DudeMeister and Aida Rose

Hans felt the quarrel pierce his calf, slowing his run to a pathetic crawl. Gritting in pain the fell to the ground once he tripped over the root of a venerable oak tree, his keen hearing detecting multiple footsteps approaching him at a brisk pace from about sixty yards away. The Witcher had a century of experience in him, there would normally be no way that only six bounty hunters could get the drop on him in Temeria. But these were no normal cutthroats and Hans was not the Witcher he used to be. His form was lean yet defined, honed by the many years of training and the diet used to make boys into lethal monster killers. He wore a brigandine vest that was composed of thin steel lames covered in black leather, a dark green tunic worn beneath the typical armor of the Cat School. His hair was a dark auburn that was paired with a coarse beard that adorned his face which bore the scars that one would expect in his line of work. A diagonal wound was slashed across his face, the consequence of a training accident before he endured the Trial of Grasses that mutated him into what he was and addled his brain before he even set out on the path. Despite his flaws, his sharp facial features were handsome and gave him a distinguished and almost noble look. His right hand gripped a longsword of well forged Mahakam steel as he tried to crawl away, already stained with the blood of two of their comrades. It would've been suicide to let them surround him in the ambush, but what he didn't know was that one of their men was a skilled arbalist. As well as the slashes he took in the initial fray, he felt four bolts in him. Not counting the one in his leg, two were in his back and one pierced his side before he ran. Knowing full well he'd die of his wounds, he reached into his satchel and drew out a potion. Normally poison to one not inured to it's toxicity, it would heal some of his internal damage. Perhaps not long enough for him to survive the encounter, but sufficient to take a few of these bastards with him. He consumed the elixir and grunted as he felt his heart pump in shock.

The steps grew louder when the men closed in on him. Former members of the Redanian Secret Service, the reign of Radovid the fifth ensured their dismissal. Their skills in intelligence gathering and assassination proved to be useful in the bounty hunting trade, so it wasn't long before they were able to track down Hans, one of the last members of the infamous Cat School. His killing of several members of the Temerian nobility and his famous assassination of a diplomat from Toussaint lead to the appetizing bounty posted by both regions. Even in his compromised physical and mental state, Hans was able to elude capture for three years, until this death squad came after him. After slaying men and monsters for a century, the Witcher would meet his end at their hands.

"This whoreson's supposed to be a Witcher isn't he?" one of them said, moving closer to inspect the kill as he drew a dagger to finish him

"He killed Vink and Xavier already. The fucker is dangerous. Cut off his head already so we can collect our bounty" the arbalist said as he placed another bolt in his crossbow.

"Easiest money we ever made eh lads? Maybe they don't make Witchers the way they used to, AHHH!" the man's leg was shortened at the ankle before Hans claimed his head in a single powerful slash once he fell to the ground. Hans's face was pale, veins drawn over his face as it fought the consumption of the elixir. He already felt the irony taste of blood in his mouth as his body struggled to get up. One man attempted to draw his sword in alarm before the Witcher's edge sheared deep into his forearm, rendering it useless. Digging his blade out, he pirouetted out of the way of a spear thrust before he grabbed the weapon's haft and attempted to close in. Another bolt claimed him in his right shoulder blade once he withdrew his sword's point from the spearman's neck. His pulse was beating like a violent drum in his temples as he let out a rueful laugh, his golden eyes dilated from a combination of the adrenalin and the toxicity of the potion. He wasn't as agile as he was even three years ago, but a Witcher hopped up on Swallow and bloodlust was a terrifying thing. Abandoning his crossbow, the man drew a shortsword and managed to block the Witcher's diagonal slash with a buckler. A hard heel drove itself into the man's knee as Hans closed in to finish him. In his fury however he didn't think that the bastard would still have fight in him.

The shortsword's tip buried itself in the Hans' side. Hans gripped the blade with his left hand, feeling the cold steel through the gauntlet as he prevented the man from withdrawing his sword to escape him. A whirlwind of steel that slashed through precise points on his assailant's body ended the whoreson's life, but it was at this moment he felt something hard hit his skull. Another man had thumped him with a mace, adding another scar to Han's face as it sent him into the trunk of a tree. He raised his arms defensively to block the next strike, but he felt the spiked head fracture his forearm as the remaining men came in to end his life. Whatever efforts Hans could make were spent in this last blaze of glory. No Witcher ever died comfortably in his bed. Hans knew this as well as any other. He however did not think he'd leave this world like this: his reputation mired and at the hands of greedy killers. Nevertheless he would accept his fate as his eyes already grew dimmer.

