The Witcher's Path: New Rays From an Ancient Sun

With everything cleaned up and put away, there was nothing left keeping me tied to the little annex lab I had called my home for the last several hours. And so it was with great relief I loaded up the last of my own ingredients, including the canister holding my Petals, back into my Alchemy satchel. My Guardian likewise seemed quite ready to depart as well as it was already reaching its tail around my body in order to begin unlatching the bolts sealing the door shut. As the last of the bolts was withdrawn from the frame, I was just slipping the strap of the extra satchel across my shoulder in preparation to leave. To my utter surprise however, there was a small gift waiting for me near the foot of the doorway. Nestled safely inside the corked confines of a slender bottle of carved moonstone was a full liter of expensive Thestral moonwine, much alike in appearance unto bottles I had seen in centuries past. Not only that, but a small pouch was likewise attached to the bottle as well which seemed noticeably weighted down by its contents. Lifting up the magnificent bottle up gingerly in my magic, I also spotted a small note had been left under its weight so it wouldn’t billow away in the draft. Opening up the pouch prior to reading the note, I found my eyes further sparkled by a tidy little pile of golden Crowns with a tiny sprinkling of the illustrious platinum Royales throughout. She had already paid me rather fittingly so a gratuity such as this was…unusual. I could not help but feel something was up that I was simply unaware of. That...or perhaps mine truly had been such a life-changing gift. It was with no little amount of eagerness and curiosity that I hastily slit the lusciously royal blue wax seal on her note and began to pour over its contents in the hope of finding some answers.

‘Frejdá, I must apologize more for my earlier behavior this evening and hope this stands as fair compensation for your gracious act of generosity. Your gift could not have come at a more opportune time as I am…up for review amongst my peers at Tir Ná Liá, and I am most loathe to jeopardize my current position of authority amongst them. I need not go into the finer details with you regarding the matter, but suffice it to say that you are likely to already to guess that my heritage continually stands as my greatest barrier to entry and acceptance amongst my peers. Those Petals will most assuredly allow me to retain that place for many years to come, granted my superior intellect is able to unravel enough secrets in time and the Headmaster is most gracious in granting me an extension on my deadline. But alas, I am afraid all these superfluous details will simply befuddle a mind such as yours, so allow me to briefly state it for your own satisfaction: I am sorry and I wish to sincerely thank you on this rare occasion as it is seemingly necessary in this situation. Perhaps you may see me as incapable of apologizing for my actions...and perhaps to a large extent you have proper grounds to think that of me. Yet, I hope this token of my appreciation goes some way in expressing that sentiment in a language you Witchers all seem to speak rather fluently: material wealth. Let it not be said that the Sorceress Supreme has done nothing to secure your financial future against the coming winter! Try not to waste it all on sex and Fisstech, or whatever it is you do in your free time. By this time next week, I should most comfortably have resolved my concerns with the University and all can return to as it should be in these treacherous times. I shall outlast my critics yet!

Sincerely yours,

Rosemary Clover, Sorceress Supreme of the School of the Wolf, Professor and Dean of the Arcane Arts at Tir Ná Liá University, and Proud Daughter of the Auroras Family; Long May the Boughs Shine Under the Holy Moon of Yore.’

Even ignoring the eye-roll-inducing portions, I was still genuinely taken aback at her sudden show of extreme generosity when, in all other cases, she was one to pinch coppers at any opportunity. Indeed, she had even attempted to haggle with me on the price just prior to her desperation getting the better of her and her stubborn pride. Yet, in my hooves I easily held a further five, six-hundred Crowns' worth of extra wealth as granted by our Sorceress Supreme out of her own purse. It was almost absurd that I would scarcely have believed her were she to have proposed such an amount to my face directly. Enough so, that I almost at once felt some sort of obligation to recompense her back myself with another Petal once I had the fortitude to make such a trip to see her. Never before had I been gifted so much money at one time save perhaps in the glory of the Golden Age as recompense for my Heroic Hunt. The moonwine alone was a highly-esteemed vintage out of Lletya, a wealthy town near an inlet on the Llyn Llywenan, the great lake forming most of the border between the Thestral Dominion and the Duchy of Yonderland. Only seen in the houses of very wealthy nobles and served in their Moonlit mansions as a rather luxurious gift to esteemed guests, I had been gifted a true delicacy indeed. In conjunction with the money provided by Violet, Rosemary had more than made up for the absolute shite luck I had found whilst on the High Road thus far in the year. I had no reason to doubt the scale of her desperation for a Shade Petal. After all, as she had even mentioned herself, her muddied bloodline was a continuous thorn in her side. In all things she sought to distance herself from the Equestrian roots planted by her father, and further immerse herself amongst those she deemed her equals. If I had somehow aided in that endeavor, if at least to impress her peers enough to not shun her openly, I suppose I had done some real good by her. The money and wine were a welcome bonus for a deed well done, even if she still remained somewhat of a haughty bitch.

The rest of the Laboratorium had been entirely cleared of all equipment and remained barren of any other Souls besides myself. With no active occupants brewing detectable fumes, the portal above the room remained dormant and silent as I exited out into the central hall. I was already juggling multiple bottles in the bags on my person, so I instead opted to tie both money purses to my belt and continuously levitate the bottle of moonwine beside me as I walked. Graciously, nothing seemed nearby which would unduly scare me and perchance cause the bottle to slip from my grip. As it was, I tugged open the main door to the Laboratorium and exited at last back into the sharply inclined stairs leading back to the Upper Courtyard. The recessed brass lamps gently continued to light the way up from the safety of their little alcoves in the wall and graciously accompanied me on my way back up. A happy little tune came to mind as I mounted the stairs and, at long last, I pushed the door open at the top and stepped out into the open night air for the first time in far too many hours.

Overhead, the full fabric of the night sky unfolded above me, proudly displaying the unfathomable majesty of the infinite Cosmos from whence we all originally came. Faint wisps of clouds coiled about and around Mother Tsuki’s Moon which basked us all in the silvery splendor of its holy Light. The Valley was in fact only one of a few places about the world wherein Mother’s Moon shone eternally in the fullness of its natural cycle of Light and Dark come nightfall; a boon granted by Mother Tsuki to those cultures which overtly paid homage to Her, no matter by what name they knew Her as. While the Sun had set in the sky, the intense yet gentle Light of a perfect, full, silvery-white Moon rose in its place to grant light and guidance to all held in its sway. Now entirely basked in it, those items which contained Lunar Silver on my person seemed to ever-so-softly hum with gentle energy as if they too were graciously welcoming the source of Power from whence they themselves came. With a soft smile, I retrieved the two little bars that Rosemary had paid me with and allowed them to fully soak in the light of the Moon as it only felt fitting. As soon as they truly caught its glow in their immaculately polished surfaces, the pale inner gleam they seemed to possess became like unto witnessing a bed of crystals sparkling under an intense white light. Even when held perfectly still, the bars refracted light in a manner which sent streaks of light flickering about as if it were slowly rotating in place. I was finding myself captivated by multiple shiny objects, each just as equally dazzling as the last. So many species had a fascination with such things, from the largest Dragons, to the shortest Pygmy…

With Thestral blood so strongly in my genes, I too was all but at the mercy of the majesty of our sacred Moon and could scarcely look away if I tried. I could feel my very irises open as wide as the Moon itself as indescribably gentle feelings of happiness twinkled like stars into my mind and Soul. The rest of my kind were equally as enthralled by native Lunar Magic, going so far as to call our Kingdoms by the term ‘Lunar Dominions’ instead. Just as the smallest trace of Lunar Silver in any object were energized with life beyond their own, I too felt a renewed sense of vigor whilst the Light of the Moon ebbed into my very Soul with gentle nourishment. Everything from my Medallion and weapons, to the small bars of metal, and even the precious bottle of moonwine, all glowed softly in their own rights in response to the Power inherent in the Moon. So very much of our world still yet readily responded to the call of Lunar Magic… In spite of Celestia’s accursed Sun, Terra Firma had not once changed its true allegiances to the foundations which Created it. Though the Abyss had heavily tainted it and wearied its heart down to the bone, a spark of the old life it once held still shone in bright pockets like ours across the Continent. The Moon was not only ours alone to worship and hold in high regard as almost every culture found a place of honor for the Sun's gloriously silver sibling. Together, in our own ways, we continued to buoy the Twin Sisters aloft as core foundations to each of our societies. Even Witchers held high regard for the Celestial Bodies and most still paid homage to the pantheons they had been raised with prior to the Changes. It was...rather beautiful to consider really.

