Prison and desire.

In the dimly lit confines of a medieval dungeon, the narrative of Geralt's awakening unfolds with the grim reality of his surroundings. 

As he regains consciousness, the first sensations that assault his senses are not visual but olfactory.

The pungent odors of urine, rotting hay, and damp cloths. 

These smells, mingling with the acrid scent of a burning torch, form a nauseating amalgamation that permeates the air, a stark introduction to his current predicament.

What a scene to wake up to, right?. 

Imagine being Geralt, the tough, monster-slaying Witcher.

Only to find yourself groggily coming to in a place that smells like a mix of a neglected barnyard and a medieval sewer. 

Not exactly the kind of place you'd want to spend much time in.

Especially if you're used to roaming the wilds, battling beasts, and sleeping under the stars, or in the occasional cozy inn.

Stuck against a cold, damp stone wall with iron shackles, Geralt's situation is grim. 

The flickering torchlight throws shadows that dance across the straw-covered floor, adding a touch of eerie drama to the whole setup. 

And then there's that voice, a familiar one, yet maddeningly unplaceable in his dazed state.

"You finally agreed, I thought I would have to spend the night waiting for you to wake up."

Chireadan's voice cuts through the confusion, a reminder that in this dark, dank dungeon, Geralt isn't alone. 

But comfort is scarce, because even with a known ally, the place is about as welcoming as a nest of venomous snakes. 

"You know, I was beginning to worry about how long it was taking you to come to your senses."

"Chireadan?... Where?..."

Geralt's head is pounding, a visceral, relentless pain that makes it hard to think. 

His situation was not optimistic, because survival in this type of situation depends on both intelligence and brute strength.

And let's face it, brute strength isn't doing him much good while he's chained to a wall.

"Oh shit, my head feels like it's going to explode... Where are we?"

"Where do you think? That we are."

Geralt ran his hand over his face, feeling the sand and dirt that had settled there. He looked around, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light.

There they were, sitting against the opposite wall, three figures, ragged and almost swallowed by the shadows.

Despite the poor visibility, Geralt realized that they were far from common. There was something about the way they huddled together, a silent testament to the situation they shared.

In the far corner, away from the flickering torchlight that did little to penetrate the overwhelming darkness, Geralt noticed another figure.

At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a pile of carelessly discarded rags.

But as his eyes focused, the shape took on a more distinct form, a human form.

A thin old man crouched at the foot of the grate, separating the dark, damp dungeon from the slightly lighter corridor.

His long, unkempt hair and tattered clothes spoke volumes of the time he spent in this abandoned place.

It wasn't just a few days; the dungeon seemed to have claimed him for much longer.

Geralt ran a hand over his face and looked around. Sitting against the opposite wall were three

raggedy.

Even though he couldn't see them clearly, they were in the farthest place from the torch, almost immersed in darkness.

He can recognize a strange figure a little far away.

Something that looked like a pile of rags was crouched at the foot of the railing that separated them from the lighted corridor.

He was a thin old man, the length of his hair and the state of his clothes were a clear indication that he had not only been there a few days.

"We were locked in a dungeon."

The revelation that they're in a dungeon isn't exactly a shocker.

Dungeons are, unfortunately, somewhat of a staple in Geralt's line of work. 

But the why and the how of ending up in this particular dungeon? Those are the million-crown questions. 

"I'm glad, it looks like you've finally regained your ability to reach conclusions logic."

"I thought you would still be under the sorceress's control."

"What the hell!".

Geralt said frustrated with that situation.

Chireadan's dry humor doesn't do much to cut through the tension. Geralt's frustration is palpable.

There's a sorceress involved, a missing friend, and a plot brewing that's likely nothing short of catastrophic. Classic Witcher trouble.

"What about Dandelion? Do you know where he is?"

"I don't know where he is, but I believe the troubadour is not trapped with us"

"How long have we been here? How long has it been since I entered that room?"

"I don't know. Just like you, I was unconscious when they threw me here."

Chireadan responded, adjusting himself better in the hay.

