A Hard Day's Night

Geralt and Philippa rode hard back to Crow's Perch, arriving in about half the time it took to arrive at the tavern.

They were on a mission. They were ANGRY.

Angry that they had to jump through hoops for information on Ciri. Angry that they were lied to by a drunken wife beater. Then a part of them, one that was subconscious yet connected between the two of them, was absolutely, inconsolably livid at the prospect that they were working for a man who murdered his own child in the womb.

It was almost as if Roach felt their burning anger, because he galloped down the road as he could.

Burning.

Crow's Perch was on fire.

The stable's hay roofing was ablaze, embers in the air. Fire had spread to the nearby wood structure, and the dry grass in front. When Geralt and Philippa rode through the gate, two guards, a bald older man with a grey beard, and a hard-faced man in a brown hood were standing there in hapless panic.

"Oswin? Where's Oswin?" The hooded man said frantically. "Anyone seen Oswin?"

"Believe I saw him headin' to the stables." Answered the bald man.

"What?!"

Geralt and Philippa had dismounted Roach and ran to the side of the men.

"Fire- you blind!" He said to the men. "Nobody willing to put it out?"

"Ain't that simple." The bald man explained nervously. "Most're afraid! Baron flies into a rage, he takes no prisoners!"

"My brother's in the stable! We've got to save him -- he'll burn alive! Him and the horses!" Cut in the hooded guard.

"We're here for the baron-" Geralt began.

"Geralt." Philippa said urgently. "There need not be any more death today. I'll help his brother., You go sort out the Baron."

Geralt looked at Philippa for a moment, and then nodded.

"Be careful." He said. Philippa nodded back. The two ran in opposite directions, Philippa to the stables, Geralt to the castle and Philippa to the stables.

Philippa figured the front door must have been blocked, so she looked around for another way inside. She saw a small window leading to the second story of the barn. She looked around to make sure no one was watching - everyone seemed to be in a status of panic and paid her no mind. With the coast clear, Philippa transformed into her owl form, flying up and through the open window. She transformed back immediately once on the second level. The air was hot, and the smoke thick. She coughed and did her best to cover her mouth. She couldn't be in there for long.

"Help! For godsake somebody help!" Someone yelled below her. Must've been her man. She looked down to see a man doing his best to press himself in a corner away from the flames. The Horses all neighed in panic, trying to get out of their enclosures.

Philippa hopped from the platform, slowing her descent magically. She walked to where Oswin could see her, and he looked utterly shocked.

"H-How'd you get in here?" He asked, confused .

"Nevermind that." Philippa instructed. "Free the horses, and let's get out of here before the stable comes down atop of us!"

"The doors blocked!" Oswin pointed out. "How are we gonna get out?"

"Let me worry about that. Now the horses!"

Oswin looked as if he had something else to say, but the heat, smoke and flames around him didn't lend itself time for an interrogation. He went and began opening the horses stalls while Philippa stepped in front of the door. A beam and part of the roof had collapsed in front of it blocking access. Concentrating, Philippa brought her hands up.

"Poruszać się!" She yelled, and a large telekinetic blast shot from her hands, blasting the blockage, and the doors clear off its hinges. The horses were smarter than Oswin, and ran out immediately. Oswin looked at Philippa in shock, mouth gaping open.

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" Philippa said over her shoulder, Oswin's surprise left him, and he gratefully nodded and rambled thanks, before running out of the burning stable.

On the other side of the yard, Geralt had found the Baron, stumbling about.

Drunk. Of course.

The Witcher made a b-line toward him.

"You, you...where do I know you from, eh? Ah, right! The witcher! Come, drink with me! Pale as a ghost, you are!" The Baron laughed, noticing him walk up. The Baron tried to place a friendly hand on the Witcher's shoulder, but Geralt roughly brushed it off. He did not want this man touching him.

"I know your wife miscarried." Geralt said, getting directly to the point. He was in no mood to speak lightly. The Baron didn't deserve as much regardless. "Was that before or after you beat her to a pulp?"

The Baron's eyes widened, and he looked as if he had just been slapped. His shock turned into rage in a second, something Geralt figured happened quite often.

"What the fuck're you suggesting?!" Roared the Baron, taking a swaying step toward Geralt.

"Don't play me for a fool. You'd been beating them for years. Finally, they'd had enough and fled. Sound about right?" Geralt accused. The Baron's mouth gaped open and shut a few times, a man trying to formulate a lie, and excuse. Then, he just yelled in anger, balling his fists up, and taking a wild swing at Geralt.

Geralt easily weaved out the way, tripping the Baron as his lumbering body came by. The Baron stumbled to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. He quickly scampered to his feet, throwing another wild punch at Geralt. The Witcher dodged it easily again.

"Fuckin' get out of here!" The Baron demanded, continuing to try and hit Geralt. Geralt simply moved out the way. Seems the Baron wasn't much of a fighter unless it was against other drunks or women.

"They ran from you, didn't they?" Geralt said simply, phrased as a question, but it was a statement of fact.

"Lying prick!"

The Baron threw a wild haymaker towards Geralt's face, but Geralt caught it with his own, squeezing his fist and twisting the Baron's wrist harshly.

Then Geralt threw his own punch. Difference was his connected.

Geralt's punch hit the Baron square in the jaw, causing the large man to stumble. Geralt threw another punch, this time connecting with the Baron's nose. Then another, and another.

Soon Geralt was on top of the Baron's prone body, straddling his stomach as he continued to reign down strikes to the drunk's red face. The Baron did what little he could to shield himself from the Witcher's onslaught.

"Stop-" The Baron croaked out in a plea. But it fell on deaf ears. All Geralt could hear was his own heartbeat, and the cunch of his fists against the Baron's face.

