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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years ago

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Ohh, you opened your prompts, what a treat! I love all of your Aiden/Lambert fics, funny or bittersweet, but especially the funny ones. So can I ask for some Aiden/Lambert "babysitting" teenage Ciri in canon verse, please? I leave the rating and everything else to you :p

A/N: Ciri spends some time with her favourite uncle and his half Aen Seidhe boyfriend, Aiden. Warnings: uh, a little bit of suggestive knife twiddling? But it all stays very tame; there are innocent eyes around, after all! Aiden’s not a monster.

“Deep breath, sor’ca,” Aiden said, nudging Ciri’s rear foot to broaden her stance. “You’re holding it again. You won’t hit anything if you pass out.”

Ciri growled and dropped the arrow down. They had been working on archery for little over an hour but already she was craving a return to the backflips and pirouettes of morning footwork drills. It was a close summer afternoon, with a shimmer on the parched horizon. It was the kind of heat that one could smell in the sluggish water of the river and the wilting green of struggling plants. Only the light breeze that rustled through the leaves of the ash and beech trees took the edge off, whisking the beads of sweat from Ciri’s brow and cooling beneath her arms when she lifted the bow.

Lambert lounged not three metres away. Sprawled amongst the twisted roots of a downy birch tree, he picked idly at his fingernails with the blunted edge of a throwing knife as he watched Aiden instruct his niece on the fine and, if someone ever bothered to ask Lambert’s opinion, pointless art of archery.

Ciri drew the arrow back to her ear, took a breath and released the nock in the space of three seconds. The fine white fletching, crafted by Aiden’s very own hand, whistled into the distance. She’d missed the target by less than half a foot. “Gods dammit,” she scowled, gnawing on her inner cheek. “I did everything right.”

“You’re still holding on too tightly, staring at the target as if you can glare the arrow through it.” Aiden took the bow from her bone-white fingers to illustrate his point. She huffed indignantly but released her captive and watched as Aiden plucked an arrow from the soil by her feet. “Any hack can wield a sword and do damage without training, but a bow demands more respect. Observe.”

Lambert huffed a laugh as he uncurled to his feet, moving to stand next to Ciri to get a better vantage point from which to observe the lesson.

Aiden continued, unperturbed by the insolent smirk on Lambert’s face as he imitated Aiden’s tart ‘observe’ with a splayed hand on his chest. “Your bow hand should have as little contact as possible, barely there, just a steadying presence,” Aiden spread his feet as he notched the arrow, drawing back to his eye, “then, relax your shoulders, focus on your breathing. You’ll loose on the outward breath, but don’t rush it. Count to five; one, two…”

Lambert exchanged a glance with Ciri. She pressed her lips together to quash her smirk and his eyes crinkling in the corners as his inner mischief took over. Flipping his knife over in one gloved hand, Lambert strolled behind Aiden – “three, four” – and leaned in to gasp a breathy whisper over the curve of one elegantly pointed ear. “Five.”

The bowstring twanged and the arrow disappeared into the canopy. Lambert guffawed, delighted at the result of his most sultry purr, and Aiden glared. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, I may be an asshole,” Lambert tilted his head, gaze travelling to the target, “but by the time she’s gone through your twenty-point checklist, she’ll be dead. Now a knife,” he waggled the blade in his hand, finger and thumb at the edge, “is quicker, cheaper and,” Lambert twisted, arm uncoiling like a coiled snake, and the knife hit the target with an audible ‘thunk’, “deadlier.”

Ciri folded her arms and grinned, regarding the dagger embedded in the rotting bark of their target with an appraising eye. She had been won over by the simple inelegance of it. Aiden sighed, placing his bow down with a defeated air. “Dh’oine, always looking for the easy way out.”

“Efficient,” Lambert corrected, jutting his chin as Aiden stepped up to him. “Easy ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Now, you say that,” Aiden moved with the swift athleticism for which his school was infamous and grabbed Lambert’s arm. His shoulder shoved into Lambert’s chest to throw him off balance and then, with one deft twist, Aiden lifted the wolf from the ground and over his back. Lambert had no time to react as his world turned upside down and then righted abruptly when his back hit the floor. Aiden flipped him over, twisting one arm up his back, and then primed a knife to his throat, “but most people who use knives are terribly inefficient.”

Ciri placed her hands on her hips and smirked down at her uncle as he grimaced and scowled. “Dunno, Aiden,” she said. “He looks pretty done for.”

“Just proved my point,” Lambert wheezed, arching away from the sharp edge that teased the line of his beard. “Slit my throat and I’m dead.”

“People can survive a slit throat, sor’ca. Witcher I know has a second smile, from ear to ear. Can’t talk, but still plenty capable of cutting you to pieces,” Aiden said, releasing Lambert’s arm so that he could bury his fingers in ruffled brown hair and make him arch back just a little further. “Do you know how much strength it takes to cut deep enough? And what if your knife is a little blunt? Your target isn’t going to sit and wait for you to slice him up like stringy venison at the dinner table.” As Aiden spoke, he teased the edge of the blade against Lambert’s skin, listening to the wolf’s breath hitch as it nicked over the ball of his throat. Gloved fingers gripped at tufts of dry grass in search of purchase and Aiden heard the steel toes of Lambert’s boots scuff in the dirt behind him.

