with @fetzen

Before the Keep…

---

Having made her quick introduction to Balidvar, Avery set about the camp - basket still slung over the crook of her elbow, the smell of baked goods still wafting from underneath the soft cotton draped over the top. Her eyes scanned the area, making note of any people of interest. Nothing particularly hummed out to her from behind the faces of the people she passed by, none but one. The mysterious rider with the beastly trophy slung over the saddle - the antlers brittle and snapped, carrying still forsworn secrets of ancient ways - a primitive life. She shuddered in response, a grim tickle across the nape of her neck was the glimpse into perhaps a rough battle between the slain beast and the rider.

A witcher, she thought to herself, a looming shadow followed him and she felt that more than anything else around her. He had more secrets than anyone, she thought. The air around her grew thick and she found that she didn’t want to make eye contact with him. Instead choosing to retreat into a tent.

As she stepped in, she found it to be empty - save for a few tools, and a cot set up in the corner. There was a sterile scent in the air that suggested that this particular spot had been reserved for some kind of medical practitioner. It had been something that had always interested Avery, and she wasted no time in looking over the equipment with a curious glint in her eye. She hadn’t seen a doctor arrive, nor heard of one being here. “I was early,” she reminded herself under her breath.

Still, it seemed as quiet a spot as any to wait for a while.

Tyrvariél had spent roughly about the last hour on inspecting the camp and found it to be in acceptable condition. Anything like a real anvil was still to be found of course, but it would not have come as a surprise to him if this expedition had been planned with the thought of finding many resources in the fortress itself in mind. The elf pondered about whether he should dare to speak up about this matter, maybe even point out that finding and securing the basic tools for everyday maintenance should be made a priority for the fighting troops ? But there was the fact that... well... he was he. A man with pointed ears who had not been in the real frontline of any of the battles of this war. An easy target for anyone with a soldier’s background who was in the need to let go of some frustration, he thought. So it would remain the thing it was: a thought in his mind.

The quietness in the tent Avery was in was disrupted by the noise of metal shifting on metal closing in from behind her. The very bulked up elf had not yet undone any part of the armor he was wearing, but simply for the lack of time and need to do so. He reached for the flysheet and gently shoved it out of the way so he could enter, but stopped dead in his tracks just a moment later: the sorceress! Had he just entered the wrong tent ? Was this hers ? With the thought of just having caused a major disturbance his heart started to go slightly faster while he searched for any proof of being wrong. Seldomly the sight of one of those curved amputation knives resting on a table had had any satisfying component, but now it had. So unless he had judged her entirely wrong this was not her place...

"Erm... hello ?" The elf's voice was pretty much as dark and chesty as one could expect given his stature, but the sign of uncertainty in it was clearly audible as well. "May I introduce myself ? Tyrvariél. I've been assigned to be this expedition's doctor."

Avery’s head turned, and she smirked - sensing the minor apprehension in the elf. Not one to leave him dangling on that string, she lifted both hands into the air and shrugged her shoulders. “My apologies. I stepped in for a spot of quiet,” she sidestepped from where she had been, leaving the table of tools behind her. “Wanted to be away from the prying eyes, mostly,” she admitted candidly. “Quite a number of judgemental stares outside…”

As she moved, she gave a look to the elf, acknowledging who he was, or morso, what he was. The sorceress eyed him from head to toe - tucking a fist under her chin as she did so. Still, she had a way about her that made it seem far less intrusive and examining in nature, and more innocently curious. “I’m Avery, I’ve been assigned as a mage to our expedition. I’m pleased to meet you, doctor,” she smiled, holding out her hand for Tyrvariél.

Tyrvariél noticed that she was looking at him, but didn’t feel like being inspected and tried to avoid doing so himself. After all he had had the advantage of spotting her upon his arrival without her seeing him. ”I guess this might be a good place to avoid prying eyes. According to my experience people rarely care about this kind of tents as long as they are empty. And once they are no longer they don’t want to know or see what’s happening inside.” In front of his mental eye the ground below his feet slowly turned from green grass to beaten soil. Not just brown and not only drenched in water, but with reddish pools of life having leaked out filling the depressions no matter how small. A surface one didn’t even use to dispose of hands and feet cut off as those cutting them would stumble upon them once they started to pile up.

