2 years later
Blackbough, Velen
Autumn, sometime in the 13th century
Everything was tense. Just like it had been the day before, and just like it would be the day after. There was a dense fog surrounding Blackbough tonight, and a heavy rain had only just let up so the scent of mud and wet grass was pungent throughout the air - even from inside the inn room. The windows were not well sealed, and so the condensation crept in - leaving an eerie mist against the already dirty windows. The sky had not been clear all day, and so it felt even darker, even though the time indicated that the sun would not have yet set.
She was roomed next to the stables, and so the prominent sound was that of horses whinnying, snorting, and nickering. The walls were thin, she thought that if a horse were to get upset and kick that its legs might burst through. Hopefully there would be no thunder to disturb them tonight. Still, there was a humble hearthfire in this room to keep her warm, and it was kept mostly away from the common room. She didn’t have to listen to the drunken chatter of the patrons. Just horses.
Just horses and a howling wind.
Avery sat on the wooden stool, biting her thumb as she looked down at pages of parchment lined up on the floor (there had been no desk here), a series of missives from an old friend from years ago, who had recently gone missing. In the corner by the bed, she had set up the three stands that were her megascope, and beside from that, there a small trunk of various other items. The emptiness of this room was a stark contrast to what she had grown used to, but it didn’t bother her right now. What was bothering her was the contents of the letters. The letters that she had been chasing leads on for what had felt like forever, and that is what had brought her to Velen.
In the tavern of the inn, all anybody was able to talk about was the Odd-Eyed sorceress who left her room only for food, and to tend to her own horse in the stables. The horse in question was a beautiful creature, definitely well bred. Black as coal, with a white flash shaped like a diamond between her eyes. A quiet animal too, she did not fuss like the other horses did.
There was little else to learn from the letters, and she reached into her pocket and took from a pouch a single sugared almond and popped it into her mouth. “Where are you?” she whispered under her breath, feeling as though she was still no further forward in her search, fearful that the trail was about to dry up.
The man with two swords galloped into the village of Blackbough at full speed. His steeds was clearly spooked and almost kept running past the inn; only with decades of experience as a rider was the man able to coerce the horse to stop. He brought her into the stables, where he briefly admired a black horse with a white patch on its head. When he discovered that his saddlebags had been torn, the man cursed.
“Fucking drowners,” Valker said and sighed. Not much was missing but he'd have to find someone that could tailor leather properly to sow the bag back up. That wasn't a guarantee in every village in a place like Velen. His clothes (a leather jacket fortified with chainmail and padded fabric over a black shirt, clay-colored pants with armoured knee guards, sturdy boots and thick leather gauntlets) were still wet from the heavy rain from before, and his hair was a mess. Blood was plastered on the side of his head and there was a dark red spot on his left leg. Alongside his swords was a new weapon on his back; a crossbow, small enough to be wielded in one hand.
With heavy, painful footfalls the witcher entered the tavern's common room. Before anyone could say anything, Valker spoke up. “A bottle of stout, innkeep. No, fuck that, make it vodka.” His voice was rough and bitter and he sat down at one of the empty tables with a crash. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and laid out the contents of his first aid kit in front of him. A dose of Swallow had taken care of the worst of it but he would have to stitch the wounds back together himself.
The innkeep, an older gentleman with greying hair, and forlorn eyes, did as requested. He reached under his bar, feeling the painful creaking of his knees as he went. He walked to the table, just bringing the bottle. “Looks like yer need the --” he noticed the eyes. Those were the eyes of a Witcher. He backed up slowly, trying not to seem rude, but he felt very unlucky at that moment. A Witcher and a sorceress under his roof. It felt like a bad omen, an accident waiting to happen - but he held his tongue and hobbled back over behind the bar, face visibly strained. “Agnes, did yer get the soup done? She’ll be through soon - don’ make her be waitin’ like yes’day…” It was true, Avery’s visits to the common room had been as regular as clockwork.
“Aye papa, hot an’ ready on her table… Will ye just sit down already, me an’ ma can handle the folk tonight, alri’? An’ I won’t take no for an answer t’day.” A girl, who could have been no older than sixteen faced off against her father, hands on her hips and an exceptionally stern expression, that was matched by that of the mother who had popped her head around a corner to see what the fuss was about. “She’s ri Bill, she be ri. You sit your arse down.”
From the hallway came the sound of heeled boots taking small steps, it was indeed the Odd-Eyed sorceress, as expected. Dressed in an unusually practical garment - a low cut, hooded tunic - with sleeves that ran over the backs of her hands. It was belted in the middle with an armour styled corset, rich brown in colour. As bottoms, a long leather skirt split into three distinct sections. Thigh high sienne toned boots peeped through the splits that sat over the front. Her hair was, as always, fixed in a bun.
She came through and into the tavern, her table positioned at the very back, the steam rising from the bowl of soup was welcoming tonight, there was a haunting chill in the air - almost ethereal in its quality. Avery wasted no time in digging in, she didn’t want to waste too much of her time in here - there was work to be done, even if she didn’t know what that was. As she looked up to view the patrons, as she had grown accustomed to doing, she saw a strange figure hunched over a table, his back to her. Strangely familiar, was that silhouette - and the energy she felt from him was too. “Valker?” she asked herself, squinting in his direction. If it was, he looked in bad shape. It had been two years…
She pushed herself up from her seat, leaving the soup behind as she strode over, she had to know if it was him, and as she came closer, her suspicions were confirmed. “It is you.”
The witcher was in no mood to be bothered by the townsfolk and was about to turn around with a scowl on his face when he realized who it was that was talking to him. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Avery?” he said and by the time the two of them were face-to-face, his expression had changed to one of surprise. With his bloodied face and the heavy bags beneath his eyes, it was almost comical. He stared at her for a few more seconds, from her ever-remarkable eyes to her decidedly more practical outfit than the last time they had seen each other. She looked fit for the road -- well, as fit as a sorceress would ever deign herself to look.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, the question itself more hostile than his tone. Valker scratched his head and gestured at the table. “Sorry -- you’re welcome to sit, if you want. It’s just… a very big surprise to see you all the way out here.”
Avery herself took on an expression of surprise when she saw his face properly, in the orange glow of the hearthfire and the candlelight he looked exceptionally worse for wear and a far cry from the distinguished gentleman from Novigrad. But his eyes, his eyes were the same. She was about to give him a scornful answer until he remembered himself, still, she had leaned back as if to take a deep breath and scold… It wasn’t until then that she realised how tense she was too…
“Looking for a friend,” she replied softly, her eyes falling over his wounds. “You’re hurt.” Talk about stating the obvious. “You’re hurt and your clothes are soaked through…” The woman’s hand fell over the kit he’d placed on the table, and she gave him a rather piercing glare - “you’re not going to do this yourself now, are you?”
“Why not? Got my vodka to dull the pain,” Valker said and looked around the tavern. “Don’t trust any of these people to do it right.” He looked back up at Avery and thought about what she’d said. Strange. He did not believe in coincidences, and yet when it came to Avery they appeared to be piling up. What could it mean? “Is your friend missing, or just hard to find?”
She ruminated on his question for a moment, her thumb tracing over her lip as she thought how best to answer, she was not in the business of letting her secrets be known. “Well…” she began with as playful a smirk as she could - considering her mood, “she’s winning this round of hide and seek by a spectacular margin.” That would do. How did she feel about Valker being here? Avery wasn’t sure, last she’d seen of him was at the banquet for the Baron, which hadn’t ended well. He’d left, probably with Celes.
Without giving it too much thought, the sorceress began plucking up the items of Valker’s kit, rolling them back into the bag. “Come on then, nobody wants to see you do it out here. Follow me.” With that said, she turned around and began on her way back to her own room. They could speak privately in there, she just hoped he could get up.
Ever mysterious. “Fine, keep your secrets,” Valker muttered under his breath as Avery walked away. He got to his feet, grabbed the bottle of vodka and took a long swig. Feeling the eyes of the villagers on him, Valker turned his head to glare at them and they all hastily returned to what they were doing. Satisfied, the witcher followed the sorceress into her room. His eyes immediately fell on the rolls of parchment spread on the ground but he respectfully refrained from inspecting them too closely.
“Nice,” he remarked sarcastically. It was nothing like the comfort Avery had been privy to in Kraeg’s Hill. “Must be some friend to see you living like this.” He leaned against the wall and took another swig of vodka. “You don’t happen to be any good with a needle and thread, are you?”
The first thing that Avery did was scoop up the parchments, and place them face down on the round, crooked seat of her stool. She moved in such a way that it appeared natural, and not so as to hide their contents - just a simple and graceful tidy up of needless clutter. “I don’t live here, merely staying temporarily.” She replied in a quick and curt manner, casting a sidelong glance at him as he leaned against the wall, knocking back the vodka from the bottle. She wasn’t going to say anything else about her friend.
“I’m not a tailor, so sadly I’m not any good at all,” she held a pause, letting half of a smile flicker over her lips. “I am however, a sorceress. I can enchant your needle. It will be much tidier than anything either of us could achieve with our bare hands.” Avery lifted her hand, fingers waggling back and forth as she mumbled under her breath. The needle in the first aid kit began to squirm and glow with a similar aura to the one that was suddenly alive in her hand. “Show me where it hurts then.”
Valker raised an eyebrow at the sight of the wiggling needle but he wasn’t about to argue, nor did he care about preserving his modesty. The witcher swiftly stripped down to his underwear, displaying a cut on his arm, a series of bite marks on his right flank and a rather large and unsightly gash on his thigh, the one responsible for the dark red blotch on his pants. And there was the wound on his head, of course. He looked at Avery with a little uncertainty. “Where do you want me? On the chair? Or does it not matter?”
