This I set somewhere just before Witcher 3, the game, but after Witcher 2. I'm reading the novels right now, having played the three games and I am slowly becoming a huge fan.

It is rated mature because I plan on having some amount of pain cause to my OC, along with potential rape, torture and adult material. So if that sort of thing bothers you, don' read it!

It's based on a half-formed idea I have. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

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The tavern was dark and damp, its windows grimy from years of neglect, the earthen floors moist and black with dirt, the few candles placed on various tables unable to bring any sort of warmth or cheeriness to the place. The innkeeper was a middle-aged man with a rapidly receding hairline, teeth as black and crooked as the floor of his tavern and an eternally sour look etched onto his face, always leering at those seated in his bar with a look of disgruntled abandon. Those who frequented this place were also dark and damp, a rabble of unkempt thieves, graceless looters and heartless bandits that seemed to be itching to pick a fight with the first newcomer.

It was no fit place for a woman; that was sure.

But yet there she sat, alone and relaxed, in one of the darker corners of the filthy establishment.

One uninformed and blind might mistake her for an easy prey, but the few people present in the tavern at that moment had already heard of her: they knew she was not to be taken lightly. Besides, it took but a glance to see that this was no ordinary, travelling maiden: she drank coarse beer from a huge tankard, her boot-clad feet resting on the table in front of her. She wore dark and tight boiled leather clothes and a light chainmail shirt. On the chair next to her hung a sword belt with two small, light swords, of which only the exquisitely etched hilts were visible. Out of one of her boots peaked another hilt, this one belonging to a knife of some sort. There was a finely shaped wooden short bow resting against the wall behind her, along with a quiver full of arrows tipped with some sort of black feather. She wore her coin purse on a belt around her slender hips, for all to see, clearly daring anyone to try and claim it.

The young, dark-haired woman stared at the room with bright green eyes, unafraid, the hood of her travelling cape pulled back. Nothing about her posture let on that she thought herself in any danger and it allowed anyone and everyone to understand that they could approach her at their own risk. She was not unpleasant to look upon: her skin was rather pale and very even, except for an ugly scar that barred her right cheek all the way down her neck to her shoulder, courtesy of some fight gone awry. Her features were sharp and hard and an experienced eye might be brought to question her human heritage, especially considering the slight point to her ears, which peaked out amidst her lightly braided hair.

"Girl!" One of the patrons cried out, waving at her from across the room. "How about a game of Gwent, you and I?" His voice was slightly slurry as he rose from his seat and she noted he was wavering on his feet.

She smirked. "Why not?"

As the man stumbled slowly to her table, she removed her boots from it and sat forward, chugging down the last dregs of her dark beer and signaling the surly innkeeper for more. He obliged, picking a new, filthy glass to fill with the undrinkable alcohol.

As the man who had challenged her neared her table, she pulled out a pack of cards from a pouch at her waist and sifted through them absently, waiting for her beer and for the challenger to be seated. She paid the innkeeper for the drink with a shiny coin, which the Gwent player did not fail to see exchange hands.

She saw the greed in his sloshed eyes.

"What shall we play for?" The woman asked innocently, shuffling her deck.

The bandit looked at her with a wry smirk. "How about for your cunt?"

She snorted. "Fine by me. So long as if you lose, I get to cut off your cock and feed it to you after roasting it on a spit."

At those words she raised her eyes and crossed his gaze. He swallowed his reply when he saw just how hard and cold those green eyes of hers were…

"How…" He swallowed as he sat down in the chair facing her, suddenly sobering up. "How about we just wager coin, then?"

"See, I like that sort of wager much better." Her voice was amused, but her eyes were still like ice, an unwavering warning. "How does five Novigrad crowns sound?"

He nodded hesitantly and pulled out his own deck. He was playing Northern Realms.

She preferred Monsters. It suited her better.

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The game went smoothly. She won the first round but gave him the second, always wary of a Scorch card that could throw her off her planned strategy. They were both two cards away from finishing when the door to the tavern swung open on rusty, complaining hinges, and let in some of the dim light of a fading day. She glanced up and saw a man in a long, dark robe enter, look around mildly and head slowly to the bar.

