Burning Blood (Part 4)

Coen. Mirthe. At the same time, Alan got drunk.

A boy sneaked around the crowd. He was small and nimble, so barely anyone paid attention to what he did. Still, a little dagger in his hands never stopped working on this busy day inside the marketplace. It cut pouches with money effectively and ruthlessly, enlarging the wealth of its master.

In the alley, a woman was giving service to a guard, who supposed to prevent the boy, but was too busy filling well with using her mouth.

"Ah, Mirthe, what a delightful place." - said a man with two swords behind his back, while walking through the crowd.

Coen felt rather fortunate today. His travels led him to Mirthe, one of the largest cities in western Temeria, situated close to Velen. The job here went well. Contract on kikimora actually pointed at the one in the nearby swamp not far away from the southern gates.

The target was killed easily, as it barely woke up from slumber. It was hungry, killed several people, but still weak. Easy kill.

After Coen earned some coins, he would have a good rest. The evening was coming quickly, surrounding the streets in pleasant cooling air, coming with the dawn.

Even the usually downcast faces never ruined his mood. He got himself an enjoyable meal and a bottle of true dwarven spirit. He had enough of it to knock out an elephant, but only felt slightly tipsy. However, Coen found himself the most fortunate because of a woman in his hands right now.

Her name was Sabina.

They met on the road, and she was a local of Mirthe. But that one was not enough to differentiate him as lucky. Her beauty and willingness to do many things in bed were. Thus, not being an idiot, he brought her to the room.

All in all, they ended up naked on the bed and Coen could swear to any supernatural being out there, that she was gorgeous and eager for the best part.

His rod stood firm and approached the wet cave.

He was ready for the action and already made a move. The tip of his dick felt wetness and heat, expecting an unforgettable night.

But then he heard a finger snap.

It came to him from very far away, across space and time.

"For fuck sake, not that..." - only screamed the witcher and disappeared from the room on the wave of turquoise light, leaving behind all his hard-earned stuff.

Alan. Rinde. Before the Coen fiasco.

Two people were drinking inside a crowded inn. Their table was spacious enough to accommodate a company of six but lacked free space. Empty and full bottles were all around two drinking maniacs.

"To you, Alan. To you, my friend that looks like winter on the outwards with the heart of fire inwardly. To you, the new witcher of the Wolf." - proclaimed Jaskier and emptied a mug of sour drink.

"Likewise." - only said Alan and drunk his own.

Jaskier pouted like a wronged maiden. He clearly expected some longer and more praising lines from the youth.

"Fine." - sighed Alan. - "You are a good man, Jaskier. Irritating, but good."

"We can make do without last sentence, my dear friend." - beamed the bard. - "Hah, you are really their son. Hey, darling!" - Jaskier slapped a waitress while the latter was passing by their table. The youthful woman didn't feel offended. She smiled at him with red cheeks. Clearly, someone can intrude into her room today after the closure of the party. Of course, that might happen only if the inn remained standing because it didn't look all that sturdy in Alan's humble opinion. - "Bring more roasted chicken and some cheese. Oh! I might as well immortalize our get together through art!"

"What is this...hic... Jaskier?" - Alan asked looking at the messy lines on the paper, that took a bard some time to draw.

"Oh, my friend... hic... despite generations... my good... wonderful friend. I wanted to remember the day... to commemorate the moment we first got drunk together... so I'm painting! I'm creating a masterpiece of visual art! A genuine work of a master!" - said Jaskier whose condition was approaching a stupor due to an overdose of alcohol quickly. But he was a true warrior of old, a real invincible man, so he never planned to go down without a long fight ahead.

"Good!" - heavily nodded Alan and later frowned. - "But why the heck those two faces across look like that?"

It was true. The painting resembled the scribbles of a child instead of the work of an educated man. It thoroughly depicted faces that can only come out after going through the processing of a meat grinder.

"Well, out of all my geniuses, painting is the least developed one! But it is still on the level of a rare artistic sense and extraordinary beauty, don't you agree?"

"I see that painting wasn't your best subject in Oxenfurt."

"Of course not! I loved geography over any other lesson." - proclaimed Jaskier while concentrating on his new work of art with full attention.

"That is understandable. With all your traveling and current lifestyle, you must have inspired to wander the lands from young."

Jaskier looked at Alan with a strange gaze.

