Seven Cats, Nine Lives

### Summary

Following the events of the Ball, Aradann travels to meet and further acquaint himself with Oberyn. After a visit to the Seven Cats, a mysterious assassination attempt is made on Oberyn's life, and the Witchers must work together to see off the culprits.

### Main Character/s

* Aradann Marshall
* Dastan Castellan

### Location/s

Novigrad
-The Chameleon

-The Kingfisher

-The Seven Cats

### Soundtrack/s

* Tavern Music
* Ghosts of the Old City

Midday had struck, a blanket of blue covering the sky over Novigrad. The Witchers were fortunate to have the day free of any duties, having attended the Royal Ball and Feast the previous night, whereas the Inauguration would not be held until the next day. The Royal night had certainly been interesting. Not only had Aradann had a chance to meet the Royal family and keep an eye on certain situations, but they had also come across Oberyn, a fellow Witcher and of the School of the Manticore. While the greetings had been made and the night enjoyed by all, the Witchers still knew little of their fellow caste member. Freya had disappeared during the night, with Aradann and Egill returning to the Chameleon. Egill had been far too drunk to say anything of coherence but Aradann suspected she had deigned to join Oberyn in his room at the Kingfisher for the night, seeing as the two seemed to get on so well at the ball. He could not blame her; she was her own woman and admittedly Oberyn was a handsome and devilishly charming man. Though he would have appreciated at least being informed as to where she was, especially as her absence was noticed by both Dandelion and Priscilla. His suspicions were all but confirmed when she had returned in the late morning, looking slightly dishevelled and with both ecstatic cheerfulness and embarrassing guilt plastered over her face. Aradann was sitting at the bar at the
time, the Chameleon not hugely busy.

“Well, nice of you to turn up. Sleep well?” Her face turned bright red at his question, knowing it was both rhetorical and jokingly accusatory.

“Umm.....yes thank you. What a spread they put on last night, the food, the wine, the dancing.” Aradann raised a brow in jest.

“The men?” Freya giggled and moved to sit with him.

“I will have you know, a lady is free to do as she wishes. And who are you to be checking up on me?” She prodded him playfully in the chest.

“Someone who only has your concern at heart, as you well know.” He smirked at her teasingly. “Want a drink?”

“Well, I think I may have had a bit too much wine last night, but I wont say no to such a generous offer. Not that you're paying for it anyway, but lets pretend.” Aradann ordered her an ale, which came quickly and the two friends clinked their mugs before drinking.

“So, tall dark and handsome, seems very much your type.”

“Well, he was certainly.....something.” Aradann took on a more serious expression, although not losing his smile.

“Know much about him?” She took on a pensive look.

“Hmm. Not much. I know he's from Ofir, School of the Manticore. He told me a few things he likes doing and that, but apart from that, still a bit of a mystery. Although I like it that way.” She gave her own smirk.

“Hmm. Still, I would rather know more about him. Although he's a fellow Witcher, we can't rule out that we may not be on the same sides. Happened plenty of times before after all.” Freya sighed.

“I guess so. He doesn't seem to me like a bad guy at all. A bit mischievous but well-meaning.”

“I think I'll pay him a visit.” Freya seemed suddenly more alert and narrowed her eyes. “Not to cause a fight or anything, don't be stupid.” She relaxed back into the stool. “I'd just rather know a bit more about him. And I'll go.” Freya slowly nodded.

“What about Egill?” Aradann changed to a complete poker face.

“Would you put a bull in a room with a monkey? Besides, you should have seen the state of him last night. I had to literally haul him back here. He's been passed out in his room since and I haven't the heart to wake him. I'll go. Just to talk. I'd be more comfortable with us knowing more, after all, we've known him less than twenty four hours.”

“Alright. I guess it's a sensible move. Anyway.” she said, draining her ale. “I'm going to go and take a bath, and get some more sleep. It was a....long night.” Aradann rolled his eyes at her.

“Spare me the grizzly details. I'll see you later.” With that, she made her way up the stairs and vanished. Aradann drained his own mug, then ordered another. While not a heavy drinker, when one was in Novigrad and being given free board and refreshments, why not?

Hours later, dark had fallen over the city, the late evening upon it. Aradann had ventured out from the Chameleon and had made his way to the Kingfisher, where Oberyn had informed them the previous night that he was staying. Entering the inn, Aradann first thought to ask one of the bar staff in which room Oberyn was, but seeing the queue he decided against, making his way up the stairs. Several of the room doors were open, with no one inside them. Heading up the next flight, there were two rooms, both with the door shut. Two possibilities. Aradann went to the door on the left, and even before nearing heard the sounds of what could only be humping coming from within. He took a moment to calm himself, for if Oberyn had taken some whore to his bed the same day Freya had left it, there would be blood. Knocking furiously on the door, he heard approaching footsteps. The door flung open and there stood a short, fat and visibly angry old man.

“What??” Aradann had not expected this.

“Oh...I....”

“You what? I'm on paid time here. If you think you can just...” Aradann tried to explain.

“I'm sorry, there's been a mistake, I thought...”

“Whatever you thought, you thought wrong mutant. I've paid for this whore, and I can....” Aradann had tried to be civil, and sighed, flicking his fingers and casting Axii upon the man.

