FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Leaves and pine needles crunch underfoot in the warm summer dusk, crickets and a few nocturnal birds, owls namely, livening the air with a bit of noise. What's noticeably missing is toads and the scurry of little vermin through the loam and undergrowth. It's not hard to follow the path left by ghouls, the bastards. Apparently, a skirmish took place here between bandits and a detachment of town guards. Both took heavy losses and opted to retreat, leaving their dead to rot, according to one of the wounded at the nearby village. The village has been harassed ever since by the corpse eaters.

There's the smell of decomposition and decay further in the forest, a pervading fine mist that there is no escaping. I find snapped bones empty of their contents, reeking of venom, and several smashed in skulls throughout the leaves. The work of most probably ghouls, possibly graviers fighting for scraps when the pickings became slim. Then again, several families apparently lived in and around this forest, and it's not an uncommon suicide area; it could be they just found more to eat. Graviers and some ghouls like to eat humans more than anything. I'm not terribly sure why: I assume it is because we are so plentiful and create many a graveyard to pillage. At least the common people have enough sense to reinforce their houses and stay indoors at night when these things happen.

Unfortunately, they never seem to remember to bury the dead. Frustrating, that. 175 centimeters tall with a heavy black cloak, I wear light armor made of pleated leather and slim metal plates along with thick leather boots. My hood is pulled up with a thin veil of black cloth over it. Like most of my type, I carry two swords on my back, one made of steel, the other a longsword of silver alloy. Most other witchers would chastise me for carrying both due to their weight, but I don't have a horse, so needs must. Due to this, my steel sword is shorter to cut down on the amount I must carry along with a heavy rucksack and satchel. Hanging out of the fabric of my cloak is the head of my witcher amulet, a bear modified to have two large fangs.

Following the scattered tracks, I find traces of blood before coming to a small channel dug throughout the ground. It looks like someone was dragged through here, clawing into the dirt with their hands for purchase. Following it, the smell of the ghouls themselves becomes more apparent and I finally pull back my hood to have full sight available. A light breeze blows across the scales of my snout, bringing the scent of an entire nest with it and ruffling my argent hair. Setting down my rucksack, I unsheathe my silver blade and stalk forward, unraveling my tail from where it hides coiled up on my back and behind the rucksack while being carried.

In a small clearing, I find the remains of a camp. Or rather, the remains of the remains. The tent is shredded, the ashes of a fire and surrounding circle of stones scattered, and bones spread around the place, some fresh and glistening, others old and chipped. The same goes for armor pieces, a few shields, and several swords and maces. Within this debris is several large holes in the ground: burrows of a nest. Seeing as they were inattentive enough to allow me to just waltz up, I pluck a grenade out of my satchel and pinch the fuse, a spark forming between my fingers and setting it alight.

With a lazy underhand toss, it flies straight into the mouth of the centermost hole, a surprised snarl following before the ground heaves slightly, flame pouring out of the holes along with several incredibly upset ghouls. Realizing that this is a very good way to start a forest fire in hindsight, I rush forward and slam my hand into the ground, blasting the lot of them with a heavy gust of wind. Besides bowling them over, the fire on the ghoul's bodies is mostly put out while the nest still burns from within.

I slice open the necks of the first two that are still recovering before they even notice me, the other two letting off a bellowing howl as they detect my motion. The burrow collapses inward as the water from the soil rapidly boils away under the heat. I back up to avoid being grabbed as three more begin to dig themselves up from the earth, burned but fiercely pissed off. Hearing rapid movements within the trees headed my way, I know I need to end this quickly or it will get more difficult. I dart forward and catch one of the ghouls through the eye with the tip of my sword, twisting to devastate the brain matter beyond before pulling it free and slashing the face of the nearest foe.

The other two pounce and I send them right back to the ground with another blast of air, slicing the fingers off the wounded ghoul as it attempts to counterstrike with claws. Following up, I sprawl it with a kick to the jaw, making a quick stab through the side of the chest and into the heart as it does so. Whirling around as another comes sprinting out of the shadows and leaps, I catch it in the face with my left elbow, bone shattering beneath padded armor as I let it drop to the ground and focus my attention elsewhere.

Something far bigger is coming and I spin with my sword tip on the ground, drawing a circle and hopping back as purple light suffuses it. I still have the two burned ghouls to contest with and let one ram itself into my sword tip mouth first, skewering down the throat and into the internal organs. I twist the blade once more, ripping the guts apart but its body weighing my weapon down in the process. As its charred comrade moves forward, I strike out with my tail, stinging directly through an eye with the barbed tip and withdrawing before it reflexively lashes out.

It hits the ground convulsing and I leave it to that as I heave my blade free, returning my attention to the large alghoul that comes heaving out of the undergrowth, only to enter my circle and be rebuffed back by a jolt of lightning. The other ghoul has enough sense to run at me from a different angle, its broken face piecing itself back together with crinkling cartilage noises as it rushes forward. I counterattack its first swipe and lop its hand off, letting its momentum carry it past me and swing down with a two handed strike, severing the head clean off and causing the body to fall splayed in the dirt.

The alghoul slams itself into the circle for a third time after this, finally succeeding in breaking through it by brute force. Leaping forward for a preemptive strike, I deliver a slash to the shoulder of its right arm and backstep with a warding stroke as I do so, catching its left hand and cutting yet more fingertips off today. It makes an attempt to leap forward but launches off course when it puts weight on the wounded shoulder, and I almost casually sidestep its slashing claws and twirl around, delivering a two-handed blow that slices the arm off at the shoulder.

It recoils with an angry bark and recovers when it hits a tree, using it as a brace to face around towards me and promptly realizing I had lept forward, my stinger burying in its jugular as I slam the pommel of my sword into its forehead. Skulls splinters beneath the metal, but it only stuns it. Stabbing the sword through the back of the spinal column along the neck and falling into a low crouch, I grunt with effort as I heft the hilt against my shoulder, ripping the blade free through the left side of the neck and sending blood flying in a wide arc.

It is paralyzed as it hits the dirt, and I take my time lining up and swinging the final chop, decapitating and silencing its wretched gurgling. With a sigh, I take a moment to lean against a tree, the sun starting to fully set by now and the last dregs of light turning the sky a bleeding red color. Taking out a cloth, I first clean my stinger, carefully avoiding pricking my fingers on the barbs, and then do the same for my sword. Sheathing it, I pull out a large hunting knife made for slicing and collect the heads of my kills, depositing them in a sack.

As I tie it closed, I notice my circle fizzle and sharply glance at it for a long moment, half unsheathing my sword in the process. Leaving the sack, I carefully step towards the circle. It has never done that before; something is reacting with its latent energy. Crouching down to examine it, I don't notice anything amiss and decide to reactivate it by placing my palm in the center. With a shrieking, dusty cry of desiccated vocal cords, remains appear in the circle above me.