For a moment it seemed as if Tyrvariél was not looking at the sorceress, but as if his eyes had focused on infinity. Suddenly the Aen Seidhe turned his head towards the tent’s exit so abruptly that his long hair was pulled away from the centrifugal force, the metal bracers then banging onto his armor as they dropped into their original position. None to be seen outside. They were still alone… Slowly, and seemingly a little confused, he subsequently returned his attention towards Avery and reached for her hand with his own.

”I apologize. Sometimes I’m a little distracted, but only when I’m idling around. I thought there had been somebody… I promise I’ll try my best if things should start to come down. However I hope that I can help preventing that from happening in the first place as I’ve also been assigned as a blacksmith. It seems like both jobs were particularly difficult to find so they gave them to me.”

”So… you’ll be one of those in the front line ?” He really had not much of an idea about what a mage’s doings could be. However he silently hoped that her answer would be a no. The thought of having to perform a surgery on her somewhat pristine and curvaceous body was not exactly pleasurable.

“Well, I myself will not be on the frontline, but my defenses will be… Illusions, shielding, some weather control…” she Avery said, waving a hand as she explained. “I hope that it will be enough to keep us safe for the majority of this expedition,” she finished, drawing the hand back to her side. The way that Tyrvariéls gaze had shifted around the tent had not gone unnoticed, and it only served to further pique her interest. She herself had not sensed a presence - well, not an exactly present one. Still, the ghosts and echoes of the past moved with the breeze, and with time.

After a little hesitation, the Sorceress took a seat - having found no real sense of urgency in Tyrvariél that suggested he wanted her to leave. It was an uncomfortable stool, the kind that was easy to transport and simply ‘there’, still, it was a seat. She crossed one leg over the other, and placed an elbow on her knee - resting her chin against the knuckles of a closed fist. “A blacksmith and a doctor then? You’ve been blessed with good hands. I have respect for craftsmanship of any kind, and well, I have respect for those who know how to save a life. I’ll be reassured to have you around. Did you happen to-”

Without warning, the woman’s satchel began to squirm and move - the material bulging this way and that, it immediately caught the witch’s attention and she rolled her eyes as whatever fidgeted inside of the bag shoved out a slender leg, grey and hairless - ending with a vicious looking paw, claws protruding until they met the fabric of Avery’s trousers. “Ah,” she cursed, assumedly used to the sensation. She flipped open the cover of the satchel, revealing the cat inside. “Someone’s awake,” she mumbled down as the cat shuffled and wriggled, relenting her grip on her owner before sneezing.

“Apologies, Tyrvariél, I hope you don’t mind cats - although I liken this one to having all the rage and hatred of a basilisk… Simply trapped in a tiny body…” she smirked, trailing off with a giggle. As if on cue, Winifred hissed out at Avery, before the woman tossed in a piece of crust broken from the pie. It placated the abomination for the time being.

“As I was saying,” she offered out, chuckling again, “I was curious as to whether you had travelled far to be here? A man of your skill must be well sought after in all corners of the Continent, and still you’ve ended up here…”

Tyrvariél couldn’t help but look at Winifred intensively. Cats.. the most of them he had seen in the past had been roaming around in the streets, caring for themselves and probably abandoned. This one obviously wasn’t and one could see it. The elf would have liked to put off his gauntlets so he could stroke Winifred, but if the latter would use these claws he probably would have wished to have those on again.

”I come from Vallweir, so yeah, it has been a long journey for me. I didn’t count the miles though, I just went south. I’ve been working in that town for at least the last two decades or so, so this actually is one of my first long-term assignments far away. And you ? Is it true that a sorceress can just use some kind of portal ? That must be amazing!” Tyrvariél came closer a little, slowly and carefully. He didn’t want Avery’s cat to make a run for it just because of him. ”Aren’t you afraid that he might just run away at some point ?”