Looking about myself, I found the immediate area of the Upper Courtyard was mostly devoid of occupants other than myself and a few School Guard on watch duty. The flames of various torches, sconces and braziers provided clearer sources of light for our poor Guard of which at least half were from species not naturally born with superior night vision. As opposed to a Witcher, Thestral, Felid, Dragon or any other species for whom the blessed Full Moon was more than illumination enough. No terrestrial lights within the Courtyard shone as bright however, as those which shone through the large windows of the four-stories of the Crosswinds Inn, all safely tucked up against the northern curtain wall. The training equipment from the day’s lessons had all been put away and the Courtyard was rendered quite calm and peaceful compared to the noise produced here by day. Truly…aside from the Moon itself, there was no sight more beautiful than that of a warm and friendly alehouse so late into the night and the Crosswinds operated day-in, and day-out. The sound of light merrymaking could still be heard whilst approaching the entrance which was near unto the postern door in the low wall of the Upper Courtyard. And indeed, the noise only grew louder as the door swung inwards as if to welcome me, only for me to be utterly surprised when a rather hulking armored individual was revealed to be coincidentally exiting the establishment at the same moment. At first glance when I saw talons and a beak, I thought it to be just one of the few Örn already living at the School calling their night of drinking quits for the evening… Yet when my eyes registered pitch-black feathers and no one I knew of owned such plumage, I did a double take on top of my own startled response to the door being opened. An overt reaction which instantly caught their attention as I were right in front of them and had nowhere to hide if I so wanted.

“Oh, begging your pardon, Master Witcher.” Said the towering Raven-headed Örn in a posh yet melodic accent and a very feminine tone, her piercing blue eyes gazing down at me with a modestly apologetic look. “Had I known you were about to come in, I would have gotten out of your way.”

“T-think…nothing of…it…” I mumbled back to her distractedly as it had been many years since I had last seen an Örn in the Valley whom I did not recognize at all. I couldn't have prevented my fixation on her appearance if I had tried...

What immediately struck me about her, aside from the soft glossy sheen to her black feathers, was the fact she wore the armor of a ranking member of the School of the Bear. After all, besides our lonesome Bear who rarely-if-ever showed his face in the Valley, hers was an armor which had not been seen in the walls of Kaer Solaris itself in many, many years; outside of those housed in the Reliquary and put on display of course. There was no mistaking the distinct design however after the countless hours I'd spend fawning over our collection of precious Relics. Bears were admittedly on the lightest end of our Heavy Doctrine of defense, shirking most of the plate armor favored by Dragons and the additional pieces of bulky lamellar and brigandine worn by the Örn; favoring instead a far more simplistic arrangement of weighty armor. A heavy quilted gambeson worn atop a long tunic formed the core of their defense with a thick, lengthy hauberk of leather-backed riveted chain worn atop their gambeson. Plate steel spaulders, bracers, clawed gauntlets, and lengthy greaves further accompanied a short cuirass of plate atop a jerkin of Dracnoid leather protecting her upper torso. Her cuirass likewise sported a high-necked leather collar, providing additional protection for her neck on top of the maille gorget she wore beneath. The equipment harness of the Bear School was also very distinct as they mounted several items directly to their cuirass like a bandolier of potions and bombs, as well as a special system of straps for anchoring any weapons upon their backs. Other items such as her Codex, Alchemy satchel and portable brewing station were all affixed to the thick secondary leather belts helping to keep her many layers of armor in place around her waist. Everything regarding her level of protection and equipment was pointing towards her being at least an Adept of the School of the Bear, however…there were certainly elements of it that were both unusual and rather seemingly homemade. At least…when compared to the many diagrams I’d spent centuries fawning over in my spare time in the Undercroft.

The color of her gambeson, which was typically a bold emerald green trimmed with brown amongst the Bears, was instead a dark charcoal grey of a similar shade to my own fur; the hem a beautiful midnight blue embroidered by fine silver thread and tiny pearls. The cut of her gambeson was unusually short for the typical Bear as well, forming a decorative hem split into four tails just past her knees; the black leather hem of her maille hauberk atop it only a mere inch or so shorter. It was not a wholly unheard of pattern, yet such a short cut was only known from Bears which had acclimatized to the heat of the Far South. The steel of her scattered bits of plate armor were tastefully darkened black through an intense acid treatment, further complimenting her beautiful black plumage which otherwise stood in contrast to the steely pommels and crossguards of her weapons. A lengthy silver longsword with a simple V-shaped crossguard adorned by an Örn School pommel sat proudly across her back; the crossguard having a decorative, spiraling twist down its length ending in round-cut bits of fiery orange amber. Meanwhile, a pair of needle-thin estocs with wire-wrapped hilts and thickened spines straddled the sides of her primary, expensively decorated belt; safely housed in sheathes wrapped in Dracnoid leather dyed a bold royal blue and capped in silver. Continuing that color theme were their decoratively engraved mushroom-cap pommels sporting large, cabochon-cut star sapphires as their centerpieces. And, as if to top it all off, from her decorative belt gilt with silver and pearls dangled a Lunar Silver chain connected to the Pendant of an Acolyte of the School of the Örn. It was all such an unexpected and unusual combination of equipment between the Örn and Bear Schools… Nothing I was seeing made any sort of sense and it left my head reeling somewhat, even more so than the bewilderment I felt upon first seeing Braxia’s corpse with his own mismatched equipment.

“Who…art thou?” I asked rather bluntly after my curiosity got the better of my manners. “You are not familiar to this Valley are you? I feel like I would be able to remember a face such as yours.”

“Nay! Indeed not!” She chuckled softly with bemusement. “I only arrived a few hours hence. I am most certainly a first-time visitor to Kaer Solaris, but undoubtedly a deeply impressed one! Almost all doorways and hallways are large enough to accommodate someone of my stature here! That is a luxury we have not had in well over a month now since we departed the Isles so I would like to thank you on the behalf of whatever masons saw fit to accommodate large species like myself. It is a blessed thing to walk amongst Eldar folk once again who know well how to accommodate one another.”

“H-heh, well this School and Valley were founded by Direwolves who can approach your kind in stature, so that is most certainly a benefit to us.” I replied with a soft laugh of slight awkwardness as I felt somewhat intimidated by such a beautiful, towering Örn. “There are others with you…? You mentioned ‘we’ twice so I cannot help but wonder…?”

“No large group accompanies me if that is what you are asking, or truly any group at all. Merely my younger brother who has pitched camp well outside this Valley so he will be of no bother to any of the good folks living here. The School in particular I dare say, heh…”

“Oh…? Well, we are rather friendly here if you have not already seen for yourself. It takes a rather obstinate fool very committed to mischief and mayhem in order to be shunned from our community in any meaningful way. Some may take ire to…unusual and unfamiliar people entering our Valley, particularly the Thestrals, but we have yet to run anyone out of town for simply being different. It is what we are founded upon after all! Or at least what we strive to maintain here while we can still help it.”

“Heh, heh…” She laughed nervously whilst scratching the back of her head with her armored talons. “You are kind to remind me of this Valley’s rather open-armed reception that I have thus far received since arriving as I was not wholly prepared for it. However…my brother is…special, shall we say. And no, there are no impairments as you may be expecting of his mind when I say those words. At least…not impairments that you would be able to understand as an outsider to our Isles and our Gods… Suffice it to say…he is not the most sociable of Örn, even amongst our own kind, and violence forms the foundation for much of his personal enjoyment.”

“I…see…” I muttered back in reply as my thoughts conjured up images of a hulking male Örn with immense strength at his beck and call, with eyes filled with murderous intent. “I suppose that was for the best then...”

“Oh, believe you me…it most certainly is for the best. None of you here should ever have to shoulder that burden which I carry alone. He is more than a clawfull to supervise at any given time for many reasons. Alas…I regret to inform you that I must return to him as quickly as possible for that same reason. I can never guarantee that he will stay still and not seek out something to…shall we say…‘entertain’ himself with, in the form of glorious single combat. Even without his swords, he is still more than capable of killing all manner of things with his bare talons and beak.”

