ینفر از ونگربرگ ویچر

The Legend of Yennefer by Nimue

“Every story has a beginning, and hers did not start in a warm room of a safe castle.”

 A full moon shimmered off the surface of a calm lake. Nimue gazed off into the darkness that stalked her and a smattering of students. They had traveled from far and wide to learn from the legendary sorceress whose tales of the Lion Cub of Cintra had turned many skeptics of the stories into believers. After the previous night’s account of the White Wolf of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg was the subject now. The Lady of the Lake took a deep breath and continued.

“Legends and myths often blend with reality to create something fantastical. Ours begins over two hundred years ago in the land of Aedirn as Belleteyn celebrations rang into the night. The festival of fertility and physicality bore a girl who fought her way into the world. A fight she would continue her entire life.”

 Nimue again took a pause as the students quivered in anticipation.

A man with a Redanian accent spoke up. “Miss, how are we to judge what is myth, and what is reality?”

 “Just let her continue, you asked enough questions about the witcher already,” a woman with a Brugge intonation pleaded.

The restless students began to clatter about, but the mage calmed them, her demeanor taking on a philosophical bent.

“To question is to learn, otherwise I never would have uncovered the story you are about to hear. How many legends, or myths, have you heard that were depressing, or uninteresting?” she asked rhetorically. “Reality can be discouraging, causing us to question our lives and direction. Legends reinforce the lessons we have been taught, what we believe in.” Her mind raced with previous encounters of dreams and illusions. She shook clear of the thoughts. She peered over her captivated audience and in steely resolve stated, “It is up to you to determine your own legend, myth, and reality.”

 Heads nodded, and a murmur of understanding pervaded throughout the appeased group.

“As the Belleteyn bonfires raged, Yennefer was ripped from her mother’s womb. The disappointment on her father’s face was immediate as her deformed back was plain for all to see. A was a sin he would never forgive, and even blamed his wife’s elven blood for causing it.”

 “So Yennefer was a quarter-elf?” The Redanian queried, undeterred by previous attempts to stop with the questions.

“Yes, as many are. And it would be foolish to pay any heed to her father’s beliefs that it had in any way caused the abnormalities in his daughter’s appearance. Regardless, he would seek retribution with constant abuse. A reminder that she would never be worthy of his love.”

“What happened to him?”

 “The same thing that happens to us all.” Nimue grinded a flower through her hardened fingers. A lifetime of magic, incantations, and travelling the continent in search of truth and illusion had taken its toll, but she had returned home to the isle of Inis Vitre, to her tower, and her fate.

“This is not his time,” she declared. “This is the time for Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“Leave me alone”

The tears had stopped running. Yennefer wiped her reddened cheek, leaving a trail of smattered dirt in tow.

 “Humpback humpback, Yenna’s got a humpback!” The shrill voice of a child echoed throughout the dilapidated barn as several youths had gathered to make fun of the unfortunate girl. “Your mum shoulda thrown you into the woods! Even the pigs won’t lie with you!” they continued.

 “Master Nimue”. The Lady of the Lake jerked her head towards an inquisitive face, who until this point had been silent.

 “Master? Tell me, what am I a master of?” She shot back sternly and crossed her arms in defiance. The student immediately regretted the question, but as every eye was now staring through him, he uttered back the first thing that came to mind. “Storytelling”.

Muffled laughter and a few eyerolls eased the tension. Nimue cracked her face of stone as a wry smile widened across her tired face. “What is your question?”

“I know you spoke of believing our own myth and reality, but in what basis of truth do these stories lie?”

Nimue felt the warm glow of attention as the group's eyes slowly made their way over to her. “Where did you study magic?”

The young man grew confident and proudly stated, “Ban Ard Academy.” His words were met with more eyerolls, but a few impressed nods as well. Numerous academies of magic had been born as a result of a lengthy peace between the Northern Realms, Nilfgaard, and the various non-human kingdoms of Mahakam and Dol Blathanna. While some of the newer academies had even included the admission of both sexes, Ban Ard was still the crown jewel for the magical growth of young men.

