'Not much of a challenge,' Ard took a rag from his horse's saddle, cleaning off the foul blood from his blade. Sheathing it, he mounted the horse again, 'Oh, those? Just a few tricks I have learned a long time ago.'
Waldemar looks readily, staring at Danielle's breasts, before smirking. "I doubt that that's the problem, though I wouldn't object to seeing a little more of your body." He looks up to gaze into her eyes. "A dancer? That might have some interesting applications for your new job. Very interesting indeed."
"Good, good." Gunther nods, stuffing his face with the plentiful food. "I'd hoped that the boy might do so. I've been impressed with him lately. Time and again during this trip he's been...taking the initiative." Gunther gives a sly smile.
He spots another group of men, better dressed than the thugs, but still with a rough edge to them. "We can't use the roads," one of them whispers, "the new captain of the guard's been cracking down on smuggling. Everyone who wants to use the road nowadays without getting searched has to pay up, and pay dearly. He's even shaking down civilians, I hear, and planting stolen goods on them if they refuse, before arresting them."
"Indeed." Mirellia nods as she eats her meal with proper etiquette, "I see. Hopefully his initiativengoes well, unlike his father's." She said the last part in a low, whisper like tone.
Another bolt of fire impacts against the monster's hide, and the fire begins to grow. The sorceress has to dodge out of the way as several vines and roots move towards her, as the flaming leshen comes charging at full tilt at Varrin.
Gunther nods, slowing down. "You don't need to soften your voice around me. I feel the same way you do about...him." He spits the word out venomously. "If only I'd made you mine instead of his. I'd have treated you...properly." There's a tinge to his voice on the last word that sends a shudder down her spine.
Feeling the familiar shudder, Mirellia froze for a moment. "Ah... I see, yes, that would have been preferable to... well." She replied with a slight stutter, "Ahem. But, I knew what I was getting in to. As a noblewoman, it would have been a miracle for me to marry for love. So being able to prolong the Feldonna name is already good enough."
So far so good... Varrin pretended that he would go left, only to dodge to the right at the last moment. He tried to keep his distance from the flaming beast and used his sword and dagger to cut any roots or vines that got too close. Hopefully Isabella can take care of herself. Keeping the leshen occupied and focused on him was the only way he could help her – it was up to her to avoid the vines and roots.
'If we can find the time I can attempt to teach you,' Ard said, coaxing the horse to continue on the path, 'We should be weary in the village. I doubt swamp-dwellers are the most hospitable people... especially to an elf and a witch.'
"For love? Yes, unrealistic, but still..." Gunther rises from his seat, walking across the table to stand next to his daughter in law. "I see no reason why marriage should restrain a woman such as yourself from what she wants." He smiles. "You know, I employed a witcher once, to deal with some creatures disrupting my shipments. We got to talking one night, and he began telling me about some...exploits...that he'd experienced with a beautiful young noblewoman."
Isabella is caught by the roots and vines, the limbs wrapping around her limbs and binding her, but not before the sorceress sends off a final fireball, hitting the leshen once more as it tries to kill Varrin. The blaze raging on its hide grows even stronger and more deadly, and it isn't long before it gives a sickening whine and collapses to the ground in front of the noble, still burning. Though the creature seems to Varrin to be dead, or an exceptional actor, Isabella remains restrained, her bonds growing rigid as the roots trapping her begin to petrify.
Mirellia simply nods as he moved next to her, and spoke. But as he mentioned a witcher, and a noblewoman. The sexy milf gulped, "I... see. I have met a witcher as well, he thought me a few things with the blade." She replied, ignoring the last part of his sentence. Though Gunther would notice a slight change in the strict noblewoman's demeanor.
Entering the village, Ard sees about two dozen huts raised above the swamp by wooden beams embedded in the filthy water, and connected by walkways. The people there seem to live quite a squalid existence, most fishing or doing other menial jobs, but they seem reasonably clean and well put together. They look up at Ard with more confusion than hostility, too surprised that any sort of person is visiting them to ponder the fact that their visitor is an elf.
"Is that so?." Mirellia notices the corner of Gunther's lip curl upwards. "The witcher I encountered had also taught this young noblewoman the blade, until she was highly proficient. It can't have been you, though, since he also taught her other things."
Crap! I hope this thing is really dead, or at least too weakened to be a threat... Seeing what was happening Varrin rushed to his sister's aid, trying to cut the vines and roots before they had finished petrifying. He aimed for the ones binding her hands and wrists first in the hope that, if necessary, she could use magic to free herself. But she would likely need her hands free to do it.
Ard got off his horse, helping Abigail down to join him, 'Well, at least we are out of the muck.' Ard approached one of the villagers nearby, 'Ceádmil, excuse me, but is there a place to stay around here?'
"Ah... yes, the witcher I met was highly professional. I had to bribe him with bags of crowns just to get him to hear my request. Besides, I doubt I'm the only noblewoman that wished to learn the blade." Mirellia replied, and with Gunther's years of dealing with liars, he'd be able to tell that the sexy milf was indeed hiding something.
Isabella swears irritably as she struggles. "Damn fucking...ugh!" Luckily, only one free hand is required for her to use her magic and free herself, but the process of hacking through the toughened is exhausting, leaving Varrin covered in sweat. Behind him, he sees the fire on the leshen begin to die out, leaving the creature blackened, but still unmoving. As the young noble makes the last swing of his sword to free Isabella's hand, he feels something peculiar.Despite it being the middle of summer, a peculiar chill begins to pick up through the air, leaving Varrin's sweat drenched clothes exceedingly cold to wear. As Isabella works her right hand free, Madeline approaches from where she'd been silently observing. "Er, hey," she rubs her arms in an attempt to warm herself, "I-uh, there are some horsemen coming down the road in black armour, really weird looking." Varrin's mind leaps to assume it's knights from the Nilfgaardian Empire, but Madeline shakes her head. "No, these guys were like nothing I'd ever seen before, like out of some horror tale." Isabella shakes her head, troubled, and speeds up her attempts to free herself.
