he arrived at that conclusion, and he could see that she started to have questions of her own.
"Exactly," Triss nodded. "I believe I can suppress the Brand, but it is a question of how long or even how much. The only way to completely suppress it would be to use Babel. The language of the gods," she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't suppose you would happen to know anyone-"
"No," Guts snarled the world with enough force that Triss took a half step back, her eyes widening a fraction. Her gaze flickered to Ciri, who simply sighed before Triss looked back to him. The only one he could think of would be Skull Knight, but that was a reach.
"I- very well then," Triss decided, letting the topic drop. "Take a seat then and I can apply the seal. It won't take but a moment," she requested and Guts stilled. He had to make a decision. He didn't trust Triss in the slightest before, and what he knew of magic made him actively distrust her now. His gaze slid to Ciri, almost of their own will to see that her expression was excited. She was feeling anticipation for him.
Against his better nature, Guts took a seat, setting Dragonslayer to the side.
In one hand, Triss carried the bowl and with the other, she began to shift through the air before she spoke. Guts didn't understand the words, but he could feel them humming with power. A thick black ink rose up from the bowl, leaving a dried out paste before the black ink moved forward. He felt it circling near the Brand before there was a slight pinch and a flash of warmth. "There, all done," Triss said, setting the bowl down. Ciri drew her sword and offered the blade as a reflection so Guts could see the seal. Around the Brand was a chain of what looked like letters in a language he couldn't read that formed three rings.
A hand went to it to find smooth skin. A tattoo, in practice.
Even seeing it, Guts didn't believe it would work. He wouldn't until the dead left him alone when the sun set. "What about getting me back to my Sphere?" He questioned, raising back to his feet. Ciri did seem a bit disappointed that he wasn't happier, but also didn't seem very surprised. Triss cocked an eyebrow, clearly expecting a thank you. She was left wanting.
"As I said, to even make an attempt to guide you back to your Sphere, I would need a lot more resources than I have. Sorcerers, to start with. Yen would be ideal, but the only other one I would trust with something like this would be Philippa Eilhart, but I haven't seen her in about a year now. And when I did, she was focused on regrowing her eyes." Triss stated, crossing her arms over her chest.
He knew exactly where this was going. "How can we get you the resources that you need?" Guts questioned and Triss gave him a slight smirk of approval. He preferred it. A give and take. To be helped, he had to help her first. He trusted that a lot more than the kindness of her heart.
"I can think of a few things… but it is going to be rather difficult for you," Triss said, her smile widening and Guts was reminded of a cat that was about to swallow a mouse. "It involves a lot of smiling."
In general, he didn't know what to make of any of the characters he found himself surrounded by. Dudu was a creature -- a monster. It was a difficult change to make, Guts reflected in silence -- he spent the past few years guided by the Brand on his neck, letting it guide him to apostles. Without fail, when he found one that made his Brand bleed, he killed them. Without fail. It made standing in the room with a creature and not killing it… feel unnatural.
He had to remind himself that Dudu wasn't an apostle. He hadn't sacrificed his humanity for the sake of power, enslaving himself to the Godhand. Dudu was never human in the first place. Still, the creature made Guts uneasy, especially when he seemed so unassuming or stole brief glances at Guts before returning his attention to the reunion.
Dandelion was… Guts wasn't even sure. His outfit was loud and obnoxious -- bright purple, burnished gold jewelry, and white ruffles. It was beyond impractical by any metric. Unless you were trying to be the center of attention in every single room that you were in, and based on what Guts gleamed from the brief interaction he had with the man, that didn't seem far off. What relationship he had with Ciri was a bit of a mystery, but he seemed to be some kind of parental figure.
Guts wasn't sure how Ciri managed to talk him into this, he thought to himself, watching the redheaded woman and Ciri hug, both overjoyed to see one another. Triss -- the red head -- didn't seem that old. Guts would put her in her early to mid-twenties. Her clothing told Guts that she was trying to be discrete and avoid attention, but she didn't know what it was like to be poor. Her clothing and cloak were finely made, and more importantly, they were clean. A dead giveaway that she had money, and that would bring all the wrong kinds of attention right to her.
"Triss! I- what are you doing here? We were about to start looking for you!" Ciri exclaimed, breaking the hug, but still holding onto Triss by her hands. Triss seemed to drink Ciri in, her dark green eyes lingering on the scar on her cheek, a small disbelieving laugh escaping her.
"I'm- well, I was looking for something. Some of my instruments picked up a magical disturbance, and I thought it might have been a mage. I was here to find them before the Witch Hunters did," Triss confessed. "Was that you? Wait, no… it was… you?" Triss questioned, sounding surprised by it and her expression grew increasingly surprised as she took measure of Guts.
Ciri looked between them because Guts didn't respond verbally beyond looking at Ciri with an expression that conveyed 'you explain.' Ciri picked up on it with no issue, "That's actually what we wanted to find you for. This is Guts -- he's a friend. One that I think I kidnapped from his Sphere on my way to this one," Ciri explained and Dandelion threw back his head, looking to the heaven as if he were praying for strength.
While Dudu chuckled, Triss seemed contemplative. "That could explain it, I suppose," Triss remarked, approaching Guts with a complete absence of fear. That either meant that she was an idiot, or there was truth to what Ciri said. Guts had never seen a magician before. In his travels across Midgard, fighting as a mercenary, he had met plenty that claimed to be, but they always turned out to be con artists.
Any thought that Triss was just another con artist in a long line of con artists was brushed away when sparks of light emerged from her fingertips when she came to a stop directly infront of him, something flashing over her eyes. Whatever she saw made her brow furrow, "I don't suppose you could bend down for me? There's something on your neck I need to see," she requested.
She sensed the Brand. More than the little sparks of light, that convinced Guts that Triss had… something. He wasn't sure if he was willing to believe in magic outright, but Triss had something that was supernatural. Beyond what any regular human would have.
"You can trust her, Guts," Ciri echoed, offering an encouraging smile. "If there's anyone that can help you, its Triss," she added and Guts just grunted in response. Trust. That wouldn't happen. The days of trust died with the Band of the Hawk. But, Guts couldn't deny it.
His joints felt like they were filled with sand. Every muscle ached and was sore. His strength was sapped and his thoughts were sluggish. It had been a week since he last slept and while it wasn't the longest he had gone without, it didn't mean the effects weren't wearing him down. When Ciri made her offer, Guts hadn't put an ounce of stock into it. It was clearly a desperate move, trying to use the closest thing he had to a weakness against him to prevent him from abandoning her and the kids.
Because of it, Guts never really stopped to consider…
Could Triss help him? To get rid of the side effects of the Brand while keeping the reasons why he needed it -- to help him hunt apostles?
Ciri almost seemed to sense his thoughts because her smile took a sadder edge to it, "Come on, Guts. The worst thing that can happen is that she can't help you, and that just means we try something else," she encouraged, making Guts scowl at how easily she had been able to read him. Guts couldn't hear it, but he was sure that Puck was having a laugh in his pouch.
"Fine," Guts growled the word out, reaching back to unsheath Dragonslayer, making Triss' eyes widen while Dandelion sputtered when Guts leaned it against the bar.
"No- no! The floor, you'll ruin the fl- oh, never mind," he grumbled, dragging a hand over his face as Guts took a seat on a bench, allowing Triss to look down at him. He clenched his jaw when he first felt Triss' hands lightly touch the side of his neck. Where the Brand was.
He hated being touched. It was a hatred that never faded. There had only been one person whose touch he learned to welcome… and she was more than a world away.
If Triss noticed then she kept it to herself, "I recognize the root of the marking." Triss remarked, surprising Guts because he fully expected this to be a dead end. "But, I've never seen it used like this before. How did it wind up on you? Because this is… it's incredible magic. I've never seen anything like it."
An image of the Eclipse flashed in his mind, making him clench his teeth. However, it was Ciri that spoke up.
"What do you mean by that? It's a curse, right?" That's what it was. A Brand of Sacrifice, marking him for eternal damnation in that chaotic tide of consciousness to suffer for eternity. Guts had no faith in heaven's existence, but he had seen hell with his own eyes.
"A curse?" Triss questioned and when Guts refused to speak, Ciri spoke for him.
"It attracts monsters to him. And evil spirits. I've never seen anything like it, but as soon as the sun goes down, shadows become alive with ghosts that can possess corpses. Guts would know more, but he doesn't seem to be in the mood for using his words," she remarked, earning an agreeing grunt from Guts. Triss did seem faintly amused by the byplay while Dandelion paled at the prospect, realizing why they had a deadline to get out of the city.
Triss lightly touched near the Brand, making Guts tense and grit his teeth. "This is preliminary, but that could be a side effect rather than intention," Triss said, a frown in her voice. "The reason why I noticed you -- that my instruments picked up on your presence -- is because this Brand is… weird, for a lack of a better word. The reason why I noticed it was because it's drawing a huge amount of power towards it. I almost mistook it for a Source, but it's the exact opposite."
