twistedkingdoms

[twistedkingdoms]

"O-oh, w-week, I was just hoping, I mean, if you wouldn't mind-" "He wants ter come wit ye." The look Algren offered in return despite his extremely limited pool of emotional range would normally have been enough to dissuade even the most avid of thrill seekers. "W-w-well, er, um...If it wouldn't be too much of a burden." "We got no mounts, but be used to much walking. Like as not, we keep up." "Mounts are hardly the problem." Algren stated. "Do you accurately grasp the concept of how dangerous a Witcher's work is, boy? Your sword form is near non existent. The lesser the skill, the greater the risk; if Caena's contract had not specifically called for the talents of a Witcher I would not have chosen to escort her so much as one foot down the road, her prowess being so minimal." "Oh Algren, don't be so cruel." Caena sighed. "Or were you never a boy training at your school in the mountains?" "A boy in training who had someone to teach him." "So then teach him," Caena responded as if such a concept should have been obvious from the start. "I doubt he'll be as strong as you but at least you'll have someone who can help you carry monster heads. Besides..." The half elf smiled. "I liked his story last night." Sensing that there was only one way for the conversation to end now that his charge had voiced her support, Algren sighed (though it was more of a heavy exhale), effortlessly mounting his horse in one fluid motion. "If you fall behind I won't come back for you." The Witcher promised. "If there is time to spare I will consider teaching you to improve that wretched sword stance." And without another word on the subject, the cat eyed monster killer spurred his horse off down the road, though he eventually settled for a slower pace when Caena chose to trot along at a more reasonable speed, claiming that the wind would end up tangling her hair beyond fixing. The Witcher's general aloof attitude continued throughout the group's journey, though eventually he did see fit to divulge to the Bard and Druid their final destination and to teach Aadleer a few basic sword swings. Caena, in direct contrast to her escort, remained far more approachable, and in that fashion within a week the group had reached their next stop. The home of Sorceress Yarrow, situated just far enough outside of a large, wealthy city, was modest at best, one story and covered with crawling ivy, boasting a sprawling garden full of herbs. Algren was the first to dismount and the only one to knock; after a bit of noise from within, the front door opened and all four came face to face with the woman in question. In the eyes of even the most discerning, Malia Yarrow would have been considered beautiful; dressed in muted cloth offset by her long blonde hair braided to the small of her back and a crown of bright blue flowers, but complimented by her large brown eyes and the dirt across her bare feet, upon seeing Algren the magic user's features lit up with fond recognition. "Algren! You should have told me you were coming; tis only polite to inform a lady when a guest arrives." Poking her head around the Witcher's tall frame, Malia wrinkled her nose. "And who might your companions be?" "The half elf is my contract. I'm to escort her to Nilfgaard. The other two just followed me. Mostly the Bard." "Ah, craving the life of a Witcher, was he?" Malia inquired with a smile before ushering the group into a house much bigger internally; magic, she teased playfully. "Now then, what brings the mighty Witcher to my door?" "Training for Caena." Algren gestured to the wide eyed half elf still taking everything in. "Werewolf in the last town made it quite clear she can't defend herself; would like to change that." "And here I thought you came by just to see me," Malia mused. "I suppose I could try; no young Sorceress should be without a teacher." "I appreciate your willingness." "Well you certainly don't look it! Honestly, you Witchers and your lack of emotion."

[twistedkingdoms]

“M-Master Witcher! Wait!!”

Algren looked away from the horse he was about to mount with a slight frown. It was the bard from yesterday. He had just scurried from the inn looking very disheveled, his dull, mud colored hair tousled and clothing rumpled. The druid tailed behind.

“Master Witcher, please, I um… Well…” Aadleer tried unsuccessfully to pull his pack up into a more secure position on his shoulder as he floundered. “You see…”

“Out with it,” Algren commanded.

“O-oh, w-well, I was just hoping, I mean, If you wouldn’t mind-”

“He wants ter come wit’ ye,” Mel interrupted, his level, unscrutinous gaze watching Algren carefully.

“W-w-well, er, um…” Aadleer couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer and studiously cast his gaze at the horses’ feet. It was fortunately that Algren had such exceptional hearing, else he might not have heard Aadleer mumble “If it wouldn’t be too much of a burden.”

Mel’s voice was expressionless as ever, but at least he spoke up. “We got no mounts, but be used to much walking. Like as not, we keep up.”

[twistedkingdoms]

Settling back down into his previous seat towards the back of the inn with a heavy leather pouch of coins received from his bounty collection, Algren found himself as anxious as was possible with his emotional scope; bards were often flamboyant but they were also far too chatty. Grunting in thanks when the inn keeper refilled his ale, out of the corner of his eye the Witcher noticed the young man from earlier walk rather gravely towards the hearth. "Today started as a beautiful day, did it not?" And then all grew quiet, and the extremely glorified tale of how the Witcher and his companion had saved the town began. The reactions were perfect in a way that only bards knew how to draw out, and Algren saw fit to stay quiet. There existed plenty of stories about the atrocities of Witchers; if a tale of good deeds could make his job easier, he wasn't about to complain. "I hope you don't mind the artistic liberties I took tonight." Oh, was it over? Well everyone HAD erupted into applause; even Caena had offered up a small smattering. Peering down into his mug, Algren frowned; almost empty again. "It was acceptable." He noted. "You Bards always did enjoy embellishment." "He enjoyed it." Caena assured. "Though it can be difficult to tell, what with his lack of expression." "Witchers do not benefit from emotion." Algren stated, draining his mug before standing from the table. "We really must get some rest now. I wish to be on the road with the rise of the sun." __________________ "So where are we going?" The half elf asked, busying herself with strapping all of the pair's newly purchased supplies to their mounts before swinging her leg up and over her trusted steed. The sun had only just begun to ascend, though Algren had been up much earlier seeing to the care of his now razor sharp swords. "I think it would be wise to give you some form of protection." Algren decided, adjusting his horse's bridle. "I know a sorceress who lives just outside the next major town. She should be capable of providing you with at least some rudimentary knowledge." "Then what are we waiting for?"

