The Witcher The Swallow and The Monster

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Dandelion walked alongside (F/N) as he led Nosfer along, the bard had hardly stopped talking the entire time, "So, the last few days have certainly been eventful, to say the least." The witcher didn't reply, even as the troubadour started strumming his lute, "First a beautiful vampire, then a giant...what was it called?"

"A freightner."

The poet laughed, his long hair waved in the wind, the irony of the monster wasn't lost on him, "I was certainly frightened. Where will our adventures take us next? Monsters ancient as time? Ones that have yet to be discovered? Or more powerful than anything mankind has ever seen?"

The witcher had to smile, he was rather fond of the songstrel. They had been traveling together for the last week. The witcher was following up on a lead, he wasn't here looking for work. There had been sightings. Unconfirmed rumors to be more precise. But he just wanted to be certain, "It's hard to say, Dandelion. It truly is." He grabbed a bag off his mare, and handed it to the bard, "Go get us a room at the inn. I'll join you shortly."

Dandelion wasn't looking at the witcher, it wasn't until (F/N) turned that he saw where his friend was looking. A beautiful woman with bright blonde hair and an equally beautiful smile was browsing the nearby market. The witcher shook his head, he himself was entranced by her beauty, but she merely reminded him of Ciri, after enough thought. He sighed as he shook his head and glanced at the troubadour.

"Make sure she's not married. I'm not saving you again."

Dandelion scoffed, he waved his hand dismissively, "(F/N) please. After my brush with death with that frightener, I'm a changed man. There'll be no more of that sort of activity. You have my word." The bard whipped his purple bonnet off and wiped his forehead clean. He gave the young witcher a sly smirk, as he continued strumming his instrument. (F/N) shook his head and headed to the inn, that was not the first time he had heard the bard say he had changed. He could hear Dandelion softly sing one of his poems as he approached the woman. No doubt he would be chased out of the town tomorrow morning by an angry husband or brother.

As (F/N) walked to the lively inn, he felt a set of eyes on him. He glanced behind him. Nearly everyone was minding their own business and going about their day. While some were staring at him like he was a monster, but that was normal. But he still felt as though someone was staring at him, intently, as if they saw more than a freak, as if they were looking into his very soul.

He noticed that an owl was watching him from a tree branch. It was staring right at him. He tied Nosfer to a post and walked into the inn. He didn't take his eyes off the owl. The bird kept staring. (F/N) had a feeling that wasn't an ordinary owl. He sighed, as he slowly started the long process of thinking about what he would say. His lead had been confirmed. He wished it wasn't.

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It was storming out as (F/N) pounded on the door. His wet thinning hair was soaked. There was no answer. He had drank a bit too much, naturally. The witcher only gritted his teeth, he would not be ignored, not anymore, he pounded the door again, "Open up!" Again, there was no response, the witcher growled, "I know you're there, Eilhart!" He was so pre-occupied, he almost didn't notice the snow white owl sitting on a tree branch. When it hooted. The witcher turned, he glared at the bird, his fury turned to it, as though it was the source of all his problems. He had assumed the house was hers, it looked as though he was wrong. He waited, but the bird only stared back at him with it's large eyes, searching through his soul. (F/N) sighed, "I know that isn't a normal owl...show yourself."

The owl flew down to the wet grass, it never stopped staring at him with its big yellow eyes. Then there was a bright light and standing in the place of the owl was the beautiful sorceress, Philippa Eilhart. She had a distinct scent of muskroot, baking soda, and cinnamon. He had once found her incredibly attractive, a part of him still did find her beautiful, he smiled but there was no friendliness in it, "I thought you were dead. Radovids given you the title Martyr Saint...it's good to see you Philippa...it's been a while."