(My posts may be quite slow, everyone. Apologies in advance.) @Auraicide Chevanne Castle, Redania. Tired from a night of performing for Count Chevanne and his court, Danielle stumbles into her family's chambers, already feeling her eyelids grow heavy. As the wife of the count's court mage, and the favored dancer of the castle's young ruler, as well as newlywed countess, Danielle's quarters are spacious and elegant, two bedrooms with a common area between them, all decorated with fine furniture, made even finer by the homely touches of two mages. From Alain's room, the redhead hears the sounds a lute strumming, the would-be bard practicing his craft, no doubt aiming to impress one of the ladies in waiting, or perhaps a whore in the town beneath the castle. Tired and spent, Danielle's body moves almost by itself, aimed towards the bedchamber she shares with her husband, with its bed large enough to fit both mages, and even a few more people, if the couple were so inclined, beneath the soft silk sheets. As her hand grips the door to her room, however, Danielle hears a knocking at the main door, a youthful voice behind it. "Mistress Vallotton? Forgive the interruption, there's been a message for you."
@asddas193 Tretogor, Redania Sighing, Ferdinand shakes his head. Mirellia sees her husband's financial advisor, a wiry raven haired man well into his forties, shake his head. "Apologies, madam, but there's no way around it. I've been in contact with practically every bank in Redania, and I've even sent a few messengers out to make inquiries in Novigrad. No one will give your husband another loan, not after acquiring such a famous losing streak at the races. With your business already running at a loss, unless something drastic changes, well..." The man cuts himself off, fiddling with some of the papers at his desk, but Mirellia hardly needs him to spell it out for her. Due to her husband's incompetence, as well as his gambling addiction, it could only be a matter of time until bankruptcy. Uncomfortable silence reigns in Ferdinand's cramped office for a few moments, the only noises being the creaking of the wooden ceiling above, and the shouting of a peasant couple outside on the streets, until finally the man speaks. "I wish I could think of some way to help, madam, but unless you can teach me how to conjure up coins, there's nothing more I can do." Again, silence reigns. "Well... I suppose..." He pauses. "Your father in law recently bought out a rival trading house, and according to rumour, has become extremely wealthy." Ferdinand tries to phrase his suggestion in a way that doesn't cause offence. "I know that Gunther declared that your husband wouldn't get another crown from him, that Mr Wendel is on his own, but perhaps if you were to go to him, he'd look more kindly upon you?" Mirellia has to keep herself from cringing at the memory of her husband asking, and then begging, his father for money at a party. Wendel had feared that the old man would fly into a rage, but instead the Feldonna patriarch's voice was cold and low, stating that Wendel was on his own. The partygoers, some of Tretogor's wealthiest and most influential elites, couldn't hear what the old man said, but no one could mistake the way Wendel had walked away in pure shame, not meeting anyone's eyes. Wendel became a laughing stock in the city, and his beautiful wife became a figure of pity. "Madam?" Ferdinand's voice shakes Mirellia from the memory. "I believe your husband is at the races right now. Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps now would be a good time to see Mr Gunther? Alone? He's never had anything bad to say about you."
Mirellia takes a deep breath, her cold, frightening gaze locked at her husband's financial advisor as he shared the news. Tsk. That useless, how many times have I told him. Damn it all. At least Ashton didn't receive his gambling addiction. Maybe that old man's prowess in business skips a generation. She thought to herself, as the familiar sight of a frightened man gave his suggestion. Which made her glare at him, So you want me to beg in his place then? She sighed, "Very well, I will see what I can do." She gave a cold reply, "Prepare a carriage then." She said as she stood up, and headed to her home's living room, where the Feldonna family heirloom rests, which was a very rare Gwyhyr, in the form of a rapier. "Hah. Maybe I should hide this, before that idiot even thinks aboht pawning it." She said to herself as she picks up the blade, doing a few practice swings while waiting for her carriage. (I'm sure no one will mind the slow pace.)