[twistedkingdoms]

Aadleer was the last to find himself in the common room of the inn. He had listened carefully to the instructions of the Witcher, and had carefully hidden his dismay at the prospect of trying to wrestle the werewolf head into place where the Witcher had directed. Sure enough, it took him over a dozen tries to get the blasted thing in place, to where it wouldn’t fall down after more than a slight nudge. But finally he managed it.

He took some time to clean himself off, paying special attention to the wound on his left arm. before he made a proper appearance, and put the time to good use mentally preparing his work for this evening. He could have Mel take a look at it later, or maybe even in the morning. Not only did he have new material, a first hand account no less, but his subjects would be in the audience. He felt strangely nervous, a tightness in his chest and slight sense of always being distracted, but he forced himself to think. When he finally entered, he was met with a few smiles, and even a single ‘hello’.

Good, he thought to himself, I have a couple returned members of the audience. That will help to draw the rest in. As nervous as he might be, he was determined to produce one of his best performances yet, even though he hadn’t had the time he would have wished to properly finish writing this composition. He stopped at the bar, caught the eye of the inn keeper and gestured to the Witcher and his companion, then to himself, directing the man to make sure the duo were taken care of on his own tab. Then, with a deep breath to steel his nerves, he walked to the hearth and took up a grave stance, staring into the flames.

“Today started as a beautiful day, did it not?” he called out to no one in particular.

Most didn’t take any heed to him, but one of the patrons from the night before caught on and called back, over the din, “Aye, it did.”

The response caught the attention of a few, who quieted down to listen. “We all knew they were lurking somewhere- why else would we have put up a bounty?” Some more lapsed into silence. “But who could have thought that today, with that glorious sun, so perfect for working the fields, not hot enough to make the markets sweltering but rather inviting, could play host to something that could have been so tragic?”

The inn had gone silent, and per a few nudges of encouragement, even the hands of Gwent had been stilled.

Aadleer looked up, casting sober eyes about the common room, picking out individual faces and making contact. “We all heard it- that howl that split the day.” Nods of agreement. “Then the chorus that followed- not one, but many, had come to destroy that which we have striven for so long to build- our businesses, our homes, our very families. There was no hope.” The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone remembered how close things had come today, and no one wanted to dwell on it. So why was this lad, who had brought so much cheer the night before, dredging up such fear?

“But then, there were two.” Aadleer was careful to inflect all the warmth and affection he could into those five words. “Two, who had the courage to stand. Two, who had the strength and ability to protect. Two, for us, who were willing to lay their lives on the line, to save us.”

He swiftly straightened, and began circling the room at a measured pace. His eyes shown, daring the townsfolk to meet his gaze and deny his words, are careful, small smile fixed on his thin lips. “I, too, was of no help, and of that I am ashamed, but nevertheless, the Masters Witcher and Sorcerous saw fit to extend hands of mercy towards us.”

Then everything escalated. “In a moment!” he shouted, suddenly snatching up someone’s fork in his signature move and leaping upon the hearth stones, landing in a far semblance of a defensive stance, “There was naught but they two in the square, and some score of wolves, braying and hungered, lead by their devious master, the lone were that has been stalking us!”

Aadleer’s cadence ebbed and flowed as he relayed the tale that everyone had missed, shuttered away in their homes. Aadleer, Algren and Caena all knew it was heavily embellished, but that didn’t slow down the story teller one bit. He exclaimed how the Witcher had so quickly struck the werewolf, and disposed of the first few wolves. He threw himself to the ground as he wailed the dangers that had befallen Caena, eliciting gasps of anticipation and horror from the crowd. He leaped up and danced, illustrating but poorly imitating the master swordsmanship of Algren, cutting down imaginary foes, then dived down again to raise the sorceress to her feet again. All the while he recounted, carefully weaving his own spell of words and imagery to keep his audience enthralled.

He slowed, fork still in hand, “And at last,” he whispered, but everyone could hear it, “all that was left was that cursed were. They circled, each knowing that a single false move would mean their death.” He circled himself, crouched, building the tension in the room. “Eyes locked, their breaths held. The Mistress Sorceress waited in the wings, prepared for any outcome that should ensue. Suddenly, the werewolf howled!” The crowd gasped as Aadleer let out a fair impersonation. “And the Master Witcher wasted not a heartbeat, and lashed out!” Aadleer lashed as well, “and cleanly severed the head of the beast!”

Most everyone in the room erupted into cheers while Aadleer stole someone’s empty plate and held it high over his head as a trophy beaming to the guests.