“So, a knife’s actually worthless then, unless I can get a good run up?” She pouted, her brow furrowed.

“Hm,” Aiden’s grip tightened in Lambert’s hair, “not quite.” Aiden drew back long enough to flip Lambert onto his back again. The wolf didn’t even try to fight to his feet and laid perfectly still as Aiden straddled his chest, knife spinning through his fingers. Ciri couldn’t smell what Aiden could. The mushroom broths made her stronger, faster, but they didn’t give her the sharper senses of a witcher. Lucky for Lambert, really; Aiden would keep his filthy little secret.

When the edge rasped through his red and grey speckled beard again, Lambert swallowed audibly, tilting his head back into the dirt so that Aiden could see the full curve of his throat. “You can cut below the ear, beneath the curve of the jaw,” Aiden murmured, watching as Lambert’s pupils swallowed his entire iris, leaving just a thin ring of sunstone yellow. “But a witcher worth his salt would have a vial of Swallow to hand. A human can fight you off, stay conscious just long enough to get help. There’s only one way to ensure a quick, clean kill.”

“How?” Ciri insisted, watching Lambert with wide eyes.

“Place the knife here.” Aiden placed the tip of the blade at the hollow between Lambert’s clavicles, where his windpipe was exposed and vulnerable. The edge grazed Lambert’s skin, drawing a thin, white line of prickled skin, but no blood. Aiden’s control was absolute. Lambert swallowed again, the ripple of his throat pressing lightly against the point. “Tilt it up, just so, and then,” Aiden lifted his palm and drove it down with intent and blinding speed, but the heel of his hand stopped at the hilt before it connected. Ciri gasped, but Lambert stared at Aiden in mystified silence, his breath held. Aiden leaned in close, almost nose to nose, and whispered. “You force it through to the spine. Victim chokes on their own blood in seconds.”

“Caen me a'baethe?” Lambert whispered hoarsely, offering a cocky, lopsided smirk that invited teeth and fire. Aiden’s lips parted, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth as he fought to resist. There were young eyes present, after all.

“Wait,” Ciri squinted at them and then stuck her tongue out in the exaggerated disgust only a young teenaged girl could manage. “Oh, ew, is this––are you flirting?”

Aiden sat up quickly, his cheeks flushing a vibrant claret. “No, teaching. This is––I was giving instruction––oof.” The Cat flailed as he was shoved in the chest and thrown to the side. Lambert rolled to his feet next, keeping his back angled towards Ciri as he hobbled awkwardly towards the treeline. Aiden huffed. “Where’re you going?”

“To make an offering to Freya,” Lambert called airily and disappeared completely into the trees. Aiden smirked at his retreating back before falling onto his own, hands tucked behind his head. The leafy canopies above swayed, casting dappled shadows over Aiden’s serene expression.

“They don’t worship Freya here,” Ciri mumbled. “It’s Melitele.”

“Melitele won’t want anything to do with the offering Lambert has in mind,” Aiden teased, pinching her bicep playfully. She kicked him lightly in the thigh and then flopped inelegantly to bask in the sun with him, her head on his stomach.

“Men are gross.”

“That they are, sor’ca, that they are.”

sor’ca = little sister

Caen me a'baethe? = give me a kiss

Freya is the Goddess of fertility, love and beauty; I’ll leave you to work out what kind of offering Lambert was going to make.

Aiden is Aen Seidhe (or at least half). Inspired by the fact that the School of the Cat worked closely with the Aen Seidhe after they abandoned Stygga, swelling their ranks with strays, orphans and unwanted “halfbreeds”.

Cool graphic sourced here.

#rawrkinwrites #Lambert #Aiden #Lambden #Ciri #Uncle Lambert #Aen Seidhe Aiden #knives #I guess?#but no blood #Lambert and Aiden-style flirting #suggestive knife twiddling

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thewoodshungers-if · 3 years ago

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Aen’frie - The Sting of Iron

500 Followers Special - Hurt/Comfort, Angst

For someone who literally lived in the woods, Aen’frie was not someone who goes out often. At least, not out of the woods itself. The city are full of iron and knights and those two combinations together never results in something good for Aen.

The one time they did though, they thought they’ve hit gold. Some idiotic and obscenely rich noble ate up all of their taunts, and they had won a bet between them, effectively robbing the poor man of his riches. That guy’s gold are rightfully theirs then, right? So why is it that they’re curled up in a jail cell in the middle of the fucking capital?

Aen didn’t know the name of the knight in charge of them (a shame, but they’ll work on getting it), but the knight was insulted often. Bastard. Hybrid. Watered-down noble. The Alloyed Knight never said anything, eyes cold but burning with embers of spite and maybe.. loneliness.

The best kind of person, just the right flavor that Aen likes.