“Mm,” Avery murmured, blinking slowly. “Yes, we can travel with a portal but it’s not so glamourous as it sounds… Fast, yes. A little harsh on the body and expends quite a lot of energy….” She glanced up into the corner of the tent and her eyes narrowed as she thought of how best to explain the process. “Like trying to fit something large through a very small space… One has to split it into tiny pieces first to…. Squeeze it through the funnel…. Then before the end, piece it all back together correctly again. Without losing a piece along the way, you see?” The sorceress sighed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Truthfully I’m about ready to sleep it off now… Not that Balidvar will let us rest just now,” she said with a wink.

“As for the cat, well. I rather hope one day she will scuttle off. She’s a terrible nuisance, violent, unpredictable… But, despite all that she is my dearest companion. She’s free to leave whenever, but still remains at my side.” Avery’s eyes lingered on Tyrvariél’s. Clear, storm-like eyes. She wondered what secrets lay within him, and her countenance warmed mischievously at the thought. “I wonder, Tyrvariél, what you think may be waiting for us on this mission of ours? What the future holds for this band of would-be heroes…”

Tyrvariél was dangerously close to arching his eyebrows in a provocative way. She wanted her cat to scuttle off ? That was interesting… a love-hate relationship it almost seemed. Silently, the hope for Winifred coming to him should the cat ever decide to leave her was born. Upon Avery’s question the Aen Seidhe had to think a little with his lips already having separated from each other before noticing that his mind had not yet formulated an answer.

“Well, it’s an abandoned castle it seems. However ‘abandoned’ might very well only be true from our point of view. Another faction might have taken a hold of it long ago -- and be it merely monsters seeking for a dark and damp place to dwell in. I’m wondering how much research about this place our bastard leader has done before calling out for this endeavour. Maybe there is some old, dusted history book that could have given a hint about why this place has been abandoned… A curse, perhaps ? Or maybe in the end we’ll find out that the place is pretty much unusable because its builders have found it later on that the ground is unstable. In any case I’m wondering why, during the war in particular, Nilfgaard hasn’t cared about it. I mean… it’s not that extremely small and easy to overlook, is it ? I sense danger, but on the other hand I might also be just chicken-hearted. And it won’t even be me who’s going to stand in the front line.”

Tyrvariél rubbed his neck, separating a few strands of hair that had attached itself to a patch of wet skin. A little unconfident he looked at Avery again. ”Erm… would you mind helping me getting out of this ?” The elf knocked one of his gauntlets against his armor. ”I must have been most of the day I’ve been wearing it.”

In response, the sorceress quirked a brow, tapping her fingers against the edge of the table she was sat against. It was not something she’d ever been asked to do, nor would she ever have thought to have been asked it. Even so, she did not pass comment on it, and merely shrugged her shoulders lightly. She was no longer in the courts of Lyria, she was no longer in charge of her own men and women - she was simply one of the many on this expedition, and so not as to risk being branded a diva, she agreed.

But that agreement was not without its own strings of course.

Carefully she ran her thumb across the tips of her fingers, muttering something in Elder Speech as an energy coalesced into her palm that flowed peacefully towards the Aen Seidhe, as non-threatening as anything. The quick spell found its way to the fastenings of the man’s armour and began unfastening and lifting it from him, piece by piece, as if it were indeed a squire doing it. “That should relieve you some,” Avery commented with a smirk.

Tyrvariél was left in awe. His armor… parts of it floating in the air like feathers, yet moved around like the limbs of a puppet by invisible strings. The elf started to smile, but internally he was filled with respect. ”Well it does, but it also burdens me with envy. His hands picked out the metal plates out of the air one by one, gently putting them down onto the adjacent table. ”I’m sure that you will be of great help out there.”

Tyrvariél looked at Avery and did notice her facial expression. ”Why are you smirking ?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Undressing a man from his armour in the privacy of his own tent?” Avery replied, frankly with another nonchalant shrug. “Of course, it could also just be my face.