“And at Ban Ard, did you learn about Oneiromancy? About what dreams may come?”

Her question was met with silence and a slow shake of the head.

 “I had an apprentice…” The words slowly left her mouth and she caught herself. “I had a dear friend, and a long time ago we studied Yennefer’s daughter for what seemed like years. It could have been decades really, as if time matters to the past. Through research, and my friend’s dreams, we put together what we believe to be the truth, to what we believe to be the living, breathing events of the past. It is from these dreams, that we create our history.”

The silence of the crowd was met with caws from a murder of crows flying overhead. They perched themselves on an aging tree and loomed ominously over the gathering. Unwavered by her new guests, the sorceress continued her tale.

 “Catch!” a boy picked up a small rock and threw it straight at Yennefer. It struck the base of her neck and she cried out in pain.

 “Stop it!” The tears had returned and congealed with the dirt to create a patch of mud on her cheek. She narrowly turned to look back and caught a glimpse of the boy about to throw another stone.

 “I said….STOP IT!” She threw her arms up and SLAMMED them into the dirt. A force of energy rippled along the ground and threw the group of boys into the air, their heads cracking against the hard wooden ceiling. They returned to the dirt below, landing with a thud and lay there in stunned silence as they all dumbfoundedly stared at each other. Nobody dared to move and confusion was evident all around.

Yennefer broke the silence. “Go...away.” the raven haired girl hissed. With fear in their eyes, the boys scurried away. They would never hurl an insult, or rock, at the young girl ever again.

Nimue let the moment breath before a woman in the forefront spoke up. “Is this the first instance of her ability?”

 “That we know of. The trauma Yennefer suffered caused her to manifest it in this chaotic power, the only way to fully release her pain and suffering. She would not be able to fully harness it until an unlikely visitor arrived one day…”

“You will not take her.”

Yennefer’s mother mustered all the courage she could, but her final words betrayed her as they cracked in the thick summer air.

The mysterious woman she now spoke to had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and now held her daughter in a tight grip. “This girl is destined for far greater things than this.” She arrogantly smirked and waved her hands towards the decrepit living spaces. “Be it all the same, I am sure this will make up for your loss.” She tossed a small coin purse that her mother dropped, the gold clanging off the scattered rocks on the ground.

 “Mama,” Yen called out.

The witch jerked her around and stared into her violet eyes.

“A life of abuse and hardship, is that what you desire? You have an ability, a gift, if you are privy to the divine, that you must harness. I will teach you how to control the chaos all around you. How to control your destiny.”

“I don’t want-”

The woman let go and spoke in a low rumble, her words as curt as ever. “It matters little what you want.”

Nimue and her audience had retreated from the chilly night outside to the warm security of the tower. Nestled around a large hearth in the center of the living quarters, the guests sat shoulder to shoulder and eagerly awaited the continuation of the journey. 

The Lady pondered a moment before speaking. “What is a life worth?”

Voices spoke up from all over. “Priceless.” “Self worth is what matters.” “Lives are not meant to be bought and sold.”

 “Yet,” Nimue continued, “this one was. Whether it was four marks, or four hundred, this girl was purchased the same as common livestock. Some of you may have come from similar hardship and can take solace in a shared struggle, one that you may still think about to this day. Perhaps, when you get to be as old as me, you can kill the past and move on from such trauma. But, for those like Yennefer, you can never escape it. She might have thought that this was the end of the pain, the end of the lonely nights filled with sorrow. But, as something ends, something begins.”

Yen’s mother picked up the fallen coins and clutched them to her chest. “What will you do with her?”

“I doubt the sincerity in your voice in regards to the well being of this girl. Regardless, you will never see me, or her, ever again. Are we in agreement?”

 “I have already lost my husband, and I will not lose a daughter,” the mother unconvincingly stammered out.

 The woman glared back coldly. “She is already lost, your actions saw to that long ago.”

“You failed.”