Her ears rang with the sound of notes from the lute. His performance wasn't bad, though Danielle had to question how this was about the only thing he would be willing to practice on. Still, at least he was spending his energy on something constructive? Danielle let the music flow as background noise as she began to let out a yawn ready to call it an early night before hearing the knock. Alerting her to stand back up, she went to open the door and see what this was about. "Yes?"
@unisol_gr44 White Orchard, Temeria "Oi! I can hear your purse jingling, pointy-ears!" Ard hears the voice, uncouth and high pitched, behind him as he saddles his horse. "Ain't you never been to the temple of Melitele, elf?" A slightly deeper voice sounds, beside the first. "A fat purse leads to sinful actions." Next to the second voice, a new, even deeper one sounds, with a strange accent foreign to the rider of the hunt. "We're pious an' helpful folk, we are. Why don't you let us take some o' that coin off your hands, lessen your load, as it were?" Turning, Ard sees the speakers, three rough looking human peasants who stand in the street and stare at the elf with vicious grins. On the left stands the first speaker, a young man with an emaciated frame that makes him look almost skeletal, long hair running down his head and partially obscuring his eyes, with a ratty tunic draped over his thin frame. There's no weapon in his hand, but at his waist hangs a stiletto dagger, long and thin like it's owner. The second speaker, standing in the middle, is quite short, standing only a little bit higher than the tallest dwarves, but has clearly compensated for it with muscle, his frame broad shouldered and heavily built, his only clothing a pair of leather trousers and a huge assortment of tattoos, covering his whole body, mostly gang symbols and nude women. In his hand is a crude falchion, poorly made but still deady looking, the steel bare and uncovered. The third and final man, standing on the right, is of average height, but is immensely fat, wearing the tattered robes of a priest, and with a heavy but ill-balanced wooden club held over his shoulder. Standing at the hitching post in front of the alderman's house, Ard briefly wonders if the alderman, who had just paid him for exterminating a nest of nekkers, was behind this. He'd looked at Ard's pointed ears with the same contempt as the three bandits facing him now, but had been far faster to pay up, and with far less of a fuss, than most of the former huntsman's usual clients. Perhaps the man was trying to recoup the fee he'd paid for his monster hunter? In any case, the three bandits move forwards a step, smiling with sadistic glee. "C'mon, elf, you heard us. Your purse, now, before things get bloody." Even now, it's difficult for Ard to get used to the contempt and cockiness of peasants like this, when in his own world he'd been so respected, and feared when he traveled here with the Hunt.
@moonblack Vizima, Temeria "Boy." The voice of Varrin's father sounds out from his study and reverberates across the stone hallway Varrin himself stands in, the old man somehow hearing the muffled footsteps of his son, despite Varrin's skill at staying quiet. The young man gulps instinctively, awaiting a lecture from his father, knowing that there's no way he can disguise the smell of liquour on his breath, nor the water dripping from his doublet after falling out of a window down into the puddle below, barely avoiding the wrath of the father of the young woman he'd seduced that evening. Walking towards the study, Varrin can't help but regret that he hadn't even gotten the beauty's dress off before her father came marching up the stairs. Inside the office, a small stone chamber lit by candlelight and decorated with only a desk, chair and bookcase, Varrin sees his father, pen scratching as he writes a letter. "It's time for you to make yourself useful, boy. Madeleine and Isabella have tasks for you to complete. You are to obey their instructions until they deem that you have done your duty. Am I understood?" Behind the old man, the moon shines brightly out the window.