I throw myself to the side to put distance between myself and the entity, recovering with a roll and jumping into a standing position as my feet touch the ground once again. Wearing naught but a the pieces of a old gown suspended in the air around her, the woman's torso was picked clean, several ribs missing, and nothing but gristle remains. Her upper head is torn apart with the lower jaw, tongue, and nose missing. Scant patches of auburn hair remain where the scalp wasn't bitten off. Her legs are missing chunks where the meat was chewed off at the bone.

She disappears as she floats out of the circle, a panicked, pained cry piercing the air around me. That all but confirms it: midnight wraith.

"Fuck," I snarl, darting back as she appears and damn near sinks her sharp, bony fingers into my neck, scratching me instead before disappearing.

This is truly bad. She's clinging somewhere between life and death to an object of some significance to her, but that could be anything from a charm to a ring in the stomach of the ghouls, left unburned in the nest, or buried beneath all the bones and rubbish in this clearing. I turn to grab my sack and run, but she appears in front of me, and I duck under another swing, backing out of range of a second grasping attack. I then attempt to flee the other way, only for her to block me once again.

"Where is he?" She chokes, the sound of biting and clawing, tearing, and growling with her cries in the background filling the sudden eerie silence of the night around us. "He tripped me to save himself. Where is he? Where is my brother?"

Tossing the sack aside, I back away from her as she disappears for the fourth time. Returning to the circle, I look for a pattern, but the warped sounds of ghouls eating and her screams make it impossible to listen for where she'll appear. I do however smell a fabric and move forward out of the circle, turning around in time to see the wraith go through the circle trying to reach me, writhing within its confines before pulling back and hiding again.

"Brother, dear brother! Come. Here."

I get an idea and stand in the circle again, waiting once more for the scent of cloth. When it appears again, I swing in that direction. To my surprise, the blade is swatted aside, and she grabs my wrist with one hand and throat in the other, a sudden flash of weakness loosening my grip enough she rips it free, crying as the metal touches her and hurling it away. I stop the free hand from also locking onto my throat while I grip the other, trying to pry it free but failing.

I let out a low, pained growl as her fingers pierce my neck, sapping strength. With a cry of exertion, I let go of both and haul her by the shoulders into the circle, slamming the wraith into the dead center of it before tearing the cloying fingers off my neck and pinning them down my standing on her arms. Planting both hands on either side of her head, I suffuse the circle with glowing light once more, overfilling it until it crackles snaps, burning the dirt and scoring the ground beneath us with a geometric design as the energy bounces around inside.

"Tell me his name!" I shout as she begins to howl, screaming in intense pain as the fervor of the ghouls eating picks up. "His name! Tell me it!"

"H-HAAAEDRICK! BLACKTREEEEE!" She wails as the light suffuses her bones, physically eroding her form before, with a flash, she is reduced to ash and my circle's energy winks out, leaving me in the dark.

I sit up and dust myself off. The crickets slowly return, indicating the woman is truly dead, and I let out a sigh of relief. Betrayed by her brother, eh? That would explain her having enough of a grudge to refuse death. Poor girl. There's a slight chance she might come back without her sentimental item destroyed, but I doubt it. Feeling around, I find my wounds are just scratches and retrieve my sword, grabbing the sack, my rucksack, and then a few strands of hair and wraith dust as an afterthought before returning to the village with my hood pulled firmly up and veiled.

I knock on the door of a village elder, and slowly, he opens it, peering out and looking me up and down before opening it fully. He's taller than me by a head, but I still intimidate him severely.

"Your ghouls are dead," I say, holding the sack up to him.

He nods. "Can you let me see?"

I set the cup down before untying and opening it for him to peer down into the bag. The man begins gagging at the scent, waving it away.

"Sorry, sorry," He says, clearing his throat and getting ahold of himself. "Not that I doubted you. I just wanted to see with my own eyes that... it was truly over. Leave that by the door, I'll burn it in the morning. Here, the other half of your pay."

He hands me two small coin purses and I inspect the contents to make sure that it is the agreed upon amount. It is, so I close them up and stuff them for safe keeping in my rucksack.

"What is that in the cup?" He asks.

"Ash of a midnight wraith. A victim of the ghouls."

"Oh. Oh my. Thank you for taking care of that as well. I fear that may have been even worse..."

"No, I'm not going to ask for extra pay."

He nods with visible relief.

"But I will need to ask where I might find a family by the last name of Blacktree. With a son that goes by Haedrick."

"Oh," He says, blinking in surprise. "That would be the house, the fourth down the path. Whatever for do you need to speak with them? That is what I assume you're doing, right?"

I nod. "Correct. This is all that is left of a sister within the family. I never got her name, but I managed to get her brother's."

"Strange... but alright. I'll come with you. Let me break the news to her."

I nod and move aside for him to lead the way, picking up the cup as he steps forward and leads me to the home. Knocking gently on the door, it opens after a long moment, revealing a haggard middleaged woman with blond hair and dark brown eyes. They match the color of the wraith's.

"Can... can I help you two?" She murmurs, peering at me with concern.

"It's about your daughter, Leyla. She didn't make it."

Leyla nods. "My son said as much. Said she tripped and the ghouls gave up chasing him while they dragged her away."

"Well..." The man turns to me for clarification.

"She turned into a midnight wraith. This is her remains," I say, holding the cup out to her. "I thought you might want something to bury."

Slowly, she takes the cup, eyeing the fine ash within and running a fingernail through it, pinching one of the hairs to hold up and examine. She nods, her eyes tearing up.

"Thank you, witcher. She's resting peacefully now," She sighs. "First my husband to disease, then my daughter to ghouls. If life could be a bit gentler from now on, I'd really appreciate it."

"Another thing. Can I speak to your son? Alone? We need to have a discussion," I say. "I think, for right now, it's better he tells you about it later."

She blinks before looking down at the ashes and then to the elder man. "Can Geof here keep watch?"

"That's fine," I reply.

"Haedrick!" Leyla calls. "Get out here; the witcher wants a word with ya!"

I hear a door opening, and then a young man gingerly walks up beside his mother.

"Come on, lad. Let's have a chat outside. I'll be with you," Geof tells him.

Eyeing me, the boy complies silently, and we step out around the side of the house, lit dimly by a candle left by a window.

"Haedrick," I say, breaking the short silence. "I know you tripped your sister."

Both his and Geof's eyes go wide.

"I - I didn't do that! She tripped on a tree branch! He's lying sir, he's ly -"

Haedrick is cut off by Geof holding up a hand to silence him. "The village has had enough excitement for the next forty five years. Let's not disturb their night any further. But. Dierra was a hunter, Haedrick. She fed you and your mum, knew the forest like the back of her hand. And you're telling me she tripped on a tree branch?"

"It was dark, sir."

"When you ran back, it was noon, Haedrick."

Haedrick stutters over his words for a moment before falling silent, hanging his head down.

"I understand what fear does to people, Haedrick. I'm not blaming you for saving yourself. What I am blaming you for is betraying your sister. You two didn't get along, did you?"

He shakes his head. "She hated me."