"But why do you want to know? Does it matter?"

"Yes, and a lot."

"Yennefer... and Dandlion. He's there, with her, and she's planning something really dangerous."

Desperate to know where Dandelion was, he spoke to the other prisoners.

"Hey! You guys there! How long ago were we brought here?"

The ragamuffins murmured among themselves, but none of them responded.

"You are deaf?"

"What time is it? Is it day or night? I suppose you know what time they bring you food."

"Distinguished gentlemen."

One of them finally spoke.

"We humbly ask that you leave us alone and do not speak to us."

"We are decent thieves, not politicians. And we never participate in attacks against authorities."

"We just stole it."

Another prisoner spoke.

"You have your place and we have ours. And let's leave it like this... each one minding their own."

Chireadan snorted. With prisoners' responses.

"That's how it has to be."

The long-haired old man stammered.

"In a prison, everyone must have their own corner and join their group."

"What about you, grandpa?"

The elf asked, mocking them, not caring what they thought.

"Do you join them or us? Which class do you think you belong to?"

"Neither of them."

The old man replied proudly.

"Because I'm innocent."

Whether that's true or just another story spun by a desperate man, who can say? In a place like this, truth is as scarce as daylight.

Geralt, with his head stil aching and questions swirling, must navigate this treacherous social landscape. 

He needs to find out what happened to Dandelion and what Yennefer is planning. The stakes are high, and the environment is unforgiving.

But if there's one thing Geralt's good at, it's fighting against the odds. 

With a mix of cunning, combat prowess, and the occasional bit of Witcher magic, he'll need to unravel the mystery of his imprisonment and escape. 

After all, there are monsters to slay, people to save, and, hopefully, a less stinky place to sleep tonight.

"Chireadan? Is this story about the attack… true?"

Geralt asked, massaging his temples, trying to alleviate the throbbing pain.

"Unfortunately, it's true. Don't you remember anything?"

"I remember little". 

"All I know is that I went out into the street… People were staring at me…"

"Then there was a store…"

Struggling to recall events, Geralt felt the pain in his head intensify.

"It was actually a pawnshop," whispered the elf.

"You entered it and, without a word, punched the owner in the teeth."

"With considerable force". 

"So much that he crashed into the shelves behind him."

The Witcher held back a curse and continued to listen intently.

"After the shop owner fell, you started kicking him repeatedly in sensitive areas". 

Chireadan continued softly.

"When one of the employees tried to intervene."

"And you throw him out the window, straight into the street."

"I'm afraid it didn't end there."

Geralt grunted, frustrated and displeased at being manipulated this way.

"Your concerns are completely justified."

"You left the pawnshop and marched down the street, bumping into people and ranting about a lady's honor."

"By then, a small crowd had gathered, following you, including me, Errdil, and Vratimir."

"That's when you stopped at pharmacist Lourorino's house, stormed in, and soon dragged him out by the leg."

"Then you addressed the crowd with a speech."

"What kind of speech?"

Geralt inquired, embarrassed by his actions.

"In essence, you declared that a respectable man should never call even a professional prostitute a whore."

"Calling it a vile and derogatory term."

"To use it to describe a woman he had never been intimate with was despicable and certainly deserved punishment."

"You announced that the appropriate punishment would be administered immediately and was entirely suitable for such a scoundrel."

"You clamped the pharmacist's head between your knees, yanked down his trousers, and spanked him with a belt."

"Continue, Chireadan. Don't hold back."

Geralt, resigned, just wanted to understand the extent of Yennefer's influence over his actions.

"You relentlessly spanked Lourorino while he screamed and cried for mercy."

"Lourorino pleaded for divine and human intervention, vowing to change his ways."

"But your punishment only grew harsher."

"You didn't believe his promises."

"It was then that armed bandits, known here in Rinde as guards, appeared."

"And did I offend the authorities then?"

Geralt asked as he touched his face.

"Not exactly. It was already too late for that."

"You had offended the Rinde authorities, well before the guards arrived."

"Both the pawnbroker and Lourorino are members of the Municipal Council."