It took her a moment for her to realise she was staring at him. She held a finger between her lips thoughtfully as she observed his body and each wound. His stripping down reminded her somewhat of their first meeting - when the Witcher had done the same thing then (even if was in less of a fashion as this). To be reminded of it now was strangely disarming. Avery blinked and looked away before bringing a hand to her cheek to cover a slight redness she could feel forming on her cheeks. “Just… Sit on the bed,” she blurted out as she turned away from him to a dresser which had seen better days. She took a bowl from within, and with another wave of her hand it was filled with warm water. Had she a cloth? Never mind, she could conjure one.
That he could do. Valker made himself as comfortable as the bed would allow and let out a soft groan as his body disapproved of sitting down, getting back up and then sitting down again. He silenced it with some more booze. He wasn’t looking to get drunk, exactly, but he knew everything would be more manageable with a warm buzz. It was really nice to see Avery again, he realized. Especially with Celes nowhere in sight. He almost opened his mouth to ask about that but caught himself in time. Just shut up and drink, idiot, the witcher scolded himself and did as he was told.
“Looks like whatever you were hunting tonight gave you a good fight…” Avery commented as she approached with her water, and now a clean cloth too. She took a seat at his side, leaving a comfortable distance between the two of them. One leg hung over the bed with her foot on the floor, and the other she tucked under her rear on the edge of the bed. “Is that why you’re here? A contract?” She asked politely as she took the cloth, dipping it delicately into the water before she began to brush it over the blood on his arm from his cut, almost hesitant at first, until she got going.
“Bah,” Valker grunted and scowled. “Just drowners.” He did not like to admit that the necrophages had almost gotten the better of him, but any seasoned witcher worth his salt would still tell you not to underestimate a group of determined enemies, even if they’re just nekkers. Pushing the frustration aside, Valker focused on her second question. “No contract. I’m looking for one of my brothers. We’re pretty sure he’s dead but we don’t know where or how.”
He looked at Avery with a heavy, serious gaze. “Dead witchers should be burned.”
She listened to him as she continued to clean his arm, the needle now starting its work on pulling the open wound on his leg back together. “Hmmm…” She lifted her head when he looked at her, and could feel a deep intensity from him that, had she not met him before, might be off putting. “You were close to him,” she said, an assumption based on what she could gather from his emotions, from the way he spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she added sympathetically.
“Mhm.”
Valker fell silent and stared ahead. Had he been close to Domren? In the same way he was close to all his brothers, yes. But their deaths were to be expected. It was only ever a question of when. Witchers did not mourn. There was no time for that, no place in their culture. One could only appreciate their efforts and achievements and give them a proper funeral pyre and that was that. He wasn’t looking for Domren just out of sentiment. There was a weight to his words that Avery might have missed. A witcher turned into a wraith was a very dangerous thing indeed, one that the world should be spared from wherever possible. It did not happen often and usually witchers did not have any unfinished business that tied them to this world, but if one were to fall in battle against a particularly important and hated enemy… it was possible. As long as Domren’s fate was a mystery, the School of the Wyvern had a duty to find him and recover his remains.
He sighed and looked back at Avery. “Thank you,” he said and gestured at her efforts with his free arm. “It’s… nice to see you again. I would have liked for it to be under more pleasant circumstances.”
She let him have his silence, the Witcher’s had their culture and way of dealing with loss that was different to her own. She was not as stoic as Valker seemed to be, she was turbulent inside, but that was as much to do with what she knew was in her friend’s possession as it was anything else. Avery stopped dabbing at his arm, biting her lip nervously at his comment.
“It’s good to see you too,” was all that the usually talkative woman could say at that time, she glanced down to the needle and noted that it was about halfway through the task, the glowing aura setting a numbness against the wound so it wouldn’t have been uncomfortable to bear. Finally she found words for him, “if you would like my help, you need only ask. I’ll be heading out come morning, so if there’s anything I can do - a spell… Well, just name it.”
Now that was an interesting offer. Valker looked at Avery with appreciation and began to ponder how she could best help him in his quest when his ears caught something at the far edge of his hearing, and the gaping maw of the wyvern’s head resting against his chest shivered. The chilling mist that crept up against the windows began to spread. On the other side of the wall, the horses whinnied nervously.
“Something’s wrong,” the witcher said softly. He turned his head so that his good ear faced the windows and he frowned in concentration. Was that just the wind howling, or… “We had best finish this another time,” Valker continued, more urgently. “I have to get dressed.”
One did not need to have superhuman senses to feel the chill that crept through the air, to watch the mist spread across the windowpane. Avery stood quickly, moving to her trunk of belongings. She took from inside a black velveteen capelet, and what appeared to be a silver dagger which she sheathed and wore around her belt. She acted so quickly, her only thought being that this was more than had happened in Blackbough since she’d been here, and that meant it could potentially be a sign from Urszula. It was as though she had been waiting for the moment to arrive; “I’m going out there.” she announced with a steeled expression, not waiting for his response. Whatever it may be, she was equipped with enough magic to send it back, and if it was in fact something to do with her missing sorceress, nobody else in Blackbough was more qualified to stop her, either.
There was a silence outside. A cold, grating silence broken only by a sharp wind that seemed to be encircling the village of Blackbough. It ran through long blades of grass, whistling discordantly as it went. There was something hauntingly spectral about the quality of this wind, it was picking up small pieces of debris as round and round it moved - but the severe tension that was hanging in the atmosphere made everything feel slow, and slower still as a gloom began to rise from the ground.
It was grey at first, but the more form that it took then the brighter it appeared. Touched by moonlight, opalescent and alive. There was a green haze to it where it could not rise, a heaviness - plumes of sulphur dragged from the swamp bringing an otherworldly stench with it that tinged the air.
As the mist continued to fill the town from the outside in, villagers took to their homes, barred their doors and hid - children were told to stay under the bed as their parents held tight in a frightened embrace. Even they knew that something was horribly wrong.
Avery stood outside of the stables, her breathing was heavy as she let her eyes take in everything. She could feel the immense foreboding dread as if it were a physical touch against her bare skin. There was something malignant behind that fog. From the corner of her violet eye she caught sight of a flashing light from behind the curtain and she turned her head to face it, her posture taking a defensive stance in case she needed to move…
“Urszula?” She spoke aloud, even though she already knew that this was something else entirely.
From behind the mist, a tall and torn cloaked figure swooped through like some kind of bird - there was a corrupt grace to it, the same wind caught hold of the clothing and it flapped noisily. That was a recognisable sound - the movement of clothing, it was recognisable and natural, far unlike the noise that came from the creatures mouth. It was a shrieking sound, a disembodied wailing that was hard to place where it came from. It certainly did not come from the mouth of the creature, for it had none - just an empty space where a jaw should have been found… There was skin there, but it was apparent the flesh was gone, for it clung to the creature’s protruding bones. The hands were gnarled and claw like, the way they were posed was unnatural, it looked painful and grotesque.
“A wraith…” Avery whispered under her breath, pulling free the silver dagger, a spell forming in her free hand. Where was Valker? She could hold off a wraith by herself, sure, but killing one would prove to be a far more difficult feat for her. She was about to take aim at the wraith in front of her, when once more in her peripherals, she caught sight of a similar flash of light that had preceded this one… Then another… Then another, followed by a chorus of the phantom shrieking. “Valker!” She yelled out, voice cracking.
Now she was scared.
At last, the witcher emerged from the tavern, fully dressed and with a grave expression on his face. His silver sword looked as sharp as ever in the baleful moonlight -- it was already in his hand.
“If you know a binding spell, a magical trap of some kind, now would be the time to use it,” he said as he joined Avery’s side, his own voice calm and steady. The wraiths were circling as they closed in and Valker knew it was only a matter of time before they would disappear and reappear right next to them -- such was their way. With a single, fluid motion, Valker made the Sign of Yrden with his fingers and a circle drawn in glowing, purple runes appeared on the ground around them. “Within this circle they will become slowed and, most importantly, tangible. Strike then.” His gaze had been fixed on the wraiths but he briefly glanced aside to look at Avery. “Everything will be alright.”
As if on cue, the first of the wraiths appeared to flicker out of existence in a puff of ash and dust. Valker raised his sword defensively, his teeth bared and brow furrowed in anticipation. With a loud, piercing scream, the apparition materialized behind him and swung at him with a ghostly blade. Valker pivoted and sidestepped out of the way, quickly bringing down his sword across the wraith’s exposed back. The silver blade struck true, cutting into the nightmare’s skin and bone as if it was living flesh and blood, and it howled as it made for the edge of the circle. Valker tried to strike again but was forced to evade another attack as a second wraith swooped in. How many were there? Valker rolled, sprang to his feet and thrust his sword forward, the tip digging deep into this new foe’s chest -- or what remained of it. The tattered rags that were draped around its horrendous form swam in the air like fabric through water as it recoiled from the touch of the sword. Valker spat at it.
“Come on then, you ugly piece of filth!”
Valker needed one of them closer, to strike a killing blow - now that she could do. “Get ready!” She said in his direction, her voice was an angry growl from under her hood and she scowled at the wraith, her jaw clenched. She let go of the dagger but it remained where it had been, as if she were still holding it. She aimed a hand towards the recoiling spectre and clenched her fist as if she was grabbing it; she spoke her incantation through gritted teeth, feeling the creature reject and fight back against the binding spell that snapped around it. It howled out in terrible pain. Avery began to pull her hand back slowly, and the wraith moved too - as if there was a long chain that she had the creature on as it was dragged towards Valker. She was strong, and fighting against every bit of power that Avery was using, the sorceress prayed that the Witcher would act quickly for she couldn’t keep this up for long.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Valker dashed towards the wraith as Avery reeled it in and turned a running leap into a full-body turn, rending the wraith across with a wide slash from his blade. The ghostly, disfigured woman screamed her last, a warbled and distorted sound that ended abruptly as she burst apart in a cloud of green flame.