What that meant, Guts didn't have a clue but it did mean something to Ciri based on how startled she seemed. Triss continued without missing a beat, "It acts… almost like a spigot, in a way. It's drawing power -- chaos -- from this world and funneling it through the Brand." Guts twitched at that, something that Triss didn't miss. "Does that mean something to you?"
He didn't want to tell them. It was his business. And try as they might, they could never understand what transpired that day. "The Brand. It's a mark of sacrifice," Guts stated, knowing that he had to offer the information. There wasn't a point to withholding it beyond his pride and privacy. "It was put on me for the ascension of another."
"Is someone feeding off of it? Like a parasite?" Ciri questioned, sounding genuinely alarmed by what she heard, a hand going to her sword as if she was willing to fight. Guts felt tired seeing it. A deep exhaustion that seemed to hollow out his bones and fill them with lead.
"I wouldn't say that yet," Triss stated, withdrawing her hands form his neck. "The Brand itself, in function, seems to be a signal fire and a hole. I can't be certain if the chaos that it draws to it is being funneled away somewhere else, or if it's just being released from our world and dispersed. The difference being akin to whether a waterskin with a hole in it is being used to fill up a cup or simply spilling out on the floor."
Guts grunted, understanding what she meant. "And how could you learn which it is?" He questioned, his voice a low growl at the mere idea that Griffith could be feasting off of him. While he didn't really understand everything that they were saying -- Sources, chaos, magic -- he understood more than enough to paint a picture. He could be acting as a parasite in this world, leeching away at this 'chaos' to feed it to Griffith, making him stronger.
He'd sooner slit his own throat than allow that.
"I… would need rather specialized tools. And help," Triss admitted after a long moment, her gaze flickering to Ciri. "Just peering past our Sphere is an incredible feat, Ciri. Looking into another would normally be outright impossible. The only reason why I won't say that it isn't in this case is because of the Brand and… you. If this Brand is connected to another Sphere, then that means there is, in theory, a trail to be followed. Your ability to jump between Spheres, if focused, in theory, could allow us to see where that trail leads. But, to even see if it is possible, we need your help."
"You have it," Ciri decided, speaking without a moment of hesitation. Guts felt a pang of… something in his chest. What it was, he didn't know before he crushed it into nothing. "But if the curse aspects of the Brand are side effects, then can you do anything about them?" She pressed and Guts prepared himself for the no that was coming. He didn't mind it. If it meant the Brand helped him find apostles, then he was more than happy to trade sleepless nights filled with violence.
Triss hesitated for a long moment, giving Guts his answer- "I should be able to," Triss answered after a long pause. "Knowing exactly what the Brand is sure would help with that, but in theory a powerful enough suppression charm should suppress the curse symptoms."
"Meaning what?" Guts questioned, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the other foot to drop. What would it cost him? What would it take?
"Meaning that you can finally go to bed," Ciri informed him, earning a sharp look from him. "And not have to worry about monsters every time the sun sets. I'm sure that you'll miss that a little, but you'll have a lot fewer reasons to be so grumpy." She remarked, trying to break the tension with a joke. Guts didn't laugh. It felt like something heavy was sitting on his chest, and the tension was forming a powerful knot between his shoulderblades.
He worked his jaw for a moment, not even knowing what he was feeling. Relief, maybe? Uncertainty, for certain. It wasn't that he wasn't… happy that the effects of the Brand would be sealed away, it was that he didn't trust it. Good things didn't come for free. It was the opposite. Good things had the greatest cost of all and it could only be paid for in suffering and blood. "How would you do it?" He questioned, not trusting it. Not in the slightest.
"I have a place that I'm staying within the city," Triss informed. "I should have what I need there. And I think I might even have something that would help in figuring out what that Brand is too," she remarked, her tone down right friendly.It made Guts trust her less and less with every word she spoke. "I think it would be best if we relocate there as soon as possible. I managed to find you because I was already looking. If someone else happens to be…"
Guts suppressed a twitch at that, unease coursing through him. It could be true. It was even probably true. It was how she found them. Or so she said. But it felt like Guts was being lead around by the nose, something he wasn't at all comfortable with. His gaze darted to Ciri, seeing her mod in agreement. Ciri trusted Triss. What their relationship was wasn't clear, but there was absolute trust there. She knew that she could rely on Triss.
That was the only reason why Guts didn't walk away, he knew deep in his soul. "Fine," Guts bit the word out, agreeing before he changed his mind and rose to his full height. Triss cocked an eyebrow at his tone but Ciri was quick to smooth over any ruffle feathers. "Don't take it personally. He's not a very trusting fellow."
"Who clearly doesn't mind being talked about to his face," Dandelion remarked, earning a grunt of agreement from Guts. "Well, it's a sad thing to see you go so soon, my dear. Just know that the Hall of Rosemary and Thyme shall always open its doors for you. And you as well, Triss, even if I do feel a mit ignored." Dandelion said, throwing in a theatrical bow that had both women rolling their eyes but smiles tugged at their lips.
"You'll be less ignored when you get this place up and running, Dandelion. I only stayed away because of the smell. And because I didn't want to bring trouble to your doorstep," Triss offered, earning a roguish grin from Dandelion.
"Why, I always welcome trouble at my doorstep, Triss. Especially when it's friends that bring it," Dandelion stated, raising from his bow. Guts gave the bard a measuring look that lingered before he looked away, grabbing Dragonslayer to resheath the blade on his back. Flowery appearance aside, Guts could hear the sincerity in the man's statement. He had more mettle than Guts gave him credit for.
With a promise to return, the three of them left the run down brothel, following Triss through the streets. Guts noticed something quickly. Or, rather, it was the absence of something. He was tall and wide. He drew attention genuinely everywhere he went, if only out of a sense of self preservation. However, people didn't give him so much as a glance as they walked through the streets.
"I'm guessing that's how you managed to remain hidden?" Ciri questioned as they walked, proving that she noticed it too.
"A careful bit of spell work," Triss admitted without pause. "It helps you blend in, but it won't stop anyone from seeing you if they're looking for you and have a description. Such as a witch with red hair," Triss admitted and Guts' guard rose with the statement. She was using magic to manipulate people's perception? Their minds? How did he knew that wasn't the case for him as well? Did she make him more agreeable-
"Psst. PSST!" Puck whispered from his pouch and Guts looked down at the e- fairy to see that a pale blue hand was giving him a thumbs up. "She's okay. You can trust her." Puck vouched for Triss and Guts swallowed a scoff. As if. The only reason he was willing to entertain that idea was because Triss shouldn't know about Puck. Then again, he didn't know the limitations of magic, so perhaps she did and she was merely not giving an indication that she did.
His instincts were screaming at him, but they were screaming wordlessly. He felt like he was walking into a situation that he wasn't equipped to handle because he didn't know how to fight against magic. Not this kind.
"In Novigrad, I'm Trancisica Meriden. Lower mobility fleeing the war. I doubt that the cover will last forever, though. The Witch Hunters are surprisingly proficient. Some of us think that they have mages working for them," Triss spoke as they walked through the city. They were entering finer parts of it, that was for certain -- the roads were less crowded, the buildings were made out of fine stone and the area was cleaner. Noble quarters, if Guts had to guess.
"Willingly?" Guts questioned, trying to get a handle on the dynamics of the land. Now that he knew that mages had actual magic, the Witch Hunters' existence was questionable. He thought they were fools that were grabbing hedge witches, wise women, and anyone else that was a social outcast to take to the torch, calling them mages because they couldn't understand what they did. But, if mages had this kind of power -- to move unseen in a crowd of people… it became a very real question of how they could be captured.
Triss glanced over her shoulder at him, her face a grimace. "Most… I imagine are tortured into compliance, but I'm certain there are a few that would help the Witch Hunters to be spared their wrath." That partly answered his question, but not all of it. It made since that a mage would be able to handle a mage, but not so much how regular men were able to capture and torture mages that they did get their hands on. Did they have their magic stolen? Suppressed? Or was there a hard limit to what magic could do?
"Do you know where?" Ciri questioned, an edge in her voice.
"I have an idea," Triss confirmed, saying nothing but everything at the same time. However, before Ciri could respond, Triss came to a stop. "This is us," she informed, pushing open the door to a high-class inn. Marble floors, statues and art lined the walls, the furniture was luxurious and the air was a sickening blend of perfumes. A single cushion was likely worth enough to feed a family of ten for a month.
Guts wasn't immune to wealth. He fought for years for coin, risking his life more times than he cared to count for a pouch of gold. But, he could never understand this -- the finery and splendor. It felt wasteful and pointless. Then again, he didn't have a drop of blue blood in him, maybe if he did, it wouldn't strike him as a complete waste of money.
Triss' entrance didn't go unnoticed by a well-dressed man with graying hair, his gaze flickering to Guts. It seems that he had been looking for them. Guts wondered if it was going to be a problem until Triss easily dismissed the man by claiming that Ciri was a noble friend while Guts was their mercenary bodyguard. A lie that the man easily swallowed and allowed them to enter Triss' quarters with no further issue.
Guts wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't to be greeted by the smell of old books and ink. The apartment was fine, equal to anything he saw in Midland during his brief tenure as a knight. However, it was completely cluttered with books and odd instruments that Guts couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of. It struck him as more of a storage room than it did a bedroom.