“You're going to get dressed and leave. And you're going to pay the girl double. No, triple for insulting her.” The man's face went blank.

“Yes...I will pay her, triple, then I'll leave.” The door shut. If there was one thing Aradann couldn't tolerate, it was men like that one who treated people like property. Moving to the other door, he sighed, knocking loudly.

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There was a loud stumble from inside the door and muffled cursing, or what one assumed was cursing, before slow feet dragged to the door. There was the click of a weighted lock and then the door crept open, revealing only a face and a glimpse of a darkened room. Oberyn looked dishevelled, like he'd just dragged his corpse out of bed. Which was exactly what had happened. These past two days had done a number on his energy. His eyes glinted in the light of the lamps inside, flickering out from the dark.

"Aradann." Slowly the door crept open a little further. "Is something the matter? You look a little flustered. Please, come in."

The door then swung over and revealed a neat room, dimly lit by a single lamp. On the floor, by the bed lay a thin mattress. In a corner bags which obviously fastened to a saddle. Clothes were folded neatly over the top. One wouldn't expect it from him, but Oberyn enjoyed a neat environment. It was much easier to concentrate in one and much more soothing when one meditated in one. He was wearing only his baggy, linen pants. The door to the room was open, letting in a steady stream of fresh air. The room smelled of incense, exotic and smoky. On a dresser opposite the bed lay a spear. The moonlight dancing through the open window shimmered on the edge. A curved sheathed sword leaned against the dresser. On his nightstand, within a second's reach sat two curved daggers, their hilts beautifully carved.

"Let me light another lamp. I can't say I was expecting company, especially not your's. What can I do for you my friend?" There was a short pause as he eyed up his 'colleague'. Not in a threatening or provocative way. More out of sheer interest in seeing what the School of the Wolf had on offer. He wasn't disappointed in the slightest. Though still assured of his ability to overpower the man should that be necessary. "I'm afraid I can't offer you a drink, I'm fresh out."

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As soon as the door opened, Aradann was hit with the overpowering incense. It would have been a powerful scent enough for a normal human, but with Aradann's heightened senses, it was like a pleasant but thick fog in his mind. He shook his head, adjusting to the room's atmosphere and looking around, only being able to describe it as organised chaos. Oberyn himself was looking as if a whirlwind had swept through the room, with his hair in a mass and clothed only in a pair of loose, linen pants. Whereas his colleagues were more comfortable in other garments, Aradann could nearly always be found in his full Witcher gear. After all, he was apt to be prepared for anything, a lesson he had learned from Eskel a long time ago. What intrigued Aradann above all, was the weapons that lay in the room. He was aware that Oberyn, like himself was a Witcher, but having never visited the School of the Manticore or even Ofir, Aradann had assumed that like all Witchers, they would carry two longswords, but clearly this was not the case.

“Quite the collection you have.” he mused as he was let in, eyeing the spear in particular, although never laying his hands on the weaponry. It was well known across every school that to handle another Witcher's weapons, at least without permission, was seen as both rude and intolerable. “I'm alright thank you, although I thought perhaps we could take a stroll and talk, possibly grab a drink or two, Witcher to Witcher.” While his tone was not at all ominous, there was a hint of command behind it. This man had suddenly appeared last night, clearly managed to woo Freya and, if the state of him said anything, bed her, and on top of that Aradann knew near to nothing about him. One would be forgiven for thinking that Aradann didn't trust him, which was not the case, but he preferred to know details about a person new to the scene, especially if that person had been involved with Freya. While the two did not share blood, Freya was the closest thing to a younger sister Aradann had, and as such, even knowing fully well that she could take care of herself, he was very protective of her. But he was also tactful. Whereas Egill was just as protective of her, if it had been Egill appearing at Oberyn's door, the likelihood is it would have quickly escalated to a brawl. Although Aradann spent his days killing for a living, he was prone to avoid violence whenever necessary, believing strongly in the power of words and conversations.

“Get some clothes on, I'd prefer to go somewhere more private. And drinks are on me.”

A short time afterwards, the two arrived at the Seven Cats Inn, the outskirts of the city fortunately not being far from the Kingfisher. But while the Kingfisher was more, proper, and not the best place for sensitive talks, the Seven Cats Inn was a place for all, the more strange the better. In fact, it was one of the only public places where Witchers weren't treated with animosity, hosting Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes and Halflings a plenty. Busy as usual, the two entered the inn, but managed to find a table in the corner, while Aradann went to the bar, paying for two Redanian lagers and returning to the table, placing one down in front of Oberyn and then seating himself.

“So.” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “Understandably, last night was not a great opportunity for talking, what with all the pomp and ceremony. I understand that Freya became rather fond of you, quite quickly. After all, her face said it all when I saw her earlier today. It's clear she's attracted to you, which, I want you to know, I have no problem with. But Freya is very dear to me, and to Egill. I thought I would come and talk to you, as we want to know you more. And trust me, it works out better this way. If it was Egill, I fear there may have been....a swift conflict. So, has Freya told you?”Oberyn sat there, looking confused. Aradann sighed. He knew she had worn the amulet to appear a normal girl, but she had to be more careful in the future. “Freya is a Witcher, like you and I.”

