The sewers reeked of excrement and filth. Unsurprising. Dark spaces, particularly those that were confined and isolated, stirred up an innate fear within mens' hearts. The soldiers assigned to me postured awkardly at the sewer's entrance. The tallest among them hesitated for a while, then with gritted teeth he spoke, "Sir witcher, do you need us to accompany you in?"
The rest of his company turned their necks to look at him at him with bitter, but resigned expressions. Their offer to accompany me into the tangled web of pungent tunnels below was somewhat surprising. I had not expected them to be so stalwart in their duty.
Their tense shoulders slumped with relief as I shook my head and answered, "That won't be neccessary, it's dark enough down there that you're as likely to swing your sword at one another as you are a ghoul. Wait for me here.
"Though, perhaps you might be able source a few buckets of water and some soap?"
The tallest of the soldiers nodded eagerly and immediately. The task of fetching a few pails of water was far preferrable to descending into the putrid sewers. As if it were a quest of boundless importance, he said solemnly, "Yes sir witcher! We shall ready them for your return!"
The mutations had enchanced my olfactory system tremendously. The foul smells that pushed and barged their way into my nostrils were horrid beyond belief. Gore and shit were not unfamiliar to me by any means, but I had never smelt them in such quantity or having been left to brew and fester for so long.
Nonetheless, I descended, climbing down rung after rung of rusted and sharp wrought iron. The stench was unpleasant, but far from unberable. There was scarce little light in the sewers. Stepping beyond the ladder and the beam of light that poured down from the surface, it dissapeared almost entirely.
I brought the edge of my tunic to my nose and pressed it tight. Alas, the stench was far too potent to be hindered by such simple means. Perhaps spurred on by the desire to be free of the repugnant air, my thoughts suddenly blossomed and I recalled a page from a book I had read at Kaer Morhen.
From a pocket within my tunic I retrieved a handful of herbs. One by one I sorted through them, returning those that did not fit my needs. After a minute or so, only the most suitable remained. A mixture of earthy and green flavours exploded within my mouth. I chewed once or twice, grinding them against my molars until they became a viscous paste. To my delight, the intense taste drowned out the foul stench by several degrees! With my index finger I reached into my mouth and sought out some of the herbal paste. Once smeared around the edges of my nostrils, the stench of the sewers reduced even further.
No longer quite so troubled by the stench, I was free to devote my attention to other matters. From my waist I produced a rolled map, dipped thoroughly in wax to ensure it would not be spoiled by moisture, that had been handed to me earlier. It detailed in plain, but thorough annotations, the layout and features of the sewers. Several places were marked with bright red ink. I trained my eyes on the nearest mark.
The king's soldiers had informed me that nearly a dozen beggars, who usually slept in gulleys and puddles on the side of the street, had vanished suddenly from there without a trace.
The constant dripping of grey coloured water and the gurgling flow of excrement hid the sound of my footsteps. I was keen to spend strictly as little time as possible wading through the filth. I advanced briskly.
The sewers were vast. Irritatingly so. For almost a half hour I walked with only vermin and roaches for company. It was almost a relief when I at last heard the beastly sounds of the creatures I had been sent to kill.
A single well-placed blow from a ghoul could sever a witcher's carotid artery. I had every confidence that Radkin was just as eager, and perhaps even more so, as I was to leave the sewers, but it was impossible for him to be as carefree and relieved to find an opponent. It was unfortunate that his limbs and organs did not regenerate as mine did.
Sounds of flesh being stripped from bone echoed through the tunnels. The creature's gleefully made use of their sharp teeth and claws. Pressing myself close against the wall, I peered round the corner to observe my foes.
Graveirs. Three of them. Peasants often confused them with ghouls. Such a mistake was likely to lead to being ripped limb from limb, for graveirs were far more frightening and deadly than ghouls. They were taller than any man, with shoulders as broad and surly as a great ape's and skin the colour of milk that bulged with wriggling black veins. The easiest way to tell this beast apart from a ghoul was by the three red and bony combs that adorned their heads.
