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

Noise. An unbelievable cacophony of steel-on-steel, war cries, oaths bellowed in anger and the howling screams of the dying and wounded. And blood. A scent so potent like sweet iron tinging the very air red with the visceral fury of the moment. A miasma of carnage was to be found everywhere across the grasslands. And yet amidst it all, I found myself terrified to be there…and altogether thoroughly thrilled at the same time. Terrified as I was loathe to die like any sane being, especially in a way that would prove most painful or lengthy. And thrilled…because it was one of the few times in my life that I had targets aplenty to engage with the Whirl to its fullest extent of fury and madness. Repressed anger and bitter hatred for Equestrians was allowed to boil over at last in a heated frenzy of passion as many feelings of ill-will spilled forth just as freely as the lifeblood of countless beings. Fangs laced with Venom twirled and danced alongside me whilst my hapless victims acted at most as mere springboards for my next deadly pounce. Gambeson did little to defend them from the furious heft of my swings and gave way to their sharpened edges like butter to a hot knife. Even those in riveted chain seemed intent on presenting opportunities in which to strike undefended areas, or otherwise pierce through the links with the Venomous tips and into their hide underneath. NeuroToxics had ensured my stamina both physically and magically were enhanced as adrenaline coursed through my veins like a torrent of molten magma; my body flowing through the chaotic patterns of the Viper's Whirl at a snail's pace. Every detail was so crisp and clean, yet gone in the blink of an eye as there was always another to cut down in my wake. The gleam of the Moon was caught along the honed edge of my Fangs as if flashes and streaks of pure, silvery-white light wreaking justice upon the Eldar's enemies in the name of that same Moon which we so loved. Blades flashed, bodies and viscera fell, and blood spilt freely onto the ground from all hapless enough to find themselves near unto my carnage. There had been no rainfall in the days leading up to the battle making for solid ground for fighting and the deployment of great engines of war…at first. Come the final hours of the hours-long battle, the earth all around was positively fetid and festering with the lifeblood of countless on both sides. We were fewer in number than they, yet our might of old stood untarnished as we stood up to the sheer numbers at Equestria's command. Their Knights in full plate had hung to the rear for most of the fight…overseeing the carnage of the battle from their high point of vantage upon a hill in the distance; observing as their useless levy forces broke against us like so much water on a rocky, unyielding shore hoping to whittle us away through sheer attrition. Much as I would need to beg for many a God and Goddesses' forgiveness for it…it had felt most pleasing to slaughter so many of them myself. For every one of us they killed, I made triply sure they paid for it tenfold if I could. I was merely the instrument of an entire planet’s worth of furious rage towards these endlessly meddlesome invaders. Indeed, as the Abyss was an overreaction on the part of Terra Firma to right the balance, I myself fell into such a similar role of thinning their pesky ranks. In my heart I knew not all their people were as savage or zealous in their devotion to their nation…yet those here before us had come fore the sole purpose to kill and slaughter. And so it was my duty, my...honor...to kill them first. For my own sake, and for the sake of all Eldar.

Of course...like how most wars unfold…our strivings and great tribulations that day were all to be for naught. Like the vermin I and many others had begun to feel they had become, their populations were able to swiftly recover from most losses inflicted upon their number, no matter how great the battle they had taken part in. Within two-to-three short decades their able-bodied sons and grandsons would be chomping at the bit to wreak their sworn retribution upon us in the names of their fallen fathers and grandfathers. It was a never-ending cycle of blood-for-blood...yet neither side could back down lest they lose even more to the other not backing down. None of the female persuasion were to be found marching in armor amidst their number, the fucking cowards… Naught but stallions of varying rank and status would ever arrange themselves for battle before us, seeing their mares as naught but fit for rearing young, fulfilling household duties, and perhaps some ability for limited private enterprise on rare occasion. Whereas I…I was but one of many others of the fairer sex to have found their honored place amidst the marching lines of armed soldiers and mercenaries which stood together to face Equestria. Dangerous as the Abyss was to our world, Celestia and her devilspawn ponies had killed and persecuted far more of us than any monster or Daemon on record. Here it was that, once again, we fought, slew and suffered as one, regardless of which banner one mustered around. Yet, such a fact was little consolation for the wrongs we sinfully wished to dole out in kind against our foreign guests who had long overstayed their welcome. It was hardly becoming of our noble heritage to be so wrathful…yet what else was to be expected of peoples continually being backed into a corner with hateful words and violent, ignorant actions? We simply had to fight to survive. What was lost in centuries had taken millennia to accomplish as our heritage was shat upon, conquered and destroyed in their mad rush to expand.

Knowing that they too suffered in this war however did little to rouse my feelings of empathy towards the helpless bastards sent to die by my hoof. Their terrified faces did indeed haunt the farthest recess of my memory…yet it was just as easy to blur them out under a wave of bitter apathy. I could plainly see the looks of horror on their faces in the split-second moments in which I could clearly see them in-between my wild attacks. It was a terror which similarly gripped my heart in a Dragon’s iron-fist as I knew at any moment my technique could fail me, or some misplaced hoof in the mud could throw my form off enough for someone nearby to find their chance to strike true. And yet…such a terror as I saw in their faces before the life fled their eyes did naught to rouse anything more than a greatly-flogged festering wound of anger within me. There was a pity in my heart too perhaps…somewhere buried deep in the collected, rational thought and focus I fought to maintain as I carved a bloody path of bodies in my wake. There were times to stay one’s steel from the flesh of another Sentient being…and open warfare, or better yet, a war of passions, was no such time. Witchers were mutagenically-born to be the perfect instruments of death to whatever threat they faced. And so my Fangs continued to wreak death in these pathetic, lesser beings around me; corpse after corpse created by the deadly flashes of silver flowing about me. Carrion creatures, particularly birds, had sensed the coming clash and followed the movement of troops on all sides until we finally met for combat upon the Fields of Elkai’s Gold. I could still hear the caws of famished corvids circling overhead above the riotous battlefield... Along with the great thuds of the field ballistae releasing their great strings and flinging enormous bolts far and wide to deliver yet more death as only engines of war can deliver. Such a noise as they could scarcely be forgotten once heard in the midst of a blood-fueled rage…

THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD

“MASTER FREJDÁ?? If ye yet sleep I beg thy forgiveness, but it truly is urgent!”

THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD

Without even realizing it my eyes snapped back open to glimpse upon the waking world as I was rudely awoken by somewhat frantic pounding upon my bedroom door. As real as the sounds of battle had been amidst the meandering thoughts of the dreamscape, reality had reasserted itself most readily back into focus. I only vaguely remembered as to how I had even managed to return to bed when my freshest memory in-full lay back in the comfortable confines of the Crosswinds Inn. Being so full and happy as I was, I had seemingly floated along on a cloud of unfocused thoughts back to the comfort of my bed and somehow managed to bring both my moonwine and Fire Plum along with me. The rounded bundle of cheesecloth containing the fruit sat beside the tall moonstone bottle on my bedside table whilst my Shade Petals rested safely on a small canister rack atop my third bookshelf. I had not however, found the time nor effort it seemed to take off all of my armor and awoke to find most everything had been left on save my boots, gloves and my upper and lower harnesses with their many bags and pouches. My longswords and Fangs were both sheathed and still attached to their designated places on my chest harness, which itself hung off a post on my headboard. My waist and leg harness likewise sat abandoned on the rug beside my steel-plated boots whilst the dim golden glow through my window indicated the dawn had yet to break across the Valley over the White Fangs. A quick, stiff glance towards my clock similarly confirmed my suspicions that it was around six in the morning. Far too early for how much sleep I still yet yearned for after such a night of brewing Venom and feasting heartily with good friends.

All the same, I called out something incoherent to alert whoever it was that I had been roused awake and would soon be there to answer the door, before promptly stumbling over myself to get to my hooves. I was grateful for the plush feeling underneath me provided by my beautiful blue and silver rug as it muffled the less-than-graceful tumble out of bed I took in order to get to the door latch. Being all-but-fully dressed, I didn’t waste any time in opening it to get a look at who it was that stood outside and had woken me up so damned early. Immediately I spied the white-and-red robes of one of the School staff though the Pegasus wearing them was somewhat recognizable, but not enough to immediately bring their name to mind. All the same, the orange stallion seemed rather antsy by the way his body and voice shook whilst speaking to me once my face had presented itself to him.

“Begging your utmost pardon, Master Frejdá!” He said with subdued franticness in his tone amidst a shuffling of nervous orange wings and hooves. “I understand it is very early in the morning, but this summons simply cannot wait. I must implore you!”

