1

                                    

                                          
The woods, blackened as through poison lingered in the air, was still. Tranquil as a rain forest, but bare as the black shadows of night. The woods remained undisturbed, nothing too unusual occurred in it, although nothing too usual did either. A deer feeding from the bog rose her head, watching ripples form in the water. Bubbles floated to the surface, the blackened water as still as the deer.
                          
The deer proceeded with caution, looking up every once in a while to assess her surroundings. When she saw no danger, she continued drinking the filthy water, knowing no different. A millisecond later, a huge creature had removed itself from the water, it's many legs flailing everywhere, one catching the poor deer. A man, if you can call it a man, emerged with it, cutting the end of a leg with a steel sword.
                          
The creature, a kikimora, snarled at the man. He showed no fear, swinging his sword as though it weighed no more than a bronze coin. The kikimora fought against the man, but to no avail. The man was too quick, even though he was huge in stature, and had hit its legs every time they came near him.
                          
He was caught off guard as the kikimora took advantage, using a claw to push his chest down and into the water. The sword fell from the man's grip, leaving him to kick and flail and grasp desperately for air. He tried to pry the claw from his chest, to no avail. Before he knew it, the kikimora brought several more of its legs down on him, attempting to squish him under his hold. The man moved back and forth in the water, the claws missing him by millimetres every time.
                          
He struggled, losing more air the more he stayed down in the water. Void of all other options, he risked his arm and shoved it towards the hilt of the sword. One lunge from the kikimora in the right place would cut straight through his arm. He caught onto the hilt of his sword, pulling it towards him quickly and spinning it so that it faced the kikimora. He swiped at the claw holding him down, to which the kikimora cried out and let go of him. He lunged up and out of the water, putting his sword directly between the kikimora's mouth and brain.
                          
It cried out in one last attempt to get free of the man's hold, but he only drove the sword in deeper. It fell limp at once, the silvery steel severing it's ties to the world and ridding it of its life. 
                          
The man had vanquished his pray. His eyes were solid black, the veins under them an eerie gray compared to his pale skin and gray hair. He watched the kikimora fall heavily into the water, it's last breath escaping it as it fell. The man watched it, breathing heavily. His chest heaved up and down through black armour, his body completely drenched in the foul smelling water. He walked as cautiously as he could away from the creature and out of the water.
                          
The veins under his eyes had eased, although his eyes were still black as they looked at the fatally injured deer in front of him. He sighed in pity. "Today isn't your day, is it?" His voice perfectly matched his appearance, low and even, although it had underlines of charm and character.
                          
He looked at the deer sympathetically. It was injured, it would die of starvation before it had heeled enough to walk. Surely it was mercy if he put her out of her misery? After a small debate, he concluded that yes, it was. Besides, he hadn't eaten in three days, he was hungry. So he swung the sword. 
                          
Never before had venison tasted so savory. After weeks of eating whatever he could find, the deer was a small blessing. He packed the kikimora onto his brown horse, covering it whimsically with a small brown tarp as to not frighten the children. 
                          
He kept his hood up as he rode, even through the fields alone. He couldn't risk anyone seeing him or his grey hair. The black cloak covered him well, allowing him to suitably blend in with the rest of the village as his horse trotted along. The man knew if people saw him, they would recognize him as Geralt of Rivia, an old, tough Witcher. 
                          
Once he had reached his destination, Geralt put his horse securely in the stables, pushing the wooden door of the tavern open. The sounds of talking and laughing immediately met his ears, although it quivered and quietened after he entered the tavern. He walked calmly through, hoping someone would lose interest and start a conversation. 
                          
He spoke to no one, he didn't even lower his hood, he just walked in a slow, even pace to an empty space at the bar. Geralt handed the bar lady a piece of paper. 
                          
"What will it be?" She asked gently. Her brown hair was pulled gently into a plat, a green dress calmly flowing over her body. He put a finger to the paper, pressing down gently through black leather gloves. 
                          
"Point me to the alderman's house." He said gruffly to the bar lady. She opened her mouth immediately to answer. 
                          
"It's down the alley to the left." She started to give him directions, pointing her finger and gesturing in the directions. 
                          
"Isadora." A man's voice soon stopped her. Her hand drifted from the air to her sides, immediately obeying her husband. Her husband had conflicting eyes, as though he stared at all the wrongs she had ever done. A ginger beard covered half of his face, although his head was bald. He was stout, a little on the heavier side, and average height. 
                          
The bartender turned away, not one word of argument left her lips as she saw her husband's quiet demand. She stepped aside and served another man at the bar, while her husband dealt with the confused stranger."We don't want your kind here, Witcher." He spat, no respect in his voice for the man in front of him.
                          
"The alderman, tell me where he is, and I'll be on my way." Geralt responded, ignoring the disrespect and disregarded the disgust in the husband's face. 
                          
"You don't give the orders around here." Another man had stood up from behind the Geralt, also bald, although leaner and taller. He scoffed as he addressed the Witcher. "You mutant son of a bitch." 
                          
Although his words were meant to sting, Geralt tilted his head and barely regarded the man in front of him. He was thin, but no doubt strong, yet his arrogance was his undoing. Geralt  grunted a laugh, sure that if the man came for him, he could kill him with a flick of his finger.