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

Before long, we found our conversation placed on hold as our hooves became bound for the door to the Laboratorium directly below us in the most straightforward path to our destination. We all set off in a companionable silence down the stairs to the Upper Courtyard, doing our utmost to keep our eyes and ears to ourselves and away from any others nearby. With the School day reaching towards its closing hours, those who had gathered surely all had duties to return to and our watching crowd graciously dispersed. Before long, we had reached the relative safety of the shallow steps leading to our door and down into the steep underground stairway. Carved through the natural basalt and paved over with granite bricks, several passages diverged along the warmly-lit stairs down to the Laboratorium proper. Their paths snaked through the upper regions of the Holy Mount in order to connect with other passages, rooms and halls all carved underground. At the first landing, two paths diverged to either side leading to the private quarters of those auxiliary staff supporting the Instructors living at the School full-time. Additional rooms for those visiting Instructors who rotated out bi-annually, like unto the honorable members of the Knights of the Eclipse, were also similarly fashioned on this floor. The second landing further down was our intended fork in the proverbial road; the path to the right leading to the heated bathing pools as well as the Infirmary located beneath the Reliquary. The path left meanwhile led to an extensive Herbarium for the dry-storage of Alchemy ingredients, as well as lending access to the tunnel leading into the base of the pit of the Gauntlet. The stairs ahead led further down to a true Alchemist’s playground of glassware, tomes, charts, rare ingredients and professional equipment. The Laboratorium here in particular was most famous amongst our guild for being from whence the first Trials regarding the mutagenic Grasses took shape. Even with those forcibly taken from us, our Alchemy equipment had been left mostly intact allowing us to continually ply our trade with the highest-grade tools available.

In truth, there were two other lesser laboratories located on the School grounds, both lacking the size, prestige, and extensive range of expensive mastercrafted equipment as the primary site. One of these lesser laboratories was posted near to the Alchemy lecture halls meant for burgeoning students of the craft to use in the practical applications of their lessons. The second, and admittedly extremely specialized, laboratory was for the exclusive use of the School’s attending Arcane-users of rank for the private pursuit of their own projects. As to be expected, such projects were always in a great abundance with such brilliant minds igniting the sparks of experimentation behind them. Located in a pocket dimension of purely magical origin, this exclusive laboratory was tied to the School, yet could only be reached by those with the power and knowledge to open the portal. Of course, the equipment and supplies present in their lab were highly-specialized towards the matters of the Arcane rather than the broader natural sciences explored by our studies in Alchemy. As a result, one could still find the occasional Sorceress or Mage slaving away in the main Laboratorium before vials, tomes and other personal implements in the private chase after whatever it was in the natural world which had caught their interest. Naturally of course, these 'visiting' masters of the Arcane kept to themselves and were even known to project opaque shield spells laced with muffling charms about their workspace so as to prevent any undue interruption. Whether or not their pet projects were of any worth to the School or guild at large, we allowed them to ply their experimentations as they would. Within moral reason of course. Like the University further south of Kaer Solaris, we too entirely forbade what could universally be acknowledged as 'illegal' and/or 'immoral' by anyone with a lick of compassionate Sentience in them. Thusly, you were never to see cages of tortured lab animals nor enormous tubes of fluid pickling Sentients alive within their confines anywhere near our Valley. Our reputation with Equestria and her subservient allies was already sullied enough by bad actors. The last thing any of us wished for was to engage in such debauchery on our own sacred soil.

There were two further rooms even below the Laboratorium itself. Split into two-halves separated by a heavy Dimeritium-iron door, the space was now utilized far differently than it had in ages past. The Hall of Changes had been the birthplace of countless Wolf Witchers over our guild's many centuries of operation, yet had grown silent ever since the Cleansing. The half of the room into which the stairway immediately entered was lined on either side with small, simple bedrooms with iron-banded doors that had once played home to recovering Witchers who had survived their Trial of the Grasses. Behind the bulky door separating the two-halves, the true Hall of Changes resided with the majority of its floor caved-in, and its precious contents absconded with by the Empress and her Witch Hunters during 'negotiations'. Ever since the last true Trials were performed mere months before the Cleansing, the great door was sealed shut against all intrusion while the location of the key was likely known only to Celestia herself. With the Trial of the Grasses having resumed in a much reduced capacity in order to produce new Witchlings, the individual recovery rooms that had survived intact had been repurposed. Now, they each were the site of each Witchling's final round of mutagenic teas; the harshest round for any of them to survive as it was in that moment the strongest compounds were infused into their system. The chances of death were only two-to-three in ten which were comparatively better odds than the four-to-five chances in ten associated with becoming a full Witcher with the most perfected of brews. Still...lives were inevitably lost, even in the strongest of prospective Witchlings as genetics were never fully in our control to direct and reshape to our will. And...even with the great door to the old Hall of Changes sealed tightly shut for over half a century now, folks would still occasionally report...disturbances. The haunting, twisted cries and gut-wrenching shrieks of those poor, unfortunately unlucky Souls to whom the Changes did not proceed smoothly. Even I could still remember some of the twisted, horribly malformed bodies which had taken most negatively to the mutations reshaping their bodies... The Trial of the Sword and the many, many months of progressively mutating as a Witchling were all to give our bodies the best possible chance at survival. Yet in the end, it was always up to chance whether or not you made it through the other side. If only the Hall of Changes at Kaer Nathair had been so luxurious as those at Kaer Solaris...perhaps the School of the Viper would have seen better odds for survival.