One down. Looking around, Valker saw that there were still five left -- and they were all moving in. “Shit.” The witcher dove to the ground and unceremoniously pulled Avery down with him as the five wraiths appeared in a circle over their heads, their ghastly weapons and claws tearing through empty air a split second later. “Run!” Valker yelled in Avery’s ear as he got to his feet, dragging her back up and supporting her during a mad dash deeper into the town. Horrible screams and ragged bellows pursued them.
Valker pushed Avery further behind him as he turned around to the sight of the five wraiths soaring at him in formation. Valker cast Yrden again and quickly pulled a flask from his hip; Tawny Owl. He would need to cast as many Signs as he could against these magical foes. He backed away to the edge of the circle, forcing the wraiths to approach him through it, which slowed them down and forced them to materialize again. Valker raised his hand and a blast of flame and sparks shot forth from his palm, breaking the wraith’s formation as some of them caught fire and backed away while they shrieked and writhed in the air. He had never seen ghosts move in unison like this.
“That spell,” he said over his shoulder, interrupted by the attack of one of the wraiths, which he handily parried and forced back with an overhead swing. “Can you cast it on all of them at once?”
With barely any time to catch her breath, she watched as Valker pushed back against the wraiths, each of them she could feel - she could sense their anger and torment, she could practically taste it. “Yes,” she replied breathlessly, before raising her two hands into the air, one foot behind the other as if to steady her balance. It was almost futile in this weather, the ground was caked in slippery sludge from the rainfall. It was a thick bog, surrounding by the mist and heavy evil presence.
Her hands looked to be holding something round, like an invisible ball - there was even weight to it. Once again, Avery spoke out the words of her spell; ”I bind you to this plane - I bind you to your bones - I bind you to this plane…” Over and over she repeated the words in the magical tongue, a shimmering circle of magic rose around the five wraiths as they tossed and turned through the air like fish in water - their dresses like delicate fins. This was far more difficult than holding just one, the five of them pushed back, and Avery was forced backwards through the mud but she held her stance upright and spoke the words louder.
Trapped in her ring like this, surrounded by her essence they screamed out and whatever pain and anguish she had felt before she now felt tenfold. It broke her chanting, only for a moment as she herself yelled out in pain. She would only do it once, the circle began to slip away and one almost escaped until the sorceress continued her spell, with conviction and authority in her voice, despite the fact that her ears were ringing and her head felt as though it would split. She damn well hoped Valker had a good plan.
Valker backed away from the wraiths, trapped as they were in the Yrden circle by Avery’s spell. He hooked something loose from a loop on his belt and threw it at the spectres with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The Dragon’s Dream bomb detonated and a cloud of gas cloyed the air over the wraiths.
“Brace yourself,” Valker said to Avery.
A second blast of Igni struck the gas cloud. An enormous plume of fire roared to life as the gas was ignited, the force of the explosion sending a shockwave through the village, rattling doors and rooftops. The inferno consumed the wraiths entirely and their screams were drowned out by the noise of the searing flame, consuming the oxygen around it at an alarming rate. Valker felt the breath being snatched from his mouth and he backed away even further, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the brightness of the destruction wrought by the chemicals.
The fire turned to smoke and billowed up into the sky, leaving behind naught but five piles of crystallized dust -- the only remnants of the wraiths’ essence. They had been destroyed entirely. Not confident that they could rest easy, Valker cast a glance at Avery to make sure that she was still alive before he stalked through the village, blade at the ready, making sure that there wasn’t a second wave of wraiths -- or something worse -- coming. The cold and unnatural mist dispelled and the sounds of nature, silenced until then, came back from beyond the limits of the village. Satisfied, the witcher returned to the sorceress. “Are you alright?”
Once the smoke had fallen, and the air had cleared - so did the ringing from Avery’s ears. Her head was still sore but it was subsiding now. She regained her balance and relaxed her posture, her arms fell to her sides languidly. She observed their surroundings almost suspiciously, she still had a sour feeling in her. Something wasn’t right, but there were no more threats now, at least. Valker’s quick thinking had ended the battle in a spectacular fashion that, had Avery been less concerned, she might have appreciated a lot more. She nodded in response to his question. Physically, yes, she was fine - but inside… She was not feeling quite so well. “I’m… Yes, I’m alright, thank you…” she said, her tone and manner dazed. The sorceress stepped towards the Witcher, and as she met him she placed a hand on his arm and looked right into his eyes, “I want to talk, if you’re done here, then let’s go.”
Avery stepped around the piles of the dust, her eyes falling over them momentarily before she carried along on her way - back towards the inn. Valker would either follow her now, or meet her there later. She just needed to be back in the comfort of her room once more.
Valker sighed as he looked around. The explosion that had ended the threat of the wraiths had left a large scorch mark on the ground and burned the leaves off a nearby tree. He had a feeling the villagers would find a way to blame him -- and Avery too, probably -- for the emergence of the spectres, despite their efforts to defeat them. Before any of the peasants got the brave idea to unlock their doors and actually verbalize such an insult, the witcher turned and followed Avery back to her room. He was curious what she wanted to talk about but also concerned by her apparent dazed state of mind.
Once back in the room, Valker returned to his place on the bed and looked at Avery a little awkwardly. “Could you do that thing with the needle again while we talk? I think I reopened something with all that exercise out there.”
He need not have asked, the needle, having sensed his presence was already getting back to work. Avery had set it the task of closing Valker’s wounds - the enchantment would not end until it had been done.
Meanwhile, she paced the floor - eyes glancing over the mud that was splattered up her clothing and over her boots. She removed her capelet, pulling back the hood. Her hair had fallen loose from her bun in the scuffle, and it lay in thick, unruly waves to her collarbones. She turned a sneer at the rest of the mud, and began to remove the jacket - revealing nothing but a white cotton vest shirt underneath. “Damn dirt,” she cursed in an agitated tone. “Urgh,” she groaned before shaking her head, trying to ignore it as best she could, so that she could verbalise what had happened. “Valker, there was something wrong with those wraiths,” she spoke directly, not bothering to say anything but what had happened. “They were unusually strong, even in their great number, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah,” Valker said with a frown. He, too, had stripped back down to his shirt and underwear so that the enchanted needle could get back to work, and had picked up the cloth that Avery had used earlier to wipe down the fresh blood from his reopened wounds off of his skin. Despite the severity of the situation, his eye could not help but land on Avery’s body. The cotton vest did not do a very good job of concealing the shape of her curves, or the effects the cold was having on her--
He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined they would be half-naked in a bedroom together for the first time. “And they were organized. Did you notice how they moved in unison? I’ve never seen anything like it. The whole situation is wrong. Wraiths haunt a place, they don’t appear in a village like this without a good reason. I’ve heard of them being drawn to botchlings or other cursed creatures but I highly doubt we’re dealing with something like that here,” the witcher said, thinking out loud. He noticed he’d left the bottle of vodka on the nightstand and reached for it. Before he took a swig of his own though, he looked back up at the sorceress and offered it to her. “You look like you need a drink.”
“I’m afraid if I start with that I won’t stop…” she confessed with a sigh, she had been on the road for a while. As she made her way over to the bed, she began to undo the clips that held the skirt in place finally pulling it away before scornfully dropping it with some annoyed force, the wet leather slapped against the floor. As she took the bottle from the Witcher’s hand, it occurred to her only then that she was almost entirely nude - save for the vest, her boots, and some (thankfully modest) shorts. She let the thought sit, and found that after she had taken a long drink from the bottle, it didn’t bother her. She’d seen the strumpets wearing less on the streets of Novigrad.
The strong heat of the vodka burned her throat but it was rather nice considering how cold it was, she let the warm feeling wash over her, and found that after the first drink she wanted another - the second wound up being a significantly larger mouthful than the first. The sorceress quickly handed the bottle back to Valker before she began with the third… “I’m worried. Damn, fuck,” her fist clenched and she made her way back around the room again. “I did notice, and… When I trapped them I could feel them inside of me, their hatred was like a flame burning up inside of my mind. I’ve never had that before from a monster or ghost…” She stopped walking and wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling a chill fall over her. “I don’t know if I sensed something behind the wraiths. But there was something else, Valker… it scared me.”
Nodding in approval at the sight of Avery partaking quite generously of the vodka, Valker accepted it back just quick enough to hide his smile behind a large swig of his own. Perhaps this day could be salvaged after all -- and by extension, the mess he’d made of things in Novigrad. He brought his thoughts back to the present and thought about her words. “Well… my guess is that there’s something here in Velen that isn’t happy about my presence. Something that can control wraiths,” he said and raised his eyebrows and his hands. “But I have no idea what that could be. A more powerful spirit, perhaps. Then again, I’ve been in Velen for two weeks already… so it’s either something decidedly local to this area, or it’s only angry now because we’re back together.” He paused and frowned at his own words. “You know, now that we’ve met again.” He sighed and silenced himself with more vodka.
“A sorceress could control wraiths,” she said quietly, a level of shame in her voice while she walked back to the bed to take the bottle again. She had been right, she wasn’t going to stop now that she’d started. She placed it to her lips and walked back across the room. “Or summon them… Valker, I told you about my lost friend… Why is it that my first thought was that she might be behind this?” She couldn’t bear to look at him now, and so she turned away and moved back to the dresser, placing the bottle on its surface before placing her own hands there too. Avery shook her head and looked down only to find herself staring intently upon the grain of the dresser, at the fibres of the wood and the pattern they made. He’s been here for two whole weeks? she asked herself, a strange feeling clawed at her, as if she was upset she hadn’t seen him until now. She’d been in Velen for long enough too…
“Really?” Valker asked, surprised. The extent of the magic that sorcerers and sorceresses were capable of was largely unknown to anyone except them, and even then it varied greatly between individual practitioners. “Sounds like the worst kind of necromancy.” He narrowed his eyes when it transpired that Avery kept the bottle for herself as she stared at the dresser, all mysterious and enigmatic and decidedly alluring. Valker got to his feet and crossed the distance, the enchanted needle following him, unfailing in its work. He hesitated for a moment before he brushed a hand against her back in a vague attempt at reassurance while he grabbed the bottle with his other hand. “But it doesn’t make sense that a friend of yours would send wraiths to kill us,” he said. Valker looked down at her. “Avery,” he added, imploring her to meet his gaze. “Why are you looking for her? Who is this friend of yours?”