 Tissaia de Vries' voice was steady, even calming. Blood oozed from behind freshly applied bandages, as Yennefer prepared for another lecture, or at least a few stern words to be lobbed in her direction.

But they never came.

The rector noticed this was no cry for help. “You cut deep. Deliberate. Were this a common cry for help then you would be left here alone to wallow in your own pity. But, as I stated on the day we first met; I shall help you. You will learn how to correct your spine, straighten your back, and arrange your shoulder blades.”

Nimue spryly twitched her fingers, releasing a small display of multicolored sparks that illuminated her darkened face. “Everyone in this room has an affinity for magic, and our abilities are worthless without the use of our hands.”

Slowly the audience began to mimic her and within a few moments the room glimmered with every color of the spectrum.

Once the excitement died down, The Lady gently rubbed the inside of her forearm. “Our hands are what we use to heal, comfort, and protect those most important to us. It makes us who we are, and can define our very existence. Some of you cannot, or will not, have children. What you do with your hands will define the legacy you leave behind.”

Tissaia delicately touched Yen’s crimson stained fingers. “Most importantly, we will heal your hands. You may have severed the tendons and ligaments, but in time, you will heal. And you must, as there is nothing more important to a sorceress, than her hands. They are an instrument by which we become something special. And you, my girl, are special.”

Yen took notice at the final words, but all she wanted was to quench her thirst. A sponge lay nearby, but she was too proud to ask, especially in the presence of Tissaia.

“You were not meant to perish today, but there will be a time when your name is called and you will recall this moment.” She picked up the sponge and held it over Yen’s mouth. “Everything that occurs from this moment forward, is a gift to you, and perhaps a curse to others. You will decide what you do with your future. Only you.”

Yennefer slightly adjusted her posture and winced at the pain shooting through her arms. Small tears began to trickle down her pained face.

Tissaia chose her departing words wisely. “Weep, girl. Cry your heart out and for as long as you desire here. For this will be the last time it ever occurs, as there is not a more grotesque site in existence, than a sorceress weeping."

Yennefer grasped the cold marble floor as she struggled to regain her wits. "What have I done? Is this all real?" She arched and stretched her newly transformed figure. "This feels….natural."

The laboratory was eerily calm as the sorceress pondered on the magic and chaos that had so recently filled the room in a frightening display of cracked bones and splattered blood. "I did it."

But, she did not have much time to herself.

The shuttered iron doors swiftly burst open and Tissaia entered with the grace of a dozen queens. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and smiled. “All is as it should be.” Her sharp words clattered and echoed off the old stone walls. “How do you feel?”

Yen clutched the stained linen tight, struggling to get to her feet as she shuffled around the bloody floor. “I feel as if I can do everything I’ve always wanted. That nobody will look down on me ever again.”

 “You would be foolish to believe that beauty will mask a dearth of knowledge. If you wish to serve at a king’s court, to help and assist in all decisions and endeavors…” She held off for a few moments to insure Yennefer’s attention. “Or wish to control him, then your journey is far from over.”

Yen tightened her posture and spoke confidently, “I have only just begun.”

For many of Nimue’s visitors, it had been a long day's ride to reach her humble tower in the middle of the lake. It was a motley assortment of mostly mages, young and old. Amongst them a curious Redanian who had clearly studied a bit too much philosophy and a couple from Upper Sodden who could not be separated for mere minutes before hurrying back to the warm embrace of the familiar.

It reminded Nimue of when she saw the Lion Cub of Cintra flash in and out of her life, for just a brief moment, as she lay embraced with her lover by this very lake. She allowed herself a bittersweet smile at the thought.

As the night continued, the host became more stoic in her tone. “It is a deeply personal decision to change one’s appearance using magic, and it is easy to look down and hold disdain for those who depart from the natural. But, given the chance to better oneself, with no chance of harm to others, is something that is hard to find fault in. Many in this room have done just that, and some elected not to. Perhaps even myself.”