All of these rooms and passages below ground had been expertly dug out by the Valley's local Clan of Direwolves prior to having the finer touches like brickwork and support columns being installed by Pygmy masons. Indeed, Direwolves excelled naturally at digging through solid stone as they, like their ancestors before them, dug out their own caves within the White Fang Mountains. Their mighty paws and nails yielded not to the stiffness of stone but made it fall away like it were chips of brittle shale as they dug through solid rock like it were mere dirt. So too were the multiple passages beneath the School no exception to this. The Solar Clan's most talented diggers had been recruited from the moment Kaer Solaris became Equestria’s last refuge for Witcher-kind while their efforts began and were completed with great gusto and enthusiasm. Within a matter of weeks, the new Barracks was fully carved out and ready for fine brickwork and other furnishings as needed to turn these caves into proper rooms and tunnels. Not only that, but numerous extra small bedrooms had been carved out as well for those Masters and Adepts as couldn’t be housed in the Master’s Tower. In less than six months after the last chunk of basalt was dug out by paw, the last stone was laid in its place and the field of tents occupying the Valley below began to vanish; their occupants moving graciously into their new lodgings inside and beneath the School. The arduous work had proceeded day-and-night entirely unabated, with hundreds of skilled and willing minds coming together to make use of the abundant real estate that lay in the sizable space below the School’s foundations. Geomancy spells had more than proven we had over a thousand meters of safe space in which to dig before we even reached the magma-laced heart of the volcano. Indeed, there was still yet more space they could dig into in order to further expand our capacity were it necessary sometime in the future. Like unto the rest of the School, there was a very homely feel even so far underground as the lighting was bright and the air was graciously cool, but not chill. Graceful brass lanterns containing glowing Sunstones occupied recessed alcoves at regular intervals along the walls, providing gentle light to the passage. They were likewise accompanied and augmented by small chandeliers of glowing white crystals like those in the Archives dangling from the vaulted ceiling above.

Like much elsewhere in the School, the walls had been thickly plastered over and played home to sprawling murals which filled in all the available space between each lantern alcove. In all, they formed an amalgamation of multiple Eldar’s personal histories woven into one interconnected story of our combined lives as they had once been long ago during the Age of the Moon. Others passed us by as we walked, all too occupied with their own conversations to give more than a passing apology if one accidentally bumped into us as they passed. Those who did take a pause to acknowledge us were returned a hurried reply of greeting as none of us wished to break pace, or sacrifice the rest of our afternoon to conversations which could drag on till late evening before we knew it. Needless to say however, every face we passed this far underground was in some way directly affiliated with the School itself, either as a Witcher/Apprentice or as one of the many serving staff who were allowed to mingle with us whilst off duty if they so chose. Graciously there were few efforts made to overly police behavior at Kaer Solaris as all who called it home took pride in what we had managed to salvage through the Cleansing. As a community, we each felt the responsibility to maintain the comfortable status-quo we had managed to establish after the sordid events of that fateful day. As a direct result, the School Guard were rarely, if ever, called upon to settle a matter of unruly behavior or otherwise; let alone the Archmaster from upon the Judgement Seat at the head of the Great Hall. After a minute or two of hurried steps alongside one another in our haste, pushing open a simple iron-banded wooden door at the end of the hall provided a right bedlam of noise with which to fill one's thoughts and ears. Indeed, few things were better in some moments for quieting racing thoughts and emotions than engaging in a public atmosphere that reeked of comfort and contented patrons.

Beyond its threshold lay the ever populous Hall of Pools, commonly referred to as simply the Baths; a multi-chambered grand auditorium dedicated to cleansing the body of grime and the mind of worry. Given our grueling profession, and the many daily stresses assaulting Apprentices and Masters alike from all sides, most with any amount of free time allotted them could be found down here participating in one of several amenities on site. Arranged around a sizable stone pool of lukewarm spring water were a set of six smaller chambers set into the walls, each sporting various temperate pools of their own based upon preference. These featured a range of temperatures from icy waters piped in from the White Fang glaciers in a pool to my left, to a pit of pure molten magma from the volcano below far to my right, reserved especially for those capable of enjoying such intense heat like Dragons and Direwolves with their fur blessed by divine fire-resistance. Around the central pool itself were over a dozen decoratively carved stone slabs, generously furnished as they were with padding for comfort. Their paying occupants were thus attended to by one of several professional massage therapists living on School grounds, plying their trade to a grateful clientele-base in deep, constant need of their professional services. A steam chamber existed here as well, though it was housed above the central pool as a freestanding room built directly off the ceiling and accessed via several rope ladders which dangled into the pool below. Occupants normally exited via a graceful dive into the water, while arseheads liked to ball-up upon impact with the water so as to rudely splash any caught nearby. Continuing the theme in Kaer Solaris, the walls here too were far from barren stone and instead were rendered the canvases by which many talented artists decorated our School with scenes and people from our great history. Murals of past Witchers of note were naturally by far the most popular subject of artistic representation, and one did not have to go far in order to find bits of our combined histories brushed in paint or chiseled in wood and stone.

The First Century in particular were honored here in the Hall of Pools as each and every original Witcher found their place somewhere on the abundant high walls; their visages still yet graciously known thanks to engravings from the day which survived in the protective walls of the Archives. All of them were heroes in our eyes, every last mare, stallion, Dragon, Örn, Direwolf and all the other Old Hunters as had survived the first ever Trial of the Grasses. Each vibrantly colored mural depicted them all in various acts of slaying Daemons, rescuing villages, bestowing cures on cursed individuals, guarding caravans of pilgrims through dangerous territory, and otherwise receiving triumphant parades and feasts in their honor amidst the glory days of old. The great domed ceilings of the central pool hall, and its surrounding smaller chambers on the other hoof were reserved for the celebration and honoring of the grand Cosmos, from which we all gave thanks for our very existence regardless of religion. Elaborate constellations of stars and distant planets wove several fantastic still mosaic images of the majestic night sky. A grand mosaic of cut moonstones formed the majestic Moon itself which took center stage on the ceiling above the largest pool, casting its reflection forever in the crystal clear waters below. Ever we tried to keep in mind from whence we came, and the Void which had once occupied the space we now lived in. The precious balance of life and death, Light and Dark…everything that had once been under the Age of the Moon which fewer and fewer of the Eldar could claim to have seen for themselves. Even I, at five-hundred and twenty-nine years of age, had still missed the tail-end of the Age of the Moon by a full century and a quarter. It was so long ago so as to be ancient history for most, with even biologically immortal races such as Thestrals now considering them fading memories of yore. The ancient wars and battles of those days which marked some pages of our histories now felt ever more insignificant compared to the scale of the Equestrian threat to our way of life. Petty squabbles over borders which had once swept across hundreds, even thousands of leagues of territory unbroken between our races… All of it meant close to nothing outside of how those events shaped our respective peoples during the Age of the Moon.

