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❝ Killing Renfri is the lesser evil. ❞
Stregobor
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Geralt's Perspective
The large doors to Irion's Tower closed with a loud creak of its hinges. Geralt's white hair moved as the wind passed through it. His encounter with Stregobor had left him frustrated and irked. The second he stepped foot into Blaviken he was in a trap.
Like a mouse lured by the scent of cheese, Geralt was drawn in by the promise of a reward for slaying the Kikimora which lurked outside of the town. Instead of coin, Geralt was presented with a contract for an assassination. Renfri, one of the many girls born under the Black Sun eighteen years ago, prophecised to eradicate every living thing in the name of. The only one who had survived Stregobor's hunt, now hunting the wizard.
Killing Renfri is the lesser evil.
The old mage had told him. Geralt did not agree; evil is evil. If Renfri had tracked Stregobor down to Blaviken as the mage believed, then the stranger wanted no part in it. He would not choose between one evil and another. It was best for him to leave Blaviken before the oncoming storm arrived.
Marilka's growls of anger summoned Geralt from his thoughts. Lying on the ground was Marilka, the alderman's daughter who had led him to Irion's Tower. At the end of the dirt road leading to the tower was a man crying in agony, a fresh wound across his face. His legs were twisted and crushed, bone piercing through the skin and a pool of blood seeping into the ground around him. Two other men struggled to lift him from the ground while the youngest was running towards the town. Most likely for the town's medic.
The witcher's eyes hardened immediately as he walked up to Marilka, who was rubbing at her wrist. "Where's Roach?" Geralt grunted as he pulled Marilka to her feet by the collar of her dress, his hard eyes meeting hers.
"The woman with the red hair took Roach, Ros. Yor and his sons were going to hurt her; caused trouble in the tavern." The young woman with the knotted red hair he had found yelling profanities outside of Irion's tower. The same woman who had spoken to him outside of the inn.
Upon meeting Marilka, Geralt had quickly learned the young girl's skill at holding a one-sided conversation. The gossiping barmaid, Isadora, had apparently told her how a red-haired woman had come into the inn when a man named Yor began accusing her of stealing from him years prior. It had not ended well for him. Yor must have been the man whose legs had been trampled by Roach during the woman's flee. Perhaps Yor was not far off with his allegations.
Closing his eyes, Geralt let in a deep sniff and almost instantly his senses were flooded with the scent of tart apples and lilies. Almost as if a trail had formed before his eyes, Geralt followed the scent.
