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Nerevarine      Morthal.

     It'd be a charming little town, if there weren't such a depressing atmosphere here. It's small, and likely of little economic importance. Dry ground is a rarity, not just because of the snow, but because of the town's location at the southern end of a marsh. The biting cold and the muggy marsh conspire to create a fog which cloaks the town most of the time. It's one of those towns that's... rather mistrustful of outsiders, but even towns as insular as this one occasionally need help.

     That's why the Jarl of Hjaalmarch, Idgrod Ravencrone, has allowed rumors to spread throughout the hold and the surrounding lands that there is a reward for any adventurer brave enough to slay a group of vampires intent on terrorizing the town. The town's guards have evidently been less than useful.
Geralt of Rivia      What a terrible place. In a way, it's just like the swamps of Velen, where Geralt has been attending to much of his work of late. The Witcher, riding atop his trusty stead, Roach, finds himself entering the town in response to those rumors of vampires. He's used to the wary glances of the townsfolk - that's just part of being a Witcher - and tries not to pay them too much mind.

    So, a group of vampires terrorising the town. It's a tall order, even for someone like Geralt. Still, it'd be a good amount of coin if it was coming from a Jarl and Geralt always has need of coin. Finding some place secure to hitch Roach, Geralt dismounts from his horse and double checks his equipment - a pair of swords, a selection of potions and poultices. He takes a deep breath of the marshy air and takes a few moments to glance around at the situation, his superhuman senses alert. Might be worth going to see the Jarl.
Testament     Vampires, eh? That sounds like something Testament could help with. And he does need to start building a 'nest egg', so to speak, if he's going to be in this Multiverse for a long time. And since his world's kind of an unremovable piece of the Multiverse, it's pretty much guaranteed that he is.

    Testament's eyes and ears are his raven, and she has gone far and wide to find exactly such a sitution as this. So, returning to her master, she told him about the problem. Hence why Testament is here now.

    Of course, he's probably not going to instill much confidence, given his looks. Somewhere between 'creepy' and 'beautiful', with a light dash of 'androgynous', and a heavy dose of 'so very wrong'. You see, Testament is a magical creature, even if that magic is artificial. That magic is of the dark variety. So he's got that creepy vibe going, first of all.

    Add to that the fact that his eyes are red. Even his pupils are red, in fact. He's pale as death, skinny enough that his ribs can be seen, and dressed all in black. He probably also shows way too much skin to be proper in this place. He's prepared for the worst as he enters the village, black raven with a slim silver collar perched upon his shoulder.
Nerevarine      The newcomers are met with wary glances by the villagers, some of whom take to their houses and shut themselves in. Testament is saved from accusations of vampirism /because/ of his brazen attire--none of the beasts would be so bold as to enter the town in broad daylight. Thankfully, everyone assumes he and Geralt are here together, although they're no less welcoming.

     "...imagine he must be cold, with half a shirt on like that."

     "Must be one of them Reachmen they talk about."

     "Those are just stories to frighten children and old women, Rolf." Testament's raven will pick up these and many more hushed conversations regarding his and Geralt's entrance.

     Not long after Geralt hitches Roach, a woman likely serving as a town guard approaches the two of them. She's silent, and her full helmet makes gauging a reaction difficult, but thankfully she doesn't stare for long. "You two come here to help the Jarl like that fancy elf?"
Geralt of Rivia      Geralt draws back his hood. He's an older man, looking like he might be in his forties, with long white hair and a fine amount of stubble along his jaw. His eyes are orange, making him somewhat similar-seeming to Testament, although they are the eyes of a cat.

     He favours the guard with a slight nod of his head. "Heard you've got a bit of a vampire problem," he says, his voice flat although not necessarily unwelcoming. He glances to Testament, perhaps making sure that he's not one of the vampires that he's here to deal with. The wolf medallion around Geralt's, in such close proximity to a magical creature, vibrates quietly against his leather cuirass.
Testament     Testament catches sight of Geralt as the two of them are entering the town, and offers a polite nod. He figures the other fellow's here for the same reason, so he heads to where the guard approaches them both. 'Fancy elf?' That gets a raise of a brow, but he doesn't ask just yet. He just nods.

