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It started just as it always did. A desperate village, a scrap of parchment tacked to the notice board for all to see. A few brave souls from the town itself, and then a few more from the neighboring areas when those first few never returned. And then, neither did they. So all that was left to do was wait, wait for the day that they found themselves lucky enough to be on a Witcher’s path. And that day couldn’t come soon enough.
A tall black warhorse, atop which sat a tall, scarred Witcher with golden eyes that glowed even in the dimmest light. He looked over the contract without a word and turned to the cursed woods, needing barely more than the whispers of the townspeople as he went to point him on his way.
Eskel prowled into the woods on the outskirts of the village, ears pricked and pupils blown wide beneath the evening moon. He could smell the sweet rotting stench of decay from deeper within the forest, beckoning him to find what lay in the darkness.
It didn’t take him long to find them, a pair this time. Odd, he thought as he got closer, contract said it had only been singles. A man and a woman, naked, with their legs buckled beneath them and their arms wrapped around the trunks of their own respective trees.
Dead.
Split open and torn apart, dried blood caking down from the gashes in their necks and the dragging claw marks in their sides. The burgundy rust spread in a puddle between them across the greying soil, tainting Eskel’s tongue with the metalling tang.
Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing and taking in any and every detail that he could find. He was immediately drawn in to the bright green vine that tangled itself around the woman’s wrist, holding her in place while she met her ruin.
Her skin was mottled, greying decay seeping through her veins and bleeding into the pool of rust that tracked down her side. Her hair had fallen from the hint of a braid that had trailed down her back, now only wind-matted masses drifting in the breeze. Everything about her was dull, her skin, her hair, her lifeless eyes. The only sign of life anywhere near either two corpses was that vine circling her wrist.
Eskel unsheathed his steel sword and walked slowly around the base of the tree, hearing naught a hint of anyone nor anything near, but still feeling as if he were being watched. He could hear the gentle whistling of the breeze, the distant trickle of a creek winding through the trees. But no heartbeats, no errant steps, no blood pumping through veins.
Nevertheless, just as he was about to round the tree again, there was movement from the corner of his eye, just a flash of something odd and the crack of a single twig underfoot before he felt the ghost of breath on the back of his neck.
“And just what, pray tell,” a sinister voice whispered, a candy-dipped fruit cracking through frost, “have you gotten yourself into, Witcher?”
Eskel spun around slowly, tightening his grip on the leather-wrapped pommel of his sword. He found himself at the end of a dagger poised at his throat, the hand which held it drawing his eyes up to the man before him.
Tall, even more so than Eskel. His skin was tanned from the sun, though he was peppered with olive-green freckles over his shoulders and down his bare chest. His eyes shone bright blue under the rising moon, and his hair was untamed, wild chestnut waves that hugged the sharp edge of his jaw.
He grinned dangerously, though Eskel could watch the flicker of recognition make its way through the young man’s face, brightening his eyes with the force of a thousand suns filtering through the leaves of fresh spring trees. The Witcher swallowed thickly and opened his hand, allowing the pommel of his sword to slip through and fall safely to the ground.
“I mean you no harm here, Druid,” Eskel discreetly cast his eyes around him, searching for any other unseen observers. Nothing. Not another soul, at least that I can find.
“Worry not of others,” the druid ran the tip of his dagger up Eskel’s jawline, just barely caressing the edges of the scar that trailed down his neck, “I work alone.”
“As do I.”
Lanolin and pine tree sap drifted into his nostrils, tinged with the sour tang of anxiety. The druid knew he was in danger, knew that it had only been a matter of time before the humans of the village found someone to come after him.
“I protect these woods.” The druid’s voice shook with barely restrained rage and Eskel could practically see steams of anger brewing from his pores.
“And them?”
“They desecrate, spoil, leave nothing but rot and ruin in their wake. It’s the least they could do to give back to the forest from which they take so freely.”
Eskel nodded solemnly, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around the oddly warm wrist that still hovered so near his throat. “I’ll do you no harm, Druid.”
The air shifted into something soft around them, light unseen welcoming Eskel into its grasp. The druid’s hand relaxed, letting the blade point harmlessly away from the Witcher. “You’ll keep them away?”
Eskel thought back to the town, the vile rage stewed from worry of the beast lurking in the forest. The families of the ones slain, and the ever-raising price on the druid’s head. “I cannot promise such a thing, you know that.”
The druid sighed sadly as Eskel smoothed his thumb gently over skin that had not seen such kind touch since last they met. “But...you’ll try?”
Eskel nodded and brought his other hand to the man’s face, brushing soft chestnut waves behind his ear. “As hard as I can, Druid.”
“You may use my name in these woods, Witcher,” he grinned toothily, allowing the breathing of a secret so forbidden that countless few even knew of its existence.
“ Jaskier.”