I blinked once or twice in an effort to combat the sleep from my eyes before I was able to fully process what it was he had said and I replied, “U-uh…v-very well? And…who exactly is it that is summoning me at this hour…? I have not exactly had much in the way of sleep as of yet…I had a rather lengthy evening last night and I daresay it took somewhat of a toll on me.”

“Trust me dear Master, I truly do not wish to be the one assigned to rouse thee, but…you are one of the last they are waiting upon in order to fully begin the proceedings. Three others are similarly being roused both in this Tower as well as in the secondary Barracks by other members of staff as we speak so at least you are not entirely alone.”

“Proceedings?” I asked back with a dazed, tired surprise. “Wait…‘they’? You mean there are others who have gotten a similar summons?”

“A-aye, Ma’am…it is Archmaster Ludovic and the Council of Elders which have asked for thee. For all Masters and Adepts in due fact. They ask that you report to the Council Chambers at once so that they may begin informing you all as to…well, whatever it is that has kept them and almost a quarter of the Kitchen staff up all night.”

“Alright…” Was all I was able to muster up in response for a moment before I gathered up the nerve to ask, “Will there be some sort of meal provided…? I ate a feast naught but five hours ago and already I am feeling famished from what sleep I have had.”

“I know not exactly as to that fact I’m afraid…” He admitted sheepishly in reply before moving back towards the central lift in order to depart. “Though a fair bit has flowed from the Kitchens up into the Council Chambers so there is a good chance you may yet find something to fill thy belly with during whatever proceedings they have planned. Now please, do not let me keep you any longer, Master Witcher. By your leave, I will leave you to finish getting ready and will return to inform them that you are on your way post-haste.”

I gave him a quiet, courteous nod in reply and shut my door closed just as the lift he was standing upon began to descend down the shaft of the Master’s Tower. My troubled fears were beginning to bubble a soft brew of worry in my gut once more as thoughts of what might be said loomed over my mind like the heft of an executioner’s sword. There were simply too many thoughts to make any honest attempt at measuring the number which swirled through as a torrent of murky water through my head. What pieces of equipment I lacked and were left on the floor were quickly returned to their rightful places upon my person, whilst a hasty breakfast of watered-down brandy was poured into a cup to put something into my stomach for the time being; the Fire Plum deserving of a long session of savoring its potent flavor with darkly-aged Dragon Bitters and a pipe of hashish on a pleasant evening. And finally, a quick glance before the mirror allowed me to set right any unsightly hair that might look uncouth for such a high-profile meeting. The likes of such a large summoned gathering had not occurred since the last echoes of the Race Wars when there were yet more of us alive and still able to take up the fight. Though the Council all dwelt in Kaer Solaris, and indeed rarely left for reasons of safety and the stability of the guild, formal Council meetings wherein all thirteen were in attendance were a rare occasion. Indeed, they could even elect to send another Grandmaster or simple Master in their stead to more routine meetings as a proxy if they had other matters more important to attend to. It was a role I had been called upon to do only a few times, and was never one I had any particular fondness for as the logistics of the guild took me away from my love of the Hunt. Despite being the eldest Viper left living from our School, I had consciously chosen not to become a member of the Council for that same simple reason. Ever had I been a mare of action...the thought of endless sitting and discussing bored me to painful tears.

Tap Tap Tap.

Another set of noises rattled away at my constant trailing thoughts, this time sounding far more like something hard rapping against a windowpane and coming directly from behind me. Turning to greet my view of the world outside more properly, I quickly spied the rather organic source of this second noise. Perched atop a large wooden post built off each room's window was a large and beautiful Zamak Raven, proudly standing with its sharp, slightly curved beak mere inches away from the window panes and peering inside most inquisitively. When it spied my approach, it softly flapped its mighty wings excitedly as it hopped out of the way of the window as I unlatched and swung it open to receive its carried missive. Nestled safely within a tube of waxed leather attached to one of its stocky maroon legs was a neatly rolled up piece of parchment inevitably asking me to do the exact same as the poor staff member had been asked to tell me in person. Gods only knew how long my poor first messenger had been forced to wait whilst tapping on my glass every so often so as to not be overly annoying. Having naught in my room worthy of such patient consideration for my quality of sleep, even in the face of an assigned task…I had only one thing I felt befitted such a deed. I had only just been gifted my precious Fire Plum the night before and already, I found myself giving it away to my feathered friend out of a pleasant sense of gratitude. Of course, being a being of fire itself, I could only imagine how much more flavor they might be able to taste beyond the limited capacity of my own tongue. The potent fruit was gobbled down whole like so much else they ate, and a majestic caw erupted from its beak as bright golden flames of joy sparked to life along the length of its two long crimson headfeathers. It was obvious from such an impressive display that my gift had been most graciously enjoyed and appreciated. I dipped my head low in an added sign of mutual respect and graced it with a smile before it saw fit to finally depart from my window, flying back to the Rookery in order to digest my latest brush with gratuitous giving.

Before I knew it, I was already exiting my room and stepping onto the lift whose previous occupant had been so kind as to send back up to the fourth floor for me. With how early in the morn it was, the School possessed an unnatural quiet as I emerged from the Master’s Tower onto the Instructor’s ambulatory overlooking the Gardens. Nary a Soul was to be seen meandering amidst the pleasantries of the herbs and flowers below me aside from Vivian laid in silent prayer before the golden flame of the Garden Shrine. And none but those School Guard as stood on watch occupied any of the walls and towers nearby, their watchful eyes soft as they gazed out across our beloved Valley. Even the Barracks with its piping-hot pit of young, fiery blood lay quiet and peaceful as its four high, narrow towers only just began to catch the gleam of the rising Sun; its four wide flags flapping softly in the refreshing breeze of the mountains bearing aloft the scents of many trees. Truly a morning worth relishing with enjoyment and gentle introspection whilst watching the Sun mount the ring of peaks around the Valley…yet I was not so nearly as lucky with my schedule as I had been even a day earlier. Indeed…I found myself regretting not finding time to enjoy a nap of some sort the day before. Well…a second nap as I had momentarily forgotten my pleasant little doze by the Vigil Tree which poked up through its recessed gap in the ambulatory nearby with its golden leaves gently glistening with morning dew. However, that little spot of rest seemed to have done little to attenuate the heavy claws of sleep which saw fit to continue their assault. The only benefit to be had from it all was the simple fact that my hurried pace to reach the Council Chambers was getting my blood pumping, if but a little. It was hardly like I was attempting a full gallop of the Narrows after all…

Following the familiar path from the day before, I passed along the exterior length of the southern face of the Master’s Hall and down the open stairway until it met the ground level of the Great Hall. With the morning meal not scheduled for another two hours, the tables were all-but-empty of occupants aside from the random loner seeking a quiet bench to themselves amidst the otherwise rather silent room. Even as I set hoof past the doorway, a sudden notion illuminated my thoughts as brightly as the morning Sun through the towering panes of stained glass set behind the Judgement Seat. I had not been home during the height of summer in many a year. I was wholly unused to seeing the School so empty with so many Witchers out on the Path when compared to the boisterous months of waiting out the winter with one another. However...there still were more bodies present than I was expecting upon even further reflection. There were several dozen or so from what I had seen thus far, and I had to wonder what it was that kept them here during the middling months of summer, otherwise known as prime Hunting season. Many of our quarry were to be found during this time of year as, like most beings, they too preferred the warmth of summer over the chill cold of winter resulting in fewer monster attacks as they too took shelter and waited out the frosts. I had come home early out of duty to Braxia, seeing that his remains were interred amidst the Grand Catacombs where a faithful Witcher belonged. I had little intention of staying in Kaer Solaris for much longer, however. Even with the allure of all the delightful amenities Kaer Solaris possessed, duty called as the lust for the Hunt welled up within me. As to what kept all these other Witchers, Witchlings, and Acolytes here when there was a Path to tread about the Continent…to each their own reasons I suppose. Proceeding up the Great Hall leading north, I came to a stop at the middlemost doorway on the eastern side directly across from the entrance to the Grand Library. Access to the Council Chambers necessitated passage through the Master's Hall, which itself lay behind the ever-important Chamberlain's Office. With a great many important documents and records being stored within, the hefty door possessing a barred, shuttered window was sealed tight with powerful magic. Enchanted in a similar manner to the Laboratorium, it necessitated my Guardian's personal assistance to open the ring of locks on my behalf before the door swung inwards and I was able to continue once more.

