Coën dismounted from his horse, his eyes trained on the opening of a nearby cave. As he pulled his silver sword from its saddle, he surveyed the area. A campfire near the entrance caught his attention; it was still smoldering, which meant someone had recently extinguished it. He tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, his senses heightened in anticipation of danger.
Reaching into his satchel, Coën retrieved a bottle of oil. Its pungent scent of dog tallow and wolfsbane filled the air as he poured the solution over his blade, ensuring maximum efficacy against any cursed creatures that might be lurking inside the cave.
With his sword in hand, Coën slowly approached the entrance of the cave. Every step was taken with caution, keenly observing his surroundings. As he drew closer, he caught a whiff of perfume, a scent he recognized all too well. It was the same scent he had encountered before, and he knew that it meant the sorceress he was tasked with rescuing was inside.
Despite his misgivings about how the sorceress had managed to be captured in the first place, Coën pushed on through the cave. His sharp eyes soon picked up on strange items scattered throughout the space. A megascope, used by mages to communicate over long distances, lay discarded on the ground. A table with a mirror and a stool sat nearby, as if placed there for someone to sit and prepare themselves.
As Coën moved closer to the table, he couldn't help but notice the alluring scent emanating from a bottle of perfume. Confirming that it was the source of the scent he had been tracking, he felt a pang of curiosity, this is a weird thing to find in a monster's den.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from the depths of the cave. Startled, Coën spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. But before he could draw it, a sorceress emerged from the darkness, clad in a stunning dress that was in stark contrast to the dreary surroundings. Unlike other sorceresses who revealed in showing off their skin, this one was modestly dressed, yet radiated an aura of confidence and femininity.
"Stop touching my perfume, witcher," the sorceress commanded, walking over to her table. Coën realised that this must be Triss Merigold, one of his objectives.
"Triss Merigold, I presume?"
"In the flesh," Triss replied, humming softly. "You're sent by the king?"
Coën shook his head, taking out the notice from Mayena.
"Thought Foltest would send someone himself," Triss mused.
"Maybe he did. I got here first," Coën replied.
Triss chuckled. "Fair enough. He's in there somewhere. Or probably he's just going to walk in any second now, looks like he has a flair for dramatic entrances."
Coën frowned, wondering how best to approach this strange situation. "He's not a werewolf, is he?"
"Half correct," Triss replied with a smile.
"So what is he?" Coën pressed.
Triss raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. "That's why I'm here. To figure it out. Maybe you can convince him to tell you. Don't worry, he's no threat, I think."
"You think?" Coën grunted, his expression betraying his unease.
"You witchers are prepared for anything. So you should be fine," Triss said dismissively, turning back to her mirror to continue applying her makeup.
Coën scrutinised the sorceress for a few seconds, his expression sour. He was about to walk deeper into the cave when another voice sounded, causing him to spin around once more. Out of the shadows emerged a three-metre-tall beast, its intimidating size and ferocious appearance making the witcher instinctively hold on to his sword.
"Sheathe your sword, witcher," the beast said, its voice deep and commanding. "I mean you no harm."
Triss rolled her eyes. "See? A flair for dramatic entrance."
"Oh, shut the fuck up, will you?" the beast snarled, clearly annoyed with Triss's nonchalant attitude. He turned to the witcher again. "Let's talk."
The witcher's guard remained up as the sorceress bantered with him. Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as he realised that the situation wasn't quite as dangerous as he had initially feared. "What's there to talk about?"
The werewolf let out a sigh, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group. "I need your help," he said, his voice low.
In an instant, the creature began to shift, slowly morphing back into its human form. Before the astonished eyes of the witcher and sorceress, the werewolf in human skin stood naked, a thin smile playing across his lips. Triss couldn't help but murmur a quiet "wow" to herself, her cheeks flushing as she took in the sight before her.
Coen's thoughts, however, were focused elsewhere. As a witcher of the Griffin school, he knew better than anyone the rare but not impossible ability of some creatures to shift between human and animal form at will. The fact that this werewolf had chosen to reveal his human form was a sign of trust, a gesture indicating that he was willing to talk.
With a resigned sigh, Coen sheathed his sword. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the wasted bottle of oil, but he pushed the thought aside. "Fine," he said, his voice measured and calm. "I'll listen."
======
As the sun slowly set, casting shadows across the room, Blaidd, now fully clothed, settled himself in front of the flickering fireplace with his two companions, Triss and Coen. The witcher was alert, clutching his sword tightly, while Blaidd tended to the simmering stew on the stove. Triss, seated a little further away, couldn't help but lean in, her eyes widening with curiosity.
"As you have seen, I'm a werewolf," Blaidd began, breaking the silence. "But not like the lycanthropes you've encountered before. I'm different."
"What's the difference?" Coen asked. "Lycanthropes that were born from other lycanthropes can change at will, while rare, it exists. You have to be more specific, uh…"
"Ah, sorry, Blaidd." the werewolf said his name. "And you?"
"Coen, from the school of the griffin." the witcher answered. "So?"
Blaidd looked at Triss, and it seems she's going to get some answers. "Well, they are cursed, I am not."
"Meaning?" it was not Coen who asked that, it was the sorceress.
Blaidd scoffed at the sorceress. "I don't have the same bloodlust and primal instincts as them. And, unlike other werewolves, silver and oils don't affect me."