"They've done everything in their power to banish Yennefer and Kakashi from the city."

"Not only did they propose and vote on this in council meetings, but they also slandered them in taverns."

"Spreading vile rumors about she."

"While Yennefer seemed indifferent initially, she became enraged when they targeted Kakashi."

"The animosity between them escalated."

"I suspected they were her adversaries. But go on."

"You stopped the punishment when the guards arrived."

"Are they the ones who threw me into this dungeon?"

With a wry smile, Chireadan replied.

"They certainly tried, my friend. They certainly tried."

"Ah, Geralt, you wouldn't believe the spectacle you created."

Chireadan couldn't contain his laughter, recalling the events.

"It's almost impossible to describe what you did."

"They had swords, whips, clubs, hatchets, and you just had a cane that you took from a spectator."

"And when they all fell, you moved on."

"Most of us knew our intended destination."

Even though Geralt was reluctant to admit it, he was captivated by how the story unfolded.

"Where did I go?"

"You were going to the temple because Father Krepp, also a member of the council". 

"The priest spoke fervently against Yennefer and the boy in his sermons."

"Calling them a cursed sorceress and a child of the devil."

"My dear friend, you were reprimanding him before the crowd".

"You made no effort to hide your thoughts about him."

"You promised to teach him respect".

"In mentioning him, you deliberately avoided using his official title."

"Instead, you used several offensive epithets."

"That means I ended up blaspheming". 

"What else did I do? Desecrated the temple?"

Geralt muttered, head down.

"No. You didn't have that opportunity. In front of the temple there was already an entire battalion of guards".

"Armed with everything in the arsenal, except, perhaps, the catapult."

"It looked like they were going to war, they were going to massacre you, but you didn't even approach them."

"Suddenly you put your hands over your head and... fainted."

"You don't need to say another word".

"But what I can't understand, Chireadan, is how you ended up in this dungeon with me."

"When you fainted, some guards ran to you to pierce you with their spears."

"I went to defend him and they hit me on the head with a mace...".

"I came to my senses here, in this hole."

"I have no doubt that I will be accused of having participated in an anti-human plot."

Gritting his teeth, Geralt spoke.

"Since we're talking about accusations...".

"What are your thoughts? What will become of us?".

Sighing in frustration, Chireadan spoke.

"If Neville, the mayor, manages to return to the capital in time... Maybe we'll have some chance of surviving."

"I know him. I think I can convince him to support us."

"However, if he fails to return in time, the sentence will be given by the counselors".

"Among them will obviously be Lourorino and the pawnbroker."

"And that will mean… That our sentence is already decided."

The elf made a short gesture near his neck, which, despite the gloom prevailing in the room, did not leave a lot of room for doubt.

Geralt, the seasoned witcher known for his stoic demeanor and sharp combat skills.

Found himself in a rather unexpected predicament. 

Beside him, Chireadan, an elf with a gentle disposition and a knack for getting entangled in human affairs.

Shared in the heavy air of regret and guilt that seemed to thicken with each passing moment.

The room, cramped and filled with the low murmurs of thieves and an old man feigning sleep.

Was hardly the place for revelations and heartfelt confessions, yet here they were, delving into the depths of their recent misadventures. 

Geralt, with his usual blunt honesty, broke the silence, cursing under his breath as he lamented of the situation in which they found themselves.

A situation marred by irony and misfortune.

"Crap!" 

Exclaimed Geralt, his voice a mixture of frustration and resignation. 

"Not only am I condemned to hang, but it still weighs on my conscience that I will be the cause of your death, Chireadan".

"And certainly Dandelion's."

Chireadan, ever the consoler, attempted to interject, perhaps with words meant to soothe or deflect the blame.

However, Geralt was quick to cut him off, insisting on bearing the full weight of the responsibility. 

"No, don't interrupt me. I know that everything that happened was Yennefer's work, but the real culprit is me."

The admission was stark, raw in its honesty. 

Geralt confessed to being a victim of his own follies, manipulated by Yennefer, turned into what he described with disdain as a 'cheap sycophant.' 