Some ways around and past the circular central pool of decorative stonework sat the changing rooms, as well as one of several lavatories found throughout the School. With the advent of ‘civilization’, the native fur, scales, feathers and such with which we were born oft found themselves covered by one or more articles of clothing so as to hide our veritable nakedness from sight. Whether it were the gold-stitched frock of a noble, the humble sackcloth tunic of a peasant, the silken robe of a Sorceress or the armor of a soldier (or Witcher), to wear clothing was to further affirm Sentience to oneself as well as to one's neighbors. Here in the Baths however, wearing clothing only made cleansing oneself far too difficult to do properly, and so we would ditch our robes, armor and otherwise in open cubbies lining the walls of the changing room. Once all was in place, a spectral shield of magic activated along the outer frame to protect its contents as, though rather uncommon, petty theft of personal property between students was not unheard of. Like the pools outside, the changing room was equally boisterous with the noise of friendly chatter as the folks around us conversed whilst in various stages of dress and undress. It was a rather socially comfortable atmosphere for what could otherwise prove an awkward situation, given it had long ago become a social taboo to ditch ones clothing in public. Those with lust in their hearts (which admittedly was most Witchers courtesy of continual rampant hormone production) could stare under tails to their heart’s content with consenting parties, yet sex itself was not allowed in the Baths. Rather, it remained the purview of a private bedroom with a muffling charm or within the confines of a brothel of ones choosing. We were all here to relax, socialize with friends, and altogether leave our worries at the door as we enjoyed the bounteous warmth provided by volcanically-heated hot springs. And perhaps the Baths acted as the place wherein interested parties for sex might enter into conversation with their next partner, yet it still remained an almost sacred space of sorts. Not one dedicated to any Gods or Goddesses, but merely to the broad concept of rest and relaxation as only the Baths could provide us.

By and large, there was little distinction made within the Hall of Pools regarding status or rank as Instructors, Mentors, students, various other staff and servants alike all participated in the joyous location and amenities. The cubbies were all first-come, first-serve save those in a private room towards the back reserved for the Archmaster, the Grandmasters of the Council, and the occasional esteemed guest of the School, as well as their entourage should one accompany them. As none of us, myself included, numbered amongst the Grandmasters of our guild, we were all made to be content with contending with others for open cubbies to use. In the end, we managed to find three of them all in an unbroken line beside each other that we opted to stop and use. Violet and Topaz…well, I would be most untruthful if I refrained from admitting they were beautiful mares in their own rights; a fact only made more apparent as they each stripped off their armor and other clothing. Not wishing to be caught staring myself, I quickly followed suit and began the process of undressing from my many straps and overlapping layers of defense. Before long, the light flush of redness to my face had faded into the concentration of taking everything off in the correct order as many pieces could not be removed until other specific ones were taken off first. One by one, my gear fell away from my body before being neatly folded and placed inside the cubby with my metaphorical name on it. By the time I had removed my under-tunic and pulled my boots from off my hind legs, the two of them were already fully naked and hovering their hooves in the threshold of their cubbies, bonding the individual shields to their lifeforce. With space enough for our longswords to fit as well as any abundance of gear we may be carrying, I at last was able to set the last of my equipment away and bond my signature with the shield to my cubby. All the while, other groups of friends and members of staff mingled freely with one another amidst the warm air wafting through the halls via the system of vents and pipes. We were far from the only ones spending time with the people we enjoyed the company of and indeed, the only truly missing element was an abundance of food and drink for personal enjoyment. Regrettably, these were forbidden from the Baths so as to save the cleaning staff the hassle as well as limit contaminates from being introduced into the various pools. Save of course one, yet nothing outside fire-blessed hides could survive the plunge.

Once we were all good and free of our clothing and armor, we obtained a set of towels each from a male Hippogriff in the white and red robes of the School, prior to setting off back into the main Hall of Pools. The noise of dozens of happy, friendly voices all conversing loudly echoed about the lofty rooms, complimenting the pleasantly warm, moist air. With our robes, tunics, armor and otherwise now removed, it neared impossible to try and identify student from Mentor from staff outside of recognizing individual faces. Everywhere there was to look was in some way occupied by smiling, relaxed faces and I gazed softly in longing towards the fully-occupied massage tables. One Griffiness in particular, a stunning pink Galah-headed masseuse by the name of Rosalia Rosefeather, I could not help but melt under when she set to work with her skilled talons. Regrettably, her time was already booked up by a large Lynx who dozed lazily under her kneading knuckles pressed deep into his or her lower back. Much as I envied them, I knew better than to pine away after something that was first-come, first-serve unless an appointment had been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. Whoever it was had beat me to my favorite set of talons and I would have to seek out her wondrous skill set sometime later. Indeed, as I glanced around I could easily see each and every single place was already in use and a visible cue of waiting patrons loitered nearby, barring me from finding quick service. Instead, I followed after the pair of Adepts as they seemingly picked up some conversation they had left on a table somewhere before I met them again.

“You still owe me for that game of knucklebones Tope.”

“And?? I'm gonna pay you, don't get your tail in a knot over that now of all times.”

“I hear that fuckin' purse of yours jingling every time we head down to Redclaw, so why haven't you yet?”

“You're just doing this because she's here and you're hoping she'll take your side in this.”

“Maybe, but the fact is you're in debt to me fifty Crowns and a few silvers. Anytime I bring this up, you always get after me for it ‘not being the right time' or whatever shite you want to feed me that day. I parsed you a loan and you promised to pay it back in full. Are you going to play nice or am I going to have to slit your purse myself and take what you owe from off the pavers in full public view just to get my dues?”

“Why are you…? Oh! This is for the clipped Arteria roots I gave you, isn't it?”

“...you know what, no. But now that you've reminded me about that, I'm going to up that debt to a hundred Crowns even, and not a fuckin' copper less.”

I hovered between wanting to interject in some way, if only to pose some very intrigued questions, and keeping silent and thus free of the argument on either side. Graciously, my attention was allowed to be diverted for a moment from the bickering duo as we approached the rim of the mildly scalding pool located in the fourth out of the six side chambers. Each chamber was roughly the same dimensions as the other and were no more than mere, shrunken down copies of the central hall. At roughly seven-meters in diameter and incrementally increasing in depth to six meters at the center, the steam slowly curling its way towards the lofty roof above was thick and easily visible as we approached. The walls surrounding each pool sported long sections of padded marble benches alongside a short shelf some ways above for the storage of towels and other personal items not already left behind in the changing room cubbies. As like everywhere else in the Hall of Pools, we were spending more than a few seconds in finding an open place in the pool we could occupy together. Most faces around us I knew all too well with the only unfamiliar ones belonging to those newer members of the serving staff I’d little contact with, or numerous members of the School Guard who came from all walks of life and rotated in-and-out of active service regularly. Between the pools were crisscrossing lines of shallow troughs which drained water shed from those who emerged from any of the pools positively sopping wet. Meanwhile, exceedingly hot air from the magma flows below was channeled beneath the stone tiles of the Bath's flooring in order to keep them comfortably warm underhoof. Likewise, more heat was vented into the Hall of Pools from multiple angles both high and low in order to maintain a comfortable temperature so far underground. When one chatty group was gracious enough to huddle their gathering a little closer together, we slid into the narrow space along the rounded stone rim of the pool next to one of several troughs feeding fresh hot water in through covered channels in the floor.