Something happened when he touched her, the way that his fingers felt against her - even through the fabric of her shirt. A vibration, that tingled through her powerfully. She released a shuddered breath and her eyelids fluttered, it had taken her by surprise. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed it before, it was very, very pleasant, and it was for that reason that made her take a small step back. This wasn't the time for those things. Not now! she told herself, concentrating on his words instead, trying not to look back at his fingers.
“You're right, she wouldn't,” she said aloud so as to reassure herself. Valker was of course, right to have questions, she just didn't know how much she wanted to answer. “Urszula was a mentor to me when I studied, she helped me and taught me. A few weeks ago she began to send me a series of letters implying some danger, that she must go into hiding.” Avery needed another drink, she hated sharing these things, being vulnerable. “I'm trying to find her because it's the right thing to do. I owe her that much.”
“That makes more sense,” Valker said and handed the bottle back to Avery after he was done with it. For now. “The last person to see Domren alive said he was headed for Velen. A sorceress goes into hiding and a witcher is killed…” he added and let the words hang in the air for a second, his eyes studying Avery closely. The way her body had reacted to his touch had not gone unnoticed by the witcher. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Avery took the bottle and drank again, the burn becoming less and less the more she did so. It was not as satisfying without it, she decided. “It almost seems like too big of a coincidence… Besides, she's been even more cryptic and spiteful in her letters than usual, it wouldn't surprise me if she wasn't here at all now.” She held the bottle back out to Valker, noticing that it was getting rather close to being empty. When he mentioned his brother, she felt the tension grow. She hadn't heard of another witcher being spotted in Velen while she'd been travelling, two witchers in a short space of time seemed unusual enough to warrant gossip. “Where did you begin your search?” she asked him, meeting his eyes with her own.
“South of Oxenfurt. You wouldn’t believe what the people near Downwarren say about the swamps. No sign of Domren, though,” Valker said and shrugged. He, too, noticed that the bottle was almost empty. He finished it and put it down on the dresser a little harder than he’d intended to do. “Oops.” Valker looked at Avery, a calculating look in his eyes. “Listen, you should make yourself comfortable. I’ll ask the innkeep to wash our clothes for us and get some more to drink. Doubt they have any erveluce in a place like this, but I’ll ask.” He gestured towards the bed and nodded reassuringly. “Alright?”
“Actually, I'd prefer more vodka,” she admitted with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “Oh! Since you're going that way anyway…” a smirk tugged at her lips as she did as requested and made her way to the bed, “please get some iced buns!” Her words were a little too enthusiastic… Vodka. Avery sat herself down on the edge of the mattress, and began to unlace her boots - it was proving to be slightly more difficult after… How many shots was it? She giggled at her efforts quietly although it soon began to frustrate her, why were they so tightly wound? “A dʼyaebl aép arse!” she cursed under her breath, her lips curling.
Valker smirked at the profanity in the Elder Speech while he gathered up their clothes. “Vodka and iced buns. You got it.” With that, he left the room and found the innkeep and his family arguing in hushed tones, no doubt animatedly discussing the events that had transpired outside the walls of their inn. They fell silent as Valker approached and before they could ask any impertinent questions, the witcher made his desires known instead and the thunder on his brow indicated that he would accept no delays and no prying. In return for their efforts, two more bottles of vodka and some iced buns, Valker left a little more coins than strictly necessary on the bar.
He stepped back into the room and held up the spoils of his exchange with the locals. “I’ve always found that the best way to get over a traumatic event is to drink myself into a stupor,” he admitted casually and made his way back, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He handed one of the bottles and the iced buns to Avery before he uncorked his own and immediately downed a healthy dose of the stuff. “Be nice to do it with some good company for a change.”
“The locals must think this to be quite the scandal, really,” she chortled as she finally succeeded with her boots. Now that was taken care of, she scooched herself into the middle of the mattress, the bun in one hand and the vodka in the other. With a tap of her fingers against the neck of the bottle, the cork flew out. It was a bit of a show off move, but she was amused nonetheless. She gave Valker a smug glance too as she mirrored him and drank from her own bottle. She had forgotten just what they'd been talking about already. “Good company? Where?” she laughed, turning her head from left to right - a playful sparkle in her eyes.
He waved dismissively. “I don’t give a shit what the locals think. This isn’t a church of the Eternal Fire, after all.” The way her loose locks of hair bounced around her head and the way her eyes glistened with mischief made Valker crack a smile of his own and he playfully punched Avery in the shoulder. “You, of course.” He, too, forgot momentarily about his search for Domren and the weeks of miserable treks through mud and frequent bouts of combat against drowners that lay behind him. A feeling of frustration and impotence had clawed at the edges of his mind for the last few days, but that was nowhere to be found now. “How did Reeve take it when you left?” he asked suddenly. “I always wondered.”
Reeve? She hadn’t thought of him in a long time, the smile fell from her lips and she took another long swig from her bottle as she thought of how best to answer that. “He was angry, he was drunk. He threw a temper tantrum like a child, and all that did was validate my decision… Alistaire on the other hand, he practically jumped for joy. It was the most movement I’ve ever seen from him.” Avery could picture the petulant old codger very clearly in her mind. Always drinking, always eating - everything in excess. He was stupid too, always a terribly greedy opinion on things too. “Urgh…” she shuddered and turned a frown. “I gave a lot of my life to that court…” she sighed wistfully before taking a bite from the iced bun. Not wishing to say anymore, hoping that Valker wouldn’t pry further.
Valker shrugged with a grunt. “Fuck them both. They can rot in their miserable little town forever. Meanwhile, us globetrotters now get to enjoy the sights and luxury of such illustrious places as Blackbough,” the witcher said and raised his arms around him. It was clear that the vodka had loosened both his tongue and his wit. “Where the bannisters are made of gold and the blankets spun from the tail hairs of Zerrikanian stallions.” He grabbed the raggedy blanket that covered the bed and pulled it free, only to hold it up for Avery to see. “Behold! See the beauty, the craftsmanship? Ah, if only those drunkards could see us now.” Valker shook his head in mockery before he raised his bottle in a toast to Avery. “Cheers.”
Avery did laugh, at the sight of the very same serious Witcher who had ridden through Kraeg’s Hill - now sat in little more than his bloomers, waving a blanket around. “Speak for yourself, the only drunkard around here is you.” She could not deny him his toast though, but she had something more apt in mind; “to our adventures, long may they continue.” There was a soft sincerity in her voice as she settled down from the laughter. It was so very nice to see him here, despite how things had last ended. With that thought in mind, she had a question of her own now - since it seemed to be that time, “so… What did you do after Novigrad? After the banquet?” Technically that was two questions, and when she realised it was, she shifted her glance to the side and ate more of the bun.
Valker braced himself at the question and bought himself some time by throwing back vodka like it was going out of style. He looked at Avery and wondered very hard if honesty was the best policy. Then again, there was no way she didn't know. That's why he had left, after all. “Well… after I'd made a right fool of myself, I packed my bags the next morning and left. I thought… you see, I didn't… I wasn't… equipped to deal with that kind of fuck-up. I fled,” he confessed. “Went right back to work. In hindsight, that was a mistake.”
He paused and something, though whatever it was was probably heavily influenced by the vodka, made him grab Avery's hand in his own. “I'm sorry.”
There it was again, that tingling sensation - although it was significantly less surprising when he was only touching her hand, but her eyes still widened. She’d known about it immediately when she saw Celes the morning after. Celes was not good at blocking thoughts from those who could hear them, and Avery had heard a lot of it. A lot more than she’d have liked to. It was both her disobedience, and that she had left Avery alone at the banquet that were cited as reasons for their working relationship ending shortly after.
She looked down at his hand on hers and blinked. “It’s all in the past now, you’ve nothing to apologise for anyway.” There was an awkward feeling that took over, and so instead of shaking it off, she attempted to drown it out with a sizeable amount of the vodka.
“Either way, I regretted it,” he said softly. He could feel his heart beating faster the longer he looked at Avery. Or was that just the alcohol? An interesting question that could only be answered by putting it to the test. He shifted closer to her and, after a moment's hesitation, put an arm around her shoulders. “What a day, huh?” the witcher said absent-mindedly. His heart was beating even faster. Even now, she still smelled good. Nope, that's definitely her and not the booze.
Avery watched the way he moved, and glanced to watch as his arm came around her - it was nice, actually. She hadn't expected it, she hadn't done anything for it. The alcohol took over her now, allowing her to feel relaxed and she leaned into him. Was that what he wanted? It was what she wanted. “Valker…” she uttered softly, with a smile and a redness on her cheeks. As she moved closer to him too, his nerves tipped over into her and she may have heard more than she should have, and answered too - “what did I do?” she asked, looking confused.
It was a big relief to feel Avery responding so well to his touch and the way she whispered her name to him caused a shiver to go down his spine. It had only taken him years to figure it out, but here they were. “What?” Valker replied, confused as well. “I didn't say anything. You didn't do anything.” He smiled and squeezed her arm. “Aside from being… wonderful.” The witcher blinked and quickly took another swig of vodka, feeling his own cheeks turn red.
She blinked again, several times. “Well you're wonderful too you know. Wonderful and strong…” she giggled, pressing her finger to his nose with a smile. The vodka had well and truly settled within her now, in fact it had felt a little like it had hit the hardest in the last few moments. “Ohhh…” she gasped before sitting up, looking suddenly like a woman on a mission. Like a woman who had just remembered something very, very, urgently important. She pulled herself away from Valker, hopping out of the bed with a wobble. “My babies!” she squeaked as she tip toed across the floor, heading with purpose to her Megascope. Not realising how utterly inopportune it was to do this now. She began fiddling with the dials on each stand, but nothing really seemed to be happening. Alcohol had put up a wall that was impossible to break through with logic. “Valker!” she said, alarmed. “Help me with this thing!”