Suddenly, a hand came out, and grabbed Geralt's arm as it moved upward to reign down another blow. Geralt spun around, prepared to give whichever fool who decided to intervene a bad time, until he saw Philippa face staring at him.

"Geralt-" She said softly but sternly, still holding onto his arm. "That's enough. He can't answer to us if you beat him dead."

Geralt let his muscles relax, and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked around and saw that he had formed a crowd, with some men looking terrified, and others satisfied that their leader was beaten into submission. The Baron himself was whimpering pathetically, covering beaten face with his hands.

Gerlat got off of the Baron, and grabbed him roughly by the collar. He dragged him to a nearby trough, dunking the struggling Baron's head in the water - rinsing the blood off, and sobering up. Geralt held him under the water for several seconds before letting go. Sputtering and coughing, the Baron sat limply against the trough, looking at Geralt and Philippa looking down at him.

"We need to talk." Philippa said.

—————————————————————

The Baron sat in his chambers facing the fireplace. He sat with his arms hanging to the side, and his head down staring at the fire.

He was ashamed to look at them.

Though the room was warm from the fire, it felt cold. The glow of the fire couldn't illuminate everything.

"You beat them." Philippa said simply.

"I never laid a finger on Tamara, not once." The Baron said defensively.

"And Anna?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

"That's another story. She always knew how to spark my ire." The Baron admitted. Philippa scoffed indignantly and his glibness.

"You expect us to believe you never laid hands on your daughter? That your ire was only directed towards your wife? Philippa pushed. The Baron threw her a hard look.

"You're free to believe whatever you wish, but she was always the apple of my eye. She had the run of the place, ask anyone. She'd ride the horses, hunt with the men, at times join them on their rounds. And they'd send for her when I flew into a rage, for only she could calm me." The Baron defended himself.

"I believe she's gone, and I KNOW you're a liar." Philippa said flatly "Your words mean nothing."

"Fuck you!" The Baron roared, standing from his seat and turning to them. "Fuck the both of you! You freaks don't understand - you could never understand! I'd never hurt my child you cu-AGHK!"

The Baron was cut off by Philippa simply holding out her right arm; her hand was clenched as if holding something. She was in fact - The Baron's life. She was choking him with magic. The Baron scratched at his throat, hopelessly clawing for air.

"You would never hurt your child?!" Philippa seethed. Clenching her hand even more, causing the Baron's face to go even redder. "You beat your child out of your wife! Before it even took a breath of air. It deserves the air in your lungs.

The Baron dropped down to his knees now, eyes red, foaming from his mouth, the life being choked out of him.

"Philippa."

Geralt put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her rage. She had forgotten he was in the room, only focused on making The Baron suffer. She looked back at him, and he looked at her, unjudging but firm.

After a second, Philippa dropped her hand and the spell, freeing the Baron's airway. The large man fell forward to his hands, coughing and gasping for air.

Philippa walked to the side of the room, and sat in an unoccupied chair, her elbows on her knees. She was suddenly tired. Ragged, she wanted this night to be over, to wash her hands of all this.

To their surprise, The Baron let out a pained laugh. There was no humor in it.

"Gods, If me an' Anne understood each other like you two do, maybe none of this would've happened." He said in self-pity.

"Get up." Geralt ordered. He had no time for his late remorse. "Tell me that happened that night."

The Baron moved to a seated position on the floor, and sighed wearily.

"I'd been soakin' myself for three days straight. Anna came to me, said they were leaving. I begged them to stay. She refused to hear it. I tried to stop her. She wriggled like an eel, we struggled...she fell. Last blasted thing I remember. Woke up in the morn, breeches heavy with me own piss, a large bump on my head. Sadly, they were gone. Know what that's like, witcher? No, how the fuck could you? I was left with nothing! Nothing! Only the bottle…"

Philippa snorted angrily. The Baron stiffened, afraid that she might come back over. When she remained seated, he relaxed a measure.

"Now is not the time for your self pity" Geralt said. "Tell me what happened next."

"Next...it only got worse. I awoke at sunset, not knowin' how many days had passed. Thought it was all a ploughin' drunken nightmare. An' then I went to the bedchamber, but Anna was not there. Instead... there was blood everywhere. I knew. She'd miscarried…. I neared the bed...and saw it. It lay there. A tiny thing, defenseless...on bloodied sheets...dead. And it was my doing."

His last admission came out a near whisper. A confession.

Yet-

Hearing the Baron say it out loud...Geralt couldn't fight a small doubt in his mind. Something telling him that there was more to it, something unnatural. Ameer's mention of a darkness in the region. Could be the ramblings of a mad Zerrikanian….or could be something.

"What did you do with the child?"

"Wrapped it in a clean sheet and buried it."

"Just like that?" Philippa said from her seat. The Baron's head turned to give her a miserable look.

"Damn you! I gave no thought to a funeral. It was a horror, I wanted it to end. That child had been my dream. I told Anna, 'A little one, our little one, to make things right.' Yet she died before she could be born. Understand, witch? My child was dead."

"If you dare cry - if you shed one damn tear, I swear-" Philippa began.

"Enough." Geralt said firmly, silencing them both. "Enough...As it turns out, you might have found a bit of luck in all your tragedy. your dead child might help us find the one who's still alive...and your wife."

The Baron perked up immediately.

"What? How?"

"Sometimes miscarried fetuses, if they don't get a proper burial, turn into botchlings."

"Into fucking what?"

"You don't need to know the details," Geralt said. "There is a bond between it and your family. I can use that bond to find them."

The Baron looked unsure. He wanted to forget the child, to wipe it from his mind. But now...he'd have to face it directly.

"What...what do we need to do?" He asked, unsure of himself.