Several of the travelling servants had opened bottles of vintage wines and were slowly pouring glasses to share with the party. As a stocky halfling smiled and handed a cup to her, Nimue carried on with the tale. “Soon enough Yennefer had become a powerful mage and held court with powerful kings, but young ambition can often prove unfulfilling. It was in the town of Rinde that a new chapter in her journey would begin.”

“Not without you,” Geralt deftly responded. He grabbed ahold of her tightly and together they fell through the opening as they caught a final glimpse of the stampeding djinn.

They sank into the abyss and soon slid across the pristine marble floor of a grand ballroom. A dozen or so richly dressed individuals looked upon them in stunned silence.

Yen climbed to her knees. “You idiot, I nearly had him!” Sparks danced from her palms as her words echoed throughout the hall.

“Are you mad? I saved your life, you dumb witch.” Geralt poked his head up and wiped away a trickle of blood that oozed down his face.

A sharply dressed chamberlain stood over them and gawked. “Your invitations, please.”

 Despite their current animosity, both the witcher and sorceress responded together. “Screw off!”

 The half opened eyes of the chamberlain now burst wide in a shocked expression. “This is most scandalous, I will be writing a letter to the Council-”

 Before he could finish, Yennefer jumped into the fading portal, followed closely by the witcher. The destination was a tavern back in Rinde and after materializing just below the ceiling, they dropped and crashed into the unyielding ground below. 

After a few choice words and jabs at each other, Geralt shouted out the truth. That he was the master of the djinn and there was no way she could control it. Not without him making a final wish.

“Congratulations, your deception has worked, Geralt. But you underestimate me, and my power. Now make your last wish so I end this!”

 “Yennefer,” he pleaded. “You do not have the strength left to fight.” His words were soft and rang true to her ears.

But, the sorceress was not privy to men questioning her mettle. She looked up through a hole in the roof and spotted the djinn cascading across the sky. “I have not yet begun to fight.” She grabbed Geralt and glared at him, her violet eyes as piercing as ever. “Make your final wish, you can have anything you desire.”

 The djinn spotted them and began to tear away at the boards that propped up the building. Yennefer tugged hard at the witcher’s torn jerkin and screamed. “Now use it!”

 “Well, what did he say to her?” A forceful voice rose from the crowd as Nimue sloshed a fruity red wine through her teeth.

“There aren’t enough sages or oneiromancers on the Continent that would be able to answer that. But, you focus on the wrong details. You cannot see the forest for the trees. It matters little what Geralt wished for, his exact words, or meaning. Remember, truth is but an illusion, it’s the facts that matter. The truth of this is whatever you choose to believe, but the facts are this encounter with the djinn is what brought the witcher and sorceress together. An unbreakable bond was formed in this moment, a bond that would eventually entangle them with a golden dragon.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

The Cintrian Reavers tied up their remaining human opponents, and eagerly looked forward to locating their prey. Their Dwarven compatriots, led by Yarpen Zigrin, stood watch with a look of uncertainty in their eyes.

The bard, the witcher, and the sorceress struggled to break free, but Yennefer was most annoyed by the relentless verbal ribbing from Dandelion. “It’s because of her we are prisoners, they will probably-” She spat at him, but only succeeded in hitting Geralt across the cheek.

A broad shouldered reaver named Boholt smirked and grabbed his sword. “Onto more important matters,” he arrogantly stated and looked towards a large boulder that soon sprung an elongated neck and long claws. While not being the brightest man, Boholt realized this was in fact not a boulder, but the golden dragon Villentretenmerth.

 “I could not wait for you any longer,” the dragon spouted. “I am ready.” He arched his back and violently slammed his tail on the ground, sending a shockwave across the plain.

The reavers and dwarves were easily swept aside by the massive beast, sending the short legged fighters running for the hills. Boholt was tossed off his mount and slammed his head against a jagged stone.

Before Villentretenmerth could fully process his victory, a cloud of dust erupted from the other side of the river. Several large wagons emerged and soon dozens of men began pouring out, armed with spears and halberds.