The elf, who had tried to warn Geralt earlier, agreed with a heavy heart, acknowledging his own role in the debacle. 

"I did warn you about her". 

"Damn it! I warned you and yet I myself acted like, if you'll pardon the word, an asshole."

"You are sad because you feel responsible for the fact that I find myself here". 

"But the reality is exactly the opposite."

"It's you who's here because of me. I could have stopped you in the street, held you back, not allowed…."

"But I didn't do any of that...".

"And do you know why? Because I was afraid that, as soon as the spell she cast on you wore off, you would come back… and do her some harm."

"Forgive me Geralt, it's my fault too."

Head down, Geralt answered him.

"I forgive you from the bottom of my heart, because you have no idea how powerful that spell was."

"I, my dear elf, can break a normal spell in a matter of minutes and not I faint before him."

"You would never be able to break the spell cast by Yennefer".

"And as for the possibility of you stopping me on the street, I think we would have some problems."

"Don't forget what happened to the guards."

His words failed to lessen the guilt the elf felt for his failure.

"As I told you, I wasn't thinking about you, but about her."

"Chireadan?"

"Yes?"

"You are...".

The words failed in Geralt's mouth, he didn't know why, but he couldn't ask if he loved her.

"I don't like pompous words."

"Let's just say I'm deeply fascinated by her."

"Doesn't it surprise you that it's possible to be fascinated by someone like her?".

Geralt fechou os olhos, evocando a imagem em sua mente. Uma imagem que, inexplicavelmente, também o cativou.

Geralt closed his eyes, conjuring the image in his mind. An image that, inexplicably, also captivated him.

"No, Chireadan." 

"It doesn't surprise me. Yennefer has something about her that's indescribable."

As he revisited his memories of the enigmatic Yennefer, Geralt recalled that she was not alone.

At no point did Geralt hear Chireadan mention Kakashi, which puzzled him greatly.

"Chireadan, throughout your narrative." 

"You omitted any mention of the boy who was with you downstairs."

"What became of him after I entered the room?"

Geralt's inquiry seemed to enlighten Chireadan.

Kakashi appeared unaware of Yennefer's scheme; his actions would have been different had he known.

His astonishment at the unfolding events was genuine.

Perhaps their predicament was more favorable than assumed.

If Kakashi matched the rumors, he might prove to be an ally.

"Our situation might be more promising than you think, Geralt." 

Chireadan suggested. 

"Yennefer, despite her methods, is accompanied by someone who seems different."

"If the rumors hold true, he wouldn't let her engage in anything perilous."

Geralt found this puzzling, as Chireadan was neither overly optimistic nor one to offer false reassurance.

Moreover, Chireadan's relationship with Kakashi was far from amicable, making his remarks even more unexpected.

"Chireadan..."

"Aren't you kidding yourself? I'd like to believe we'll be saved too."

"But clinging to false hope only makes things harder for us."

Chireadan couldn't deny his desire to grasp at any sliver of hope that came his way. 

Yet, he believed there might be genuine chances of rescue, especially with Kakashi's involvement.

"It might look like false hope to you, but I find it hard to admit.".

"The truth is, Kakashi, unlike Yennefer, is highly regarded by the city's populace."

"Your efforts have improved how non-humans are treated here."

"If it weren't for his close ties with Yennefer, he'd be someone I greatly respect."

Geralt, though skeptical, was intrigued by the tales surrounding Kakashi.

"Tell me about the rumors". 

"I've got nothing better to do anyway."

"Well, he's credited with saving dozens of children and several abducted women". 

"They say he took down about fifteen criminals on his own."

"His actions alone have greatly influenced the city."

"His influence grew even more when it was revealed that he donated a significant sum to the women he saved."

"While many ordinary citizens admire his generosity, it has also earned him numerous enemies."

"People began to compare priests to Kakashi, and for many, he surpassed even the most esteemed church leaders."

Chireadan continued narrating, his voice tinged with a hint of envy.