And the gift of magic is nothing to be envious of, it comes with a heavy price.” No sooner had the words left her mouth, she was standing again, arms folded across her chest as she inspected the Aen Seidhe without his armour. He certainly did have the musculature of a smith, that was to be sure. Before she said anything else, she sauntered to the opening to the tent and peeped outside. “Hmm, I think there is some food being prepared,” the Sorceress held the flap of material open as if to waft in the scent of the meal as it was cooking. “Smells like a stew, don’t you think?”

Tyrvariél’s eyes struggled as they were forced to see bright sunlight all of a sudden again, but he joined Avery at the tent’s opening anyway since he too could smell the scent of fresh air and stew. “Hmm… sounds about right. I hope the cooks Balidvar has brought with him know what they’re doing…” The Aen Seidhe grinned, then made a gesture with his head indicating that he planned to go there. “If you feel as hungry as I am I’d be happy to have you as my company.”

"It just so happens I brought a freshly baked pie," Avery remarked with a grin, pointing her finger to the basket on the table. "I should think by now our new comrades are quite tired of gawping…" She said with a raised brow. "Let's be off though. Let's introduce ourselves to the rest of this motley crew, hmm?"

Alicia for once in her life looked rather...troubled at the fact that she had to encounter a wolf out of all things in this part of the woods. Granted, she was surprised how nobody else had noticed the wolf that was slowly approaching their camp. Nevertheless, she remained calm or rather paralyzed may have been the better word for it. As she held up the plume of wolfsbane and for once wished she had time to mix up something that may make even the wolf' nose cringe in disgust.

Granted, without any options, she rather calmly began walking backwards - trying to recall how to react when dealing with a wolf and how to not suddenly end up become a chewing toy for such a creature. Provided, most of what she remembered was mostly to not show the wolf your back and try not to appear too aggressive around it. Still, the other option was too head back, screaming as loudly as she could and hope some of the others would notice her and help her out - some were setting up watch or camp after all, so they should see someone like her coming. The other idea was to simply climb up a tree and then wait for back-up. Both options though would alert likely everyone in the area that something was up - both their own and any 'enemy' that may be watching them. Though whom their enemy may be was a different story all together.

For now though, she held the wolfsbane like it was a sword made of the finest steel known to man - she knew enough that wolfsbane SHOULD repel a wolf due to the smell of the thing. Though she had never tested it on a live wolf or subject, seeing as the Academy did have some standards they refused to break. Thus enough, as she backed away she kept on rubbing herb along her hands - hoping the smell would make her appear 'less appetizing'.

Aidann froze for a moment when he saw the corpse, expanding his senses, tensing up, and preparing to toss himself to the side to avoid an attack if necessary. When no attack was forthcoming, he crept forward to examine the corpse, kneeling down and parting its injuries with his fingers to inspect them, paying no mind to the excessive amount of blood there was on his hands now. It wasn't as if getting blood all over him was a new thing, after all, and certainly not here. The whole floor was covered in the stuff. It was splattered on the walls, even. He could hardly make out the masonry through it all. And, on the other side of the corpse, a trail of it--splattered droplets and streaks implying something moving quickly. Grimacing at that--faster-moving monsters were invariably more frustrating to deal with than the slower ones--he returned his attention to the wounds.

"Ragged cuts, not smooth," he murmured. "They mey be sharp, but difn'itely claws instead o' blades. Poor bast'd niver stood a chance." Then, a moment later, he kicked himself for doing something so silly. He'd always had a bit of a habit of talking to himself; being alone for too long did that to a man. But there was a monster kicking about somewhere now. He couldn't afford to be indulging in silly things like habits when they put his life on the line by making more of a racket than he really should. Monsters tended to have good hearing.