"First...you need to send your guards away. Make sure they're indoors. This can be unpredictable."

The Baron nodded

Then you need to show me where you buried the fetus. Is it close by?"

"...Aye. A small grave in the yard. Far from the Castle as I could put it"

"Good. If we fuck this up, then we at least have place to be buried."

That did not inspire confidence in the Baron.

Regardless, he did as he was told, going out and ordering his men to turn in for the night. He then led Geralt and Philippa to where he made the makeshift grave. It had started raining since they'd been inside, which helped put out the fire at the stable. Philippa cast an aquaphobic spell on herself to keep dry. Geralt didn't mind the rain. The Baron looked like a drowned boar as he got soaked. The three walked to a far corner of the keep, away from the entrance and barracks.

"You give the child a name?" Geralt asked. The Baron looked dumbstruck by the question.

"No... Why would we?" The Baron answered.

"Mistake...Names are powerful seals."

The trio walked a bit farther, behind a damaged grain storer.

"Chose a lovely spot for an unmarked grave." Philippa said bitingly.

"Dammit woman, would you relent. I ploughin' know I did wrong."

"Good."

"Hm" Geralt interjected, looking down. The grave was open. "The grave's dug up. And empty."

"What's that mean?" The Baron said, panic evident in his voice.

"Botchlings on the prowl."

"Hghrll...Hghrlll."

And when you speak of the devil-

From behind them, between the wooden Palisades, crawled a tiny mass of pink and purple flesh.

A botchling.

Botchlings were tragic little creatures. The most innocent turned into a monster. They vaguely looked like children a few months, but their skin was pink and slimy, veins visible throughout. Their faces were deformed, a hole where their noses should've been, black eyes, no lips, and teeth that were razor sharp.

The Baron cowered behind Geralt at the sight of it, attempting to avert his eyes and alleviate his guilt. Geralt had seen a few botchling in his days. He wasn't a part of the process to pacify them though.

Philippa…couldn't look away from it. She didn't know why. It was a wretched little thing, but when Philippa saw it, she wasn't disgusted by the creature itself but at the violence and disregard that created it. It was something that shouldn't exist. Something that shouldn't be forced to exist.

Staring at the thing's tortured eyes, Philippa was suddenly brought back to the layers of her life. To the machinations of hers that had harmed people. Of her own violent marks upon the world. For the briefest of moments, it weighed on her, weighed on her in ways it hadn't ever during the last three hundred years.

Gods, she was going soft.

"Take the botchling into your arms, quick!" Geralt told the Baron. The Baron looked at Geralt as if he was crazy.

"Are you mad, lookat that thing!"

That THING is the only way to find your family, and we must do the ritual now."

"Why can she hold it?" The Baron said pointing at Philippa raised an eyebrow at the Baron, and her mouth went into a thin line.

"It's not my family we're looking for." She said scathingly. "That's the last remnant of your lost child. Now man up."

The Baron frowned, but slowly moved toward the botchling nonetheless. The botchling looked at him curiously - by all accounts it had the mannerism of an infant. Carefully, the Baron bent down and took the Botchling in his hands. Surprisingly, the botchling let itself be picked up without any fuss.

"It's calm. Good." Geralt commented.

"And if it doesn't stay calm?" The Baron asked with worry.

"Then it'll bite through your jugular and you'll die before you hit the ground." Geralt said. "Now come on. We need to get it back to the fortress."

"What?"

"Best place to do the ritual. Better get walking. Not sure how long it'll stay calm."

"Oh fuck." The Baron breathed out. He began to slowly walk back to the Castle, leading the way while Geralt and Philippa trailed a few steps behind him. He held the botchling out at arms length, trying to keep it as far from his face as he could. The botchling squirmed a bit in his hands, reaching out trying to touch his beard. Despite it's gruesome nature, it was indeed like a small infant, curious of the world around it.

"Sweat merciful gods." The Baron muttered to himself.

"Steady Baron. We'll be back soon enough, Just-"

Geralt didn't finish his sentence.

"What? What is it?" Philippa asked, looking around. Gerallt's ears twitched as if he heard something. Without warning, Geralt pushed Philippa backwards several feet. The ground where Philippa had previously been standing glowed green, and from it rose a ghastly specter wrapped in bandages and ragged clothing, holding a sword in it's right hand, and a lantern in its left.

"Wraiths." Geralt said. As the words left his mouth, 2 more ghosts appeared from the surrounding area. Wraiths were naturally drawn to death and misery. A botchling represented both in physical form. They no doubt wanted it for themselves. For what, Geralt didn't know - man was not meant to understand the reasoning of the horrid specters. What he did know is that he couldn't let them get close.

"Fuck. Fuck!" The Baron panicked.

"Calm down!" Geralt ordered, drawing his silver sword. "They're attracted to the Botchling. Keep moving toward the castle!"

The Baron didn't have to be told twice, picking up his pace towards the castle. Philippa and Geralt put themselves between the Wraiths and them.

"Give….us the….child." One of the Wraiths rasped out, voice causing Philippa physical pain.

"Not gonna happen." Geralt responded.

"Then...Dieeee."

The Wraiths flew forward, weapons leveled. Geralt prepared to meet them head on with his sword, but Philippa stepped in front of him.

She performed an intricate gesture with her hands, before sticking her arms out.

"Wygnany z tego świata!" She called out. Her palms were illuminated in a light green aura, and spectral chains shot from them. They wrapped around the Wraiths. They groaned in their ghastly voices as if burned by fire. Their spectral form began to dissipate, until they were rendered to ash. Blowing in the wind. Once she was sure the Wraiths were gone, she canceled the spell.

Gerlat resheathed his sword, as Philippa gave him a smirk.