A bittersweet mixture of disappointment and amusement spread through Valker as Avery abandoned him in favour of the machine at the other end of the room. He sighed and pushed the feeling aside. “Avery's babies…” he mumbled to himself, wondering what it could mean. “Her cats!” he exclaimed, believing himself to have solved the riddle. “Alright, alright, I'm coming,” he said and got up with a groan. He had to steady himself before he made his way over, bottle still in hand. Valker stared at the megascope with a puzzled expression. “Avery, I have no idea how this thing works,” he admitted.
“I don’t either…” she groaned, even though she knew she'd used it recently. “Fandangled thing,” she continued with a crossed brow before sighing. “I'm sure all you do is tweak and rub the dials, say the incantation… But I can't for the life of me remember which one to do first or how.” She was struck with disappointment, and she really did miss the cats too. “It's alright it's alright its alright…” she slurred as she began to wander around the room. “They're sulf-sefficent.”
“Absolutely,” Valker said. “Cats -- why, cats can do anything.” He followed her around the room with his gaze but almost fell over when he had to turn his head to keep up with her. “Where are you going?” he asked, bemused. “Come here. I wanna give you a hug.” The witcher began to stumble after her and drank more as he did so. Should anyone have seen them, it would surely be a conical sight.
The sorceress chuckled as Valker followed her around. It was a game now, and she liked games. As he staggered towards her, she hopped up onto the bed and walked over it to the other side. “I'll let you have a hug,” she said in a coy voice, breath laced with alcohol. “You can have a hug if you tell me something. Something… Something… A fact! A fact about yourself! Then you can have a hug.” Once again, she looked incredibly proud of herself, and she watched in anticipation of what he might share with her.
What an odd game. “Very well,” Valker said as graciously as he could and leaned against the dresser for support. “Well…” he thought, wondering what Avery might like to know about him. He decided to go with the first thing that came to mind. “I'm sixty-four years winters old.”
He did not look it. That made him older than Reeve, older than the Baron - but still younger than her. Only by a few years. He didn't need to know that. “That will suffice, come and get your hug,” she remained in her spot, and only just realising what was about to happen she fell shy, and brought her arms to her sides and looked around the room rapidly, at anything other than the witcher. If she had been sober, there would have been none of this nonsense - but for now, she was enjoying it.
What the hell was he getting himself into? Valker wasn't a hugger. He wasn't afraid of physical intimacy at all but his various forays with women in that field had rarely included something as innocent as a hug. And yet, with Avery standing timidly before him, it felt like anything but innocent. He sensed that, despite all the alcohol, this meant a great deal to her. And that meant that it meant a great deal to him. Valker approached slowly, like a man trying not to startle a nervous animal, and stopped in front of Avery. They were close enough to kiss now, if only she'd look up at him. But that wasn't the agreement. Gingerly, tenderly, the scarred witcher put his arms around Avery and pulled her into an embrace.
How could the same man she'd witnessed tear across the battlefield with the wraiths be so gentle now? She hadn't realised just how long it had been since she'd been held like this until he did. Until Valker held her, and that (despite the fact she was drunk) took her breath away. The brunette smiled against his chest, radiating happiness from her being, and her arms began reciprocating the hug. Slowly they reached around him too - one around his middle and the other over his shoulder. There wasn't a great difference in their heights and so it didn't take much for her to lean up to whisper in his ear - his own words back to him, “what a day…”
As her arms returned the hug and he felt her simple joy at being held, Valker tightened his embrace slightly and pulled her against him -- this was a hug with conviction now, one of intimacy, and Valker closed his eyes. “I should have done this years ago,” the witcher murmured and pressed his splayed hand against her lower back, his fingers moving in small, slow circles against her skin through the fabric of her shirt. Her voice in his ear, her body against his, her arms around him -- it was everything. His cheek grazed hers as he moved his head to look her in the eye. Their noses almost touched. “You are a very special woman, Avery Vexx,” he mumbled.
“You're doing it now,” she replied quietly, her eyes closed too, but her mouth hung open and she bit her lip. Those circles, that part of her back. It felt heavenly, and was provoking feelings of arousal. Her cheeks began to feel hot, and the softest of moans escaped her. She opened her eyes with a start and shuffled, hoping to stop that. His words felt better than his touch could have though, and the mild embarrassment melted away with them as they pierced the air. She felt safe, free, and comfortable with him - in his arms. The arms she had been so enamoured with on their first meeting. “That's not my real name,” she whispered softly, removing a hand from his back to rest on his chest, her own fingers painting circles on him now. “My name is… it's just Averina.”
She almost scoffed at how completely silly that sounded, and when she realised what she'd confessed she looked at him sternly, “don't you dare tell anyone though, I mean it.” The finger that had been painting his chest was now jabbing him half-playfully, and half-threateningly, but the embarrassed laugh soon followed and she buried her face in his chest.
“Averina?” Valker repeated and resisted the urge to laugh. “I shan't tell anyone, I promise. I can see why you introduce yourself as Avery.” He smiled, sincerely and fully, and laughed a soft, warm laugh in his chest when she buried her face in it. She had tried to play it off but Valker was sure he had felt her react to the way his hand caressed her back the way women usually did. If she did not want to pursue that sort of thing, he would respect that, but he had to be sure. Maybe he'd imagined it. And so he ran his fingers up her spine while his other hand moved up to the back of her neck, his strong thumb just behind her ear while his fingers entwined with her hair. They were so close together…
Oh it feels good, he feels so good, she thought to herself, unable to stop herself from tipping her head back and moaning out his name, “Valker,” she purred sensually, her body pressed against his with the motion of his finger on her spine. His magic connecting to hers - electrifying. She began to feel a familiar sensation in her stomach, one that was private and intimate and she smiled until she remembered where she was, abruptly. This had all happened quickly, so quickly. She was in Velen, searching for Urszula. Flushed, she pulled herself out of their embrace at once. “I'm sorry,” she muttered as she turned away from him. “Maybe… I don't…” she continued as she backed away, hiding her red face. “I… Don't want this to spoil our work together…”
For a second, Valker looked like he had been slapped in the face. He quickly did his best to regain his composure and smoothed a hand through his beard. His breathing was heavy, laboured almost, and he averted his gaze in bewilderment. Never had a rejection stung like this before. He chastised himself -- whether or not to allow him that level of intimacy was her call alone, she did not owe him anything. The witcher nodded, first to himself and then in Avery's direction, even though she was looking away from him.
“I understand,” he said, and although his voice was slightly strained, it was obvious he did his best to sound sincere and unwounded. “It could… get in the way, yes.” The more he looked at her, the more he wondered if that was the real reason. Why was she hiding her face? Was she… ashamed of something? “It's alright,” he added. “I'm not mad or… anything.” He hovered in place for a second, wondering if it was time for him to go and get his own room.
Truth was, he didn't want to go.
“We can just talk,” he said softly. “Like before.”
But she did want him, whether that was the alcohol or a desire that had been there all along - that was where she remained uncertain. She knew she liked him, but did she like him that much? Surely she did, even as she briefly thought on it, Avery knew there hadn’t been many days in the last seven years where he had not crossed her mind in some way or another. She felt so young, so naive. So incredibly unsure of this territory. In a politicians hall she could dominate and control conversations about all manner of things - but right now, behind closed doors with Valker she had no idea of what to do.
The sorceress had been enjoying their closeness, that much was true. To save herself from standing awkwardly, quietly she began to potter across the room - walking on tip toes again with a tipsy wobble added. In a quick motion she plucked up the Zerrikanian stallion blanket from the floor where it had been dropped, and wrapped herself in it before climbing back over the bed - stealing a glance at Valker’s eyes as she got comfortable on her side. She could see he was confused, slightly hurt. Was it her telempathy or her own real feelings that made her feel hurt too?
“I'd like to talk,” she said in a soft voice, blinking slowly. She placed her hand on the empty space beside her. “What were we talking about before?”
Valker returned to his place on the bed and thought long and hard about her question. “I can't remember,” he said eventually and laughed quietly to himself. The vodka brought more solace. “Oh, wait, I remember now. The angry ghosts and your friend and my dead brother. Damn, gloomy topic.” He was slurring his words now. “You know, we should save that for tomorrow. Tell me about yourself. What are your powers?”
That made her smile. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, giggling in a demure fashion. “You know what I can do. I make things what they're not…” Her face grew more serious, the vodka still had a hold of her and had loosened her lips. “I was a very… sensitive child. I could feel… emotions, read thoughts.” Avery sighed and closed her eyes, “I can use that. To make things what they're not.” Even she knew that she'd said too much, and so she rolled back onto her side with a smirk, “oh and I can hold lightning in my hands, make the earth move to my will, trap wraiths… And conjure the most beautiful outfits too.”
“Read thoughts?” Valker asked, suddenly concerned. He stared at her quizzically, the way only drunk men trying to bring their vision back into focus could do. “You do that often? Oh!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself, and waved at her urgently. “Conjure a pretty outfit for yourself. I wanna see.”
She did not answer his question, she merely wiggled her eyebrows with an impish grin. As for his next request… Shr could conjure a pretty outfit alright. The witcher should have known better…
She dragged herself up from the bed and gave a modelesque strut around it, the blanket still wrapped tight around her like a cocoon. She made sure that his eyes were on her and her only, she swayed and shook her hips underneath the woolen cape - adding a feeling of theatre to the spell. After some more suggestive shaking and twirling she let the blanket drop dramatically to the ground, revealing that she was still in her vest and shorts. Valker, on the other hand was in an especially pretty scarlett doublet, and for extra effect, she'd had a feather boa draped around his shoulders. “Oh… Oops!” she feigned surprise, holding her hand up to her open mouth, hiding a grin. “Must be the vodka…”
Valker stared at Avery through squinted eyes. “Yeah, I don't see anything different,” he mumbled. “Try again?”
