(pls comment and vote)
~
The girl hadn't stopped talking, something that was going to drive Azalea almost insane if she had to listen to too many more words leave the girl's mouth. She found the young one to be interesting, innocent, but also annoying. She supposed most children were, but then again, the girl looked to be early to mid teen years.
"Have you ever killed a succubus?" The girl asked as Geralt and Azalea dragged their horses along behind them, guiding them to wherever the girl was guiding the Witchers. "A striga? Werewolf? She-wolf?"
"That's not a thing." Geralt spoke gruffly, eliciting a scoff from Azalea. The girl grinned a little and looked between the friends.
"Women can be werewolves." Azalea countered to her friend's statement, to which made Geralt frown and glare playfully at her. He was only wanting the girl to shut up, and Azalea was almost encouraging her to keep on talking.
"So, you've killed the rest?" Upon the young girl's question, Geralt and Azalea looked to her in unison. To anyone else, it would've been intimidating to have two Witchers stare upon you with their dead cold gazes. "I think that makes you heroes."
"Well, sweetheart," Azalea began as she petting her horse's neck softly, "not many people share the same views."
"My mother says you're the offsprings of foul sorcery," the girl told them, "a diabolic creation, a filthy degenerate born of Hell." Azalea found her jaw clenching, her mind flashing her with memories of the day she and her sister were split apart. An angered frown placed itself upon her face, her pace slightly picking up as the wind tousled her hair. Scarlett slit eyes glaring at anyone and everyone. "Have you ever been to Hell? I've never even left Blaviken. Because my mother's never left Blaviken, and if it's good enough for Libushe, then it's good enough for Marilka."
"Shut up." Azalea begged, but her voice was not heard over the sounds of the villagers talking. Geralt heard her, though, and he frowned at how pained her voice seemed to be.
"That's my name. Marilka." Marilka said with a small tight lipped smile. "Like milk. What's your names?"
"Geralt. And that's Azalea."
"Like garroter? And like the flower?" Marilka asked, her gaze heading for the woman that was a mere few feet in front of them. "Nice. Where are you from, Geralt?"
"Rivia." The gruff voice said, something that made Azalea sigh inaudibly to even him. She found his tone often soothing, and yet today it was doing nothing to ease the irritation Marilka had caused.
"I don't know where that is, but i could learn, if you'd let me."
"No." He replied.
"Because i'm a girl and girls can't be witchers.Which i think is probably the stupidest thing i've ever heard. Apart from broody over there, and, i mean, what's that about?" Azalea's nose twitched with anger, hearing every word and syllable that left Marilka's mouth.
"Leave Azi out of it." Geralt practically snapped, his gaze now harsh as even he glared at the nosy girl. He glanced towards Azalea, who seemed to be breathing heavily as she tried to get her temper under control. She would not permit herself to attack a kid who knows no better.
She clenched her hands into fists instead, the appendages shaking with her anger, but she was beginning to let it simmer and fall away. With a long sigh, Azalea allowed her shoulders to drop.
~
"Here we are." The tower, even bleaker when in contrast the the clouded sky that loomed over Blaviken. It sent unsettling nerves rattling up through Azalea's spine, but the girl could oly shrug and do her best to shake it off.
"Hold her horse. And Roach." Geralt demanded gruffly and in his usual deep tone. He grabbed the reins from Azalea's hands, not entirely forceful, but enough to make her let go with a small frown. When it came to Marilka holding onto Roach's reins, the horse went to throw her head back and struggle against the young girl. "Be nice." Geralt had said to Roach, the mare submitting to his command afterwards.
"Guess we're visiting a wizard." Azalea mumbled as she walked up besides Geralt, glancing towards her dear friend for any look of encouragment. He wouldn't know what for, but she hoped he would examine her facial expression and read her mind.
"Indeed." The one word was enough for her to know that her wish had not come true, but her scarlett eyes darted towards the door when she felt the hum and shake of her wolf medallion. "Magic." She whispered, glaring even more so as she and Geralt simultaneously raised their hands to open the door. Their fingers never grasped onto the oxidising fish doorknocker, but rather, their hands started to go through it.
With a roll of her eyes, Azalea stepped through the door with Geralt close behind. Immediately a bright light welcomed them and a scowl was placed onto Azalea's face at the sight of naked women tending to the overgrown semi-indoor garden. Of course, she knew it were all an illusion, but perhaps that was worse.
When she felt something brush against her ankles, Azalea looked down and could almost gag in disgust. There, she was wearing a dark red dress that flowed down to her ankles, delicate heels replacing her boots and her breasts almost fully revealed. Discomfort. The one thing Azalea felt immensely in that moment.