Everyday, the knight would stand in front of their cell, back facing them. Aen did not pull their punches. They would smile and then the smile would turn into a smirk, and then the smirk would turn into a taunt. Then a promise of whispered sweet-nothings, that they would take it all away, that Aen could silence them all.

Most times, The Alloyed Knight would just stand there unmoving, as if they didn’t hear anything. A paragon of justice and virtue who would stand like a guard dog even when their peers would drink and play cards at the end of the hallway.

Aen has been thrown into human jail thrice including this little trip into the no-magic dungeons in the capital. Their first warden cursed and spat at them with no inhibition, their second warden completely terrified of them, harmless fae. They slipped their name out of their lips with no problem. Their warden this time, however, was somebody they couldn’t read.

The knight ignored them all day long before setting down their dinner gently in front of them. Aen didn’t miss the way there’s somehow extra servings of bread and even jam sneaked into their tray of prison food. Nevertheless, the knight gazed at them with a cold glare before turning away to ignore them again.

But today, their shoulders tensed the moment Aen leaned closer to whisper at their ear, careful not to touch the iron bars. They’re getting closer, the knight’s name is within arm’s reach, and they could feel it. So they inched closer, “Aren’t you sick of those assholes? I have a hundred ways I could silence them”

They stopped, letting their voice drop to a husky whisper, “Or.. I can distract you from-”

The Alloyed Knight turned to face them, eyes downcast and red, and just like that, Aen’s confidence plunged into the cold waters. The knight slowly looked up, eyes the widest they’ve ever seen, searching for something in theirs, “Can you?”

Yes, anything you wish for, all I need is your full name.

“Can I what?”

What is wrong with his tongue? Why did they say that? They just need to push the knight a bit more.

Aen half-thought the knight was laughing at his question.. because.. Well, their shoulders are shaking, and they had just said something stupid. What else would that mean? But tears slid down their cheeks as they let out a quiet sniff, arms and fingers tensing against the bars of their cell.

Their heart stopped.

They’re intent on getting the knight’s name, and this is the right time. Just a little push, just one more false smile and the knight’s name will be theirs. So why. Why?

Instead of feeding them lies and promises, they couldn’t say anything, voice dying in their throat at the sight of the knight’s quiet tears. The knight grits their teeth, jaw tensing as they roughly wiped at the tears sliding down their cheek. Their pride stands in the way, keeping them from revealing all their pain to the inmate they’re in charge of, but the floodgate has already burst open.

Instead of pulling them closer to whisper false dreams at them, Aen reached out, hands slipping between the bars of their cell, fuck the risk of touching iron, and wiped at their tears with their thumb.

Their arms stung with the sting of iron, it burned, eating at the strip of their exposed skin, but they didn’t draw their hand back. The knight’s cheeks were warm under their touch, their hand immediately taking Aen’s into their grasp, clinging for assurance.

The knight’s nails dug into Aen’s hands, but they didn’t draw their hand back. Not when the knight’s breath hitched before they let out a shaky sigh, jaw tensing and yet they didn’t pull away from Aen’s touch.

They’re close, the knight’s name were within their grasp, but no words come spilling out of their mouth.

The fee Aen slipped from the knight wasn’t their name this time. It’s that extra serving of bread and jam. They’ve always been naive and stupid for a fae, they’re sure anyone who learnt of this would never let them live this down.

Aen ignored the sting of iron, this is nothing for them. The warmth of the knight’s hands didn’t go unnoticed. Aen’s hands were now damp with their tears, and yet their hands felt feverish even compared to the sting of iron on their arm. They pulled away as quickly as they showed their tears, leaving to get them their dinner with an extra serving a of jam.

They noticed the way the knight wouldn’t look at them in the eye, the way their voice was tinged with a warning to never address what had just happened before.

The knight didn’t show up the next day. They’ve laid the broken pieces of their heart before Aen, warm hands gripping their hand like a lifeline, and they ran off just like that, took out a week-long leave. In their place was another knight.

She’s the Alloyed Knight’s junior, heart pinned on their sleeve with a facade made of glass. A promise of coins once Aen can use magic outside the palace was enough to make her turn to them.

Aen would’ve liked to wait for that Alloyed Knight. They won’t be able to run from their duties forever, after all. But their execution was in three days. And they wouldn’t know what to do if the knight had gone back to ignoring them, had pretended that nothing has happened.

Why does it matter anyways?

That knight was just a plaything that slipped between their fingers.

Maybe next time, they’ll have the resolve to slip their name from their grasp. To weave their name together with their magic. To keep their unsaid promises. If that knight would even stop avoiding them, that is.

Aen’frie was not someone who took pity on others. They’re merely intrigued of what that knight has hidden beneath their aloof face and cold stare. Of how their facade would crack if they smiled. Merely intrigued on what would happened if they gained their victory.

They do not take pity on other. Never.

Right?

#thewoodshungers: extras #for that anon hehe #aenfrie #i know.. the setting is still in jail lol #500 followers special

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years ago

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Fighting and makeup hcs with Eddie Kingston please? 💙 I just need some angst in my life 😂

Thanks so much!