The interior of the Master’s Hall was not so large as its outward appearance indicated, as the section immediately connected to the Great Hall was occupied by the stately Chamberlain’s Office. While a great deal of the actual scribe work was conducted on a private upper floor of the Grand Library just below the Rookery, this richly decorated space acted as the ‘public face’ as it were of the Chamberlain’s inner workings. Appearing as grand and professional as any state office to be had in any Kingdom, the interior was comfortably lit by a combination of grand crystal chandeliers from the ceiling and natural Sunlight filtering in through the south-facing stained glass windows. Accompanied by plush furniture of luxurious design, grand desks and bookshelves of fine dark oak, as well as a myriad of artistic paintings and tapestries on the walls, the entire Office was a royal sight to see. Our current Chamberlain of some twenty-seven years and counting was one Lady Annamarie of Greystoke, a gorgeous white mare with a long, curly mane of golden yellow and sparkling emerald eyes. Despite her rather youthful appearance, she was in fact in her sixty-third year of a prosperous life. One which had seen fit to beautify her new Office with all manner of finery which she had brought over with her amongst her other personal belongings from her homeland. A shrewd Trottingham noble with a penchant for mercantilist pursuits, she had only further deepened our ties to her home country amidst her endless lists of contacts, suppliers, and possible benefactors which she had met in one time or another in her lengthy, storied life. She simply ran an incredibly fine ship as would make even the hardiest Örn raiding party shout her praise. Her impeccable attention to detail, natural gift with numbers and logistics, as well as her warm charisma ensured our books were the tidiest they had ever been. According to Vivian, who was a close confidant of both her and I, she had been rather impressed with how clean and proper Kaer Solaris had kept their records up until she took up the position.
Of course, the studious mare had found new ways to balance our books and found herself more willing to dip into the Treasury to promote and support local businesses for a small share of the profits. Nary a bent copper was to be wasted on frivolous expenditures if she could spare it, yet at the same time she routinely found ways for the School to live in relative luxurious comfort for as little direct cost to us as possible. With authority from the Council itself, she was free to...'barter' with other groups interested in trade with the Valley with unoccupied Witchers within the School as her raw capital. I myself had been sent on an errand to Trottingham some five-years past to dispatch a pod of Wallasalki terrorizing a fishing hamlet in lieu of coin for two-hundred bushels of rolled oats. Indeed, her connections with Trottingham had ensured they remained the Valley, and the School's, greatest trade partner outside of what money we Witchers injected into the local economy from our Hunts. They were far more open to regular, common commerce than the Thestral Dominion, charged far lower tariffs than any Kingdom of Celestia’s Empire, and simply had more money and a population to spend it than the tiny Highland Kingdom in a branch of mountains curling away from the White Fangs. The Copperbeaks, and Keldagrim as well to some extent, both had their fair share of trade with the Valley, yet many of their own needs were already met from within. Many things we considered luxury goods on the surface were produced by them already after all, from works of wood, metal and stone, to finely woven silks and sturdy, resilient fabrics dyed many fantastic colors. And to say nothing of their exquisite jewelry or their sturdy arms and armor of which they had in true abundance.

Of course, our Chamberlain was lucky that most of the School's existing services and amenities had been in place for decades or centuries already. All she needed to do was simply continue to fairly pay those who helped maintain the greatness of our institution by cleaning and oiling every moving piece of it no matter how small. The stonework of the School, blessed by the holy ground it occupied, necessitated little extensive maintenance of the fortress itself whilst the dutiful staff tended to the more transitory aspects of the School. Whatever could be salvaged from the dust bin would always find its purpose renewed and granted a new life for as long as it could withstand the pressures continually put upon it. Each and every Groat was thoroughly parsed for every inch of ground its buying power was worth and every ounce of gold was treated as if it were the last in our coffers. The Treasury was but a sad dream of what it had once been centuries past…yet thanks to her efforts, as well as the efforts of countless others both within and without the Valley, we continued to endure. Not only endure, but…even thrive perhaps in spite of the hostile turn of opinions as had elapsed over the last two centuries or so. We were hardly running a healthy surplus, yet we were not debt-riddled nor poised to collapse in on ourselves due to untenable finances thanks to Kaer Solaris’ long line of dutiful, excessively money-smart Chamberlains managing the School's budget. Annamarie had done much in her tenure with us to ensure the School and the Valley at large were ready to ride any financial storm that may yet come our way. There were certainly signs of it already as the past fifty years had seen a further explosion of births amongst the Equestrians meaning there was a growing need to spread their available capital further. Debasement had never been of particular concern to the broader world as there was an abundant supply of precious metals to be found in Terra Firma, yet somehow the Empire’s Royal Mint seemed pressed for gold and silver to fill their coffers. Even I had heard grumbled mutterings whilst on the High Road in recent years regarding great confiscations of old Crowns and Orens, only for the newly-minted coins to be robbed of much of their precious metals.

Annamarie herself was nowhere to be seen behind her fine desk of carved mahogany within the Chamberlain's Office, nor was she pouring over one of many books of records as occupied the multiple shelves built against the walls. If not for the roaring fire in the decoratively carved hearth in the corner, I would have mistaken the entire Office as still being closed for the night as not a single Soul occupied the space. And yet, the satin curtains hung about the windows were opened wide and held back by small chains of gold, allowing the morning Sun to filter through the various colors and cast a dazzling sparkle across the multiple rugs occupying the stone floor. I could only assume that the good Lady had either yet to rise from her bed, which was unlikely given the Council summons, or she was already present and accounted for and I was the one who was running behind. Regardless, my business existed beyond the Chamberlain’s Office and so I quickly continued eastwards and across the room to pass into the Master’s Hall proper. For all the possible mystique to be had with such a name as that, one might expect the twenty-meter stretch of vaulted stone passage between the Chamberlain’s Office and the Council Chambers to be some grand or mystical place. Instead, the wide, lofty hall was a rather simplistic and solemn space dedicated to honoring those the Council of Elders had bequeathed the title of Master Witcher, as well as those who rose even further above. The stone wall to my right which faced southwards was thoroughly suffused with decorative archways, each of which held a beautiful stained glass window depicting all of the School Crests which called Terra Firma their home. Each silver Crest took up the majority of each window they occupied, with a steel and silver sword crossed behind them at perpendicular angles to represent the ultimate purpose of our guild. Meanwhile, the remaining decorative window space was dedicated to portraying each School’s respective colors like unto a fiery, dual-layered sun emanating outwards from the center behind each Crest; each colorful ray of light trimmed in fine gold, unlike the silver solder used to join every other bit of decorative glass together in the grand ensemble.

To my left, the north-facing wall did not form a straight line like unto the wall of stained glass, but rather took on the shape of a squared-off U jutting out into the hall in order to accommodate the elaborate fountain watering the Gardens on the other side. It too had a chain of decorative arches built into it, though instead of panes of glass, these contained large unbroken slabs of the purest white marble. It was here that each and every name was carved and listed out who had achieved their Heroic Hunt and attained the rank of Master or above; each slab corresponding to the School Crest of the window directly opposite of it. Those stuck at the level of Master like myself were inlaid with lustrous silver, whilst those who rose to the rank of Grandmaster were beset by shining gold. Naturally, there were only a limited number of Archmasters occupying each School’s slab, all save for the Örn who had an entire second smaller plaque dedicated to accounting for their sheer number of Archmaster Kings over the centuries. Outside of they, who rotated regularly as new strength arose to claim the title, such an incredible position of power in the other Schools oft went filled by the same Witcher for hundreds of years unbroken. These illustrious names were inlaid with platinum, yet with its color being so close to that of silver, a grand faceted jewel like unto those used in their Medallion’s eyes were set on either side of their name to help them further stand out. It was truly a mesmerizing sight to witness as each slab was illuminated brilliantly in the sparkling colors of their School via the windows set opposite them, reflecting back the light with the gleam of precious metals within each and every carved name. One could find themselves caught up in the quiet sanctity to be felt in such a narrow space, even to their own detriment as familiar names were painfully brought to mind from the lists lining the Master’s Hall. And of names...there was no shortage of those now marked with an extra symbol, that of a miniaturized mausoleum set with pale opal to mark their passing. No space existed for specific calendar dates as those were logged in the Archives, yet it was knowledge enough to know that they had perished and would no longer winter with us save in our hearts and memories.

Even in my haste to join the meeting behind the tall iron doors at the other end of the Hall, I could not help but pause once the green and silver light cast my shadow upon the Viper School’s list of names. As Masters can become Grandmasters and then Archmasters, each name was left where it had first been carved and merely had its precious metal inlay upgraded to the next tier if and when the time came. My own name sat carved in silver amidst a few hundred other Master Witchers throughout the centuries; all but a few of them still yet alive to tell our tale and not a one of them beset by gold, nor platinum upon the wall. Our last Archmaster, a veritable beast of a Highland Valkyrie by the name of Áskr with a mane of silvery white, had been a most unfortunate casualty of the Cleansing. All that I or Master Rogier were able to find of his remains were the Isildine components of his weapons and armor, whilst all else was burnt away to ash and dust. These had since been restored with the utmost love and tender care by the dutiful attendants at the Reliquary and Undercroft Forge, and now hung in a place of honor alongside other works of our precious past. Many names were etched here in this Hall whom I knew personally at one point, or otherwise remembered meeting in some long-distant memory of the past. Many friends come and gone in veritable blinks of the eye… I was somehow the eldest of my School to have survived, and yet I was but a lowly Master with my one and only Heroic Hunt to my name when at least five were needed to progress. Such was my Fate it seemed, however unfortunate and unfair to me and my ambitions ways.