    "If you mean with the vampires, yes." His voice echoes oddly, like it comes from somewhere vaguely close to the ground underneath his feet. And it also sounds like there's two of him talking from wherever his voice is coming from.

    Those eyes also help Testament's opinion of Geralt. Working with completely normal humans can get irritating sometimes. Though if he notes the vibrating medallion, he doesn't say. The raven on his shulder, on the other hand, turns attention to Geralt immediately. Emitting a quiet, raspy 'awk' it looks at Geralt, turning its head to view him from many different angles.
Nerevarine      "Aye," says the guard. Not to either man in particular, but the response is equally appropriate for both of them. She looks from Geralt to Testament and back, then motions to the burnt husk of someone's house on the other end of town. "Few nights back they burned Hroggar's house down with his wife and daughter in it."

     The guard crosses her arms. "Bastard didn't even wait till the ashes were cold to move in with that Alva woman. Turns out she was... one of them. We managed to chase her out, but when we tried to follow her..."

     She looks towards the edge of town, over her shoulder, and shudders briefly. "They're holed up in a cave outside of town, planning who knows what. We sent some men to clear it out but the ones that didn't run screaming as soon as they got to the mouth of the cave haven't come back. Some Dark Elf rode into town just a few minutes ago, all trumped up in some fancy armor. Said he was going to take care of it. If you hurry, you might meet him at the cave."
Geralt of Rivia      "Hmm," Geralt murmurs, considering the words of the guards. He's encountered a few vampires in his time - all different in their own ways but all equally dangerous. He looks over the burnt husk of a house for a few moments more, before asking: "These vampires, how many in number? Don't worry, we'll take care of them. What proof do you want that we've been successful?"
Testament     Testament listens carefully to the situation. Vampires trying to turn and/or feed on a village. Sounds pretty simple. The directions of where the trouble is gets a nod. Dark Elf? He's not sure he's heard of one of those. But he'll see once they get there. So rather than have the guard explain, he looks to Geralt.

    Speaking of Geralt, he's asking good question. Actual 'monster hunting for fun and profit' is a little bit beyond Testament's scope. He's done it before, but only recently. Ther was a time when HE was the 'monster', after all. Once there's an opportunity, he offers, "Once we're ready to go, let me know. I can get us there faster than walking."
Geralt of Rivia      A wary glance at the other individual and Geralt asks, "You're not talkin' about a portal, right?"
Nerevarine      "Five? Six? Hard to say how many, but the leader's named Movarth." The question of proof seems to give the guard pause, but she has an idea soon enough. "They say vampires leave behind some kinda dust. Useful for several kinds of potions. If you bring some pouches back, and if the alchemist in town can prove it's real, the Jarl will pay you for your work."
Testament     "Not exactly," Testament replies. He does smirk, though, sensing something of a... discomfiture the other has with the concept. "Does magic make you uncomfortable?" he inquires, the tone half-mocking. Oh boy. Still, Testament is not so busy teasing Geralt that he doesn't catch the guard's explanation and intel. As well as the mention of the vampire dust. His brows raise at this. Interesting.

    And then, without really caring how it looks to the rest of town, Testament slides to his knees, biting into a finger as he does. Murmuring magical Words under his breath, he begins to draw a magical circle on the ground around himself, in his blood. The blood has an odd look to it, darker than normal. It also possesses an acrid, pungent smell, like acid.

    Once he's done with the circle, he stands, and steps back. He remains in the circle, but he's drawn it large enough for two people. So there's room for Geralt, if he'd like to travel as well.
Geralt of Rivia      Geralt lets out a little hum. "Sure, we'll bring some back. Morvarth, I'll remember the name."

     The blood magic draws a bit of a strange eye from Geralt, but eventually he agrees to stand in the circle. "Sorry. Just... long story. Not magic, though. Just portals" He shrugs, as if to sum it up.
Nerevarine      "Ugh." Magic in Tamriel is like math. Everyone uses some of it in their daily life, however simple it may be, and although only a few people do, anyone can master its complexities with enough time and devotion. That being said, Skyrim is harldy the center of the world where learning is concerned, and only the Redguards have a greater distrust for magic. The guard keeps a watchful eye on the two of them, and the rest of the town seems to have consigned their strange appearances to being /mages./
Testament     "When mishandled, portals can be a problem," Testament agrees.