🤣 I love a good dose of angst as well, babe lol. You’re welcome 😘

@alyhull , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan , @aen-maggs

Lord help you

It has yet to be found a human being who loves a fight as much as he does

And Lord help him

Because you love a fight as well

“What the fuck do you wanted me to do, Y/N?”

“Maybe not acted like an asshole would be nice!”

“And am I supposed to just stand there and watch?”

“We both know he did nothing wrong!” You tossed your purse on the floor

“Still doesn’t answer my fucking question!” He grabbed your arm so he could turn you around to face him “Do you want me to drive you back there? So you can relive your golden moments from the past with your sweet David?” His voice sounded so bitter

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie” You rolled your eyes in annoyance

“Don’t you want that? To go back to your blonde Prince Charming who plays violin and speaks three thousand fucking languages?”

“Eddie” You warn him

“What? What is it? Suddenly the street mutt that always fucked you so good on the back alley of Prince Charming’s house is not what you want anymore?”

“We should stop-“

“Princess wants to go back to her royalty, is that it? Had enough of having fun with the bad boy already, Y/N?”

“You’re starting to piss me off” You snarled

“Don’t hold it back, princess! C’mon, say it!” He teased

“You’re so fucking childish, Eddie” You chuckled bitterly “So fucking ridiculous with your petty attitude, always bickering like a dumb little bitch!” You closed the distance between you, looking up to stare at him in the eyes “Make no mistake, bad boy. If I wanted David, I would have never, ever came back home with you! I would have simply walked out of that movie theater with him and trust me when I say there wasn’t a damn thing you could have done about it!” You spat and he kissed you

Deeply, passionately, until you both were out of breath

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I love you so fucking much, fox” He placed you on top of the kitchen island

“I love you too, pit bull” You tugged on his chain, pulling him down on top of you

#eddie kingston fanfiction #eddie kingston one shot #eddie kingston x reader #eddie kingston imagine #eddie kingston #aew headcanon #aew wrestling #aew smut #aew imagine #aew #aew fanfiction #masochist writes #masochist headcanons #nonny asks #answered ask #ask #thanks for the ask!

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alifelongpassed · 2 years ago

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On his way to buy some lembas

#sometimes I think I'm over it #but nah #Iorveth #my art #tw2 #scoia'tael #aen asshole #the witcher fanart #I always love bw so much more #the witcher

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advena87 · 5 years ago

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And what about the dynamics between Ciri and Avallac’h?

***

Avallac’h: You need them to think you're stronger than you actually are.

Ciri: Is that what you do?

Avallac’h: Me? Oh, no. My power is no illusion. I can fucking demolish you.

***

Avallac’h: Hello?

Ciri: It’s Ciri.

Avallac’h: What did she do this time?

Ciri: No, it’s me, Ciri.

Avallac’h: Oh, what did you do this time?

***

Ciri: Why didn’t you tell me?

Avallac’h: Because you have the tendency to overreact.

Ciri, stabbing the table with a sword in a fit of anger: I do NOT overreact!

***

Avallac’h: I'm not very good with emotion.

Ciri: What emotion?

Avallac’h: All of them.

***

Ciri: How long has it been since you slept?

Avallac’h: Bold of you to assume I sleep.

***

Ciri: I thought you hated writing letters?

Avallac’h: Don't be silly, I'm a fan of anything that replaces actual human contact.

***

Avallac’h: Do I look like I’m joking?

Ciri: You never look like you’re joking.

***

Ciri: Am I in trouble?

Avallac’h: Have a guess.

Ciri: No?

Avallac’h: Have another guess.

***

Ciri: Avallac’h is an angel that fell from heaven...

Geralt: [whispering] So was Lucifer.

***

Ciri: Can I ask you something? Can you keep a secret?

Avallac’h: Do you know anything about my life?

Ciri: No I don’t. Good point.

***

Avallac’h: I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.

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a-byronic-heroine · 3 years ago

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To anyone who thinks I’m pro-Aen Elle, you obviously haven’t taken any time to read my content. I’m, in fact, very Aen Elle critical. I talk about the damages such xenophobic and restrictive cultural and governmental institutions have on a specific Aen Elle, my oc. She struggles constantly with the toxic, damaging things she’s been taught versus what she has learned since being effectively exiled from her home.

Does it take a long time for her to change? Hell yes. But the fact that she does in fact change is the important thing.

Is she still an asshole sometimes? You betcha. It’s a defense mechanism ingrained into her from childhood. The more ferocious and emotionally distant, the more likely she is to survive.

Don’t like that? Buh-bye.

#ooc #witcher verse (about)

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fitztrevelyan · 4 years ago

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❛ assholery is incurable. unfortunately. ❜ (whatever verse you prefer)

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈||accepting!

The calm before the storm in Kaer Morhen consisted of a very unlikely alliance between witchers, sorceresses, Temerian rebels, and Aen Elle.

The formerly queen of Tir Nà Lia had more reasons than anyone to want to take revenge on her husband's murderers, and she had enough power and knowledge as to prove a valuable asset, better yet, not one that they could have turned down easily anyway.