"Just a simple banishment spell." She said nonchalantly.

"Nobody likes a showoff, Philippa." He said.

"Help! For the love of fuck, HELP!" Cried the Baron from several yards away.

"Shit!" Geralt exclaimed. Philippa and Geralr ran up the hill to the Baron. The portly man was on his back, holding the Botchling up. The Wraiths seemed to upset it, because it was struggling to get out of the Baron's grasp, hissing and spitting as it swiped at his face.

"Do something!" The Baron yelled, trying his best to keep a grip on the botchling.

Geralt stepped closer, and cast a quick Axii sign. The effects hit the botchling, who stopped wriggling, and went back to it's docile state. The Baron rolled to his side, and pushed himself to his feet all while still holding the Botchling.

"Sweet hell" He rasped out.

"This is close enough. Let's do the ritual."

"Alright. Alright, what do I have to do?"

"Chosen a name?" Geralt asked. The Baron shook his head no. "So think of one. It's important."

The Baron appeared to think for a moment. "Okay. I think I have one. What now?"

"Repeat after me. By the powers of earth and sky." Geralt Began.

"By the powers of earth and sky." The Baron repeated.

"By the world that was to be your home."

"By the world that was to be your home"

"Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace"

"Forgive me….you who came but who I did not embrace" The Baron said, voice choking with emotion, face screwed in anguish. Philippa watched from afar, actually feeling the slightest amount of sympathy for the Baron in that moment.

"I name thee -- say his name," Geralt instructed.

"It's a girl." The Baron near whispered.

"Say her name -- and embrace thee as my daughter."

The Baron brought the botchling close to his chest, cradling it in his large arms. The botchling looked up at him, it's horrid face almost smiling like a baby would.

"I name thee Dea and embrace thee as my daughter." The Baron finally finished. As the final syllable left the Baron's throat, the botchling went limp in his hands.

"Good. Now bury it...properly this time." Geralt stated. The Baron nodded, not trusting his voice not to come out as a pathetic whimper. He placed the body on the ground gently, gentle as a father laying his baby down to sleep, before going to get a shovel.

They chose a spot close to the castle this time. The Baron dug a shallow hole, placing the botchling's body in it. He covered it with dirt, leaving a small pile of rocks as a makeshift headstone. Philippa swore she heard sniffling from the man as he went.

"So what now?" The Baron asked, voice ragged.

"Now, you go back to the castle. At midnight, Dea should turn into a lubberkin. I'll stay here and wait. You go home." Geralt explained.

"I'll wait with you."

"Out of the question."

"But...that's my child. And the guilt, the responsibility for all this lies with me." The Baron said adamantly.

"So now your father of the year?" Philippa snapped. The Baron gave her a look and was about to retort, before Geralt cut him off.

"Your guilt isn't of any use right now." He said placatingly. "nothing else you can do here. Just Witcher's work. It's a few hours from midnight. Go. Try and get some sleep. And try not to drink yourself stupid again."

The Baron's jaw works back and forth for a moment. Finally he lets out a sigh and nods. He turns, and walks back to the castle.

"You should go." Geralt said to Philippa."Try and rest. It's been a hell of a day."

"Yes, it has been." She responded. "And you're a damn fool if you think I'm not going to see it through."

Geralt almost smiled.

He took a seat in front of the small grave, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. Philippa went and sat on a nearby bench, and they waited.

Philippa was curious how Geralt could manage to sit so still for so long. After an hour on that bench her arse was sore and she was feeling antsy. But Geralt just sat there, only sound emanating from him was the occasionally loud exhale. Bored, she decided to go and sit next to him. She sat down close, their shoulders almost touching. He was still getting wet from the rain, so Philippa cast a small shield to enclose them both. He made no indication that he noticed besides a small grunt. They sat in silence for a while, before the sound of the rain hitting the barrier began to get to her.

"I'll level with you Geralt. This is not at all how I expected my day to go. How I expected this little task of ours to play out." She said. Geralt didn't move, but his ears perked up, indicating that he heard her, so she continued. "I mean, YOU might be used to wild goose chases for lesser men, but I'm not."

She hugged her legs against her chest, suddenly a bit cold.

"I am Philippa Eilhart dammit. I wait for no man, yet here I am, sitting in the dirt, waiting for the next step in helping some drunken bastard, all so we can get a shred of information that might not even be useful. I'm not a mercenary. Hell, I thought I was past even using my magic to fight. I'm a state maker gods dammit." She said in a frustrated sigh.

"This is not what I expected in my life…"

She looked at Geralt, who hadn't moved from his meditation pose. She didn't know if he retained a word of that, but it was nice to just get it out. She guessed today was the first of many long days in her uncertain future.

Suddenly, she heard Geralt shift, and before she knew it, a soft kiss was pressed to the side of her head, right on her temple. Her face went involuntarily red, as she turned to look at him. He hadn't even opened his eyes.

"I know this has been hard." He said. "This kind of thing. I've done it for years. I'm used to it, but I know it's hard. You've done well in all of this and I don't think I'd be even this far without you."

Philippa's blush went even a darker shade of red at his praise.

"But, I need you to be quiet now. We've a bit longer until I can perform the ritual, and I need to concentrate."

Philippa pouted at essentially being told to shut up, but his comforting words superseded her need to comment, so she sat there quietly, red in the face.

They waited some more, until Geralt suddenly said -

"It's time."

Philippa, who was half asleep at this point, jolted awake but the suddenness of his voice.

"How can you tell the time?" She asked. He shrugged.

"Just can."

Geralt repositioned himself so that he was on his knees in front of the grave. Lifting his arms to the heavens, he chanted. "By blood's power I summon you, with your name I beseech you. Hear my call and arise, Dea! Lead me to those bound to you by blood."