“No… there's a difference alright,” she replied in a honeyed tone as she moved back towards the bed. It looked very good on the witcher, she almost wished she'd conjured matching trousers for him too. He looked just as handsome in it as he did at the banquet. “Look closer,” she said through a yawn as she crawled over the mattress to her spot of the bed, her head landing softly on the pillow but she still watched Valker with mischief in her eyes. “Keep looking, handsome…”
It was then that the grizzled witcher noticed the conjured garments on his person. As he looked down at the doublet and, with growing amazement, at the boa, nothing happened at first. Nothing continued to happen.
And then he burst into laughter -- loud, raucous peals of laughter. He laughed and howled until he had tears in his eyes and he collapsed on his back on the bed. “Yoouuu she-devil,” came his strangled voice through hiccups and giggles. “Not what I meant! Nice jacket, though. Thanks.”
“I made you laugh,” she slurred against another yawn - this time stretching her arm above her and bringing it back down to rest her hand in the curls of her hair. Her eyes were drooping and the pillow was extremely comfortable all of a sudden. Her whole body felt so heavy that pulling her knees up was a struggle. “I made you laugh…” she mumbled again, the hand that had been in her hair dropped towards Valker, landing on his own. After that, her eyes were closed and her breaths soft. The sorceress had fallen asleep.
“Not many that can say that,” Valker said, still smirking like an idiot. As Avery fell asleep and her hand fell into his, he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and gave her hand a soft squeeze. “Sleep well,” he mumbled and decided that Avery had the right idea. He closed his eyes and drifted off himself, into an uneasy maelstrom of dreams where Avery rejected him for the spectral form of Domren over and over again.
Why did her head hurt so much? Why was the morning sun so aggressive? “God where am I?” she croaked out, her mouth as dry as a handful of sand. She slowly dragged herself up from the bed and immediately caught the scent of vodka in the room. It made her gag. “God no,” she protested and moved quickly to clear the bottles away - to purge the room of the smell that was so aggravating. There was nowhere to put them, “God,” she repeated again, the necks of the three bottles positioned between her fingers. She had no choice, she was hungover and desperate to not have to look at them… At once she opened the window and dropped them outside into the long grass, “poison!” she spat as she brought the shutter back down, finally turning to look at the bed only to see Valker in it, his tall form stretched out over the spread, feathers around his neck and a red doublet adorning his chest. “What in the name…?”
Avery then caught a glimpse of herself, hair like a birds nest, her face unattractively pale - she had no pants on. Just undergarments. She crept gingerly to her trunk and picked at what was inside, until she realised that she could just cheat this morning… While Valker lay sleeping she ran her hands over her body dress and bring back colour and glamour to herself once more. The very same outfit she had worn when they went to hunt a werewolf, as it happened.
Thinking to spare him any embarrassment of them making eye contact when he woke up, she quietly left the room. Electing to wait for him in the tavern. She was in dire need of food, too…
Fifteen minutes later, the witcher appeared, dressed in his own gear (the innkeeper had put the basket of washed clothes just outside the door to Avery's room) and with his weapons on his back. He looked remarkably spry and fresh for a man who had just drank more than a liter of vodka the night before, but witchers were gifted with extraordinary metabolisms and the slightest hint of darkened veins on his face betrayed his use of Swallow to wash away the headache. He ordered a plate of food for himself and sat down opposite Avery.
“Are we going to talk about the doublet and the feathered… thing?” he asked bluntly. His expression was inscrutable.
Avery was already tucking into her breakfast - bread with a side of bacon, and an especially sweet honeyed tea to wash it down with. She looked up at Valker, her expression as nonchalant as it could be, she shrugged, “you spent the evening with a trickster…” Her eyebrows raised, her smile turned downwards as if to say ‘what did you expect?’, but she meant nothing by it.
“I may have a lead on Urszula,” she said, carrying on into normal conversation after clearing her throat. “I'm heading out soon, I don't know where your search for your brother takes you next but I can help you, I still want to help you find him…” Avery brought the warm mug to her lips and inhaled the scent, the sweetness of it was far preferable to the vodka.
“I’m glad you have a lead because I don’t,” Valker said. The innkeeper’s daughter brought him his food with a mixture of awe and barely-contained excitement and Valker had to resist from rolling his eyes. Young girls and their misplaced love for swashbucklers and warriors… he ignored her and focused on Avery and his food instead. “Like I said, I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s possible, maybe even likely, that whatever Urszula is dealing with is related to what Domren was investigating before he disappeared, especially after that business with the wraiths yesterday. I’d like to come along, if you’ll have me,” he said and looked up from his food to observe Avery’s reaction.
“I couldn't get out of the inn yesterday, the storm… Hardly the weather for horses, as calm as mine is.” she began to explain as she took a healthy drink of the tea, she watched from over the rim of the mug as the girl practically fawned over Valker. She was pretty, and shapely too. She wondered if a girl like that interested Valker. It had been no secret in Kraeg's Hill that he'd visited the brothel after their encounter with the werewolf. The daughter reminded her very much of a typical small town girl. Avery smiled pleasantly up at her, after she had clearly felt the gaze of the Odd-Eyed sorceress upon her - enough so to turn her attention from the witcher and to his female companion, whose smile suggested that she was relishing in spoiling the girls moment.
After she'd left, Avery nodded along to Valker's words. “There's a place quite deep in the swamp where it meets a large, very steep rockface. There was a great magical interference in the surrounding area that I could sense, so much that I have not been able to teleport to it. I suspect it's some kind of veil that is hiding a cave or den…” She was keeping her voice quite low, and spoke with absolute confidence. “With sober mind, I wonder if such an interference could be linked to the attack. In any case, I’ve been wanting to check it out.” When it came to him requesting to tag along, she flashed him something of a delighted smile, “oh, and yes, you're coming along, so you'd best eat up.”
Valker’s eyes lingered on the retreating girl perhaps a tad too long, but he returned Avery’s smile with a small one of his own. “Good. Thank you. I will,” he said and proceeded to wolf down his food. He had nothing to say about her suspicions, really. When it came to magic witchers were little more than conjurers of cheap tricks and, with experience, capable cursebreakers. He assumed she knew what she was talking about. “That black horse in the stable, I assume it’s yours?” he asked in between bites.
“Her name is Midnight,” she responded with a smile, tucking a curl behind her ear as she ate a mouthful of the bacon. That would help soak up the alcohol at least, she was already feeling better for it. His eyes on the behind of the girl did not go unnoticed by Avery either. That answered her own query, and she smirked. Truthfully, she was feeling nervous now, she would either find something, or nothing. She wasn't sure which she preferred. Something else to talk about…
“I have to ask… Pardon if it's considered rude, but…” Her fingers began to tap across the table, and she tilted her head to one side curiously as she looked upon Valker's face. At the thin dark lines. She'd seen them before too… “Does… that hurt you?” she asked in a quiet voice, some concern in her tone.
“Good name for such a beautiful steed,” Valker said with approval. He, too, was feeling much better now that he’d filled his stomach and he leaned back in his chair, slowly nursing the apple juice the girl had brought. As for Avery’s question, he stared at her without comprehension initially before he understood what she was referring to. “It used to, but that changed with time and experience. Now it just feels… hm… potent? Witcher potions are toxic and it’s only because of our mutations that our bodies can process them. If I imbibe a lot of them in a short period of time, especially the decoctions I derive from monsters, feeling the toxicity coursing through my veins is like that tingling in your mouth if you eat too much pineapple, but much stronger. It makes me feel alive.” He shrugged and smiled apologetically. “I don’t know if that makes sense. Hope it answers your question.”
Unsure of what to make of the information, she just gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and raised her finger to her lips as she often did when in thought. “I know very little about witchers, the processes, traditions… I've never given much of it any thought. At least not until I met you, now I find it all quite fascinating…” Realising she probably sounded like the fawning women and common folk who probed him for information, she retreated behind her mug and finished the last of her tea, turning her face away to gaze off into the distance while he finished his food too.
“Most people just think we're freaks,” Valker said, his voice revealing neither here nor there what he felt about that. “Genuine curiosity is refreshing. There's a lot I can't really tell you about because… well, I don't know. Knowledge has been lost. We're a dying breed. But if you have any questions, ask away.”
“Some people feel the same way of mages,” she added, somewhat sympathetically. They had that in common. “Anything different…” she sighed, looking at her fingers as she rubbed them together gently causing a small sparkle to appear there. She could feel the eyes of the patrons on she and Valker both, and so didn’t take him up on his offer of more questions. More than anything, she wanted to quiz him about the scars across his body - but that would mean admitting she’d taken a long look at them, and it would mean bringing up that she’d done such a thing last night. “If I think of any more, I shall take you up on that.” With a final glance she noted that his plate was empty, as was hers. “Ready when you are.”
“Suit yourself.” Valker got to his feet and made his way to the stables, expecting the sorceress to follow him. He made sure that the contents of his saddlebags were still there -- it wouldn’t be the first time if some peasant turned out to have sticky fingers -- before guiding his horse outside. It wasn’t the same animal he’d arrived at Kraeg’s Hill with, seven years ago. That horse was long dead. This was a chestnut mare with cream spots on her flanks, not particularly large but with a very staunch and unflinching temperament. An excellent horse for a witcher. He mounted the horse and squinted against the rising sunlight. “Fuck off,” he mouthed quietly.
And follow she did, making sure to give as polite a smile as she could to the Innkeep and his family. She followed behind Valker, moving from him to reach her own horse - who, judging by the noise she made, was happy to see Avery again. She responded by placing her hand under the chin of the mare, and pressing their foreheads together briefly. “Good morning sweetie,” she cooed before opening the gate and walking her out. Once out of the stable, Avery set her foot into the stirrup, using her weight on it to get the boost she needed to mount the house. “Good girl,” she said, patting Midnight’s neck affectionately.