Immediately, a groan or gasp of pleasure and relief escaped from each of us as the hot water rose up from our hind-hooves as we lowered ourselves in; my own eyes clenching tightly shut as the feeling of grandiose, magnificent warmth enveloped my being and thoroughly soaked my coat. Shallow, angled grooves in the stone wall of the rim and a raised plinth which ringed the pool acted as a place to sit, allowing most bodies to recline somewhat in comfort against the warm stone. It was far from a mattress of down feathers, but with the weight of one's body reduced by its buoyancy in the water, I could lay my head back somewhat and sprawl out my legs comfortably. And indeed, I truly relished in the heat penetrating deeply into my muscles and joints which, while not overly fatigued, welcomed the warmth most graciously anyway. Violet and Topaz continued their little debt spat in a more hushed tone than before, given the others attempting to converse around us, but I had not the effort, nor the ears willing to listen in and take up a side as was their wont. I had come to the Baths to rest and relax, not to play the part of arbiter for their dispute nor to play advocate to one side or another. Fifty Crowns was a hefty sum by all accounts to owe anyone, though it was hardly life-threatening to either of them or their personal wealth. Violet was attempting now though to press her attack regarding some Arteria roots now that it had been seemingly brought back to her mind. It was a rare plant by all accounts that would keep itself eternally fresh long as it was pulled from the earth, root and all. The moment its flesh was cut by anything more than a sliver, the sap within would immediately begin to oxidate throughout, rendering the whole plant useless within a matter of hours. Whatever the exact issue was, I wished to be left outside of it and ensured so by immediately setting off towards the center of the pool and diving downwards towards the safety of the bottom.

By grace of our greatly expanded lung-capacity and diaphragm control, the average Witcher could spend upwards of five-or-six minutes on average underwater on a single breath. Naturally, larger species like Dragons and Örn could beat any Equine or similarly smaller species when it came to natural lung capacity, yet the expanded capacity was a terrific boon on its own anyway. With the aid of the Killer Whale Potion, whatever time the Witcher normally had would be further increased by a factor of three-to-five, depending upon the strength of the Potion brewed. I had a mind to sip some before climbing in, but I decided against it for now and rather dove several meters down to a shallow pit occupied by a second, smaller ringed bench. Down here, small intake vents in the stone floor peeled away old water which had pooled at the lowest point to make way for fresh water being piped in through the troughs above. As such, it made the perfect place for those of us who wished to truly scrub ourselves down from grime to go about doing so. With brushes, sponges and other implements in abundance around the seating ring, connected by golden chains to small stakes hammered into the stone, one only needed wait for a turn at the specially formulated soap in order to properly bathe. The formula used ensured a thick, cleansing lather could be built up on one's person, even when fully submerged, using a bit extra friction than would normally be needed for typical soap of lye. The end result this day was a flowery scent of carnations, one of many of their scents which clung to one's fur for hours afterwards. And all this was gently underbrushed by the sweet scent of apples and spice, all mingling amidst the soap that even our waterlogged nostrils could detect whilst underwater. The Soapers down in the Valley, which produced our fine personal hygiene products locally, took great pride in their work, and continually changed their offerings as new discoveries in perfumes and natural scents came to the fore. Not only that, but as well as anytime when new brews and spells which cleansed better than those already known were discovered as they dabbled in their craft. Popular scents could be restocked in the pools (save the magma of course) by popular demand, however they saw fit to bring us a new formula almost every week as their best testbed was a diverse populace which was most prone to getting extremely dirty in creative ways. Once finished scrubbing, lathering and all else that needed doing, one would then swim down into the center of the seating pit and wash it all away. After being thusly used, the formula ensured all soap which came off was ever-so denser than the water around it. And so, it would sink to the bottom and be whisked away by the vents through more piping to be filtered out and returned to the aquifer after some time was spent cooling it back down by mixing it with glacier runoff. The heat of the water also likewise grew somewhat in the depths of the pool, meaning not all who went below were there purely to scrub themselves clean. Instead, some would take their time whilst occupying a space on the bench with their eyes closed simply enjoying the all-encompassing warmth. Were it not for the others going about their business about you, one could almost imagine they were entirely alone with naught but the bounteous warmth for company in the watery depths.

Indeed, despite my earlier choice not to, I gave into the inviting warmth after giving myself a proper cleaning and coming up for a fresh gulp of air. I loathed having to leave the water so soon, yet the warm pervasive air of the Baths helped cushion the blow of clambering back out of the pool in search of the tall, fancifully shaped crystal flask housing the orange concoction. The brew…well, there was no getting around the (typically) all-encompassing taste of bitter dryness most Witcher Potions were accompanied by. Nor the urge to wretch each and every time one had to be imbibed, even those few such as Golden Oriole and White Honey which were comparatively much sweeter on the tongue. My eyes watered and my mouth was sapped of moisture as the slightly viscous fluid sloshed across my tongue and the taste/aftertaste reared their twined ugly heads one after the other. It only took a moment before a familiar thudding feeling began in my veins which was my sure sign the brew was beginning to take hold of my system. Each breath seemed to begin wandering into my lungs at a long, steady pace as the beat of my heart slowed so as to reduce oxygen consumption. With the Potions' effects now enacting their changes in my body, I found it fit to return to the water via a graceful dive; leaping over the heads of those sat in, or around the edge of the pool fearing not that I'd lose my Medallion in the splash. I, nor any other Witcher or Acolyte for that matter, needed worry about a strong current, gust of wind, or even an enemy hoof being able to snatch our Medallions or Pendants from off our necks or waists. Indeed, once a Medallion was activated and bound to a Witcher's lifeforce, it could only be removed by the Witcher themselves, and only if they so chose. Any attempt to remove the chain from around their neck without their consent would inevitably lead to the Guardian making a very wrathful appearance if there was any life still left in them. Of course...the Guardians of Acolytes and Witchlings were mere shadows of those bonded to fully-mutated Witchers with strength in abundance both physically and spiritually...yet, the effect was still the same.