As the noise began to die down, Aadleer let his voice carry over the crowd one last time as he set down the plate and fork, then spread his hands. “Let us not forget the tragedy that could have befallen us today, but also let us celebrate all that we still have!” A note of pain made it past his guard, but his warm smile did not waiver. “It is a shame that there is a need for Witchers, but so long as there is that need, I for one will be happy to pay for their services, that they can provide for themselves and continue to keep us safe. Have a good night, everyone, and please,” he added with a wink, “have another drink.”

Instead of his usual, Aadleer stepped down from the hearth and mingled with the crowd for a couple minutes, not wanting to draw any attention to the Witcher and his companion directly. As the room settled again, the atmosphere warm and cheery, he made his way to Mel and the two “saviors” of the town at a table in the back corner. He suddenly felt a huge stone drop into his stomach, and it was everything he could do to keep his stride even and anxiety from his expression. Oh, please let them approve, he thought anxiously as he took a seat beside his friend and cast his gaze over the two. “I hope you don’t mind the artistic liberties I took tonight,” he said with a smile, only a slight tension in his eyes belaying the confidence he broadcast.

[twistedkingdoms]

"Please, let me help!" All of this enthusiasm...rather a strange occurrence for Algren who had long ago grown used to being met with fear. "I-I probably can't cut off the head-" "I would think not." Algren agreed bluntly. "But I could certainly carry it around for you! And Mel, he's actually good for something- I'm sure he would be happy to stay with you, young miss." "If there be something we can do to help, we be happy ter do so." Casting her large dark eyes upward to the Druid's form, after taking a moment to form an opinion Caena smiled, just the faintest upward quirk of the mouth. "They seem kind, Algren," she murmured, to which the Witcher grunted in response. "In any case, we had just finished for the day and we're going to head back to the inn ourselves. It would be my pleasure to buy you both a meal." Unable to find the sense in turning down free nourishment, Algren grunted again. "No ale for the girl," He instructed sternly, taking a moment to inspect the fallen werewolf for any useful alchemical ingredients before lopping off the creature's head; originally he'd planned to leave it until morning, but if the boy was offering to carry it.... "Use two hands; you can strap it to my mount's saddle. Tie the leather straps securely between the jaws." Satisfied with his inspection of the corpse, Algren proceeded to make for the inn, intent on recieiving his bounty and getting some rest. "We leave in the morning Caena; have the Druid inspect your hands for any wounds deeper then a salve." "But we only just got here!" Despite her protests, the half elf knew her escort's mind was made up; Witcher were always on the road, and the ultimate goal was ensuring her safe passage to the capital city of Nilfgaard.

[twistedkingdoms]

"Please, let me help!" Aadleer exclaimed, almost excited. "I-I probably can't cut off the head," he said, sounding dismayed, "but I could certainly carry it around for you! And Mel, he's actually good for something- I'm sure he would be happy to stay with you, young miss," he added with a smile. Mel, as always, had trailed after Aadleer, and nodded. "If there be something we can do to help, we be happy ter do so." Standing next to the vibrant, animated lad, Mel seemed almost dead in his lack of apparent emotion. "In any case, we had just finished for the day, and were going to head back to the inn ourselves." Aadleer could hardly decide who he wanted to look at more between Algren and his companion. "It would be my pleasure to buy you both a meal."

[twistedkingdoms]

Despite Caena insisting that Algren’s attention was not required, the Witcher was careful to inspect his charge quite extensively after the Druid departed, giving a large portion of time to the palms of her hands. Sorceresses were powerful and that fact would always remain indisputable, but an untrained mage made for wild spells and dangerous consequences. “Palms look a little seared,” Algren noted. “Should have a salve in one of the saddlebags.” “You have a salve for everything,” Caena groused, though the good natured roll of her eyes was difficult to miss; having an always prepared Witcher often proved to be incredibly useful. “M-M-Master Witcher!” Apparently the young man from earlier had found his sense of movement again. “Sir, thank you, thank you so much for your assistance to this village!” Choosing not to mention how he likely wouldn’t have bothered had the chances of a bounty not been extremely high, Algren grunted and returned his attention to Caena, the halfling in question unsure if adopting a wary or amused outlook would be the better choice. “And Madam Sor- oh....oh. I...I...” “You....?” Caena prompted, large, almost doe like dark eyes curious and somewhat unblinking. "I’m sorry. You just, you just look very much like someone I know, I mean, I knew.  Please accept my thanks for your assistance in saving the people of this town.” "And here I thought my face was special, did you not say so Algren? Looking like someone he knows, he says.” "Not that special." Algren commented. "All faces are common.” “And I’m hardly a Madam; I’m only seventeen!” “Almost eighteen.” "Eighteen does not qualify one as a Madam, Algren!” Caena responded, puffed cheeks clearly indicating her youthful age but nearly out of place compared to the rest of her beautiful features. “In any case, I hardly did anything; the real credit should go to Algren.” "I don’t need credit, I need coins and a blacksmith. Remind me to come back for that werewolf head; I know a man who pays for monster trophies.” "Of course you do,” Caena responded with a wrinkle of her nose. “Could we return to the inn now, 'Master Witcher'?"

[twistedkingdoms]

Mel nodded, stowing the revelation that the girl must have some eleven blood in her away in the box of potentially assumed facts that he expected he never use. Having nothing else to say, he made his way to Aadleer. If either the Witcher or the girl changed their minds, they would be able to easily find him.

“Yer not dead,” Mel commented.