Srallu dropped from the tree and cursed under her breath when she found her boot heel sunk into someone's skull. She'd meant to avoid that. Had meant to do something to stop this but clearly her intentions were worthless today. She warily approached the single fallen figure that first drew her attention. When she got a good look at his face, her face fell. Just as she feared. She dropped to a crouch over him and hesitantly pressed her fingers against his pulse. For a moment nothing, and then an unstable beat answered her. She grit her teeth and clucked her tongue. The gods really must have a special love for fools. The other scouts would be pissed when she asked them to help her drag Hans back, but what else did they have to do? The thieves he'd quarreled with had taken everything of value, save him.

---

The healer sighed. When that got no response from Srallu, he sighed louder. She rolled her eyes. One had to admire his determination to share his misery, if nothing else.

"Yes?"

The older elf spun around from where he'd sat crouched over Hans's prone body. He shot her a nasty look. She blinked innocently back at him. Unni's office was little more than a glorified shack. It grew cramped, easily, when more than the healer and perhaps one patient was housed in it. Now he had Srallu hanging around, in addition to the anxiety inducing presence of a Witcher. Not to mention that, despite all the work that had to be done, people frequently found time to drop in for a peak. If there weren't more important concerns, Srallu might feel guilty.

"Girl, you've put me in a spot. And not for the first time, mind! Don't think I've forgotten Maribor." She yawned. "At this point, the debts you owe me are staggering. Ridiculous." He began to grumble, "I'm a healer, not a wizard, for gods' sake. There's only so much I can do."

"Save it, Unni. I'm not talking Calo into recommending your brat for the tasks group. We get pulled up by merit and merit alone, not favoritism."

He huffed and her gaze softened. "How's he doing?" When Unni didn't answer, she needled. "Tell me."

"...It would be better to let him drift off peacefully."

Srallu's face shuttered. "Call me when he wakes up."

"Lu," he tried, but she was already out the door.

---

It turned out, Unni didn't need to. She was already there.

Hans felt the resistance of flesh against the edge of his dagger as he slit the throat of the bodyguard in the service of Gille de Villefort, diplomat of Toussaint. The baron was currently holding a celebration at his mansion, the many guests invited allowing Hans to slip in undetected. He had accepted the assignment from the Temerian Secret Service. He was the only Witcher they could get their hands on who could carry out this assassination. The downfall of the Viper school saw to that. His own order was shunned by other Witchers. Having been lowered to becoming hired cut throats, the reputation of the Cat school had been sullied a long time ago. Nevertheless, Hans had no qualms about killing men if the pay was good. Such was his reality when peasants wouldn't pay him for killing monsters.

Having slain the guard, he moved towards the Baron's quarters. The old baron had his eye on a young countess about half his age and after making several advances to her the two left the gathering to adjourn to his bedroom. Hans reasoned that this was as opportune a moment to kill him as any other. He already heard the commotion caused by the noble's fling, their moans mingling with the faint music from the ball as the elder man pretty much smothered his young paramour under his weight. Preparing the dagger, he crouched low and flung it. His aim was perfect and his timing convenient. With a knife imbedded deep within the baron's neck, no doubt the blame will fall on her. Nothing personal, but it was better her neck then his. Moving to escape, to his dismay he saw a young noble at the doorway to the bedroom, a sword in his hand and a murderous look in his eyes. Hans could only guess that he was a jealous lover of the lascivious countess and had decided to end the life of the count. All in all it could've worked in his favor, but he didn't count on being caught red handed. The countess' loud and horrified shriek made matters worse and thats when the job went to hell.

The knight that he ended up cutting down was in the prime of his life, but that didn't stop Hans from casting Aard to push the man back before slashing across his throat. The commotion caused the guards to rush in and that was when the assassination job turned into a hectic free for all. Hans managed to escape with his life, after killing eight guards and setting half the mansion on fire. That was when the bounty was placed upon his head and his fate was sealed

-----

Hans roused from his fitful slumber. He was still in an incredible amount of pain, but upon sitting up he noticed that his wounds were dressed in poultices. His muscular torso bore many scars from beasts he had fought in the past. The wounds he received from the bounty hunters would add some more. He was pale from both the blood loss and the toxicity of the potion. Weakened by his ordeal, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. Where was he? His gold eyes looked across the room until he saw a familiar face.

