The four figures locked in a standoff that could only end in blood, the patrons had fallen silent, their conversations dying in their throats as they sensed what's going on.
Faelorn rose from his seat, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. His voice was furious as he felt that he had been pushed too far by a mere human. "We don't know you, old man. Go on and fuck off, will you? You have no business here, and we have no interest in anything you have to say, human cunt."
Yarvik's fingers wrapped around the haft of his axe, his one good arm lifting the weapon with ease. His voice was a low growl, warning the old man that he had run out of patience. "Move along. We have no business with ye. Find another table to annoy, or I'll find a new use for this axe."
The old man's smile did not waver. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Hold on, I'm asking nicely. There is no need for this to get bloody. I merely wish to have a conversation, a civil exchange of information. Is that so much to ask?"
Faelorn's sword cleared its scabbard with a whisper of steel, the blade catching the firelight as he pointed it directly at the old man's throat. "Are you threatening us?"
The old man's eyes glinted with amusement that made Faelorn's blood boil. "If I had threatened you, you would have known. Or at least, your companions would have."
Lune's voice cut through the tension despite the tremor in her hands. "What do you want?"
The old man's gaze shifted to her. "I believe I already mentioned it. The witcher. I need information. I need to know where he is, what he is capable of, and who he is traveling with."
He paused, his eyes hardening. "And before you lie to me, do understand that tracking you wasn't so difficult. I have been in Redania and saw the devastation in that forest, the scorched bodies, the clean cuts. That was the doing of a witcher. With a little bit of checking, I figured out what those soldiers were after." His voice dropped in satisfaction. "They were after Scoia'tael scum. And here they are."
Yarvik's voice was sharp, defensive. "Aye, we killed those men ourselves. We didn't need any witcher's help."
The old man laughed. "Oh no, no, no. You couldn't have. Your skills are considerable, I have no doubt, but those soldiers were butchered with a precision that only a witcher could achieve." He paused, his eyes gleaming. "Besides, I heard what you said just now. I have been listening. His name is Sebastian, isn't it? A witcher of the School of the Wolf." His hand drifted to the medallions at his neck, his fingers brushing against them with a possessive reverence. "I haven't met those at all in my travels. As you can see from my trophies here, a wolf's head is missing."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to know everything about him. Was he traveling with a girl? What is he capable of?" His eyes fixed on Lune with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "And what did you mean by 'his flame'?"
Faelorn snapped, his sword still pointed at the old man's throat. "Listen here carefully, human. We are not friends. We don't know you, and we don't trust you. And this witcher you mentioned, we don't know him either. So you can stand up now and fuck off before we gut you here and now."
The old man's smile did not waver. "An elf defending a mutant. My, he must have really saved your necks for you to put your life on the line for him."
Faelorn's voice was flat. "Fuck. Off."
Yarvik's voice was a growl, his axe rising. "Let me kill this cunt. I'll make it quick."
The old man sighed. "I really didn't want to do this with so many people looking, but..." His eyes hardened. "Oh, fuck it."
He moved with a speed that defied his appearance.
His hand shot out, smacking Faelorn's sword aside with a force that sent the blade spinning across the room. Before Faelorn could react, the old man had drawn a knife from his belt and driven it deep into the elf's arm. Faelorn screamed, his blood spraying across the table.
Yarvik swung his axe with his one good arm, the blade aimed at the old man's skull. The old man dodged with inhuman reaction, the axe embedding itself in the table with a splintering crash. He moved like a shadow, his knife finding Yarvik's arm, the blade slicing through muscle. Yarvik's axe clattered to the floor, he couldn't even clutch his wounded arm because that was the only arm he had left, so he just screamed in pain.
Lune grabbed her bow, her fingers finding an arrow with speed. She nocked it, drew it back, and aimed at the old man's heart.
But he was already faster.
He grabbed Faelorn, pulling him close, his knife pressed against the elf's throat. "Now, now. Let your bow loose, and you can say goodbye to your little pointy-eared friend here."
Faelorn's voice was a snarl, blood dripping from his arm. "Kill the cunt! Don't worry about me!"
Lune's hands trembled, her aim wavering. "But Commander..."
The old man's eyes flicked to her, "Tell me about the witcher. What did you mean about his flame? I need information. Where did he head to?" His grip tightened, the knife pressing deeper into Faelorn's throat. "He is not here with you, so he escorted you somewhere away from Redania but clearly not to this point. Is he in Temeria? It's pretty close." His voice grew sharper. "I have already sent some people to Vizima to look for any witcher of the School of the Wolf. Answer me! Was a girl with him?"
Faelorn's voice was defiant. "I will not share shite with the likes of you, human. Kill me if you must! I will not trade my honor for my life!"
Yarvik said his face pale with pain. "Faelorn, don't be stupid..."
Faelorn's voice was sharp, cutting through Yarvik's protest. "If you say anything, I will not forgive you, Yarvik. In this life or the next!"
Lune's bow was still aimed at the old man, but her hands were trembling. Her voice was strained, desperate. "If I tell you what you want, will you let him go?"
The old man's voice was impatient. "Yes, for fuck's sake! That's what I'm trying to say here. Are you all daft?"
"Lune, don't! I forbid you! This is my command!" Faelorn commanded.
Lune lowered her bow, she made a decision she knew she would regret. "The witcher is indeed in Temeria. At least, that's what he told us. We are not friends, so he didn't share much. But he did protect us." She paused, her eyes meeting the old man's. "But there was no girl with him. He was alone."
She took a breath, her voice hardening. "As for his power... let's just say that you will die, old man. He is not someone you can kill. He can't be killed."
The old man smiled. "Interesting... you said his power. Flames, isn't it? Could it be that his Igni sign is that powerful?" He paused, his gaze distant. "I saw the devastation in that forest. Everything was scorched. So you might be telling the truth." His eyes snapped back to hers. "I like you she elf... but I think you are lying about something."
Faelorn's voice was a roar. "Fucking hell, Lune!"
He bit down on the old man's hand, his teeth sinking into flesh. The old man yelled, his grip loosening for just a moment.
Lune pulled her bow again, her arrow aimed at the old man's heart. But he was faster. His knife flew from his hand, embedding itself deep in her abdomen. She staggered back, her bow clattering to the floor, her hands clutching the wound.
Faelorn swung his own knife at the old man, but he dodged, his movements fluid and impossibly fast. He disarmed Faelorn in a single, brutal attack, his hand closing around the elf's knife. Before Faelorn could react, the blade was at his throat.
And then it was over.
The old man's swing was clean and precise, the blade cutting through Faelorn's neck. Faelorn's head separated from his body, tumbling to the floor, his eyes still open, still filled with defiance.
Yarvik's voice was a roar of anguish. "Commander! No!"
Lune's scream was swallowed by the chaos, her hands still clutching her wounded abdomen, her face pale with shock and blood loss.
The tavern erupted.
Dwarves who were watching in fear rose from their seats, their axes and hammers in hand. The few Elves who were there pulled their bows, their faces twisted with rage. The patrons who had been frozen in shock now surged forward, their weapons aimed at the old man.
The old man sighed, though he felt no fear."Fuck me... so be it."
/-\
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