Aadleer started, shaking off his awe filled revere. He grabbed Mel’s hands through his sleeves. “Mel! Mel, a real Witcher! I’ve got to go thank him!” He quickly ran the short distance to the pair.

“M-M-Master Witcher! Sir, thank you, thank you so much for your assistance to this village! And Madam Sor- oh…oh.” As Aadleer’s eyes fell on Caena and he processed her fine features, he choked on this words in obvious shock, and his posture fell slack. “I… I…” he floundered, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed, perfectly calm. “You just, you just look very much like someone I know, I mean, I knew.” He swallowed. “Please accept my thanks for your assistance in saving the people of this town.” Aadleer couldn’t take his eyes off her.

[twistedkingdoms]

"Thank ye, for her services." A Druid; not the sort of creature Algren had expected to run into outside of the woods, and furthermore not one the Witcher had much personal experience with, though he did dip his head in response. The young man he'd just saved from a grisly death however, all wide eyed and stock still, was all too familiar ground for the almost one hundred year old monster slayer, though for the time being it was less important. Kill a beast in front of a boy and he'll usually end up thinking Witcher life is enviable at some point, regardless of the dangers. "Have ye any need of mine?" A healer then, also quite common for the Druids. With his advanced healing and stock of potions Algren had no doubt he'd be fine with a bit of rest; Caena on the other hand remained quite delicate as per her half elven blood and upon feeling the gaze of others upon her, began shifting somewhat restlessly from one foot to the other. "I'm fine; just a few scrapes...maybe a little blood? The last wolf got me on the shoulder and hey, hey Algren watch the hood it'll catch on my ears! Watch the ears!" "Looks superficial. Not deep enough to puncture." "That's why I already told you I'm fine!" Caena protested, tugging the folds of her coat back tightly around her face. "I know I'm not Witcher strong but I can handle a few wolves, Algren." "I do not care if you can handle them if it means you bleed. The contract states you are to return home unharmed."

[twistedkingdoms]

Mel had gathered up the young Fynda and sick Daisy into the first home he could- no one wanted to be outside once they heard the wolves howl, and had graciously extended the same opportunity to the bubbly youth they knew and loved, and they stranger she brought with her.

“Come, Fynda,” he called softly. In an effort to keep her calm, he had you help him in his work of healing the sow. It would take her mind of the braying of the wolves outside. He paid no mind to the eventual sounds of fighting, knowing there was nothing he could do at the moment. In time, they faded away, and as he finally finished with the pig, Fynda noticed the silence from outside. “Do you think they’re gone?” she asked, suddenly filled with anxiety again.

“You’re safe now lass, take the pig home,” he instructed, patting her on the head.

“Are you sure it’s safe out there?” asked the lady of the house.

Mel looked to her calmly. “It is no more dangerous out there now than it was 20 minutes ago,” he informed her. One way or another, those wolves were gone. He highly doubted it was due to Aadleer, so there must have been a Witcher around.

Cautiously, the woman opened the door and they all crept out. Mel, the last out the door, walked around them and went directly for the square, no hesitation in his step.

It was impossible to mistake the Witcher, the first person Mel saw as he came to the square. A young woman stood with him, dusting herself off and conversing with him in hushed tones. The stench of death assaulted Mel’s nose, and his heart ached for the wolves that had met their end here, but there had been no better alternative. Northward, he could see Aadleer shakily getting to his feet. There was a distinct bite mark on his off arm, but aside from being extraordinarily pale, the lad seemed fine. Mel watched him gaze in awe at the Witcher, never letting his dark brown eyes leave him. He hardly remembered to sheath his unused blade.

Mel approached, hands tucked in the opposite sleeves of his loose, brown robe. “Thank ye, for yer services.” With a small bow, the druid acknowledged the Witcher. “Have ye any need of mine?” He cast his eyes briefly over the Witcher’s companion. Aadleer would surely be along momentarily, but the lad was sturdy, and the last thing Mel had expected was a Witcher with clearly some kind of connection to such a potential liability in the middle of this little town.

[twistedkingdoms]

Had Algren been a normal man he might not have felt any unease behind the cheerful atmosphere of the inn, might have settled down to watch his elven companion win hand after hand of Gwent...but Algren was not a normal man. The first disturbance, easy to pick out with his heightened hearing, was hardly a cause for concern; wolves often made their homes in forested areas and the pack in question seemed to be on the move, searching for a meal. But then the pack changed direction, and the accompanying howl was enough to propel the cat eyed monster hunter to his feet; though embroiled in her card game, Algren's demeanor was more than enough to catch Caena's attention and the pair were out the door in a matter of moments. "Did you hear something?" Caena inquired, offering one of several very specifically packed saddlebags upon her escort's request. "I thought I heard wolves earlier, but fighting them hardly requires oils...." "Wolves don't." Algren agreed, rummaging through numerous small vials and flasks. "But werewolves do. Eris did always say to read before drinking...should have checked the notice board first." Honestly his former teacher would likely have slapped him silly for making such an error. "I know you don't have much practice with your magic, but wolves attack without discrimination. Werewolves are stronger, smarter; they can be challenging for even the most seasoned Witchers." Algren remarked, selecting a small jar of oil to dip the pointed tip of his blade into. "If you cannot kill the wolves at the very least drive them away." Without further delay the two moved towards the center of town, Algren deftly dodging any frantic stragglers. "H-hey, over here!" The werewolf had already made its entrance, tall and gaunt, smelling terrible enough to rot meat; a small group of equally malnourished wolves, likely the pack from earlier, circled their current prey, a young man with a short sword and very little apparent knowledge of how to use it if his stance was anything to go by. Making an effort to be as stealthy as possible, Algren methodically closed the gap inch by inch; fortunately the werewolf seemed far more interested in its current prey, a decision that soon proved a mistake as Algren's silver sword punctured cleanly through the monster's stomach, blood matting its fur. Howling in rage the werewolf turned, the wolves scattering to nip at his heels but mostly at Caena's cloak and exposed fingers, though from what Algren recognized as the faint glow of the half elf's magical pendant, nestled snugly against her breastbone, the sorceress appeared to be managing despite being knocked down. Fire is a deterrent to even the boldest of animals, a lesson Caena knew all too well as the dark eyed young woman nestled a roaring flame carefully within her hands. Disoriented by all the commotion, Algren's foe went down easily enough as did the wolf pack; with a few savage whacks of the sword the creature's head was then separated from its body to ensure a proper death, and all was quiet again. "Not even the right time for werewolves to cycle...." Algren muttered, flicking some dry blood from his fingertips before sheathing his sword and moving to help Caena up off the ground, tucking her hair and ears back under her cloak after she snuffed out her magic flames. "Very strange indeed." "Werewolves have cycles?"