Try as I might throughout my tenure of Hunting down monsters, it felt like all the greatest feats had already been performed in the world by others more talented and/or luckier than me. I did my part to rid the world of Chasms and their Helspawn, yet it was almost always run-of-the-mill Contracts I seemed to be left with. Painfully easy, mildly difficult and even heart-pounding danger had each found plenty of time to shine amidst my successful Hunts…yet by-and-large, I felt like I tended to follow a dull Path every year compared to some others. I was not bitter enough to abandon it, yet I was somewhat resentful towards those names near and around mine that were glittering with gold due to their own lucky breaks in the past. The NightShade I had slain could have potentially qualified as a Heroic Hunt…had she proven to be infinitely more deadly to myself and had treated the citizens of Hollyhock as more than occasional snacks amidst her other prey. Were the village in ruins and its inhabitants gored and devoured in a debaucherous display of brutality, then there were true legs beneath my weighty claim of Heroics. It had been just my rotten luck that she had grown metaphorically fat and lazy over her age-long stay in the area and failed to account for a Witcher happening upon her territory. Not to mention she had seemingly dropped her guard towards me due to her earlier victory over Braxia, possibly thinking to herself that we were not quite the threats a being like she should be wary of. Had she killed more of us and learned of our tricks as they evolved and improved since Braxia’s time, or perhaps fought Witchers of multiple Schools and learned their tactics…perhaps she might have put up far more of a defensive offense. The Petals taken from her remains and the discovery of one of the Fallen was reward enough on its own in many ways, yet given it had been a NightShade with innocent deaths on its hooves…there was a chance I could petition for a genuine 3a Contract and hope for some extra coin. I was willing to face the paperwork this time around as I had some time before I could leave for the Path and let the process play out while I was away.

Even without meaning to, I found myself tarrying a lifetime longer than intended whilst deep in thought, gazing up at the Viper’s list of names. Giving myself a slap on the cheek for my own inability to focus, I hurried myself along towards the Council Chambers at the far end of the Master's Hall. Like unto the mighty doors servicing the storage halls exiting out onto the Servant’s Courtyard, the large iron doors of the Council Chambers each featured a wicket gate for the passage of individuals, sporting a hefty cage of metal bars over the central window. A quick tap upon it prompted the shutter to open a moment later and Annamarie's beautiful face to peer out, readily welcoming me inside once she had undone the various latches to the door. Similar to our two lecture halls located in the Gardens nearby, a tall crescent-shaped series of raised seating had been erected with its back facing the polygonal apse and its towering panes of stained glass. In the center occupying the ground floor atop a raised platform stood a long, rectangular stone table with its line of thirteen high-backed chairs for the Council of Elders facing towards those seated in the rows of tiered desks before them. A further set of rows of twenty other chairs sat behind they, set apart for the various Instructors and leading members of staff from Tahl, our Wilderness Survival Instructor, to Snapdragon Sunrise, our resident Quartermaster. All seats were filled and all eyes present fell upon me as I made my entrance into their midst as quietly as I could.

Naturally my entrance prompted those many eyes to glance my direction, yet I did my best to avert my gaze from them as I glanced towards some open seats left in the uppermost ring of seats on the far end. With room enough for some two hundred Witchers, there were around a third of those seats currently filled allowing me some choice of views of the Council below. Seeing as the back of each row of chairs formed the base of the desk of the row above it, these were some of the few places in the School which did not comfortably permit us to wear our swords upon our backs. Instead, a narrow set of vertical sword racks were installed into a niche beside each desk so each Witcher could set their weapons in a safe place close-at-hoof. At the same time, blank sheets of paper, quills, and a fresh well of ink occupied each narrow wooden desk to be used for taking dutiful notes, scribbling away inner thoughts, or drawing out whatever the heart desired. As to whether or not one should do that in such a formal setting? The obvious answer was no…but that wouldn’t stop people like Violet from getting bored and doing so anyway. Other useful little features had been similarly built into each desk space such as convenient cut-outs to support up to two glasses at once, a stand in which to place books open, and deployable side-desks to either side of the person sitting. These optional bits of varnished wood blocked free passage along each ring of desks, yet offered each space additional room in which to place any necessary items as might be needed for a Council meeting. That...or small platters of food as I spied in abundance amongst the crowd of other Adepts, Masters and Grandmasters all awaiting patiently for what the Council had brought us all together to hear and discuss.

The convenient placement of the sword racks also facilitated their use, particularly our silver swords, as a means of getting the Council’s attention if we wished to speak for any reason whilst in session. By merely holding aloft our sheathed sword pommel-up, the Archmaster or another member of the Council below could acknowledge our wish to speak and give us the opportunity to do so. Once acknowledged, the speaker would unsheathe their sword and hold it aloft blade-up until they had finished saying their piece. Of course, the Council could just as easily not acknowledge your sword and deny your petition if they felt they had not finished saying what they felt they must. Or, they may request a speaker to sheath their sword if they were collectively done with hearing one speak if they droned on and dragged out the meeting. Yet, all of us here had experienced at least a few of these meetings during our time in Kaer Solaris and were used to their normal procedures. Knowing when to speak and when to listen was a practice to be embodied by every Witcher, not something to be cast aside for the sake of ego or clouded judgement. With no particular rhyme nor reason to my choice, I found myself seated directly beside Master Kingfisher of the School of the Raven who welcomed me to my elevated seat with a smile from under her black-feathered hood. I had spied two serving carts piled high with bread and cured meats down below in the corner, attended to by Nana Evelyn, grandmother to both Ludovic and Vivian and seasoned Stewardess of the School. Her kindly graying face and fine red markings greeted me silently with a wizened smile, yet all the same she raised a paw to her lips in a hushing manner and gestured for me to take a seat. Needless to say, a collective nervous anticipation hung in the air that was more than thick enough to cut cleanly with a silver sword. A great many of our number were still dutifully out on the Path and would be wholly unaware of these proceedings until either they returned home this winter, or they were deemed worthy of sending out a message directly via Zamak. Only when I had finally sat down and laid my weapons into their designated spots did Archmaster Ludovic, sitting in the center of the Council, stand and look over us all before speaking at long last.

“Now that we are all ready, it is finally time to reveal what it is I am sure all of you have been weaving theories about in your free time over the last several hours. I will refrain from lecturing any of you on that as it is only natural to speculate when there is much intrigue surrounding something being discussed behind closed doors. We finally have opened up those doors and locked them shut behind you as this need not leave the Council Chambers just quite yet. To be short…I am sure you are all aware there was to be a delegation from Trottingham which was to arrive here in order to deliver unto us a few Shrouds and make selections for those to replace their losses. However…it is with the heaviest of hearts we must inform everyone that they were indeed attacked as some theories have rightly already guessed at. No survivors were found at the site, yet Sir Tiffy and his Foxes report that not a single corpse was left behind either and their carriages and personal belongings were burnt to ashes. Signs of a desperate fight were to be seen at the site, located on the High Road going north. The cover-up job was efficient, but still left traces they were still able to pick up on. If any did survive…they are now more than likely the captives of the Duchy of Āider.”

He paused in his speech to allow the murmur of surprise and alarm to ripple through myself and everyone else present in the room. There were surely several voices that were begging to be raised but dutiful honor to proper procedure was winning out, for now, and keeping all voices down to a hissed mutter at the loudest. After taking a drink from a large stone tankard to wet his throat again, he continued in his dour delivery of unfortunate news.

“Yes. I am just as shocked and appalled as any of you are to hear that horrible bit of information. Whatever prompted this attack is at-present unknown, however they were able to happen upon a pair of peasants that were attempting to scavenge what they could from the site of the attack. In accordance with Article-V of the Treatise on the Usage of Signs, the Sign of Axi was used on both of them in order to obtain information relevant to the investigation. Put shortly, neither stallion knew much of anything directly regarding the attack itself, but they had mentioned seeing a gathering of stallions led by a band of Āidernian Witch Hunters in the forest near their village of Woodhurst. They followed behind out of curiosity some distance aways and hid in the trees come the sound of fighting. When everything had calmed down, they ventured down and came across the scene of the massacre finding no corpses to loot and only smoldering ash for the caravan’s physical possessions. All told, all signs and remaining evidence point towards the one singular culprit that has been eying that particular area of land at their shared border for some time now. Whether or not this is truly, without a doubt the situation…we are hoping to find out in due course. However, all this being said, the great question at the tip of everyone's tongue is most likely: what are we to do about this? The short answer…nothing. For there is nothing we can do. If this attack was indeed perpetrated and arranged by the Duchy against Trottingham, then it is unfortunate to have to say it…but those Foxes who fell were merely collateral damage they were willing to risk, by all measures we have been able to fathom at least.”

