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[PR: Ash]

Another day, another merry day at Slug Inn. Once again, the bouncer was met with the lad who came the day before, but he looked different somehow. There was a scar on his face, and the air around him smelled of blood. Seems like he just came back from a battle.

Even though the air reeked of the stench of alcohol, the patrons of the inn still caught the whiff of danger coming from this young man, and they stayed away from him.

Eventually, only Roy remained before the counter. “Mug of apple cider, please.” Roy tapped on the table.

“I believe you’ve found a request?”

“In the middle of clearing it, but this is more… complex than I thought. I’ll have to deal with it slowly.” Roy took a sip of his cider, the liquid sparkling red under the light. “Have a question for you, mate. Heard there’s a druid circle somewhere near Mayena.”

The bartender smiled. Information cost money, and he was going to name a good price, but then his heart skipped a beat. Somehow he had a feeling he would be in for something terrible if he did not answer this lad’s questions. Not even his burly, grizzled bouncers could save him from that fate. “Two, actually,” he said, simpering. “One in the east of Sodden, and it goes by the name of Caed Dhu.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. Caed Dhu? That means Black Forest in Elder Speech. Geralt passed that place in his search, but that can’t be the place I’m looking for. It’s miles away from Mayena.

“And the other one is in the woods west of Mayena. The occasional beekeeper gets a drink or two from me.” The bartender paused for a moment. “Told me about his adventures, one of them being the encounter with druids. Barbaric and feral, most of them. Adorns themselves with all kinds of plants. Marigolds, tree leaves, and all kinds of greenery. Hangs over their skin like appendages.”

Roy was amused. Sounds different from Mousesack or Evelyn. Maybe druids are divided into different schools as well. “Tell me more about the circle. And give me another shot of apple cider.” Roy slammed three crowns and ten coppers onto the counter, and the bartender, having learnt his lesson, didn’t raise his price. He beamed.

“Most druids are territorial. They think the whole forest belongs to them. If anyone enters uninvited…” A hint of fear flared in the bartender’s eyes. “Well, according to the beekeeper, if they as much as ruin a bit of the plants, the greenery and beasts are going to kick them out of the woods. If they hunt or even cut down a tree, the druids themselves will turn the hunters into nutrients for the flowers. That, or feed for their pets. Special treatment, they say.”

Roy wiped off the sweat on his forehead. Just like the nymphs in Brokilon. But he wasn’t worried. With the token Mousesack gave him, it should grant him safe passage to the druids.

“I used to take the beekeeper’s story as the truth.” The bartender’s pitch got a little sharper as he tried to imitate the way a girl would speak. “Thought druids were killing machines. But the war taught me a lot of things. The news about druids stem from nothing but fear and prejudice.”

“Elaborate.” Roy dipped his finger into the cider and stuck it into his hood, then his pets quickly licked the liquid off his fingertip.

The sudden appearance of Gryphon and Ebony shocked the bartender, and he almost screamed, thinking that Roy was a druid. There was no other reason for him to keep two critters in his hood.

“The misunderstanding melted away after the battle of Cintra.” A hint of dejection welled in the bartender’s eyes. “Ever since Cintra fell, its refugees started traveling north to Brugge or Sodden. Cintra’s general, Vissegerd, escaped with his life. He’s in Brugge, rallying the remaining people of Cintra to form an anti-Nilfgaard army. Rumors, of course. Haven’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Roy was reminded of a certain old man with graying hair. He had seen Vissegerd. If he did survive the war, then it would be a big morale boost for Calanthe and Ciri. He nodded.

“Nilfgaard didn’t attack Sodden first, and that made it the top choice for refugees to stay in. But well, it’s not easy finding refuge after your kingdom’s fallen. A third of the refugees die on their journey, either to monsters or bandits. Even if they live, life’s hell for them. Diseases and wounds won’t give them respite. Lives are worth nothing in this world.” And the bartender was possessed with melancholy, much like a bard who was worried about the people.

Roy’s lips twitched.

“Just when all hope was lost, a group of saints stepped up. They are no ordinary people. They possess magic. Extraordinary magic. The temple of Melitele in Ellander sent a group of their priestesses out to help the refugees, healing those in need,” the bartender said. “But that much is to be expected. That’s what Melitele is like. They are worshipped and revered. Mountains of donations go to their temples every year. They are duty-bound to help the ailing people.”

Roy took a deep breath. He was once again reminded of the days he spent in Ellander’s temple.

“Aside from the temples, some sorcerers and druids decided to lend a hand too.” A twinkle of astonishment flared in the bartender’s eyes. “It was surprising, mercenary. As I’ve told you, sorcerers and druids are not particularly treated with respect or kindness among the people. They have every kind of insult hurled at them every day. If I were them, I’d rather watch these people die than help, but they didn’t seem to mind.” The bartender looked impressed. “In their magnanimity, they lent a helping hand to the refugees, and some of them are druids from the woods I told you about.”

A pause later, he continued. “One of them was a gorgeous woman with hair as crimson as cinnabar. They’re nothing like what the beekeeper told me. Not feral at all. She was clean, dressed decently, smelled like plants, and was slender as a lily.”

“You seem fond of her.”

“Not just me, mercenary. The whole Mayena and the refugees are fond of her, get it?” Displeased by the witcher’s frivolity, the bartender took on a solemn attitude. “She helps the refugees every week for free, curing them of their illnesses. Everyone knows she’s a lot better than the thieving doctors who can’t even cure a simple cold. She can cure every kind of illness and wound. Except for death.

“And she wasn’t just using herbs. She even used magic on us. Do you know what that means?” A hint of reminiscence flashed in the bartender’s eyes. “I had a stomach upset, and she healed me with magic. Magic feels… warm. It courses through your veins like some sort of warm shower, and she’s fair to everyone. Respects everyone. Merchants, soldiers, nobility, she doesn’t care. Well, the nobles wouldn’t deign to visit the slums,” the bartender muttered. “She’s a respectable woman. She sees every life as equal. If we could vote for Mayena’s next leader…” The bartender lowered his voice to a whisper and huddled closer to Roy. “That lady would win in a landslide. The nobles have no chance.”

Roy nodded. This woman knows nature well and is respected by the community. The very person I need to find out about the red light and clear Geralt’s name. And she’s closely tied to Geralt too. She’s the best choice for this job.

“She cares not for coin and fame. All she cares about are the people and all living beings.”

“What’s her name?” Roy held his excitement down and went in for the confirmation. He sipped some cider and let his pets have a bit of the liquid too.

“Told no one about it. She needs no fame, remember?” The bartender took a deep breath, finally finishing his lecture. “You’re bleeding. Bet you’re hurt. If you need some healing, she should be here soon. There’s a white tent beside the refugee camp. That’s where she stays in. You can’t miss it.”