Triss leaned forward in fascination, her eyes sparkling. "What do you mean? You're immune to silver and oils?"
Blaidd shrugged, offering his palm to Coen. "Try it for yourself. I won't feel a thing."
Coen hesitated for a moment before pulling out a silver-coated dagger from his armor. He carved a deep gash on Blaidd's palm, expecting to see some reaction. But to his surprise, Blaidd didn't even flinch. The wound quickly healed, leaving no trace behind.
"That's… unbelievable," Triss gasped. "So, you're trying to create a pack of werewolves like yourself? Do you know how disastrous that could be if all of the werewolves have that kind of ability?"
"Not exactly." Blaidd said. "In fact, the opposite. I want to kill them."
"Kill them?" Coen frowned. "A genocide of your own kind?"
"Humans do it all the time, witcher. Why troubled by it?"
"Look, I don't understand." Triss stated. "You want to kill all the werewolves, but you said you want— oh… I see. You want to be like werebbubbs, don't you? Treated like a race instead of a curse?"
"Exactly, and I can't do that if the majority of the werewolves are actually cursed." Blaidd nodded, saying a half truth. "Change your mindset, witcher, with me existing, werewolves are like vampires now, higher ones and lower ones exist. Well, at least since a couple weeks ago that concept appeared."
"What does that mean? You mean you didn't exist before?" Coen inquired.
"I don't want to say anything anymore, a sorceress is listening." Blaidd said, and he could hear Triss scoffs.
"Interesting…" Coen murmured. "You're claiming that you're a higher form of werewolf."
"I know it's a bit of a stretch."
"I've heard worse." Coen hummed. "So what do you want from me?"
"You know how lycanthropes suffered because of their curse, witcher." Blaidd continued. "Some you can lift their curse, some you cannot. To the ones that can't be lifted, but are generally good, a man or woman, bring them to me."
"And you'll turn them to a 'higher' form of werewolf?"
"Exactly."
Coen hummed. He closed his eyes, thinking deeply. "I see what you're trying to do, but it's doomed to fail."
Blaidd furrowed his brow, intrigued by Coen's statement. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"People can change, Blaidd," the witcher responded, his tone serious. "Even if I sent you men who were cursed to become werewolves, there is no telling how the power would corrupt them. They may be good and honest now, but who knows what they will become under the curse. Sure, they have strong regeneration and abnormal strength when cursed, but they won't be able to control it. That's why they want to return to normal. I've seen my fair share of werewolves that could control their own transformation. Because of that ability, they tend to become more mad and uncontrollable, arrogant of their own power."
"But I already told you, I'm not affected by—"
"We don't know that. Sure, you claim that, and if it's true, then good for you." Coen interrupted. "But what about the men you tried to change? Will they have the same ability to control their bloodlust as you? You're the first of your kind as far as I could see, there's no absolute proof that it will be the same case as your descendants, and I don't wanna take chances. Don't give that look, you're a stranger to me, I can't trust any words you're saying."
Blaidd let out a sigh of resignation. "Fair enough," he said. "If they were to run loose, it would be difficult for you to kill them."
The sorceress, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "So what now?" she asked. "Are you going to try to kill him?"
Coen shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm not going to risk my life for that. I'll take your word for his abilities, sorceress." He stood up from his seat, leaving his bowl of stew uneaten. The sorceress looked disappointed. "However," Coen continued, "the people who gave me the notice will not be pleased if I return empty-handed. Your reputation precedes you, Blaidd. The locals call you the beast of Sodden Hill, and your actions have made them fear for their safety."
Blaidd's bitterness was palpable as he spoke, his voice thick with resentment. "I helped them win the battle, yet they treat me this way. They only see my werewolf form anyway, and with so many missing bodies on the battlefield, they can't even identify me as a person. Coen, maybe you should go back to them. You can at least get part of the reward."
Coen was confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Blaidd gestured towards the sorceress. "You were told to bring her back, right? Please take her with you. I'm sick of hearing her ask me questions all week."
Coen's face remained solemn. "I know better than to force a sorceress to come with me."
Blaidd grunted in frustration. "Ah, forget it. Do you know any werewolves that are... 'good'?"
Coen thought for a moment. "There's only one that comes to mind. Eberhartt of Rivia. He's a healer in Novigrad."
"A healer?" Blaidd sounded surprised.
Coen nodded. "He charges an exorbitant amount of money for his services, but he's still a good man. Last I heard, he's trying to find a cure for his curse, as it's not something that can be cured by witcher means."
Blaidd hummed in thought. "Then I guess I'm heading to Novigrad. Thank you for telling me that, witcher. Do you still want to claim that reward? I might have a way."
"How so?" Coen raised his brow, but quickly shook his head. "No, I'm not the one to lie in a contract. If I can't do it, then I won't take the reward."
"A true professional I see, suit yourself." Blaidd nodded, offering his hand to the witcher for a shake. "Then I guess good luck on your path, may we meet again, and I'll prove you wrong."
Coen shook the werewolf's hand. "And by that time, I will help you for free."
Blaidd smirked. "Can't say no to that." But his expression soured when he turned to the sorceress. "And you, Merigold. Go away. I'm leaving for Novigrad tonight."
"But Vizima is on the way," she said, crossing her legs suggestively.
"Yeah, no, portal yourself to your king. I'll see you there though, and by that time my device needs to be ready."