It took a moment for the incantation to take effect, but then the grave began to glow brightly with white light. From the mound of dirt, rose the botchling in spectral form.

A Lubberkin.

It still had it's grotesque features, but it was pure white and partially translucent. It floated in the air calmly, at peace. It almost looked beautiful.

The spirit looks at Philippa, and then Geralt expectantly.

"Lead the way." Geralt said.

The Lubberkin turned in the air, and began to float out of the castle gate quickly.

"It'll be more efficient if we go on foot. The Lubberkin might lead us places Roach can't go." Geralt stated. "I'll try to go slow so you can keep up."

Philippa frowned at the insinuation.

"Just worry about yourself, Witcher." She said in a huff.

"Alright, let's go, We've a lubberkin to catch."

___________________________________________________________________

Philippa greatly regretted her cockiness.

They were chasing the lubberkin through the backwaters of Velen. Geralt was strides ahead of her, easily keeping up with the spirit, as Philippa trailed behind, lungs burning. This was the most strenuous exertion of her physical form she'd done in ages, at least outside the bedroom.

The Lubberkin led them to a small house, about a mile and a half away from Crow's perch.

The Lubberkin stopped right in front of the door, indicating that it was interested in something inside. Geralt opened the door and looked inside. It was abandoned, sure, but only recently.

Geralt looked around the house. There wasn't much there, but the lubberkin stopped there for a reason. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pile of clothes in the corner of the room.

'Hm. 2 sets of womens clothes. Someone changed here. Anna and Tamara?" Geralt pondered. He went over and picked the clothes up. From them, fell a bracelet. One that looked strikingly similar to the one Anna had on in their family portrait. 'Looks like we're on the right track.'

As if hearing him, the lubberkin began to move again, flying down the road. Philippa had only just caught up to the house, panting with her hands on her knees.

"Come on. This way." Geralt said, taking off down the road after the Lubberkin.

"Wait.." Philippa panted out, "we've only just- Oh to bloody hell with this." She said, transforming into her owl form and flying after the Witcher and the ghost.

About another mile down the road, the Lubberkin stopped once more, this time over the horribly massacred body of a horse.

'This carcass might be able to tell me something'

Geralt went over and knelt beside the torn apart animal, examining. Philippa caught up to the site, transforming back into her human form. She was just as exhausted flying instead of running.

"Why...are..you looking over a dead horse." Philippa panted.

"The lubberkin stopped here. Must be one of their horses." Geralt commented more to himself than to Philippa. "Bones have been here a while.Chewed on the saddle? Necrophages'll eat anything these days."

"Necrophages?" Philippa questioned.

"Blanket term - monsters that lurk in graveyards, battlefield. They eat the remains of the recently dead. They're land vultures. They've no qualms with putting bodies in the ground themselves either. And-"

Geralt stopped mid sentence again. Philippa picked up that that meant something horrid was coming. She readied her hands to cast spells.

"What is it? Who- ACK! What is that ghastly smell?" She said, nearly retching.

"Rotfiends" Geralt answered simply. From the tree line, came shuffling several horrid creatures. Rotfiends: skin so rotted and diseased that their off pink muscles were visible underneath. They were man-sized, and walked on two legs, but there was not an ounce of humanity in them.

They used to be a rare sight until the 2nd Northern War, and then their numbers skyrocketed. They had plenty of food with the battlefields littering bodies and razed villages. And Now with the 3rd war, the once pests ran rampant in the lands.

The Rotfiends shuffled forward with surprising speed, -that's how they caught many of their living meals.

"Skalny kolec!" Philippa yelled as they got close. She squatted down and pressed her palms into the dirt. The ground shook and several spikes of rock shot from the ground, impaling the Rotfiends before they could reach the pair.

"Impressive" Geralt commented.

"Hardly. These creature don't seem like the most intelligent type she said, moving a bit closer to examine the withing, incapacitated monsters.

"Wouldn't get too close." Geralt warned.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Best way to deal with Rotfiends is to burn them." Geralt explained. When they experience blade or blunt force, they have the habit of exploding."

"A habit of what?"

The rotfiends' bodies began to shake, and their form changed, becoming bloated, and pulsating. Philippa scampered back just in time to avoid the worst of the monsters exploding, and getting their entrails everywhere.

"Oh, that's just HORRIFIC!" Philippa said, absolutely appalled.

"Now you know." He added. "Come on. The lubberkin is going this way. Get some fire spells at the ready. We're bound to run into more rotfiends."

And they certainly did. Dozens of them.

Velen must have been a feeding frenzy, because they couldn't go 100 meters without running into another pack of rotfiends. Following his advice, Philippa and Geralt relied on fire magic, blasting creatures with flames as they got close. They couldn't stop, so they did what they could to clear a path for themselves as they ran after the Lubberkin.

"I shou;d have taken my chances in White Orchard." Philippa complained as she burned another pair of rotfiends. "At least then I wouldn't be doing horrid pest control in a backwoods swamp. For free I might add."

"But you're just so good at it." Geralt teased as he threw some Dancing Star bombs he had, blowing 3 rotfiends to pieces.

"Bite me!"

"Maybe when this is over. We have a job to do"

After running another mile and a half, and through at least 30 rotfiends, the lubberkin stopped again, right outside of a shack.

Philippa nearly fell to her knees from over exertion. She looked at the lubberkin floating in front of them.

"Please...please tell me this is our destination." She tried to reason with the spirit. "Tell me we'll find Anna and Tamara safe and sound, and we can put this madness of a day behind us."

The Lubberkin of course did not answer, and just flew closer to the door.

"Catch your breath and come on." Geralt said, placing a gentle hand on Philippa's back. "Let's see this through."