Almost immediately after he finished speaking, several of those present moved to lift up the decorative hilt and crossguard of their silver swords in order to indicate their wish to speak. Like anyone else here, I had questions burning at the tip of my tongue just begging to be asked…but I trusted the Archmaster to deliver unto us the answers we all sought. A call of inaction such as this was sure to royally piss-off a fair few of those here, yet I for one saw the wisdom in it as it was far more of an attack on Trottingham than it was a challenge of strength against our guild specifically. Of course…that also meant we could be interpreting it backwards and it is in fact the other way around and we were all heavily presenting our bias in public. Yet, given the history of Āider up until the present day, I was willing to bet a hefty purse of Crowns that those fallen Witchers were simply collateral damage caught in the middle; a calculated risk by those Witch Hunters at absolute best as described by the Archmaster. Was the Duchy insane for pulling this sort of harebrained scheme? Absolutely, without a single shred of doubt. Yet even their deluded minds were not so insane as to provoke an open conflict with Kaer Solaris...right…? It was that unknown factor that scared me the most….

“By right of being first to raise, the Council recognizes the sword of Master Bjørn of the School of the Örn.”

The large Örn Master and the three others representing their School had to sit upon the ground level as no seat was large enough for them on the stands. As per tradition, he kept his gigantic sword held aloft in his magic, drawing it from the sheath and pointing the blade skywards, not to be sheathed until he had said his piece or the Council bid him do so.

“Wit' all due respect, Archmaster…th’ absolute crock o’ shite is tha’? Some o’ our own wee Foxes get cut down by them sorry fucks n’ ye want to do nothin’ ‘bout it?! I could raise an army tah punish them Āider dip-shits right here n’ now!”

It went without saying…but there were more than a few volunteers who were only just able to hold their tongues and instead raised a limb to indicate their approval of the notion, official or no. I was inclined to join them…had I not wished to appear to disagree with the Archmaster when the rational side of my mind knew he had every right to preach such a policy of non-retaliation. Āider risked war with Trottingham, yes…but Kaer Solaris getting itself involved would only guarantee broad Equestrian intervention when they would otherwise let the two bicker it out.

“While your passion and frank commitment to our Fallen family members is truly commendable, we simply cannot respond in such a manner as that, Master Bjørn.” Ludovic continued in an even tone. “Everyone, please…I would like to think that we are united in our desire to exact retribution for this kind of attack on some of our own…and my heart truly does go out to all involved. But please, for the love of this Valley we all so dearly love…let us be slow to anger and quick to watch and observe in this time. Āider has been eying that region for decades now so there must be more to this that we have yet to discover. We simply must wait and see what comes next before we respond unduly out of turn and cause something worse to develop than what would have been otherwise.”

“I understand tha’, Archmaster…” Bjørn grumbled back, his sword still unsheathed and held aloft. “Gods dammit, this is unfair! I demand retribution! A Witcher falling to a Daemon be one thing, but wholesale slaughter like it's a damned pogrom?! Fuck that! Āider should burn for this insult! Them and all o’ their cowardly maggot kind!”

“And words like that are precisely why we should not respond thusly, lad…” Sir Tiffy spoke up from a chair beside the Archmaster. “This concerns my homeland, not yours Master Bjørn. Were Āider to make landfall on your Isles then our ability to control the actions taken by your Archmaster King would be exceedingly limited. And indeed, I dare say we would even permit you and any others to travel hence to assist in their defensive efforts if ye so desired to take to the sea. Yet, this is not the same situation as it would be with either of the Isles. A Continental dispute on Equestria’s massive southern border will draw Her Majesty’s eye, have no doubts about that. We must exercise cautious behavior and not respond rashly lest we be the ones to sever the ties of peace between us and take upon that heavy burden of conscience.”

“Aye, this ain't th’ Isles!” Bjørn countered with a haughty snort. “Else our Archmaster would be at the head of a glorious army o’ Witchers n’ fellow kin who be willing to wreak havoc on our thrice-damned enemies! Even th’ damned Störmgŭllans would be smart enough to put down their petty clan disputes if some bigger threat loomed o’er their lil' clump o' Isles!”

“Believe me Bjørn…I would love to do exactly that…” Ludovic responded with a sad, wearied tone as he rubbed his eyes with his paws. “I would be lying if I said I have not been visited by sweet dreams of heading a glorious army of reconquest on the behalf of the Eldar… Yet we are only a few scant hundred strong with another few hundred having not undergone the true Changes like we. A third of our Schools are abandoned, destroyed, turned traitor, or were nationalized by a local monarchy, and the rest are in various states of operation and open contact with Kaer Solaris. Unless you've not noticed, the Griffin, Örn, Thestral, Owl, Manticore, and Lion Schools have had limited-to-absolutely no contact with us since the Cleansing and even sometime before it. We have a force to be reckoned with standing ready here in the Valley, yes. But for those of us here who took part in the Race Wars, of which there are more than a few…you should remember the Witchers who fought did so as part of assembled armies of the Eldar. We simply do not have the numbers for the Council to even feign to consider such a drastic course of action. The days of that sort of armed combat is and should be left behind us until absolutely necessary…and this situation simply cannot be allowed to bloom into such a dire circumstance. The death of two of our own is terrible…but unless you intend to spark another Continental War…you would best do well to ponder over what we have said and sheathe your sword at this time, Master Bjørn.”

The silence was unbearably oppressive upon the ears as we waited with trepidation to see if Bjørn’s instinctual response for vengeance would overrule his reason in front of everyone present. Yet…graciously…the old Örn grunted in defeat with a begrudging nod and sheathed his sword before setting it back into the stand beside his padded cushion on the floor. However, as soon as one sword was sheathed and lowered, a dozen more fanciful crossguards were raised to replace it as the room still yet abounded with eager questions. My own was likewise included in the grand mix of swords, if not to merely voice my own inner opinions since Bjørn had seen fit to voice his already. If anything, I merely wished to say I agreed with the Council on this whole debacle. Alas, my sword was not so quick as that of Violet who had been keeping her sword floating in the air since Bjørn had even begun to speak. To say she had waited her turn was an understatement, yet she seemed wickedly grateful that her sword was noticed first above any of the others. Sir Tiffy had himself a small, quiet chuckle from his chair as the Archmaster acknowledged her long-waiting petition to speak. Or…perhaps it was more a question she wished to pose rather than embarking on a rant regarding the Witch Hunters and the attack itself.

“The Council will recognize the sword of Witcher Adept Violet Keidis De La Croix of the School of the Fox…for a time.” Ludovic said with a soft sigh as he knew as well as Sir Tiffy as to how verbose she could be when flustered with questions or comments. “Please…keep it brief, Violet.”

“Actually, I believe I have a fair approximation as to what young Keidis may be about to ask if I may so answer it for all other Foxes present?” Sir Tiffy asked humbly to which Ludovic wisely acquiesced. “Miss Violet…and to all my wonderful Foxes present here today…King Sheffield has seen fit to ready the Kingdom for another possible territory dispute and perhaps even a violent one this time around. As such, by his right as executive sponsor of our School, and by the Council’s leave, all available Foxes are invited to make the trip to Vulpine Manor immediately as part of a volunteer effort to support Trottingham. The King believes a strong show of reinforced defense could help deter Āider of its ambitions, if for awhile longer whilst he opens negotiations with Canterlot for arbitration on the behalf of its wayward bastard of a vassal.”

“Well…shit.” Violet said with utter surprise in her face and voice. “Um… A-and…you don't see that as potentially sparking the same war we're hoping to avoid? J-just out of curiosity…”

“Yes, this point has been made manifest to us as well during our very lengthy discussion last night.” Grandmaster Iryllith of the School of the Swan interjected softly yet firmly in her melodic Thestral tones. “However, Celestia herself is most privy to the knowledge of Trottingham’s overwhelming command over the School of the Fox as we of the Council all agreed they should rightfully possess. Trottingham has forever been an ally of the Witchers and Eldar alike and have stood with us through thick-and-thin for over five centuries now. We will secrete all Foxes as willing to volunteer for this endeavor across the border via the use of teleportation so as to not raise the suspicions of the Duchy whilst a detachment of the Scouts Elite is making full use of their network to establish a grander picture of this whole blasted affair from within the Duchy. A sealed missive has already been dispatched by courier to Canterlot to inform Her Highness regarding this current state of affairs with her vassal and to refer herself to the particulars in our treaty regarding Trottingham's legal grey-zone. It will undoubtedly infuriate her…but we have deemed the risk of war from such an action to be as minimal as we can make them.”