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Inquisitively, Dastan's eyebrow rose up when he was ordered - for there was little to be mistaken. He then shrugged his shoulders and reached for a off-white shirt with loose ties at the neck. He pulled them over his head and then brushed his hair with his fingers, before pointing at the spear.

"You like her? The blade is silver. Probably not what you're used to, but I'm better with her than any sword." He then chuckled as he grabbed the belt that had his daggers from the bedside table and put it around. He then stepped into his sandals and pointed at the door. "Lead the way, my friend."

When they arrived at the Seven Cats, Oberyn could hardly hide his amusement at the place. He'd heard of the infamous Seven Cats, of course. But to see the place in its actuality was something different. A more interesting mismatch of misfits one would never find. And it reeked of piss, ale, smoke and cats in the entire establishment. Now, of course he was used to a more... Exotic life. But when in Nilfgaard... He rose the beer to his lips and winced at the bitter taste, but then set his focus back on Aradann. His words put a smirk on Oberyn's face. Yes, it had been quite the night. And it was amusing, or rather adorable to see a Witcher so concerned. Especially the man in front of him. "Ever put a bear in a monkey's tree? That wouldn't be conflict, it'd be an embarrassment."

Then Oberyn's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but only for a second. As if the shock came and passed. It didn't, but it was not in his best interest to look like he'd just seen a ghost rise from the grave. Not that that was an exceptionally uncommon occurrence in this line of work. "S-she had not told me, no. Really? A Witcher? Her eyes are so... Human."

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Although his reaction was somewhat amusing, Aradann could understand it. Freya had the amulet enchanted specially by Triss Merigold, that gave her a more human appearance. Aradann knew that Freya had originally intended to use it during her contracts to gather information. After all, villagers would be far more willing to speak to a fellow human than a mutant. But he had not counted on her using the amulet last night. He supposed it was an understandable move for Freya. After all, that way she could have danced the night away with a thousand different men, with none suspecting that she was anything but an ordinary young woman. When Aradaan had seen her with deep brown irises and rounded pupils, he had almost choked, fearing something had happened to her to revert her mutations, although she quickly assured him that was not the case. Needless to say, the enchantment was masterful, and would fool even a Witcher if not aware of the amulet's power, such as with Oberyn.

“You would be forgiven for thinking so. It's a powerful enchantment she had placed upon the amulet she was wearing, I'm sure you noticed that. Originally to be used to help her with intel gathering, she decided she wanted one night where men wouldn't look at her like she were a monster. Not that I can blame her. You'll know as well as the rest of us how welcome our kind is among society.” He quietly sipped on more of his beer, an elderly woman appearing by the table with two plates in her arms.

“Two of the goose an' ale pie an' mash for the master Witchers.” Aradann looked up at her, nodding his head.

“Thanks Gertie.”

“Oh my pleasure Master Aradann, always a delight to have you 'ere. An' that friend o' yours is a bit of a sight for the eyes. Tall dark an' 'andsome, hits me right in the....” Aradann stopped her there.

“Thanks again Gertie, this looks delicious.” She took the cue and wandered off back to the bar. “Sorry about that. Gertie's a good sort, but can get a bit carried away. Oh, and goose is more plentiful around here than chicken.” Aradann began to tuck into the meal, swallowing several mouthfuls before resuming. “So, asides from knowing you're from Ofir and trained at the Manticore, what's your story? Aside from the fact you can probably understand that I want to know who Freya is spending her time with, I feel like we Witchers should stick together, caste unity and all. And besides, I've never actually met anyone from the Manticore or been to Ofir. I'm sure it's quite different there.” Digging into more of his meal and beer, he waited patiently for a response from the exotic Witcher.

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It did him well to have a good explanation for Freya's lie. Even if it wasn't much of a lie. It mattered not to him who she was. He wasn't going to have children with her, even if she would perhaps be the only woman he'd have such a life with. But to know that she was... Well, like him, that was quite a revelation. It explained a few things for which he did not wish to go into too much detail. It also saved him from having to explain why it would be that in the end, he would have to leave. She'd understand the choices he had to make in his life, for she was a Witcher herself. Though, he was beginning to question if it would be as easy as packing his things and leaving. His chest burned for her, even now.

He smirked when the old woman went off about his looks and grinned a little at Aradann, as if to prove to him that he was not in the least bit bothered. It was something of a given for him, especially in Northern lands. He exerted a sort of charisma. And he was blessed with his father's good looks, even though his father had grown fat and soft with the years.

"Many thanks, Gertie. If only I were a couple years older." He then grinned at her and nodded appreciatively as she went on her way, uninjured by her 'compliments'. "You need not worry about my pride, friend. I've travelled far. And that's made me quite thick-skinned to the advances of older women." Then he put the cup back to his mouth and swallowed more of his drink. At the mention of geese he shrugged. "I'm not a picky eater, though I have my tastes." He took a great bite of his food and swallowed it down with the remainder of his ale before he looked to Aradann with rather dark, more suspicious eyes. "Last I checked it was bad manners to ask a Witcher about his life before the Path. But, since you've bought me dinner and a drink, I'll be so kind as to oblige. I was born in the royal Harem of Sultan Amraiz al-Najjar as Oberyn ibn Amraiz ibn Faisail al-Najjar, his third son." He took another bite of his food, though was hesitant to swallow it. "At age eight I was taken from my home by my Mentor, Ichrain of the School of the Manticore, from which age I was trained. I survived the Trials and have been on the Path since."

