The wind passed the scholar form like freezing blades as she dwelled the mountainous lands of Kaedwen, to venture the Hertch this time of year was unwise, autumn was about to pass, winter presented its firsts signs as the air around her chilled while the sun threatened to go down in the west. Even though Esther was a nature enthusiast and did find the landscape quite astonishing, calm even, she couldn’t deny her fatigated state only worsen her chilling bones, the girl’s right hand clung to her cloak while the other pulled the strap of her bag close to her body, unfortunately, she’d lost her mule three days ago as a pack of wolves attacked them when they settled a small camp in near the Gwenllech river. Esther barely escaped as well, by using a torch she was able to hit one of them and forced the rest to flee, but the poor creature who served as her mount was severely injured and the scholar, he profession demanded she girl would always follow a more ration path, yet, couldn’t leave it there, so instead she searched for whatever she could find to ease it’s pain until the mule fell calm and bleed to death as the girl rested it’s head by her lap and caressed it until the heart stopped beating.
The event delayed her schedule but at the time it seemed to be a sensible sacrifice, Esther knew in her mind that sooner or later she would get to Kaer Morhen no matter what, so giving her loyal steed one last act of companionship was the least she could do. Her feet had blisters, her state of mind slightly shook from the ordeals throughout the voyage and she desperately needed a bath, one could easily question her sanity considering all the casualties involved in the quest for Esther didn’t lose one but two messengers already in hopes to ask permission to get to the witcher’s fortress, a pleasantry and act of respect since she had no invitation and didn’t want to arrive unannounced. Alas, the scholar was utterly out of options, so she pursued the same quest on her own, her colleagues advised her to get someone more “physically able” to travel with, even offering themselves to go, Esther refused politely, for she knew the presence of a witch hunter soldier in the fortress might keep her possible hosts on edge and this was a matter of wits, not strength or power. The girl’s objective was to be “allowed” inside their precious library, and not forcing her way inside.
The gray-blue eyes peered the huge iron gates, from it’s base to the top, the wind coming from behind her mett the cold entrance and back to her in such a way that made her feel even smaller before the notorious Kar Morhen, she could only dream of what lied ahead of her, the books and tomes of unimaginable content, she knew some of the contents were considered anathema for some of her colleagues in Novigrad but matters of tastes and morals were completely discarded here. Esther could almost hear the scripted words calling her inside, she adjusts her cloak and pulled down her hood, exposing her messy bright red hair and cold , slighlty rose cheeks, the scholar inhaled deeply, allowing the chilling air inside her lungs as she searched for any signs of human figure of activity- “Hellooooo?!” She shouted in inquiry and waited for a reply, trying to peek inside from the space between the iron bars.
The looming fortress is silent. There’s no sign of a fire near the entryway, but the wooden bridge has been maintained despite this place’s state of disrepair. Someone comes here, at least on occasion. There are no footprints or hoofprints of note, save for what seem to be those of a herd of goats. Maybe they’re feral, leftover from the days this place was home to dozens of Witchers and boys in training.
What if there really is no one left?
Within the fortress, Lambert is hard at work hacking up an old ballista. The swings of his axe are steady and rhythmic. He began breaking the old thing apart the winter prior, and most of it ended up as mulch. It’s far too old and has been exposed to the elements too long to be any good as firewood, after all.
Every swing, every bit of exertion, helps him chase away the thoughts floating around in his head. This place brings with it many memories, few of them good. If he wasn’t drunk and making a fool of himself, he was suffering- somehow, some way, either in silence, to avoid conflict, or in pain, over the loss of something or someone dear to him.
After a particularly hard swing, he pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow, the axe finally beginning to feel heavy in his calloused hands. His ears ring with the noise of splitting wood.
But…no, there’s something else. Someone else. Another Foglet playing tricks? The Wolf squints in the direction of what he thinks sounds like a human voice.
A woman…? Not one he knows, either. Surely it’s a trick. He sets the axe down and moves to grab his scabbards from their resting place on a low stone wall nearby. Monsters require silver, after all.
He’s the only Wolf left in Kaer Morhen for the moment, and therefore its sole defense. He might as well meet whatever waits for him at the entrance like a real Witcher, not some mediocre lumberjack.
The first thing Esther will see is the firm but small light of a torch in that darkness. The footsteps that accompany it are nearly silent. The voice, however, is anything but.
“Who the hell are you?” The man’s not visible, but his anger is audible without seeing his expression.
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