"Ciri, I need a drop of Ghoul's blood, ground Nostrix, and a vial of Arachas venom to start," Triss informed, navigating the mess while Ciri was left gaping at it for a long moment.
"Started hoarding, I see?" Ciri remarked as she followed through with the instructions, recognizing them amongst the mess of alchemical ingredients. Guts had visited an herbalist back in Oxenfurt to create more blackpowder, but he hadn't seen many of the reagents that were in the room in the shop. Telling him they were far more specialized and rarer in nature.
"Not by choice," Triss answered as she started to take stacks of books apart, looking for something in particular. "I'm looking for storage for most of it, but with the refugee crisis, it's become next to impossible. I was smuggling it out where I could, only for the men that I used to get hanged by the law." Meaning that she couldn't just outright mind-control people? Guts stood silently by the door, watching the two women work at their own tasks.
"Have things really gotten that bad for sorcerers in the city?" Ciri questioned, gathering another list of ingredients and begining to prepare them with practiced ease. From Guts' view, the mixture was becoming a thick paste.
"Things have gotten that bad in general," Triss admitted, a sigh in her voice, grabbing a book and setting it to the side before she took over making the paste. "Don't tell Yen this, but she was right. The Lodge overreached and now everyone is suffering for it."
Ciri perked up, "Have you heard anything about her? Dandelion told me that she was missing."
To that, Triss shook her head. "The last I heard, Geralt was looking for her." There was an odd tone in her voice. Almost like she was nervous about him finding her. "I've heard rumors on the occasion, but mages have learned to keep hidden. Even from each other. I'm sorry, but I don't know any more than you do." Triss told her, and she did sound genuinely sad about that.
Guts got the impression that the relationship between Triss, Yennifer, and Geralt was complicated in nature.
"Now," Triss spoke up while Ciri looked sad momentarily, "despite the Witch Hunters best efforts, I think I may have something about that Brand." Triss said, picking up the book that she set to the side. Guts felt doubt well up inside of him but his curiosity got the better of him. He never cared about the answers of who and what or even why in regard to the Brand. He only cared about what it could do. Now, answers were being offered and he found himself wanting to know.
"I don't have any talent for mystic languages, but I managed to rescue this from a book burning," Triss informed, flipping the heft tome open and Guts saw that it was ancient. "It's a theory proposed by a Magnus Pemberton two centuries after the Convergence about the nature of language."
Guts frowned at the book while Ciri cocked an eyebrow, also not seeing the connection. Leaving Triss to elaborate. "Guts, you're from a different Sphere, correct?" She questioned, earning a curt nod from him. "Yet, here we are, conversing without any difficulty despite all the rules of linguistics and local dialects. By all means, you should be hearing gibberish from me. We shouldn't be speaking the same language, yet we are."
His eye narrowed, understanding exactly what she was getting at while Ciri's face pinched. "I… I've never had any difficulty communicating. Some places have additional languages, but I've never been to a Sphere where I couldn't talk to anyone." She admitted, earning a small laugh from Triss.
"Poor Pemberton. Born a few centuries too early," Triss remarked, flipping through the pages with great care. "What he purposed was that all languages, throughout the Spheres, had a single root language. He called it the true language of men: Babel. He spent the entirety of his life searching for signs that his theory was correct -- he was a real adventurer in his time -- but he never found concrete evidence. What he did find is a working theory," Triss continued, flipping to a page before stopping.
Guts couldn't read a single word on the pages, but he did see one thing that made his heart clench in his chest. It wasn't the Brand that was on his neck, but it was damn close. The only difference was there wasn't a line through the intersection or a third prong. "How did he find this?" Guts growled the question, his Brand throbbing with a phantom pain. A pain received when it seared itself into the side of his neck.
"I wish I knew," Triss answered him, sounding apologetic. "If Pemberton ever wrote it down, then the Witch Hunters burned it. If he didn't, then he took the secret to his grave. But, he did theorize that if you find ruins old enough in any Sphere, then you could find evidence of Babel."
"Okay," Ciri muttered, taking the book while Triss seemed to be placing the finishing touches on whatever it was that she was making. "So… we… what, exactly?" Ciri asked, sounding at a loss on what to do with the information.
The Eclipse flashed through his mind, all of it. "The only types to use it would be gods," Guts grunted, earning a puzzled look from Ciri. "Making it powerful, right?" He ventured and Triss seemed surprised that he arrived at that conclusion, and he could see that she started to have questions of her own.
"Exactly," Triss nodded. "I believe I can suppress the Brand, but it is a question of how long or even how much. The only way to completely suppress it would be to use Babel. The language of the gods," she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't suppose you would happen to know anyone-"
"No," Guts snarled the world with enough force that Triss took a half step back, her eyes widening a fraction. Her gaze flickered to Ciri, who simply sighed before Triss looked back to him. The only one he could think of would be Skull Knight, but that was a reach.
"I- very well then," Triss decided, letting the topic drop. "Take a seat then and I can apply the seal. It won't take but a moment," she requested and Guts stilled. He had to make a decision. He didn't trust Triss in the slightest before, and what he knew of magic made him actively distrust her now. His gaze slid to Ciri, almost of their own will to see that her expression was excited. She was feeling anticipation for him.
Against his better nature, Guts took a seat, setting Dragonslayer to the side.
In one hand, Triss carried the bowl and with the other, she began to shift through the air before she spoke. Guts didn't understand the words, but he could feel them humming with power. A thick black ink rose up from the bowl, leaving a dried out paste before the black ink moved forward. He felt it circling near the Brand before there was a slight pinch and a flash of warmth. "There, all done," Triss said, setting the bowl down. Ciri drew her sword and offered the blade as a reflection so Guts could see the seal. Around the Brand was a chain of what looked like letters in a language he couldn't read that formed three rings.
A hand went to it to find smooth skin. A tattoo, in practice.
Even seeing it, Guts didn't believe it would work. He wouldn't until the dead left him alone when the sun set. "What about getting me back to my Sphere?" He questioned, raising back to his feet. Ciri did seem a bit disappointed that he wasn't happier, but also didn't seem very surprised. Triss cocked an eyebrow, clearly expecting a thank you. She was left wanting.
"As I said, to even make an attempt to guide you back to your Sphere, I would need a lot more resources than I have. Sorcerers, to start with. Yen would be ideal, but the only other one I would trust with something like this would be Philippa Eilhart, but I haven't seen her in about a year now. And when I did, she was focused on regrowing her eyes." Triss stated, crossing her arms over her chest.
He knew exactly where this was going. "How can we get you the resources that you need?" Guts questioned and Triss gave him a slight smirk of approval. He preferred it. A give and take. To be helped, he had to help her first. He trusted that a lot more than the kindness of her heart.
"I can think of a few things… but it is going to be rather difficult for you," Triss said, her smile widening and Guts was reminded of a cat that was about to swallow a mouse. "It involves a lot of smiling."
Arimai
Curmudgeon
@Ideas-Guy your story is much better than the second half of Season 2 of Witcher. Likely better than Season 3 as well. Given they had to bribe Cavil double his rate with the promise of sticking closer to the books for him to stay for Season 2. They offered him a 30 million bonus for Season 3 and he walked away over his disappointment with the writers. Your take on the setting and its characters are truer than Netflix's adaptation. It is invigorating. Thank you.
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Guts can smile it just comes off as a Slasher grin and she doesn't realize actually he is versed in court protocol.
Bittersweet Memories
- Location
- USA
The seal worked, and Guts had absolutely no idea how to feel about it. Night came and went without so much as a single hateful whisper from those that had died but were unable to move on, their hate and envy anchoring them to this plane of reality. Despite Ciri urging him to go to sleep before he died of sleep deprivation, Guts had stayed up for the first night, Dragonslayer in hand, just outside of the city.
It had been a long night of silence. The tranquility was only broken by the sounds of men off in the distance as refugees continue to pour into the refugee camp outside of the walls and sounds of nature. With the refugees came tales of horror. Monsters in Oxenfurt, creatures that could summon the dead and vengeful spirits -- Puck had just about killed himself laughing at that one. Though, those tales paled in comparison to the stories of the Nilfgaardians.
Guts stayed out a second night as well, just to make sure that the first night hadn't been a fluke. As well as a third. Each time, he heard tales about the war. More often than not, they conflicted. According to some, Oxenfurt had already fallen. Others said that it was being besieged. Others claimed that the Nilfgaardians had been rebuffed and defeated and that it was only a matter of time before the war was over.
It was rumor-mongering, but Guts was used to it. It was a well-honed talent to be able to sort through the mess of contradicting rumors to see where the stories lined up. If all the stories involved Oxenfurt or a battle, then that meant that the Nilfgaardians had managed to cross that bog. Which meant that there was an invasion underway. There wasn't any word about the North fighting a battle as of yet, that told Guts that there hadn't been one.