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“So I can see.” he replied, Oberyn oozing charm. “Well goose is a thankful ingredient out here. With this place, you never know what will be on the menu. Cat, pigeon. They've even served Dire Rat before. That was low even for the Seven Cats.” He listened intently as Oberyn began delving into the details of his past. “Well I can assure you that I am not trying to gather information to blackmail you or for any other nefarious purpose.” He paused in surprise at the next revelation however. “You mean to say, you are, or were, Ofir Royalty, the son of the Sultan? I was aware that the Sultan had many children, but not that any were Witchers.” Upon hearing of Ichrain, he nodded slowly, taking a drink. “I am familiar with Ichrain. I have never met the man, though I have heard a deal about him from Eskel, one of the older Witchers of Kaer Morhen, although he does not seem to be overly fond of the man. How was it that you came to be taken from your family?” Maybe it was a cultural nuance. In the North, it was common for Witchers to want to know about one another's past. He waited for a reply to the questions as he ate more of the pie. Despite what people may have thought, the goose was quite pleasant and tender. “Well, I suppose since you've shared with me, it's only fitting I do the same. I was born in Velen, and was taken by the Witchers soon after my seventh birthday. My mother died when I was very young, so I have little memory of her but my father was a hunter. He was killed on a hunt by a Chort, which Eskel, the Witcher I spoke of managed to slay, and returned to my village. Since I had no family left, he offered me a chance to leave Velen for Kaer Morhen. Having no one else to turn to, I had little choice. Although life has had its hardships, I am thankful in particular for having met Egill and Freya. Egill and I faced the trials together, whereas Freya came to the fort several years later and was the only survivor of her group. She's the first woman to have survived the trials within the Wolf School, so I suppose is equally special in that sense.”

Although Aradann had
been wary of Oberyn at first, he began to warm to him as the two talked. Oberyn had a definite warmth to him, but also an equally charming and mischievous aura. His eyes were always on the move, observing all events surrounding him. “That spear of yours was most impressive. I have to admit, I know little of your school, and was surprised to see you don't carry the, I suppose, traditional dual longswords most of us use. When I was talking with my colleagues a few days past, we learned that the Witchers from the School of the Eagle who were present at the Ball use some very unconventional bladed weapons, such as swords with one edge straight and another curved, and chains with sickles attached to them. It was a pity we did not get to see them at the Ball, what with our weapons being prohibited.” One thing Witchers did love to do was share stories, as only a Witcher knew what life on the path was truly like. “So, strangest contract you've ever taken on?”

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Oberyn grinned and nodded.

"In the flesh, though that title means next to nothing now and I haven't been to the palace in years. I would be surprised if my mother or siblings recognized me. I was but a boy." He then took another bite of his food as he scanned around the room again, his eyes falling on two Elven women chatting by the bar for just a moment, before he returned to look at Aradann. "We had a problem with an infestation of Kikimores in the catacombs underneath the palace. Ichrain was tasked with delivering my family from the infestation. When he was finished he invoked the Law of Surprise and took me away. I can't say I was unhappy to leave. The palace was a stifling place."

He listened intently to Aradann's tale, finding it only polite to listen, since the man had paid for his food and his drink. Every once in a while he nodded or made a noise of appreciation. When the conversation came to Freya, his face sagged just a bit. The lie had still stung, even if he was happy to now know the truth. "Special indeed." He muttered, before sheepishly grinning, eyes glinting in the light of the candles, flickering on their table. At the mention of his weapons he seemed to perk up. He enjoyed talking about his weaponry, especially because all four of his chosen arms were beautifully crafted and deadly. "She is a thing of beauty, yes. Made for me in Nazair by a Mahakaman weaponsmith. The man was a true artist of the anvil. I watched him at work and never before have been so entranced by hammers hitting hot metals. And never again shall I. I named her for my sister. Sharp as glass, that one." He then looked at the man's dual swords and smirked. "I am sure they do the job they are made for adequately. But there is such little flair to longswords. Ichrain swore by them, but I always found him slow in his movements. It is a matter of taste, however. And Manshiq has never let me down." Then he looked up. "The Eagle. I must say I've heard only whispers about them. But if they are as dangerous as one hears, I would have loved to see their weaponry. Though, I was rather busy with.. 'other things'." He then paused in his speech, as if in thought. "Strangest contract? I think that'd be the Cyclops that turned out to be a band of rather ambitious Gnomes that had taken it upon themselves to clear a mountain of its exploiters so that they could make off with the riches. It was quite a shock to cut into something you think is a leg, only for your blade to fall through."

