Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

Late 1266, Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen

The biting wind whipped across the mountain peaks, a constant reminder of the harsh, unforgiving landscape surrounding Kaer Morhen. The ancient keep, weathered and scarred by time, stood as a testament to the resilience of the Witchers, a bastion of their unique, and often misunderstood, existence. The stone itself seemed to groan under the relentless assault of the wind, each gust a whisper of the keep's long and often lonely vigil. I arrived under the guise of a traveling merchant, my small caravan laden with supplies – rare herbs, alchemical ingredients, and other necessities that Kaer Morhen, isolated as it was, often struggled to acquire. My true purpose, however, was far more complex, a delicate dance of negotiation and subtle manipulation.

I dismounted before the imposing gates, the massive iron-bound doors creaking open at the approach of my caravan. A handful of young Witchers, their eyes gleaming with the characteristic golden hue, greeted me with a mixture of suspicion and cautious welcome. They recognized the value of my wares, but they were also wary of outsiders. Kaer Morhen had learned long ago to trust no one, a lesson etched in blood and betrayal.

"Welcome, merchant," one of the younger Witchers said, his voice gruff, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. "State your business."

"I bring supplies," I replied, my voice calm and measured, projecting an air of unassuming professionalism. "And… a proposition."

The Witchers exchanged glances. "A proposition?" the same Witcher asked, his brow furrowed, his gaze scrutinizing me with an intensity that would have unnerved a lesser man.

"Indeed," I said. "A proposition that could benefit Kaer Morhen."

I was led into the keep, the rough-hewn stone walls echoing with the sounds of my caravan's unloading. The atmosphere within Kaer Morhen was… unique. A strange blend of pragmatism and ancient tradition. These Witchers, these mutated warriors, were a product of magic, yet they often shunned its overt use, relying instead on their enhanced abilities and their swords. A paradox I found… intriguing. Their reliance on tradition, their adherence to a code they barely understood, made them predictable, and therefore, controllable.

I was taken to the main hall, a large chamber dominated by a massive fireplace, its flames crackling merrily, offering a stark contrast to the icy wind howling outside. Vesemir, the oldest and wisest of the Witchers, sat at a rough-hewn table, surrounded by a handful of his brethren. Coën, from the Griffin School, his face bearing the scars of countless battles, sat quietly, his gaze thoughtful. Eskel, his features more relaxed, but his eyes holding a similar sharpness to Vesemir's, leaned against a pillar. Lambert, ever the restless one, paced back and forth, his expression impatient. Geralt, I knew, was off adventuring, his path crossing mine soon enough.

"You claim to have a proposition," Vesemir said, his voice deep and resonant, his eyes, though aged, still sharp and perceptive, missing nothing. He exuded an aura of quiet authority, a leader who commanded respect without needing to demand it.

"Indeed," I said, my gaze sweeping across the faces of the assembled Witchers, assessing their reactions. "Kaer Morhen has fallen on hard times. Your resources are stretched thin, your numbers dwindling. The world outside these walls is growing more dangerous, and even you are not immune to the rising tide of darkness."

Vesemir nodded slowly, his expression grim. "The war has brought many challenges," he conceded. "Monsters are bolder, more numerous. And the constant need to travel for contracts… it takes its toll."

"Precisely," I said. "And I offer a solution. I offer you the means to rebuild. To restore your keep to its former glory. New training grounds, improved fortifications, a well-stocked library… all at my expense. Consider it an investment."

Lambert snorted. "An investment? What do you want in return? We're not fools. No one offers something for nothing."

"Your continued neutrality," I replied, my gaze meeting Lambert's challenging stare. "Your discretion. And… access to certain… materials."

Vesemir raised an eyebrow. "Materials?"

"The byproducts of your… mutations," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "The… remnants of your rituals. They are of interest to me. The… alchemical byproducts of your trials. They hold certain… potential."

Coën, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, his interest piqued. "What kind of potential?"

"That is… for me to know," I replied, my smile enigmatic. "And for you to discover. Consider it… a mutually beneficial arrangement. You provide me with what I need, and I provide you with the means to ensure your survival."

Eskel, usually quiet, spoke up. "And what of the outside world? The monsters… the war?"

"The war will continue, regardless of what we do here," I said. "But the monsters… they are a threat to everyone. And you, the Witchers, are uniquely equipped to deal with them. I am not asking you to take sides in any conflict. I am simply asking you to continue doing what you do best – protecting the innocent, fighting the darkness."

Vesemir considered my words for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. He knew Kaer Morhen was vulnerable. Its resources were stretched thin, and the constant threat of monsters, exacerbated by the war, was taking its toll. My offer was tempting, but he was wary. He had seen too many promises broken, too many alliances turn to ash.

"We will consider your offer," Vesemir said finally, his voice measured, giving nothing away. "We will discuss it amongst ourselves."

"Of course," I replied, rising to my feet. "But time is of the essence. The world outside these walls is growing darker, and the need for your services grows greater with each passing day. Think carefully, Vesemir. This is not just about rebuilding Kaer Morhen. It's about ensuring the survival of the Witcher tradition itself."

I left Kaer Morhen with the understanding that they would contact me when they had reached a decision. I knew they would accept my offer. It was too advantageous for them to refuse. They were serving a greater purpose, a purpose they could not even begin to comprehend. They were serving Avalon. They were serving me. And soon, they would serve me even more directly.