Beneath the surface once more, the sounds of those around me were all pleasantly muffled by thousands of gallons of spring water and I found time at last to properly meditate on the bottom of the pool. It would have greatly disappointed my Mentor if he learned I had skipped my daily prescribed meditations thrice now, yet I was an aging mare with a growing appreciation for the comforts of sleep and relaxation. Since coming home to the Valley, a great pit of unease which set in anytime I entered Equestrian territory had finally faded back into memory, and restful sleep now came easily once again. Now however, I had a few minutes to truly calm my racing thoughts as best I could in the tranquility of the moment. For as long as I could hold my breath of course, yet having drunk the Potion I was ensured up to near a half-hours’ worth of air. It had been five months and a few weeks since I had last had the pleasure of enjoying such bounteous warmth. Even I was astounded at just how quickly it felt like my body had grown unaccustomed to the sensation as it wasn’t as if it had been years between my dips in the Baths. Indeed, the best alternative I had gotten whilst on the Path thus far in the year were the Springs of Shale, located off the High Road some ways before the village of Hollyhock. Had I not discovered Braxia’s remains and returned early, it would have likely been another hundred or so leagues before I found a suitable reservoir of water to relax in. That of course was barring any torrential downpours along the way which were becoming ever more frequent in correlation to the Abyssal threat disturbing our world. That said, I welcomed the isolation I could experience by merely shutting my eyes, and keeping my limbs to myself despite the others around me all moving about as they would. Thoughts of the fight crept back into my mind unprompted, tugging at my gut with feelings of inadequacy and shame before I was able to drift my thoughts along to something happier. I would be feeling the soft sting of that fight for some time...even if I had not been exactly at fault for what had happened.

Graciously, happier thoughts of the past came to me as I forced my mind to wander away from reminiscing on my fall from the Pendulums over and over again. Memories of days long past graced my presence like kind old friends I knew and loved, dearly paying a short, fleeting visit in the recesses of my mind. In fact, there were plenty of people whom I truly missed so dearly as that… Ghosts of the past who were robbed from me (and the world) far too soon for the caliber of people they were in life. There had been a long stretch of time wherein Witchers almost never fell in the line of duty to the swords and machinations of Equestrian hooves, but rather perished in the midst of a monster den or a Daemon’s Nest. I had even lived through the latter-half of that glorious era of Witcher expansion myself… Born physical witness to the tail-end of our Golden Age, wherein Hunts were regularly undertaken in the royal name of Kings and Queens as esteemed, respected experts in our profession. The feasts, banquets and public parades of triumph…the legions of auxiliary staff each School and Kingdom recruited in order to handle the sheer work-load heaped upon us in droves… Once our guild truly got its legs under itself and began to gallop out of the gate, the Abyssal tide had finally been stymied and its twisted denizens slain in heaps and droves. The monster population was undoubtedly somewhat worse in those days as there were fewer of us to go around…yet the last fifty-some years since the Cleansing had only allowed their numbers to swell like never before. The Solar Flares of that day had shocked Terra Firma to her core and even deeper beyond that… It was little wonder as to why the Abyss was swelling in strength beneath us and amongst us like never before. Try as I might, I was simply unable to fight off remembrances and visions of yore amidst the rambling thoughts clouding my mind. Without even meaning to, my thoughts, coddled by an extensive gulp of air courtesy of a dose of Killer Whale, drifted off truly into the well of memories like unto a waking dream.

‘Hail Fredjá! What news from the north?’

‘Oh, no more than the usual dour nastiness as we’ve come to expect from a region long-ago abandoned to its own devices. The Ravens are doing what they can…but they can only cover so many places at once. Did you receive my missive regarding the Cockatrice den which Master Ōnar and I happened upon whilst passing through the Bridgeshire province?’

The scene was almost as vivid as when it had occurred, sometime in the early autumn of 323 when I was still a Witcher Adept having yet to claim a Hunt worthy of the title of Heroic. In those heady days, Adepts could meet all other requirements such as having survived sixty-five consecutive years on the Path, and a passing grade on the Five Tribulations, yet find themselves short of attaining the rank of Master Witcher. A Heroic Hunt on official record was necessary in order to truly qualify for the lofty title. A magnificent performance in the line of a Witcher's truest duty to the benefit of the general populace, whether they knew it or not.

‘Nay’ Replied the faded image ofBarlgāl, the Viper School's Chamberlain in that time. ‘Praytell, of what scope is this den?’

‘Brood of nigh-on forty strong, over half of which were fully-fledged adults in the prime of maturity. The rest were hatchlings, hatched sometime within the last half-year or so based on the pinfeathers, and the underdeveloped eyes we accounted for after we had cleared it out together. Seems they had a habit of hunting the local wildlife and were slowly encroaching towards the town walls. Likely still a few months or years off, but we would undoubtedly be receiving a real Contract to take of them eventually. And likely more to us than the School of the Swan for obvious reasons.’

‘I see…wouldn’t be too much longer and they’d start preying on the townsfolk then it sounds like. And yes, I doubt the good citizens of that region would much like even one Thestral too many wandering about near their homes. Where was this den of Cockatrice found precisely?’

‘About…fourteen-leagues southwest of the Bovine Plateau? In a stretch of forest marked by many rocky hills some league or so off the High Road passing through the region. It is truly a wonder they never attempted to make any violent moves towards any of the caravans traversing the highway... I marked the map upon my Codex precisely where if you would like to see it for yourself.’

‘Nay, I dare say we trust you at your word by now dear Frejdá. That will suffice for now. If Master Ōnar is willing to co-sign on your behalf, then I will have drawn up a Class-3a Contract in your names and take down his accounting of the Hunt before sending one of the Scouts to witness the site directly. The least we can do is ensure you both get compensated something for your efforts for a brood of that size.’