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“Interesting. We actually have a Dwarven smith from Mahakam at Kaer Morhen, name's Bregnar. He fashioned all our weapons, armour. Freya is actually apprenticed to him, grew up in the smithing industry herself. But yes, he's absolutely masterful, can put his hands to just about anything and craft it into a thing of utter beauty.” He unfastened Tyr from it's holster and placed it upon the table, drawing several inches of it from the scabbard. Polished steel seemed to shine in the darkened inn, while the runes of fire etched into the blade glowed a ghostly red. He sheathed the sword and refastend it upon his back. “I wouldn't trust anything other than my swords now. But after all, as Geralt always said, it's not the steel but the hand that swings it.” He nodded softly at Oberyn's words regarding the Eagle Witchers. “Hmm. They were certainly ones to watch that night, both of them hardly uttered a word. Went to introduce myself at one point and it was like talking to a wall.” He stopped as the Offiri Witcher talked of 'other things', knowing exactly what he was implying. While he had now had time to look on Oberyn as a person, and saw no ill will, he still felt protective over Freya. However, at Oberyn's description of the contract, he almost choked on his beer. “I keep telling people, Gnomes are the most devious bastards around. Everyone thinks because of their size that they're harmless but the truth is anything but. We have a Gnome at Kaer Morhen, Gisela who is essentially the fort housekeeper, and she's terrifying, will beat us with a wooden spoon if we get up to anything. But that does sound quite the adventure. I'm trying to think of mine now. Hmm.” He paused in thought, trying to recall the most memorable of his hunts. “I once took on a contract to find a missing girl, the daughter of a villager. They were sure she had been snatched by a monster, and all signs when I tracked her pointed to a Rock Troll having kidnapped and possibly eaten her. Instead, it turned out the the cave in which the troll had made it's lair had been turned into some sort of clubhouse by the kid. When I got there, she was teaching the troll, and two others how to design and play hopscotch. Although she didn't want to leave, I eventually got her back to her parents but I hear she still plays with the trolls, and they even offer the village services in manual labour as a thanks. Funny how things work out sometimes.”

His eyes too fell upon the Elven women at the bar. Odd. He recognised everyone here. After all, the Seven Cats was famous, or rather, infamous, for having a solid clientèle, boasting the most regulars even after years of almost any inn encompassing the known world. Come to think of it, he could have sworn he had seen the pair amongst the crowd when he arrived at the Kingfisher. Was his mind playing tricks on him? No, they had definitely been there. How had he not noticed them slip to the bar? He lowered his head towards Oberyn.

“Don't look now, but Elven women at the bar. I saw them at the Kingfisher. Friends of yours?”

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There was a cold wind that washed up Oberyn's back, as though someone had forgotten to close a door in a draughty house in the mid of winter. A warning, perhaps, by his subconscious, though he ignored it for now. He was in a place he'd not been before, talking to someone he'd barely spoken to in the previous days. Of course he was a little on edge. Especially since that shit attempt at a robbery, or rather, what Dastan assumed was a shit attempt at a robbery.

"They say no-one works steel like Dwarves do. And they're quite good with silver too. I have yet to need any of my blades truly repaired. Maintained, yes, but repaired, no."

He chuckled when Aradann told his story, finding the man more and more interesting. Were they to have more time, he was sure the two could become good friends. The man seemed pragmatic and straight headed, something which Oberyn truly appreciated. And he'd been honest, which was something that was important. But above all, he hadn't cast any... prejudice on Oberyn. That was something he dealt with quite a lot, even from his own. The Manticore had a reputation, a rather bloody, professional reputation and one that Oberyn, apparently, didn't fit. It was too often that rather than kinship he found himself ridiculed by his peers. He was unorthodox. But he'd never left a job unfinished. Something that his mentor didn't seem to understand.

At Aradann's mention Dastan nodded. "I spotted them." He muttered. His hands lay flat on the table, but his body had, to a trained eye, tensed up. "It's strange. Earlier Freya and I were followed into an alley by what I assumed were criminal thugs. But I'm starting to doubt they were. They're too inconspicuous. It's like they're making an effort to fit in. And I haven't heard either one of them laugh, even though they've been at their drink for quite a while. I'm going to go outside. Take a piss. Watch them. If they follow after me, you'll know. Try to... make no mess. I'd like to figure out why I'm being followed." Then, Oberyn stood and grinned at Aradann, eyes glinting. "Now. Before you tell me that story, my friend, I need a piss. Keep your mitts off my bread. I'll be right back." And so, he turned and went for the door. On the table, left at his plate, lay his dagger. The other, in his motion and as smooth as velvet, he had shoved into his sleeve. They'd think him unarmed, he hoped.

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“My thoughts exactly.” He caught the glint in Oberyn's eyes, raising his brows subtly in response. “I make no promises. I'm a hungry man.” As Oberyn walked off he sat in silence, staring at the dagger. He checked his peripheral vision; still nothing, the two remained at the bar. While he was tempted to focus in on their conversation and eavesdrop, he waited patiently. His patience was rewarded as surely enough, several moments later they stood from their stools and made their way outside. Not wishing to cause any suspicion among them, Aradann waited until they had made their exit before slowly and casually rising from his seat, taking Oberyn's dagger and attaching it to his belt. As he was about to make his way outside, he was suddenly accosted by Gertie.