“Indeed.” Concurred Grandmaster Vísdómir of the School of the Owl, our one and only member of that elusive School far to the east outside of his personal pupil. “Ultimately this will be between the Duchy and Trottingham if we have any say in the matter. That legal grey-zone already mentioned will be bearing a tremendous weight, yet ultimately we are agreeing to allow King Sheffield his right to the Fox’s enhanced protection within his borders. At least until tensions have a chance to uncoil themselves without snapping forward and causing the outbreak of serious conflict between the two nations. After all, this is a defensive build-up in response to territorial threats like any other nation would do in such a situation, Celestia herself has even engaged in such behavior with her own vassals in the east when they grow rowdy with one another. In addition, King Sheffield worded it carefully so as to only call upon willing volunteers rather than a direct issued command for all Foxes far and wide to have audience with the King. This helps shift the level of ‘blame’ about somewhat, so-to-speak. Those already on the Path will each be sent a message via Zamak in due course which will inform them of the current situation as well as the open invitation from Vulpine Manor. Some will join and others will undoubtedly want no part in it and wish to retain their freedom from Trottingham's borders and a possible broader conflict. That will balance things out somewhat as I can think of three-dozen of our number off the top of my head that will want nothing to do with this situation and will seek long journeys far away from here.”

“I…see.” Violet replied, making a move for her sheathe sitting against the stand before stopping and asking, “One…final question then. What is the window for getting to Trottingham without having to seek out a smuggler's route over the border?”

“Do you mean to ask as to how long Sheffield will be accepting his ‘volunteers’?” Tiffy asked with a hint of amusement in his otherwise tired tone. “Unfortunately the window is tomorrow morning or not at all unless you are indeed willing to seek out a smuggler's route to make it through to Vulpine Manor. Already, the borders are being closed down and reinforced as we speak so any passage via the High Road will prove near impossible lest you tread the path westward, but even that is inadvisable given the rough proximity of the Lion's Redoubt. Her Majesty's Witch Hunters will be most on guard for the next few weeks at the very least and patrols will be increased out of sheer paranoia for war alone. You could attempt to slip through via the eastern routes…though I am doubtful they will be passable.”

“Yes, Grandmaster. That is all.” Violet replied after a moment of silence once Tiffy had finished speaking, sheathing her sword fully this time and returning to her seat with a very calmed look of panic in her eyes.

“Any other Foxes with burgeoning questions not covered by Miss Keidis here?” Tiffy asked a moment later as a sea of crossguards immediately raised back up once more to fill the space. “I may as well handle any others while the topic has been raised…ah, Master Irdvin! What may we answer for thee this fine morning?”

A tall Cougar dressed proudly in the black-and-orange armor of the Foxes unsheathed his sword in response to Tiffy’s acknowledgement and stood upright to begin speaking in a deep voice with a soft, growling undertone.

“Thank you, Grandmaster. I petition the Council for the right for others to volunteer alongside us to respond to this ridiculous situation. There are Souls present in this very room who wish nothing more than to assist us in this endeavor as you have already seen for yourself so this is no shortage of defiant spirits. It would be cruel to not permit them the chance to likewise do their part for our longest-standing ally.”

“But of course!” Tiffy replied with an aged chuckle before taking a sip of watered-down wine from a chalice before him. “However, I hope I need not remind thee that such an action, volunteer-based or not, would hardly be as permissible by Her Highness as King Sheffield exercising his right to the Fox School and the Witchers who run it. Regrettably, we simply cannot allow other Schools to participate in this little adventure of ours due to this being a territorial dispute and not proper Witcher’s work. The School of the Fox will temporarily vacate their position as a member of our guild and you will be considered elite commandos of Trottingham’s army to be used as the good King sees fit for the duration of the crisis. We weighed the potential consequences of this move for many hours…and there is simply no clean way out for us. Thus, the situation is forcing us to make such an unorthodox choice as this. As per the will of the Council, we will all be treated with the same respect we are due by virtue of our respective ranks in our guild. We will also retain unofficial aid from Kaer Solaris bringing up our rear and our standing here shall not be diminished so that we may yet call ourselves Witchers in full. Every sign presented to us by this unfortunate situation is pointing towards Āider making moves to expand its western border. Naturally, that is something our treaty with Canterlot strongly prohibits against as the border is to remain where it was set fifty-years ago. Yet…when has Canterlot ruled in our favor in the courts? The last time I am able to readily bring to mind occurred nearly three-hundred years ago when we were granted the Isle of Skyes. Celestia will always take the side of her people, even her wayward vassals openly flaunting their disdain for our treaties…I would be scarcely surprised to see her demand King Sheffield yield up what land Āider wants else face armed intervention. I know I say ‘we’ as if we are all Trottinghamites ourselves, yet were we not all granted honorary citizenship? Shall we not stand firm with our longest-standing ally who likewise has stood firm against three wars to remain our friend? Of course, only those who wish to fight for King and country should undertake such an endeavor…so falter not my friends. All in good time shall we see the dawn to be had on the other side of this whole debacle. And yes, this offer will be extended to all Foxes not permitted in this meeting including Acolytes, Mentors, and their Apprentices if they deem it worth the risk.”

“I…I understand.” Master Irdvin muttered softly in reply before he asked, “And...at what hour will the teleportations to Trottingham occur precisely?”

“As in how much time do each of you have to decide and prepare? We have yet to meet with the members of the Conclave, but we expect it to occur tomorrow at first light if we are at all able to manage it. Tir Ná Liá opens its doors within the hour and we are set to meet with them shortly thereafter. If any complications arise, we will aim for the morning after but we would still prefer to arrive there as soon as we are able as I am sure the King is in dire need of assistance of all sorts. Of course, this is also going off the assumption that we can convince our resident Arcane experts to assist in this matter before the noonday meal…”

“Understood, Grandmaster. One final question, what are the permissions when it comes to the matter of supplementary equipment which might aid us in the event this matter evolves into a quagmire of blood and violence?”

“Do you mean to ask if you may bring along extra weapons outside of our standard equipment?” Tiffy asked with yet another laugh of amusement. “And what is it exactly you wish to take with you down south?”

“A crossbow, Grandmaster. As well as an Örn winged spear I recently purchased which would be most effective against Sentient opponents were it to come to that. I hope it does not, yet all the same these are uncertain times we find ourselves in…an entire School turned tail on we, their kindred, and now have more than likely shed the blood we now mourn in light of this revelation. Where familial blood is shed…surely war is to follow, no?”

“I see you too are expecting armed conflict to occur during this…yes, indeed there is much precedent for what you said regarding fratricide leading to greater conflicts as such a curse does indeed seem to follow such vile actions. Very well, I see no issue with this as it may yet prove necessary, if however unfortunate. Archmaster Ludovic? Have ye anything against this motion at present?”

“No, I most certainly concur with all of which has been said on this matter.” The aging Direwolf replied thoughtfully. “You all have my blessing to take along with you whatever you feel you might require as it may be some time before you are able to leave Trottingham at all. You are, of course, responsible for your own equipment and the weight involved whilst ferrying them about. Make no mistake everyone…the ice we stand upon has always been thin regarding Empress Celestia…and such a situation as this is surely bound to only worsen that for us. As much as I would like to leave our guild's involvement in international politics and warfare behind us…I am beginning to doubt we will see much more of this relative peace we have enjoyed these last fifty-five years. Watch and be ready for what is to come, whatever it may be.”

“Understood, Archmaster. Thank you, we will not let our Fallen comrades die in vain nor bring dishonor to the guild. That will be all, Council.” Irdvin replied honorably before sheathing his sword and taking a seat with a look of a Witcher struck by a lack of sleep; haggard and listless on the surface whilst deep in dark thoughts forming a mire upon the corners of the mind.