King Radovid seemed like a clever enough leader. The terrain was almost ideal for mounting a defense -- the cities were all seated by the river, making them naturally defensive, sustainable, and difficult to siege without the use of a navy. The war and its outcome didn't matter to Guts. Not really. This wasn't his world and it wasn't his war. The only reason he had a vested interest in keeping up with the news was self-interest -- Novigrad was a rich city. Guts had seen it. A thorough sack would be enough to finance a war several times over, meaning that the Nilgaardians were coming here. Eventually.
"The seal works," Guts muttered into the night, a fourth night passing without any sign of the vengeful spirits.
"Told ya'," Puck remarked, lounging in a hammock made with a bit of spiderweb and a leaf. "To think it took you four whole days to believe me," Puck added, shaking his head in disappointment while making a chidding sound. Guts just grunted, staring into the blackness of night, the truth of the matter settling on his shoulders.
Night was a time of battle. In the past two years, that was an undeniable fact. Some nights were worse than others, but without fail, he would have to fight. Resist. Struggle. That had been true for so long, Guts hardly remembered the time when that wasn't true, even if it had been true for most of his life. And now, with the seal, it no longer was. He could sleep at night. Every day didn't have to be a constant battle for survival.
And part of Guts hated it.
That part of him wanted to scratch the seal off with his bare hands, welcoming the fight. Fearing that without it, he would get soft. Weak. Because the battle was familiar. It was the only thing he knew and the only thing he had to know. Another part was in disbelief that the long nights were finally over. He was too stunned to feel overjoyed. He felt uncertainty for the most part because he didn't know what came next.
"You know, I can keep watch. If you want to sleep for once," Puck spoke up after a long lull, breaking the silence. Guts slept some during the day, a scant hour or two, but as Puck made the offer, Guts became increasingly aware of how utterly exhausted he felt. "I'll scream really loudly if there's any trouble! Promise! And I totally won't fall asleep on watch this time."
Guts didn't believe him in the slightest. But, all the same, he closed his eyes as he leaned against a tree overlooking the ocean and fell asleep.
…
"I'm thinking dark velvet with an inlay of white stitching. Black cloth, overall. The left sleeve folded up -- hiding the prosthetic will draw attention to it. Might as well have it be included in the outfit. Present it as a strength," Triss remarked, circling Guts like a shark as a team of seamstresses took measurements. They were careful not to touch him -- he had nearly scared one of the elven women off with a harsh look, and that got the message across. Guts was pretty sure that they were convinced that he was a racist, and Guts didn't care enough to dissuade them of the notion.
"My Lady, black on white…" An elf spoke up, trailing off as he looked pensive. He was dressed finely. Guts wasn't sure if he owned the tailor shop that they were in or if he represented it. In any case, he was in a position of authority and he was the one that was cobbled together an outfit for Guts, much to both of their displeasure.
"Nilfgaardian colors. Of course," Triss remarked, eyeing Guts up with a cynical gaze. "Terrible. It would have really brought out your eyes and frame."
Guts ignored her in favor of looking around the shop. The room was framed with spools of fabrics and stitching. He stood on a small stool that groaned underneath his weight before a set of mirrors that gave him a three-sided reflection of himself. His ratty, stained, and torn undershirt had been all but ripped off of him and probably taken out back to be burnt. His gaze drifted to his missing arm, the scars that littered his body, and the unyielding muscle under a thin layer of pale flesh.
A memory washed over him. "Dark navy. Gold stitching. White and gold half-cape thing," Guts growled the words out, surprising the team of seamstresses and Triss. Her dark red eyebrows quirked up, tilting her head at him before adopting a surprised expression. A very surprised expression. You'd think he grew a second head.
"That's… actually perfect. Dark colors work well with you, but gold projects a different kind of power. I'm shocked you have taste in fashion, Guts," Triss remarked, sounding absolutely delighted.
He didn't. Gaston did. A member of his raiders who really had no place at war. He was too happy, too optimistic. He became a mercenary only to save up enough money to open up his own tailoring shop -- one a lot like this one, Guts imagined. Everyone had been sick of him talking about all of the clothes he would one day make, but everyone had been happy for him when he cried tears of joy after the war was over and he purchased that shop.
Gaston. Who had closed down that store the moment he heard that the Band of the Hawk was in trouble. Gaston. Who died in the Eclipse because he was too loyal to be anywhere else than with the Raiders when they needed help. Gaston. Who achieved his dream, only to give it up for Griffith and he was repaid with betrayal and an eternity of hell.
"I don't," Guts retorted, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the memories down. Gaston had designed his last outfit. The one he wore to that dumb ball that was overstuffed with nobles turning their nose up at them. Gaston had been overjoyed when Guts asked, honored beyond words to make the outfit for him. It felt like nothing less than a betrayal to his memory to have a suit made by anyone else.
Triss seemed to take the hint and said nothing, simply nodding at the tailor to follow through on his suggestion. Piece by piece, the outfit started to come together and things were sped along thanks to Triss' magic. Nothing was stated, but there seemed to a deal between the two where he gave her clothes in exchange for her using magic to cut down the time and effort needed to complete an order. Which allowed him to take more orders and generate more money.
Because of it, the outfit was completed in short order and Guts hardly recognized himself by the time it was done. A navy colored dubblet with a high neckline that was lined with white frills. Tight-fitting trousers and knee-high boots. One sleeve was longer than the other with his prosthetic on display by tucking the fabric as if he had rolled up the sleeve. The image was complete by a stupid half-cape thing that was draped over one shoulder.
In short -- he looked like a moron and the type of idiot that he used to rob as a mercenary. Which, Guts could admit, was probably the point.
"I expected more grumbling and complaining," Triss admitted as she circled him a final time. She seemed satisfied with what she saw, even if Guts wasn't.
"Would it have changed anything?" Guts questioned, briefly wondering if he suffered in silence for nothing. His gaze kept drifting to the mirror. He looked like an absolute cad, but his reflection stirred memories that were better left forgotten. Of a stuffy party and a dance. One of the truly good memories that he had and he didn't want to taint it with everything that came after.
"No, not really," Triss agreed. "It's something that had to be done. This party isn't one we can afford to miss. And as much as it annoys you to dress up like a noble, I doubt you'd like it much better dressed as a servant." She continued, earning a grunt in agreement. The entire thing was unavoidable if he wanted to get back to his Sphere in a reasonable timeframe. "Everything needs to go off without a hitch, Guts. Everything. I do understand that it may kill you to smile, make small talk, and be polite, but I am asking that you do so."
Guts grunted. Pointedly. That earned a small sigh from Triss, rolling her eyes to the heavens as if there was a god up there that would grant her strength. That sky was empty and the only ones that offered strength were devils. "What's the party even about?" Guts questioned as the seamstresses made the last touches to his attire before they left, letting Guts step off the stool. Why he needed it when the seamstresses needed one of their own to reach his shoulders was beyond him.
"A holiday banquet, but that is just the reason for gathering. The truth of the matter is that its a meeting between displaced nobles and the City Council to discuss the ongoing war and Novigrads place in it over frilly cakes. Officially, Novigrad is neutral, but King Radovid has been exerting his influence over the city through the Witch Hunters and the Church of the Eternal Fire. He's pressuring for more… active involvement -- gold, supplies, manpower -- while the city is holding out until things are either desperate enough to throw in with the Northern Kingdoms or there's a large enough bribe on the table."
Triss sounded like she was in her element when she started speaking of the politics of the situation. Gut nodded, following along as he tested the mobility of his new attire. It was like they stitched wires into the clothing and he just barely resisted the temptation to pop a few threads if it meant being able to move properly. "What does that have to do with you?" Guts questioned, making Triss incline her head to him.
"It's an opportunity. There won't just be displaced nobility, but representatives from kingdoms across the world. One of these kingdoms is called Kovier. Nilfgaard has its mages on a tight leash while the Northern Kingdoms have turned to burning us where they can. Kovir is a poor country, but it smells opportunity. Mages are a versatile force equalizer -- A dozen of us at Sodden Hill managed to turn an absolute defeat to a victory." As she talked, she was moving, and Guts could see her mind racing.
Guts could see that easily enough. "Northern Kingdoms fall, Kovier is next on the chopping block." He ventured and glared in annoyance at the surprised look that Triss gave him, as if she didn't expect him to figure that out. He didn't know the details, but he knew war. And, ultimately, what her goal was. "Has a deal been made between you and Kovier or are you crossing your fingers and hoping?"
"The deal has been made through back channels, but details still need to be ironed out. Such as tonight's event where a diplomat will be bringing the next round of negotiations in addition to ways we can actually get up there. Portals work well enough, but stabilizing one to take us from one end of the world to another… That has inherent risks, so more mundane methods of travel are a must." Triss went on, sounding like she was still putting it all together in her head.
Guts nodded to himself, finding that he didn't particularly care one way or the other. He couldn't say he cared much for the Witch Hunters -- or at all, really -- but he had no stake in the fight. However, he knew it wouldn't be as simple as Triss was making it out to be. In exchange for tracking down his Sphere, they would undoubtedly try to leverage him helping them out of the country. A fair enough deal, if an annoying one. He couldn't blame Triss or the mages in any case -- getting burnt at the stake was a bad way to go for anyone.
