#thread: w.itcher

     “I noticed you mainly draw upon ice for your spells. It’s not very energy-efficient.” Of course Ignes would point that out. The old sorceress who had mastered the element of fire as source of power like no other. Water and Fire, Earth and Wind, they all were sources, very different in the way they were wielded. It was quite surprising - someone like Caranthir, this golden boy, surely would have been taught to draw upon all the elements to power up his spells. 

   It happened within seconds - all at once, the peaceful afternoon in the lush fields north of Novigrad were torn apart by lightning, energy lingering in the air, sending some of the horses in a state of panic. Her own Princeps almost lost his mind - however, other soldiers of her squad were not as lucky. The young Aaldert was not quite as lucky  - his horse ran off in the distance as the rest of the soldiers tried to get their horses back under control. “[Ready your weapons!]”, she commanded, gripping her own sword - however, this flash of light had only left them with a single person, heavily armored and truly outlandish in appearance. 

    Whatever this man (?) was - it sent shivers down her spine and made her feel uneasy and cold to the core. Nervously, the chestnut horse threw back his head, reluctasnt to remain stood where he was. Within moments, the patrol had surrounded the stranded foreigner.

      “Ciri. It’s so good to finally see you again.” Visitors were always welcome in Kaer Trolde - most welcome were old friends, though. “Come on. I see you have no mug of mead and no bowl of stew before you. A travesty.” The way from the continent all way out to Skellige was a long one, the young woman surely must be exhausted. One way or another, an old friend deserved a heartfelt reception. With a friendly pat, Cerys placed her hand against the other woman’s back, a gentle push towards the main hall.

The King was a tall man with a face that was hard to read. He looked annoyed even when he was perfectly indifferent, and seemed grumpy even when he was in a good mood. However, he was still a polite man, greeting even the elven visitor with a politeness she probably would not receive elsewhere. Not even in Nilfgaard-  the e,pire that had betrayed them. Though Maduke, King of a small realm in the far north east, stayed out of all those political affairs up to now, he was well aware of what was happening on the continent. Do not rise before you ar enot ready for a lethal strike - and his becoming was just in the making.

   “A single good soldier can be worth a whole squad - if they are resourceful and loyal. Are your people just that? I need resourceful people who will do anything to achieve their goals.” The Scoia’tel were known for their hatred for humans - and indeed, he could understand them perfectly well, in fact. The tall man gestured at the other chair by the fireplace. Two cups of wine have been filled already.

  Grasping at straws - one of her favourite pastimes, it seemed. Her newest trail, fresher than anything else she could  get ahold of in he past years, led her back to Toussaint, a territory she usually avoided for purposes obvious to any vampire. However... echoes of what happened in the duchy reached even her. She could not ignore it. The winery Corvo Bianco was... delightfully quaint, not a place one would associate with the trope of a vagrant witcher. 

              “I was hoping to find the Witcher who lives here... Gerard, I think?” A woman, raven hair, standing out amid the servants and farmhands who worked here - clearly someone of importance, then, and so, the one the foreign visitor turned to first. “I merely have a couple of questions about... some of the recent events here. Scholarly matters.” 

    “and so he said ‘But Mademoiselle, this is the room of flowers!’ and -”  Her account of an unfortunate adventure during her last visit in Toussaint was interrupted by a sudden flash of light - a portal opened, straight in the middle of the salon, and spat out a stranger right into a silvertray of small cakes and other patisseries. Buttercream, blood, candied flowers, mud, splintered wood, broken porcelain and spilt tea scattered all over the carpet as some of her guests shrieked, jumping up. Just as fast as the portal had opened, it closed again. 

   Slowly, the lady clad in burgundy rose from her chaise longue and approached the girl who’d dropped here out of nowhere - she was clearly injured. An ashen haired stranger. How... curious. But first, she needed to take care of that girl.