Bones broken severely in localized places. This wasn't done by a limb; looks more like a warhammer, almost, but this is definitely a monster attack. And there are puncture wounds--blunt looking ones, more like the skin being torn than being pierced--at the center of the breaks. It looks like a beak got into him. Probably an ornithosaur, or maybe a griffin? No...not a griffin. Too enclosed here, not enough space for it to fly. So that leaves, barring something...different...happening, either a cockatrice or a basilisk as the likely subjects. He hissed quietly, making sure to mind his volume. He was in hostile territory now. And I don't want to fight either of those without preparation. Let's see. I'll need ornithosaur oil for either of them. If I recall correctly, basilisk don't like dancing-star bombs, but cockatrice don't much care about them. I know I'm going to need to make Thunderbolt, Swallow, and White Honey, but if it's a basilisk, I'll need to make Golden Oriole as well...

He frowned. He didn't have as much information as he wanted, if he were to make a report. He could only imagine the look on Balidvar's face when the elderly witcher told him that "it's some kind of ornithosaur, I think, and I might know how to fight it, probably." No, he needed to know beyond a shadow of a doubt what kind of monster was lurking in the shadows of Rakald Keep. No room for error, or more than just he would die on a failed hunt this time around. No fighting it right now, he promised himself as he began to creep deeper and deeper into the keep. Just find something that tells me what it is, and then report back.

Still, no harm in taking precautionary measures: his silver sword whispered into his right hand from his back, and his crossbow, bolt already loaded, went into his left. Taking a slow, quiet breath and bearing stealth in mind, he began to creep after the trail of blood as it led off, ever deeper into the keep. Crumbling stone and rotting wood had turned from scenery into cover very quickly, and now it was getting darker, precious few motes of light illuminating the disused corridors and halls. He fought the urge to use Igni as a light source; if there really was an ornithosaur nearby, he certainly didn't want to alert them, and the blood's contrast with the stone was enough to keep him on the trail. The dead-still air was perfumed with the smell of bile and blood; clearly, that was not the mystery monster's only victim. For a moment, something buzzed in the back of his head; a word, maybe, ill-defined, and he reflexively tensed. But then it was gone, and he was free once more to focus on his task:

Now...where are you?

Renar narrowed his gaze at the disturbingly fresh food and prodded the barrel it rested on with his foot. He sniffed the air around the food but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Of course the obvious answer to why there was food out is that someone else was nearby but that didn't explain why they had left all this food just lying around outside unprotected where other animals could get to it or it could be stolen. Perhaps it was bait of some kind? If so, why was it sitting on a barrel? Perhaps it was meant for something tall? For a human? Was it poisoned? Unlikely. Bandits would be far more likely to poison a blade than try and bait a person as one would a rat.

His thoughts were interrupted by a desperate cry from inside the castle and a shout. The shout sounded like the Nazairi mercenary but the war cry was unknown to him. The castle was occupied after all and it seemed the inhabitants were not happy about having trespassers. The scout looked to Avery with pursed lips and glanced in the direction of the commotion, then back to her, then back to the shouting, and shook his head vigorously. As much confidence as he had in the mercenary and her ability to take care of what sounded like one starving vagrant, he had no wish to risk his own life for some misplaced sense of honor or loyalty to a cause he didn't even know existed until a few weeks ago. There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity and Renar was of the mind that it was best not to approach it at all lest he find himself having crossed it by accident.

_{featuring @POOHEAD189 and @Stormflyx}

After checking the entirety of the stables and making sure that the building was well and truly empty, Morgan returned to the entrance with his brows furrowed. Evidence of the presence of an ornithosaur of some kind was concerning. Cockatrices and basilisks were some of the most dangerous monsters on the Continent and the rest of the party would be vulnerable to their ambush tactics as long as they were unaware. It was important that they were informed as quickly as possible, and then… Morgan needed more information about the beast before he could form a plan of attack. He cast his gaze back into the gloomy depths of the stables for one moment longer, dust motes dancing in the thin rays of sunshine that crept in through broken windows. He wouldn’t find it here.

Morgan stepped out of the stables, eyes searching for Balidvar, and blinked at the sight that greeted him in the courtyard. A man, seemingly an assailant judging by the knife that lay near his corpse, had been dispatched, leather-clad and thin of stature, now lying dead on the mud and straw. So monsters weren’t the only animals that inhabited the keep. Strange, Morgan thought as he approached the king’s bastard, fortunately still alive and well. Such beasts as the one he had sniffed out weren’t known to tolerate the presence of humans in their dwellings. The witcher glanced at Nadia and Renar and wondered briefly who had been the one to kill the vagabond and save their leader from an ignominious demise.