It was such a different time in those days that it was rather difficult to even believe any of it had even happened at all, even in spite of having personally lived through it myself. Class-3 Contracts, specifically type 3a, were still on official record as valid documents by the Chamberlain’s Office of Kaer Solaris, yet had become quite rare indeed. Nowadays, to engage in a Hunt which was stumbled upon in the wild without a prior Contract, one obtained through the normal channels of Zamak communication, rarely came with any pay. Outside of what Alchemical or crafting materials as could be salvaged from monster dens and the corpses left in our wake, finely-minted coins fresh from a cozy Treasury were just not in the stars usually. That is just what was expected of a Witcher in most cases when happening upon a problem that went without documentation. We were to subdue threats like those out of the goodness of our hearts and our duty to the Path unless local affected parties offered a reward on their own. While it was not an inherently bad policy at heart, it did hurt our own bottom line come our other expenses both while on the Path and off it. If a particular chance-encounter Hunt occurred which one felt was deserving of some actual pay, the documents still existed to try and petition for it. Along with most of the other checks and balances in place to ensure said Hunt was worth a payment from the Treasury.

‘You are most kind to offer that service to me willingly!’ I had replied with humbled surprise. ‘To petition for one otherwise would have taken days, even with Master Ōnar’s name alongside mine on the appropriate documents.’

‘Likely more unto weeks than days…’ His words echoed in my mind and shrouded in tender nostalgia. ‘Her Highness Celestia has seen fit to further cut away at our monthly grant from her Treasury. Loans have naturally been extended with assuredly lenient rates of interest…yet this School cannot shoulder yet more debt eating away at our scattered income. The Archmaster’s Council has all-but dissolved since you two have been away. Many of the Grandmasters, and even the Archmaster herself, have departed the School for the Path in order to assist with bringing in more coin to better stabilize our dismal budget.’

Oh the financial woes of Kaer Nathair…and ever more so that of the petty Kingdom which first sponsored us. The School itself had been made the inheritor of much of the massive piles of debt the Kingdom of Āider took upon itself to fund the construction of the School of the Viper. With loans parsed from several Equestrian banking clans, the King saw fit to attempt to bolster his ego on the world stage and take his Kingdom to greater heights. While the true cost was never fully revealed to me by anyone with the proper knowledge, each and every Chamberlain who took up the mantle at the School reportedly blanched in terror at the number seen on the ledgers. A political stunt through-and-through by King White ‘The Braggart’ Birch, his application for his first round of many loans occurred during the same year the Order of Witchers were first displaying their prowess to the world. By the time of my Apprenticeship in the Viper's Bastion, the Kingdom had already defaulted once in its loans and for a second time only a few years after I'd survived the Changes and graduated. By the time I had seen my fifteenth-year on the Path, the Kingdom was entirely bankrupt top-to-bottom, and found itself the victim of a rampant, and very sudden, outbreak of Dragon Pox. By the end of 171, the Kingdom was entirely, and utterly unable to pay even a single copper to anyone; Witcher, soldier, farmer or debtor alike. Celestia's cunning banking clans had ensured ironclad clauses were written into the documents, enforceable by judicial and even military action if necessary. Though in our case, she saw fit to offer the Kingdom a deal. A pardon on most debts incurred (namely the interest which had accrued, not the principle itself), with King Birch keeping his private holdings and wealth, in exchange for the entirety of the Kingdom falling within Equestrian borders as a Dukedom. A fortuitous offer for the King, now-turned Duke of Āider, but one which caught everyone else violently off guard, even with the conveniently-timed influx of foreign medicine to combat the local plague. For once, the rage of both Witcher and the common peasant alike had aligned against the King for selling the nation out from under us. Yet…nothing was to come of it in the end, and within a matter of decades, even the memory of the former Kingdom had truly started to fade from everyone's mind. Equestrian laws took hold of the region, and a new ‘normal’ was once again established whilst the land around us changed very little. Still poor as shite and unduly burdened by the King's rampant debts.

The School had already begun to show early signs of age, even come my first approach to their modest Bastion in the summer of 156 to join the tail-end of the Second Born. I, like many others in that day, came seeking the path to become a hero like unto the First Century, and just perchance have my name penned amongst the greatest warriors the world had ever known. Yet, even with nary over fifty-years having passed since the last stone was set in place, the fortress was beginning to wither under the weight of time, and a lack of funds for broad maintenance. Whilst Kaer Solaris and several other Schools enjoyed a debt-free (and indeed highly-profitable in some cases) existence on the world stage, with low guild taxes and royal patronage, Kaer Nathair lacked such bountiful support being so far-flung as it was at Equestria’s southernmost province. The Treasury of Kaer Solaris as we knew it today had yet to fully take shape, having been specifically created in order to help other Schools with financial struggles. However, it was too-little, too-late as significant damage from wear-and-tear had eroded away heavily at Kaer Nathair by the time the Treasury began formal operations in the middle of the fourth century. Our debts saw fit to abscond away to Canterlot with almost every Groat earned on our Contracts, and the School's remoteness ensured few peasants wished to move closer in order to work and till the land. With few prospects for any domestic income production outside of our Witcher Contracts, there was very little the School could reasonably do to hold back the tidal-wave of debt engulfing it. We had unjustly had that burden placed upon us, rather than the bumbling arse of a King who was able to skirt it off onto the School which he himself had sold out his entire petty Kingdom to build. Try as all of us might, the walls of fiscal contracts closed in early like leaden weights dragging us all down to Hel where Celestia was more than happy to loom over us as we perished. The School of the Viper had its fate sealed for it before it had even formally began which was a cruel, cruel fate to the good people who dedicated their lives to the School.

Indeed…the more one mulled it over, the more it could be hypothesized that the entire Kingdom's downfall had been a manufactured event. One which had been cleverly orchestrated by Celestia's thuggish banks and greedy land barons seeking to formally expand their holdings. There was no definitive proof (after all, why leave evidence of such trickery?), yet the notion resonated with me with the hindsight of centuries in my favor. After all, many poor decisions had been made by King Birch along the path towards enacting the School of the Viper in his lands; most of them made with the deep hope of finding a greater standing in world politics. In Equestria's eyes, however…it was likely seen as a forcible family reunion as the Kingdom of Āider originated from Equestrian royalty, which sought to establish an independent nation far from Canterlot. That in and of itself was not at all unusual, as it seemed many of the noble families which accompanied Celestia during the Arrival chafed under the weight of their monarch. Once land began being offered up as token gifts by the Eldar to those Equestrian refugees, many struck it out on their own in the hopes of holding lands and titles they hadn't before. Naturally, they, and many many others since then, have been brought back into the fold as it were. Through strong-arm diplomacy, political intrigue, assassination, bribes, counterfeit, annexation, debt-purchasing, outright open warfare, and many other methods, Equestria's borders had ballooned over the centuries. From borders that today counted as a petty Kingdom, to that of its modern-day Empire. The drive of Celestia to grow her people was a…inherently noble one at face-value, however it was a fact most heavily brutalized by the reality of it all. Equestrians were now being taught an altered world history as told by the demented minds of the Cult of the Eternal Pyre; fanatics utterly obsessed with worshiping the veritable Goddess Celestia had become on that horrific day of the Cleansing. An entire generation of Equestrians had been through childhood already under the impression that these falsehoods were hardened fact and the one that was yet rising were growing to be even more deluded than their parents. The seeds of strife were being sown in the very soil of the rising generations who would have no other word but ours to contradict those things they had been raised to accept as truth. And after all...what was the word of so many worth when those who needed to hear it stopped their ears at every turn from hearing the truth.