After this, Grandmaster Tulka of the School of the Manticore unexpectedly stood to speak, raising his wide, oddly cloven hoof in a gesture to command silence before the aging Camel said, “Harken hence my friends, the words of this old Manticore. Though few of my fellow Schoolmates tarry here within this splendid Valley of green, I see in many here the burning eyes of vengeance of which I have seen far too much of in we Witchers. I look about at all of you proud, noble warrior friends whom I am proud to call my family, no matter the School of your rebirth…and I see the desire to avenge the many countless wrongs which have been wrought upon us. There are our Fallen to avenge, and that of all Eldar who have suffered alongside us, if not suffered more than even we. We who are so lucky and blessed by all the Great Divines we all thank for our daily breath…to live amidst such luxury as we do here amidst this blessed Valley. Ask yourselves all here now henceforth: are ye so willing to risk the innocence to be beholden naught a league from our very walls? And even if we indeed outlast a siege borne from reckless behaviors? What of the Eldar near and far unto us who we are not so readily able to assist? Celestia's accursed Sun touches these lands from one coastline to another, and her reach is akin to the very Abyss which we were reborn by the grace of the Divines to combat. Let not our Path be so clouded so readily by this matter, I implore ye all. There are so many wrongs which need be righted between our peoples…yet let not this be the spark which ignites our combined fury. The stars yet guide our Fates, my Brothers and Sisters of the Changes…let us trust in what their signs foretell from across the Cosmos for us to watch and learn. I have seen them myself…far away from upon the mantle of the Spire in the dead of last evening’s lengthy night. Ill portends such as those they displayed can scarcely be ignored for those with eyes to see and minds of humble thought to understand their meaning. Blood will yet be spilt in abundance once again upon Terra Firma…the true Darkness of the Void has yet to show its horrid face once more from beneath its veil of shadow. Mark my words true this day, all ye gathered present here…war will come. It will not be by us here today that these events begin their path towards the unknown, but carried aloft from places afar as if by an eagle's wings…we simply must not be the source of what misfortunes are to follow. Dark is the future beyond immediate sight…yet our end this need not be if we but allow events to unfold as the stars foretell. Omens never lie, nor should we stand idly by whilst the world shifts about us. Watch and listen…we will yet find our way through this dreary twilight we have endured these many years. We must not upset what events are to unfold with undue recklessness in futile attempts at thwarting Fate…what will come will come and we will face it as it demands, not as we demand it be. Pitied be the sorry fool that thinketh themselves capable of changing anything more than the speed at which their demise may come. Watch and listen, my friends of the Medallion. I have spoken. Let the stars speak for themselves upon the future’s distant horizon at the hour of their unknowable choosing.”

If the stunned, panicked silence of the Archmaster’s message regarding the delegation had not been awkward enough, the one to follow Grandmaster Tulka’s words was like ice in the veins. Though they were masters in arts of Alchemy which went beyond even that of the Vipers, the School of the Manticore had some talent for divination. Indeed, one could say they had figured out what mutagens could foster such abilities and applied them to every Witchling they took through the Changes in the hopes of producing another Sage. The desert expanse surrounding them and their nation offered them breathtaking masterpieces of the night sky upon which their enhanced eyes could spy out the finer workings of the Cosmos. Indeed, the people of Xanthus were accomplished astronomers in a league similar to that of my people and that of the Thestrals themselves; imparting such a love of the stars into their Witchers that nary a one could be found without a fine spyglass of exquisite design amongst their official equipment. Of course, such things were had before their Grand Vizier nationalized the School in 531, inducting them by force to act as his elite soldiers. Now, they took care of the Kingdom's monsters as well as stubborn rivals and rebellious elements alike in equal measure. Given theirs was a hostile takeover which had seen any failing to swear fealty to the Grand Vizier be publicly executed and paraded about the capital of Jigar Talâ…they were not deemed Anathema. What survivors that had survived the assault upon their School and managed to escape with their Oaths to the Path intact had fled far and wide across the Continent. Some tried to retain the memory of the Manticores by establishing a secret coven of survivors amidst the semi-tolerant Sandscale Clan of Dragons living near the Xanthus border with the Golden Dynasty. There, their School endured in a fractured state much like unto the School of the Dragon itself farther to the east. Contact with these surviving Manticores was sporadic as they caravanned across the Eastern Deserts, taking unexpected paths across the sands so as to evade the Vizier when outside of the Crandor Mountains.

Having come from their earliest years as a true Witcher School however, if Tulka said he read true omens of blood upon the stars…only an uneducated fool would dare second-guess such a fortune telling as his. While I was certain his words were meant with utmost sincerity towards our collective calmed reason…I could not deny his was a chilling prophecy to listen to. The room in general was far too dumbstruck to even utter a peep rendering the many quiet thuddings of everyone's hearts around me to become a chorus of nervous drums. The old Camel rarely spoke, even in the midst of Council meetings…to hear so many words from his wise lips was certainly something all of us would do well by adhering to. He glanced about each of us in turn in perfect silence, his golden brown Witcher eyes grayed somewhat by age and holding back a fountain of untold wisdom. There was likely more to his prophetic speech than he was going to openly share with us…yet to receive so many wise words of insight as what he had graced us with…it was at once both a blessed gift to observe, as well as a chilling moment I wished not to relive. Grandmaster Tulka had avoided an early death at many junctions in his life by following the will of the stars which watched over him. I had no talent for Astronomic magic like unto my mother Astrid…yet it was due to my trust in the words of my mother I knew in my Soul to trust deeply in the words of the only Camel within the Solar Valley. Blind faith was not even needed when I had seen the cause-to-effect of following the Fates for myself…my mother had known from the night of my birth I was to become a Witcher. Everything she had done had been to see me charge forth to meet my destiny upon the Witcher’s Path. The stars whispered tales to any with ears to listen and eyes to see their signs…and Grandmaster Tulka’s known grasp of the subject only eclipsed her own. Just like with her those many centuries ago…I was willing to lean upon the wisdom of an elder whose grasp of the Cosmos and their Divine Will stood like the White Fang Mountains themselves, winding vast circles about my own mediocre understanding of it all.

“T-thank you…for those…encouraging words of warning, Grandmaster Tulka.” Ludovic stammered softly as he saw fit to break the Council Chambers of its heavy spell of silence. “I cannot read the stars with nearly the same skill as one of the Manticores…yet in my Soul I feel the deep truth behind his words of caution towards the path ahead. A truth I most agree with as I have already stated the rest of us are to unfortunately suffer the agony of inaction towards such an aggressive action taken against us. We must all of us continue to stay our steel swords within our sheathes, particularly those of us forced to remain behind…which brings me to my next point. There are too many of us dwelling within Kaer Solaris at this time. A goodly few seats are unoccupied amongst you, yet here I witness perhaps a hundred-or-so able-bodied Witchers who are yet able to take to the Path once more. Any truly incapacitated, or otherwise indisposed for legitimate reasons will be permitted to stay as long as they need in order to resolve their injuries or personal business as deemed so necessary. All others…”

He glanced about the room with a knowing look as his intended meaning was clear as freshly cast glass… Having fewer of us congregating in the School during the summer months would hopefully assist in our attempts to show our stance of non-aggression towards Canterlot. Witchers were supposed to slay monsters after all, the many amenities of Kaer Solaris were indeed a blessed luxury as Grandmaster Tulka had alluded to. I knew my rest was not meant to last…yet I had hoped for one more day to soak in the Baths properly, restock on supplies, enjoy the comfort of my own bed, and simply enjoy the homely comforts which the outside world sorely lacked. Canterlot was likely not to take too kindly to anything regardless of how well we approached it…yet it was all we could do in good faith to stay the course we needed to. If Celestia decided towards major action…well, we would simply have to wait and see. Wait…and shore up our defenses and stores of supplies within the Valley were a siege to occur.

“I understand that none of this is good or encouraging news…yet what news has been either of those things since the Cleansing? And even before that we were facing one depressing report after another as the Race Wars raged and we were…most regrettably…dragged into the midst of that madness. We have weathered the storms of the past six centuries with cracks upon all our stone facades…stand firm awhile longer, I implore you all. If war is yet to ravage our lands once more…let it not be we who started it. Omens favor those who heed their warnings and honor their instructions…and we will need whatever Cosmic Will we may garner in our favor to see ourselves through this rising storm on the horizon. Now…I understand there are a great many questions yet stirring within the many beloved faces I too see here like unto Grandmaster Tulka. Yet…I regret to inform you that we of the Council are in desperate need of rest after what we have already long discussed prior to the Council Chambers opening up unto you. I will answer one more question or voiced opinion before I simply must call this Council to a close. All those who were unable to have their sword recognized this morning will be welcome to visit their respective Council member prior to setting out onto the Path. However…I cannot, in good conscience, allow any who are able-bodied to tarry longer than the end of this week before we must command thee to embark for the Path. Please, take what time you need to settle whatever personal affairs as might distract the thoughts whilst upon the High Road…yet I expect your quarters to be unoccupied come Sunday morning. Some time spent Hunting will be therapeutic for all of us…let us honor our Fallen in our hearts during tonight’s Vigil Ceremony, and use that desire to avenge them to wreck some havoc upon the Abyss wherever it may be found. We still have yet to beat back the Abyss and its legions of monsters…the cause of our rebirth is, as of yet, unfulfilled. Let us fuck up its sneering visage and give ourselves some breathing room in a constructive fashion in which we can attack with near abandon. They deserve even less mercy than Equestria's many sins, so let us deliver unto them a fitting end. Rip them, tear them apart if you must…end their miserable existences in the names of the Fallen! Let not their struggles against the Darkness be diminished through inaction! Nolite Timere Tenebras, Tenebrae Timeant Nos!”