@Regin34 Reuten Forest, 14 miles away from Ard Carraigh, Kaedwen "Look out, girl, behind yeh!" The dwarf shouts out, moments before embedding his axe between the chitin of the kikimore attacking him. Trina has no time to admire her compatriot's axework, however, as she turns, narrowly dodging a swipe from one of the barbed legs of a kikimore behind her. She knows that without the enhanced reflexes granted to her by her mutations, she'd almost certainly have been decapitated by the monstrous insect. Facing her opponent, Trina sees it trying to circle around her, the beast intelligently trying to find an opening to attack, some place where Trina's sword won't be able to move to in time. She sees it salivating at the thought of having the witcher as a meal, a viscous goo pouring down its maw. Trina hears screams from down the road, as the caravan she was hired to protect is swarmed by kikimores, the merchants and guards being torn apart, leaving only her and the dwarf, a friendly enough fellow called Bogrid, alive. As she waits for the creature to make its move, or for herself to make her own move, Trina can't help but wonder why and how the kikimores are here on the road. Her knowledge of monster lore isn't as extensive as some of the other Griffin school witchers, but she's fairly certain that at this time of year, the creatures should be hiding in their burrows, not hunting. As she ponders reasons why the kikimores are out, the creature springs forwards, leaping through the air towards her at a speed that would be blinding to a human.
“Yes, father, I understand,” Varrin answered without hesitation, “I will get to it right away.” Both Madeleine and Isabella? This is going to suck, isn't it. the young man mentally sighed, but was wise enough to keep the thought to himself. “Is there anything else? If not – I will leave you to your work, father.” If there was nothing more his father wanted, Varrin would first go and get changed into something less wet and then he would quietly check on his sisters. With some luck both would be asleep. And if not... he would cross that bridge when he got to it.
Ard turned around to face the three humans, a cold gaze greeting them as his pale eyes sized them up. He had never been the tallest nor the most muscled among his brethren in the Dearg Ruadhri, but for a local Aen Seidhe elf, which these clowns were mistaking him for, he was an imposing figure. An almost bemused smirk came to his lips, 'Is this the way you thank the one who rid your quaint hamlet of these pests—Nekkers?' He let out a condescending chuckle, 'Tell me, dh'oine, how many Nekkers can you take on at once?' The three would-be bandits noticed a strange fog descending on the village, the air growing cold and chilling them to their bones.
Stepping out onto the street, Mirellia is once again reminded of her husband's lack of wealth, their estate being located in one of the less affluent areas of town, a huge step down from the elegant manse they resided in when they were first married. Though her home is still the largest for a few blocks, a two story townhouse built of marble and stone, she can't deny that it's seen better days, with chipped paint and overgrown ivy covering the walls ever since the groundskeeper left to find an employer who paid more regularly. The carriage, at least, is in good condition, made from quality materials, and quite well maintained. The driver, a young man with golden hair and the beginnings of a beard, is quite good at his job, though Mirellia's caught him giving her lustful looks from time to time when he thought she couldn't see him. Right now, though, he keeps his eyes trained on hers, like a true professional. "Good day, my lady. Where to?
Trina split on the ground and make sign of Ard, moving her fingers in the left hand quicly and unseen for the normal people, to push back charging kikimore. In her right hand she hold silver sword, weapon what was given to her on the end of her training in the witcher school. She don't waste time for thinking on reason why kikimores show up here in that time of year, far away from swamps or lakes. Her teachers tought her, to wonder about such things out of the battle. In the fight, she must stay focus on the enemy and only on the enemy. As Trina left enegry of magic of her hands, she charges to cut off front limbs of kikimore and kill it.
Seeing the state of her home, Mirellia sighed, Really now, why did I agree to marry him. She thought to herself as she saw her carriage arrive, giving the coachman her regular cold look, "To lord Gunther's estate." She said as she enters, her large breasts jiggling ever so slightly as she stepped into the carriage. Hmm. The reason he hasn't left must be because of me. She pondered the reason why the young man hasn't found a better paying job, but for now, she hoped Gunther was at his home. And judging from the fact that Ashton wasn't home, she reckoned he was with his grandfather. The sexy milf takes another deep breath, clenching her fists at the fact that she has to ask for money.