"And my role in this mess?" Guts questioned, hoping that she had been joking about smiling. The only way he'd crack so much as a smirk is if it meant bashing a noble's head in. He never cared much for the nobility in general, but he couldn't deny that there was something satisfying about seeing snooty nobles or haughty knights falling from grace. Even as they died, they could never believe it because they couldn't believe that a lowborn bastard like him could ever get the better of them.
Before Triss could answer, the door swung open to reveal Ciri. Guts saw her- he saw her. The dress was low cut, mostly white with dark green accents. There were ruffles and curls that Ciri was visibly unhappy with, but she strode into the room with a familiar grace all the same. He had to look away, a muscle spasming in his jaw. She looked so much like Casca in that moment that it caused him physical pain. Almost as if someone was trying to rip his heart out through his throat.
"I can't fight in this thing," Ciri immediately grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I'm pretty sure the seamstresses think I'm a whore because I asked to make the fabric easy to tear," she added, making Triss roll her eyes with such force it was a wonder they didn't fall out of her head.
"There won't be any fighting," Triss said, looking between them. Then she paused and thought about that statement. "There shouldn't be any fighting," she amended. "What I need from the two of you is interference. Covering for me while I slip out to make contact with a few people. Maybe make a scene at most," Triss said, sounding exasperated and Guts narrowed his eyes at that. It seemed a little much, he thought to himself, to bring them into this party at late notice when all she was doing was making contact with a diplomat.
Why not meet them somewhere more isolated? Why not through a dead drop? Why not through a messenger or a proxy?
Triss wasn't giving them the whole story. She was planning something else at this party and she wasn't telling them what it was. Because she was using them?A possibility, but… Ciri and Triss were close. The kind of close that was hard to fake. Which led Guts to believe that she thought she was protecting them- or, rather, protecting Ciri.
He wasn't fond of entering situations blind, but it didn't matter. Whatever Triss was planning, it didn't involve him. So long as it meant he got back to his Sphere, then she could do what she liked.
…
"Are you ready for this, Lord Redfield?" Ciri questioned, a smirk playing at her lips as she sat across from him in a carriage that seemed determined to hit every single pot hole on the long winding dirt road to a villa outside of Novigrad. Her scar had been smoothed over, the puckered flesh filled with makeup. Using magic was apparently a no-go because Witch Hunters, on occasion, wore magical medallions that alerted them to the presence of magic.
Guts gazed out of the small window in the carriage for a moment, seeing the rolling hills and their ultimate destination. A fancy-looking villa made out of marble and gold from the looks of it. The carriage bucked, nearly losing a wheel because of where he'd stashed Dragonslayer on the bottom, balanced between the axles. "I'd rather fight monsters," Guts decided, knowing that the party was going to be far more tedious and annoying than a night of slaughter.
"Well, that makes two of us," Ciri agreed. "Judeau Redfield. I wish I got to come up with my own assumed name. Lady Amelia Willowwood. I actually knew her when I was a child. The most stuck-up little thing," Ciri chattered. "She would tell on me for every little thing that I did. Suppose I should thank her in the end, because the lengths I went to avoid getting seen by her were incredible."
Ciri was nervous, Guts realized after a moment. He glanced at her to see that her hands were in her lap, her knuckles painted and white. Her fingernails were painted and she was visibly restraining herself from picking at the dark green coloring. She also took his silence as permission to continue babbling. "Did you know a Judeau?" She questioned him, wincing when she saw his scowl that emerged on reflex. "Sorry."
His lips thinned as he kept his gaze focused on the outside, watching their encroaching doom inch closer and closer. Puck said he was keeping his nose clean of the party, but Guts harbored doubts. "I did," Guts answered after a long pause, uncertain that he was going to say anything at all.
For the life of him, he couldn't tell why Ciri seemed so pleased with the admission, even as they lapsed into silence once more. Guts watched the villa approach with an emotion that he could only describe as dread -- he hated parties before, and he hated them a great deal more now that the very idea of going to one dredged up so many memories. Memories he wanted to forget to spare them the taint of everything that came after.
Death was certain one way or another. How didn't matter. But, he hoped that… that one beautiful night could be the last memory he remembered as hell finally took its due. Until that day, whenever it might be, he wanted to leave the memory unbesmirched.
It felt like he was approaching his own execution when the carriage finally stopped. Ciri glanced at him, flashing him a smile that was more of a smirk. "I think you can leave the talking and the smiles to me," Ciri offered, affixing an ambivalent one to her face just as the carriage door was opened by a man dressed in finery, but clearly a member of the help. She gestured for him to go out first, and he was glad for it -- the carriage didn't offer much in the way of legroom.
"Lord Redfield," the man that opened the door greeted him, offering a bow while Ciri got out of the carriage. His lips thinned ever so slightly when Ciri extracted herself, his gaze flickering to him, as if he was supposed to do something. Guess he was starting the night off right with a faux pas. "Lady Willowwood. Lord Wilhelm Blecker welcomes you to his estate. If it pleases you, then follow me, my lord and lady." With that, the man in his mid-forties bowed before leading the way.
Ciri fell in step with him and through the large double doors, Guts heard the sounds of music and people talking. A woman that was singing softly in the background suddenly grew louder when the doors were opened for them, allowing Ciri and him to see the dancehall. Like everything else in the villa, it was a lot of white, almost to the point that it was blinding, and the only source of color came from the walls that were covered in tapestries and heraldry. Nobles did love their self-important lineage.
"Announcing Lord Judeau Redfield, accompanied by Ameilia Willowwood!" The man introduced them to a crowd of pompous-looking bluebloods, a number of which gave them a curious glance before quickly returning their attention back to whatever they were discussing. There were a good number of them whose gazes lingered on Guts in particular. He could admit that he stood out even without the prosthetic drawing attention.
He stood a good head taller than some and a head and shoulders taller than most. It allowed him to see across the crowd of people, his gaze drifting to the source of music to see a pretty blonde-haired minstrel singing as she strummed a lute. Her voice was soon joined by a familiar one -- Dandelion, who tossed Guts a wink as he sang, their voices harmonizing in a tune that wasn't… unpleasant.
"Now what?" Guts asked Ciri, who smiled at the people that met her gaze.
"We mingle," Ciri answered, gently laying a hand on his prosthetic, careful not to touch him any more than that, and she led him into the belly of the beast. He went with her with the utmost reluctance and despite every insistence from Triss beforehand that he try to blend in, Guts found himself scowling at everyone that approached them.
Because of it, few were willing to meet his gaze, choosing to speak to Ciri who was by far the most social of the two. She put on the act of being an empty-headed noble like it was an old pair of shoes -- laughing politely, smiling, and rumor mongering about everything under the sun and anything that never saw the light of day. Servants walked by, offering refreshments to everyone and as desperately as Guts wanted to drink to alleviate the mind-numbing tedium, he couldn't afford to. Especially considering that they didn't serve rum.
It didn't take Guts long to find that his opinion of these nobles was justified when he half-paid attention to a conversation that Ciri was engaged in. "It was absolutely dreadful getting here. Those peasants were battering at my carriage and throwing… dung… at my coachman. It's like they don't understand that I've been as devastated by the war as they have been. Oh, my poor wine cellar ransacked by Nilfgaardians…" a man in his early thirties muttered, his speech slurred ever so slightly but other than that, he was the picture of restraint as he complained about his hardship.
Just about everyone in this room was the very worst sort of nobility, Guts decided. The kind that were absolutely helpless and could only stand on the backs of greater men and their lineage. The banquet was to celebrate the Eternal Flame, or whatever it was called, but that was just a thin excuse for the pity party that was going on. Every single noble was complaining and grumbling about the war, the Nilfgaardians, or the ungrateful peasants that were displaced by the war. Because not a single one of them knew what hardship even looked like, much less experienced any.
Ciri offered her condolences and Guts could hear it in her voice that even she was running out of patience. Guts ignored the blathering in favor of scanning the crowd, looking for Triss. So far, he hadn't found her. However, by looking at Dandelion, he was able to guess either where she was or where she was going. The dancehall was an opulent room that could easily fit a hundred men with little difficulty, but it opened up to a garden from the looks of it. For more private discussions, Guts imagined.
It was as he looked to the gardens he caught the eye of someone looking at him. A man. Head shaved, a squarish face that was in a neutral scowl. Finely dressed, but clearly not nobility based on the practical clothing. That, and the scarring that marked one half of his face. The man's eyes narrowed the moment that Guts caught his gaze. He was suspicious.
"I'll be right back," Guts informed Ciri, breaking from her grip, much to her surprise. There was a downright pleading look in her eyes that Guts chose to ignore as he walked away, leaving the group of impoverished nobles to bad mouth him in his wake. Guts stepped into the dance floor, the crowd parting for him as he cut a line straight to the scarred man, who didn't move from his position by a window that overlooked the garden. "What do you want?" Guts asked him, his tone curt and to the point.
His experience being a spy or assassin hadn't gone particularly smoothly, but he knew how people thought. People like the man standing before him. When people were suspicious, they didn't expect the target of their suspicion to confront them. Simple.
