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The town smelled horrible. Jaskier knew that if he thought the area was bad, then Geralt had a great poker face. The White Wolf’s face looked normal to an outsider, but Jaskier could see the small creases in Geralt’s forehead. The town was a horrible place for a person with delicate senses like witchers to be. It seemed that almost no normal families lived in the town, either. Its sole purpose was for workers to harvest produce such as green beans, tomatoes, and even a few gourds.
If it wasn’t for the smell, Jaskier would have thought nothing was wrong with the town. The buildings that were set up for seasonal workers looked nice enough. A cobweb or two wasn’t abnormal. Plus there were horses in the stable with a large tub of water and enough hay and straw to last a week if not more. Of course, there was a reason why Geralt and Jaskier were there.
A contract popped up about 3 days ago. After a town in Temeria didn’t receive produce on their normal schedule, they assumed the farm town was running behind. When a few more days passed, the Earl sent guards to check up on the town. They were paying money for produce to be brought in, so they didn’t want to be swindled. Of course, that’s when tragedy struck. The guards relayed back a horror story of a ghost town.
All of the crops had rotted away from not being watered or harvested on time. The guards spoke of liquified and foul-smelling remains in the fields as well. When the White Wolf showed up in town the following day, the Earl decided that a witcher – in particular the most famous witcher of all – was perfect for the job. Jaskier was thrilled at the thought of what tale he could spin. Ghost towns were so far and few in between.
Geralt put Roach in the stable with the other horses. He then unloaded his bags from her. Roach liked the idea of rest. The witcher then started to brush her down as he observed the rest of the stable. The other horses looked in good health, though that might have been because the guards that came before reported that they watered and fed what was left in the area.
“I’m assuming their owners are dead,” pointed out Jaskier.
“Hmm.”
“Alright. Just… just checking.”
Jaskier put down his lute and satchel. He walked over to greet the horses and was happily greeted with willing participants. Within minutes, the horses had flowers from outside the stables packed into their manes. Jaskier then turned his sight to Roach. Geralt was a weak man when it came to Jaskier. By the time Geralt had finished brushing down his mare, Roach was bedazzled in small blue and yellow flowers.
After the stables, they set off to the workers' camp. The building didn’t creak much aside from the normal, so Jaskier found it strangely eerie when they went into the first room to find bags that were left there. Jaskier settled down into one of the rooms while Geralt checked the others. In almost each room, there were bags, burned-out candles, and forgotten plates of food.
Geralt went back to Jaskier just in time to see the bard slunk onto the bed. The witcher walked in to give the bard an unamused look. Jaskier ignored Geralt to instead write down his thoughts with his inkpot balancing delicately on the mattress. After Geralt huffed, the bard glanced up to see the witcher holding a large book.
“Ooo, me likey. What is it?” asked Jaskier with his eyes transfixed on the old, raggedy-looking book in Geralt’s grasp. He immediately put his ink away to focus on the newest, shiniest thing.
Geralt tossed the book at the bard. Jaskier caught it with a grin, then started to flip through the pages.
Geralt said, “Looks like a record of what was planted, how often crops were watered, and the workers' pay.”
“It cuts off starting 3 weeks ago,” noticed Jaskier. His thumb traced down the lists on the page. “That doesn’t fit the timeline. The Earl noticed something was wrong a week ago. Did people start dying 2 weeks before that? Wouldn’t the horses have died without food and water for 2 weeks?”
“Hmm.” Geralt sat down next to Jaskier on the bed. “Not all of them had to die at the same time. Some could have noticed something was wrong and left or taken care of the horses before dying later on.”
“Why not get help, Geralt? Surely they knew that they were dealing with something bad. Contracts are put up all the time.”
“Whatever happened could have had control over them.”
“Oh.” Jaskier shut the book with a dejected look. “Any idea about what it could be, dear?”
“I’ll have to look at the bodies first. Could be a Ghoul. The guards reported foul corpses. Ghouls like to harbour their victims for later– they like to eat human flesh when it’s rotten.”
“I have noticed they like graveyards,” murmured Jaskier.
With that, Jaskier switched back to his notebook. Geralt held his inkpot as the bard scribbled away the rest of his thoughts on the ghost town. He watched in slight amusement and incomprehensible fondness as Jaskier rewrote some of his thoughts into rhymes that could possibly be incorporated into a song later on.
Then, they headed off to inspect the fields. Jaskier plugged his nose as he walked through the brown goo of old crops and tattered greens. He eyed Geralt in curiosity and slight fascination. Not even the horrid smell of rotten vegetables was making the witcher pinch off his sense of smell. No, it was when they came upon a circle of corpses that the witcher finally gave in.
Jaskier noted, “They don’t look like the usual Ghoul feast.” He recalled how bloody and chopped up victims for Ghouls were. They were tattered and left torn apart like ripped fabric. The bodies in the field didn’t look like that at all.