“Master Aradann, where's that 'ansome friend of yours got to eh? Didn't even say goodbye t' poor old Gertie. Manners of youth these days.” Aradann tried to smile, but was getting agitated, as Gertie was now blocking his exit.

“I'm sure he must have had something very important to do Gertie, but now so do I, so if you'll excuse me.” Despite his asking, the old woman didn't budge.

“Now 'ang on, leaving
so soon? This is the best joint in Novigrad, everyone knows that. We got everythin' you could want. Good booze, good food, good.....company.” She licked her lips and put her hands towards his crotch. He grimaced and shuddered at the feeling, pulling her arm away drastically and shoving her aside, although not violently so.

“Oi!” she shouted as he exited the inn. “That's no way to treat a lady! Won't be givin' you no discount next you're back!” Aradann rolled his eyes as he heard her voice from inside. He needed to find the Elven women and Oberyn, now. Kneeling down to the floor, he focused onto the ground. Prints, prints, prints, where were any matching fresh prints? Aha! Two sets of prints, small, women's. Recent, very recent. And a larger set, also fresh, both heading in the same direction, away from the city. Pacing himself into a jog, he followed the tracks. Several paces later however, he stopped, a new development. Patches of blood on the ground. He sniffed the air, tracing a finger through the small pool and bringing it to his nose. Human blood. The smell of mutagens. Witcher blood. He picked up the pace as the prints led further on, seeming to have turned into heavier tracks, indicating running now. 'Shit' he thought to himself. Who were these women? They had looked innocent enough. Although Aradann knew, especially in his line of work that those who appeared the most innocent could be the most deadly. He sped on until the tracks seemed to curve, rounding into a small alleyway leading to a bridge over a river connecting into Novigrad. The blood drops had become more profuse now, and while not indicating heavy bleeding, it was more than anything irrelevant would have been. He sprinted towards the bridge, where the tracks ended and seeing no other lead, vaulted over the edge onto the bank below.

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The moment he slipped out of the inn, he'd started running to put enough distance between him and the door to where he disappeared into the night. He found himself hidden behind a cart when the door opened and two shades stepped from the light into the darkness outside. His eyes did not betray him. The two Elves had followed him. They spotted his tracks in the dark and began walking down the path towards him, but Oberyn was prepared. He took a few steps back and then set into a run. With a jump he put himself on the lower wheel of the cart, springboarding him with his other leg over the cart. But he'd misjudged the distance. Instead of landing on one of the Elves' chest, he saw himself coming to ground before them. To break his fall he fell into a roll. The Elves saw him coming and prepared. When he came to his legs again, they'd pulled two blades out, their wicked shapes glistened in the light of the moon. The roll had kept him from pulling his dagger. He was unarmed when they came at him. They were quick, quicker than he anticipated. And soon enough he was on the defensive. Twice they hit him, putting a large gash in his chest and a deep cut into his upper leg. This wasn't good. The pain slowed him down. He wasn't about to fall to two Elves before his backup could arrive. So he feinted an advance, grinning his teeth bare. It took the Elves aback, but instead of actually coming to blows, Oberyn set to a run.

He ran until he came upon the bridge, but his pursuers were not far ahead. He couldn't very well run into the city. Who the bloody hell knew what was waiting on the inside. So instead, he made for the railing. With a leap he jumped over, from the bridge into the water, diving deep. One could say the water was his element. And so when the two followed, he was ready. The waters were dark, but plenty of time in the murks over other rivers, lakes and what not had helped him adjust. Their shapes were clear against the moonlight above. And so, when they came to dive after him, Dastan grabbed the one. He was able to hold his breath long and was hoping that it would be long enough to do what needed be done. His arms and legs wrapped around the woman Elf, pulling her further down. She struggled and slashed at him with her blade, but Oberyn's will was ironforged. Tighter and tighter he squeezed until the kicking and slashing stopped. By this time the other Elf had started to notice the commotion and Oberyn's lungs were burning. He was lucky in that they'd sunk far enough to the bottom for him to kick off. And though his leg was screaming and he felt weakened by bloodloss, he had to carry on. By the time he aired another dark shape stood on the banks. Oberyn swam towards it, hoping to find at least some help.

"Down here!" he yelled, just as behind him the Elven woman surfaced. "Fucking get her!"

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As Aradann landed, he could both see and hear the bubbling on the surface of the water. Something was going on. He ran along the bank before Oberyn's head emerged, gasping for breath, his shoulder length hair sopping and clinging to every angle of his face. Aradann hardly could make out what he shouted just before one of the would-be assassins followed, rising from the water. Without any hesitation and as if acting by instinct, Aradann watched as she made a lunge towards Oberyn, knowing he was wounded. Ideally, he would have captured her for questioning, but with the other Witcher hurt, and the Elf no doubt moving to finish the job, he grabbed the dagger from his belt, lined it up and after drawing his arm back, threw it through the air. The blade span several times over, narrowly avoiding Oberyn's head before meeting its target and the blade burying itself in centre of the Elf's forehead. She made what sounded like a gurgle before silence. Aradann leapt into the water towards the now flailing Oberyn, gripping onto him while removing the dagger from the dead Elf's head before her body sank into the murky depths. He swam the two of them to shore, hauling Oberyn over to observe his wounds. A gash to the chest and lower legs, as well as several other slashes, all bleeding. 'Shit' he though, reaching down to Oberyn's head.