Geof scoffs, nudging Haedrick, "She didn't hate you. You were just inconsiderate to her, sure. Tested her temper too much. But family does that, from time to time."

"Regardless," I say, getting back on track. "Your actions are what made her become a midnight wraith. If I hadn't been here to stop her, she may have tormented this village far worse than the ghouls could have. Look, I'm not here to take you to the noose. Even if I found out another way and she stayed dead, I would have let it lie. But your actions led to your sister becoming a monster, and that is not something I can just let go. She nearly suffered a fate worse than death and is at rest now, and you yet live in her place. So, do better. Do right by people from now on. Because I'm tired of having to put down someone who has already died and suffered enough the first time. That is all. Go."

Haedrick takes his leave at a sprint, bolting inside and just barely not slamming the door.

"... What did you achieve, witcher?" Geof asks after a pause.

"Catharsis for myself, I suppose," I sigh. "The same tragedy of one person being a piece of shite to the other is a tale as old as time, and I'm just so exhausted of it."

"Sure, sure. But that lad is going to carry that the rest of his life."

"He already was. The only thing I added was a full understanding of just how badly his sister suffered. Is that not an apt punishment for forcing someone to die in your place?"

"Hmm. There is a point you have there. But I think it is overshadowed by just how much tragedy has already befallen his family."

"Which is why I left it to Haedrick if he wants to tell his mum."

The elder man thinks for a moment, letting his head rock to a fro for a few moments before nodding, "That is fair enough. Well, now that that's done... do you need a place to stay for the night?"

I look at the starry sky, the stinging of my wounds all too apparent.

"Yes, I do," I reply.

"I don't have much besides a place besides the fire to offer. But it's something."

"That it is. A place to relax after today would be nice."

~

TIME PASSES

~

Cutting through the belly and exposing the organs beyond, I pull out the wyvern's liver, examining it for any sickness or defect. The beast was easy enough to take down, taking it by surprise after attacking it from above while waiting outside its den. It's about 180 centimeters long from snout to the base of the tail, the tail itself roughly as long with a whip-like tail. Its scales were unusually thick, probably a byproduct of it eating well for the time it harassed the nearby trade route, but there were gaps I was able to exploit, dealing a death blow through under the armpit of the wing.

With my knife, I cut the liver into smaller bits to more critically inspect it was healthy, and then looking around for a moment to ensure the woods around me are empty, I pull back my hood and eat the pieces one at a time while I continue harvesting fluid from internal organs to distill later, including its venom. Afterwards, I saw the neck in half to take a trophy and a slab of the haunch for my lunch.

It's tough and chewy meat, but most everything tastes like ash to me, soooo what do I care. Hauling the head back to the nearby outpost made to protect the trade route from bandits, I walk in to find the quartermaster sleeping in a chair, reeking of cheap ale. I glance at the nearby posted soldier, the man staring at me with uneasiness.

"How's his sense of humor?" I ask him, referring to the quartermaster with a thrust of the head.

"He certainly is a happy drunk," He offers.

"Good enough."

Taking a deep breath, I kick the chair over and push the head against his chest, bellowing a territorial roar of its species. The quartermaster snaps awake and lets out a half-scream before catching himself, giving me a less than pleased frown as the soldiers around us chuckle.

"I'll give you credit," He scowls, throwing the head off of himself and standing up, righting the chair. "That's a good impersonation. And a dead wyvern. But perhaps pull the practical jokes after I pay you?"

"Would you have gone back to sleep after that?"

"Probably not, speaking of which," He waves me to follow him into his tiny office, unlocking a box and tossing me a coin pouch from within before locking it again. "I take it you saw the missive on the board about the fiend attacking another outpost, right?"

"Must have missed it. Fill me in."

"Gladly. We're building a new outpost in the forest to the west, and it's been plagued by problem after problem. First a werewolf which their guards managed to take care of, albeit with heavy losses. Then a bloody gryphon kept smashing the walls to pieces and dive bombing to fly off with men. We had another witcher take care of that, but the two took each other out. Then... let me check this missive. Something called a chort is attacking every so often too."

"That is certainly a flawless run of bad luck. Is there anything else going on there?"

"I hear through the grapevine the wild animals are going crazy too. Wolves will attack patrols smaller than six men, even if the pack is wiped out just to bring one man down. Squirrels and birds destroy food supplies, rats piss and shit in the water. And this has got to be absolute bollocks, but some of the patrols are even saying the trees are striking men as they pass. Apparently, some bloke tripped and snapped his neck after hitting a branch dead on, and now they think the forest is out to get them."

I pull out my map, circling a deeply wooden area with a gloved finger. "They're in this area, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. That'd be it. You familiar with the place?" He says, tapping the true location of it in the circle.

"No. But it's ancient forest. Could be something that's been living there isn't happy with the new neighbors. Leshens certainly object quite strongly when humans enter their territory and start ripping things down."

"I heard the word once before. But it was from my gran threatening it'll get me if I don't go to sleep."

"Heh. No, this isn't a fairy tale. Imagine a tall lanky bastard capable of ripping a breastplate clean off of a man and rending them limb from limb. That's a leshen. That, and they have a strong influence on the forests they live in, including the ability to antagonize monsters into attacking somewhere. A werewolf and gryphon I can believe would be territorial. Wild animals and a chort though... they wouldn't do that normally, not attack such a large gathering of people at once."

"Sounds like you best be on your way."

"Yes, I suppose I should. Coin ought to be generous."

"Exceedingly so. A few men are even choosing desertion over being sent to there."

"Mmm. Dire indeed. Anything I need to look out for on this shortcut between this and this road," I ask, pointing on the map where a thin line is drawn between them.

"No idea, to be honest. We tell traders and caravans to stay on the dedicated road because that's the thing we guard. Past that, no promises."

"I'll have to keep my wits about me, then. Thanks for the chat. I'll be on my way."

"Thanks for the blood on my shirt. Take care, witcher."

"Mmm, you too" I hum in reply, leaving the office and borrowing the camp cook's pan for half an hour to cook my meat and eat lunch.

The smell is clearly not much to his taste to the point the cook demands to put a few spices on it. I don't argue, and it does add a slight tang I can taste besides considerably improving the scent. Moving onto the road after, I walk for a day and a half until about midafternoon, finding a corpse in the ditch. Turning her over, I examine it. She was a pretty woman with dark hair and blue eyes, her face locked in a fierce, defiant expression even now.

They've been dead for about two days. She wears pants and a tunic, and the pants are still on, so she certainly kept her honor safe from whoever stabbed her in the back. Though, the contents of her pockets have certainly been claimed. It would appear the patrols failed to locate some highwaymen. But perhaps, with a lone woman on the road, it's possible it was the patrol themselves.

In her hand is clutched a dagger. Strangely, I don't have to pry it out of her fingers even though the rest of her body is still stiff as a board; it comes out of her hand freely. Made with excellent craftsmanship, it's otherwise mundane in appearance save for a seal on the bottom of the hilt I don't recognize. It's the sort of weapon worn for traveling quietly, rather than showing off. Picking up the young woman, I carry her in my arms until I find a clearing that transforms into a small meadow with flowers. It seems a good a place as any and I set up to camp there for the night.