The horse began to trot back and forth as if impatient, giving her head a nod. “I know, I know… You know where we’re going.” Avery clicked her tongue and let Midnight find her way to the side of Valker’s horse. “We’re heading north until the path forks and then I’m afraid it’s the winding road… Through swamp.”
Of course it just had to be the swamp. “Wonderful,” Valker grumbled and made sure his necrophage oil was fastened to a strap that was easy to reach. Drowners and water hags infested those waters like nowhere else, it seemed. He looked at Avery and frowned. “How do you usually make your way through the swamp without a witcher by your side?” he asked, fishing for an excuse to keep his sword sheathed for once.
“With great difficulty. I can hold off some monsters… As long as I keep going and don’t look behind me.” She knew it sounded reckless, and she waited for his words of admonishment as she began to lead Midnight out of Blackbough at a gentle pace. They could speed up once they hit the open roads. “That said, the interference is quite powerful in the area. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s cleared most threats off. Can’t be sure of that until we get there.” There was of course, her silver dagger for if a threat got too close and magic just wasn’t going to cut it in the same way that a blade would.
As they approached the exit of the town, she began to feel as impatient as the horse had been. She hoped they could make it to their location as quickly as possible, especially seeing as Valker’s mood had seemed to shift and he was far less talkative than he’d been the day before.
“Ah,” was all Valker had to say about that. It was looking like he was going to have to get his hands dirty after all if they needed to defend themselves. He looked at Blackbough one last time and muttered something under his breath as he saw at least six faces that were glad to see them go. Turning back to Avery, he motioned for her to lead the way.
Avery clicked her tongue again, and gave a gentle nudge to the horse to speed her up into a comfortable gallop. It was pleasant to be able to ride again after several days of being cooped inside by the storm. Had her hair not been in a bun, she imagined it would feel good to have the wind through it, and of course the company was very welcome but her mind was occupied with thoughts of her mentor.
It was a fair ride to their destination, and by the time they’d made it through the swamp - even having ridden over the sandbars had left the legs of each horse coated in a layer of mud, dirt splashed across the shoulders. It was particularly noticeable on the black coat of Midnight. But they were here, and it was as the sorceress had expected - very few monsters had been lurking and any that were had kept their distance. Now, they came face to face with a tall wall of rock, that crested at its peak into a grass covered hill from what could be seen. A darkness surrounded the area, a lack of light from all of the trees that were growing against each other, knotted branches and roots made it a treacherous place to be… A slip into the swamp here had undoubtedly caused a sticky end for more than one unlucky individual.
There was a stinging vibration in the air that she felt across her skin, giving goosebumps even under the warm layers of her gear. It was so prominent it almost seemed that she could hear it too. “Feel that?” She directed at Valker as the dismounted her horse, landing with a light splash as she touched the ground.
She paced towards the centre of the rocks surface, a hand on each hip and focussed expression. “It’s definitely an illusion or enchantment of some kind… There’s an entrance here.”
Valker joined her by her side and followed where she was looking. Predictably, his medallion hummed. He’d had to deal with illusions once before when hunting a foglet and the witcher had been forced to ask a mage that lived in the area for help. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Not my area of expertise. Do you know how to dispel it?”
“I do…” she remarked with a sigh as she glanced across to him. She held out both of her hands and began to move them in a manner which made her look as though she was simply rummaging through the air. After what felt like a few moments too long, a purple light began to emit from what had been seen to be rock - it began to peel away like paper and disintegrate - revealing a small, dark mouth to a cave. They would each have to stoop down to pass through it. Avery moved first, taking a careful step in the direction, placing a hand either side of the opening as she steadied her step, bowing her head to get in.
After several fumbled steps, the entrance opened out into a vast cavern - cold and damp, and dark too. It was the echo of her steps on the stone that gave indication as to how big. Now, to turn on the lights… The sorceress hastily formed a shining ball of white light in her palm, with a flick of her wrist she threw it to the ceiling of the cave, and as the light travelled upwards she could make out the path before her, and the unmistakable shapes of torches on the walls. It had definitely been inhabited recently, then.
More agile and dexterous than the sorceress, Valker slipped into the cavern with ease and his cat eyes were in the process of adjusting to the gloom when Avery’s magelight bathed everything in stark white. He did not say anything as he advanced into the cave; not because he was upset with Avery in any way, but because he had slipped into the focus and determined silence that he adopted whenever he was working. This was no different. However, it quickly became apparent that while the cave might have been home to someone or other recently, it wasn’t anymore. The placed was furnished; a desk, a bed, a few chairs and even a carpet on the floor emerged from the gloom as they advanced. A locked chest stood by the foot end of the bed and two half-eaten meals were sitting neatly on plates on the table. Mold had already set in.
As Valker walked around the table to inspect the other side of the vaulted cavern he nearly tripped over something on the ground. “Shit,” he said quietly and took a few steps back. It was Domren’s corpse. Unmistakable. Something (no man could do this) had nearly ripped him to pieces but Valker recognized his armor, his weapons and what little remained of his face. There was no time to mourn, however. The place was still saturated with magical energy and it was too soon to tell if the witcher’s killer was still around. Plenty of creatures were accomplished masters of stealth, after all. Valker drew his silver sword and resumed methodically inspecting every inch of the place.
Avery was less methodical, she moved to the desk, opening drawers only to find them empty… She checked the shelves only to find blank parchments and a dry quill. Even the barrels and crates were just filled with straw and burlap fabric. The chest was of interest to her, but it was locked - and probably with an enchantment too. There was no doubt about it that Urszula had been here, the blankets on the bed had her perfume… It wasn’t until Valker spoke - as quiet as it was, that she was pulled from her frantic search and she too approached the body. She gasped and put a hand across her mouth, turning away instantly.
“Is that…?” She asked quietly, looking back over her shoulder to observe Valker. He was now extra cautious, his Witcher’s sword held as he carried on. Did he want to talk about it? Move the body? Was there anything she could do? If she asked him if he was alright would he even tell her whether he was or not?
It took a few seconds Valker to register and respond to the question. “Yes,” he said without looking up at Avery, his voice devoid of emotion. “Yell if you see anything unusual.” It wasn’t necessary to explain why, he figured. The more he looked, however, the more he became convinced that there wasn’t anything dangerous here. His medallion appeared equally affected on either side of the cavern by whatever residue lingered here. It really was just a cave with cold and damp walls of rock and a few pieces of furniture. That was it. Admitting defeat, Valker resheathed the sword and returned to Domren’s corpse, kneeling down beside it to inspect it more closely.
“Where is your medallion, brother?” he muttered under his breath.
Finally, she resigned herself to the fact that there was little she could do to help him - he didn’t need it, and maybe it was silence that he needed more. Meanwhile, she needed to continue searching for anything that could be of use to her. It was the chest that kept drawing her attention. As Valker continued to examine the corpse, Avery stepped with hesitation towards the chest - it was rather grand looking. Made of a heavy metal - this was not a chest that would be forced open either, Urszula had been diligent in selecting it…
As she knelt down beside it, she felt an energy emanating from the surface - or was it from inside? There was a keyhole, but something in her instinct told her that a key was not going to open this chest. Had Urszula left it here for Avery? If that was the case, then it would only be Avery who could open it. Had there been a cipher in the letters? They had seemed quite normal and nothing about Urszula had ever suggested she has a type for written puzzles. No, this was a chest of sentiment… Her eyes lingered over the keyhole and she grew frustrated thinking of how many attempts it was going to take her to open it. Urszula had always lamented that Avery could be impatient during her schooling… Was it that easy? Stealthily, Avery turned her head to check one last time what is was that Valker was doing. He was still occupied, and so she took the opportunity to speak to the chest - or rather, command it, “open” she said bluntly.
Nothing happened.
“Damn!” She cursed as she rose to her feet with her eyes closed and an angry scowl. She held her breath in anger for a long time, before sighing out - exasperated. “I don’t think there’s anything here, Valker…” she spoke quietly from where she stood.
It was hard to tell what it had been that had killed Domren so violently. The deep gouges cut into him would suggest claws, but they would have had to be enormous to nearly bisect him they way he had been. Valker could not think of anything that would follow a witcher and, presumably, a sorceress into a cave to fight them there that had claws like that. Ancient leshens, draconids and fiends were the only creatures he could think of that had that much tearing power. Half of them wouldn’t have even fitted in the cave without destroying everything else inside. Looking up, Valker confirmed that the furniture wasn’t even slightly damaged. Whatever had killed Domren in here had done so suddenly and without a struggle. It was a worrying realization.
“I think you’re right,” he said in response to Avery and got to his feet, surprised to see her anger at being stumped by a chest. He quickly realized it was merely displaced anger, of course, and that she was just upset they hadn’t found her mentor. Valker’s mission, on the other hand, was technically complete, except…
The witcher gestured towards Domren’s corpse. “His medallion isn’t here. Whatever killed him probably took it. That means it might be sentient, or at least covetous in nature. However… there are no signs of a fight, no signs of a struggle. Anything large enough to physically tear him apart like that would have destroyed everything in here by merely being inside the cavern. Domren wasn’t killed elsewhere and moved here, there’s no trail of blood and the amount of it caked onto the ground here suggests he died where he stood. So we’re dealing with something that can control wraiths, kill a witcher without leaving a trace and probably purposefully take his medallion,” Valker summarized. For the first time since they entered the cave, he showed any emotion. He scowled. “That is bad news.”