    See? The Gear understands. It's probably not a portal. He wouldn't do that to Geralt, would he? Not after being so understanding about the other man's issue, whatever it is, with portals. He didn't even ask what the issue was, just accepted it. Testament speaks the final Word of the spell. Nah, it's probably not a portal, the goth-looking man would never--

    ASDKJHFSKLDJHF IT'S A FUCKING PORTAL

    Actually, no, not really. That is, it's not a portal in the sense of 'throwing you through and letting you fall wherever'. thankfully it's a little more gentle than that.

    What actually happens is that, when Testament speaks the final Word of the spell, a translucent field springs up from the circle, around Testament and Geralt. There's an odd, deep, warped sound that might be a growl from the air around the field. And in time with that sound, the surroundings outside the clear field seem to warp and twist, to distort.

    The sound fades, and as it does the surroundings un-distort. But unless there's something to stop the teleportation, the surroundings that focus into view are not the place they were. Instead? They're near that cave the guard indicated. Once they're where he aimed for, the field will quickly disappear.

    From the guard's view, the magical field went up, and Testament and Geralt's images would have seemed to distort until nothing was left of them and they disappeared. and not to worry. The blood he used to draw the circle would be burnt into ash, and easily blow away in wind or wash away in water.
Geralt of Rivia      Portals. Geralt had once seen a man use a portal - or, to be more accurate, half of that man had used the portal with the other half not quite making it through. More the point, Geralt knew people who had gone through portals - only to never be seen again. And this, this thing that Testament is doing?

     It's not quite a portal, not enough to set off his fear, but close enough that it does unsettle him.

     As the field disappears, Geralt lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, and says: "Good work."
Nerevarine      Once the two arrive at the entrance to the cave north of town, it's very easy to see what the guard meant by 'fancy elf.' Dismounting his own horse and tethering it to a tree is a man in shining gold armor, with a matching shield. Upon hearing the noise of Testament's spell, he turns to face them. Testament, at least, will recognize Talis and his helmet's rather pronounced expression of disapproval.

     The Nerevarine rasps a greeting to Testament. "Tidings, outlander. I remember you." He straps his shield to his wrist and checks his helmet briefly. "Testament, yes?" Odd as he may look, Testament is a welcome change from all of these damned Nords. "Glad to see the Jarl's word reached Multiversal ears, as well. These vampires are an affront to life everywhere."

     Talis peers at Geralt. The likeness of Indoril Nerevar upon his helmet bears down upon the Witcher, conveying all its gilded scrutiny. "I bid you welcome, as well. I am Talis, of Great House Indoril."
Testament     Testament nods to Geralt's compliment. "Thank you." He quickly catches sight of the 'fancy elf', though, tying up the horse. Hopefully the weird sound and sudden appearance of the two of them hadn't spooked the poor animal.

    He nods to the Nerevarine's confirmation of his name. "Good to see you again. I didn't realize you were the 'fancy elf' the guard was talking about." He's kidding a little, at least. But he does offer the information of what the guard thought of the Nerevarine.
Geralt of Rivia      "Geralt of Rivia," the Witcher tells Talis, meeting the helmet's gaze with his own even stare. All business, apparently. And Geralt's never really known what to make of people with such fancy armor - in his world, it is strictly ceremonial and might not be the best thing to wear on the battlefield. Here? Well, it could mean anything.

     Talis sounds like a noble, too, particularly with that armor... and Geralt's never been too good with the nobility.

     "They're just monsters," Geralt replies. He gestures towards the cave with a slight wave of his hand. "Do we know anything about what's in there? We've got maybe half a dozen vampires in there."
Nerevarine      Talis snorts dismissively. "Nords and Dunmer have never gotten along. Now that so many of their cities are host to Dunmer refugees, their ignorance has had a chance to shine through as brightly as it did when we were constantly at war with each other. I doubt that guard knew what 'fancy' meant, aside from 'adjective, describing one with a tendency not to roll over at the first sign of disapproval from stupid outlanders.' Truly, it's a blessing to be a traveler in the lands of such a wise and respectable people."