I don't have a shovel, so I strip down most of my clothes and prepare to start digging with my hands like a lizard. I get about a third of a meter down in making a grave when I just happen to turn around and see her body is gone. I blink, getting up and sniffing the ground where she was. Her scent is there for certain, partially decayed, but there's no trail She was almost in the second stage of rigor mortis; where the bloody hell did the corpse go? Was she still alive somehow with no pulse?

Brushing dirt off myself, I reclothe and catch a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye, noticing a patch of dark hair walking away into the shadows. Grabbing my things, I run after her.

"Wait!" I call out. "I don't know how you're walking, but you need to be laying down! Oi!"

Entering the woods, I lose her immediately. There's no sign, no scent of her. However, there is a path. One made by beating down the brush with heavy boots. There's a rather cloying odor of unwashed men along here, and we're rather close to the last outpost for there to be another, much less one led to by a dingy path in the woods.

I follow it, and it's dark by the time I come across a camp sheltered by the boughs of elder oak trees. Enough so they probably have decent rain cover. There are a few ramshackle shelters made from heavy cloth draped over branches planted in the ground, a few sacks and a traveling trunk stored under one of them. In the camp is one lone man, cooking on a small fire with dry enough wood there's not much smoke. I smell blood on him. He's injured, his hand and shoulder thickly bandaged with cloth torn from clothing. In fact, he's wearing rather fine clothes himself, the kind an unshaven and unwashed commoner could never afford.

Perhaps the woman was a ghost, still vengeful and clinging to existence so her killers might yet be found. Striding into the camp, I sit down across from him on one of the two logs there like I belong.

"That you Mitch? Damn, ya guys run across a few circus performers or somethin'?" He chuckles, looking behind me and expecting more men to come out of the darkness.

"No. But you can call me Wyvern," I reply, setting down my rucksack and sitting forward with my hands in my lap.

"Okay. Wyvern. What's with the mask?"

"My bad. I don't think I'll need to hide myself from you," I say humorously, pulling back the cloak hood to reveal my face.

"Oh," Is all he says.

"Mmm?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's a fitting name. Just wasn't expecting that."

"It's a normal reaction," I yawn, stretching out and letting him get a good look at my sharp teeth and fangs before sitting up straight with a leg resting crossed over the other. "So. What'cha doing here?"

"Um. Cooking myself some dinner."

"Where are your mates?"

"They, uh, they left."

"Where to?"

"Well..."

"Mate, I know you're a cutthroat, just spit it out."

"Hah... yeah. There's this highway inn. The protection isn't the greatest some nights. So. The lads went to go claim a score."

"Why are you here?"

"I got a bad leg. And I took a fall not too long ago. So. What good am I, right?"

"What do they keep you around then for?"

"Ain't it obvious? I'm the cook. The rest of them can't manage anything but various stages of charred or raw."

"Hmm. Fair enough. By the way, what direction was that inn in?"

"Oh, errrh. I think east?" He says, pointing.

I look at him and then notice parchment furled up on a traveling desk in the tent. I get up wordlessly and unroll it to find it's a basic map with several additional markings made in black ink. One of them is marked "Inn".

"Did you mean northwest?" I ask.

"Ah, yeah, that was it!"

"Can't blame you, directions can be a pain when you don't usually have to worry about it."

"Yes! See, you get it."

"One more question, if you don't mind."

"Hit me with it."

"Do you recognize this?" I say as I walk up to him, holding the knife in front of his face.

His eyes widen a bit, and he reflexively rubs his wound.

"No," He says, shaking his head.

"Strange. Because I found it on a woman stabbed in the back. Your wounds indicate you were holding off someone from the front. Could be just a coincidence, I suppose. What kind of a fall leads to those kind of bleeding wounds?"

"One with a bunch of sharp rocks?" He offers, reaching for the pan.

I grab him by the wounded shoulder and harshly grip the injury, making him cry out as I drag him away from his only weapon. Ripping off the bandage, I can see plainly it is a recent knife wound. That gives me all I need to see and cleanly slit his throat, letting him fall weakly struggling into the underbrush. With that done, I'm tempted to rummage through the camp to find their bloodied spoils since the guard patrols would just take it anyways if they ever got around to capturing and or killing these men, but every moment I waste is another step closer those highwaymen are to the inn. I can, however, always come back later. At that thought, I take off at a sprint, dropping my gear in the long grass near my own camp in case one of them comes back and flees with what they can carry after seeing their dead friend.

I make it to the road in under a minute and continue along towards the inn, the air rushing past me as I suck in breath after breath. In about half an hour, I see a lantern on a post in the distance and pick up the pace, turning off the road and along a short footpath up to the building. A small sign reads "The Traveler's Respite" and I know I'm at the right place, slamming through the front door with the wind having long since forced my hood down.

There are two travelers seated, a man with a spiked cudgel watching them as four others help themselves to the small selection of spirits behind the bar. They all turn to look at me, dumb founded by my sudden entrance. Bellowing, I unsheathe my sword, and the armed bandits return that warcry, charging towards me. Their path of attack is limited by the bar and a table to two men, and they attempt to do just that with three and are so clumped together they can barely swing. Blasting them with flame, I leave them conflagrating as they hit the wooden boards yelling in pain, clawing at their eyes and person. I hop over the bar with my steel sword, the two men left stuck in single file by the confines of it. The closest swings at me.

I move forward and grab the weapon mid strike and opt to drop my sword, blasting him forward with air into his friend and causing them to both hit the wall, trapping the second. I smash the first man over the head with his own club and grab his head, throwing him through the curtains on our right into presumably the kitchen to have him out of my way. The second one is more prepared and swings at me with a hand axe. Catching it on the club, it sticks into the wood, and I twist it, the weapon pulled out of his hands. I let it both drop as I blast him with cinders in his open eyes.

"Fucking witch!" He swears, grabbing his face.

Pulling the dagger from my pocket, I slam the blinded man into the wall and rapidly stab him three times in the neck.

"What's going on?" A fifth yells, coming through the kitchen curtains entirely without clothes and stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of me killing his comrade.

He's holding a shortsword that's worse for wear, but it doesn't do him much good as I send him flying backwards with yet another strong blast of air, hitting the floor heavily before one of the most big boned women I have ever seen, also naked, slams a cauldron on his head, caving it in before taking one look at me and hurling the metal object.

I let go of my dead opponent and duck, hearing a "Oh, sh-" of a bandit cut off as it slams into his head, and he hits the floor.

I notice movement and sidestep as a mace is thrown at me, the thrower at the front of the bar running down the countertop, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the ground in a haphazard attempt to hit me in the head with a running kick. I easily avoid him as he slips on the wet surface, pulling the fool off by his leg. He manages to catch himself on the wall of bottled spirits and recover into a standing position, throwing one at me. I let out a grunt as it hits my temple and shatters, both of us jumping back as his mate yells and throws a chair. It sails over the bar into the kitchen whereupon it is shortly returned to sender. He ducks under it but does not avoid the follow up cast iron skillet that hits his helmet with a loud dong.

