The crones lived in Ard Saerbyn due west of Velen. It was surrounded by a mountain and waterfalls. The lake reflected the peak in that place. It was not majestic, but it was filled with life and greenery. A small village stood at the base of the mountain, and the villagers had been serving the crones for generations.
Every spring, the crones would hold a night banquet at Bald Mountain. Their believers were invited to the banquet, where they could accept the sacrifices over the last year and the magical acorns the crones blessed them with.
A blind priestess would pick three chosen ones from the believers to spend a lovely night with the ladies. They were either young men or beautiful ladies. The believers who spent a night with the ladies would return the next day, happily forgetting their names and most of their memories as they went on with their new lives.
Roy kept thinking about the lore he read about this place. Bald Mountain would be heavily guarded during the banquet. It was filled with sentries and demons the crones summoned. It was nigh impossible for the witchers to infiltrate it. However, it had been more than six months since the banquet, and most of the sentries were gone. The crones had gone to Lower Velen as well. This fortress was as good as unguarded.
The core's blood covered the witchers' scent. The Whispess' army of ears and guards did not see them. They climbed up the treacherous cliff and came close to the peak without any troubles. Eventually they landed on a plateau. A gigantic oak tree stood on the mountain's top, its branches expanding everywhere. It stretched down over the cliff, covering the mountain like a kraken's tentacles.
A single tree could not make a forest, but this oak was an exception. It was the size of a small forest by itself, and it seemed to have mutated. Its bark was as black and slimy as mud, and it was covered in vines and spikes. The tree radiated the stench of evil and rotting flesh. A great amount of mana and chaotic energy covered its enormous canopy, and the witchers' pendants vibrated.
They held their pendants down. This used to be a sacred land of the druids hundreds of years ago, but the crones destroyed Velen's circle right after they came, and they corrupted the oak tree too.
The witchers came to the entrance. It stood nearly twenty feet tall and was made of ancient wood. They had to pass this entrance if they wanted to reach the peak. They walked on their tiptoes and pushed the door on both sides. Surprisingly, it was not locked, and they opened it easily. They exchanged looks, held their blades, cast their signs, and darted inside.
The sun was shining brightly. It illuminated the inside of the door. What greeted them first was a long, dark passage. Light-yellow ferns covered both sides of the passage, and sounds of heavy breathing came from the end of the corridor.
Someone, or something, was dozing off in the cave. The witchers were on high alert. They stood on their tiptoes and leaned against the wall, controlling their breathing and heartbeats. Roy even found something on their way to the end. The ferns growing on the walls were no ordinary plants, unlike blowballs, sages, or celandines.
'Paesia elmeri
Fern
Age: Two years old
Place of origin: Ard Saerbyn, Tir na Lia
Used to: Treat whooping cough, create alchemical items'
"Tir na Lia?" Roy thought about it for a moment, and he frowned. This was not the name of any country in this world. It was the capital of Aen Elle's hometown in another dimension. The crones' lair has plants that only exist in the Wild Hunt's world? Yep, they're in cahoots alright.
Roy wanted to get some samples, but he pulled his hand back before he could touch it. It would be bad if Fugas or the crones found out they were here. He held his urge back and went on with the mission. They turned a corner and came to a clearing.
The place was draped in yellow light. There were piles of candles in the corners. There were two paths before the witchers. One was on the left, and it led upward. The other was behind a stone protrusion, and a great monster was guarding it.
It was sleeping on its back. The monster was snoring. It was in a deep sleep, and the witchers' arrival did not wake it. They could attack the monster and get away with it if they wanted. Still, the witchers did not make a move. Instead, they held their breaths and observed the creature.
It was overweight, to say the least. The monster was as round as an oversized ball. It looked like a troll who had too much food for its own good. From where the witchers were standing, they could see its big belly bobbing up and down as it breathed.
The monster was almost naked, save for a piece of loincloth covering its groin. Its skin was crimson, as if it were scalded by hot water. However, its waist, arms, and forehead had black engravings on them. It had hooves like a cow's, and it was covered in thick black hair. Its hands were black, bloated, and only had three pudgy fingers.
A pair of curved horns protruded from its forehead. It was the hallmark of a demon. Roy was reminded of a chort. He sniffed the air. There was a weak scent of sulfur permeating it. Yep, it's him alright.
'Fagus
Age: Three hundred and fifty years old
Gender: Male
Status: Demon (A weaker archetype that possesses lower intellect), the mountain's guardian (It guards the path to the peak for the crones)
HP: 320
Mana: 130
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 8
Constitution: 20
Perception: 6
Will: 7
Charisma: 4
Spirit: 13
Skills:
Sulfuric Flames Level 5: Intermediate fire magic. Costs a moderate amount of mana. Fagus can spit out poisonous flames using the element of fire and its own sulfur. Inflicts scald, burn, and poison.
