章 9: The first among many
As they continued south on the road, they came upon a shallow crossing that could take them across the Gwenllech River. However, instead of continuing on their journey, Geralt came to a halt and dismounted when he noticed a peculiar assortment of footsteps.
"Atram, come over here." Geralt commanded and pointed at the tracks. "Tell me, what do you make of these?"
Atram jumped off his horse and approached, studying the tracks carefully. "Judging by the distance between each step, it looks like a creature with a short stride. They're also bipedal, four-toed, and have small claws attached at the ends of their feet. But..." He paused and nudged his head at the footprints of a completely different creature. "This one is huge; look at the furrows that its feet have left behind. It is a heavyweight monster with thick, blocky soles."
Geralt shook his head in agreement, glad that Vesemir's teachings hadn't gone to waste. "Can you pinpoint their species?"
Atram tapped his chin thoughtfully before answering. "Based on the size and shape of their tracks, the smaller ones should be nekkers. If you consider the surrounding misty environment and the fact that they're traveling in a pack, it only serves to further confirm my suspicion. The larger footprints are harder to discern at first glance, but if I had to guess, I'd say they belong to an ogroid too."
Geralt grinned and lifted an eyebrow. "How did you come to that conclusion?" He inquired, already knowing Atram had the answer.
"I can't say about the freshness of the tracks, but the size and shape are a dead giveaway," Atram replied confidently. "Ogroids have distinctively broad and flat feet, with a prominent heel and toes that splay outwards."
Geralt grunted affirmatively. "Well done; I'll make a witcher out of you yet. As for the tracks, they are very fresh." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I can even smell them; they are pretty close."
Atram shrugged. "I am a man of many talents, but sniffing the air like a bloodhound ain't one of them."
Geralt chuckled. "That and you can't drink our potions." Laughing even harder after watching Atram go pale.
The man had tried to drink one of the witcher's potions once, thinking that his absurd vitality and constitution would alleviate the side effects. Oh, how wrong he was. Sure, Atram's mutation rendered him immune to diseases and neutralized mild poisons almost instantly, but witcher potions are an entirely different beast. There was a reason they were the only ones who could handle them.
To Atram's credit... he didn't die. Instead, his vision blurred, he had convulsions, and he ran an extremely high fever for what seemed like days but was only a few minutes. "Let's never mention that again. Please." He pleaded, trying to forget that horrifying experience.
"Fine by me; just remember I told you so."
"I know it was stupid; that recklessness of mine will kill me one day." He muttered and pointed onwards. "Enough of that. Let us move on."
Geralt nodded and led the way. For the most part, they followed the dirt road that ran parallel to the river. Their figures were overshadowed by the snowcapped pines and the occasional rocky outcropping that jutted out from the ground. The air was crisp and cold, causing their breaths to form visible clouds in front of them. A few twists and turns later, they arrived at what seemed to be an old, decrepit dam.
Atram saw the outline of a form deeply encased inside the frozen water. He squinted and scrunched his brows, trying to figure out what it was. As he got closer, he realized that his previous assumption had been correct. The creature inside the ice had small, knife-like ears and a wringled, bulbous neck, which covered the monster all the way down to its chest. It had a short, thin body, long hands with sharp claws at the ends, and a hateful expression on its face.
"It appears we have our monsters, and the reason they ventured so close to the keep," Atram commented.
Geralt nodded. "They tried to draw water close to their lair, but it failed, so they found the shallow intersection where it was safe enough for them. Think I know where their lair is."
"Great! Lead the way." Atram replied enthusiastically.
Geralt lifted his hand and halted him. "Wow, slow down there. I must prepare first. Apply the proper oil to my sword. By the way, if my guess is correct, how are you going to see inside the cave?"
"I have a spell for that; it's going to be bright inside, so I wouldn't recommend you drinking a cat potion."
"That's good. Saves me the materials. But how long will your spell last?"
"As long as I am within 20 meters of the effect and am not knocked unconscious, it will last around an hour."
Geralt shook his head in disbelief. "It still boggles the mind how easy it is to cast spells in your spellcasting language."
Atram scoffed. "It's not that magic is easy; rather, your so-called elder speech falls short of dragonic in terms of effectiveness and precision. Elves may be a magically attuned race, but dragons literally created spellwork and spellcraft."
Geralt was almost finished coating his blade, twirling it around to check the evenness of the oil. "Are dragons extinct in your world?"
"Officialy, yes. They went extinct centuries ago."
"And unofficialy?" Geralt asked with interest.
"The only thing I'm 'allowed' to tell you is that only a few of their kind remain; some are hidden away in remote corners of the world, while others have learned to blend in with society unbeknownst to everyone." Atram replied with a slight forcefulness in his voice.