Returning our attention to each other, I rush towards the man with a thrusting attack. He catches my wrist with both hands, and that's his last mistake as I punch him in the jaw, my barbed tail burying into the side of his neck in the same moment. I prepare to punch him again to make him let go, but two strong hands grab on either side of his head, pressing into his eyes and making him scream. He tries to pry the fingers back, promptly being smashed face first into the countertop with enough force to rattle every bottle in the building before the enraged woman tosses him aside like a sack of flour.

Raising a leg and ascending the counter in one step, she lets out a fierce, exerted breath before leaping off with her elbow pointed downwards and landing on the last bandit, the sound of many ribs shattering issuing before she picks up her fallen skillet and silences his cries with three. Solid. Bongs.

As she stands back up, red in the face and fuming like hell hath no fury, a tall man with red hair and a partially well-kept beard descends the stairs, holding a small elven man with a sword at his throat.

"Okay! Nice and easy now, Helga. You were cooperative the first time," He says coolly but visibly unsure of the situation.

"Hmph. I'll make you an offer," She spits, standing proud. "Let go of my husband and I'll let you walk out that door with whatever's in your pockets."

"Deal. But! not until I'm near it."

"Fine," She growls, stepping aside and dropping the cooking utensil.

Cautiously, he walks sideways past her with the elf like she's a roaring cave bear, the two of them needing to take it slow with the bodies on the floor lest they trip. As he gets to the door, the bandit has the elf open it and then lowers the blade, pushing the captive forward before bolting out and slamming it behind him. The elf happily runs forward into the waiting arms of his wife, hugging her, and I retrieve my steel sword, sheathing it and ready to run him down. Suddenly, the door bangs open again.

The bandit is thrust back over the entranceway, stumbling back. He looks over his shoulder and realizes he's headed toward Helga, of whom is winding up a punch, and turns, catching himself on the bar with his back. I immediately grab his shoulders and slam him into the countertop, knife at his throat.

"Oh, woops...," The dark haired woman says sheepishly from the doorway, sucking in a breath through the side of her mouth before putting her hands on her hip and then shrugging casually. "Got a bit ahead of myself after I saw him. Could I have him back? Oh, and that too."

She's referring to the knife, drenched in blood herself from the face down but looking remarkably better. I blow a lock of loose hair out of my eyes and then stab the weapon into his shoulder, making him gasp as I send him flying with another blast from my palm. He half staggers, half falls out the doorway, the woman stepping aside and nodding to me appreciatively before closing the entrance. Sounds of agony and tearing claws immediately follow, fading just as quickly into the night as he's dragged away.

That leaves the four in the room left looking at me, entirely uncertain of what to do with my presence.

"I'm... just going to leave now," I say, combing glass shards out of my hair as I walk to the door.

"Wait! What about that woman out there?" The elf calls out.

"I don't think I need to worry about her," I reply, wringing ale out of the locks I'm holding and kicking the door closed behind me on my way out.

There's a patch of blood smeared across the road, leading deep into the forest. I return to my camp to get my things and decide to scavenge the bandit loot in the morning. Rolling out my bedroll, I lay down to get some rest, silver sword unsheathed at my side. I sleep lightly for a time before awaking to the sound of walking in the grass, sitting up to watch her step up to my camp and then sit near me with knees pulled up to her chest. She's clean and wearing a blue dress now, likely taken from the bandit camp.

"Thanks," She says, looking into the flames. "I hadn't fed for a while and made the mistake of letting myself get too weak."

"You're a bruxa, I take it?"

"Astute as ever, you witchers. You are a witcher, right?"

I nod.

"Can I ask why... the teeth, the snout, the little horn on your nose, serpentine eyes, stinging tail, all of that?"

"Are you familiar with the Trial of Grasses?"

"On a surface level, yes."

"Well, experimental mutagens were used in mine. Mostly royal wyvern, if that means anything to you."

"Oh, how exciting."

"Every other child involved died."

"Oh. Less exciting."

"Did you just want to talk?"

"I mean, yes; I haven't talked to anyone for... years."

"Alright. Hi. Friends call me Manticore, Manti for short," I say dryly.

"Hi Manti. I was once called Aestra," She replies with a similar level of sarcasm.

"Any good stories to tell?"

"Mmm. Not any that wouldn't make you stab me, I'm afraid. Yourself?"

"I slay monsters. But I don't think that sort of storytelling would excite you."

"Nooo," She sighs. "It would not. Funny how being one does that. How about this: amaze me with your knowledge of monsters."

"Errr... ever heard of a katakan?"

"Heard of them? I once slept with one."

"Interesting..."

"Too much information?"

"I'm more wondering: how was it?"

"... It was okay."

"How did that work? Or happen therein."

"I pinned it to the ground."

"Ah."

We talk back and forth for a while before she looks at the moon, gauges the time, and then takes her leave.

"Good fortune to you Manti. I hope we don't meet on bad terms in the future."

"Likewise."

After that, I go to sleep. Waking up in the morning, I find she left a small bag for me, a little disturbed I didn't hear her come and go a second time. Inside is a large sum of coins equating to an average job's worth of pay and a note, reading: Those cutthroats had quite a bit of spoils. I think they were moving up and down the trade route to escape being found by patrols. In any case, I left most of the currency for you and took all the jewels, silver cutlery, ect. they had for myself. I figured you had no way to exchange the latter.

_ _ Hard for me to be upset; she's not wrong. Munching on dried meat for my breakfast, I collect my things and start back on the road again. I need to find myself a good dagger.

~

Reaching the outpost after another two days of travel, I see the quartermaster wasn't kidding, the walls bearing deep slash marks and the men appearing haggard with dark circles under their eyes. It's built up like a small fort and there are no guards posted outside, the sentry calling for me to be let in. The officer in charge greets me himself, a noticeable lack of manpower apparent compared to the other outpost.

"You're a witcher, right?" He asks, exhausted.

I nod.

"Am I ever glad to see you. I think my last two messengers didn't make it. I've been calling for supplies and reinforcements for weeks now to no avail."

"What exactly is the problem?"

"For one, vermin keep spoiling stocks, and no amount of men set to watch the supplies stops it. We have to scrounge around in the forest and hunt for food now, and we lose men every other day or so doing it. On top of that, we keep being attacked by a chort at night; it keeps trying to tear down the walls and get inside."

"I heard news of a werewolf and a gryphon as well."

"Thankfully, those are dead. Well. We assume the gryphon is dead. Neither it nor the witcher that went after it have come back."

"Have your men seen any sigils, totems, special any anything in the forest?"

"I was just about to mention that. Loads."

"What do they look like?"

"I don't know. I just had the men break them. I won't have us getting cursed on top of everything."