My meditation, which admittedly had done little to clear my mind of all thought, was all the same disturbed by a sudden heavy rush of water. The source, as my startled eyes quickly spied upon looking around, was none other than the she-devils themselves; both floating in the water a few meters above me. The mischievous grins on both their faces were somewhat charming as they truly made for a matched pair, yet I still flashed my fanged teeth back at them in a sneering veneer that was sure to be understood. Though the water prevented proper laughter, the glee on their faces was also greatly exaggerating their motions and expressions with mirth. In a fitting response, I raised a casual hoof and sent a soft blast of Aard through the water, slapping them both gently in the midsection whilst they were distracted looking at one another. While I had expected one or both of them to continue to escalate it until we were thrown out for unruly behavior, they instead showed some surprising restraint for the situation. Like a set of twins, they seemingly were able to communicate entirely non-verbally, and what must have been a lengthy conversation elapsed between them. Their 'tone' was...mixed and confusing to try and interpret, even with all my time spent as their friend. The deeper meaning of their unspoken dialogue was lost on me, yet the general mood I was able to infer came away feeling hesitant and worried. All the while, I remained comfortably seated on the bottom while awaiting…whatever it was they were up to. After nearly a minute or two of them exchanging loaded glances and vague gestures, they both seemed to come to…some sort of agreement before waving down to me. It took a moment for me to interpret what they wanted of me, however soon enough I took their cue and swam up along with them. Upon breaching the water's surface, I was immediately set upon by a hushed question asked in a very serious tone, one which she rarely used.

“So…” Muttered Violet nearby my ear over the sound of the rest of the pool. “Word around the School is you managed to find some Shade Petals out there, are those rumors true?”

The conversation, going entirely not as I had been expecting given the circumstances, caused me to blurt out truthfully, “Oh, um…yes? And...why are you asking precisely…?”

“She's gonna say no, Vi…”

“Oh hush, you. I'm asking…because…”

“Yes…?” I asked dryly, giving her a soft, wet slap of my sodden hair against her cheek with a smirk.

“There's another relative…”

“For fuck's sake, Violet…another one?”

“Yes! And it's the former Chief Minister of the Royal Cabal, a real piece of shite too believe me. I have it on really good authority he'll be in Misty Meadows six days from now. Couldn't ask for a better opportunity to trim the tree some more.”

“Vi…the only reason I even let you speak to me on this matter is the fact that, despite your constant crock of shite, you actually know your targets well. Well enough to sift the good apples from the bad amidst that damned enormous family tree of yours…”

“Don't blame me for my family fucking like rabbits in heat…” She pouted angrily whilst we continued to tread water in the center of the pool. “Yonderland has always been a puppet Kingdom of Her Royal Arsehole. That's given ‘em time to sit on their wealth from selling out, and weave vast tapestries around the Dukedom of inter-family intrigue, lies and debauchery.”

“Indeed…so you seek a Venom.” I replied simply, to which both of them nodded furiously. “I should have anticipated this from the moment you brought them up…”

“Indeed you should have, lass!” She giggled softly with a soft poke at my chest. “What'll it be, help an old friend out one more time? You said it yourself, it's always been for a just cause that these ‘people’ fall. If there's one thing we've been able to agree upon together on the old ways of the Cats, it's the idea that the definition of what is a ‘monster’ should be judicially applied to certain Sentients which breach a finite level of basic decency.”

“And don't forget crimes against civilization as a whole, that bit’s important as well.” Topaz chimed in. “I can back up most of whatever she has to say about him…fillies are his indulging pleasure, he delights in the abuse of his serving staff, and he takes great joy in dipping his hooves into the piles of gold to be made in the illegal markets. Half of the Fisstech imported into Yonderland alone these days is via smuggling networks through his personal estate. He takes his weight of the product as the stallion in the middle, but he's been covertly supplying the upper class there with premium nose candy for many decades now! Took over right where his own father left off back when we lived there like nothing had even happened.”

“I don't doubt you, Violet…or you, Topaz.” I sighed regrettably, knowing already I was set to help her yet again. “Fine, I will assist you…but please, Violet… Let this be the last…at least for awhile.”

“You know I can't. Yonderland is infested with far too many pompous fat-arsed noble families who've been allowed to engorge themselves unjustly off the local people's good will and hard labor. Long as that filthy bloodline still calls itself my family, I can't rest until the lot of them are left rotting under their precious Sun.”

“Which makes it all the harder some days to believe you even came from the same stock as they…”

“I find it harder to believe that than you'd ever fuckin' know…” She gruntled angrily. “Well common then!”

“To where??” I asked bewilderedly as she began swimming for the edge of the pool. “We only just got here, damnit!”

“You said you were on-board, yes? Well let's get moving immediately! Six days is not a lot of time and Misty Meadows is at least a four-day trot with good weather. Could even be five if we're unlucky and get caught in a maelstrom along the way.”