Geralt wanted to inquire further, but something in Atram's phrasing made him think otherwise. "I am ready." He stated, sheathing his sword.
The duo traversed the wooden makeshift bridge doubling as a dam and made a sharp left turn. Descending the winding path, they arrived at the entrance of what seemed to be a mine. Large boulders and rocks cluttered the entrance, yet oddly enough, they had been displaced inward or thrust aside with remarkable force.
Geralt cursed under his breath. "Little bastards are working with a rock troll."
Atram immediately understood why the white wolf was cranky and couldn't help but chuckle. Rock trolls not only possessed incredibly tough hides but also had their backs covered in a layer of rocky growth. In all honesty, they were the nightmares of all swordsmen, as one wrong move could result in a broken blade. Not that facing them head-on was a wise idea. They were incredibly powerful monsters that, when frenzied, could dispatch someone in a matter of seconds.
"You could try using your 'ki blade'. The rock troll would be the best target practice." Atram suggested.
"You know, I don't always get it right. If I don't gather enough energy, the blade will snap."
Atram shrugged and approached the entrance. "If you don't try , you'll never know," he said with a smirk.
Geralt gave him a sideways glance. "You just want to see the look on my face when my sword breaks."
"What.... No... Maybe... Yes." He said and dodged a punch from Geralt.
As they ventured into the ominous depths of the cave, their senses sharpened. The drip-drip of water reverberated off the walls, and the musty scent of damp earth permeated the air. Remnants of old mining equipment lay strewn across the cavern floor, hinting at bygone human endeavors.
Rounding a corner, an impenetrable darkness enveloped them. Geralt managed to discern shapes in the gloom, though faintly, while Atram found himself as blind as a bat. He clasped his hands together, as though cradling an egg, and invoked a spell. "Xoreutix Fosa (Dancing Lights)," he murmured, conjuring illumination.
Atram's palms blazed with the intensity of the sun, and as he unclasped them, four torch-sized lights materialized, hovering before him. With a deft flick of his finger, he propelled the lights forward in a straight line, forming a mobile corridor of brilliant illumination.
Just as his preparations were finished, they heard a shriek and something clawing at the dirt and gravel around them. Atram exchanged a nod with Geralt before assuming a low stance, his feet positioned firmly apart. Meanwhile, Geralt brandished his silver sword, weaving it through the air in a mesmerizing pattern. Both warriors stood poised, ready to confront whatever adversary lurked ahead.
The cacophony intensified with each passing moment until, at last, five gaping holes materialized in the ground around them, disgorging a pack of nekkers from below. The creatures snarled and hissed, their eyes ablaze with frenzy and hunger as they assessed the intruders within their domain.
One of the nekkers, which was slightly taller and more muscular than its brethren, charged Atram with a mad dash. He waited until the last second, planting his feet in the earth. When the nekker warrior finally leapt at the imposing wall of flesh and muscle that was in front of him, Atram took a step forward and, with a straight punch right on the chest of the monster, he cracked open its ribcage and sent it flying backwards. The nekker warrior let out a blood-curdling scream as it crashed onto the ground, becoming a motionless puppet in a matter of seconds.
After the fall of their bigger comrade, the remaining nekkers attempted to take advantage of their numbers, trying to overwhelm him. Alas, it proved futile. Despite his size, he could move with unnerving quickness and strike with deadly force. With every dodge, at least a bone would break, with every reaction, a skull would be shattered and with every mistake, a retaliation would be delivered with such strength that it created tremors in the ancient mine. only a heap of distorted, lifeless bodies remained, rendered unrecognizable by the ferocity of his onslaught. Finisishing his deadly dance, only a heap of distorted, lifeless bodies remained, rendered unrecognizable by the ferocity of his onslaught.
Geralt, on the other hand, took the initiative first, achieving a favorable position for his swordmanship and footwork. His first opponent wielded a makeshift spear made completely out of wood. The nekker shaman was adeptly moving the sharpened stick around... until he wasn't.
In a climactic moment, as he launched his final thrust, he sensed an unusual lightness to the spear, only to realize it had been cleanly severed in half.
Before the nekker shaman could comprehend the sudden turn of events, he caught a glimmer of steel as Geralt's blade sliced through his skull, effortlessly penetrating his bone mask like a hot knife through butter. With a shudder, the nekker shaman collapsed to the ground, convulsing erratically, his body oblivious to the finality of its demise.
His other adversaries didn't fare any better. At the start, the nekkers were spirited, emboldened by their numbers, they charged the white haired warrior with reckless abandon. However, when they thought they had the upper hand, Geralt's movements became more fluid and precise, and his phantom like footwork enraged them further, only for his sword to become the bane of their existence. Each blow was a testament to his mastery, each movement a symphony of death, until only silence remained amidst the carnage he wrought.