[twistedkingdoms]

Aadleer struggled under the weight of the sick sow, following the young girl that had been tasked to see the pig to the Druid for healing and to escort it back to the family farm afterwards. “Can’t you walk any faster?” she called. “Papa carries Daisy every day and moves twice as fast as you!”

“Well, that’s why,” he grunted to himself. Aadleer was accustomed to helping all manner of beings to wherever Mel set up shop, however most times they could at least limp there with assistance. Daisy the Pig however was very sick, and, not withstanding significant weight loss, weighed nearly as much as he did.

“Ugh, you’re so slow!!”

After five more minutes of grunting, insulting and staggering, the trio finally made it to the fringes of the little town square where merchants and tradesmen were hard at work haggling and crowing their wares or services. Gracelessly, Aadleer toppled over as he over balanced trying to gently set down the huge sow.

“Daisy!” the little girl shrieked, running over and pushing Aadleer away, hugging her neck. “Did he hurt you?”

The pig grunted weakly, rooting at her skirts. Aadleer grunted at the youth’s indifference towards him, but made no remark.

"Whoa there, lass,” Mel intervened as his last patient stood and walked away, giving his thanks. “I’m sure she’s okay. Let’s take a look. What’s wrong?”

As the youth prattled off Daisy’s ailments, and Mel set about his healing work, Aadleer let his attention wander. He could head back to the inn just across the way, especially as it was getting late and Mel wasn’t planning on doing anything else until tomorrow, but something nagged at him to stay.

Suddenly the north end of the square erupted into screams and crowds fled any which way south, east or west, followed almost instantly with a bellowing roar. Aadleer’s blood chilled and his hands started to shake. He cast his gaze to Mel, who silently nodded. He swallowed hard, gripped the hilt of his plain, modest sword and started to push his way towards the north.

Aadleer had no expectations that this would end well for him. Only his white knuckle grip on his blade and scabbard kept his hands from shaking, but if he could help even one person have a better chance of surviving whatever monster attacked, it would be worth his while. In a heartbeat, he suddenly lurched from the throng, and he found himself staring down the beast. Now that he didn’t have to worry about impaling himself or someone else, he finally pulled his short sword from the sheath, and his trembling was made painfully evident in the wavering of the point of the blade. Adrenaline made his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out his cracking voice as he called “H-hey, over here!!”

Aadleer was going to die.

[twistedkingdoms]

As far as roadside towns went, the group of small homes and farmland known as Halimesh was looking to be quite typical; per Algren's instruction Caena had drawn the hood of her traveling cloak up around her face to better hide her most eleven features. Covered by folds of dark, fur trimmed fabric it was quite easy to pass the halfling off as little more than an attractive seventeen year old; the same could not be said of Algren, who in the span of only two minutes had heard the work 'freak' at least twice as many times. "Typical." Caena muttered, lips drawn into a thin line as her escort paused to briefly inspect a notice board erected by locals in need of assistance before dismounting and herding her towards the front door of the inn. "They see some cat eyes and a medallion and forget so quickly that they'd gladly pay you crowns." "I'm not paid to make friends with the locals." Algren responded bluntly, shouldering open the door; the almost immediate drop in conversation was something he'd long ago grown used to, ordinary citizens peering over their ale with fear and curiousity. "Go find a place to sit, somewhere in the back. We stay two nights at most, and are back on the road by dawn once my swords have been buffed." Fortunately the elven heir did as asked, though she was quick to grow restless and instead drifted over to join a pair of farmhands engaged in a game of Gwent, surveying her own hand quite seriously for a casual round with no betting pool. Satisfied for the moment, Algren instead turned his focus to the worn down inkeeper. "A Witcher, eh? Haven't seen your kind in a long while. Halimesh don't normally got much need for one though," "That notice board says you might." Algren noted, removing a cloth coin bag to retrieve the required payment. "Two rooms, two nights." "Well Witcher's coin is as good as any other," The innkeep mused, sliding over a tankard of ale before Algren made his way back towards Caena. "I thought I told you to sit in the back." "Aye, if she'd listened to you we wouldn't be getting our asses flogged by a mere girl." One of the farmhands groused good naturedly, throwing down his hand of cards in defeat. "You play Gwent, Master Witcher?" "Not nearly as well as she does. Afraid I'll have to disappoint you."