It was at the mention of swords that I was once more reminded about her odd assortment of ranking Bear and Örn School equipment. As well as that of the Acolyte’s Pendant dangling from her waist following proper dress code. The sheer confusion of the amalgamation of Bear and Örn trappings on display before me was no less intense as it had been the first time I’d noticed it. If she were an Acolyte, she was wearing her weapons and Pendant in the appropriate places as prescribed by our rules and tenants. Yet her armor was most unorthodox for a proper Acolyte, even for one amongst the Örn who had their own distinct design patterned after traditional Örn armors. There were no clear prescriptions for armor standards when it came to Acolytes as they could choose to don something other than the equipment provided by the School of their graduation if they desired. If they wished to wear more or less armor than they’d originally been issued, that was purely left to them as well, so long as their choices rendered them more effective on the Hunt. However…were she incidentally a Witchling (her eyes were not visibly cat-like like a full Witcher’s), her choice of equipment broke at least one rule. That being not to wear the trappings of a School that is not your own, unless you were an official student there at one time in any meaningful capacity. What 'meaningful capacity' meant was different for each School, yet it typically meant to imply a full-graduate of the School's Trial of the Sword at the very least. Of course, while that could theoretically be the case, I failed to spy a Bear Pendant dangling beside her Örn one which would denote her dual-graduation from both Schools. Not that the School of the Bear was even around enough in any capacity to award Pendants in the last three centuries... She still had some explaining to do as far as my nosy curiosity steeped in orthodox tradition was concerned.

“Begging your pardon, but…you wear the trappings of one of our guild, yet while your pommel and Pendant say Örn, your armor is that of the School of the Bear. I suppose the Örn do not seem to adhere to the same set of rules that we do here regarding equipment?”

“Aye, I’ve heard that one more than a few times already tonight.” She laughed with a soft shrug of nonchalance. “And to answer your question, no we do not have such a rigid dress code in the Isles as of late as far as Acolytes like myself are concerned. We stand by the ideology of, if it suits you best, it is your best chance at keeping yourself alive and that is better than seeking uniformity in dress and appearance. The School of the Bear favored a lighter arrangement of armor which better suits my approach to combat as opposed to the typical armor favored by my School. My choice in lighter weapons follows in the same school of thought as, combined with lighter armor, I am allowed to strike like a maelstrom. All this allows me the peace of mind to fight at my best at all times, which is precisely the Örn way. Does all that unorthodoxy strike you as ill-mannered? It seems to have done so with some I have conversed with thus far… The Continent is seemingly stuck in the past in more ways than I had anticipated before setting out...”

“I…would say that all of it is certainly…unusual.” I replied whilst trying my best to not be yet another naysayer to her choices, nor the ways of her people. “For this Valley and School at least. Kaer Solaris and her policies have certainly adapted with the times somewhat, yet it seems that the ways of the Continent continue to run a differing course to those of your Isles. And that is perfectly acceptable in my eyes given you are civil and mannered like any self-respecting Eldar should be. The bar for treating a civil guest should always be set to common decency at the absolute least…and one of those decencies is to not overly judge another’s ways simply because they are not your own.”

“Ahh…a sensible Witcher then.” She crooned with a soft smile of gratitude. “Gracious to meet another here capable of seeing past the simple unorthodox behaviors I engage in. I earned my Pendant and the right to carry a silver blade through my own Trial of the Sword like unto everyone else here. Not to mention even further studies in the Witcher arts outside of that. There should be no doubt in my abilities simply because I do not rigidly follow outdated Continental Witcher dress codes. Um…no offense intended of course, dear Witcher.”

“A-ahem, none taken.” I replied with a somewhat forced laugh as I personally adored and adhered to such an ‘outdated’ practice.

All my head was filled with were just questions and more confusion. The back of my mind wondered somewhat if she might be a private collector with wealth, and/or outstanding connections which had allowed her to amass such a fine personal collection of Witcher's equipment. And yet, there was a firm conviction in her voice and a power in her posture and how she carried herself before me that came across as genuine. Many who tried to masquerade as one of us could be very cleanly ratted out for how little they truly acted like a Witcher. By their words, dress, skills and boasts did we find them and with vehement, righteous anger did we put an end to such falsehoods if we were able. We had no room for liars and charlatans in our midst and the Code permitted their demise as they could bring tremendous shame to both the guild, as well as the royal seats which sponsored us. However, this mysterious, unorthodox Örn was clean and exceedingly well-polished by our standards; even perhaps more than I would have expected of the Örn. Indeed, she felt much more like a native in our midst rather than a stranger simply by the manner in which she carried herself. There was also something regarding her posture and gait which went beyond that of a Witcher’s training and was posh like unto her accent. Perhaps almost…regal? The School of the Griffin was the one better associated with impeccable Knightly manners and values, and while it had been some time since I had been to their Isles, I doubted the Örn had changed all that much. Raw strength and cunning intellect were the domain of the Isles and its peoples. I was inclined to believe that she truly was a graduated Acolyte of their School from her mere presence alone, and I would give her the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. If not for the simple fact that it was late, and I was not in the mood to return to unpleasant conversation and prickly emotions like I had with Rosemary for a time. Particularly with one so tall, gorgeous and imposing as she with her unusual set of weapons and equipment.

“Well, I suppose I should not keep you overlong then if you need to return to your kin.” I replied with a sheepish cough of awkwardness. “Are you sure you would rather not stay in one of the rooms here at the Inn? I doubt it is at full capacity at this time, and they even have rooms on the third floor which are large enough for an Örn, Dragon or larger Direwolf. I’m sure that would be far more comfortable accommodations than a canvas tent in the wilderness… I would be willing to cover your stay tonight as a welcoming gift to the Valley if you are short of coin.”

“Oh my, that is most generous of you. Fret not, I am, nor likely ever will be, in any shortage of coin anytime soon. And I am certain the accommodations here are simply divine compared to a bedroll by the open road…however, as I stated before…my brother is not one to stay idle for long. And while he might find a monster to keep him busy, I doubt any left in this area will stand up to him for long enough to satisfy him and keep his attention. I…hate to admit it…but that decrepit fort of Equestrians overlooking the High Road leading into your Valley would be a mighty tempting target for him. He knows he should refrain…as he knows I predict his boredom, as well as the route he takes to cure it most times.”

“...Is he looking to provoke a war or something??” I asked with a bit of a shiver of terror rippling down my spine.

“Nay! Well…perhaps, but it would not be in the name of the Archmaster King. It would purely be because my brother is a right hard bastard and has a burning hatred for every last damned Equestrian. The Witch Hunters in particular are his own…shall we say, personal Daemons to fight and cut down where they stand. The Cleansing and its perpetrators would face their own reckoning of death and flame if he had his way…”

“I…see…so…will he start a war on our doorstep or not?”

“Not if I am able to return to him immediately. I must bid you goodnight, Master…?”

“Frejdá Vilulf, of the School of the Viper if you cannot tell from the Medallion and abundance of scales in my armor. And you are…?”

“Kárá of the House of Muninn and proud Acolyte of the School of the Örn.” She replied brightly with a formal bow in a manner I was unfamiliar with. “A pleasure, Master Frejdá. Best of journeys on the Path and may we meet again sometime I hope. This has been a delightful little conversation, I must say.”

“Likewise…” Was all I could come up with in reply before she had fully left the entranceway for the postern door nearby, a ghostly baby-blue flame erupting to life in a large travel lantern dangling off her saddlebags.

I could not help but feel some level of intense curiosity regarding her, and found myself staring after her for a time as she took to the stairs against the curtain wall and down to the Lower Courtyard to reach the exit to the School. Graciously, she did not turn to look back and catch my wandering eyes, and so, I was free to watch and wonder until her form vanished under the awning of the gatehouse. Naturally, my mind swirled with questions such as why this was Kaer Solaris's first encounter with Örn from the Isles since the Cleansing, how much concern should we have regarding her brother, and why either of them had come here at all. Her armor, equipment, appearance, demeanor, reason for being in the Valley...everything was a convoluted mess of information. There was nothing overtly wrong or misgiving about her...yet I still felt a leftover shiver tingle deep within my body and I had no clue if it were from intimidation or overwhelming confusion. There was also no denying that she was all-too-lovely on the eyes and struck me as rather gorgeous, wearing her armor with a confidence I was helpless to not find attractive. I could have remained there for another hour easily with the number of questions and thoughts which assaulted my mind in her wake… At the same moment, my thirst had yet to be quenched, nor had I a chance to sit at a truly comfortable chair in several hours. I simply did not wish to keep myself waiting for either need any longer. I had spent so long already needlessly dwelling over my thoughts whilst in the open air when I could just as easily do so whilst nursing a fine tankard of Moonlight Mead, Greenmare's Ale or...perhaps some delicious Dragon Bitters. With more consideration, I found it would prove to be a difficult decision with so many good brews on tap...