 “It’s the guards of Holopole!” explained the bard.

The dragon nudged a small greyish creature towards the tied up trio, and soon thundered off to meet his new opponents.

 “Geralt, what is that?” queried Yennefer.

“It’s what he was protecting, the offspring of the poisoned dragon.”

The baby dragon stumbled over to Yennefer and snuggled against the sorceress. She had a puzzled look on her face, that only ended after hearing the cries of Villentretenmerth.

The militia had wrapped the dragon in nets and pinned it to the ground. As the attackers moved in for the kill, a resounding war cry bellowed throughout the land.

The Zerrakanians arrived and cut a swath through the militiamen like a knife through cake, temporarily buying some time.

Nimue shook her head, refusing another glass of wine. Two was plenty if she were to finish this story this evening. “I mentioned earlier that our hands make us, and our the most important object to a mage. But there are times where you may find yourself incapaciated, and must adapt. The mark of a great mage is being able to claim the day, without your full capabilities. To defend order from chaos.”

As the group rallied around the remaining wagons, Yen had an idea. “Geralt, the sign of Igni, burn through my rope!”

“Without looking? I’ll hit you.”

 “Just form the sign, dammit! I can take it,” she commanded.

Yennefer was able to get one leg free, and as the smell of burning flesh filled the air she shouted out in incantation. The first wagon was largely unaffected, but the second one was successful in a rather peculiar manner. All it’s crew were transformed into croaking frogs, which set off frantically in all directions.

With one more attempt, she was able to turn the first wagon into a puff of smoke, and make the round wheels of the third one become square. Villentretenmerth was soon free, with Geralt and Yennefer rising to meet him.

 “Order and chaos,” said the smiling dragon. “Remember, we must go to the ends of the earth to defend that which is most important to us. My purpose was to protect this treasure of a dragon. Perhaps someday you will discover a purpose as well, witcher.”

 He turned towards Yennefer with a resolute look. “You were made for each other, you and the witcher, but nothing will come of it. I am sorry.”

 Yennefer turned somber. “I know, but I too would like to believe that there is no limit to what is possible. Or, maybe, that limit is very far away.”

“Brace!”

The Nilfgaardians pushed the Northern Alliance to the brink, leaving thousands of corpses in their wake.

Yennefer stood shoulder to shoulder with Triss Merigold and Lytta Neyd, her black hair juxtaposed with the auburn and red from her peers. “They won’t hold. We need to move.”

Black armor engulfed the field below as the mages got into position to survey the attack. Triss pointed towards the right flank, which quickly collapsed under a cavalry charge from the Ard Feainn division. “The Aedernians are routed!”

Lytta, better known as Coral due to the shade of lipstick she admired, jaunted away without further notice. She grabbed a nearby mage and shouted behind her, “Hit the center, we will hold the right.”

Yennefer’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “Stop, the entire division is routed. We will gather more-”

Coral turned and showed the fire of the isles. “There is no time, Yenna.” She motioned towards the horsemen now beginning to envelop behind the defenders. “The center is weakest, HIT THEM NOW.” She did not wait for a response.

The remaining duo gathered their strength and focus, learned from years of experience in the classrooms of Aretuza, and the halls of great kings.

 Fire and brimstone rained down on the Black Ones as Yennefer conjured up a heavy spell. The surprise attack stalled the cavalry as they struggled to regroup around the surrounding flames. As the Nilfgaardians cooked in their armor, a massive shockwave threw the attackers thirty feet in the air. Yennefer caught a glimpse of Coral as she wove her hands through the ground. Geomancy was always her forte.

As the attack broke down, several massive oaks were uprooted and slammed into the staggering Nilfgaardians. Triss, in a fit of Telekinetic power, ripped and smashed the trees through the rear guard that came to try and fill the gap created by the shockwave.

Yennefer sent one last bolt through the air before turning and seeing that several spearmen had made their way to no more than fifty feet from them. “Merigold!” she shouted and began to lay waste to the new enemy.

