In the warmth of Wayne's dining room, two Witchers from the Wolf School sat hunched over a steaming pot of stew. The rich aroma filled the air, a medley of fresh ingredients simmering in a robust broth. Spices and herbs infused the sauce, creating a tantalizing blend that even Geralt, unaccustomed to such culinary delights, couldn't resist.
"You've gained weight Geralt," Wayne remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Seems like life with Yennefer suits you well."
Geralt grunted noncommittally. He picked up a chunk of meat from the stew and devoured it happily. After savoring the flavor, he washed it down with a hearty gulp of exquisite cherry mead. "You're living comfortably too, Wayne," he said between bites. "That wine cabinet's bursting with vintage bottles. Looks like you haven't been slacking off on your contracts."
"Indeed," Wayne chuckled.
"There have been some interesting additions to the household as well. It seems you haven't been idle these past six months."
"Let's hear it, then," Geralt prompted. "What have you been up to since our last encounter?"
Wayne chuckled, seeing no reason to hide his activities. He launched into a detailed account of his recent contracts, describing the various beasts he'd encountered. Naturally, he spent a significant portion of the tale recounting Velen's exploits, including the retrieval of precious Elven manuscripts, the collection of materials from a slain Green Dragon, and his encounter with the enigmatic figure known as George.
"A Green Dragon? The cursed deity Dagon? And the Griffin School?" Geralt's eyes narrowed with interest as Wayne unveiled these intriguing details.
A flicker of disapproval crossed Geralt's face when he learned Wayne participated in Velen's dragon hunt. However, Wayne's explanation – that he secured the aid of the golden dragon Borch and a Griffin School Witcher – piqued Geralt's interest.
"A Griffin witcher, you say?" Geralt mused. "I met one over a decade ago. Old-fashioned chap, he was. Didn't care much for coin and spent most of his time preaching."
Wayne chuckled in agreement. "Yes, that must be George. A skilled swordsman with a knack for powerful signs. Their Griffin School keep used to be nestled in the Corvillian Mountains."
"Sadly, a sorcerer-orchestrated avalanche inflicted heavy losses, leaving the school with heavy losses." A somber tone crept into Geralt's voice. "George of the Griffin School, eh? A legend. He was a Witcher before I even drew my first breath. Remember the mural we carved on Kaer Morhen's wall?"
Wayne furrowed his brow, contemplating Geralt's words. "Dragon Slayer George?" he inquired a hint of intrigue in his voice.
Geralt confirmed with a nod. "Indeed. A Witcher on horseback, slaying a colossal beast while the crowd cheers. Renowned event, that was. However, neither the rulers nor the common folk knew that our steeds are for travel, not combat. And what George killed wasn't a dragon, but a petrified cockatrice."
Wayne couldn't contain a chuckle. The mural did hold a place in his memory, but the realization that George was the very subject of it brought a layer of amusement to their encounter.
The life of a Witcher is undeniably long. Deeds transform into legends, whispered across generations. It's a shame, then, that the profession's glory days seem to have faded. The current state of affairs, a far cry from past grandeur, fuels Wayne's desire to revitalize the Witcher order.
Their conversation shifted from George to the troubling whispers surrounding the malevolent deity Dagon. Apparently, the god sought to claim the vast Lake Vizima for his domain, a move threatening the entire Temerian kingdom. The goddess of the lake was also said to be involved. Geralt readily agreed to intervene but proposed waiting until next spring.
"Let's gather all the Wolf School brothers when we leave Kaer Morhen," Geralt suggested. "We can even join forces with George from the Griffin School. With four or five skilled Witchers – even a powerful deity like Dagon shouldn't stand much of a chance against a united front."
Wayne readily agreed, his plan differing only in the inclusion of a few sorcerers for added magical support. They continued their fun, a delightful blend of food, drink, good-natured boasting, and playful teasing. Geralt, having devoured the entire pot's contents, stretched contentedly. While life with Yennefer offered love's solace, it was amongst his brothers that he could truly unwind, shedding pretense and revealing his genuine self.
"Winter is approaching," Geralt announced a hint of urgency in his voice. "We should head back to Kaer Morhen soon before the mountain pass gets blocked."
Wayne agreed. Nine months away had left him yearning for the familiar faces of Vesemir and the other Wolf School brothers. He also harbored plans – with his newfound wealth and exceptional crafting materials like dragon hide and keel – to bring back some well-deserved gifts for each brother.
Returning to Kaer Morhen wasn't an immediate affair. The dilapidated castle needed restocking, echoing the preparations of past years. Unlike Geralt and other Witchers, Wayne still had loose ends to tie up in Vizima. He had two days to bid farewell to his friends, promising a return next spring to ease their disappointment – particularly Keira's. They weren't romantically involved, but their frequent gatherings over the past six months had fostered a certain closeness. Keira grumbled internally, forced to re-evaluate their connection in Wayne's absence.
A few days later, Wayne and Geralt returned to the city, laden with supplies and gifts. Their mounts, under the weight of their bounty, resembled packhorses. Leaving his house in the capable hands of the earth Godling Lala's family, Wayne said goodbye to Vizima and retraced his steps towards Kaer Morhen.
This return journey was a stark contrast to their arrival. Unburdened by a mission, their pace was swifter. Mounted on Lucifer, Wayne, alongside Geralt, reached the port town of Flotsam in a single day. They bypassed the town, heading straight for the docks.
Captain Vesker, a Skelligean stalwart as imposing as a grizzly bear in his fur coat, awaited them. Their previous collaboration had been fruitful, and this time, Vesker had reserved the two finest cabins for his Witcher passengers. Additionally, fueled by a year of honing his skills, Vesker eagerly challenged Wayne to a Gwent rematch, determined to avenge his earlier defeat.
Of course, any hope of besting Wayne in Gwent was a fool's errand. Despite a merciful hand, Wayne defeated Captain Vesker and his crew, securing a bounty of unique Skellige wares in the process. Geralt, however, wasn't as fortunate. Vesker, his cardplay honed to a razor's edge after a year of practice, relieved Geralt of a hefty sum of orens.
Another week of sailing continued, and by late October, Wayne and Geralt found themselves back on Kaedwen soil. The kingdom, with its deep impression on Wayne and its harsh treatment of non-humans, immediately brought Toruviel's plight to mind. He recalled the group of non-human residents he'd met in the elven ruins alongside the young elf. Back then, they'd agreed to reconnect upon their return north.
True to his word, and despite the early season with no snow yet blanketing the northern lands, Wayne proposed a detour to Geralt. "I wouldn't mind revisiting those elven ruins," he said.
Geralt readily agreed after a moment of thought. They navigated Kaedwen cautiously, avoiding human settlements notorious for their prejudice against non-humans. Following their original path, it took a few more days to reach the vicinity of the elven ruins, nestled within the familiar forest.
As they rode their steeds towards the large karst cave etched in their memory, a voice, filled with pleasant surprise, echoed from a nearby tree. "Wayne! Is that you?" Before they even neared the cave entrance, a slender, beautiful elf maiden with dark braids, clad in a fur coat, gracefully descended from the branches. It was Toruviel, her face beaming with joy after months of separation