The sounds of mirth and boisterous relaxation resumed the moment the wooden door swung inwards to welcome me inside. The ground floor of our dapper traveler’s respite was entirely devoid of dividing walls of any sort, opting instead for an entirely open concept which filled in the large rectangular space with fine tables of varnished walnut and comfortably-padded benches aplenty. Graceful, narrow pillars of granite rising from the stony floor were evenly interspaced between the tables to provide support to the upper floors; acting with sets of lanterns in conjunction with wide chandeliers of glowing white crystals in providing light to our fine little establishment. In the near-center of the room stood a broad, open-sided hearthfire which provided extra light and heat to both sides of the room. Indeed, it was even used to roast sausages and other foods as could be easily skewered and cooked over a roaring fire, providing a small basket of metal skewers next to the other firekeeping tools for just this very purpose. The space on the opposite side of the hearth to myself was also noticeably hyphenated by the far wall, which shrunk the internal space of the main room more than the outer appearance would suggest. Marked by a row of doorways, that side of the hall housed several enclosed dining rooms with a large table and chairs which were available to rent per-hour for private parties and meals. Of course, the occasional copper-scrapped patron might pay towards one so that they could rest in warmth and (relative) peace without paying to rent a proper bedroom which naturally cost twice-to-three times as much. As long as they cleaned up after themselves and paid in full up front, that sort of low-cost lodging remained an option to any visitor strapped for coin.

And finally, commanding the northern head of the tavern room floor, was none other than the low countertop altar to drink and good food amidst a pleasant night’s rest. Spanning the entire width of the northern end of the hall, the bartop was able to service up to thirty seats from the row of thickly-padded stools lined up on the customer’s side of the counter. Meanwhile, behind it, the Pygmy master brewer Barley Mash and his retinue of assistants would attend to the various ins-and-outs of the tavern, as well as that of the Inn on the upper floors. Behind the counter, an entire world of delicious foods and drinks awaited those with the money to afford them. Despite being a mere Inn (or more technically a hotel), the cooks hired to work their magic upon the culinary world at these very tables took their jobs with utmost seriousness. The meals themselves were priced on the higher-end for tavern food, yet the satisfaction they brought about was worth every Groat and Oren spent. Every dish that left their care was treated with no less tender care as any other they brought to life in the sizable little kitchen in the back. In truth, the broad Northeast Tower was only occupied by the School Guard on its uppermost fourth floor, whilst the ground level and first floor played host to a multi-story kitchen complex. The second floor acted as a preparation room and included a modestly-sized chamber for smoking meats and vegetables, whilst the chefs and staff had their personal quarters on the third floor just beneath the guardhouse above. Below ground, the Crossroads also boasted a two-storied cellar which acted as both storage and the site of the Inn’s domestic ale production. Over two-dozen brewer’s vats were reportedly down there, none of them ever seeing much down-time between batches in light of so many thirsty patrons. If anything, it was likely a good thing that good ales and ciders needed far less time to ferment and perfect than fine wine or strong spirits as it ensured no single brew sat idly for too long in the barrel. Save of course, those brews such as Dragon Bitters, Dark Pygmy Stout or Moonlight Mead which only grew more delectable with every passing year spent aging and maturing in fine casks of varying types of wood.

Standing at a lofty meter-or-so high, with long shaggy chestnut fur around his stocky chin and jowls, Barley Mash was the ultimate master of the Crosswinds Inn. Known fondly as the regional patron saint of ale, he was also the unfortunate recipient of a non-Eldar name thanks to his own mixed heritage of Pygmy and Equestrian grandparents. And indeed, he even seemed strongly touched by whatever odd magic of the Equestrians which gave them special symbols upon their bare flanks which represented their Gods-given special talent in this life. True to his name, symbols bearing the image of a bushel of barley set next to a brewer’s vat had appeared on his arse when he was but a young lad, acting now as his personal crest in the form of a custom signet ring he used to seal his official paperwork. In spite of his heritage, he made no efforts to diminish where he came from, but rather let the labor of his skilled hooves speak on his behalf whenever he was able. The Crosswinds had reportedly been in his care for close to three centuries now, built originally by his father Ŭndivkt who saw a prime opportunity to invest in the Solar Valley during the School’s initial expansion. The art of brewing flowed through Barley’s bloodline having come from a family of brewers and distillers himself with a sizable business out of Mahakam, the capital of the Pygmies’ last prosperous Underkingdom known as Keldagrim. The popular legend told around the Valley was that alcohol embodied his family to such an extent that they bled brewer’s yeast and pissed pale lager. His custom-brewed ales, fermented by-hoof in the Inn’s very own cellar, were all of the highest quality with a guarantee on every pint sold or your gold back in full. Of course, the old Pygmy stallion had to taste the bad pint in question for himself to determine if the brew truly had spoiled and was worthy of a refund; something that had yet to happen during my tenure at Kaer Solaris.

In all seasons, and in all forms of weather, Barley Mash was always there with a pint ready in your name and a listening ear for all your troubles…as long as you could pay for your drink up front of course. Like all Pygmy, he was hardly one to render out any goods or services on good faith alone and demanded fair compensation for his hard work in solid coin. That was of course, unless he was willing to take a long-standing patron with a clean record entirely at the value of their word. A relationship of trust that could take decades to establish with such a hardy stallion leaving no room for an abuse of such trust else the wrath of one savvy merchant be turned against them. Any with an active tab would be pestered for restitutions until he either got paid whatever he was owed, or he entirely barred the person from ever entering again until they truly learned their lesson. And even then, there was usually a 35-65% mark-up on all products sold to them just to further solidify how little he now trusted you, and how ashamed of yourself you should feel. It was better to be in debt to the Treasury due to a loan than it was to be on Barley’s shit-list. His list of suppliers and other merchant contacts could ensure that every business in the entire Valley would shut their doors upon seeing your face approaching the windows. And even several more beyond such as in the Copperbeak Underkingdom below us or up in Keldagrim to the far north; both major trade partners to the Valley and scarcely places you wish to have curse your name. In any town, it was a disgrace to draw the ire of the innkeep if one could help it (bigotry notwithstanding). To spurn Barley was to dance with a whole new form of social exile, one where even friendly territory became not-so-friendly whenever you drew near to their borders and towns. It was rare to happen...yet once it did, everyone and even their family pets would swiftly hear of it and the dishonest name associated with it.

The tavern itself was brightly lit as always, and only occupied by a few small, scattered parties of Witchers, Witchlings, Acolytes, and various members of staff as were enjoying their off-hours very late into the night. Some retained no company but their own at an isolated table, or else sat alone at the counter with some space between themselves and the next patron. Others formed groups of two-to-three and kept to themselves as they ate, drank, and exchanged pleasant-to-boisterous conversation with one another at their private tables. A party of eight Witchers in particular, all of varying Schools, were the loudest group of all and could be seen hunched over a table in the far right corner having a grand old time playing a competitive game of cards. Money purses sat before each player and stacks of Crowns, Orens and Groats stood in tidy rows nearby for adding to the wide, shallow bowl in the center containing the active bet for the round. Unofficial gambling was permitted in the tavern to a point, so long as the game played didn’t cause too much noise, didn’t erupt into violence, and never morphed into some sort of recurring mass enterprise. That…and Barley got a 5-10% cut of the pot to disseminate as extra wages to his employees for putting up with the extra noise and all the inevitable cleanup which followed. Several tall pitchers of ale sat atop their table already, nearly one per-player present, with hefty ceramic flagons to accompany them; all watched over just as closely as each mare and stallion's personal stacks of coin. Even from near the entrance I could see the shiny mound of money brimming over the rim of the central pot indicating either a serious bluff was at play, or a war of upping-the-ante had commenced and everyone involved was too proud to fold. All the same, half-drunken accusations and sneering comebacks were being slung about amidst the likes of lewd jokes and other assorted ramblings of inebriated Witchers unwinding from a long day. Were I not so famished and in search of a more quiet solitude, I might have poked my muzzle into their little game out of sheer curiosity alone. And if the cards being played by the group were feeling particularly ripe and golden? Well, I actually had money worth putting where my mouth was for once, yet I knew better than to tempt Fate more than I already did. Besides…I'd yet to truly see any sort of pay day from my efforts behind a deck of damned accursed cards.