"To have my curiosity indulged at the moment," the man replied after a moment, his gaze going to his prosthetic. "Your hand. Is it magic in nature?" He questioned, making Guts narrow his eyes at the man.
Witch Hunter. It was a bit of a leap, but all signs pointed to it. And he was one important enough to get invited to a fancy party.
In response, Guts reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a spoon. "Magnets," he said, letting the spoon catch the grip of the magnets in his metallic fingers. "They're not good for much, but it lets me grip a sword. That's all I need it for," Guts answered the question and the man smiled lightly.
"Clever," he remarked, nodding in approval. "Too often men are drawn in by magical solutions offered by wizards and witches that they miss the simplest solution right below their nose. He offered a hand, "Caleb Menge," he introduced himself as Guts accepted the handshake, feeling ill as he did so. "You're Guts, I presume?"
Guts went still at the mention of his name. However, Caleb continued to speak, his dark blue eyes sharp. "That's a strong name if I ever heard one. Speaks of character. I heard the name mentioned in a report from Oxenfurt. A tall, dark-haired man with a scar across the bridge of his nose and a prosthetic arm wielding a blade larger than most men are tall and wide. A man who had been in a battle with a terrible beast before vanishing in a flash of light."
He was going to kill him. Guts meant it this time. When he got his hands on Puck, Guts was going to squeeze the life out of him.
"A man that fits your description, who now stands before me bearing the name Redfield rubbing shoulders with nobility," Caleb continued, squeezing Guts hand tighter in an attempt to intimidate Guts. He failed. Guts was feeling far more annoyed than intimidated. "How did that come to be, I wonder?*
"By escaping the creature," Guts answered, not making any effort to hide who he was. There wasn't a point. "It teleported me to Crookback Bog, and sicced a fiend on me, but I managed to escape after killing it," Guts said, blending the lies with the truth.
Caleb's eyes narrowed ever so slightly even as his deadly smile grew a fraction, "It's a rare man that treats a fiend as anything more than an inconvenience."
Then it should have been more inconvenient. Ciri spoiled the one trick that it had. After that, it was nothing more than a big elk. "I'm here because it mentioned plans for Novigrad. Something about Oxenfurt being the start. I don't know. The thing was able to speak, but it didn't seem particularly intelligent," Guts continued, making Caleb stiffen. He seemed surprised-... No. Not surprised.
Caleb looked like a man that had just been handed the final piece to a puzzle and was shocked to see what the whole picture was.
"I must bring this information to his Majesty immediately," Caleb stated, leaping off the wall almost as if it had burned him. "You- you must come with me and present this to his Majesty-" Caleb began, reaching out for Guts, only to find his grip in a grip of his one. This time it was Guts turn to squeeze down and he found that he had far more success intimidating Caleb than Caleb did him.
"Who-" Guts started, only to be cut off by the same man who announced them.
"Announcing King Radovid! King of Redania and Kaedwen, Sovereign of Novigrad, and Protector of the North!" The announcer barked out with far more pride and enthusiasm as a young king strode down the carpet, much to the adoration of the impoverished nobles.
He was handsome. Early to mid-twenties, his head shaved with a thin beard, dressed in red and white, the colors of his kingdom. A golden crown sat atop his head as if people needed the reminder that he was king. This was the leader of the North? Guts had been mildly impressed with him for his tactics, but if he was here while there was a war going on, then Guts found himself a great deal less impressed.
And out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. A woman with black hair and a dark green dress was politely pushing through the crowd to head toward Radovid. A woman with a similar build to Triss.
At the same time, Radovid seemed to be heading right toward Guts and Caleb.
It seemed that this party was about to get a lot more interesting.
It had been a long night of silence. The tranquility was only broken by the sounds of men off in the distance as refugees continue to pour into the refugee camp outside of the walls and sounds of nature. With the refugees came tales of horror. Monsters in Oxenfurt, creatures that could summon the dead and vengeful spirits -- Puck had just about killed himself laughing at that one. Though, those tales paled in comparison to the stories of the Nilfgaardians.
Guts stayed out a second night as well, just to make sure that the first night hadn't been a fluke. As well as a third. Each time, he heard tales about the war. More often than not, they conflicted. According to some, Oxenfurt had already fallen. Others said that it was being besieged. Others claimed that the Nilfgaardians had been rebuffed and defeated and that it was only a matter of time before the war was over.
It was rumor-mongering, but Guts was used to it. It was a well-honed talent to be able to sort through the mess of contradicting rumors to see where the stories lined up. If all the stories involved Oxenfurt or a battle, then that meant that the Nilfgaardians had managed to cross that bog. Which meant that there was an invasion underway. There wasn't any word about the North fighting a battle as of yet, that told Guts that there hadn't been one.
King Radovid seemed like a clever enough leader. The terrain was almost ideal for mounting a defense -- the cities were all seated by the river, making them naturally defensive, sustainable, and difficult to siege without the use of a navy. The war and its outcome didn't matter to Guts. Not really. This wasn't his world and it wasn't his war. The only reason he had a vested interest in keeping up with the news was self-interest -- Novigrad was a rich city. Guts had seen it. A thorough sack would be enough to finance a war several times over, meaning that the Nilgaardians were coming here. Eventually.
"The seal works," Guts muttered into the night, a fourth night passing without any sign of the vengeful spirits.
"Told ya'," Puck remarked, lounging in a hammock made with a bit of spiderweb and a leaf. "To think it took you four whole days to believe me," Puck added, shaking his head in disappointment while making a chidding sound. Guts just grunted, staring into the blackness of night, the truth of the matter settling on his shoulders.
Night was a time of battle. In the past two years, that was an undeniable fact. Some nights were worse than others, but without fail, he would have to fight. Resist. Struggle. That had been true for so long, Guts hardly remembered the time when that wasn't true, even if it had been true for most of his life. And now, with the seal, it no longer was. He could sleep at night. Every day didn't have to be a constant battle for survival.
And part of Guts hated it.
That part of him wanted to scratch the seal off with his bare hands, welcoming the fight. Fearing that without it, he would get soft. Weak. Because the battle was familiar. It was the only thing he knew and the only thing he had to know. Another part was in disbelief that the long nights were finally over. He was too stunned to feel overjoyed. He felt uncertainty for the most part because he didn't know what came next.
"You know, I can keep watch. If you want to sleep for once," Puck spoke up after a long lull, breaking the silence. Guts slept some during the day, a scant hour or two, but as Puck made the offer, Guts became increasingly aware of how utterly exhausted he felt. "I'll scream really loudly if there's any trouble! Promise! And I totally won't fall asleep on watch this time."
Guts didn't believe him in the slightest. But, all the same, he closed his eyes as he leaned against a tree overlooking the ocean and fell asleep.
…
"I'm thinking dark velvet with an inlay of white stitching. Black cloth, overall. The left sleeve folded up -- hiding the prosthetic will draw attention to it. Might as well have it be included in the outfit. Present it as a strength," Triss remarked, circling Guts like a shark as a team of seamstresses took measurements. They were careful not to touch him -- he had nearly scared one of the elven women off with a harsh look, and that got the message across. Guts was pretty sure that they were convinced that he was a racist, and Guts didn't care enough to dissuade them of the notion.
"My Lady, black on white…" An elf spoke up, trailing off as he looked pensive. He was dressed finely. Guts wasn't sure if he owned the tailor shop that they were in or if he represented it. In any case, he was in a position of authority and he was the one that was cobbled together an outfit for Guts, much to both of their displeasure.
"Nilfgaardian colors. Of course," Triss remarked, eyeing Guts up with a cynical gaze. "Terrible. It would have really brought out your eyes and frame."
Guts ignored her in favor of looking around the shop. The room was framed with spools of fabrics and stitching. He stood on a small stool that groaned underneath his weight before a set of mirrors that gave him a three-sided reflection of himself. His ratty, stained, and torn undershirt had been all but ripped off of him and probably taken out back to be burnt. His gaze drifted to his missing arm, the scars that littered his body, and the unyielding muscle under a thin layer of pale flesh.
A memory washed over him. "Dark navy. Gold stitching. White and gold half-cape thing," Guts growled the words out, surprising the team of seamstresses and Triss. Her dark red eyebrows quirked up, tilting her head at him before adopting a surprised expression. A very surprised expression. You'd think he grew a second head.
"That's… actually perfect. Dark colors work well with you, but gold projects a different kind of power. I'm shocked you have taste in fashion, Guts," Triss remarked, sounding absolutely delighted.
He didn't. Gaston did. A member of his raiders who really had no place at war. He was too happy, too optimistic. He became a mercenary only to save up enough money to open up his own tailoring shop -- one a lot like this one, Guts imagined. Everyone had been sick of him talking about all of the clothes he would one day make, but everyone had been happy for him when he cried tears of joy after the war was over and he purchased that shop.
Gaston. Who had closed down that store the moment he heard that the Band of the Hawk was in trouble. Gaston. Who died in the Eclipse because he was too loyal to be anywhere else than with the Raiders when they needed help. Gaston. Who achieved his dream, only to give it up for Griffith and he was repaid with betrayal and an eternity of hell.