Stepping up to Balidvar, Morgan’s gaze flitted between the warrior and the dead stranger. Another man might have asked something like ‘are you alright?’ or ‘what happened?’ but Morgan simply nodded by way of greeting and cut straight to the chase. “A monster lives here,” he said. “An ornithosaur of some kind. It’s recently been in the stables. I need more evidence to figure out what species exactly. In the meantime, I recommend moving everyone out of the open.” He looked around and narrowed his eyes at the walls. “We should get out of the courtyard as well. The skies are not safe.”

It was only then that he looked at the corpse again. “Bandits, you reckon?”

Balidvar, steely eyed gaze sweeping across the courtyard to make sure there were no more surprises, gave a curt nod. “Bandit. A dead one. If it were not for Nadia, he would have gotten me for certain. There could be more in the halls.” He replied, and sheathed his backsword. It was hard to tell if Balidvar had heard him speaking of a monster at the moment, and it was a reminder that it was his father, not Baldivar, that had conscripted the Witchers.

But after making sure they were not to be ambushed in the open again by a madman, he regarded Morgan. “An ornithosaur?” He echoed, and the implications were dawning on him. He wasn’t an expert on monsters, but he was fairly well read for his age. “You mean the winged, beaked drakes?”

“Correct,” Morgan confirmed. He didn’t like explaining things to people so he hadn’t bothered to tell him what an ornithosaur was, but he was also somewhat surprised when it turned out that Balidvar knew of what he spoke. He had already resigned himself to having to field ignorant questions but apparently that wouldn’t be necessary. “Then you know this isn’t something to be ignored.”

Balidvar had to admit he didn’t know the traits of most ornithosaurs, or how many different types there were. But he wasn’t about to voice that, as he had heard plenty of stories on how they turn people to stone or use their venom to kill them quicker than nearly any snake bite. He was beginning to realize just why the dead man had been so frightened out of his mind. He and whatever companions he had who had sought refuge here were likely hunted, or at least harassed.

“Fuck,” The bastard said, squaring his jaw. He indicated Morgan should follow him the dozen feet to the gate as he called out to the men he had available. “I need four lads in here what can bear arms! Now!”

Morgan came with him but he shook his head behind Balidvar’s turned back. Four lads with arms wouldn’t be much help against an adult cockatrice, if that’s what they were dealing with. It took a witcher’s reflexes to stand against the razor-sharp claws and beak of such a vicious, lightning-quick beast. Not to mention the venom many of their kind were capable of fielding. Still, if it made Balidvar feel better, he wasn’t going to comment.

“The Bear needs to know,” Morgan said instead. “The monster could be deeper in the keep, waiting for him.” The conundrum that faced them now, as far as Morgan was concerned, was whether or not it was better to send him to fetch Aidann, or whether he was needed with the rest of the party in case the monster arrived to attack them instead. It felt like a death sentence to send a runner after the other witcher, however, without knowing where the ornithosaur was.

Fortunately, that was not his call to make. He looked at Balidvar with a hard, expectant gaze.

From the corner of the courtyard, the back of Avery's neck prickled with the looming sense of urgency that Balidvar was rousing with his voice and command. She let go of the ivy she was holding onto, and made her way into the scene. Winifred was still nowhere to be found, but that was of no concern. Wherever she was, she would be just fine.

"The Bear?" The sorceress quizzed, crossing her arms over her chest, that was interesting to know. He was of the elusive Bear school and that piece of information was… Disappointing to know. "If he isn't too far I can reach him," she suggested. "But it is your call, Captain," she continued, looking at Balidvar with one of her patented smirks.

Balidvar knew that look well, raising an eyebrow at her as if he played a chess move in some private game of facial expressions. The situation, referring to the ornithosaur, was definitely not ideal. But this was why he had brought along a retinue of soldiers, two witchers, and a few others capable of handling themselves.