To her horror she was too late to save a sorcerer that was cut down by a heavily armored cavalry officer. She also noticed for the first time there were at least a half dozen dead mages on the hill. With hate in her eyes she summoned a wave of energy that sent the officer flying out of sight.

 “Press forward!” A gruff voice erupted from behind them as a sharp dressed man confidently sent spell after spell down on the hill. Vilgefortz nodded in encouragement at Yennefer as the remaining mages rallied and strode forth. The Black clad invaders began to rout as victory seemed certain.

Burnt flesh and hot steel filled the air as Yennefer came upon a most gruesome sight. She had found Coral, but would forever wish she had not. Both of her arms had been hacked off at the elbows, her right leg snapped at the knee, the left ripped off cleanly. Her robes and light armor had been burned off and barely remained.

But it wasn’t the wounds that bothered Yennefer, she had seen worse. It was that she was still alive. And the screams….the screams were unlike anything she could imagine. 

She hadn’t even noticed that Triss had arrived and began to weep. “We have to do something.”

 “We must never forget what happened here, and ensure it never happens again.” A tear began to form in her eye as she raised a hand towards Coral. Sparks danced from her fingertips as the sun began to set over Sodden Hill.

“Lady Yennefer, when will we finish the tests?”

Ciri picked at some honeysuckle whose pungent odor had filled the grassy meadow. She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. Her training with Yennefer has been vastly different from her time with the witchers at Kaer Morhen. Instead of learning martial movements and attacks, this was more academic. The bones and muscles must work together with the mind to become one. Body and spirit.

“Ciri, throughout our time today I have been communicating without using my voice. Telepathy, and magic as a whole, is considered by some to be the epitome of chaos and a key to opening the forbidden door. The door behind which lurks unspeakable nightmares and destruction. It is inevitable that someone will eventually open it and unleash fear and hate upon everyone. The end of us all.”

The clouds above darkened. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“Magic is chaos, art, and science. A curse, blessing, and progress. It only depends on who wields it, and for what purpose. We cannot have one without the other.” She moved Ciri into a position to see some small boulders that lay at the foot of the hill. “Magic is everywhere, all around us, and within us all the same.”

Yennefer reached out her hand and slowly the boulders began to vibrate. “Magic is reaching out to you, Child of the Elder Blood….the Blood of Elves. It seeks to weave you into the progress of the natural order. It’s destiny.”

The hill began to tremble underneath them, throwing Ciri off balance for a moment. Yennefer kept her close. “But chaos is afraid of you. It reaches not an open hand, but sharp claws, unsure if you will be an obstacle in it’s design.”

A flash of lightning split the sky in front of them as thunder cracked in the air. “You are going to show me what you see at night. You will be afraid.” She grabbed the amulet around her neck as Ciri trembled in the cold rain that began to fall. “Speak!”

Ciri collapsed in her arms and began to lightly convulse. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and for a brief moment Yennefer was concerned. But visions sprang into her head.

The Abyss. The Time of the white frost and white light is nigh. The Lion Cub must die! Reasons of state! Death. Geralt, blood everywhere. Down the darkened staircase. Screams. Cintra burns as a bird of prey dances in the night.

After only a few seconds, Ciri jumped back to life. “Mama, it hurts! Mama…”

Yennefer touched her icy hand against the reddened face of the girl and she was at ease.

“I saw the Black Knight, and Geralt….and you! I saw….”

Ciri buried her head in the sorceress’ chest and closed her eyes.

Yennefer spoke softly. “Never more. You will not dream about that ever again. I will teach you the power to push those nightmares out of your mind forever.”

“Where are we? I don’t remember anything.”

 Ciri’s eyes adjusted to the darkened room that had filled with smoke. A cacophony of shouts and explosions echoed in the distance as she tried to push herself off the ground. Her hand splashed into a pool of blood, courtesy of a dead elf that lay beside her.

 “We need to leave.” Yennefer darted her eyes against the stone walls of the hazy room and kneeled down next to the girl. “Hurry, child.”