"Oh, deeear..."

"What?"

"Those might have been the totems of a leshen, and they really don't like their things being touched. Is that what you had your men do before all this started?"

"Come to think of it... yes. Er, what's a leshen?"

"A big and very angry forest monster that has an affinity for control of the forests they live in, essentially. It's late afternoon already, so let's focus on the chort first and I'll deal with what comes afterwards."

"You got yourself a deal, witcher."

"There is the matter of pay."

"The boys and I already agreed you can have the coin for meant for wages if you can just make this place safe to live in again."

"Hmm. Alright. Sounds satisfactory. Do you have any basic distilling equipment, by chance? For medical application, that is."

"We had an herbalist with a kit of some variety. You can use that. What do you need it for?"

"I have wyvern venom. I'm going to concentrate it and then apply it to the bolts of your crossbow men to fire at the chort. If that doesn't take care of it, I'll finish it off."

"Sounds like the first bit of good news in a long while! Here, I'll show you where it's tucked away."

I have the venom ready by sundown and anointed on about three bolts per the six crossbowmen left. I also make myself a decoction from my collected wyvern fluids. The rest of the soldiers wield spears, experienced at this point with fending off the beast. I also take a look at their supplies and sniff out where the mice are getting in, plugging several holes after blasting them full of a little fire. That won't keep them out for good, especially not any climbing animal, but it's a remedy for now.

After that, I sit in the sentry tower, letting the rest of the fort sleep while I sharpen my silver sword. Darkness soon falls and it isn't long before I notice the trees moving and climb down, ascending the wall and scenting the wind. I've never smelled a chort before, but it matches a description a mentor once gave me: earthy and reeking of sweat, blood, and a weird musky sweetness.

"Attention!" I call out, damn near giving the sleeping guard next to me a heart attack. "The chort is approaching!"

Most of the guards either wake up immediately or are shaken awake by their comrades, rushing to their posts with weapons ready. A bellow splits the night as something very much larger than a chort comes rushing towards the wall in the form of a red light surrounded by darkness, smashing into the wall and knocking two men next to me off of it. I manage to grab the first one by the arm and swing him over to a support pole to slide down safely, the second being caught by two door guards and the lot of them falling to the ground in a heap

"That is a damn fiend!" I yell down.

"Is that not another word for chort?" The officer calls back.

"NO! No chort can use their third eye like that!"

Snatching the crossbow from the one man next to me that managed to brace in time, I aim and fire directly below at the glowing cornea. The swirling hypnosis breaks as it closes the third eye and rears back in pain, tearing the bolt free only causing itself more misery. Like an elk with massive antlers, long blunt ears, and a vaguely horselike mouth full of teeth, the fiend has a hulking, muscular body with scrappy fur and three clawed toes per massive foot.

"Now you can aim! Fire!" I yell, returning the crossbow to the owner who reloads with impressive speed, because, yes, his life very much does depend on it.

Bolts release and thud into its hide, making it squirm and bellow with far more pain than you'd think a tiny projectile could cause such a big beast. However, the venom isn't as potent as I thought. The fiend is just livid now.

"Keep firing; I'll distract it!" I call, moving along the walkway and then rapidly running back down it to leap off, silver sword extended downward.

I make contact with the fiend's scalp and stab into it hard enough for an anchor, stinging it deep in its second eye. It howls and tosses its head back, throwing me off. I roll and recover when I hit the ground, the monster ignoring the soldiers firing at it while it turns to face the thing that took two of its eyes at this point. Slamming a massive paw into the ground, it howls, charging forward. I run backwards while facing it and then throw myself out of the way, letting it slam into a tree instead of myself. I hear the trunk of the old aspen crack and groan as the fiend makes contact with it.

I take the opportunity of its daze to run and jump, burying my sword in its side and twisting. It was impossible for me to not hit a vital organ this way, but I was not expecting it to snap back to attention, whirling around so fast I'm thrown off and slammed with the back of a paw, hurtling backwards and landing hard on my upper back. I slide for a distance and stop near the outpost wall, the breath knocked from me.

I wave off the concerned cries of the officer and point towards the beast while I fumble for my decoction bottle. The fiend rears around, several bolts hitting it in the neck and shoulders. This distracts it for a moment, but ultimately it charges towards me. Having nothing left to do, I light a bomb and toss it. Impacting the face, the explosive detonates with an echoing bang, sending birds flying into the air and surprising the fiend so much it tumbles backwards. Its antlers snap and break off at the base as it does so, unable to hold the full weight of the hulking thing.

Flipping off its back and standing to assume a fighting stance, I see its lower jaw flapping, half hanging off and pouring a stream of blood over the ground while the tongue lolls out like a giant fleshy slug. I find my decoction fell out of my pocket and is now in the grass in front of me.

"Witcher, we're out of anointed and regular bolts!" The officer yells.

"That's fine," I cough, getting my second wind. "Leave the rest to me."

Standing, albeit shakily, I take a deep breath and run forward. The fiend advance as well with a strangled howl, and I drop at the last second, sliding under and between its legs as it slams into yet another tree, giving me the vital time I need to grab the bottle and rip the cork off with my teeth, spitting it out and drinking down the thick red liquid inside. With all the adrenaline, my system spikes almost immediately.

Gripping the ground, I hurl myself forward as the fiend turns, blasting it in the face with flame and darting around while it tries to strike the ground where I was, its one last good eye momentarily dazzled. Ripping my sword free, it shrieks and spins around. No longer so quick, I duck under the clumsy strike and deliver an upward slash to the left armpit, severing vital muscles and rendering the arm partially limp. I backstep away from a forward slam from the right arm and deliver two vicious slashes to the fingers, connecting with bone.

As it tries to attack again, I slash the paw as it swings and then wound the arm more, shredding muscle and shedding blood. I give no quarter and advance as it tried to back up for a charge, cutting the face all the while and moving out of the way as it still attempts to plow into me, slicing below the bicep of the right arm. Screeching again, it swings with its disabled arms as I deal wound after wound until it's bleeding so much it stumbles and I finally have an opening to stab straight into the neck, unleashing a fountain of blood as I pull the blade free and then spin around, lopping off the tongue in an upward stroke and tossing a lit bomb right down its gaping maw. Running for cover, I get behind a tree right as it goes off.

There's a muffled bomf and the beast thuds into the ground. Warily surveying the scene from the tree, I let myself relax, the fiend's entire chest discolored and puffed out unnaturally from the flesh being ruptured outward from within. Blood flows freely from its throat, washing the grass in a dark red hue. It's dead, and I'm definitely not harvesting any mutagens from that one. I pull my hood back up, having fallen during the fight. It's dark enough no one should have noticed my face.

"Witcher, you alright down there?" The officer exclaims.

"Aye!" I call back, wiping my sword off on a cloth before sheathing it and stepping out into the view of torchlight.

They open the doors open for me, some of the men giving weak cheers, others just setting their weapons down and sitting against the walls where they stood, falling asleep on the spot.