“You’re right Morgan. Aidenn needs to be informed. He only went forward into the first hall, but judging by your concern, it’s still risky. Avery-” He said, turning to her and pointing at the castle. “If you can get in touch with him and get him out here in the next minute, I’ll give you leave to harvest a few of whatever-the-fucks-in-there parts along with the witchers once it’s slain.”

He knew the sorceress would likely enjoy that, and he considered just what to do next. His first instinct was to venture forth himself, but he was meant to give counsel and lead when necessary, not blindly run into danger. “Morgan, if you think the beast is nearby, I suggest you ready yourself in the proper way. If you need any more herbs, I would ask one of the specialists outside. But I have a feeling you’re well equipped.”

“Always,” Morgan said, a grim glint in his cat-eyes.

“I can get him quick enough, assuming of course that he wants to be found…” Avery answered, there was something cryptic in the way that she spoke that wasn’t exactly unusual for a sorceress. Her face scrunched ever so slightly as she recalled all of the information she knew of the man, the tone of his voice in the few words she’d heard him utter, the way that he walked, his complete appearance. Her eyes closed as she painted the image, sending her intent to reach him into the atmosphere around them.

”Aidann...” The woman had formed his name in her voice in her mind and visualised it in her minds eye finding the Bear wherever her was. Hopefully, the intrusive word of a sorceress in his own mind wouldn’t frighten him too much… If of course they found him. ”Return to the courtyard…” It would be embarrassing for this not to work, she also considered - possibly sending that afterthought to Aidann too.

The witcher stared without shame at Avery while she worked her telepathic magic. His medallion was trembling with the arcane energies that her spell created and he watched her like a hawk, wary of the slightest adversarial movement. He didn’t trust her. Hell, he didn’t trust any sorceress. Not after what they did to Kaer Seren. But nothing untoward happened and his medallion ceased its restlessness after Avery finished her message for Aidann. He exhaled slowly through his nose and his fists unclenched in his gauntlets.

“He will return?” he asked Avery pointedly, not bothering with formalities or introductions.

She may have had her eyes closed, but she could see and feel all of the distrust that Morgan sent her way. It stung, to be so judged, but it was harder still to stand in his poisonous radius. It made her curious as to what exactly it was that made him so hostile. What baggage he was carrying…

Still, in the face of animosity there was only one defence. ”Do hurry. Your good friend Chuckles simply can’t wait to be reunited,” she sent to the Bear. Unable to hold it, she tittered at her own joke before opening her eyes, flashing a set of scathing daggers of her own at Morgan. “We’ll see.”

The Griffin’s eyes narrowed at that. Was she amused at his expense? “Typical,” Morgan sneered. “Casting spells without a guarantee of success.” He directed his next words at Balidvar. “Keep her on a short leash, lest she bring the whole keep down on our heads.”

"Urgh," Avery groaned half-heartedly at him. Her expression never veering too far from a sly grin. "Can't please everyone," she added with a dramatic shrug of her shoulders before flouncing off to a boulder upon which to take a seat. She'd had enough of that pesky one for now.

Balidvar didn’t say anything at their exchange. Only quietly smirking at Avery’s manner for a brief moment, and then reiterating his thoughts to Morgan. “Believe me, I know. I think Foltest sent her more to test my resolve than anything.” He knew she would hear that too, even if he was joking. He couldn’t help but rile her up every once in awhile. Still, they needed to focus on business. He hoped they could too. He’d heard of the tales of Witchers and Sorceresses ‘getting acquainted’ rather well before. He hoped that didn’t happen here, at least until they were in a secured position.

“Let me or my Captain know of any help we can give to you and your fellow Witcher. The quicker we kill whatever is in there and clear the castle, the quicker we all have a roof over our heads and beds to sleep in.”

Morgan thought about that for a second. “Don’t touch anything,” was all he said before he strode off at a brisk pace, returning to the camp being set up outside of the castle gate -- and the fire they’d started. It was time to brew.