Yet mostly filled with admiration for Kakashi's deeds.

"These comparisons became a thorn in the side for certain city officials and church authorities."

"Some figures resented being overshadowed."

"That's why they started spreading harmful rumors about Kakashi, linking him with Yennefer, who was not well-regarded."

"They sought support from other key figures in the city but failed to find any allies."

"Everyone who witnessed the incident at the bandits' den refused to confront Kakashi."

"They fostered a fear of him, they were intimidated by him."

Geralt knew his skills were exceptional; his instincts confirmed as much.

Thus, he understood why these figures chose to avoid Kakashi; he himself would steer clear if given the choice.

"I'm not sure of his current situation since he only recently returned to the city."

"But I suspect these rumors contain some elements of truth."

"This might explain why he still enjoys widespread support among the citizens, despite the smear campaign by influential individuals."

Adjusting his posture slightly, Chireadan added,

"I also believe he isn't involved with Yennefer in her scheme."

"And he seemed unaware of her actions."

"When she locked the door, he tried every possible way to open it."

"His pounding on the door caused cracks to spread across the house."

"Kakashi didn't appear to be part of Yennefer's plan. He's our best hope."

"Perhaps he can save both his friend and us."

With a self-deprecating smile, Geralt remarked,

"It's a compelling story, indeed. But I find it hard to believe he will assist us."

"Even though I'm skeptical, there's little I can do but wait and see what unfolds."

Chireadan sighed in frustration, and Geralt's gloomy mood seemed to affect him, leaving him silent.

The sound of heavy footsteps and a metallic creak filled the air. The cell darkened with the shadows of four guards.

A key turned in the lock.

The innocent old man quickly moved away from the bars, blending in with the criminals.

"Already?"

The elf was taken aback.

"I thought setting up for our execution would take longer…"

One of the guards, a bald man with a receding hairline and a bushy beard, pointed at the Witcher.

"It's this one."

His words were brief and gruff.

Two other guards grabbed Geralt's handcuff chains tightly.

The thieves cowered in a corner, while the big-nosed old man hid beneath a layer of hay.

Chireadan tried to stand, but sat back down as the tip of a short sword pressed against his chest.

The bald guard stood before the Witcher, rolled up his sleeves, and massaged his wrist.

"Councillor Lourorino asked if you're comfortable in our prison."

"He wants to know if you're well. Are you missing anything? Isn't it too cold?"

Geralt saw no point in responding. 

He couldn't even kick the bald man,

As the guards held his arms and stepped on his feet with their heavy boots.

The bald man lunged and punched the Witcher in the stomach.

Gasping for air, Geralt tried to compose himself.

"You don't seem very well. Are you sure you don't need anything?"

The bald man asked again, reeking of onions and with decaying teeth.

"Seems you don't want to answer."

"The counselor will be pleased to hear you have no complaints."

The next punch landed in the same spot.

Geralt choked, and the only reason he didn't vomit was that his stomach was empty.

The bald man switched stance and changed arms.

Geralt looked back to the bald man's face.

"And then?".

The bald man moved away a little, evidently with the intention of having more space to take momentum.

"Councilman Lourorino asked if you wanted something."

"Why you do not answer? Got your tongue tied? I'm going to release her now!"

Diving another blow with all his strength.

Even this time Geralt didn't faint, but his situation wasn't good, he was worried about his internal organs.

Each blow felt like a hammer blow to his stomach, and it could end up killing him.

The guard bared his teeth and massaged his fist once more.

"So? No desire? Do I have to be more friendly? For you to talk to me."

"I have only one wish…".

He stuttered the Witcher, lifting his head with difficulty.

"May you explode, you son of a bitch!"

Gritting his teeth, the bald man backed away, took off and aimed for Geralt's head. The blow, however, was not struck.

The guard gurgled like a turkey, his face turned red, he grabbed his stomach with both hands, howled in pain... And exploded.

The other guards fled in fear when they saw one of their own exploding in a cloud of blood and vitriol.

While Geralt and Chireadan looked at each other confused, undecided what to do in that situation.