Unfortunately, she was also a wild card. Vesimir asked Mistral to keep an eye on her while Avallac'h recovered, just in case the witch decided to hasten the day of reckoning.

And while the Rivaini made sure that the elven mage didn't get killed in his sleep, Mistral was also very curious about Kly. As a matter of fact, she had grown to carefully admire her: 'the queen who became a whore'. For a highborn privileged, she had proven extremely resilient and adaptable. Although, wasn't all nobility a cesspool of depravity and corruption?

In addition to that, Blackthorn flashed Solas' face into Mistral's mind as a warning. Never trust a powerful and enraged elf. Fair enough, she thought.

"You can't speak of assholery as a whole category," she began with a light-hearted tone, "there are assholes and assholes. In Eredin's case? I'm with you, he is a next-level asshole but of the kind for which I do have a cure. A rather permanent one, I might add. Not easily viable I’ll admit, still..."

She took a seat next to the unconscious elf, uncorking with her teeth a bottle of... whatever that was and spitting the cork to the side.

"As for our companions...well, there is Roche... meh..." she shrugged, "his tongue is sharper than his mind. He wouldn't tell apart a plot from ice cream, yet he would throw himself into it without a second thought if he believed it just for 'Temeria's freedom!'" she said lowering her voice mockingly, " Poor sod, he reminds me of a dog who's lost his master..." her eyes swept the great hall of the keep spotting a pile of potato peels that awaited to be turned into the swill that she was gulping.

"...Of course... Lambert." she whispered shaking her head with a small smile, "...Yeah. He is an asshole. And it's lovely. But!" she pressed on as she got up from the chair handing the bottle to the woman "if you were speaking of Avallac'h... I'd say that 'asshole' is a bit of an understatement..." she said waiting for her to bite. Maybe the bait was too obvious so she strayed slightly to muddle her intentions.

"Oh...Oh! I see! You were talking about me... well, that's rude!"

#and THIS was meant to be a oneliner #*shakes head*#I couldn't help myself #onemusemanyfandoms #verse||the witcher #maybe swearing will help||answered

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robotslenderman · 7 years ago

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[x]

#closer version of last week's!#Avallac'h #edits #the witcher #tw3 #aen elle #ancient elven assholes #stupid apple fox #dusty's edits #tw3 edits #I want to get some more shots of him but mods are not cooperating #:<

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mimikoflamemaker · 4 years ago

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What Happened in the Woods Stays in the Woods

Summary: I took part in International Witcher School this October - it was beyond awesome. And I have new character to gush about - Myra, who is certainly too good of a person to be a witcher. I can't wait to see it bite her in the future episodes. But since good people doesn't really live very long in the Witcher Universe, she is about to make a whole lot of difficult choices - here is a snippet about one of them.

And remember guys - is she smiles at you it doesn’t always mean she means well ;)

The rumble of thunder echoed through her bones. The rain was not quite here yet, but the sky was covered with thick layer of dark, grey clouds. It was only a matter of time.

Myra huffed as the training dummy finally fell over. Signs were never that difficult to her and yet it took her three tries to send the aard where it was supposed to go. She was distracted, quite honestly, from the very beginning of the lesson. And she was angry with herself. This was not the attitude she wanted to present to anyone, least of all her fellow adepts.

And yet she couldn’t quite help it. At least she noticed master Yila coming towards her.

There. It was her cue.

‘Can you do something that would disqualify you from the rest of the class?’ master Yila asked only loud enough for her to hear. Myra nodded – she wasn’t even winded, much less exhausted enough to be excused. But she knew what to do.

Not that she would particularly enjoy the outcome.

She pulled at the energy. Just a tiny bit. Just enough to feel it stir. But instead of reaching outside as she was told a hundred times to do, she reached inside. And then she formed another aard – careless. Sloppy.

The power sputtered at her fingertips and the backlash filled her lungs with a burning ache.

She fell to her knees coughing and dearly hoping she didn’t rupture anything.

‘What did she do?’ master Dirk’s voice carried over.

‘I was trying to correct her stance’ was master Yila reply. ‘I didn’t think she would cast. And I don’t think she’ll be any good to you today, Dirk.’

‘Whatever’ the other master shrugged. ‘Next!’

Myra sat on her folded knees and tried to focus on her breathing, while keeping an eye on what the others are doing. One by one they stepped forward to cast the aard and, one by one, the others bent over faking exhaustion. Volker, Rolf, Lisa, who quite convincingly fell backward, even Ute.

Well that one was a bit of a surprise.

Not as much as what was unfolding a little further away though.

Lila was the last one to cast her aard and her first attempt was clearly unsuccessful. Master Dirk though, seemed a little confused.

‘Again’ he commanded, watching the girl carefully.

Lila did as she was asked and once again, nothing happened. The dummy stood still, there was no shivering of the leaves nor the rocks rolling to the sides. The most surprising however was the fact that her medallion did not tremble. It should have. It did when the others casted their signs.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying master’ Lila piped up as she fidgeted in place obviously distraught. ‘I really am!’