“Who is this?”

“I once told you that chaos outstretched its claws towards you, do you remember? This elf…” she rubbed blood from her boot against the shoulder of the dead Squirrel. “...reached towards you, and received a dagger in return.”

The sorceress pulled Ciri to her feet and straightened her ashen hair. “Are you all right?” She gently touched her gloved hand against the girl's cheek.

Ciri tensed up. “I am sorry for what I said to the sorceresses, what was it? What did I say?”

Yennefer ignored the question and led her towards an exit. “Quickly, there isn’t much time.”

They darted through small corridors, staying out of sight of any and everyone. Explosions rattled the walls and shook the beams supporting them. Shrieks and wails from man and woman alike came from all around as fire engulfed the area.

They arrived at a staircase. “Ciri, I must stay here. Head down the stairs, and don’t look back.” Yennefer tried to steady her eyes and be strong, but the fear in her look was palpable. 

Ciri understood what was happening. “No! Don’t leave me!”

“You must do this, child. Down the stairs you will come across an exit into the stables. There is a horse saddled there, just one. Head to Loxia and find Margarita.”

Tears welled up in Ciri’s eyes. “Don’t leave me!” she repeated. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Yennefer hugged her tighter and closer than ever before. Fighting back her own tears, she whispered gently, “I love you, my daughter.” She kissed the crown of the girl’s head and released her. “Now, run.”

“Lady Nimue, what happened to Yennefer after the coup?”

As the night stretched on the questions had become fewer, but still some of the more popular details elicited more information from the Lady of the Lake. Nimue crossed her arms and pondered. “While nothing is ever certain, there are some that believe Yennefer met up with Ciri and laid low with other sorceresses. There are others that pay heed to the rumors she was turned into a small statue and kept by the Queen of Elves.”

The latter elicited a few laughs from the audience. Nimue held her tongue and smiled politely.

 “We may not know where the sorceress went directly after Thanned, but we do know where she eventually traversed to. It was in a forgotten castle in the middle of nowhere, that destiny would reach its hand out to the Lady of Vengerberg.”

"That my dear, is for your Ciri"

The chair next to Yennefer was similar but set atop a pedestal and angled upwards.

Dimeterium shackles and chains strapped her tightly into frigid restraint. Despite being beaten and taken prisoner, Yennefer could recognise Vilgeforz's voice as it rumbled throughout the excessively bright chamber.

She spat on the floor and slid her tongue over her bloodied teeth.

"I have waited long enough" growled Vilgeforz, but I can wait no longer

He methodically pushed several Iron needles into her scalp as Yennefer grimaced in silent pain

She could feel magic pulse through her mind as it dug deeper and deeper.

"Once we capture the girl, perhaps I will have Rience remove one of those pretty green eyes of hers. Oh how much he loves to use THOSE fingers of his."

Yennefer looked over ot seer Rience rub the burn marks on his face, bringing a moment of joy. It left quickly as even larger needles dug into her hands, some hitting their mark. While others tore through her bones. Throuugh gritted teeth she held her composure and maintained silence.

"The only way to find Ciri must be through an emphatic probe.  Sure I could have abducted Triss Merigold, the 14th of the Hill. Oh that hill, do you remember Yennefer?"

The likeness of the man infront of her was in stark contrast to the mage that led the defence of Sodden.

His disfigured face was emphasies by a reghenerating left eye which was must smaller than the other.

The sorceresses eyes glazed over and became cloudy but her memory of that day was anything but. The trust she, and others placed in her torturer filled her with silent rage.

"Such innocense in those days, the brotherhood..."

Vilgeforz laughed to himself as he pulled a large megascope close to her face.

"This will be very painful but your cooperation is neccesary. I want to see Cirila, now show me where she is."

Yennefer clenched her teeth and felt she was going to break them clean off. She released only to let out a final retort. "Go to hell pig"

"Rience,"  The torturer belowed "tighten her wrists.... slowly."