"Srallu, is that you?" he asked in surprise.

"What happened, where am I?"

Srallu froze and tried to push down the jump in her chest. She'd been antsy all the day, starting at every creak and rustle that came from Hans's direction. Sentences, though, those were new. She leapt to her feet, eyes wide, and stumbled towards him. She braced herself on the edge of the bed. Her reaction was in part due to the long day, but what day wasn't long there? Although, if she were being honest, this hadn't made things easier. To many of the others, Hans was just another human. A very brave (or, likely, very foolish) and extraordinarily tough human, yes, but a human all the same. Even those she called friend were against her. If she took the moment to think on it, she would be appalled by the number of favors she'd had to use to keep him there for that long. Thankfully, she rarely had the time to waste on brooding.

The rumors that began to spread about Hans hadn't helped her case either. Apparently, his life had taken quite the exciting turn. None of it sounded good, but was it really their place to judge? Many considered the Scoia'tael to be, at best, a gang of racially charged bandits holed up in the woods. They should know about bad reputations. Besides, Srallu knew Hans. People could change, but not that much. Her father often called her bullheaded and no one could doubt the wisdom of his words. A good friend was a good friend. She wasn't going to let a little time and She couldn't hide the smile that grew on her face when she saw that yes, he was alive and well. Take that, Unni! she thought, thoroughly satisfied with their predicament.

"Hans," she said with just an edge of hesitance. As much as Unni had done his best, there was no denying that the human had seen better days. Hopefully, the wounds would heal and was optimistic. Healing had to be one of the oh-so advantageous gifts Witchers were blessed with, right? Her hand hovered over his chest, ready to push him back down gently if he tried to get up. "You nearly died, you dumb bastard! That's what happened, but I saved your ass. As for where you are..." She leaned in, her smile turned sly and told him, playfully, "It's a bit of a secret. You must swear to keep it."

Hans' vision was still blurry from his weakened state, his gold-hued eyes dilating as they struggled to filter through the light. There was no mistaking that she was Srallu when she came closer to him and spoke. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly as she explained to him that she saved his sorry ass. It wouldn't be the first time, but he was surprised she remembered him. Well, not quite. Lu was an elf after all and had an outstanding memory. Oh Gods was he already referring to her like that? It had been so long since he left her without explanation after enjoying the bliss of being her lover. After all that, would she really save him?

Hans quickly recalled when they first met. Upon accepting a contract on a fiend near Oxenfurt, he quickly became overpowered while fighting both the great beast and a pack of drowners when the battle strayed to close to some river banks. It was then when the swift elven arrows were fired, bringing the fiend and many drowners to their end. He agreed to pay her half the bounty for saving his life and the two hit it off soon after that. She was a free spirited elf eager to experience the world. Her beauty and charm were easy to fall for and it was only a matter of time before one thing led to another.

The Witcher somehow found himself breathing easier when she was near, the demons brought about by his twenty years of traumatic events held at bay as he gazed gratefully into her eyes. She was so beautiful still. Not that he expected otherwise since her elven blood gifted her with long life of youthful vigor. Looking upon her face, Hans wondered how he could've left her the way he did.

"I can always keep a secret for you Srallu" he said with a smile. It would be best to refer to her with that name. Only those close to her would call her Lu, so she'd might take offense to if he began using it right now after everything. His hand emerged from beneath the blanket to hold her's, his fingers gently brushing against the back of her hand as he pressed it to his chest. He took comfort in the warmth she emanated, his other hand moving to her cheek.

"That must be the hundredth time you've saved my life. I wonder how many orens I owe you for saving my worthless hide. You look beautiful, although you seem very tired." he said, his eyes focusing as he slowly came to his senses. Lu would be able to sense the increase in his heartbeat as he found himself smitten with her once again.

"I am so happy to see you. I mean that despite what I did so long ago..." he trailed off for a moment, his fingers trailing from her cheek as his hand dropped to his side. It wasn't his place to touch her like this, not anymore.