[twistedkingdoms]

Mel nursed his ale carefully, watching his more animated companion, Aadleer, become more and more engrossed in his retelling of Darkspine the Ruthless. Most folk might not have liked them witchers much, but they certainly made for good stories. Bein' so hard to kill and such, you could weave quite the pretty tale 'bout their conquests. Suddenly, Aadleer leaped from his seat, snaring an unused fork from the counter they were sitting at, and brandished it an an imaginary foe, yelling "your tyranny is at an end, Darkspine!" He had already gathered a few listeners, but his typical bravado garnered a good portion of those still awake in the common area of the inn. He danced around tables, challenging his non-existent dragon, rolling away from fire, ducking under whipping tails, and scrambling from lethal claws, all the while challenging and degrading the beast. It took him nearly five minutes of antics that captivated anyone who didn't stubbornly put their nose to their drink for Aadleer to finally climb upon a relatively empty table for the climax of his tale. "I end you now!" he roared, then jumped, plunging his fork into the heart of the beast. The crowd roared in approval at Darkspine's vanquishment. After a moment as they stilled, Aadleer stood and bowed, thanking everyone for letting him distract them from their meals, and inciting them to have another ale and tell tales of their own. "Tell them Aadleer sent you!" he called out, earning another round of applause and laughter. Aadleer's story might have been one of the most inaccurate renditions of the end of Darkspine, but as usual it attracted attention, which meant more customers, which meant the inn keeper would give them room and board for a night or two before they wandered off to another town to see what they could do to help. "So what did you think?" Aadleer asked Mel earnestly, just the same way he had asked every other night he had shared a story. It didn't matter how many times he had done this, or how delighted the crowd had been by the end, Aadleer still anxiously sought Mel's approbation. Why his nightly assurances that the lad had done well seemed to be forgotten with each sleep, Mel didn't know, but he had a good heart, after his own, so he patiently buoyed the boy up. One day the younger would finally find confidence in himself. Hopefully that day would be before they parted ways, by design or not. Mel patted the vacant seat next to him where Aadleer had been sitting minutes ago. "Ye did well, lad, ye did well." Words were never his forte, unlike for Aadleer, but even though Aadleer heard the exact same thing every night, he still lit up as though the king himself commended him. "Thank you, Mel. You know I wouldn't be here without you." "I know, lad, I know."

[twistedkingdoms]

(Changing gears again, this time with a Witcher related rp!) "Algren, do you think that-" "No." A brief stretch of silence, broken only by the sound of eight hooves clomping leisurely over a haphazardly packed dirt road. "I was merely suggesting that-" "No. It is better to cover as much ground as possible before we make camp for the night. I've been contracted to bring you to Nilfgaard as quickly as possible, and will not entertain any unnecessary detours", the Witcher replied, casting about his yellow green, feline gaze for any sign of trouble; the approaching evening hours had yet to herald the arrival of any adversaries, not so much as a ghoul, but with his charge's constant noise the wolf school monster slayer was expecting trouble at any moment. "If you need rest, then rest; it would be a simple matter to lead your mount for an hour or two." Honestly, when Nilfgaard's king had tasked him with locating and escorting his illegitimate daughter he'd expected a young woman, not a seventeen year old girl. "I'm not an infant who needs a nap, Algren. I was merely suggesting we get rooms at an inn instead of making camp again. I'm tired of sleeping on the ground where any two bit bandit can find us." The dark eyed female pouted with puffed cheeks, tucking a strand of wild hair behind a slightly pointed ear. "Besides, did you not mention that your silver sword could use some buffing? I'm quite certain you won't find a blacksmith out in the woods." She stated, trying (and failing) to garner the ashen haired male's attention by staring at the back of his head. "....I suppose you have a point." Algren conceeded begrudgingly. Ordinarily it would have been a simple matter to protect himself, but a sorceress though she might have been, his companion was still young, loathe to adhere to authority. Best not to take any chances since his pay depended on her safety. "And you will buy me a pint when we get there with your Witcher coin, yes?" "Even if I had enough to treat you to a drink, Caena, you are far too young for that." "...Stingy." The half elf muttered, tugging her dapple grey horse in the direction of the nearest signpost to get a feel for the location of the closest major town. "For someone who slays so many fearsome beasts, you sure are short on funds."

[twistedkingdoms]