By day, a rotating cast of musicians and small-stage performers could be found before the big central hearth plying their trade to a captive, but highly receptive, audience. In exchange for some appreciative gratuity, they would perform specific songs, dances, short comedic dialogues, dramatic skits, or anything else as might be reasonably performed on stage by request. Come nightfall, these talented individuals went home for the day to return to whatever lives they lived outside the Crosswinds, eventually leaving the tavern to its natural noises after a certain point. Of course, should the staff so wish, enchanted instruments could be brought out which could play autonomously from a long list of songs committed to a unique set of spell books which accompanied them. That, or a ghost-like apparition could be summoned from a selection of gems which stored recorded memories of particular public readings of great literary works or short theatrical performances as acted-out by renowned individuals with great talent. And so it was at this late hour, the noise of the boisterous game of cards was gently undercut by the soft sound of flutes, harps, mandolins and drums in the background. It took a moment to pick it out, but I quickly caught on to the tune they were playing, one which accompanied a long Pygmy saga of the mountain roots normally sang in pretentious prose with a thick accent. Barley Mash himself was nowhere to be seen throughout the tavern, nor behind the counter meaning he had likely turned in for the night himself, and had left everything else for the midnight staff’s capable hooves and talons to handle. Not that there was much for them to do compared to just after School hours ended. At that time, and especially around breakfast, the tavern was filled with an abundance of hungry and/or tired patrons in need of a satisfying meal. Gods knew the kind of numbers they logged down on their ledger during their busy hours; something they always had given the food was prepared to an admittedly higher standard per-person than that served in the Great Hall. Both were delicious and full of flavor, yet one kitchen had to prepare far smaller dishes for a smaller crowd, and thus could afford to spend more attention to each dish before it left the kitchen.

Another factor which I neglected to mention was the overwhelming, delicious aromas which flooded the room like a dense, invisible fog. Day and night, there were always people in need of appetizing sustenance and even as I filled my nostrils with the majestic scents of the kitchen, I found myself as one of their number. Seemingly buoyed along on a graceful cloud of beautiful scents, I found myself carried across the room on something else's wings as I sank into an isolated seat at the counter. It was never a smart choice to have a heavy purse of coin available whilst on an empty stomach as such purchases were rarely made with the clearest of heads. And yet, I found myself pulling out one of the two hefty purses I'd earned so far this evening and setting a short stack of Crowns down towards my meal. That, and any drinks or otherwise which I might wish to pay for…like information for example. Liquor loosened lips just as easily as a dose of Fisstech or Hashish could, and Barley was born with ears like a fox. If anything, the only difference between himself and Rosemary in that regard was that he acted as a reliable information broker, whereas she just thrived off of good gossip.

Anywhere there was an extra copper to be earned, you could be certain to find at least one Pygmy nearby looking to divert it their way. Of course, such a thing was rather derogatory to say regarding their noble race, yet it held many nuggets of truth as the clink of coin was a rallying cry for Pygmy and Dwem alike. For better or for worse however, Barley Mash remained one of the strongest roots for the whispering grapevines throughout the Valley. Nary anything slipped his or the staff's notice and they remained a terrific source of news and informative tidbits. All these informative whispers needed a pinch or more of salt and further digging most times, but were interesting whispers nonetheless. The key lay in not relaying any news of your own which might come back to haunt you or others later. This sort of unwritten rule existed across most all taverns in any nation or era, Pygmy ran or no. The only difference here lay in the fact that Barley and his staff knew when not to be bought and what questions not to answer. Rosemary by comparison was much more akin to that nosy aunt who simply needed to know all that went on and how she stood to gain by it. Regrettably…people of all sorts tended to be more honest with their opinions whilst inebriated, and barkeeps everywhere hear their fair share of mumbled talk occurring behind others backs. It was simply part of the job, much like unto barbers, librarians, and other professions that allowed for lots of idle chatter to be had and conveniently overheard.

“My, my! Big spender in the house I see?” Smiled one of the few staff on duty at this hour, dressed in a fine yellow tunic with an emerald green apron atop. “I do not remember you having such fine coinage last time we served you here, Master Frejdá.”

“Well that was due to my winter savings nearing bone-dry, or is that an excuse most Witchers are too wealthy to have had to admit up front?” I asked half-jokingly, knowing full well that most Witchers felt strapped for coin these days.

“Ugh…hardly…” The off-white Hippogriff stallion named Xanthos grunted with an undertone of irritation, scratching at a bit of green. “Sometimes it feels like them Acolytes are pulling in better coin than you lot. Without th’ mutations, they seem to be having an easier time findin’ some honest work out there. That all said, I hear a Shroud is what brings ye home so soon before winter comes. School of the Cat was it? Or did we hear that shite wrong…?”

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that everyone here is already familiar with it…yes, it was one of the Cats, heh.”

“O’ course we’re already familiar with such interesting tidings! Word came right up from the Barbican through the North Towers and right down to our very ears before ye even hit the damned gatehouse. Plenty o’ the Guard caught sight of a Shroud on ya, the only thing that took some time to learn was which School th’ bloke inside was from. Major theory at first leaned towards it bein’ a Wolf ‘er a Fox…Petra was really hoping it was something more exotic like a Dragon or some ridiculous shite like that. Weren’t till some lass from the Reliquary gabbed on about it during her dinner break to Honeydew that we got some real answers actually worth some salt. Word also be, the Reliquary is ecstatic about yer find! Though I've ain't heard much else I didn't already know since we first caught wind o’ it all.”

“Well, why wouldn't they be excited? It's been decades since the last faithful Cat was interred in the Grand Catacombs. What else have you heard thus far? I might as well feed you the correct information here-and-now free of charge before it has a chance to mutate into some sort of falsehood wrapped in half-truths.”

“Ahh, a smart mare indeed. And free? While you're still fuckin’ sober and cognizant? Bah! A smart lass like you’d know all information has a price, and a proper recompense is befitting of something like this. Give me what you know, and I'll sneak you a Fire Plum from the back. Fresh in four-days past, right from the heart of the Crandor Mountains!”

A Dragon delicacy? Here? He was most certainly making a move to loosen my lips a bit more with such an offer… Barley was teaching them all rather well it seemed. Unfortunately, I didn't have much to offer that was worth the fruit in my opinion, at least…as far as Braxia specifically was concerned.

“Very well, but I will take the fruit after I give you some insight if you would. Wouldn't want to spoil my tongue with such a strong flavor right before dinner.”

“Heh, I suppose that be a fair move to make. Alright, fruit for later then! Go ahead, give it to me straight-up with no garnish. Bullet points if ya can so we don't overly tempt any wanderin' ears who haven't paid their dues.”

“Oh no, I was fully intending on keeping it brief for both our sakes.” I chuckled as I nudged the short stack of Crowns beside me. “I'm a hungry mare and I am more than ready to purchase something. In fact, let me order a Bovine Belt Buster while we're talking, if that's still available.”

“Ahhh, good choice that! Sadly the last o’ our stock o’ bovine meat been gobbled up by Sir Tiffy and his Foxes before they set out. Next delivery ain't fer another few days yet unfortunately… But! You're in luck though, one o’ the Direwolf hunting parties brought in a whole mess o’ Feral boar just yesterday evening. We can whip up a Porcine Packer for you real snappy-like if ye want! Bastards are spreading like wildfire down from th’ north, but at least the meat be damned tasty and mighty useful for filling happy bellies aplenty! Anything else I should let th’ back know to prepare while yer hunger is on the prowl?”

“Aww, damn…I was in the mood for some good beef. Ah well, that would have been my second choice anyway. I’ll take one of them Porcine Packers with extra gravy and potatoes, two pints of Dragon Bitters, and…how about elderberry tarts? Am I in any luck with those tonight?”