If his brother in arms was an unstoppable, relentless juggernaut, that received blows with his iron like body and returned them with unmatched force, Geralt was an elusive, vengeful wraith, weaving through his enemies, spreading terror among their ranks and promising death with every flick of his sword.
In a few minutes, the pair had cut a bloody swath through the monster infested mines. Nekker bodies lay strewn across the cavern floor, their grotesque forms twisted and broken. Taking a moment to catch their breath, Atram and Geralt surveyed the carnage they had wrought. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, but they knew their mission was far from over.
As if to affirm their realization, a low growl reverberated through the expansive cavern, accompanied by the ominous approach of heavy footsteps.
With Atram's spell still in motion, the figure entered the spotlight, revealing itself to be a massive creature with a rocky growth on its back. However, instead of charging at them, it fell to the ground with a thud. His face was slightly caved in, and it bore numerous scratches and bruises.
"What could kill a rock troll inside its own lair?" Geralt pondered under his breath.
"Whatever it is, it sure takes its sweet time coming here." Atram exclaimed excitedly and with a little impatience in his voice.
"Why do you sound so enthusiastic?"
"Because whatever killed this big bag of rocks is surely stronger than it. And we will have to fight it!"
Geralt chuckled softly. "You truly are a battle maniac, mad enough to take on monsters with your bare hands."
Atram simply nodded, acknowledging the undeniable truth in Geralt's words. His affinity for the thrill of battle was a well-known aspect of his character, driving him relentlessly forward even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. The more formidable the opponent, the greater the exhilaration he felt at the prospect of confronting it head-on.
Atram's reckless bravery and extraordinary martial skill had garnered him a reputation as one of the best warriors in his world. However, such daring exploits had also led him perilously close to death on multiple occasions, a testament to the inherent risks he willingly embraced in pursuit of his passion.
Despite the risks, he couldn't resist the adrenaline rush that came with each fight. He felt most alive on the razor's edge, and he relished the dance of death between himself and his opponent.
"I don't just fight monsters," he said, pointing at the pile of nekkers, their bodies bent and broken. "I exterminate them. Does that make me irrational? Maybe. But you can't deny the thrill of battle either. When a ghoul is about to bite your jugular off and you manage to dodge and strike it down, it's a rush like no other. Admit it!"
Geralt pondered for a moment, but ultimately, he found himself partially agreeing with Atram. "You have to understand, I was literally bred for this purpose. Even if I were to quit and leave it all behind, I wouldn't know what to do with my life. Killing monsters and lifting curses is all I know. It's not just a job, it's who I am. But I do see your point. The calm before the storm, the silence before a successful hunt, and the battle that ensues are all exhilarating moments."
"There you go! You a-"
A sudden cawing brought them out of their conversation. Both men turned around and saw a crow, black as midnight, standing in place with a letter fastened to its little leg. When the bird noticed Geralt, it flew over to him and pointed with its beak, prodding the witcher to take the letter.
Geralt cautiously reached out and took the letter from the crow's leg. As he unfolded it, a familiar scent wafted up to his nose. It was the scent of lilac and gooseberries—the scent of Yennefer, his long lost love. The letter was written in her elegant handwriting, and Geralt couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and apprehension as he read through its contents.
Dear friend,
Forgive me for not asking about your health or how you have been these last years. Time is very short. I have important news. We must meet, and soon. Ride to Willoughby, near Vizima, and don't spare the horses. While I do eagerly await our reunion, I won't be able to wait, eagerly or otherwise, for very long.
Your dear friend,
Yennefer.
P.S. I still have the unicorn.
"Why would anyone mention a unicorn in a letter about important news and an urgent meeting? " Atram asked. As he was almost two heads taller than him, he simply 'observed' the happenings from above. No, he was not a busybody.
Geralt was so engrossed with the letter that he barely registered Atram's presence. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at Yennefer's words. What did she mean by not being able to wait for very long? Was she in danger? Geralt knew he had to act fast, so he quickly pocketed the letter and drew his silver blade, marching forward at a rapid pace.
Atram saw his friend's figure disappear in the darkness of the cave, and a moment later the crow disintegrated, leaving behind a glassy bird shaped skull.
What the bloody hell is going on.
クリエイターの想い 
LazyBummers
LazyBummers Hey there! Another chapter done and over. These past few chapters were the introduction of Atram to the world of The Witcher. His interactions with the witchers and all that good stuff. I hope you enjoyed them as much as i enjoyed writing about them.
As always, thank you for all your support and love. I know i am getting repetitive, but i can't express how much it means to me as a starting writer. To see such positive reviews and comments, as well as the insane popularity this work of no renown has gotten, it is truly humbling.
B.T.W. If you have any questions and i mean ANY questions about the destination or the lore, feel free to reach out to me.
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