The graveirs hissed and cackled. It seemed that they were squabbling over a particularly delicious bone. It was a femur, stark white in colour with the flesh having been neatly and meticulously scraped off. A thin crack in the bone revealed the grey and goopy marrow within. Such was the reaosn for the gravier's excitement and bickering.
The stoutest among the graviers held the bone tightly. Its combs were the longest and most pointed. It pulled its shoulders back and opened its mouth far wider than muscle and tendon ought to allow it. A mixture of acrid spit and the remnants of its more recent meals, splattered against the hideous faces of the other two graveirs.
The mood between the creature's was tense. I hoped feverently that they might set upon one another with their claws and ease the burden of my work. Perhaps, if fate smiled upon me, they might exterminate themselves completely without need for me to draw my blade. Silver, of course.
Fate did not offer me such grace. After a long pause, the two graveirs bowed their heads. They had submitted. The stoutest one raised both fists into the air and shrieked joyfully. With hungry and eager eyes it brought the femur to its lips. A long and forked tongue, covered in warts and bumps stretched out from between its hideous pale lips.
The other two graveirs watched on with intent and envious stares. The attention of the three creature's was entirely captured. I struck swiftly.
The first to meet my blade was the stoutest. It had generously beared its neck to me and I did not wish to decline its gift. There was no dignity or complexity to killing, I was swift, the gravier was caught by surprise and so it was butchered. Had the creature spotted me, then perhaps it might've had the chance to flee. But it did not see my figure pressed up against the wall. And thus it had to die.
The other two watched the stout one die wide eyed in shock. Their brains worked frantically to make sense of the sudden invasion and death. Then they screamed. The sound was piercing and unpleasant. With a whirl and a leap I slashed through the neck of another. The sound reduced greatly in volume.
The final gravier was, in some ways, both the most and least fortunate. Having witnessed the macarbe deaths of its kin, the thought of turning tail and bolting had completely occupied its mind. Thus was its good luck, to survive a little longer. Alas, at least for the fleeing creature, its poor fortune was delivered in the form of a dagger to the joint of its left knee. The leg crumpled in an instant and the creature crashed to the floor. Desperate and driven mad by terror, the pain didn't even register, its claws sparked against the stone as it frantically dragged itself forward. Its remaining good leg clumsily attempted to find purchase against the smooth and slimy stone. The other leg trailed limply on the ground.
The gravier didn't see death approach. Perhaps a mercy. It's beady black eyes were fixated on the flow of sewage into which it sought to tumble into and escape. The three bony combs splintered under the thrust of my sword. The jagged red pieces mixed in amongst the shards of bone and grey matter that spilled out. There was no dignity in death. Neither for man nor beast.
The heads of the graviers were swiftly seperated from their necks. I noted reluctantly that the edge of my blade had slightly dullened. It would soon require replating. With a sigh I remarked aloud to myself, "Coin is all too easy to earn and all to easy to spend."
The severed heads were stuffed into a burlap sack and slung over my shoulder. The combined weight would cause a child to stagger, but it was a minor inconvenience that deserved little bother. Several more distinctive red spots remained on the map. I examined the symbols on the walls around me, cleverly carved long ago by elves from whom the vast sewers had been inherited and quickly identified my position.
Without fatigue or injury to slow my progress, there was no need to return to the surface so soon. Until I had claimed at least a hundred oren more, I had no intention to leave. Thus I pressed on briskly.
No more than twenty minutes had passed when I heard a series of ugly sounds. It was not the squeaking and hissing of rats, a number of which I had crushed underfoot after they idiotically attempted to nimble on my boots. Amongst the beastly wails, I noted solemnly a different kind of sound. One that was distinctly higher-pitched, and spoken in a language far more civilised than grunts and cries. A woman's terrified voice.
The pungent and sticky slime that covered the walls rubbed against my clothes, eagerly working its way between the rings of my chainmail. I knew that it would take hours, as well as copious amounts of cursing and lather, to get it out. The urgency of the woman's screams quickened my steps and put such superfluous thoughts out of my mind.
Pressed as closely against the wall as the twin sheathes on my back would allow, I craned my neck and took in the frightful scene.
