Most Voted Stories

Firra The Feral (Witcher: Netflix)

As Ciri and Geralt scaled the snowy cliff face, he paused and sniffed wildly at the air. The winds had changed direction and were now blowing from the east, bringing with them the scent of pine needles and ash. It was a strong smell, but not so overpowering that it was unbearable. The scent came in steady at first, but then it began to falter and grow fainter with each powerful gust of wind.

"Geralt?" Ciri asked, her voice trembling as she tried to stop her teeth from chattering. She huddled under her furs, trying to preserve whatever warmth she could.

Their pursuer was still a ways off, likely lurking at the bottom of the cliff, covering themselves in fresh powdery snow to disguise themselves and make it harder for him to find them. He attempted to smile - or at least, as much as he knew how to; it looked more like a grimace than a grin.

"Geralt?" Ciri asked again, her heart sinking as she feared his reply. "What is it?"

"Don't worry about it," he replied, urging her to keep moving as he trudged through the foot-deep snow. "It's just a wild cat that got lost in the snow." He put his thoughts aside, more worried about Ciri freezing to death before they reached Kaer Morhen than a confrontation with his feral friend.

In the distance, a pair of piss-yellow beady eyes watched them intently, shifting uncomfortably back and forth between the girl and the Witcher. She was small, young - just like she'd been told. This one was older than the sketch she'd been given, but it was definitely her - the same pitiful doe-eyed look in her eyes and the same pale hair. 10,000 crowns for the girl, and 10 more if she brought back the head of the Witcher too. A tempting offer for a hungry stray, and one too tempting to miss.

The past didn't matter, old allegiances did not keep a full belly.

The stranger took more snow and rubbed it along her clothes until it clung to the crevices, abrading her skin with icy granules. She even stuffed it under the collar of her shirt, tightly pressing it against her skin to stifle her warm scent from within. By now, there was no way she hadn't been spotted or smelled - Geralt wasn't a fool or clumsy. No doubt, he was waiting for her to make the first move.

~~~

Once Ciri was settled inside and she could feel the tips of her toes again, the doors opened wide, revealing a small figure making their way in. All conversation went quiet, and heads turned to the newcomer with curiosity.

The girl watched the stranger, wondering if this man had a sort of deformity - his measly build and stature, making him look like he was only half the size of the rest of the Witchers. It was not until the stranger took off their half-mask and hood that she realised how wrong her initial assessment was.

"What does a girl have to do around here to get a drink?" she shouted, the room immediately erupting into applause and cheers. The stranger took an exaggerated bow. Her voice was strange, a thick northern accent distorting her words as she rolled her Rs and slurred her Ss. She quickly swung a leg over the bench, banged her fist loudly on the tabletop, and yelled for one of the men to give her something strong to warm her up.

"It would be my pleasure to warm you up, my Lady." Lambert beamed, sloshing a tankard down in front of her. There was a flirtatious playfulness to his words, a lighthearted and teasing manner that he reserved only for the most beautiful of women. He leaned in close, his eyes twinkling under his rosy curls.

"Oh most generous sir," she said flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes and leaning in so close that their noses almost touched. The closeness made Lambert's lips quiver ever so gently. Her eyes flickered down to them, then back, making him blush, "I would rather sleep with a sheep than allow a Southerner to share my bed." A chorus of whooping cheers sounded throughout the hall, deep full-belly chuckles and cackling laughter.

Lambert grinned again, offering her a polite tip of the head. "Can't fault a man for trying, Köttr."

After he skulked back to his original table, Ciri shrunk back in her corner - anxiously watching the woman. Köttr, as Lambert had called her, was a rather gruesome-looking woman. She hunched, broad shoulders atop a thin frame, as though the gods had stitched different parts together to create her. Her long braid of thick dark hair was pulled to one side and tucked under her cloak, with a few greasy strands left hanging out the other side. Ciri wondered why she had left her hair in such a state, why she hadn't tucked it away or simply rebraided it. But as the woman turned her head to look at the room, Ciri stifled a gasp. There was a deep, jagged line that ran from under her hairline, all the way down the length of her cheek and under her chin. It pulled the skin tight around her left eye, nose and the corner of her mouth. Ciri was surprised to see the yellow eye still in its socket, bulging ever so slightly.

"Keep staring at me girl, and I'll cut your eyes out," she snarled into her tankard, not taking her eye off the doors. The low tone made the hairs on Ciri's neck jump up as if they were trying to flee the sound.

"Now, now Köttr. Play nicely," Geralt said, sliding onto the seat opposite Ciri, placing a physical barrier between the two. He wasn't sure which he was worried about more; Ciri's untamed tongue or Köttr's short fuse. "...Or is it Firra now?"

"Depends how north of Sodden you are."

"Firra?" Ciri asked aloud, the question blurting out before she could stop it.

The woman's eyes darted over Geralt's shoulder at the grill. An icy shiver clawed its way up her spine, the piss-coloured eyes boring into her with an uncomfortable intensity. "Firra The Feral," she began, not blinking as she spoke. "I was given a job by some pompous arse. He wanted me to poison his competition so that he could have a chance with some rich lass. It would have been good coin too... until he found me in bed with her. Gods, she was a screamer. Then he decided to say some nasty things about me around the courts. He didn't last long after that, but the name did."

"You killed him because he called you a name?"

"I would never dream of harming an employer," Firra said, clutching her chest in mock offence. She took a long, final swig of her drink, savouring the taste before she continued on. "It was a terrible tragedy...to fall down the stairs, then off a balcony, and then into the river..."