Philippa took another moment to catch her breath, before standing back up. "Come on then. Let's get this over with."

They were close to the river, south of the Inn at the Crossroads. The shack looked occupied. Geralt could hear people inside.

They walk up to the door, and knock. The door wasn't opened immediately, but they heard shuffling inside. After a moment, the door swung inwards. Standing in front of them was a boy, no older than 9, in simple clothes with a shaved head.

"Who're you?" The boy asked, eyes going a bit wide at their appearances. "What's with those funny clothes? And why do you stink?"

"Blunt little thing, aren't you?" Philippa commented dryly.

The boy's mother came behind him and pulled him back urgently.

"The Other room. Go on, now." She told him, looking at the pair fearfully. There was a man as well, assumingly her husband. He stood from his seat at their table, looking just as fearfully. Philippa frowned. These people had no reason to fear them. She wanted to stress as much but then considered how they appeared. An armored, arm man with yellow eyes, gray hair and scars, and a woman with cloth covering her eyes, and feathers in her hair, both covered in crime.

Geralt was used to people fearing him.

"What ye seek here, sir. Ma'am? Our hut's out of the way, woeful. We 'as nothin', we knows nothin" The Man said nervously.

"Just need information. Looking for two women -- the Bloody Baron's wife and daughter." Geralt said.

"Not a soul abeen here, sir."

"Sure? Not even passing through? Daughter's medium height, about twenty, her mother's thin, about forty. Seen them?"

"That's her came at night, right, mummy?" The boy piped in.

"Quiet boy!" His mother chastised, grabbing his arm and pulling him back in the other room.

The honesty of children.

With all do respect sir," Philippa said, stepping into the shack. "It has been a LONG day, and we'd very much like for it to be over. Your boy has said enough so there's no use in continuing this facade."

The man seemed to think, being caught in his lie. After a moment, he let out a sigh.

"Sorry, sir, ma'am, but ye don't look like ye work fer her father."

"Because we don't" Geralt informed, stepping inside alongside Philippa. "I'm looking for Tamara and her mother, we need to know if they're alive and safe."

"Tamara is, aye. She's to my brother's place in Oxenfurt." The man said, relaxing noticeably. "But Missus Anna -- that's another tale... Though anywhere's better than to Crow's Perch...with the baron."

"Why?"

"I suspect if you made it this far, you know why. He beat her, sir. Beat Missus Anna, I means. Everyone knew! But not a one lifted a finger for to stop it"

"You some kind of hero?" Philippa asked skeptically. "The one man who stood while others sat?"

"Nay, I'm no hero. I wouldn't have done anything myself had Tamara not came to me." The man said with a bit of shame.

"Why'd you help them? Why put your family at risk?" Philippa pushed.

"Because I owed Miss Tamara a debt" The man explained. "Three moons past a fever gripped my boy. We thought he was done for. Tamara learnt it, brought food and salves. Nursed my boy back to health, saved his life. And she didn't charge us a pence. I may not be a hero, but I repay a kindness witha kindness."

"What happened to Tamara's mother?" Geralt continued. The man let out another sigh, and offered the two to sit. The man sat at the table, leaning on his elbows, looking weary.

"I was awaitin' in the old smokehouse, with horses. Cold as hell and so dark, couldn't see past two ells in front of ye. Moon 'ad risen high, and still they hadn't come." He explained. " Began to fear some demon 'ad snatched 'em. But finally they came forth and we sets of towards the river. Suddenly, out of nowhere a gale arose. Thought it'd tear my head off! And those damned birds! Swarms of 'em coursin' o'er the woods, raisin' a racket to make your ears bleed! Missus Anna screamed, bent over into herself. Tamara knelt down, gripped her arms. 'Twere then I saw it -- fiery marks on her hands."

"Fiery marks?" Philippa repeated.

"Aye." The man confirmed. He looked around for a bit of chalk. He drew 3 spirals, all connected at a point in the center, enclosed within a triangle.

"Recognize this symbol?" Geralt asked Philippa.

"I was going to ask you that." Philippa admitted. She turned her attention to the man. "Wait, what do you mean marks ON her hands."

"They were burned in. Like someone branded her, but these weren't black or scabbed over - they were pulsing and red." The man said with a shudder.

"So what happened next." Geralt continued.

" Grew even darker, seemed someone 'ad put out the stars. Crickets all went silent of a sudden, and then, from the woods, a roar. Broke out in a cold sweat, and before I could catch my breath a beast jumped out o' the woods -- big as a barn, with horns and two burning coals for eyes!" The man said excitedly.

Philippa looked at Geralt, suspecting he was thinking of what the creature could be. He thought, accounting for the Man's folly embellishments. Horns and with burning eyes - sounded like a Fiend. And if a Fiend was running wild in the area...well that was bad for everyone.

"I thought I was done for! Beast attacked Missus Anna's horse ripped its head off!"

That explained the mangled horse they had found.

"Carried her off into the woods! Our horses, mine and Tamara's, got spooked and tore off willy-nilly. 'Twere the only reason we escaped! The miss wanted to go back for her mother, but my wife pleaded, said she'd die out there alone. Miss Tamara agreed not to go. Then my brother came, and they rode for Oxenfurt"

"That's it?" Geralt asked.

"Nothing more." The man confirmed. Geralt let out a long breath. Well, they at least had a set location on the daughter. But the wife, taken away by a Fiend. That was just another unneeded complication. Geralt pushed himself back from the table and stood.

"Thanks for your help." He said, trying to hide the tiredness in his voice. Philippa stood as well, and the moved toward the door.

"Wait!" The boy called out. Geralt and Philippa turned and looked at him. "The lady -- she'll be all right in the end, won't she?"