‘Do you?’ master Dirk challenged. ‘Most adepts, even those I can’t account amongst the brightest are usually catching the right way to do it much faster…’

‘I can do it! I really can!’

‘We’ll see about that… Maybe you need a better target?’ the witcher mused and stepped away, stopping several paces away, his back to the training dummy. ‘One last chance. Try to hit me this time.’

A surprised murmur that passed over their small group told her that she wasn’t the only one waiting to see what happened.

Nothing. Once again Myra’s medallion remained flat against her chest.

For a moment, she thought that Lila might burst into tears.

‘You don’t feel it’ master Dirk didn’t even bother to make it a question. ‘Not at all. That’s why you can’t cast. You don’t have the connection… it’s been a while since I’ve seen that.’

Myra spent the last three years of her life at the school and she had never heard of that before. Even those of her fellow adepts who found it hard to perform the signs at first got the hang of it sooner or later.

‘I don’t know what you did to them today Dirk’ master Yila remarked, pulling her thoughts back to the present. ‘But we can’t have them useless like that tonight. I have a spot where I go to meditate. I’ll take them there, maybe they will get themselves back together.’

Myra sprang to her feet, probably too fast for someone who just tried to explode their own lungs.

At least the waiting was almost done.

Master Yila led them away from the group and into the forest just as another thunder rolled over the castle ground. Closer this time.

‘Did you come up with an idea?’ master Yila asked as soon as they could no longer be overheard.

‘I suppose we settled for what we agreed on yesterday’ Myra replied when the silence stretched for a bit too long. ‘That I will lure him into the trap.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I mean, we are aware of his certain… proclivities. And I had the misfortune of watching his interrogation of princess Liva. The man is so full of himself that he should fall to the praise and admiration.’

It wasn’t exactly the answer to that question, but Myra didn’t think they could come up with anything better in such a short span of time, when they have spent the last evening pondering it over and it was everything they ended up with.

Whether she wanted to do it or not was another matter altogether.

It was the result that mattered in the end.

‘Then you will have to be careful. You’ll be the last one he will be seen with, so if anything goes south, you’ll be the first to blame.’

‘I know. It still needs to be done.’

‘I’m sure it will be fine’ Lisa piped up.

‘Then come faster. If it starts to rain, we might not be able to get him and the elves cannot stay in the area for much longer.’

They followed master Yila, picking their way through the undergrowth. The wind picked up and there was another thunder, very close this time. Soon enough, they could feel the first droplets off rain, filtering through the canopies and landing on their faces.

They crossed the main road running through the forest and sank into the bushes on the other side, finally coming to the small clearing. For a moment it seemed empty, but then Myra could pick up the heartbeats of the hiding elves. Master Yila looked around and whistled. One by one, elves left their hide outs, gliding over the fallen leaves almost without the sound.

‘Ceádmil, Aen Sidhe’ master Yila greeted, and Myra found herself echoing the words. They felt rusty on her tongue. It has been a while since she had a chance to use the elder speech and even then, the art did not come easy to her.

The thought almost made her smile. When she first started to practice, her mouth outright refused to form some of the words, giving her friends plenty of opportunity to make fun of her. And they did as all children are. But they were also endlessly patient with her… Laith, Caellem, Nyla… and several others, but she always felt the deepest connection with those three.

Her eyes slid over the elves that stood before them. Gaunt, scarred faces, clothes hanging limply on once much broader frames and hollow eyes, that remained empty regardless of the violence they witnessed or performed. Myra couldn’t possibly fathom the greatness of their loss, but she understood the pain of it. And she pitied them.

Would her friends share the same fate should they live? The same indignity, violence, hate?

They probably would. It was what killed them after all, not long before they would likely be forced to turn from children to warriors.

She still saw it sometimes, vivid in her dreams, despite the Trials and the time that passed. The tree, an old oak, standing in the middle of the elven settlement. And the mutilated, broken bodies, hanging upon the branches, swaying in the breeze. Men, women, children. And among them Laith, Caellem and Nyla…

Her own neighbors did it. People she grew up with. People she worked with. People she trusted.

All because one man wanted to hide his crimes.

Whenever she remembered that, she wasn’t really surprised that to those who remained, the only good humans were the dead ones.

Her initial anger also called for retribution. But she knew she didn’t have the means. The witcher she found has killed the wraiths, and then laughed as her useless wrath, before demanding payment. But there was nobody to pay him. And she couldn’t stay in the village, where everyone acted as if nothing had happened. Or worse seemed proud of their deeds.

Her choice to offer herself up as a payment wasn’t that difficult to her afterwards.

‘Myra?’ Volker asked.

She realized that everyone was looking at her. Was she supposed to say something? Was there anything to say, really?

‘You don’t have to do it’ the oldest elf said, surprising her. ‘He is an evil man and needs to die, but we won’t force you to do something like this…’

‘But I want to’ she objected. ‘I agree with you and I want to help you. It won’t be the last asshole I will have to deal with.’

Master Ylia sighed and turned to face her.

‘Go then. Find him and bring him here. Try not to use the main paths and attract as little attention as possible.’