     Yes, Talis is not just a member of a noble house, but apparently one with a temperament more characteristic of a crotchety old man than a young adventurer. He sighs, running a hand over the red plume of his helmet as if it were his real hair. "I'm not familiar with the clans of Skyrim, aside from the Volkihar, but no one's seen one of them in centuries, and I've only ever read about them. It's possible that most of them are just thralls--newly converted--but the leader may be old and powerful."

     "If you're not immune to disease, keep out of close combat with them. Most vampires will have spells that drain life. The disease is communicable through that, as well."
Testament     Testament smirks at Talis's response to being called 'fancy'. But he does nod to the mention of the two peoples not getting along. "I've been on the receiving end of that sort of ill will myself," he admits. That's putting it mildly, but that's a tale for another time. Right now, as Geralt points out, there are monsters to deal with.

    Talis begins to explain what they're up against. Keep out of melee? That's doable. "Only break their skin long enough and I'll kill them with their own blood." That might end up being a handy trick. But he notes something. "Drain life? Life as in blood, or life as in lifeforce?"
Geralt of Rivia      "Doubt the disease'll be a problem," Geralt begins, "But the spells might be. If you're worried about the leader, leave him to me." As he talks, Geralt is going through some of his pouches. He ends up on a vial of some thick black liquid, and he pops the cork off. As Testament and Talis talks, Geralt drains the vial in one gulp - and it seems particularly disgusting going by the expression on his face. As Geralt stands there, he goes even more pale and his veins go thick and dark, standing out against his skin. He groans in pain but it seems to pass before too long and the Witcher wipes some sweat against the back of his gloves.

     "It'll help if they try to drain my blood," he explains, and one can probably guess how.
Nerevarine      "The latter," explains Talis to Testament. "But I've fought a few, and I've never seen one that didn't also like blood. The good news is that the disease is curable within the first 72 hours of infection--so if you feel... it's hard to explain, but... if you feel /unclean/ at all, let me know and I can cure you myself."

     Talis readies his mace, looking from Geralt to Testament. "If there's nothing else, then..." He heads towards the entrance of the cave, shield raised and angled down slightly to deflect hostile projectile spells away from his face. His mace is held in an upright, neutral position, ready to swing without being extended too far. Noble though he may be, someone has clearly trained him well.
Testament     Testament raises a brow at Geralt's sudden obvious discomfort in consuming the vial's contents. "...Are you all right?" He didn't want Geralt to suddenly turn on HIM in the middle of combat, after all. Though he does also add, "Any blood-drinkers will find me particularly unpalatable." For a lot of reasons. Testament's blood was a thing alive all of its own accord, and tended to try to kill the thing that tried to eat it.

    Talis's words of feeling 'unclean' get a smirk from Testament. "Different than the kind of 'unclean' I usually feel, I assume." But as Talis makes for the mouth of the cave, Testament raises his hand to his mouth again, as he'd done before, to draw the circle. And yes, again he bites into his finger. Though this time he sinks the abnormally sharp canines into the whole side of his index finger.

    While the teeth are still imbedded in skin, he tears his hand away with a ruthless gesture. It creates a spray of reddish-purple blood that freezes in the air as surely as if it had been frozen in place. But in the next instant, the arc forms into a scythe he grasps the haft of. THEN he follows Talis into the cave.
Geralt of Rivia      "I'm fine," Geralt replies, reaching up to grab his silver sword from the scabbard on his back, "Just a Witcher mutagen." He doesn't draw the second sword on his back - that's the steel blade, that one's for people. This one, the silver sword, is for monsters.

     He enters the cave behind the other two, bringing up the rear. The darkness of the cave is no issue for his sight and so Geralt focuses on looking for anything out of place - traps, decoys, things that they might need warning of. And his medallion will, of course, start wobbling about in the presence of anything magical. For a Witcher, that split-second of warning is what seperates the living from the dead.

     "Hell of a trick you've got there," Geralt tells Testament, "With that scythe."