"I don't," Guts retorted, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the memories down. Gaston had designed his last outfit. The one he wore to that dumb ball that was overstuffed with nobles turning their nose up at them. Gaston had been overjoyed when Guts asked, honored beyond words to make the outfit for him. It felt like nothing less than a betrayal to his memory to have a suit made by anyone else.
Triss seemed to take the hint and said nothing, simply nodding at the tailor to follow through on his suggestion. Piece by piece, the outfit started to come together and things were sped along thanks to Triss' magic. Nothing was stated, but there seemed to a deal between the two where he gave her clothes in exchange for her using magic to cut down the time and effort needed to complete an order. Which allowed him to take more orders and generate more money.
Because of it, the outfit was completed in short order and Guts hardly recognized himself by the time it was done. A navy colored dubblet with a high neckline that was lined with white frills. Tight-fitting trousers and knee-high boots. One sleeve was longer than the other with his prosthetic on display by tucking the fabric as if he had rolled up the sleeve. The image was complete by a stupid half-cape thing that was draped over one shoulder.
In short -- he looked like a moron and the type of idiot that he used to rob as a mercenary. Which, Guts could admit, was probably the point.
"I expected more grumbling and complaining," Triss admitted as she circled him a final time. She seemed satisfied with what she saw, even if Guts wasn't.
"Would it have changed anything?" Guts questioned, briefly wondering if he suffered in silence for nothing. His gaze kept drifting to the mirror. He looked like an absolute cad, but his reflection stirred memories that were better left forgotten. Of a stuffy party and a dance. One of the truly good memories that he had and he didn't want to taint it with everything that came after.
"No, not really," Triss agreed. "It's something that had to be done. This party isn't one we can afford to miss. And as much as it annoys you to dress up like a noble, I doubt you'd like it much better dressed as a servant." She continued, earning a grunt in agreement. The entire thing was unavoidable if he wanted to get back to his Sphere in a reasonable timeframe. "Everything needs to go off without a hitch, Guts. Everything. I do understand that it may kill you to smile, make small talk, and be polite, but I am asking that you do so."
Guts grunted. Pointedly. That earned a small sigh from Triss, rolling her eyes to the heavens as if there was a god up there that would grant her strength. That sky was empty and the only ones that offered strength were devils. "What's the party even about?" Guts questioned as the seamstresses made the last touches to his attire before they left, letting Guts step off the stool. Why he needed it when the seamstresses needed one of their own to reach his shoulders was beyond him.
"A holiday banquet, but that is just the reason for gathering. The truth of the matter is that its a meeting between displaced nobles and the City Council to discuss the ongoing war and Novigrads place in it over frilly cakes. Officially, Novigrad is neutral, but King Radovid has been exerting his influence over the city through the Witch Hunters and the Church of the Eternal Fire. He's pressuring for more… active involvement -- gold, supplies, manpower -- while the city is holding out until things are either desperate enough to throw in with the Northern Kingdoms or there's a large enough bribe on the table."
Triss sounded like she was in her element when she started speaking of the politics of the situation. Gut nodded, following along as he tested the mobility of his new attire. It was like they stitched wires into the clothing and he just barely resisted the temptation to pop a few threads if it meant being able to move properly. "What does that have to do with you?" Guts questioned, making Triss incline her head to him.
"It's an opportunity. There won't just be displaced nobility, but representatives from kingdoms across the world. One of these kingdoms is called Kovier. Nilfgaard has its mages on a tight leash while the Northern Kingdoms have turned to burning us where they can. Kovir is a poor country, but it smells opportunity. Mages are a versatile force equalizer -- A dozen of us at Sodden Hill managed to turn an absolute defeat to a victory." As she talked, she was moving, and Guts could see her mind racing.
Guts could see that easily enough. "Northern Kingdoms fall, Kovier is next on the chopping block." He ventured and glared in annoyance at the surprised look that Triss gave him, as if she didn't expect him to figure that out. He didn't know the details, but he knew war. And, ultimately, what her goal was. "Has a deal been made between you and Kovier or are you crossing your fingers and hoping?"
"The deal has been made through back channels, but details still need to be ironed out. Such as tonight's event where a diplomat will be bringing the next round of negotiations in addition to ways we can actually get up there. Portals work well enough, but stabilizing one to take us from one end of the world to another… That has inherent risks, so more mundane methods of travel are a must." Triss went on, sounding like she was still putting it all together in her head.
Guts nodded to himself, finding that he didn't particularly care one way or the other. He couldn't say he cared much for the Witch Hunters -- or at all, really -- but he had no stake in the fight. However, he knew it wouldn't be as simple as Triss was making it out to be. In exchange for tracking down his Sphere, they would undoubtedly try to leverage him helping them out of the country. A fair enough deal, if an annoying one. He couldn't blame Triss or the mages in any case -- getting burnt at the stake was a bad way to go for anyone.
"And my role in this mess?" Guts questioned, hoping that she had been joking about smiling. The only way he'd crack so much as a smirk is if it meant bashing a noble's head in. He never cared much for the nobility in general, but he couldn't deny that there was something satisfying about seeing snooty nobles or haughty knights falling from grace. Even as they died, they could never believe it because they couldn't believe that a lowborn bastard like him could ever get the better of them.
Before Triss could answer, the door swung open to reveal Ciri. Guts saw her- he saw her. The dress was low cut, mostly white with dark green accents. There were ruffles and curls that Ciri was visibly unhappy with, but she strode into the room with a familiar grace all the same. He had to look away, a muscle spasming in his jaw. She looked so much like Casca in that moment that it caused him physical pain. Almost as if someone was trying to rip his heart out through his throat.
"I can't fight in this thing," Ciri immediately grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I'm pretty sure the seamstresses think I'm a whore because I asked to make the fabric easy to tear," she added, making Triss roll her eyes with such force it was a wonder they didn't fall out of her head.
"There won't be any fighting," Triss said, looking between them. Then she paused and thought about that statement. "There shouldn't be any fighting," she amended. "What I need from the two of you is interference. Covering for me while I slip out to make contact with a few people. Maybe make a scene at most," Triss said, sounding exasperated and Guts narrowed his eyes at that. It seemed a little much, he thought to himself, to bring them into this party at late notice when all she was doing was making contact with a diplomat.
Why not meet them somewhere more isolated? Why not through a dead drop? Why not through a messenger or a proxy?
Triss wasn't giving them the whole story. She was planning something else at this party and she wasn't telling them what it was. Because she was using them?A possibility, but… Ciri and Triss were close. The kind of close that was hard to fake. Which led Guts to believe that she thought she was protecting them- or, rather, protecting Ciri.
He wasn't fond of entering situations blind, but it didn't matter. Whatever Triss was planning, it didn't involve him. So long as it meant he got back to his Sphere, then she could do what she liked.
…
"Are you ready for this, Lord Redfield?" Ciri questioned, a smirk playing at her lips as she sat across from him in a carriage that seemed determined to hit every single pot hole on the long winding dirt road to a villa outside of Novigrad. Her scar had been smoothed over, the puckered flesh filled with makeup. Using magic was apparently a no-go because Witch Hunters, on occasion, wore magical medallions that alerted them to the presence of magic.
Guts gazed out of the small window in the carriage for a moment, seeing the rolling hills and their ultimate destination. A fancy-looking villa made out of marble and gold from the looks of it. The carriage bucked, nearly losing a wheel because of where he'd stashed Dragonslayer on the bottom, balanced between the axles. "I'd rather fight monsters," Guts decided, knowing that the party was going to be far more tedious and annoying than a night of slaughter.
"Well, that makes two of us," Ciri agreed. "Judeau Redfield. I wish I got to come up with my own assumed name. Lady Amelia Willowwood. I actually knew her when I was a child. The most stuck-up little thing," Ciri chattered. "She would tell on me for every little thing that I did. Suppose I should thank her in the end, because the lengths I went to avoid getting seen by her were incredible."
Ciri was nervous, Guts realized after a moment. He glanced at her to see that her hands were in her lap, her knuckles painted and white. Her fingernails were painted and she was visibly restraining herself from picking at the dark green coloring. She also took his silence as permission to continue babbling. "Did you know a Judeau?" She questioned him, wincing when she saw his scowl that emerged on reflex. "Sorry."
His lips thinned as he kept his gaze focused on the outside, watching their encroaching doom inch closer and closer. Puck said he was keeping his nose clean of the party, but Guts harbored doubts. "I did," Guts answered after a long pause, uncertain that he was going to say anything at all.
For the life of him, he couldn't tell why Ciri seemed so pleased with the admission, even as they lapsed into silence once more. Guts watched the villa approach with an emotion that he could only describe as dread -- he hated parties before, and he hated them a great deal more now that the very idea of going to one dredged up so many memories. Memories he wanted to forget to spare them the taint of everything that came after.
Death was certain one way or another. How didn't matter. But, he hoped that… that one beautiful night could be the last memory he remembered as hell finally took its due. Until that day, whenever it might be, he wanted to leave the memory unbesmirched.