Philippa gave him her best smile. "We'll do what we can to see that she is."

They exit the shack, walking back to the main road. The Lubberkin waited for them there, levitating and looking at them inquisitively.

"So here our paths diverge. Thank you, Dea. Go in peace." Geralt said gently. The Lubberkin spared them one last look, before turning and flying away. Philippa had to stop herself from waving goodbye.

"So...back to the castle then." Philippa said. Geralt took note that she sounded just as tired as him. It was the wee hours of the early morning, and they had just ran all around the countryside on a scavenger hunt.

"This is the Troll Bridge area. The Inn at the Crossroad is not too far from here. We should head there for the night." Geralt suggested.

Philippa raised an eyebrow at him.

"Won't the Baron want to hear this news as soon as possible." Philippa questioned.

"Of course he would. But he wasn't the one who ran all around this damned land to find the pieces of where his family went." Geralt grunted. Philippa certainly couldn't argue that. "Tamara is safe in Oxenfurt, and there's not much we can do about Anna right now. The Baron can wait. We need a warm bed, and an even warmer bath."

Philippa couldn't agree more

_________________________________________________________________________

The inkeep was half asleep at the bar. It was near 3am, and the drunken lingers all stumbled away about an hour ago. He considered going to bed himself, when his door creaked open, starling him awake.

"Welcome to- Oh. it's you two."

The inkeep looked at Geralt and Philippa as they shuffled into the inn.

"No offense...but you two look like you've been dragged through pig's shit." His nose wrinkled a bit. "Smell of it too."

"What an astute observation." Philippa said sarcastically.

"Find everything you two were looking for?"

"And then some." Geralt answered.

"I suppose you two would like a room."

"And a bath." Philippa added on. Gods she wanted nothing more than a bath.

"Hmph. I'll tell you what. For not causing a ruckus with the Baron's boys yesterday, consider it on the house. You can take the room upstairs at the end of the hall. The room with a tub is right next to it. I'll get it prepped for ya."

Philippa nearly beamed.

Geralt went to the room, and stripped from his armor. When he threw it on the ground, he felt 100 pounds lighter. People assumed Witchers didn't ache, but the truth is they ached all the time. They were just used to it. Accustomed to the constant soreness and strain on their muscles, joints and bones. Geralt craved these small moments of relaxation

Geralt took his undershirt off, and kicked off his boots. He went to the room with the tub, only to find Philippa already there, in nothing more than a towel.

"I see you got here before me." He commented, casually letting his eyes fall over her body. Philippa smirked a bit at how he looked at her. "I'll let you be. Let me know when you're done."

If Philippa had eyes, she'd roll them.

"Geralt, don't be ridiculous. The water will only be warm for so long. Get in the tub." She said.

"Hmp" Geralt grunted, but didn't question the bossy witch. He stripped himself of his pants, his pale legs coming into view. Philippa always thought he could use some color, but his muscular legs, and magnificent cock were things of beauty to her. She was glad it was harder for her to be caught staring these days. Geralt carefully climbed in the bath. It was medium sized, fitting him pretty comfortably. Once he was settled in the warm water. Philippa dropped her towel, and climbed in after him, slotting herself right between his slightly opened legs, She leaned back so that her back was to his chest, and her head right under his chin. The tub definitely wasn't made for two people with water overflowing from the top, but they made due.

"See, perfect fit." She said a matter of factly.

"Like a glove." Geralt added. Philippa let out a snort of laughter, which turned into a giggle. A regal, high-class giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. Geralt himself started laughing low in his throat. They laughed together, about nothing in particular, and about everything.

"So...what are we going to tell the Baron?" Philippa asked.

"The truth. That his daughter is in Oxenfurt."

"And of his wife."

"We'll tell him what he needs to know. That they split up."

So what's OUR next step?"

Geralt thought for a moment.

"We need more context of what's going on around here." He stated. "That witch we read of in Hendrik's journal, maybe she can lead us somewhere."

"Anything to not have to deal with the Baron for much longer." Philippa added disdainfully. Geralt gently rubbed her back.

"Let's not think about that right now. Right now, let's just get clean."

They washed each other, enjoying the feeling of their hands over each other, comforting, washing the grime and filth off of each other. Then they just sat against each other, trying to wash the day from their minds. It was nice. Philippa could feel Geralt's steady heartbeat on her back. Then she suddenly felt him stiffen, as if he was uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" She asked, turning her head to peak over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of his tight expression. He was looking for words.

"You have to know...I have to tell you, that I'd never do anything like the Baron. I'd fall on my own sword before I did." He said, deathly serious. Philippa was a bit concerned by the shift in the mood, and tried to play it off.

"Oh, bold of you to assume that you'll be with me in the distant future." She said, trying to sound playful. Truth was, she didn't know what the future looked like. She was so used to planning ahead, but for the last few days, she'd been looking ahead only a day at a time. And Geralt was always in those days. She felt Geralt's hand move to her stomach, and rub it affectionately.

"I swear it. I'll never hurt either of you." He whispered.

Philippa's heart nearly melted in her chest. She hadn't felt this close, this vulnerable in decades. She found herself placing her hand on top of his.

"Damn right." She said breathlessly. "We'd kick your ass."

She couldn't fully see him, but she knew he was smiling. He bent his head forward, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Philippa moaned at the feeling of his lips on her, and arched her back into. Geralt's hands slipped from her stomach, up to the underside of her large breasts. He lifted and kneaded them, eliciting an even louder moan from the sorceress.

"Geralt.." She whimpered out, grinding herself back against him. She could feel his cock swell against her ass. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look upwards at him. He mashed his lips against hers, tongue pushing into her mouth as he continued to play with her tits with one hand, pinching at her right nipple. "Fuck Geralt." She moaned into his mouth.