“Oberyn!” The Offiri Witcher was succumbing to the bloodloss, along with the earlier alcohol and the dirty water he had no doubt swallowed. Aradann had to get him patched up. Heaving himself under Oberyn, he lifted the two up. “Come on, you're going to have to work with me here.” Fortunately, although wounded, Oberyn seemed to be fit to know how to still use his feet.

Several minutes later
the door to the inn barged open as Aradann dragged Oberyn inside. Almost immediately, the two were accosted by Gertie.

“Oh lookie 'ere, who's back to see Gertie, an' with his 'ansome frie.....” Aradann was not usually one for vulgarity but by this point, had had enough of the woman.

“Fuck. Off!” The old woman looked shocked, as did several patrons, but then huffed off. Aradann helped Oberyn to a table, heaving him atop it. “Annie, I need bandages, cloths, anything!” He turned his head towards the innkeep, shouting towards her, to which she accordingly dropped what she was doing and rummaged around for his request. Moments later, she produced several cloths. While slightly stained, they would have to do. Aradann tore at them, making them into makeshift bandages and wrapping them tight around the two main gashes. He then reached into one of his pouches and produced a small vial of red liquid, bringing Oberyn's head up and pouring it into his mouth, then tipping his head back and forcing him to swallow. The Swallow would take a few minutes to work, but the bloodloss had been solved. Aradann collapsed into a chair, breathing heavily. Several patrons were staring at him and the all but passed out Witcher, while Annie continued to onlook.

“What happened to 'im Master? Poor lad looks like he got on the wrong end of the cartel.” Aradann looked up at her.

“Not far off Annie. Not far off.”

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When he regained enough strength to open his eyes he did so with a gurgling cough which expelled red-stained water from his lungs. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was ashen, but at least he had survived. His wounds had already started the healing process and he could feel the warmth of his blood, coursing through his veins. His voice sounded like a death rattle, but at least he could speak.

"You got her." he muttered whilst he looked over to see Aradann. "Thank everything that's holy. She was about to be the fucking end of me. Thank you, my friend." Slowly the colour returned to his face. When he felt he had enough strength he pushed himself up on his elbow. A groan sounded from his lips and he temporarily went pale again. But soon enough he'd put himself upright and was eyeing around the table. "You didn't get me a drink? If this is the way you were going to treat me, you might as well have left me in the water." He smirked a weak smirk and then grabbed the edge of his now torn shirt, slowly lifting it up to look at his wounds. "Those are going to scar, I can tell already." He sighed and then decided laying down was a better idea than sitting up. "That's the second time today I barely escaped death. I'm starting to think someone has it out for me. Shalag'i." He cursed, as his eyes closed and he tried to relax. The many cuts and scrapes on his body made that difficult. And his clothes were weighty with water and cold. "If I find the cunt that ordered these attacks, I'll acquaint him with my blades. Though, I do wonder who could have known I would be in Novigrad..."

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Annie had brought Aradann a shot of Mahakaman Spirit, which he had knocked back the instant she had handed it to him. Just what had happened? Who had the two women been? Why had they been following Oberyn? The questions could wait until the Ofirri Witcher was more conscious, having just suffered through a tough ordeal. After several minutes, Oberyn seemed to wake, immediately hacking up river water and blood. Several of the patrons kept their eyes on the two Witchers but Aradann took not notice. Finally, Oberyn began to croak, thanking Aradann.

“I'm sure you would've done the same for me.” He smirked in return at the comment but then tried to help Oberyn lie as he raised himself. Although when Oberyn mentioned that it was the second time, it peaked Aradann's curiosity. “What do you mean second time? This has happened already today?” From Oberyn's words, it truly did sound as if someone was after him. Aradann took the dagger in his belt that he had pulled from the Elf's forehead and placed it alongside Oberyn on the table. The two Elves had by no means been common thugs, they knew what they were doing and had been skilful enough to almost severely wound a Witcher, not an easy feat by any means. Aradann's mind then went to the events of last night. He began a series of crossing thoughts in his head. “You were the only one from your school. I'm aware the Manticore like all of us isn't awash with Witchers but surely, they would have sent another in a case like this? And you mentioned this has happened twice now.....” His mind immediately went to Freya having been in danger this morn, although seeing as she had returned with little more than a guilty blush on her face, he relaxed. But why had she not told him? “These assassins aren't coincidental, and I doubt you would have been so foolish as to reveal where you were travelling to to just anyone. Therefore the only people who could have known, and sent you here.......” He paused. “It sounds crazy, but I think the Manticore may be trying to have you killed. Why else would they send you here alone, and then out of nowhere, not one but two assassins show up, knowing your exact movements and locations? It's insider information.” He once more began to think. “We need to get you out of the Kingfisher. The three of us are staying at the Chameleon, and I'm sure there's room for you there. But we can't afford to let the wrong people know.” He turned to the bar. “Annie?” The innkeep ran over to their side. “Do you have any spare clothes lying around?” She scratched her head in thought.