Astrael expected to be unfamiliar, and occasionally even uncomfortable in Ancelstierre for the first time. It was bizarre to her that there should be no vegetation for easily a mile from the Wall, and while she could understand there was defensive advantages to the coils of barbed wire and the trenches that stretched out of sight to the east and west, she'd never seen anything like it before. The squat buildings in the distance were made of materials she didn't recognize and larger than she was accustomed to, and if they weren't barracks and command posts, then she had no idea what they would be. However, in the face of all this novelty, it was what was most familiar that caught her most off guard. Astrael stumbled as her sense of Death was assaulted. The air felt degrees colder than she knew it actually was, and in the corners of her vision she thought she could see the river, ever flowing into Death. Many, many had died here, and it had wedged the gate to Death open just a crack, but even a crack was enough. If she didn't get the wind flutes replaced quickly, this whole area would be swarmed by spirits forcing their way back to life, and she doubted the men here could do much of anything to effectively fight them, let alone banish them. That was her job- to keep the Dead down- and she didn't expect any help on this side of the Wall, even if she secretly hoped for it. There was little enough of that in her own land. She carefully focused on the sun, causing herself to squint against it's harsh, direct light, to keep herself firmly anchored in Life. It wouldn't do for her to cross the border at this time, especially on accident. Entering Death was always taking one's life into their hands, but even more she couldn't risk losing a moment of time, or good faith of the citizens of Ancelstierre. Her father had warned her of the utter lack of the Charter, with only a small exception of the areas near the Wall. Not only would it be more difficult to access the Charter or cross into Death the further south she traveled, but the people would become more skeptical and suspicious of many things that she thought to be commonplace. No, she didn't want to start by unnerving the militia here with something that even Old Kingdom citizens we unfamiliar and occasionally unsettled with. Lieutenant Marsh lead Astrael to one of the smaller, closer buildings, directly off the track that lead from the gate in the Wall out into what she supposed would eventually be civilization. There she meet with the Major, and explained again what her business was there, this time emphasizing the importance that she find her father, and perhaps receive and escort or some other aid. She would spend the day carving new wind flutes, something the Major was deeply grateful for, which would not only minimize the likelihood of incidents that would require her attention but also give the Ancelstierrians time to make any arrangements they were willing to offer to her. Major Shaw pulled out a map and laid it on his desk, beckoning Astrael to come look at it. Like the Old Kingdom, it appeared that Ancelstierre was a somewhat narrow track of land, with ocean to the east and west, and sharing the entirely of the north or south borders with another, individual country. Shaw pointed at a small dot next to the largest line running towards the south from the illustration of the Wall, which she presumed must be a road. "Here is Bane," he told her. "The Abhorsen didn't tell me what his business was there, but he made it sound like it wasn't anything good, nor that he had intentions of staying there long. I expected to have seen him again by now, but we wouldn't be having this conversation if we had, eh?" "No, we wouldn't," Astrael agreed absentmindedly. What business could he have had so far into Ancelstierre? "I'll try to make some calls for you, see if I can locate him, or make someone in Bane, or even the capital Covere, aware of your business here. I appreciate all the Abhorsen has done for us, but the sooner you have nothing to do here, the better." Astrael looked at him in confusion. "Make some calls?" The Major chuckled. "You're in for some fun here." He pointed to a strange, black, boxy object on the corner of his desk. "That machine allows me to talk to people miles away, in real time." Astrael was only getting more confused. " What other kind of time is there?" At this, Major Shaw guffawed. It took him a moment to regain his composure. "Ah, I'm sorry lass, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing at you for your ignorance. Real time is just a phrase we use to explain that there is no delay in the conversation- things over great distances happen as though they were in the same room." Astrael took a moment to process this information. "That would be incredibly useful to have." She could barely even begin to see the applications and implications. The Major began to roll up the map to put it away. "Well, I'm sure it wouldn't be much more than a paperweight for you- these things like to stop working when that wind blows in from the north. Even Bane has occasional power outages, if the gusts are strong enough. But the breeze has been easterly today, so I doubt we should have much difficulty at the moment. Now shoo- I have work to do, and so do you. I'll send someone to make sure you have all the materials you need." Astrael wasn't sure what resources would be at her disposal in Ancelstierre when she set off, so she made sure to pack everything she would need- simply some small birch branches and a whittling knife. She was able to settle down on a collapsible, metal chair of a design she had never seen in the shade outside the command post where she wouldn't be bothered or a bother. As once she had carved a simple flute (little more than a narrow, hand-length tube), she would cast a moderate Charter spell on it using marks of binding, closing and stopping, and send it into the wood with a master mark to bind the spell together. The master mark would flow down the blade of her carving knife onto the wood where it would flash gold, then fade almost into nothingness as the spell took. After a short while, a lieutenant came and informed her that her work was disrupting things inside and that she would need to move. She was escorted back towards the Wall, where she informed him that the weather was more than nice enough that she wouldn't mind just sitting in the no man's land, if she would be out of the way there. And there she sat, working, for the rest of the day, pausing only to eat and drink a small meal from provisions in her pack.

[twistedkingdoms]

Starting Over

For any of you that might be following this, we’ve decided to start sorta fresh, recycle/update a few characters and explore Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom while building a new and improved Ancelstierre. Hope you enjoy this pseudo-fanfic.

-Creampaws

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Mogget?” Astrael asked worriedly. “I don’t think anyone has crossed the Wall in decades.”

Mogget stuck his head out of Astrael’s pack, the miniature Saraneth at his throat chiming once, deep and authoritatively. “Does nothing stick in that head of yours? It’s been 186 years exactly, on this winter solstice, since anyone except the Abhorsen from our side has crossed. There’ve been plenty of border patrols, to be sure, from the other side, but no one has been as stupid as you to try to cross since Ker–ack!” Interrupted by a hairball, the white cat leaped from the sack and heaved. Astrael turned away, disgusted.

Instead she turned and looked to the Wall, a formidable structure several spans tall, and easily 15 feet deep. The ramparts were empty, and though she doubted there was any way built into the wall to access them that the Wall needed any help in dividing and protecting the the Old Kingdom and whatever lay on the other side. If she looked closely at the stones she could see Charter marks drift across the face like shadows, occasionally sinking into the stone or rising up as from the depths of the ocean. A few she recognized, but most were beyond her.