“Very fine choices all! And aye, ye are in luck as I am here to craft a tart especially for thee! Mallow is likewise still attending the range and I'm sure she'd love to craft the perfect platter o’ pork for ye. Ye've no need to doubt me neither my dear, I can whip thee up th' best damned midnight hour tart your heart could possibly desire! Can I also perchance interest you in some steamed crayfish tail as well? The Mirror’s hatcheries are fit to burst this season so there's a steep discount due to the sheer oversupply they are experiencing as of late…”

“Oh? By this late in the summer I'd expect Yonderland and Kandarin to have taken most of the spoils by now. Was there another trade disruption?”

“Aye, plus they’s at war again. Sort of. Petty border dispute between rival families…you know how those damned things go. One side slaps the other, he then goes and murders the other bloke’s wife just for shits and giggles n’ next thing ya know, the entire northwestern corner of Yonderland and the south of Kandarin are right back at it like th’ last thirty years ain't ever happened. It's fuckin' dejá-vu all over again...”

“Indeed I do know how those things go by now…” I chuckled back tiredly before taking a moment to pop my back and stretch out some. “Mmmph…alright, yeah. I’ll take some crayfish, why not? Salt and butter to match?”

“Absolutely! Unless you’re feeling up to some more taste o’ the bounties of water? Could enjoy ‘em with a bowl o’ fine chowder if ye so please, I myself love to use it as a nice dip for me prawns n’ such for that extra-fishy flavor.”

I glanced down at the short-stack of Crowns beside me and replied, “Sure. Why not, eh? That should do me most wonderfully, Xanthos. But please… refrain from from upselling me anymore tonight. I can only consume so much in one sitting after all, even with a Witcher's appetite ready and rearing to dig in. I’ll slip you some good purse weight at the end for your troubles if you promise to leave my order where it lie.”

A sly, knowing look came to his eyes and beak as he nodded and made to move towards the door at the back of the bar section, leading into the kitchens occupying the tower. It would be a few moments before he returned and I allowed my attention to be drawn once more back to the noisiest corner in the room. The cards seemed positively on-fire for most hooves at the table and even from across the room, the tension between them in this round could be felt like a taut bowstring fit to snap. The pile of coins was tremendously impressive as well by now; easily a purse adding up to a few thousand Crowns, or perhaps even several thousand depending on the number of Royale Crowns floating around in the ceramic pot housing them all. The cards had never been particularly lucky in my favor in any of the scattered games I’d been coerced into participating in with my fellows. I always bet low, folded first and lost any coin wagered no matter the skill (or soberness) of my opponents. I just simply wasn’t good and had no intentions towards attempting to improve my odds. I was like unto a fat-arsed noble caught with her hooves stuck in the mire whilst weighed down by lead, surrounded on all sides by vulture-like Chorts, Windigo and other massive monsters as could kill most any creature in their path; let alone a soft-bellied thing such as myself. I was nothing more than easy money and idle amusement to those who knew how to properly play the varying ways in which cards could be played. Which I never could. Nor did I truly care to try and push through until I hit a breakthrough on the matter. I was not muzzle-deep in a Hunt, fighting for my life against something I knew how to cut down and otherwise slay using the tools and knowledge at my disposal. It was a measly game of cards which was as much about the bluff and misdirection as it was about confidence and the intellectual prowess needed. Luck was required in spades on both sides, and yet not all luck was born or bestowed equally. I was lucky enough to have survived the Path as long as I had, yet not even a faint whiff of that luck was to be had when the deck was split and the cards dealt around the table.

Deep down, I truly envied those sons of bitches as had the luck to last more than the second or third rounds of betting without getting robbed blind. I longed for their stamina for the monotony of cards and the mental annoyances of remembering the meandering sets of rules which could vary wildly by region or even by player. All the strategies and techniques required to be worth a damn in any game were competing for space in my mind against my years of Schooling, and lost horribly each and every time. There were plenty who devoted their lives to the art of the deck, much like I had dedicated mine to the study of Witchering. Infuriatingly, there were a good few amongst us that were equally adept behind a deck of cards as they were a sharp and Oiled-up sword. As to which of us earned more coin per-hour spent whilst performing our duties…those who studied their cards usually could trot circles laced with pure gold about us poor saps who couldn’t. However, this band of wily Witchers were not so poor as that, and were actually making quite the ruckus as they seemed to attempt to out-spend the other. Large boasts of prowess followed derogatory jeers said in good faith and competitive spirit as each player wielded their egos in tandem with the cards floating in their magics. Any game worth playing was to be steeped in intrigue and hidden signs/meanings as went entirely over my head like unto learning an entirely new language. Indeed…part of me truly wished I had something mundane like cards that I could use in order to be casually part of such a gathering. Of course I could try and join by butting in my own coin and finding an open place at their table, but they all knew what they were doing and then some. I would be but a defenseless wee lamb wandering her way into a den of hardened, hungry wolves famished for their next feast of flesh. My lack of talent would surely sour the mood of the game, even if they managed to eliminate me early anyway. I knew of myself that an amateur attempting to butt their way into something meant for experts was a surefire way of ruining what fun they were previously having. Blatant inexperience before trained professionals only ended one of two ways: encouragement and learning, or shame and ridicule.

“Tadaa! One delectable Fire Plum as promised! And Mallow is whipping your order up fresh as rain as we speak! Now, let’s clear up the mindless conjecture and establish some facts shall we?”

The noise of the kitchen door swinging back open had caught the awareness of my hearing off to my left so I was hardly startled when he emerged with something wrapped in cheesecloth in his talons. Indeed, he seemed fairly proud of what he possessed and set it down gingerly upon the bartop before pulling loose the simple knot holding the bundle all together. What was revealed was a sizable fruit which could have passed for an exotic breed of dragon fruit as imported from the Kobolds to the far south, rather than as any sort of traditional ‘plum’. The large, scaly fruit was instead of a brilliant dusky, shiny gold color, trimmed along the edges in a fiery red which transformed into a ruddy scarlet on the inside of the fruits bizarre overlapping layers of thick, leathery scales. These overlapping scales then trailed off into orange, wily spiky tips that seemed alight like unto tiny candle wicks, though the cloth it rested up on suffered no burns. Already, the spicy sweet fruit was making my mouth water from the distant memories of my last brush with a Dragon delicacy such as this. And all for myself alone to enjoy for the meager price of true information regarding Braxia, something that was no closed secret to be held close to the chest. I could only hope he knew what highway robbery this was and was merely being generous with his resources just to butter me up, or perhaps merely just being kind.

“Damn…that is one beautiful specimen…” I sighed softly with a smile as I gazed over the delightful little fiery fruit.

“I wouldn't have mentioned ‘em were they not so fresh!” He chuckled heartily before bundling it back up in its protective cheesecloth wrapping. “Alright, now out with it Frejdá. Fill me in on everything so we ain't spreading any falsehoods under yer name.”

“You might find yourself disappointed by what you're paying for… This sort of news will be formally announced at his wake one way or another.”

“Bah, that is still a day or two away from what Honeydew was informed by that mare from the Reliquary. There’s going to be plenty o’ paying ears which might wish to have that information earlier than that. I best be able to provide such a service were it to be required.”

“Very well, don't say I didn't point this information out to you… I was out on the High Road in the south, near the village of Hollyhock towards the fringes of the Everfree. Only meant to pass through to stock up on some preserved foods for the Path ahead but when I caught word of Daemon-like activities in the area I just had to stick around and find out more. Lengthy story short, I seemed to have happened across a NightShade Spectre who herself seems to have successfully killed an exceedingly elder member of the old School of the Cat. A Master Witcher by the name of Braxia Melitus of the First Born.”