A young man stands on the other side, dressed in the garb of a page. "Here, madam." He bows and hands her a letter, bowing and raising his hand, hoping for a tip. When Danielle looks down at the letter, she sees that the wax crest glows with a purple light that only she can see, her husband's way of proving that the letter is in fact from him. Opening it, she see that on fresh vellum, Samuel has written: My love, I fear that it will be longer than I thought before I return. The count's task has proven more complicated than I'd anticipated, and I suspect it will be weeks or even months before I see our chambers again. In fact, I fear that I must ask you to come to me. Matters are too sensitive to write in a letter, but there's a task for which you are eminently suited. You'll find me in Novigrad, in a brothel called the Passiflora, I've taken up work as a house mage to treat the ailments of the girls here, which is a good cover for my real task. I'm sorry to ask this of you, dear, but believe me when I say that it is necessary. I await you eagerly.
Thanking the messenger for the letter and dismissing them, Danielle weighed it a bit before opening it to read it. It naturally caught her attention for a few reasons. She raised an eyebrow at the sound of him working at a brothel and why exactly that seemed liked the best possible place for him, but she thought better of it, thinking that knowing how engrossed he gets, it would be surprising if it even occurred to him how it might seem as anything more than just study purposes. Danielle had to think -about that kind of environment. Not that her dancing didn’t always avoid getting a bit...suggestive, but she always carried herself with a bit of class to it and despite expectations, she wasn’t a whore that could be bought. Selling your body to strangers seemed like a little much...but men will enjoy what men like, after all, and there will always be a market for that. Putting the letter away, she gathered some of her own stuff for research before stopping to find Alain and say a quick good bye.
Varrin's father makes a nod so small that it would be imperceptible to anyone who didn't see him every day, letting Varrin see himself out. Heading down the hall, the young man sees his sisters chambers, both across from each other in the tight castle hallway. Isabella's door is closed firmly, no light or sound emanating from the crack beneath. Madeline's, however, is another story. Candlelight is visible from under the door, and drawing closer, Varrin hears a giggle from the room within, followed by a moan.
The smiles disappear as the fog begins to rise, and the three ruffians all back away several steps, standing now in the middle of the road. Now scowling, the three remain where they are, but seem unwilling to make a move right now. "W-What're you doing, freak? You some sort of mage as well as an elf? You want to end up burning on a pyre?"
I guess Isabella is asleep. Probably for the best. Varrin's eldest sister could be... difficult to deal with, so he did not mind that she seemed unavailable. The moan coming from Madeline's room caught the young man's attention. Curious, he silently approached, trying to take a peek inside and see what was going on without getting spotted.
The kikimore is one of the smaller of its kind, and goes tumbling backwards through the air, landing heavy on the ground beside the forest road. Before it can recover, Trina has closed the distance, and with a few well places strikes, her silver sword hacks through its legs, and then downwards, into its brain. Behind her, she can hear the insectoid squeals of Bogrid's opponent, as the dwarf sends his axe down deep into the kikimore's flesh. At the wagon Trina was hired to guard, two kikimores look up, seeing that their compatriots have been slaughtered by Trina and Bogrid. Evidently deciding that they've had their fill for today, they scurry back into the trees, one dragging the corpse of Trina's employer. Looking at the wagon, the witcher sees that it's a mess. The monsters slaughtered the horses, driver and the other guard that was with them, as well as the aforementioned merchant who was dragged away. Two wheels of the wagon have been destroyed, and the expensive silks that the merchant was transporting have been covered in blood, utterly ruined. Bogrid sighs. "Fuck."
'You will not live to see the day I would burn on a pyre, if you keep playing with the fire your kind likes to worship, dh'oine,' Ard chuckled, the elf turned and hoisted himself to the back of his horse, while the three where too shaken to approach. He put up his hood, 'Pray that the next person you wretches try to rob is as merciful as I am.' Ard spurred his horse, riding out of the town.