“Their feet are bloodied and worn out,” said Geralt. He dipped down to get a better view. “Best guess is a Nightwraith. They make their victims dance until they die of exhaustion through the night until the sun rises.”
“I haven’t met a wraith before,” remarked the bard. “How are they made?”
“Usually they died with resentment with the place they haunt or were killed by a wraith themselves.”
“So they repeat a cycle sometimes. That’s symbolic but… terribly saddening.”
Geralt took Jaskier’s hand abruptly, causing the bard to yelp in surprise. The witcher shook his head slightly then dragged the bard through the fields to get away from the circle. Instead of finding their way back to town, however, they stumbled upon another circle where workers danced until they died.
“Sweet Melitele,” whispered Jaskier, tone laced in distraught. “How many people died here?”
“There were 34 workers in the records.”
Jaskier walked past the circle, letting Geralt sniff about for more clues. He seemed to have found an actual ghost town, but forgot how horrible an event could be. Lately, the contracts had been quick and swift to deal with– not as much death happened before Geralt showed up to save the day.
Jaskier had almost made it back to the inn when he saw a figure in the field. His heart thumped in happiness. The guards missed that there was someone still alive. He waved as he jogged towards her. He then went to call out to Geralt about it, but then the figure turned around.
“Shit,” was all he managed to say.
The figure had bleached white hair, though it was nothing like Geralt’s. The witcher kept his luscious and taken care of until it was soft to the touch. Jaskier noted that the woman’s hair was scratchy and dry-looking as if it was straw. Add on the fact that the figure’s skin was a dark, cracked tan that looked speckled with sunspots and wrinkles of dryness and age, Jaskier knew he was fucked.
He knew he should be running away, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t like he was frozen in fear. His flight or fight response was good. Most times he ran, however this time he wasn’t doing either. He was walking towards the translucent woman as if nothing was wrong. And didn’t Geralt just say something along the lines of dancing to death? It wasn’t their choice to dance– they were compelled.
Jaskier came face to face with the wraith. He only noticed then that her eyes and mouth were sewn shut with skin. Her dress was tattered and just as pale as her hair. It was definitely a wraith, the bard knew, for the woman was hovered in the air with no ankles or feet. She didn’t make noise or even seem to care if Jaskier’s eyes were pleading to be let go. One moment he was standing in a dead grass-filled field, and the next he was dancing with her.
The dance was actually fun at first. Jaskier hadn’t danced in a while because Geralt detested balls and banquets. In Oxenfurt, they danced but it was more for show during work. He hadn’t danced for fun in years. Perhaps that was why Jaskier didn’t feel afraid as the motions continued. He was always on his feet, so it made sense that he could outlast a wraith’s antics until Geralt found him.
But then he tripped over a rock in the dirt. He could tell he injured his foot in some capacity, but he didn’t have time to think about that. The wraith seemed to help him stand up on command, then the dancing resumed as if nothing had happened. Jaskier could faintly hear his boots crunching along the field but he could also hear his bones crackling from the forced pressure. The pain seemed faint, however. He wondered if the wraith could dull their victim’s senses.
They were through a rendition of a foxtrot when Jaskier noticed Geralt dousing his silver sword in a gray oil. The bard felt warmth in his chest. He almost forgot that Geralt was out there. The witcher sneaked up on the wraith, though she noticed. Jaskier was flung back onto the field as Geralt and the wraith battled.
Jaskier looked up to see the wraith stabbed through the chest with Geralt’s silver sword. She tried to pull on it, yet when she touched the blade her hands lit on fire. A few moments later, the rest of the Specter Oil had done its work. The wraith turned into a blaze of light before diminishing.
Geralt dropped his sword onto the ground now that the threat was abolished. He ran to Jaskier, who was still on the ground but took off his boots. The witcher picked up Jaskier’s hurt and blood. He bent down to see that Jaskier’s left foot was mangled. Jaskier began to put his boots back on, but Geralt stopped him.
“It’s broken,” he said.
Jaskier huffed. “I know.”
“You won’t be able to walk on it.”
“Well, I danced on it–”
“Noonwraiths can make a person do a lot of things, Jaskier. You shouldn’t be walking, let alone dancing, on it. I’ll get Roach. You can ride her until we find a healer.”
“We have some salve. I’ll be fine if we just smother my foot in it,” argued Jaskier.
Geralt didn’t look amused by the bard’s antics. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with Roach. We’ll ride into town, I think the Earl said they had a magical healer there. Maybe the healer will give us a good deal.”
“Fine.”
Geralt looked smug as he walked away. Jaskier flopped down on his back to look up to the sky. The sun was very bright but the clouds made it manageable to look up at the blue. He noticed that he had gotten used to the rotten smell of the town, and wasn’t that horrible? They had only been there a couple of hours.
He sat back up when he heard Roach next to him. The mare neighed as a greeting, which made Jaskier grin. She still had little flowers in her mane. Geralt helped Jaskier get onto the horse before leading her back to the inn. The witcher quickly packed their things onto Roach. They left town while the sun was still bright in the sky.