"That's the idea." He said cheekily. "Move to the other side of the tub, face me."

Philippa obeyed, maneuvering in the cramped space. When she was in position, Geralt repositioned himself so that he was on his knees. Then he dove down under the bath water, moving forward, and latching his mouth on Philippa's womanhood. She gasped loudly, hands automatically going into the water to his hair. Geralt lapped at her folds under the water, making sure to pay close attention to the pearl at the top.

Geralt was quite the generous lover. He had mastered the arts of eating pussy over the years.

Philippa was chanting his name, and grinding up greedily into his mouth.

"Geralt Geralt oh gods Geralt."

She knew she sounded like a mewling virgin, but she didn't care at the moment. His mouth felt WONDROUS. Not much time passed at all before he drove a screaming orgasm out of her - she clenched his hair at the root so hard, Geralt thought she might pull some out. Since he wasn't part drowner, he DID eventually have to come up for air. He reemerged from the water, kissing his way up her stomach, her tits, her neck, and finally her lips. She tasted herself on him. Wouldn't be the first time she kissed someone who had just been nose deep in her slit.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Philippa back, and lifted her so that she was sitting in his lap, cock pressed between their bodies. Philippa grinded against him, her cunt up and down the length of his manhood. He groaned into her mouth. He was always so vocal, and she loved that about him. The big bad wolf could howl. She reached down between them, grabbing his cock and lifting herself so that his cockhead was aligned with her entrance. She sank down on him, still loving the burn of the stretch his cock gave her. Geralt lowered his hand to her ass, taking a firm grip of it. It was too big, but supple and pert. It fit her.

With a firm grip, he began to rock her and his cock, grinding against her inner walls. Philippa placed her hands on his shoulders, aiding him in his motion and bouncing on his cock. Water spilled out from the side of the tub as they splashed about, fucking.

"Oh fuck, Oh Gods Geralt. You're so.." She moaned, not sure what to say. 'Amazing. Brilliant. The peak of man.' She landed on just moaning louder, and increasing her bouncing on his length. Geralt brought his head down to lavish her breast with his mouth, licking the valley between them, and sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Their romp was intense, but less so than previous. It wasn't a fight for dominance, but two bodies moving in unison, working in tandem to please each other.

In that moment, in the inn, connected together, the rest of the world faded away - Velen faded away. There darkness of the land couldn't touch them.

It was just the two them

________________________________________________________________________

"Where the fuck have you two been!" The Baron roared.

Geralt and Philippa had returned to Baron in the morning. Evidently that was unacceptable to him.

"I was waiting all bloody night fer you two. Waiting for anything." He said in anger. Philippa didn't not like his tone

"You weren't the one made to run around the whole bloody countryside looking for scraps of information." Philippa shot back. "Now control yourself, because speak to me like that again, and information be damned, I'll hex your tongue out."

"I-I….aye you're right. Sorry." The Baron said, trying to collect himself. "Do you have anything for me."

"Your daughter is in Oxenfurt." Geralt told him. He looked genuinely surprised to hear that.

"What the blazes...?! She all right? In good health? Safe? Why haven't you brought her back?!" The Baron demanded.

"Never offered to do that."

"How do you know she's safe? You see her at least?"

"No, but I talked to the man who helped her escape, and then took her in. Tamara is safe and sound. From what I gathered, she has no desire to see you again, no intention to return"

"I shan't trust some peasant dolt. I shan't trust whoever it is helped her! I need to know for certain she's safe! Go to her. You must be sure, see her yourself. I shan't believe anyone else."

"I've done my part. You've dozens of men -- there's gotta be someone you can send." Geralt said, folding his arms over his chest.

"You refuse to go?!"

"What do you expect me to do? Drag her back here kicking and screaming." Geralt asked facetiously. "She's in a fortified city. She's not going anywhere."

The Baron looked as if he wanted to argue further, but the logic of Gerlats words seemed to get to him

"Aye...alright. Wait, you've only mentioned Tamara. What of my Annie?"

"That's a bit more complicated." Geralt admitted. "Seems they split up. Anna is still an unknown."

Geralt decided it was best to keep her being taken by a fiend, and the strange marking on her hands a secret at the moment.

"Then what are ye doing here? Go out and bloody well find her!"

"Look." Geralt said sternly, sick of The Baron's attitude. "The trails gone cold at the moment. We need to reevaluate things. Me and Philippa are going to head into Western Velen. There's a witch there who might know somethings about the goings on around here. Might also have some info on Ciri.

"Wait, you're leaving?" The Baron asked in shock. "You can't just leave, and abandon the mission.

"We don't owe you ANYTHING." Philippa hissed/

"And we're not abandoning anything. We're playing the hand we were dealt. We're not doing this out of the kindness of our hearts. We need information on Ciri. And I think it's about time you told us the next part."

The Baron looked between the two helplessly. Once he realized he wasn't going to force the issue, he sighed in defeat.

"Alright. Alright, I'll tell you what I know."

____________________________________________________________________________

"Hmph. A basilisk huh." Geralt commented after hearing his story. Ciri was bold as he was when he was young.

"Aye. Nearly shat myself at the sight of it."

"Well you're in one piece. What about Ciri."

"You want to find out. You find my Anna. Only way I'll tell you."

Geralt sighed. Right, there was nothing else for them to do here.

"Then this is goodbye for the time being Baron. Philippa."

Geralt and Philippa made for the exit, but the Baron called out to them.

"Wait...wait." He said. He pulled something from his pocket. A letter. "If you do manage to get to Oxenfurt soon, please give this to my Tamara."

Geralt took the letter, and put it in his pouch. There wasn't much left to say to the Baron, so they took their leave.