“A First Born?” He gasped softly in surprise. “My, my…that is interesting! So you're saying that if I looked hard enough, I could find the true face of that stallion adorning the walls of the Baths somewhere? That is…simply incredible…”

Despite being amongst the very first to learn he had been of the First Born, the many implications associated with that fact seemed to have not fully registered with my mind until he mentioned the murals in the Hall of Pools. To know what Braxia had once looked like whilst not a lifeless skeleton slumped against the wall of some Gods-forsaken cave…? What a true blessing that was, if one laced at its very foundation by a pining sadness for what once was. Knowing what the First Century looked like was most certainly a privilege others of the Fallen were not so lucky as to have. After all, not all of us saw fit to have their likeness put to parchment, canvas or even some kind of wood print outside of our official guild papers. Each School’s Chamberlain Office did their best to maintain a record of all their members by having talented artists render out a Witcher's likeness to accompany the rest of their personal documentation for identification purposes. Yet, with many Schools being in the state that they were, a great many records had been understandably lost prior to the various exoduses to Kaer Solaris in the wake of the Cleansing. Truly, we were so lucky as to know the First Century by their faces and general appearances at all. Much had elapsed, changed, and had been lost in the five-and-a-half centuries since the time of our guild's inception. The only saving grace was the fact that Kaer Solaris had suffered very little during the Cleansing compared to several other Schools. The Archives had survived the ordeal entirely intact and unscathed with its precious collection of Witcher’s wisdom and personal tales dating all the way back to the founding of our guild.

“Aye…that…that really is something incredible to consider, isn't it?” I replied back after pondering over the implications of his words. “It failed to occur to me that I could actually see and know this stallion by his face until you mentioned it in all truthfulness. And I was even recently in the Baths as of only earlier this afternoon. Not once did it occur to me to check the Archives for a print, nor parse over the walls of the Baths for any semblance of his likeness. I feel rather stupid now in all frankness now that I am saying all of this aloud…”

“Eh, think nothing of it.” He shrugged heartily in reply, “The Baths have a way of drivin’ most thoughts from the mind upon entry. It’s what they were meant for after all! No?”

“Heh, too true… I do not know too much more than that at this time I'm afraid as I too have only caught brief snippets of information on the old Witcher. All else I know is that he set out from the School of the Cat sometime in the spring of 297 and was never seen nor heard from again after that. The Council of Elders named him amongst the Lost in 300 and now at long last he can be counted amongst the Fallen with full closure and proper funerary rites. I was unfortunately unable to locate his Codex for some reason, and he seemed to have been under-equipped for being a Master. His steel and silver swords befitted his rank, but his armor and other equipment hardly stood up to the ravages of time so there was naught but molded scraps to find.”

“Fascinating…and here I thought we had buried all of the First Born as could yet be found in this plane of existence. I know there were more than a few that vanished under…unusual circumstances.”

“Aye…Chasms go both ways and many other Wild Magicks blur the lines between realities out there. As a fair example, a fellow Viper of mine, Gods rest her Soul, ended up a wanderer amidst the Ashinaka Shogunate to the Far East thanks to an imported Arcane artifact which whisked her thousands of leagues hence. She spent nearly a decade there whilst attempting to find some way to return home amidst another of their civil wars. A particularly nasty one apparently from all the bloody stories she told us about after the fact. One bloody battlefield to the next against some of the best swords ever to be swung about by trained warriors. She only found her chance when some port blockade on the coastal town she was staying in was routed in a bloody naval battle and her little skiff managed to sail out through the chaos and back to the Continent.”

“Is that so…? Sounds like a right fuckin' paradise for the likes of you, heh, heh. How long ago was that, I wonder?”

“Unless I'm entirely wrong about your age, you weren't born prior to the turn of the fourth century. All of this was far too long ago for you to even remember.” I chuckled with bittersweet memories of yore prickling my eyes with unwelcomed tears. “She even managed to slay a few of their exotic Daemon and monsters whilst over there, though most trophies she had to leave behind as her chance for escape came most suddenly from what I remember. What she did manage to travel home with was a place of honor in her quarters at Kaer Nathair for the longest time, the head of something she called a Nukekubi. Some sort of feminine Daemon which hides amongst ponies by day, but can detach it's head from its body come nightfall. I suppose it'd be a Vampire-category creature since she said they feed purely off blood and most seemed to prefer the blood of males.”

“Truly? What a fascinating story she must have with tales like that aplenty! Though…I take it by your tone and expression that she is not present for me to ask such questions. Oh how they burn dearly in my heart now that I've heard this tale.”

“Mhm…poor girl lost her life near my side during the Eighth Battle of the Bitter Fens. Bastards drowned her face-first in a puddle of muck on the battlefield after a spell flipped some heavy siege equipment onto her legs…”

“I see…well, onto happier topics perhaps for such a late night such as this? I spied that fancy-arse bottle of moonwine you have there, what's the occasion?”

In truth I was most grateful for the distraction as I wished for nothing more than to not remember the faces of the dead and replied with relief, “Oh, that? Surprised it took you so long to notice it. That is a gift from the Sorceress Supreme herself if you can believe me. A gift for a gift if you will.”

“Oh? Color me rather surprised then. Pray tell…what caused her to be so…uncharacteristically generous? That must have been one queenly gift you gave her…wait, it must have something to do with the NightShade you mentioned. I heard something about special flowers you collected but I suppose I am not as up to date on all things Witcher as I did not connect the dots. Correct me if my conjecture is at all awry.”

“No need good fellow, you nailed it square on the head. They are called Shade Petals. They can only be gathered from the remains of NightShade type Spectres, a rather rare species in and of themselves. They are beings of an odd Abyssal substance and this particular group includes a toxic plant as part of their creation. The greatest of their number are made from deadly plants which possess flowers and these same blooms can be recovered from their corpses. The one I slew was made from a large stalk of Foxglove and each Petal is…special shall we say. Know that I say all this in good confidence to you and the rest of the staff as the rumor mill is seemingly already spreading word of my finding across the School. People with the appropriate skill sets will come asking for them, some wholly without talent likewise, and it's quite possible that one or more might try to steal them off me entirely. So be forewarned that if anything is to befall my precious trophy…”

“I catch your meaning loud and clear, Frejdá.” He replied in a subdued tone. “Though as you said yourself the secret is already making the rounds by your accounting and this is the first I myself am hearing of this information. Perhaps it might be wise to deposit your find with the Reliquary if you can? I can think of few places safer that aren't deep below ground and don't require mountains of paperwork from the Dwemari to secure and insure.”

“Hmm…you know, you make a very fair point. Given the exceeding age of the NightShade I slew, I'm sure a technicality can be made for its exception. Not that I am loathe to trust my fellow Witchers…but it is the younger blood I am more concerned about, truth be told. The ones seeking an easy path to wealth and glory for the least amount of labor possible are the ones I fear most in this regard.”

“Ahh…isn't that the dream for any of us? To work little yet obtain great sums of income to spend as we see fit… I truly understand and empathize with your words at this juncture. Very well, if we were to be asked for information on the matter…?”

“The absolute bare-minimum bar of entry is to those who have the coin for something like this. Price it per-Petal like you would for a bottle of Mother's Lacquer from a fourth century vintage.”

His eyes shot wide as the costs he was familiar with synced up with the rough value I placed per each and every blossom on the stem. While I had perhaps overcharged Rosemary somewhat with my price of 375 Crowns each, it was still exactly as I'd described to her earlier. Shade Petals of any sort were exceedingly rare due to the correlating rarity of the creatures which possessed them. As such, they would always fetch a hefty sum from any with the skills and knowledge to understand the potential and potency of such a highly Voidkissed item. Indeed, I knew naught of any items more highly steeped in the Abyss outside of the raw Ichor of the bodies of Spectres and some other Specter-category creatures. Perhaps the hides and Souls of Arch-Daemons of course…yet the only known one to have been seen or slain was the very same being which brought about the School of the Dragon’s own demise. Either way, I could charge whatever I wished in the end and I had decided to set the price at around 350 a Petal. Or next best offer if they so happened to have something of equal value to me like Rosemary with her ingots.

“W-well now…I suppose I as an outsider would be wholly unaware as to how something like…that…would be priced.” He stammered after he was somewhat able to regain his composure. “Dear Gods that is a pricey plant you have there if that is what you are charging per blossom. Doesn’t Foxglove have dozens of little bell-like flowers per plant?”

“Indeed it does heh, there's a few varieties growing in the Gardens for decorative purposes if you would like a refresher as to how many on average one bears.”

“Nay, I think I am close enough already to understanding what it is you have. Yes, I think it very wise you find a safe place for those Petals of yours before too long…that is a tremendous fortune to just simply be carried about like it's some worthless Alchemy ingredient. I will bear all this in mind most assuredly if any are to ask and will be frugal with what I share with the others. Although Barley…”

“Is another beast entirely in this matter.” I laughed quietly whilst finishing his sentence for him. “Yes, heh. He most certainly will be seeking a full accounting so just give it to him straight-up. I trust the bastard enough by now to know how best to disseminate information like that about.”

