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There had been a storm building for days when Lambert stopped to look for potential contracts. It left the air thick and heavy, and he could taste the coming lightning with every breath. Even if there were no contracts to be had, Lambert would need to take shelter soon; he didn't want to be caught out when the storm hit.
The notice board was empty of anything that might have hinted at a hunt, and none of the townspeople approached him, so instead Lambert made his way toward the inn. His coin purse was getting a little light, but he had enough that he should be able to buy a couple nights of shelter from the storm.
"We're full," the innkeeper told him, voice cold and unmoving.
Lambert was too fucking tired to argue. It wouldn't get him anywhere, and his time and energy would be better spent finding somewhere else to hole up through the storm.
"Brothel might take your coin," the innkeeper added with a sneer.
Lambert stalked out of the inn without a response, rather than let loose the string of expletives building up on his tongue. He didn’t have the coin to stay at the brothel for more than a night, and the clouds looked nasty, promising rain that would last several days at least.
The shallow cave Lambert found a little ways out of town was hardly the best shelter, but the ground was elevated, and there was enough room for him to squeeze himself and his belongings into a corner that would keep him dry at the very least, though it wouldn't be particularly warm.
He'd dealt with worse things. He might hate the cold, but it wouldn't kill him.
Instead of dwelling on it, Lambert pulled out some trail rations and settled in to watch the storm approach.
Over the course of an hour, the sky took on a sickly orange cast, the strange light filtering through the clouds leaving him with an awful feeling of foreboding. That feeling only grew as the clouds continued to swirl, though Lambert tried to convince himself that the tension he felt was just from the biting chill on the wind.
The first drops of rain fell as he finished his unsatisfying dinner, and the thunder rumbled in soon after that, with lightning crashing through the sky and illuminating the world with blinding flashes.
It didn’t take long for Lambert to realise that this storm was unusual. There was Chaos in the air, making his hair stand on end as he watched the sky split open with the most earth-shattering burst of thunder he’d ever heard. If he’d been on his feet, he might have toppled backwards from the way the ground shook under the force of it. His stomach twisted and his heart sank as a seam opened in the path of the lightning, and from it poured thick, black smoke.
“Sweet Freyja,” he breathed, eyes fixed firmly to the split in the sky.
The sight before him seemed impossible. It had to be an illusion of some kind, and if it wasn’t, then surely the world was ending.
Ripping the sky open further, a host of creatures spilled out into the air. Among them he could see beasts he’d hunted often, and some he’d never even heard described before. They poured out in their hundreds, like swarming insects teeming over a corpse.
Lambert watched as they spread out, spilling over the landscape like ink across a page.
Like a rolling wave, he saw them crashing toward the town he’d left mere hours ago.
Leave them, his fear whispered. You owe them nothing. The world is ending and you need to find your brothers. These people are nothing to you.
Lambert remained rooted to the spot, unable to even bring himself to stand. If he left, the town would surely be destroyed. The people would die, without any hope of escape from the strange invaders.
The innkeeper had been rude to him, but that was not enough to condemn the whole town to such a terrible fate.
Lambert had never wished more for Geralt or Eskel to be with him. They wouldn’t hesitate to rush in; would quite easily save the day and be lauded as heroes.
Steeling his nerves, he forced himself to his feet. The rain was like a sheet of ice as he stepped out of the cave, soaking him to the bone in an instant as he set off toward the town. He would do everything in his power to defend the people there, and pray that he made it through to see the sunrise.
As the first of the beasts spotted him and rounded to attack, Lambert begged the gods to watch over and protect his brothers, wherever they might be.
For three days, the storm raged, and for three days, Lambert fought the creatures that sought to harm the townsfolk. Some he was able to defeat, and others he could only drive away to seek easier prey elsewhere.
When the orange tinge finally faded from the sky, Lambert fell to his knees, exhausted. He could not carry on any longer, and the mere thought of it made him want to weep.
The townsfolk had gathered in the gaol, huddling together in their terror, hiding in the building that was most fortified and easily defensible while their homes and businesses suffered the ravages of the beasts.
“Witcher!” someone hissed. “Witcher, hurry!”
Lambert looked up to see a young man beckoning him toward the gaol, eyes scanning the sky for any further attacks.
It felt nearly impossible, but Lambert heaved himself to his feet, stumbling clumsily toward the open door. Inside stank of sweat and blood and fear, but everyone there was alive, at least for the time being.
“Necrophages will come soon,” Lambert rasped, unsure who he was even addressing. “You shouldn’t stay here.”
An old woman met his eye, stepping out of the trembling crowd. “Where else can we go, Master Witcher?” she asked him, her voice pleading. “Our homes are here. Everything we own. Everything we know.”
Lambert shook his head. By every fucking god, he was tired. “If you stay, you will die,” he insisted. “This is the only fucking building with any hope of standing up to those things. Half your homes are gone. And with as many of those creatures out there as there are, I can’t build a fire big enough to burn all the corpses. You can’t stay here.”
More people began piping up then, complaints and concerns rising from all sides. Lambert hadn’t realised until then that his head was pounding. He was sore, and tired, and he needed some time to stitch up the bite wound in his fucking calf.
Geralt would have a solution, he thought. He always had a solution. Not always a good one, but it was more than Lambert had.
He held up a hand to stifle the cacophonous noise around him, trying to channel Eskel’s effortless calm.
“Closest city is about four days’ journey from here,” he said, voice barely above a harsh whisper. He must have been screaming at some point, though he couldn’t remember it. “I don’t know if what happened here has spread, but they’re better defended, either way. Grab everything of value that you can carry, and I’ll do my best to get you there.”
He just needed to rest before they left. And eat. He wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish either, but he’d make it work; he always had before.
By some miracle - unlike everything else that had happened over the past few days - the townsfolk did as he told them.