"No, no... that was because the Atlas of the continent is large enough to hide a flagon of vodka behind it." - said he in return like it was some kind of otherworldly achievement.

'What did I even expect from him? A flagon of vodka. Right.'

Alan continued to drink and saw how "the masterpiece" gradually was coming to life. Well, one must admit, drunk Jaskier drew some proper shit. So, not to see his noisy friend in another bout of the endless current of words, brave witcher took everything in his capable hands.

"No, that won't do." - Alan took the picture and stood up. - "I can't let the masterpiece of my friend to go wrong. Now take it and compare." - he returned the picture to Jaskier who heavily nodded.

He walked up to the table of two, who followed him all the way to the inn.

The duo became tense. They sent others to prepare an ambush on the street and if the witcher attacked now and here, it would go wrong. Deadly wrong.

Alan stood in front of them with an inquiring gaze, closely investigating their faces.

"Wacha need, lad?" - pretended the first to be just your average port worker. Sadly, Rinde never had a port.

"Nothing." - hummed Alan with some apparent satisfaction about his observation and walked back. The duo never could understand what the hell that all meant.

"Oh, Alan, why did you snap your fingers suddenly? You had an idea? You must have a struck of genius, right? Oh, my fucking shitty shoes! What the fuck is that!" - even Jaskier wasn't able to properly cover his screaming voice and profane language. That happened rarely. The last time it was years ago, when he woke up naked next to a pig, thinking he had a delightful night with it until his friend explained the real thing.

"Hehe, now your painting is real." - shrugged Alan as if nothing happened.

What the painter will do when he wrongly painted the scenery? He will redo the painting. What will Alan do? Of course, change the scenery! Jaskier looked in horror at the two... strange masses of meat in the corner table and couldn't help but admit that his child scribbles suddenly became a very accurate portrayal of that section of the inn. Even tables and nearby walls from straight lines turned to some geometrical manifestation of a fractal.

"A-Alan... I heard they say not to let you snap your fingers... but this..." - Jaskier said in horror.

"Don't fret, daybreak will dispel it. Oh... and I put illusion and warding so no one will pay attention to them. But... if you want to immortalize this, I can even turn them into stone. Do you want a sculpture?"

"No! No stones, metal, or other solid objects of high density! No!" - hurriedly said Jaskier with sweat pouring down his face. He remembered how several years ago they first met near Yaruga and his abilities to turn things upside down with a snap of his fingers. He felt traumatized by that sound. - "Alan, let's not do the snap finger thingy, okay? Let's stay civil. We both are highly educated people. Oh, the pussy of my last lover... I suddenly felt fortunate that I drew two idiots who followed us. What if I decided to picture a street or an entire landscape? Ow my gosh. I will never draw in front of you again. It is very dangerous!" - but inwardly he said to himself to get rid of any portrait of himself he might see on his travels. Better be safe than sorry.

"Whatever." - Alan shrugged in boredom. - "I wish Coen was here. He is a great drinking buddy of mine."

"Coen? Oh, the witcher of Chimera School? I heard about him from some locals in Houtburg. They said he was passing by and killed an alghoul on their symmetry."

It was unknown how the next thought came to Alan's mind. It just appeared there and didn't want to go away.

'What if I try? Haha... that would be hilarious. Coen will be glad to see me!'

Perhaps the reason was his drunken state, that removed some deeply rooted constraints on his being. Or maybe he just wanted to see the old man suddenly, but he felt he can do it. Some mysterious force inside his body and bloodstream ignited, burning his blood with a tremendous influx of magic power.

It was like an avalanche of unstoppable power taking over all his being and concentrating on one spell that he will recreate only in the distant future. His eyes burned like lanterns in the gloomy night and arks of turquoise lightning danced around the fingertips.

'Accio Coen.'

And then he snapped his fingers. The next moment whole inn shook and wobbled as if builders constructed it from tofu. Space screamed and broke like glass and from the crack a naked man appeared. His clumsy figure slammed right on the table, shuttering flagons.

Next it all grew silent. The whole inn suddenly became still like sea during the calm.

Since this time Jaskier hated to be portrayed and flinched every time he heard someone snapping fingers.

"Oops." - said Alan sheepishly and scratched his head.

Coen was absolutely livid, he even trembled slightly and his ramrod dick went limp in shock and disappointment.

"Alan Violergos... I swear to all women I ever slept with, I will fucking slaughter you tonight." - his scream shook the whole inn and brought some liveliness back.