"Geralt." She almost whimpered, shaking her head at how vulnerable she was feeling. No weapons, her private areas almost completely on show for the world to see with no notion as to who was behind this sick illusion.
"It's alright, Azalea." His words brought no comfort, but the hand on the small of her back distracted her from the revealing dress she was forced to wear whilst inside the tower.
"Greetings." The Witchers looked to their right, where a pompous man with a shaggy greying beard approached. His staff gently smacked against the ground with each step the man took whilst his dark man-dress (which you could say was basically a robe) revealed nothing.
Was the man a pervert? One glance towards the naked women gave Azalea her answer. Her unwelcomed answer.
"I am Stregobor." The balding man introduced himself, coming to a stop just beside the two friends. He was greeted with silence, however. "Master Stregobor. Sorcerer."
"I have a kikimora for Master Irion." Geralt got straight to the chase on his and Azalea's visit, but the small crinkle in the corner of Stregobor's eyes was answer enough for Azalea.
"He's not here."
"Yes, well, forgive the confusion." Stregobor then said as he ducked his head a little lower, mainly looking at the heels that adorned Azalea's feet before looking at the two Witchers. "Irion created this tower, but he's been dead 200 years. So, in order to honor him, i've taken his name as my...personal sobriquet."
"Hm." Was all Geralt could answer in that moment as he stared Stregobor down, ensuring to keep Azalea behind him and away from the wizard as much as possible. "He create this illusion, too?"
"Uh, no, this is, uh...this is...my own creation."
"A fuckin' sick one at that." Azalea mumbled, almost cowering towards Geralt. She was finding it strange, never had she acted so much like this, so vulnerable. Unless the topic was of Yennefer, that was. But here, now, when inside the tower, Azalea could do nothing but cower behind Geralt's tall and well-built body.
She felt safe there. But it was different.
In the many decades she had been travelling the continent with Geralt by her side, and her by his, she had always felt safe with him. She was always certain that when in trouble, Geralt would always be there for her, but there was something different.
Perhaps it was Blaviken's strange atmosphere, or perhaps the uncomfortable sight of a bunch of naked women working to please just one man, Azalea didn't know. But ever since stepping foot in the bleak and miserable village, there seemed to be something else between Geralt and Azalea. Something she was only just realising.
"Helps pass time more delightfully." And once again, Azalea was sneering at the wizard man, Stregobor.
"Because you're in hiding, Stregobor." Geralt commented, chest rumbling as his own eyes slightly squinted at the man.
"How very clever of you...Witcher." A moment of silence passed between them before Stregobor turned slowly, beginning to walk away. Geralt glanced at Azalea, trying to nurse her into walking with them, but she had clutched onto his hand tightly and begun walking on her own accord. Her mind screamed at her to walk away, leave the magic infused place and wait for her friend, but her body wasn't letting her do such a thing. "Not often do we see your likeness here in Blaviken."
"Not many of our likeness left." The topic was sad, truly, but Azalea could understand why there were no more Witchers being made. A horrific, grueling time in her life infused with nothing but pain, excertion and books. She wished she could say she would wish no such thing on her worst enemies, but truth be told, she would wish a lot worse.
"I'd offer you both my condolences, but...I seem to remember that witchers don't feel. Anything." Geralt, with a puzzling stare, looked at Stregobor. When his golden eyes shifted to Azalea, he found that the statement that of which had just been uttered was completely false. He felt all too much and just for once person? "I'm grateful destiny brought you to me."
"Marilka brought us to you."
"Oh, Marilka." Stregobor sighed as the group of three came to a stop. "Marilka works for me. Now and then. On matters of great import."
"A reclusive sorcerer who uses an alias and hires a young girl to procure him a witcher."
"And yet i land with two." Stregobor's eyes flitted down to Azalea's chest, her cleavage on show for the world to see and suddenly chills ran up her spine. What was worse was that Azalea didn't have a weapon at hand. She was great at hand-to-hand combat, but what good would that do if the bastard had magic?
"You don't want our monster, do you?" Azalea spoke up, her voice surprisingly unwavering. She felt accomplished, and soon she stood straight with a harrowing glare. "No. You're a manipulative sick bastard that wants us to kill yours. I can guarantee it is no creature, is it?"
"My, what intelligence for a woman." Stregobor, the sentence perhaps meaning to be a compliment was instead an insult. And Azalea found her hands clenching tightly into fists.
"What kind?" Geralt questioned, his hand giving Azalea's a small squeeze in an attempt to help calm her. She simply took her grasp out of his hand and crossed her arms over her stomach, disgust written all over her face.
"The worst kind....the human kind." Silence surrounded them, but only for one second. "Its name is Renfri."
~
a/n
pls comment and vote, i would much appreciate it x