Myra nodded, glanced one more time to the group gathered on the clearing and turned to leave, picking her way through the low bushes to the path running nearby.

The rain was getting heavier. And as she made her way back to the castle, she felt the full weight of what she was about to do settling about her shoulder.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do this. Well, she didn’t really, as lieutenant Emmeric did enough to warrant only her disgust. But she had no doubt that the world will be a slightly better place when he leaves it.

There were people counting on her right now. And she really didn’t want to disappoint them. Not again, not ever.

Not to mention that she didn’t want to disappoint herself.

Yet, she wasn’t sure if she was cut out for the task. She didn’t think herself a particularly apt actress and her only real experience with seduction was the half-drunk jabs exchanged with her fellow adepts. Things like that usually happened without much of the input from her.

Well, that might have been one of the reasons why they didn’t happen all that often.

Myra smiled to herself, amused by her own train of thoughts. It removed some of the apprehension she felt. And, regardless of everything, there was no backing out now. She had to do it.

If anything went wrong, she only needed him out of sight of the potential witnesses. She doubted that even a big man like him was a match for her. Especially if she acts fast enough.

The witcheress looked up and she could see the castle ahead, visible between the thinning trees. What worried her, was that she couldn’t really hear anything except for the rain and the rustling of leaves.

Soon enough, she could clearly see that the castle grounds were deserted – the storm herded everyone inside… well, almost everyone. The bright blue of lieutenant Emmeric uniform instantly caught her eye amongst the muted greens and dreary greys of the autumn afternoon.

He was sitting propped against the tree, as if waiting for the worst of the rain to let up, before heading into the castle.

She knew she couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. Myra took a fortifying breath and went straight for him, putting some extra swish into her steps.

She could feel his eyes on her almost instantly. Not a surprise since she was clearly the only other person around. The way he watched her, not even trying to hide his interest added a much needed boost to her confidence. Myra pinched her bottom lip with her teeth before she smiled at the man.

The way his heartbeat picked up only made that smile grow wider.

‘Lieutenant Emmeric’ she said as she stopped beside him. ‘The tales about your exploits precede you.’

‘Clearly’ one corner of his mouth curled upward, before he pushed himself from the ground. ‘I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure yet…’

‘No, we didn’t. I did however, have the pleasure to observe you at work earlier this morning.’

‘Oh, did you now? I hadn’t seen you there…’

He was almost a head taller than her. She supposed, it made appearing coy easier as she was already looking up at him. It hardly made her feel better about flaunting herself like that, but she had to get through this.

‘It’s enough that I’ve seen you’ she reached up and trailed her finger lightly down his chest. ‘I was most impressed. I’d like to hear about your other… interrogations, if I could. Maybe I could learn something from you. Would you perhaps walk with me?’

Emmeric glanced at her fingers, resting over his heart. When he looked back at her there was a sly smile playing upon his lips.

‘With pleasure. There might actually be some things I would like to get from you as well’ his eyes slid from the slightly parted collar of her coat to the swell of her breast.

The only thing he could really get from her was a knee to the groin. But instead, she smiled brightly and wrapped her arm around his bent elbow, leaning into him. Steering him back down the path she came from.

‘I am sure we can arrange for something we will both enjoy’ she murmured into his ear.

He chuckled and patted the hand she placed on his forearm.

‘Well, I like women who know what they want…’

‘You have no idea…’

The rain was picking up. Gravel crunched beneath their feet and Myra pushed aside the thought that this was going to be a very long walk.

‘So, you’ve been present during the interrogation of that monster?’

‘For the most important part of it anyway. I was impressed by the effortless way you made her squirm.’

Emmeric chuckled. Myra was fairly sure, that if he puffed his chest out just a little more, the buttons of his doublet were going to pop.

‘Well she might be a monster, but she still clings to her humanity, trying to deceive us. But all she did was making it easier to realize her weaknesses and exploit them.’

All she wanted to do was roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled, hoping it looked like admiration and not like baring teeth.

‘You have a lot of experience with that, I suppose?’

‘I had plenty of time to learn. You wouldn’t know how hard those elven rebels are to crack until you have to go all physical on them. And still many of them would not budge.’

‘It’s funny isn’t it?’ Myra asked, flexing her fingers lightly against his arm, resisting the urge to wrap them around his throat. ‘How they are fighting the battle they have already lost?’

‘That they are’ Emmeric smiled. ‘They are no match for us; we will get every single one of them… in due time’ he glanced down at her. ‘There is no point in cutting the fun short, you know? But if anything, one does have to admire their stubbornness – I was once pulling this woman’s flesh apart with a hot pliers and she did not say a word. She didn’t even scream until the very end.’

Myra was tempted to make him scream at this very moment. Which likely had to show on her face, because Emmeric’s expression turned from amused to confused.

‘Did I offend you? I didn’t think witchers would shy away at the mention of a little bit of gore…’

‘We most definitely do not’ she objected. ‘This rain is merely annoying… I certainly want to hear more of those tales…

Emmeric leaned over her. Their noses almost touched.

‘Or we can engage in something more pleasant. Something to keep both of us warm. And then I can indulge your curiosity over a bottle of wine? What do you say, hm?’