The mental jousting of the sorcerer and sorceress continued for some time . Yennefer did everything she could not to think of Ciri, but this unfortunately led to thinking about her other love.

"That's enough" hissed Vilgeforz  "Take her away"

Several men strode in and dragged the unconscious woman out of the room.

"What did you see?" a tall half-elf with numerous sharp blades hanging on his belt was the first to break the silence.

The mage snickered "The Witcher. I was unaware she had feelings for him but nevertheless I have his location and that of the Nilfgaardian traitor, that imbicile poet....and some Woman. Now which of you do i send to put an end to the Witcher question once and for all?"

"You won't find many that will say Stygga castle was where that climactic battle occured, but it is truth" 

Nimue's words were returned with sceptical ears and wide eyes.

"The lodge was tricked into thinking that Rhys-Rune was the location, but they were mistaken. Then where is Stygga Castle? It was removed by several sorceresses so that the legend would be a false one and lose the power that would undoubetdley come from it. Those who seek power usually do so in an attempt to control information and  through that, control the masses. Perhaps it has worked as you have never heard the truth until now. Even so, do you believe me? 

Legends and their lessons flow thorugh us and even at a metaphysical level they can dictate actions and beliefes.

Stygga castle is no longer a physical place to visit but rather an event that changed the world forever. We live in a reality that is the result of the actions fo that location., So if you ask em where stygga castle is, it is nowhere and it is everywhere"

“Full circle. Uroboros is biting his own tail.”

 Nimue studied the remaining guests who fought off their warm beds in an effort to hear the mage finish her tale. The wine had run dry and eyes were heavy as the host conjured up a conclusion that she knew would make her audience sad, and perhaps even disappointed. But, a story deserves an ending, no matter how bittersweet.

“Along with my apprentice, I studied Rivia Hill and the pogrom that day for weeks on end. Dreams, visions of artists, all that we could muster, and everything led to Triss Merigold being alone on that hill. Merigold’s Hailstorm was unleashed that day, but I would not recommend saying those words outside these walls as it remains illegal to this day. It wasn’t until only recently that I happened to chance upon what occurred after this encounter. Maybe Triss was alone on that hill, but Yennefer was indeed in Rivia that fateful day.”

 “We’re too late.” Yennefer dropped to her beaten and bloodied knees as she stared at the pale, motionless witcher. As she searched for signs of life, Geralt suddenly convulsed and spat blood into the air.

Ciri loomed over her with an expressionless face that seemed resigned to fate. “This is what your magic is for? Is this it?”

 A rotund dwarf with a husky voice spoke up. “We sent for a medic, but it has been too long.”

 Yennefer began to weep, her face contorting into an amalgam of despair and fear. She began to moan and looked up at Ciri.

“There is nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears. Pathetic and useless, much like your magic and chaos,” lectured the ashen haired girl. 

The sorceress gripped Geralt’s head tightly in her sinewy fingers. Blue sparks crackled around the witchers head as she muttered an incantation. Everyone around her; Dandelion, Triss, the dwarf, all took a few steps backwards and braced for what might come. Everyone except Ciri, who did not try to stop Yennefer in her feeble quest to save the witcher.

The sparks grew dim, and without warning, Yennefer passed out and dropped beside her lover.

The air began to chill as a fog creeped in from the nearby lake. Ciri kneeled besides the fallen duo. In a way, they seemed happy, or at least peaceful. “There was a time when I could have saved them. Magic. But, I swore that part of me away and gave it up. There is only one thing left to do.”

 The Lady of the Lake softly smiled and took a deep breath. “A great man once said, a story in which the good die, and the bad live, is a poor one. But, this is where our journey ends, and again, like reality it is often disappointing. You can believe the oft repeated legends that they were able to be revived, experience new adventures, perhaps even get married. I suppose that would make for a more pleasing story. I will leave that conclusion to you. For tonight, get some rest, and if you are inclined, we can begin a new journey tomorrow. After all, something ends, and something begins.”