"So. Are we safe for the night?" The officer asks.

"Probably. I took a potion that's going to keep me antsy, so I'll keep watch for a few more hours. I'll need to sleep sometime, though, if you want me to set out first thing in the morning to figure out what has been causing these attacks."

He nods and points out the soldier to relieve me, the man already fast asleep, and then excuses himself to get some rest as well. I spend my hours of watch carefully scenting the wind while I service my sword and armor, but I don't find anything of alarm and soon shake the second sentry awake, informing him of the officer's order. He sighs but doesn't argue, and we trade places. I roll out my bedroll and suddenly awake to morning sunlight, not even remembering laying down.

Hungry, I munch on some of my travel rations as I shake sleep off. To his credit, the officer is awake and cooking breakfast for his men with venison and a few wild vegetables.

"I'm heading out to investigate the woods now," I tell him.

"Can't thank you enough already, witcher," He nods, shaking the contents of the frying pan to cook them evenly. "Luck be with ya."

The sleepy door guards haul open the entrance for me, and I strike off in the direction the fiend came from, following its trail back. Something that strikes me quickly is the fact it tore through the area instead of walking calmly. Even when tracking a target, fiends are predators and do not recklessly charge without having an actual target. What I do notice is there's a strong scent of feces along points in the path it took, bearing the scent of a different owner. Rather, that's the trick used as there's no actual piles of dung. It's a familiar witcher method employed to draw out fiends and chorts by mixing in nuts from a crow's eye plant with their own dung to trick them into thinking a rival is in the area. Both species are aggressively territorial and will follow the lures to their end path, so that explains much.

The formula smells a bit different, but the intended purpose is clear. I follow the trail to a dead end, and then the scent of the fiend leads me to its lair where I find several dead soldiers. I make a small mark on my map to inform the officer later where he might recover the bodies should he so choose. The fiend hasn't lived here for terribly long, so there's not much to find. However, there's a third scent I located along with the lures. It's much more subtle: loam and grass mostly, but there's a hint of something under it I'm not familiar with.

Leshens most certainly do not use charms like this, so something else is at play here. I follow that third scent. I almost lose it at first, but the further into the forest I go, the more occurrences I find, this time stronger despite being older. The lurer must have been masking their scent, lest the fiend track them instead. I notice the telltale signs of the soldiers presence in the forest, and they have ended by this point. I find little ornaments hanging in the tree, old and brittle but woven with care from young twigs and plant fibers to create swirling crests and knots.

These are nothing like a leshen, so my original theory is officially disproven. The scent I am following isn't human, so I'm not dealing with some kind of clever, paranoid hermit. Eventually, I find small, raised totems adorned with charms. They remind me of similar symbols, and I believe the design is intended to promote fertility in the soil. Looking at the canopy, I'm struck by how green and flourishing the area is, plants growing lushly in places the sun doesn't get the chance to touch.

Eventually, I find a fresh scent and it leads me to a large tree dominating the area it grows in with thick knobby roots and dozens of branches heavy with leaves and flowers. It is carved with runes all around the base and in the branches hang many woven sigils and charms. However, none of them contain bone or are inherently malevolent. The scent stops in this area. The wind is blowing seemingly in random directions with each gust, so I know not where they exactly hide.

Stepping towards the tree, I place my hand against the bark and feel energy thrumming through it, a living place of power drawing on the life of the forest. I wouldn't mind a chance to meditate in this place.

"Witcher..." A deeply accented voice speaks from the wind.

I rove my eyes over the woods but see no one.

"Have you come to fight?" She asks.

"My mentor once told me: the worst battles are the ones that could have been avoided," I say, leaning against the tree and speaking to the open air.

"Proverbs can be wise. But the vexing issue with them is they're so easily repeated without proof of the speaker."

"True enough. Let's talk first, then. You lured that fiend to the outpost. Why?"

"Have you ever lost someone you loved, witcher?"

"Can't say I have, torn from my family and all at a young age."

"I envy you," She replies, her voice seeming so close it's almost intimately whispered into my ear. "Those colors. Those the soldiers wear. Those same colors were raised by the men who slaughtered my dear mates, my circle. I lost so many that day."

"And you came here for respite. Yet, those soldiers from your past are once again encroaching?"

"Indeed... that is the succinct version of my story."

"Is your intent to kill or drive them off?"

"I would love nothing more than the latter. I want their presence gone. I want their murderous colors banished from mine home."

"And that started with a werewolf?"

"Yes. One of their own. Wearing the same armor so they might falter."

"They failed to mention that part."

"Who would believe them? One of their own turned into a monster? Preposterous."

"And the gryphon?"

She laughs bitterly. "Happy accident, as hard as that might be to believe. But the fiend. Yes. That was mine doing. It is felled, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Impressive. What are your intentions, witcher?"

"Depends. Will you be satisfied if these men leave?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll convince them to abandon the outpost. They won't need much of a push at this point."

My vision suddenly shifts, and I realize I'm being pinned against the tree by brute force, facing a woman well over 200 centimeters tall with curled horns and long furry ears. Her eyes are a piercing hazel color, pale skinned with freckles across a gorgeous face framed by dark chestnut hair. She wears only a long loincloth with several small pouches along it like a toolbelt, leaving nothing else to the imagination with her ample breasts uncovered and toned, curvy body on full display. Her legs are covered in thick fur, digitigrade and ending in hooves with a long tail whipping behind her in agitation.

She retracts the arm pressed against my chest, along with the knife at my throat and sheathing it. I blink a few times and rub my head, feeling hazy.

"You're different than the last witcher," She says, reaching out to run a finger along my jaw. "Not just in body. I see the life was not kind to you in that respect."

My cloak and armor have been discarded nearby along with my weapons, leaving me in my underclothes and fully exposed. I instinctively grasp my amulet, finding it gone. She pulls it from a pouch, tying it back on by the cord for me without asking. It vibrates dully against my scales, detecting magic. It should have warned me sooner.

"Let me guess, they were school of the cat?" I quip, not feeling myself.

"Yes, actually. Quite wrathful too. I ran across them as they were travelling back from slaying the gryphon and then began tracking me instead. They were very plain they intended to kill me for what I've done, and, well... let's just say our meeting ended similarly yet in a different way."

"Did you bury his equipment?"

"Ah, do you wish to have it for yourself?"

"I'm more concerned the mutagens and compounds he might have been carrying could poison the groundwater."

"Hmph. Noble. No, only his body rests within the earth. Not much sense in wasting such interesting things. Including my time with you..."

"Erm. A fiend is on par with sharp fingernails and too much teeth when it comes to these things."

She snorts, tousling my hair. "Give me at least five minutes to try? I've seen every type of body, or so I thought until now."

"You find this attractive?"

"Attractive?" She hums, running a finger along my chest. "No, more. Exotic. Tantalizing. A forbidden thing that only exists in beasts of scale and claw."

"Riiight... just, one thing. You said 'my circle'. What did that mean?"