“Very well, then let it be as it will.” He chuckled back in reply. “Oh! Blazes, I cannot believe I've failed to ask already, but did you perchance catch that strange Örn female who stopped by earlier?”

“Aye! Bumped into her just as she was exiting and I was entering in due fact. Kárá I believe she said her name was?”

“Mhm, that is what I remember hearing as well so I am glad to have it confirmed without having to awkwardly ask her to repeat her name. Those Örn ploughin’ scare me…”

“Oh believe you me, I fully understand what you mean by that. I felt much the same when we conversed outside…that is a lot of muscle hiding under those feathers.”

“Absolutely! I ain't no slouch when it comes to lifting my weight in stones and some more besides…” He said with a joking flex of his muscles. “But that gal looked like she could fold my spine in half with her bare talons without breaking a sweat.”

“I'm with you there on that one brother…” I agreed with a subdued nod as I pondered the tantalizing thought of having her talons on my person in any capacity. “Did she perchance happen to mention why she was here at all? It has been quite a long time since the Örn have made any sort of appearance here. Outside people like Bjørn, Helga and the others already living here of course.”

“Nothing truly to be gleaned I'm afraid. She mentioned she and her brother were taking a Witcher's tour of the Continent seeking out new challenges the Isles lacked. No mention of being here on the School's behalf or…really much of anything regarding the Isles themselves. She just asked a lot of questions herself and didn't really answer any in return. Believe me, I truly did try my best but she wouldn't yield an inch on anything.”

“Truly? Dear me, what a steely lass then..” I whistled softly in approval for her resilience to the traditional innkeep information shakedown.

“Mmm…believe you me, I would've shat my feathers if I didn't fear that embarrassment more than I feared her already. She was more than polite enough, but…damn are they big fuckers.”

“Heh, as if I were blind myself to the obvious about them? Alright, well…what did she ask about?”

“Everything you'd expect an Acolyte cooped up on the Isles for the last half-century with little word from the Continent to ask. The state of other Schools/nations after the Cleansing, who was hit, what nations still stand strong, the state of Equestrian politics and Eldar-Equestrian relations, how many Witchers survived the Cleansing, everything about the new-age Kaer Solaris…many, many things indeed. But nothing overtly telling as far as I can tell. Were she some random Equestrian…I probably would've pinged her questions as those of a spy but who are we to assume what they know and don't know about us?”

“Aye, it only goes to prove the rumor that the Eagle Isles have entirely cut themselves off from the Continent. To sit for fifty-five years without any sort of mainland contacts to speak of…”

“At least here in the Valley, none of our resident Örn have ever once given any of us the hint that they were somehow covert agents of their King. Er…Archmaster. Which is it they prefer?”

“Truly…that's a question for them I'm afraid. I think it could be interchangeable as I've heard both be used in the same breath by Helga once, but I could also be entirely wrong.”

“Hmm…well, either way, it was a pleasant conversation for the most part. Only part that wasn't was the subject matter given the unfortunate information I had to tell her regarding all those who have passed and what was lost.”

“Mm…that would indeed be a heavy conversation to endure. I hope she was satisfied with what we were able to preserve here?”

“Oh quite so! She was exuberant in expressing her joy at seeing Redclaw Ridge and the School itself as beautiful as they are amidst Equestrian lands. She seemed most perplexed, but seemingly highly satisfied, with the abundance of Eldar taking refuge here. Though…I do suppose that is entirely due to the tales she knew of this place are from before the Cleansing and much has changed since that time. With nothing to go off of but history, it's little wonder she was caught by surprise. The Isles would likely greatly surprise any of us too if we were to visit. Who knows how much they've changed since the Cleansing as well?”

“The Örn? Change? Are we still talking about the same species anymore or have we moved into the Dwem?”

“Hot n’ ready! Hope ye be here with a hungry belly! Frejdá!! Slap me silly wit' a bar o' Orichalcum, you’re back!”

Our conversation was rather suddenly interrupted by the kitchen door behind him swinging open as out came an adorable female Goat with a cream colored coat and short brown horns adorned with golden hoops and baubles. Her large fluffy ears likewise bore a pleasing collection of shiny golden jewelry, some even sporting some tastefully cut gemstones of various types and colors. It was good to see Petra in the flesh after so many months away and I was glad to see her still on-duty this late into the night. Somehow, balanced across her horns and the top of her head, was a broad pewter platter bearing a decorative bowl lined around the rim by a wall of steaming crayfish tails. Accompanying it was a loaf of warm wheat bread, a generous pat of butter, a small salt pile in a dish, and a pair of tall, frothy-lipped tankards positively brimming with dark red Dragon Bitters. Having grown up adopted by a Pygmy family, she had naturally inherited their thick accent and propensity for good eats and great ale. Truly there were few sights better than a beautiful meal being brought out to you by an equally beautiful someone who is extremely excited to see you. Perhaps the only thing that might have made it more tantalizing would have been if she had emerged dressed in something a bit more provocative. She was a cute lil’ thing in my eyes after all, and I never minded greater looks at lovely works of art. Goats and other Capra weren’t typically my cup of tea, yet Petra Clovenhoof was one of a few exceptions to my wandering eyes. She was one who knew what she liked and made no effort to hide it, even if it came at the cost of my own personal embarrassment.

“Petra! It is simply fantastic to see you too!” I beamed back at her as she dipped her head low to carefully slide the platter from off of her bedazzled horns and onto the countertop. “How have you been since I left this spring?”

“Bah, right fuckin’ brilliant lass!” She grinned widely in response whilst gesturing about herself with her cloven hooves with golden shoes affixed with golden nails. “I gets to work in a beautiful lil’ establishment like this servin’ you good folks quality grub n’ great beer! ‘Tis the latter one lass tha’ particularly keeps me on retainer! Barley brews th’ best damned ales in the whole ploughin’ Valley and I don’t give a flyin’ fuck how good anyone says the swill down at Three Kegs & A Barrel or Beetle & The Bard is. How could I not be happy wit' me life, eh?”

“Woof…are you sure you wish to be so publicly accusatory of two of your largest competitors like that? I doubt their regulars would be inclined to agree with you on that one, else they’d be regulars here would they not?”

“Ah, quiet ye naysaying wench!” She chuckled heartily with a metallic thump of her hoof on the counter setting my bowl to rattle somewhat on its platter. “They’s don’t have ‘The Stuff ’now do they? Do they let their creations ruminate on the stars for a year before serving? Fuck no! And not only that, but half o’ Three Kegs’ stock be from outta the Valley! What kind o’ self-respectin’ Eldar is that? Drink locally ye daft bastards! We got the best shite anywhere to be found!”

I couldn’t help but bust a gut laughing as her hearty propaganda piece promoting her place of employment came to a close like a fiery sermon from a Priest of the Eternal Pyre. She truly had the heart and spirit of a Pygmy, through and through. It was part of her great natural charm after all and I found it rather endearing and part of her attractive charm in the end. For the umpteenth time, I could hardly help but say it again: it was damned good to be home again.

“Gods have I missed your spirit, Petra.” I beamed at her while she unloaded her platter and set ready my place to eat. “How old are these Bitters out of curiosity?”

“Oh Celestia’s teats, if I’d known it were you gettin’ these pints, I would’ve gone for somethin’ more mature than two moons…” She grumbled to herself irritably. “This won’t do at all, damnit! I’ll be right back with a proper pair o’ pints for you Frejdá, just you wait a lil' spell.”

“No need! No need…” I chided back at her softly with a raised hoof before patting the two flagons of beautifully burgundy ale. “This’ll do me just fine dear, I don’t want you to bother fetching me something else when it’d waste these two here that I’m paying for already.”

“Not if I takes ‘em away from ye!” She chuckled in reply, snatching away the two drinks and sliding them under the counter and out of sight. “There! Now me n’ Xanthos here can enjoy a drink wit’ ye n’ you get a proper drink to wet your whistle with.”

“Well…guess I've no say in the matter!” I laughed heartily as there simply was nothing else I could do. “Very well! But don't be tapping a new barrel just for my sake. You know I am more than happy to take from anything that's already open.”

“Aye! That I do, beautiful! Be right back then, you go ahead and get to eatin’ missy before them lovely crayfish go cold!"

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