The Burning Lower Velen

George grimaced and remained silent. A man of honor, he preferred not to gossip behind someone's back. At most, he'd vent his frustrations in private. Wayne, on the other hand, had no such qualms. With a chuckle, he addressed Borch:

"Humans are divided by social class, Borch. You, a powerful figure, received a privileged upbringing with ample connections and solutions at your disposal. Naturally, you exude courtesy – even towards potential adversaries. Etiquette remains paramount, even between enemies."

"But for those scraping by the bottom, life's a different story. Forget literacy and education; many struggle to put food on the table. Survival trumps principles. Concepts like honor, ideals, and kindness become luxuries they can't afford."

"The harsher the environment, the more violence and barbarity prevail. As the saying goes, 'Desperate times call for desperate measures.'"

Borch, born with a silver spoon, nodded thoughtfully. Raised by the Zerrikanian tribe since his youth, he couldn't fathom poverty. Their lives were worlds apart.

The three continued their conversation for a while, eventually returning to the green dragon. George, perhaps due to his current melancholy, seemed to have a low tolerance for alcohol. After two flagons of mead, his gaze became unfocused. He hiccuped, a hint of frustration in his voice, and spoke:

"Half of Velen traversed, six or seven villages visited, and all I've gleaned is this: the dragon is real. A grey-skinned monstrosity it is. Just two days ago, it devoured a farmer's cow. Likely slithered towards the Lower Velen swamps. Instead of following the dragon immediately, I returned back to Crow's nest,".

"Velen, huh?" Mentioning this name the first thing that comes to Wayne's mind is the mysterious Lady of the Woods and the trapped soul within the ancient oak. Whether the dragon's descent was deliberate or accidental remained unclear. Regardless, nightfall was upon us, and this unfamiliar territory made pursuing the green beast impossible.

After sharing food and drink with his two companions, Wayne called over Lisa, the innkeeper. Settling the tavern bill first, he inquired, "Lisa, any vacancies? We'll need three rooms."

A flush crept onto the widow's face. "Apologies, traveler. We rarely see visitors here. We only have two single rooms available, each with a single bed."

Unfazed by the news, Wayne surveyed his companions. George reeked of ale, eyes glazed over with inebriation. Borch, similarly, seemed worse for wear. With a witcher's resilience, a few sleepless nights wouldn't hinder him. He nodded. "Then we'll take both rooms. Let me help George to his quarters first."

As Wayne reached for George, Lisa surprised him by grabbing his wrist. "Actually," she whispered, "there are two beds in my chambers. You're welcome to stay there as a guest for the night if that wouldn't be an imposition."

Wayne's gaze darted between Lisa and her young son, a five or six-year-old engrossed in building blocks. After a thoughtful pause, Wayne offered a nod of acceptance.

At the crack of dawn the next day, they secured George's mount at Lisa's tavern. George also planned to meet the Baron here and report on their dragon-hunting progress. Once equipped and armed, the trio departed Crow's nest. Leaving the wooden-walled village behind, Borch retrieved the true golden dragon form from a hidden location.

Without delay, the two witchers mounted the majestic beast, and under George's guidance, they soared towards Lower Velen Village nestled within the Werewolf Bog.

This village held a curious air. According to George's intel, Lower Velen was renowned for its skilled lacemakers. Unlike other Velen villages ravaged by monsters and beasts, this one seemed strangely protected. Despite residing within the swamp teeming with creatures, it enjoyed a sense of relative peace.

While George remained in the dark, Wayne, having played the game, knew this village held a veiled devotion to the enigmatic figure known as the Lady of the Woods. These ancient beings, like the Crone who is the Lady, harbored countless secrets.

They predated humans by millennia. Whispers claimed the Lady held dominion over Velen, her reign far exceeding the reach of any Temerian noble. Nobles wielded soldiers and laws, whereas the Lady wielded fear and faith. Her reach permeated this desolate land, with many monsters under her sway. Villages throughout Velen offered sacrifices to the Lady in exchange for a semblance of peace during harsh times. Yet, such blessings came at a hefty cost.

The price was indeed dear.

The only thing that is certainty gnawed that: the Ladies of the Wood were monstrous cannibals. There may be tens of thousands of humans that have eaten into their stomachs for thousands of years. Though this knowledge stemmed from his experience with the games, Wayne kept it to himself, unable to explain its origin.

Borch's flight was swift, taking them to the vicinity of Lower Velen Village within an hour. But the scene before them revealed they were too late. From a distance, a small village burned, the flames illuminating the surrounding fields. Roughly a third of the houses had succumbed to the inferno, wooden structures acting like pyres, engulfing Lower Velen in heat and fire.

Despite suspecting the green dragon as the culprit, their airborne position limited their view. Spotting the green dragon's silhouette, they couldn't tell if it had already left or pursued the villagers.

"Let's land in the village first," Wayne declared. "See if anyone needs aid."

Borch didn't respond verbally but unleashed a piercing draconic cry. Adjusting his flight path, he descended a few dozen meters above the ground and hovered over Lower Velen.

Squinting, Wayne scanned the village, surprised by the scene unfolding below. There were no screams or sounds of humans fighting the fire, nor any clash of steel. No bodies littered the ground. It appeared the entire village had evacuated.

He patted Borch on the back and boomed, "Then let's descend. No one's alive here. We need to find the villagers' whereabouts based on any ground clues."

"Perhaps they can tell us where the green dragon went." Borch, a man of few words, located a clear space untouched by flames and landed.

Once Borch transformed back into his human form, Wayne noticed George's grim expression. He immediately grasped his friend's concern and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't dwell on it, George. Even if you'd flown here yesterday, you wouldn't have been faster than us now. In fact, you might have encountered more trouble getting lost."

George, understanding Wayne's point, gave a quick nod and inquired, "What now, Wayne? You're in charge."

Wayne listened intently for any human sounds in the village. Hearing nothing, he pondered for a moment and addressed George. "No bodies, no screams. The villagers must have evacuated beforehand."

"There are likely many of them. Finding their footprints shouldn't be difficult."

"We'll follow the trail to locate them." George agreed, and they split up to search for tracks. As Wayne predicted, the number of evacuees was significant, including the elderly and children. These clues were quite clear for a witcher to decipher.