Myra could already see the clearing, but they were still standing on the path. Anyone could see them.

‘Why, your appreciation flatters me’ she smiled, linking their hands together. ‘However, you would be wrong to assume that turning into a witcher means I will no longer act at least a bit like a lady…’

‘You’ve led me into the forest, haven’t you?’

‘And with an intent no less’ Myra nodded and her smile widened. ‘But that does not mean I feel adventurous enough to have fun out in the open like that. There is a clearing nearby where no one would disturb us.’

He seemed placated with her words and followed her eagerly, their arms still linked.

‘Heeey! Myra!’ she didn’t have to look to recognize Lisa, who tumbled from some bushe and plopped into the tall grass, waving at them.

‘And who might that be?’ Emmeric asked.

Myra couldn’t say she accounted for that kind of interruption.

‘A friend of mine’ she said quickly. ‘She was too shy to come with me. You know the highborn ladies… all prim and proper…’

‘…until you get them somewhere private. Your friend here doesn’t seem very shy though’ he nodded towards Lisa who waved at them again and giggled.

Myra noticed the flask she held in her outstretched arm.

‘That’s because she overdosed on liquid bravery… Lisa! What will I ever do with you girl?!’ she strode towards her. ‘And to go into the stash of the White Gull of all things? You know what it’s doing to you…’

‘But we were supposed to have fun!’ the girl whined, struggling to get up. Myra reached and grabbed her forearm, steadying her.

‘Well I don’t see why we shouldn’t…’ Emmeric started.

A sharp wheeze cut through the air and Myra instinctively bent, trying to make herself a smaller target.

The arrow, however, was not meant for them. It buried itself deep into lieutenant shoulder.

‘What the…’ Emmeric turned, following the arrow’s path with his eyes.

One by one, elves and witchers emerged from behind the trees, surrounding the soldier. Myra slowly backed away, pulling Lisa with her. They were only supposed to get him here. Their part was done.

They should have shot him – a clean, fast death. She understood why he did not deserve that. Why the elves would have wanted to make it personal. But it could only bring her more trouble.

Because Emmeric fought back. And he fought like only the dying men could. He lashed out even when he was no longer able to stand upright. It took entirely too long, but finally, the Blu Stripes lieutenant fell face-first onto the grass and did not raise again.

Once again, the only sound was that of the falling rain.

And then, there was weeping. One of the ellith was shaking her fallen companion’s body, her shoulders wracked with sobs.

Emmeric has claimed some last victims. A few paces away, on the ground laid Rolf. Myra moved, falling to her knees beside the wounded adept.

Blood was already staining the grass.

‘My back’ Rolf grunted. ‘He hit my back…’

‘We need to go’ master Yila’s voice sounded somewhere above her. Myra wanted to tell her off, but she knew the other woman was right. There was a dead Blue Stripe right next to them – there was no explaining that.

She reached and plucked one Swallow from her potion holster, before bringing the vial to Rolf’s mouth.

‘You’ll be fine. Just bear with the pain’ she said, grabbing his arm. ‘It will pass soon, but we have to go!’

She pulled him through the bushes, but it soon became obvious that Rolf could not quite find his feet. Myra looked over her shoulder at the others running behind her.

‘Volker!’ she called. ‘Come, help me!’

The other adept did not hesitate, running up to her and putting Rolf’s other arm about his shoulders. It was much easier to run now.

They only stopped when master Yila called for them. The clearing and the elves were no longer visible, hidden behind the trees. Myra looked to her adepts, trying to make sure they were fine. No one else was wounded at least, but she could see all colors of shock reflecting in their faces.

She certainly wasn’t the only one in need of some solid booze after all of this was done.

Master Yila seemed to draw the same conclusions, exchanging short glance with her, before focusing on Rolf.

‘Will you live?’

‘Yes’ he replied, pulling himself from Myra’s grasp. ‘The pain is fading. I’ll survive.’

‘Good. But he can’t come into the castle like this. Everyone will notice that something is off, and I don’t think you want to answer to the questions they will have.’

‘Here’ Lisa said, unwrapping the shawl from her neck and pulling it off. ‘You can wear this. It’s long enough to cover the stains and if you tuck it into your belt, it won’t even look out of place.’

‘Thank you’ Rolf replied, taking the hood from her.

‘Do you remember what you are to say if anyone asks what you were doing?’

‘We were meditating after a difficult signs lessons’ Ute replied. ‘You took us to the forest, master so we can get it together.’

‘And if anyone asks if you saw Emmeric?’

‘No one should be asking after him’ Myra said. ‘At least not for a while. No one saw us when we were walking into the forest, because everybody went to the castle to hide from the rain.’

‘But they will soon be looking for us then. Make sure you don’t have blood stains visible anywhere’ master Yila instructed. ‘Just remember what you were doing, and everything should be fine.’

Should be. Myra sighed, turning back towards the castle. Unfortunately, it rarely was.

But it was nice to think that this time, luck might just be on their side.

#the witcher #witcher school #larp #my writing

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