Except, when I laid eyes upon what I assumed to be dire and dreadful happenings, I found instead a somewhat comical turn of events. The poor woman, who's screams I had been hastening to, was in fact neither poor, nor a woman, but rather a rather plump sobbing man dressed in the finest silks and dazzling jewelerry. At least it would have been quite dazzling where we not some dozen feet under the earth.
The tearful man was surrounded by seven frightful apparitions. The slender beings stood at nearly eight feel tall, dwarfing the somewhat short finely-dressed man. Their skin was covered in pustules and countless sharp needle like protrusions. Scurvers.
Though his limbs were concealed beneath layers of expensive clothing, all of which without exception was presently covered in filth, it was clear from the man's portly figure that he stood no chance of repelling the beasts with his blade. Drawing his shortsword from its bejewelled scabbard hadn't seemed to have ever occured to him, perhaps he had never used the blade for anything more exciting than cutting apples.
It was not within a scurver's nature to show mercy to such a woefully helpless foe. A blazing orange glow held them at bay, foiling their supper plans and enraging them incessantly. Upon their attempts to advance to their rather substantial and delicious meal, the ring worn on the man's index finger, in which a huge amethyst was charmingly embedded, would burst out with brilliant orange light and send them shrieking and reeling backwards.
Enchanting a thing was no simple matter. Precious ingredients were needed by the dozen, not to mention the countless failed attempts that prefaced the creation of any successful enchantment. After labouring for weeks, perhaps months, likely spent sleeplessly and biting one's nails, enchanters and enchantresses were understandably reluctant to part with their works. To persuade one to do so would require enough coin to stopper a small lake.
Although he lacked such qualities as heroism and swordsmanship, the man possessed the far more charming quality of immeasurable wealth. Most so called heroes were destined to meet their end in a ditch on the side of the road. Whilst they lay bleeding out in the dirt, wealthy landlords lived until their skin was wrinkled and their eyes were cloudy, spending every moment surrounded by young and lovely companions, the softest robes and exquisite eatery.
For the right price, anything could be bought.
"Oh you horrid beasts! Leave me I beg of you! Oh I would give you a hundred emeralds if only you stupid things knew their value!" The man cried out woefully. His elk boots splashed about in a puddle of excrement as his back wriggled against a wall. He seemed to hope that if he wriggled and quivered hard enough, that the wall might swallow him up and rescue him from his hideous captors.
The ring on his finger was tremendously useful. Being skilled with a blade was not necessary when magic could be bent to one's will. Unfortunately, the wealthy man was not a true sorcerer. He could not command chaos to bring forth fire or summon lightning at his fingertips. All he could do was frantically wave about the ring on his finger. The light from which was quickly growing dim.
How such a clearly affluent soul had ended up sobbing and pleading for his life in the sewers beneath Sodden was beyond me. Perhaps whilst amassing such incredible wealth, he had performed a few charitable deeds, for his luck was truly tremendous to have encountered a saviour in his most perilous moment.
The orange glow emmitted by the enchanted ring began to ebb. The rich man howled with sorrow as darkness crept forth. Judging by the unstable flickering of the enchantment, only a blow or two more would be needed to exhaust what little magic remained.
Scurver's were irritating foes to face. Upon sensing that their end was close, the gases and enzymes that brewed within their bodies would enter into a state of such fierce activity that their bodies were torn asunder, thus propelling hundreds of highly noxious needles in all directions. Poison had no effect on me, and the sharp tips of their needles which would turn an ordinary man into a pincushion, could be removed with little difficulty.
If I were fighting alone I would charge into battle without a care. It was rather unfortunate that I had a rather miserable weeping associate who's continued good health I had to consider.
The scurvers were completely and utterly focused on their meal. Their appetites and tempers had been stirred to boiling point. With their attentions fixed on the wealthy man, they were taken entirely by surprise when a sudden ethereal force roared towards them. The three who had born the brunt of the blast were catapulted into the air and sent tumbling into the fast-flowing sewage. They cried out furiously as the putrid current swept them away.