Though I was loathe to admit it, she was right as to how long it'd take to make it that far west going around the White Fang Mountains. Passing well within view of Canterlot upon the High Road as a branch of it turned westwards, they would have to push on nigh-unto the Great Western Sea. Misty Meadows was hardly a coastal city, yet gulls from the Sea had still found roofs to perch on and streets to peck for scraps nary twenty-leagues inland. I had agreed to assist her in her…rather dour endeavor, and thusly had agreed to be bound to the time-table she had set for herself in this affair. As one we clambered over the decoratively carved lip of the pool, and back into the somewhat chilly air whilst we pawed around for our various towels and draped them about ourselves. Once roughly robed, the two of them set off immediately for the changing rooms while I was forced somewhat to dash after them, still attempting to properly tie up my towels around my shoulders and waist in a comfortable manner. Still yet when we reached the changing rooms did they deign to slow down even an iota, with Violet even rudely pushing some younger Acolytes aside who were standing next to our cubbyholes. I apologized on her behalf, though her leering glare in their direction sent the group of them scattering away anyway. Their armor likewise was rather quick to put on as, aside from the posh, padded arming doublets and trousers worn beneath, the rest of the leather-and-chain ensemble was put on as two large pieces; one for the upper body and the other protecting the lower. Like the Ravens, they hid their chainmail beneath a padded long-sleeved black tunic and thick black trousers to which the chain hauberk, supplementary chain defenses, and the sections of exterior studded hardleather were all anchored. Though the dark orange/brown dye of the studded leather clashed with the natural color of both their fur, Fox armor was exceedingly tasteful in my eyes; a spiritual successor to the design of the original uniforms donned by the Old Hunters over six centuries before. In a similar vein to fine brigandine armor riveted to high-quality canvas or velvet, Fox armor was designed to lend the wearer the appearance of a highly-sophisticated traveling swordsmare. One for whom an honorable duel with epees comes just as easily as a tumultuous battle with a Fiend.

Their graceful steel and silver estocs were already strapped to their backs by the time I was setting right the fit of my spaulders and attaching the protective squares of leather-backed scales over top. While the all-in-one nature of their armor most certainly sped them along, I was also not so intent on rushing my evening as they were. It mattered not that this former Chief Minister was only directly related to Violet, as Topaz was almost always in perfect consensus with her sister-in-arms on almost every decision they made. They had been on the Path together for nearly a century-and-a-half already, with a further quarter-century spent growing up in Yonderland and their time spent in the Bastion of the School of the Cat. They would do everything together through thick-and-thin, and indeed…I doubted not that they would choose to perish together when the time came. In this case, they were in firm agreement, body and Soul. A quick glance into both of their eyes showed all I needed to see as it was clear there was not an ounce of disagreement between them on setting in motion the death of this individual for crimes they committed even long after her departure from Yonderland. I of myself…I was merely acquiescing to their wants, as to say no would have only resulted in their attempting to brew a Hangmare’s Venom of their own using lesser ingredients and unrefined techniques which could possibly be traced back to them in a best-case scenario. Violet had already proven over a dozen times (and likely more of which I did not know about) that she was willing to bring those members of her family to justice as she saw fit. They had all thus-far proven to be more or less as she described them, depraved and debaucherous blue-bloods for whom money was no object and life (and its plentiful vices) came very cheap. She had been pruning her family tree for a very long time already, doing her best to strike whenever they left the Grand Duchy so as to better establish some sort of alibi for the whole situation. Poison had become her preferred method for its quick efficacy, ease of use, and the sheer fact it allowed her to get in some distance from the scene of the crime before the body had dropped to the floor. Then, via a web of sympathetic informants and the like still amongst Yonderlandian society, she would help fabricate someone else to blame for the whole event. And I agreed to help each time…because I could not also help but agree with the Cats on one thing in their waning years on the Path. One thing alone.

Our guild forbade the killing of any form of Sentient life, save in cases of the defense of one's self, or in the defense of other innocents nearby. The punishments were naturally severe and retribution was swift to execute justice according to our internal code. However, the Cats had long argued to the Council of Elders that there were plenty of not-so-innocent people in the world who could (and should) be classified as monsters themselves, worthy of a Witcher's cleansing blade just as they would any other Abyssal beast. Though the definitions of who was ‘good’ and ‘evil’, versus who is ‘innocent’ and ‘guilty’ are vague and subjective to the situation, I could be objective in seeing that the world would indeed be better off without these hideous Souls living within our midst. This was not to say that I myself had taken on any assassin's work of my own (the so-called Class-4 Contracts as the Cats called them), yet…I could not count myself as innocent of shedding, or in helping shed, that sort of tainted blood. Violet always turned to me as my talent for Venoms and other prepared toxins was the forte of my School, and I always ended up agreeing to brew them for her in the end. There was no gold involved between us usually, only justice dealt and favors owed between sisters-in-arms (and murder…of a sorts). The moral ramifications of what I did…they mattered little to me frankly. Violet had a keen sense for who could be universally acknowledged as a horrible person in Yonderland, at least within the confines of the bloated bureaucracy which consumed its nobility. To know I assisted in their destruction after learning of whatever nefarious acts which warranted such actions…I would be guilty of lying if I said it failed to bring me some satisfaction.

There was just something deeply gratifying in knowing that wickedly vile individuals bringing harm to innocent victims would bring about their misery no more. While it could perhaps be considered vile and wicked in its own right to gloat inwardly over such a bastard's timely demise, I considered it a guilty pleasure. One which I was well-trained to assist with and one which would help ensure my dismal finances from my half-year on the Path were restored to a far more acceptable level. As unfortunate as it was...the world of killing other Sentient beings tended to provide a far more sizable income while typically presenting an easier option for coin. It was a dangerous game to try and play by balancing the line between acceptable extra-judicial killings of select degenerates and cold-blooded murder. Yet it was one I felt comfortable walking. Bringing an end to any kind of monstrous behavior which brought disaster upon the less-fortunate and defenseless was at the core spirit of the Witcher's Code after all. To do otherwise was to deny our purpose was it not? The line had be drawn somewhere of course, yet Violet had proven true time and time again that those she sought to cut short were foul beasts in their own right. And though there were countless of such people plaguing the world as terribly thick as the monsters in our Bestiary, I found myself happy to assist in such matters. Something had to be done to end their heinous acts...it was simply in bad taste to leave such beasts roaming free. Like a particularly heady pipe of hashish shared amongst friends, the occasional indulgence in such an act was hardly a bad thing for the world. For the Soul perhaps...yet we were Witchers. Half the Continent believed we lacked one to begin with thanks to the mutations which steeled us against the Abyss. At nearly six-centuries old myself, I could give a flying fuck less about how much more sullied my Soul became after my years fighting back the Dark. If the removal of a den of monsters or Nest of Daemon was an act of good towards the general populace, so too could the removal of the occassional monster from within their own midst; hiding like a Changeling of old in plain sight ready to feed upon the lifeforce of any hapless victim as was to weak to fight them off themselves. And with how terribly despondent most folks had become within Equestrian borders...they needed all of the help they could get, whether they knew it or not.

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