Lesser Demonic Body (Passive): Demons possess incredible vitality. +120 to HP. They can heal any minor wounds quickly. Immune to poison. Possesses incredible digestive ability. Increased durability thanks to its tough skin.
***
Roy knew there was a certain test in Kaer Morhen that involved a gigantic creature as well. The apprentice witchers must try to sneak past a sleeping cyclop. Anyone who wakes it would be eaten. Fagus was a lot less threatening than that monster. Judging from the information they had, Roy and letho could kill it if they worked together, especially since it was not even defending itself. That was not a plan they could use, however. They would alert the crones to this attack if they did.
Roy turned to the path on the left and went into it. If he was right, this was the path to the peak, and Letho followed him. They carefully avoided every little pebble on the ground. Thanks to the blood, they managed to slip past Fagus. The witchers went through a dark path and ended up at the back of the mountain.
A gale was blowing, and the sun shone on the beautiful plants decorating the mountain. The buildings in the village were just the size of a mote of dust from where they stood. A slithering stone path led the witchers up to the oak tree at the top of the mountain
'Arendelle, Corrupted Oak
Deciduous Flowering Plant
Age: One thousand and sixty years
Place of origin: Velen
??'
Acorns hung from the tree like stars in the sky. Most of them had already been harvested during the banquet in spring. They were given to the ladies' believers. Most acorns were brown and only as big as broad beans, but these were as big as fists, and they were black, just like the tree trunk.
A few golden and pink acorns dotted the tree. They were hidden deep inside the oak, high up in the sky. Most people would find it impossible to reach, but not witchers. Letho rolled his sleeves up and rubbed his hands.
"What are you doing, Letho?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Letho crossed his arms and stared up at the oak tree. For once, he sounded a little childish. "Auckes and I used to climb a lot of trees in Gorthur Gvaed. That was a long time ago. This is nothing for me. Just wait. I'll get those golden acorns right away."
Roy rolled his eyes. "Hold it."
"We don't have time. The crones are coming back soon. We'll die if they find us here."
"Don't you feel it?" Roy whispered. He put his hand on the trunk and closed his eyes. "It's crying," he said gently.
Letho's face fell, and he frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Letho, you know I can talk to Wilt and some nonhumans. Gryphon, for example," Roy explained. "But I can't talk to plants most of the time. This is an exception though. It's sentient. Almost like it's a human."
The oak told Roy of her sadness when he was Observing her. The young witcher saw a helpless woman covered in the filthy mud of the bog in his vision.
"What did she tell you?"
"Try to listen."
***
"Kunguran… Kunguran…" A woman's voice spoke to the witcher's heart when he placed his hand on its trunk. It was a calm, gentle, and reliable voice, but it would tremble and crack sometimes. Obviously, it was under some kind of torture.
Roy took a deep breath and whipped out the bloodstone from his bag. The soul in the stone started ramming its prison, while the woman's voice was filled with delight. It was like two lovers getting reunited after a long separation, two soulmates meeting again after a long time. However, the bloodstone stopped them from seeing each other. It was then Roy knew that the core was actually a druid. There was no other reason for the oak to sound so delighted.
"Kunguran, help me. Save me…"
What should I do? Roy asked in his heart. He looked up at the great tree. I can't take this whole tree with me. That's not possible. I'd have to be as powerful as an elven sage.
"Pain…" The woman could not make a coherent sentence like humans could. She was straight to the point. "Cleanse me… Rid me of evil…"
"What kind of evil?"
"Crones… take… magic… from the land… evil… torture… me…"
Letho was also listening, but he pulled his hand back and massaged his forehead. "So you're saying the crones extract magic from Velen's land and corrupt you with the waste?"
The oak started shaking its branches in response. Leaves and acorns fell, and a cold gust of wind blew in the air. They could hear a woman's sobs around them.
"Calm down." Roy caressed the tree's bark. "We're sorry about what happened to you, but we're just witchers. We don't have any magic, unlike sorcerers and druids. We can't help you, and we don't have much time. We have to leave now." Roy looked at the sky nervously. He had a feeling the crones were on their way back.
"If you can't… then… let Kunguran… do it!"
"How?" Roy could guess what the oak was planning, and he shook his head violently. "No!"
"Please… let Kunguran… take me… nature… rewards…"
Roy held the bloodstone up. He was struggling with himself. Kunguran would destroy the tree if he let her go. The people of Velen would lose their acorn oil. They'll die of starvation. But should I really break this pitiful 'balance'?
"Kid!" Letho shook his head. "We don't have time. Destroy the acorns now and leave!"
"I'll come back and release you from the curse." Roy looked at the oak one last time and gritted his teeth. "But not today!" He fired a few bolts at the biggest acorns on the tree. Three pink and golden acorns fell with a thud.
"Let's go!" Letho waved his hand and tucked the acorns into his ring. He held Roy up by his arm and ran furiously down the mountain. A black cloud of crows appeared in the horizon, and it was fast approaching the mountain.
***
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