‘Fear Not The Darkness, Let the Darkness Fear Us’, part of the closing mantra of the Witcher's Code. Somehow, our Archmaster had ignited a spark of hope within the Council Chambers from the icy tundra of shocked silence which had so gripped us before. We all cheered in response after all of us likewise repeated the phrase, echoing our collective shock and rage about the Chamber’s lofty walls and ceiling as our cheers turned into snarling, furious war cries and tears of past pains and anguish. Neurologically damaged each of us may be, yet we still felt such intense passions as any other being…merely requiring far more in order for the dams to burst. Such noise was hardly pleasant upon the ears…yet the Soul could not help but lose itself to the madness of sensations being let forth from both myself and those around me. The Council, seeing the collective venting of emotions erupting before them, merely clasped their sensitive ears closed and waited out the storm as the tension building up such a static shock between us finally snapped. Eventually…the flood subsided and a river of calm resumed its hold upon our respective composers as wetted eyes were dried and frantic breathing slowed to a calmer state of being. It had been spur of the moment…yet I could not deny I felt so much better to have screamed along with the rest of my fellows in the heat of the moment. The Archmaster himself seemed mighty pleased with the results of his work and opened his mouth once more to speak once it seemed the tide of anxious murmurs had truly calmed more towards normal.

“I am truly blessed amongst Direwolves to be at the head of such a fantastic bunch of hardened bastards like all of you wonderful Witchers. We will entertain one final question before we must adjourn these proceedings. Who shall it be?”

Unlike before, a tepid calm now gripped the room as each Witcher was seemingly struck by deep, personal thoughts which kept them from raising a sword. I had gotten what answers I wanted from this meeting and felt any further questions could be taken up with Master () prior to my departure. As my compatriot in the Viper School of roughly equal skill and talent to myself, he had been so gracious as to take up the mantle as a member of the Council rather than myself. It had been offered to me many a time…yet I craved the Path and the thrill of the Hunt, not the stuffy proceedings of managing the guild. We had locked eyes during the meeting more than once and his was always a stony, inscrutable veneer. Whatever his true feelings were, I would have to learn for myself in private as he kept his mouth shut like unto the other members of the Council who had chosen not to speak. Indeed…I could spy the haggard sleeplessness plain as day upon their stoic faces as they sat before us awaiting their final question. When no others roused themselves from their quiet introspection…I felt compelled to reach for my sword and make my petition to speak.

“Ah, wonderful!” Ludovic laughed softly with a look of relief on his wearied face. “The Council recognizes the sword of Master Frejdá Vilulf of the School of the Viper.”

With as much respect as my nerves tingling with mixed feelings could muster, I dragged the black leather-wrapped sheath from off my silver sword and held it aloft as I opened my mouth to speak. So many eyes could be felt looking in my direction as I did so…and I loathed such a feeling even more than entering Darkmire alone.

“Archmaster, members of the Council and…all my brothers and sisters beside me here today. I love you all from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my Soul. It is not so much a question I have, but rather…a statement of honest thoughts spoken honestly to you all here today. I want the best for each and every one of us here and especially those abroad who are honorably treading the Path amidst its many dangers. That same very Path is our calling and our cause for existence. It is the subject of the Oaths we took upon making the Choice when it had first been offered to us, in whatever century and whatever country we found ourselves in when it happened. The wars of the past three centuries have clouded that Path with racial politics and conflicts over land and culture… I participated in it just as heartily as any of the others here who likewise arranged themselves again and again amidst those marching lines of Eldar warriors. Let us stand blameless before our respective Gods and Goddesses in this matter as Archmaster Ludovic and Grandmaster Tulka both implored us to do. I could of course be speaking to hardened hearts set upon enacting vengeance…yet I hope enough of you have the self respect necessary to restrain yourselves until the Omens come to pass. Who are we to question the signs given us by the Cosmos? That is all.”

While I could have spoken much more regarding my fears towards the future and my resolve to fight the good fight…I had said enough to make my point known. I sheathed my sword quietly and sat down to continue plodding about within the confines of my own mind as the room fell to silence once more. After a few moments to allow us to ponder to ourselves the words which had been spoken in the past half-hour, Ludovic nodded tiredly to everyone and gave a reassuring smile.

“I thank you all for attending this meeting so early in the morning, and I also thank you in advance for doing the right thing in this time of contention and unknowable futures. This Council session is now adjourned, you are all free to return to your tasks and set about getting ready to make for the Path. Remember, we want all able-bodied to vacate the School by Sunday morning until the winter frosts touch the High Road. Keep a wary eye and ear upon the world whilst you traverse it. Relay to us as quickly as you are able any potential goings-on which ye might happen upon whilst on the road. We will be watching and waiting for what is to come with all our senses extended and our wills combined. Steel yourselves against the next few months… I am sure we will all have our fill of vengeance before too long…hold out just a wee bit longer.”

With his closing words gracing us with a soft feeling of anxiety towards the dawn of the coming days spoken of, he stood upright along with the rest of the Council and inclined their heads in our direction. It was a gesture of respect across multiple cultures and bid us farewell in a quiet, humble manner rather than as a barked command to disperse now that the meeting had come to a close. Scarcely half-an-hour had passed since it had even began and already it was over, standing in stark opposition to what I had expected to take several hours at least. The news and my opportunity to speak had pushed back what sleeplessness yet gripped my mind from my sudden awakening, and yet now with the moment having passed, I could feel the corners of my eyes and mind begin to sag and doze. I was slow to rise to my hooves to follow everyone else who had obviously enjoyed more hours of restful sleep than I had, finding my strength to return even my weapons to my back lacking causing it to become a mildly uncoordinated affair. I was not quite the young mare I used to be…and my aging body was letting me know that, even with the mutations, no body was meant to undergo such abuse as what Witchers endured indefinitely. Being Eldar, and a descendant of the biologically immortal Thestral race to boot, I was ensured a rather cushioned elder age compared to the much more fragile Equestrians. Yet…not a single Witcher known had yet to die in their own bed of peaceful old age as of yet. Fate seemingly destined such a death for all of us who perverted our original natures with manufactured mutagens and Arcane rites. Not so much a curse perhaps…but rather something more akin to a contract of sorts. An exchange of one's Soul for power beyond what we would normally be allowed to possess by whatever Divine force nurtured one's individual existence. All of that, and potentially more depending on the School, for an almost guaranteed, rather lonely demise somewhere along the Witcher's Path. Braxia was one such fitting example of countless others who met their match against the Abyss and succumbed to their wounds. And such an end was our desire, at least for most of us…as it meant we had fallen in the line of duty and held our Oaths fulfilled. Honorable and dependable to the very last breath of life.

Of course…there were the Anathema, those Witchers such as the Cats who rightfully stood accused of the crime of Kinslaying. The killing of Sentients in self-defense was already deeply controversial to vehement adherents to the Witcher's Code, yet to commit an act of murder upon a fellow Witcher without just cause was amongst the greatest crimes one could commit. Truly any murder was equally as dire in terms of consequences and punishments issued, yet that sense of family so many of us nurtured now more than ever rendered such an act most vile indeed. As I and so many others saw it…we were all part of one gigantic collective family of all manner of odd sorts due to our extensive mutations. And though a price should never be placed upon the relative worth of someone's blood…I would be unable to deny it if someone were to say Witcher blood was amongst the most valuable in the world compared to the average peasant. Every one of us slain was another relic of an age of strength destroyed and lost forever. A few such wretched Anathema had since fallen to my blade and a good few of the others who had now since exited the Council Chambers; leaving me and a scant few stragglers stuck in muted conversations or otherwise so deep in thought that the world around them ceased to be for a time. Like any extended family…I had those brothers and sisters whom I adored, and those for whom little love was lost between us for one cause or another. And yet…I would willingly fight for nearly each and every single last one of them if it were necessary. And to those who broke that sacred bond of trust felt between most Witchers due to our shared trials and tribulations across the centuries…there remained naught but a cold, bitter, detached hatred. Theirs was a traitorous blood already considered long-forfeit, their bodies merely walking corpses that had yet to receive their final coup de grâce as the Yonderlandians liked to put it. A treacherous road lay ahead for all of us and my heart went out to those Foxes who would inevitably be setting out to answer the call at Vulpine Manor. And as much as I hated to admit it...I wished that I too could accompany them into the unknown with the knowledge my quiet thirst for vengeance would be sated somewhat.

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