The other four fared much better. They shrieked and stumbled to their feet, a touch disorientated, but otherwise unharmed.
The wealthy man collapsed to his knees, sobbing even louder, "A saviour! A saviour! Oh Melitele you heard my prayers and sent me an avenger! I will give double-no triple in my next offering my lady!"
"Get up! Run! You must run! I will come to you once I have slain these beasts!"
The man's eyes widened. His chin trembled violently. Then in an instant he was on his feet, sprinting away into the darkness no less swiftly than a field mouse. He called out tearfully, "You must come for me! You must not leave me honourable sir! You must not leave me!"
The scurvers surged forwards. A flurry of claws sliced towards me, their murderous eyes glowing blood red. Again I thrust my palm forwards and unleashed a blast of energy towards them. The invisible force thrummed through the air and hurled them backwards, but they were already familiar with my use of ard. They steadied themselves quickly, deliberately staying far away from the river of sewage so as to not share the same fate as their companions.
While their balance was still unsteady, I charged. Silver arced and a scurver's head was severed cleanly from its body. The creature's eyes widened. Though blood no longer flowed to its brain, its horrid anatomy allowed its consciousness to persist for a few moments longer. It's pale cracked lips split open and it snarled madly. Then it's skin began to ripple, as if snakes were twisting about within. With a harsh tearing sound it exploded in a shower of death and gore.
The needles clattered against a hastily summoned quen. The barrier held. Incensed by the death of their companion, the skin of the remaining three began to ripple. They swarmed towards me in a terrible frenzy of claws and teeth. I leaped to the side, narrowly evading a swipe of claws dripping with foul-smelling black liquid. Without a moment's respite, a gaping maw of jagged teeth was upon me.
The beast's teeth missed. But my blade sank into its neck. The creature howled and desperatly twisted its body, preventing the sword's edge from dealing a fatal blow. Though the battle was fierce, I couldn't help but snort with amusement as, having survived such a perilous blow, the creature promptly exploded. Some of it's blood made its way into my mouth before I thought to shut it. The foul and sickening taste would ensure I never made such a clumsy error again.
The skin of the other two scurvers rippled even more intensely. I danced around them, a blur of danger and skill. They were large and powerful things, easily strong enough to lift a man with one hand. It was unfortunate, for them of course, that their agility was woefully lacking in comparison. My blade struck their arms and chests, wounds meant to enrage not kill. Within a dozen strikes, the rippling reached a fever pitch. The ugly tearing noise sounded again and both creatures were blitzed into a rain of flesh and bone.
The sheer quantity of needles overwhelmed quen's defence. Though most of them fell innefectively to the ground, a few pierced through and stuck themselves in my chest. After a few sharp intakes of breath, they were yanked out and thrown to the floor. The puncture wounds quickly began closing up, after a few breaths there was no evidence that they had ever existed.
'Time to fetch Melitele's luckiest believer.'
The wealthy man had hurried away with impressive speed. I found him squatting not too far away, panting like a dog and drenched in sweat. His trembling legs suggested that his flight had sapped him of all his strength. The smell of urine, fresh urine, was faintly noticeable.
"Oh kind sir! My saviour, thank you! Oh heroic knight, take me out of this wretched place I beg! I will make you wealthier than a prince if only you would carry me out! My legs-they-they won't move!" The wealthy man looked up pleadingly and wrapped his hands around my calves. He seemed to fear that if he wasn't staring intently at me that I might dissapear in a puff of smoke.
"You flight was no less swift than a deer struck by an arrow. An impressive sprint, calm your fright, it won't take more than an hour to reach the surface." I reassured. The wealthy man nodded frantically like a baby chick and obediently wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I carried him as if we were two children playing piggy back.
The wealthy man, who amidst his delirious mumbling of Melitele's kindness and how he would skin the wretched urchins who tricked him into the sewers, revealed his name to be Percivald, Duke of Aramia, a prosperous region known for vast reserves of gemstones hidden beneath its soil. After a particularly animated rant, his head lolled and fell against my shoulder. He had passed out.
Once more I had only vermin and roaches for company.