She sighs and leans against the tree next to me. "I was... it's... complex. Far from this place I lived in a village with mine brother. With other succubi and incubi. We coexisted with the humans there. They attended to our needs, and in turn we defended and offered them aid for their needs. Then war came. The marching army was too much, and we fled, but they sent witchhunters after us. Droves. We had to abandon those we had watched over for generations to save ourselves. So, here I am."

"Here in specific for any reason?"

"No. I just wanted somewhere remote. It sounds juvenile voiced. But. I thought I deserved punishment. I grow to love mine mates, and if I can't protect them, then I do not deserve to be somewhere I might find more. There you are: tragedy of succubus Laelafae."

"Do you believe that now?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to hear my thoughts?"

She regards me for a moment, examining me critically before giving a short nod.

"I'm going to live a long time. I've no doubt you've lived more than I ever will. But I think everyone from peasant to king to wizard to witcher to djinn will agree that sometimes things are out of your area of control. Your anger is justified and reality harsh, but you need to forgive yourself for not being able to combat an entire country. From protecting those you loved from tens of thousands of wills outnumbering your single own. Learn from it, but don't deprive yourself from what makes you happy. That would be like a witcher selling their swords and armor and becoming a baker because a succubus of all things beat them before the fight began."

"And fighting monsters is what makes you happy, as opposed to finding mates that you might keep by your side?"

"It's what drives me. I'm a part of a class of warrior scholars without compare. Sure, I'll stumble and fall, have more humiliating stories than I care for had I just a little more foresight, but no one can take from me that I felled a fiend and lived to tell the tale. No one can take from you the love and adoration of those you cared for. And no one can take away our ability to do both things again but better."

"Are you a poet, witcher?"

"No."

"Good. You'd be painfully cliché. But I see your point. I'll never forgive or forget for what happened... but I am causing unhappy endings unnecessarily at this point, are I not? Taking loved ones away, that is. Hmph. Damn it, witcher. I do not know how, but you killed my ardor for the moment being. Would that I just had you all these years for five minutes per day, I would have been far more productive."

"Thanks..."

"Heh. And thank you witcher. For being kind. Can I ask your name?"

"I'm known as Manticore."

"I want to know your real name."

"Erinh Duskwood," I answer, having not said it in a long, long time.

"I'll take it you'd like to leave, Erinh?"

"More like I should. I have some soldiers to get moving."

"No, no, let them keep their laughable little fortress. I intend to leave."

"And go where?"

"I am unsure. But I will soon find out, I am confident."

"Well, take care, Laelafae. The other witcher's gear would fetch you some good coin, if you can find someone to buy it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

I reclothe and prepare to leave, Laelafae calling after me, "Oh, and those men should leave nonetheless. Once mine wards crumble without me, plague spreading flies will return."

I nod and continue on, returning to the fort to an expectant officer.

"Well? Is there anything out there?" He asks.

"Yes, an angry spirit I have dealt with."

"Was that difficult? You appear unharmed."

"They have weaknesses that can be exploited to diminish their strength over time without direct confrontation. It will pass on in the next several years. Regardless, I noticed the water here is diseased and flies might spread it. You should abandon the outpost for elsewhere."

"I'll take your word for it after watching you take on that fiend, witcher. Oh, here, let me get your pay!" He says, returning to his office and coming back with a nicely weighted bag of coins. "All yours. For a job well done."

"Thanks. By the way, I found the fiend's den," I add, pulling out my map to show him. "And some of your men's bodies inside."

"Poor saps. Nonalive, I take it?"

"Very much not."

"Hmm. We already assumed as much. I'll see how the men are feeling before I make an attempt to collect the dead."

"Good on you. I'll be on my way, then."

"Safe travels. By the way, what's your name? I'm going to be telling this whole story to my gran' kids, I reckon."

"Manticore is what people refer to me as."

"Not unfitting!"

"They seem to think so," I reply, turning and walking out the doors.

I return to the trade route and continue along it as I had originally planned before making that detour, camping for the night out of sight of the road so I can cook a few rabbits I caught. Perplexingly, as I sear the meat on my tiny griddle, a shape walks out of the dark and I recognize Laelafae as she sits down across from me by the fire. Her body is hidden by a faded yet lovingly embroidered red cloak, her horns now missing. Like this, she could pass for human.

"I did not expect to see you again," I remark.

"I thought for a while. And I could not come up with somewhere I wanted to go. I have been isolated so long... I am not sure if the places I knew still exist. I was wondering... could I follow you, until I familiarize myself with the world once more?"

"The hedgewitch succubus who has claimed the lives of many mortal men wants to travel with a witcher?"

"Correct. I am aware of the irony of the situation."

"... Well, better me than the next traveler that comes along," I shrug. "Can I trust you won't smash apart any soldiers without at least saying something first?"

"Yes, yes," She scowls, waving her hand dismissively. "You have mine word."

"That is all I need, then. How long do you think it will take? To get your bearings."

"I could not say," She says, pulling her legs up against her chest. "But I can take care of myself. I will not be a burden."

"Of all the things, I would not call you a burden."

"Excellent."

"No, I meant that literally. You could kick me through that tree, I'd wager."

"Tch," She huffs, letting out a small chuckle. "So, there is a sense of humor behind those dead eyes."

"I have my moments," I say, unwrapping the leaf packed rabbit meat I had planned to eat for breakfast and putting it on the griddle along with mine. "Hungry?"

"I certainly won't refuse. Do taverns still sell beer?"

"Wheat farming will not ever stop, so yes. Why do you ask?"

"I would like to get some at the next one we come across."

"Ahh. In that case, why wait?" I say, reaching into my bag and tossing her a bottle. "I can't vouch for the quality; I could never like beer. Feel free to drink it all."

"Why do you have it then?" She says, pulling the cork off and taking a sniff.

"I can't not take payment. It'd be a bad example to set and repairs can be expensive. That's all a local brewer had to give me for getting rid of his nekkers: beer. I sold most of it later to travelers on the road, but it felt a bit strange to offer one sole bottle for sale. And I don't like waste either... so I've just been carrying that for the better part of three years."

She laughs and tips her head back, taking a long draught before letting out a satisfied breath. "We used to drink something like this while eating smoked sausage and cheese. What do you like to drink?"

"Whatever's strongest at the bar."

"Ahh, strong spirits more your thing?"

"My sense of taste is wretched. No point in wasting time on getting drunk if I can't enjoy the drink itself."

"Oh?" She cocks her head. "How did that happen?"

"It dulled over the years. I assume it has to do with my mutations."

"That's a shame. I might know a remedy or two."

"I invite you to try, but potions made for common folk don't typically do much for witchers."

"I guess we will find out together. Now, to address the obvious part of traveling with a succubus..."

"Not to be offensive but I assume sex?"

"Correctly so."

"I would like to know you more before I agree."

"What do you want to know?"

"I meant... more in general. Over time."

"A romantic. Damn..."

"Hardly. I've been alone on the road for years; I need time to adjust."

"I'll drink to that."