Mogget had finished, and came and sat beside her, watching the gate. No portcullis barred passage, but, as Mogget said, most weren’t stupid enough to try and cross. “Here they come,” he said softly.

“What? I don’t see anyone.” Astael squirted through the gate, trying to see what Mogget saw.

“Freeze! You there! Hands in the air!” someone shouted from behind her.

Astrael did as commanded, not wanting to incite any commotion. She finally heard the man walk forward, then realized he wasn’t alone. “A-are you a border patrol?” She asked shakily, struggling to keep her hands at head height and still.

He came around her left, a strange cylindrical object she didn’t recognize in his right hand pointed at her face, and a short sword in his left. “What’s it to you?”

“I-I’m… My name is Astrael, and my father, the Abhorsen, has gone missing. I know that he placed wind flutes to help keep the Dead down on your side of the Wall, but I fear that with the new moon they will expire.”

The man swore. “I’m going to test your mark- you have permission to do the same.” He slid the smaller object, a weapon, Astrael assumed, into a pouch at his hip where the handle grip protruded for easy access, then approached. He swapped the naked blade to his right and, cautiously as Astrael did the same, reached forward and touched the Charter mark on her forehead with two fingers. Both felt the warmth of the Charter wash over them, as though they were dipped briefly into the sea of the Charter, surrounded by millions of glowing, golden marks. Each was assured that, while perhaps there were malicious intents still, that both wore unsullied marks and were completely human and untainted by Death or Free Magic.

“Yes, I am a Perimeter Scout,” the man said, relaxing his grip only slightly on his blade. “First Lieutenant Marsh, of the Perimeter Garrison. You are the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, then?”

Astrael swallowed and nodded. “And this is Mogget, serv-, er, my cat.” Her eyes darted up from Mogget’s small form and mischievously twinkling green eyes to Lieutenant Marsh’s, worried he would press for details. The last thing she wanted to do while trying to get access across the Wall was to try and explain Mogget’s true nature, of which she wasn’t even completely sure of herself.

Marsh paused, then decided that it wasn’t a topic he wanted to pursue at the moment. “You said you think the wind flutes are going to expire? That’s a problem. What would cause them to do that?”

“Well, I fear that something has happened to him, and it might have been on your side of the Wall. If he has… has…” She had to swallow the lump in her throat, and struggle to keep the tears at bay. “If something has happened to him, the flutes will only continue to work until the first full moon after his… passing… and then they will shatter.

"He last wrote me saying he was going to investigate something on your side of the Wall, but he didn’t mention what it might be, and his tone was very urgent. Never did he hide his work from me, so I am lead to believe that whatever it was, it’s something serious, and as Abhorsen-in-Waiting, it is my job to verify that it has been resolved.

"I had hoped that in making new flutes for you, you or someone in your garrison might be able to provide me some details as to when he last crossed, and if he said anything about his business there.”

Marsh’s lips pursed as he listened to Astrael’s story. “I see. Surely you know that the new moon is tonight.”

“What?!” Astrael exclaimed. “I thought- I mean, I cross-referenced- I-I mean- but the new moon should have been…” She had dropped her pack off her back to the ground and was frantically digging through it. Finding what she sought, she drew out a heavy, leather-bound tome and flicked through several pages. She found the charts she needed, running her fingers down the lines and comparing figures. She moaned. “You’re right, I must have read this wrong when I left this morning. There is no time to waste, we must get over there.”

“Does that give you the differences in seasons and moons?” Marsh asked in awe.

“Yes, don’t you have almanacs over there?”

“No, we don’t, but that would certainly be helpful to have.” He watched her almost accusingly. “Is there anything else we should know about?”

“I-I’m sure something could be arranged,” she stuttered. “B-but please, I think our f-first priority should be replacing the wind flutes.” She clutched the book anxiously. She wasn’t sure why Marsh should be hostile towards her, but the last thing she wanted to do was antagonize the only means she had to obtain help in finding her father.

Marsh studied her a moment longer, then nodded. “We’ll escort you to the Major, then you can explain everything to him.” He looked passed her, and her gaze followed him as he addressed the dozen men behind her, all in kaki uniforms in defensive stances. Some of them held objects similar to the weapon the Lieutenant had put away moments ago, but much larger and held with two hands, small blades affixed to the end closest to her, but all had swords, sheathed or in free hands. A few of the blades looked like they had been crudely Charter spelled. “Stand down,” he called, finally sheathing his own blade. “We will escort the Abhorsen across the Wall.”

The patrol murmured amongst themselves, but did as they were told. About half of them bore a Charter mark, but all of them seemed to know at least a little about her station, even if she was only the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Or so she hoped. She swallowed again as she tucked her almanac back in her pack. Mogget wordlessly jumped in as she moved to close it, and ignored her scowl as she lifted it back up to her shoulders.

Lieutenant Marsh lead the way through the gate in the Wall, Charter marks in the stone and mortar flaring briefly and following each individual as they all filed through. Astrael had known that it was spring time across the wall, and while she welcomed the escape from winter’s chill, the bright sunlight was harsh on her eyes as the sun cast it’s first direct rays of the morning upon them. It looked like she had gained a few hours. Thank goodness- it would take a while to be able to carve enough wind flutes to help secure the area around the gate.