“Aye, got a few bits been lyin' round here over the years. Whysat?”

“We need to get Oberyn out of these ones and into new clothes. I'm moving him from where he's staying, and it's important he's disguised.”

“Oh, well I ain't got nufin' for that kinda thing.” 'Shit'. He then concocted a plan.

“Ok, stay with him. I'll be back in around half an hour.”

Sure to his word, he left and returned to the inn just after half an hour. Marching in, he saw Annie, with Oberyn now having seated himself and made his way over to them, a package in his hands.

“Annie, do you have a room we could use for a bit more privacy?” Annie nodded.

“Got a room in the back, be undisturbed there, got ol' Annie's word.” Aradann helped Oberyn to stand and led him at to aforementioned room. Once near, he opened the package, revealing a bright orange long robe, complete with a turban and curled slippers.

“Don't hate me for this, but I asked Dandelion if he had any adequate disguises in his closet. This was the first thing he pulled out.”

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When Aradann returned most of the colour had returned to Oberyn's face and he looked more springy than he had. Annie had given him something to eat which had put him back into good spirits. Or as good as might be expected. When Aradann opened the package, Oberyn's eyebrows furled and he grunted.

"Why, how kind. But I think he forgot my flute, my flying carpet and my basket of snakes." He then grabbed into the basket. "I'll be right back." He then made for the room where he could change, stripped out of his clothing and returned, looking like a clown. "You can tell that Dandelion of yours that he can shove his lute where the sun doesn't shine." He muttered from underneath his green, shiny turban. "I look like I'm about to perform a firebreathing act." He then looked down the robe towards the slippers and growled a little. "And who the fuck thinks this is still fashion? My grandfather had a pair of these." Then, he looked to Aradann and shrugged a little. "Let's get going, before I decide to walk the streets in the nude."

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“Considering whoring is a popular occupation in Novigrad, maybe you'd blend in.” Aradann replied. “Come on.” They exited the room and were greeted by several odd looks. Annie was waiting for them however.

“Got everyfin' you be needin' Master Witchers?” Aradann nodded.

“Just about. Although I fear we may be missing a magic lamp.” Oberyn shot a filthy look at him, to which he replied with a smirk. “We need to be on our way. Thanks for everything Annie. And tell Gertie I'm sorry for losing my temper with her.” The two then set off, leaving the inn. The sky was still dark, being the early hours of the morning. “Come on, it's not too far.”

The door to the Chameleon opened quietly, with Aradann checking the outside before they entered, making sure that they had not been followed.

“Ok, wait here.” He walked over to the entrance of Dandelion's office, and knocked. It was early in the morning, yet Dandelion was usually up until insane hours, and Aradann hoped he was still. Thankfully, the door opened.

“Back so soon? Did everything go as planned?” Aradann nodded. During the time he had come to Dandelion for help, he had explained the situation in full and why he needed to bring Oberyn away from the Kingfisher.

“Here he is.” He motioned with his head towards Oberyn. “Do you have a room for him?” Dandelion moved to his desk, flicking through a red bound leather book.

“Hmm. It seems you three took our last availability, and our next guest to leave will still be here for another four days.” Aradann sighed, trying to form a plan in his head.

“While it's not the optimal solution, what if we put him in with Freya? The room is more than enough for two, and, well......” Dandelion had seemed to cotton on before Aradann finished the sentence.

“You know I'm a suckler for young love.” Aradann was about to argue that a night spent together in bed hardly equalled love, but thought better of it. “And I'm sure Freya wouldn't have any complaints.” Aradann nodded, then pausing in thought. Dandelion tilted his head seeing the cogs whirring. “Everything alright?”

“I just hope we're doing the right thing. I was ready to dislike him at the start of the evening, but after what we've gone through tonight, he seems like a good guy.” Dandelion smiled at him, patting his shoulder.

“Everything works out see? And I'm fine with it. Just as long as they don't make too much of a mess.” Aradann groaned at Dandelion's joke before exiting the office and walking over to Oberyn.

“So, we have a plan. You'll be staying with Freya. While we can't risk you returning to the Kingfisher, Egill and I will head over there later on to collect your things. No doubt questions will be asked but for cover purposes, we'll say you're dead, we found your body and as following tradition for a fellow Witcher, we cremated your remains. If the Manticore does send agents to confirm with the Kingfisher, that's what they'll know.” Oberyn slowly nodded, as if half in understanding and half in utter confusion. “For now, let's get you settled. Come on.” He led the two up the stairs, and to Freya's doorway, knocking on the wood. There was the sound of a crash, followed by muffled muttering at a key clicking in a lock before the door slowly opened, revealing Freya standing in naught but a sheet wrapped around her, looking like thunder.

“It's three in the morning, what do you.....” She looked to see Aradann standing with Oberyn in tow, a look of puzzlement growing on her face.

“It's a long story, but I believe you two have a lot of talking to do.” With that, he nudged Oberyn inside, before closing the door. Muffled noises came from within, including what sounded like a slap. Aradann grinned as he made his way to his own room, exhausted. Entering and locking the door, he removed Tyr and Fenrir and his doublet before collapsing onto his bed. A night in Novigrad was certainly never a dull affair.