It felt like he was approaching his own execution when the carriage finally stopped. Ciri glanced at him, flashing him a smile that was more of a smirk. "I think you can leave the talking and the smiles to me," Ciri offered, affixing an ambivalent one to her face just as the carriage door was opened by a man dressed in finery, but clearly a member of the help. She gestured for him to go out first, and he was glad for it -- the carriage didn't offer much in the way of legroom.
"Lord Redfield," the man that opened the door greeted him, offering a bow while Ciri got out of the carriage. His lips thinned ever so slightly when Ciri extracted herself, his gaze flickering to him, as if he was supposed to do something. Guess he was starting the night off right with a faux pas. "Lady Willowwood. Lord Wilhelm Blecker welcomes you to his estate. If it pleases you, then follow me, my lord and lady." With that, the man in his mid-forties bowed before leading the way.
Ciri fell in step with him and through the large double doors, Guts heard the sounds of music and people talking. A woman that was singing softly in the background suddenly grew louder when the doors were opened for them, allowing Ciri and him to see the dancehall. Like everything else in the villa, it was a lot of white, almost to the point that it was blinding, and the only source of color came from the walls that were covered in tapestries and heraldry. Nobles did love their self-important lineage.
"Announcing Lord Judeau Redfield, accompanied by Ameilia Willowwood!" The man introduced them to a crowd of pompous-looking bluebloods, a number of which gave them a curious glance before quickly returning their attention back to whatever they were discussing. There were a good number of them whose gazes lingered on Guts in particular. He could admit that he stood out even without the prosthetic drawing attention.
He stood a good head taller than some and a head and shoulders taller than most. It allowed him to see across the crowd of people, his gaze drifting to the source of music to see a pretty blonde-haired minstrel singing as she strummed a lute. Her voice was soon joined by a familiar one -- Dandelion, who tossed Guts a wink as he sang, their voices harmonizing in a tune that wasn't… unpleasant.
"Now what?" Guts asked Ciri, who smiled at the people that met her gaze.
"We mingle," Ciri answered, gently laying a hand on his prosthetic, careful not to touch him any more than that, and she led him into the belly of the beast. He went with her with the utmost reluctance and despite every insistence from Triss beforehand that he try to blend in, Guts found himself scowling at everyone that approached them.
Because of it, few were willing to meet his gaze, choosing to speak to Ciri who was by far the most social of the two. She put on the act of being an empty-headed noble like it was an old pair of shoes -- laughing politely, smiling, and rumor mongering about everything under the sun and anything that never saw the light of day. Servants walked by, offering refreshments to everyone and as desperately as Guts wanted to drink to alleviate the mind-numbing tedium, he couldn't afford to. Especially considering that they didn't serve rum.
It didn't take Guts long to find that his opinion of these nobles was justified when he half-paid attention to a conversation that Ciri was engaged in. "It was absolutely dreadful getting here. Those peasants were battering at my carriage and throwing… dung… at my coachman. It's like they don't understand that I've been as devastated by the war as they have been. Oh, my poor wine cellar ransacked by Nilfgaardians…" a man in his early thirties muttered, his speech slurred ever so slightly but other than that, he was the picture of restraint as he complained about his hardship.
Just about everyone in this room was the very worst sort of nobility, Guts decided. The kind that were absolutely helpless and could only stand on the backs of greater men and their lineage. The banquet was to celebrate the Eternal Flame, or whatever it was called, but that was just a thin excuse for the pity party that was going on. Every single noble was complaining and grumbling about the war, the Nilfgaardians, or the ungrateful peasants that were displaced by the war. Because not a single one of them knew what hardship even looked like, much less experienced any.
Ciri offered her condolences and Guts could hear it in her voice that even she was running out of patience. Guts ignored the blathering in favor of scanning the crowd, looking for Triss. So far, he hadn't found her. However, by looking at Dandelion, he was able to guess either where she was or where she was going. The dancehall was an opulent room that could easily fit a hundred men with little difficulty, but it opened up to a garden from the looks of it. For more private discussions, Guts imagined.
It was as he looked to the gardens he caught the eye of someone looking at him. A man. Head shaved, a squarish face that was in a neutral scowl. Finely dressed, but clearly not nobility based on the practical clothing. That, and the scarring that marked one half of his face. The man's eyes narrowed the moment that Guts caught his gaze. He was suspicious.
"I'll be right back," Guts informed Ciri, breaking from her grip, much to her surprise. There was a downright pleading look in her eyes that Guts chose to ignore as he walked away, leaving the group of impoverished nobles to bad mouth him in his wake. Guts stepped into the dance floor, the crowd parting for him as he cut a line straight to the scarred man, who didn't move from his position by a window that overlooked the garden. "What do you want?" Guts asked him, his tone curt and to the point.
His experience being a spy or assassin hadn't gone particularly smoothly, but he knew how people thought. People like the man standing before him. When people were suspicious, they didn't expect the target of their suspicion to confront them. Simple.
"To have my curiosity indulged at the moment," the man replied after a moment, his gaze going to his prosthetic. "Your hand. Is it magic in nature?" He questioned, making Guts narrow his eyes at the man.
Witch Hunter. It was a bit of a leap, but all signs pointed to it. And he was one important enough to get invited to a fancy party.
In response, Guts reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a spoon. "Magnets," he said, letting the spoon catch the grip of the magnets in his metallic fingers. "They're not good for much, but it lets me grip a sword. That's all I need it for," Guts answered the question and the man smiled lightly.
"Clever," he remarked, nodding in approval. "Too often men are drawn in by magical solutions offered by wizards and witches that they miss the simplest solution right below their nose. He offered a hand, "Caleb Menge," he introduced himself as Guts accepted the handshake, feeling ill as he did so. "You're Guts, I presume?"
Guts went still at the mention of his name. However, Caleb continued to speak, his dark blue eyes sharp. "That's a strong name if I ever heard one. Speaks of character. I heard the name mentioned in a report from Oxenfurt. A tall, dark-haired man with a scar across the bridge of his nose and a prosthetic arm wielding a blade larger than most men are tall and wide. A man who had been in a battle with a terrible beast before vanishing in a flash of light."
He was going to kill him. Guts meant it this time. When he got his hands on Puck, Guts was going to squeeze the life out of him.
"A man that fits your description, who now stands before me bearing the name Redfield rubbing shoulders with nobility," Caleb continued, squeezing Guts hand tighter in an attempt to intimidate Guts. He failed. Guts was feeling far more annoyed than intimidated. "How did that come to be, I wonder?*
"By escaping the creature," Guts answered, not making any effort to hide who he was. There wasn't a point. "It teleported me to Crookback Bog, and sicced a fiend on me, but I managed to escape after killing it," Guts said, blending the lies with the truth.
Caleb's eyes narrowed ever so slightly even as his deadly smile grew a fraction, "It's a rare man that treats a fiend as anything more than an inconvenience."
Then it should have been more inconvenient. Ciri spoiled the one trick that it had. After that, it was nothing more than a big elk. "I'm here because it mentioned plans for Novigrad. Something about Oxenfurt being the start. I don't know. The thing was able to speak, but it didn't seem particularly intelligent," Guts continued, making Caleb stiffen. He seemed surprised-... No. Not surprised.
Caleb looked like a man that had just been handed the final piece to a puzzle and was shocked to see what the whole picture was.
"I must bring this information to his Majesty immediately," Caleb stated, leaping off the wall almost as if it had burned him. "You- you must come with me and present this to his Majesty-" Caleb began, reaching out for Guts, only to find his grip in a grip of his one. This time it was Guts turn to squeeze down and he found that he had far more success intimidating Caleb than Caleb did him.
"Who-" Guts started, only to be cut off by the same man who announced them.
"Announcing King Radovid! King of Redania and Kaedwen, Sovereign of Novigrad, and Protector of the North!" The announcer barked out with far more pride and enthusiasm as a young king strode down the carpet, much to the adoration of the impoverished nobles.
He was handsome. Early to mid-twenties, his head shaved with a thin beard, dressed in red and white, the colors of his kingdom. A golden crown sat atop his head as if people needed the reminder that he was king. This was the leader of the North? Guts had been mildly impressed with him for his tactics, but if he was here while there was a war going on, then Guts found himself a great deal less impressed.
And out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. A woman with black hair and a dark green dress was politely pushing through the crowd to head toward Radovid. A woman with a similar build to Triss.
At the same time, Radovid seemed to be heading right toward Guts and Caleb.
It seemed that this party was about to get a lot more interesting.
Guts has problems with everyone reminding him of someone he knew before.
Guts is about to meet a somewhat handsome, somewhat insane, incredibly ambitious king.
Someone who would sacrifice everything for his dream.
This can only go well.
Guts is about to meet a somewhat handsome, somewhat insane, incredibly ambitious king.
Someone who would sacrifice everything for his dream.
This can only go well.
Only Guts could be practically having a vacation in the hellscape of Witcher lore. It's a shame he has a negative charisma score and probably a huge stigma about talking to people too smart for their own good at fancy parties. Hopefully something tries to murder them all so he can unwind.