Ancient Wanderers - The Witcher

Chapter 6: The Edge of the World

*Unedited

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𝓡𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 hills of the valley with brown cliffs, dotted with dry shrubs surround us as Geralt and I sit atop our horses. The sky remains a vibrant sapphire, white clouds drifting through the heavens above.

"Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum," Jaskier comments as he slings his lute behind his back, "I'd say you both have got a bit of a... an image problem."

"It matters not to me," I reply with a shrug, "Many know my true character."

"Regardless, were I to join you on this feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of your titles," the bard waves a hand around at the surroundings, "All the North would be too busy singing the tales of... Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf, and Nessa, the Silver Star or-or something."

The Witcher glances down at him, "Butcher is right."

I groan, "You and your dramatics."

"Mind if I hop up? I'm not wearing the right footwear," the singer asks while reaching his arms out to try to climb onto the chestnut mare.

"Don't touch Roach."

Jaskier retreats, "Yeah, right, yeah."

Be polite Nessa. I sigh and choose to take pity on the man, "We are dismounting anyways."

Just as I said, Geralt swings off his horse and ties the reins to a small tree with gray bark. I follow suit.

"The Elves called this Dol Blathanna before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating into their golden palaces in the mountains," the bard comments as he takes a look around.

Anger hits me as swift as lightning, "That is not at all what occurred. Speak not of matters you know nothing about."

Jaskier at least has the common sense to look regretful, "What did happen, then?"

A dark cloud falls over my mood. My words are slow and mournful, "This once was Dol Blathanna, the Valley of Flowers. That is until the humans decided that this land belonged to them. It was no gift. It was a slaughter. Even now, the bodies of innocent Elves rest in the dirt below our feet. Most of them died while still swaddled by their mothers."

My words result in quiet. The Witcher chooses to walk away and I follow at his heels.

"Geralt?" the bard asks. "Nessa? Wh-Where are you going? Don't leave me."

As a duo - plus one - we slowly venture through the rock structures, our heads on a constant swivel.

"Hello?" Apparently, Jaskier does not understand the concept of stealth, "What are we looking for again?"

"Blessed silence," I reply at the same time as the Witcher.

For a sweet moment, the only sound is that of grasshoppers chirping.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you ever hunted a devil before?"

My eyes search through the tall grass and green foliage.

The white wolf answers for me, "Devils don't exist."

"Right," the bard slowly mutters, "Obviously. Then, uh... then what are we doing?"

I remain quiet as I stalk my prey but the man in front of me says, "Sometimes there's monsters, sometimes there's money. Rarely both. That's the life."

"Until me. Now our luck has been exceptional," I respond, knowing full well that my visions have been guiding us well. Then I stiffen, "Geralt, this is hemp. A field of this size emits a strong aura against magic. Most of my spells will be weak here. And look at those poles. Those are hops - their pollen has the same effect. This is not mere chance."