“And that’s based only on what we’ve seen…” It was time to shake off the feeling of anger, or at least let it sit at one side for now. She brought her thumb to her mouth and gently nibbled as she thought about what he’d said. It didn’t sound like a common creature that was for sure. “A being like this probably has more powers too… That we have yet to see.” A chill ran down her spine at what she was suggesting to herself. She questioned yet again if this was the work of a sorceress, of Urszula. “I can’t reasonably rule her out Valker. That would be dishonest of me, and I don’t want to lie to you…” she admitted as her arms wrapped around her torso. It really was cold in the cave. “I don’t believe it was, but… I can’t rule her out until I am able to locate her.” Slowly she turned her head to meet his eyes, under the magelight they looked like embers, flickering - alive with an intensity that suddenly she found herself looking away from, for the first time.
Urszula. “Possible, I suppose,” Valker mused and looked at Domren again. “Seems rather inelegant for a sorceress. Still, you are right that she can only be eliminated as a suspect once we find her. I assume she sent you those letters with the expectation that you would eventually find this place. There must be a clue of some kind she’s left behind.” His gaze turned on the chest and he approached it to inspect it properly, sinking down on his haunches in front of the lock. “No luck?” he asked.
“None.” Avery sighed, stepping back to the chest, taking a position behind Valker - watching him more than she looked at the chest. “There’s no key but it’s clearly magical, or has something magical inside. Maybe it’s not for me… Maybe she’ll be back when she’s ready.”
Or, what if the chest is the key? She wondered, and upon the realisation she sprung into action, slipping down to her knees beside the Witcher, reaching out a hand to finally touch the lid - the same spell that she had used on the entrance was once again forming from her body. Her energy shifted so as to dispel the last illusion in the cave. To her absolutely amazement, it worked. Just as had occurred with the entrance, purple magic tore at the fabric of the spell and burnt it away with a slow but ferocious energy - dissolving away the rectangular shape into nothing. What was left in the place of it, was a small talisman, hung around a cord of leather. An amulet of some kind… Carefully, Avery reached out a hand to pick it up, string first. It was nothing like the medallion that Valker wore. As she held it up to their eye level, she began to lean ever so slightly into him so that their shoulders brushed. She did not realise, for she was too busy inspecting the detail of the talisman. It looked like a sun, just a simple gold sun on a string. “Hmmmm…”
Valker, too, was too busy watching Avery’s actions to notice her arm against his. “Is that Nilfgaardian?” he wondered out loud. Their symbol was the Great Sun, after all. Her perceptive success at dismantling the illusion did not go unnoticed. “Well done, by the way.”
“It looks it, but somehow I think that’s secondary to whatever magic she might have imbued this with… She has worked in Nilfgaard, however…” She took the necklace into her hand again and found her way back to standing, slipping it into a pocket for now. “Thanks, but it’s not a job well done until, well… I find out what it’s for. I feel better though… For having found it.” She gave him a half smile, before her gaze fell upon the corpse once more. “What do we do with Domren, do you need help?”
“No,” the witcher replied and walked back to Domren. He removed the dead man's swords and scabbards from his body. “We burn him and bury his bones in the swamp.” Valker hoisted him up and placed the corpse on the table, swatting away the plates of food. After taking a step back, Valker raised his hands and a burst of flame erupted from his hands, engulfing Domren and immediately setting his clothes and the table beneath him on fire. Now it was simply a matter of waiting. Valker stared at the improvised pyre and crossed his arms again. “Rest in peace. Your Path ends here,” he mumbled.
It was not a place she wanted to remain, and so the sorceress retreated from the smoke and headed back to the swamp. As her eyes adjusted to the natural light she took a seat on a rock by the horses, who, had surprisingly stayed exactly as they had been. In fact, Valker's mare had joined to Midnight's side and each seemed to be enjoying the company of the other. Valker would want some time and space, and truthfully, so did Avery. She removed the necklace from her pocket and kept looking at it, studying it closely - as if to find a chip or scratch that would give indication to its secrets.
After ten minutes, Valker emerged from the cave and fastened Domren's swords to his horse's saddlebags before he turned to face Avery. “It only happens very rarely that I end up without any clues to work with,” he began, “but I'm out of my depth here. If that amulet is going to tell us anything, you're going to have to be the one to figure it out.” It annoyed him to have to admit that and he looked away, kicking a small stone across the swamp. “I'll help however I can. I want to recover his medallion.”
Her eyes followed the stone as far as she could. She heard it fall and land into one of the pools of water with a gentle splash. “I'll figure it out, I'll take it to another sorceress if I have to…” Avery was sat cross legged, swinging her foot back and forth absentmindedly. She realised that it hurt her to see him this way. He was defeated, or disappointed… Hard to read as always, that would never change. “I'm sorry, Valker.” She spoke comfortingly, having decided that anything was better than nothing - even if it only soothed her.
When had anyone ever said that to him, especially with such sincerity? Valker didn’t quite know what to do with it and shrugged. “It’s alright. Witchers don’t die in their beds. This is our fate,” he said, but his voice did not sound like he was entirely at peace with it, nor had the furrowing in his brow ceased to set his face to thunder. “Some monster will eventually get the best of us and that will be that. Way of the world.”
To that, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to approach him, to put an arm around him or show him anything, any small piece of kindness - but she resisted and stayed where she was. “It’s hard for me to comprehend it… Death, I mean. I haven’t thought about it since I was much younger… But it follows you, doesn’t it?” Avery hadn’t meant to say such a thing, she hoped he wasn’t offended or found it callous. But, the more time she spent with Valker, the more she came to understand his way of life - and that of witchers in general. To her, they’d always been a mysterious caste, alluring and inviting. Like handsome strangers in a cheap novel. She was coming to learn it was not a lifestyle to be fetishised. The sorceress began to experience pangs of guilt for ever having done so.
“It does,” Valker said in agreement and without judgement. He was all too aware of how different his life and that of his fellows was compared to that of almost everyone else. It was only career soldiers that Valker had ever felt any sort of kinship with, but even they did not understand what it was like to test yourself against something inhuman time and time again. “But I have no plans for dying just yet. Witchers can live for a long time if we’re cautious and clever.” He looked back at the cave and wondered where Domren had failed. With a sigh, Valker turned back to Avery and gestured towards the amulet. “Another sorceress, you said?”
She stood and nodded, “perhaps another can decipher the meaning. Someone not part of this, but that’s a last resort. Not until I’ve tried everything anyway.” Avery tried to smile, the mood had been on the heavy side for a little too long, and she took her place in front of the horses, touching the underside of each mare’s chin. “I know some still, but I’d rather be cautious - I’m well aware of the reputation we have for being, well…” manipulative, intrusive, self-seeking… It didn’t need to be said, and she’d rather not have those words in her mouth around Valker - even if she had been guilty of many of the qualities. “Oh, and yes - I hope that you have many more years in you… So keep being clever.” The whimsical way in which she said it, and the spark that appeared in her eyes as she stole a look at him was almost flirtatious, but she turned away shortly after, to continue fussing over the horses.
That was unexpected enough to draw an unseen smile from Valker, whose eyes lingered on Avery while she busied herself with their mounts. He found Avery to be a confusing and often contradictory woman. For some reason, it didn’t bother him. Something told him that if he simply gave it time, she would… what, exactly? Come around to him? Open up to him? Something like that. Valker cleared his throat and swung himself in the saddle. “Where to? Back to the inn?” he asked. The witcher did not relish the idea of returning to Blackbough, where they would undoubtedly be seen as unwelcome troublemakers.
“I think that the trail is cold for me now… I don’t suppose I have need to stay in Velen any further, so yes - I have to collect my things.” The brunette wasn’t entirely sure of where her path was to take her next, and she almost hoped that Valker might ask her to accompany him for at least a little longer. “What are you going to do now?” She asked curiously while mounting the black mare. An innocent question that she hoped would allow her a glimpse into his plans - to gauge if there was room for her there. Upon noticing she was hoping for that, she cleared her throat and took hold of the reigns of the horse, as if by performing a mundane action she could rattle those thoughts and ideas free.
Valker stared at her with one raised eyebrow. “I’m coming with you, of course.”
Avery laughed a little louder than she should have - but she could not work out whether his answer was facetious, or if he was just being deliberately obtuse about it. She felt more awkward now and so pushed forwards back over the path, avoiding eye contact. “Come on then,” she said laconically.
There she was again, being confusing. “I’m perfectly serious, Valker declared and irritably urged his horse to follow her. “Once you’ve collected your things we can leave this swamp behind, rightfully so, and go elsewhere for you to do your magic… stuff... ” He rolled his eyes at himself and started over. “The point is that I’m not going anywhere until we’ve learned what happened and I have Domren’s medallion back.”
Now she felt even more awkward, and it was just as well that she was riding in front of him, so he didn’t have to see the pained grimace on her face when she realised her own mistake. She almost didn’t know how to respond. “I just assumed you would continue on elsewhere, I didn’t think you’d want to wait for me to do my magic stuff...” Even just speaking the truth made her feel worse, and she brought her palm up to her face, placing it over one eye and cheek while she sighed. “My mistake…” she muttered under breath. “With my things at the inn, I should manage to work it out… I won’t keep you from finding the medallion…” Oh God shut up! She told herself, not able to decipher how she’d gotten here.
“I have nothing better to do,” Valker said without thinking. “I mean -- there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. I could use a break,” he corrected himself and groaned inwardly. It seemed both of them were entirely unsure of what to expect from the other. “And I’m curious to see what you’re going to do, and where you’re staying these days.”
Moving the conversation on seemed preferable to sidestepping perplexing questions and interactions. The night before had left her so… Unsure of Valker, or at least of her real feelings. “Lyria,” she answered. “I’ve been staying in Lyria. I have been for quite a while actually, it’s nice there. It’s warm, and not wet… No swamps or gaseous marshes in sight...” That was better. She found her words again, and the fervent blush began to leave her face. “I actually advise a Lady now, believe it or not,” she let out a soft chuckle, and held her head higher, letting the mare pick up speed as the path began to open up.
“That must be an improvement over Reeve,” Valker quipped, He, too, was pleased that they seemed to have moved past that bizarre moment. “I haven’t been to Lyria in ages. Let us be off.”