"Try this on for size!" The bandit playing her smirked widely as he set down the very hated Scorch card, forcing her to pull two high-worth siege cards from her lines, pushing her score just under his.

Her lips twisted in an ugly smile. "Not so fast…"

She set down a weather card, rendering his own siege cards useless. Since she'd lost her two best ones, she had little points left to lose on that line.

The bandit swore, banging a fist on the table and threw down his last card: the same weather one she had just used. He was four points behind her; she had won. The girl put away the final card she hadn't played: a Crone, which would have given her victory anyways.

"Pay up." She extended a hand, casually glancing at the robed man near the bar: he was talking to the innkeeper, who nodded towards her.

The bandit threw five gold coins onto the table with another sequence of most vile swears and stomped back to his table, where his mates were loudly mocking him with hoots and slurs. She ignored them all, absent-mindedly picking the coins from the sticky table as the stranger that had entered the tavern came slowly closer.

She deigned look up at him only when he had reached her.

"Good day. May I sit?" He asked quite politely, pulling back his hood. She saw he was a most handsome human man, long black hair tied back in a ponytail, bright blue eyes shining. His hands looked soft and clean: he was clearly no fighter and she could just make out richly cut clothes beneath his heavy travel cloak; mostly likely he was a mage of some sort.

She gestured to the chair in front of her, putting away her gold and cards. He sat down gracefully.

"I seem to be quite popular today. What can I do for you?" She asked.

He took a moment to examine her and she stared back at him, unflinching. His eyes stopped on the swords hanging in their scabbards on the chair next to her and he nodded.

"Quite the lovely work on those hilts… they are of elven make, are they not?"

She shrugged. "Yes. They're not for sale."

"I'm not looking to buy them… I am called Ekrayn of Poviss. Mage. What may I call you?" He stared back at her.

She supported his blue gaze for a moment, wondering what he really wanted from her.

"I'm Alyra. Of nowhere and everywhere. Traveling mercenary."

"It's not very common to see woman mercenaries… especially… unless I am mistaken… on that is half Aen Seidhe…" He squinted at her slightly, taking a moment to look at her slightly pointed ears and fair complexion.

She pursed her lips. "Just as it is uncommon to see a mage of Poviss in a dilapidated tavern in southern Velen." She snapped, not kindly. "What is it you want, Ekrayn of Poviss? Be quick about it: my patience is short and my temper, shorter."

The mage nodded politely. "Of course. The innkeeper mentioned you were a Witcher…"

She cut him off. "I'm no Witcher. See my eyes? No slits. Besides, as you so aptly noticed, I am a woman. There are no woman Witchers. But there are woman mercenaries, even half-bred ones." Her smile was not pleasant. It was bitter.

"The innkeeper said you were a monster hunter. Took contract for killing beasts. That sort of makes you a Witcher, does it not? Forgive him his ineptness." The mage shrugged.

"I take contracts for killing monsters, true. But it takes more than a few monster slays to become a Witcher." She drank deeply form her tankard. "I do forgive his lack of knowledge, though. I asked him for any contracts in the area when I first arrived and he had nothing to offer. I guess once you spoke with him, he knew to direct you to me. So what exactly it is you need me for, Ekrayn of Poviss? As a mercenary I do take on many a job, provided the pay is worth my time." She observed him cautiously over her tankard as he nodded.

"There's actually a reason I am in the middle of nowhere, Velen. There's a certain spell I need to perform…. Ermm… away from potential casualties, you see…" he sighed. "I'm gathering knowledge on certain dangerous species and need to summon one. I'm looking for someone who can kill it for me once I have summoned it and help me carry it back to Poviss."

She stared at him flatly. "Poviss is a long way off. You expect me to haul some unnamed beastling hundreds of leagues on horseback, somehow praying it won't decompose in the process? I believe you'd best hire a burly man and horse-drawn carriage than a mercenary, it seems. Ideally with swift horses."

He smiled humorlessly. "Most of the travelling can and will be done by portal. Makes for a much shorter and safer going. And I don't just need muscle, you see. I need someone who can fight and hold their own against a dangerous creature…"

"I'm no hero." She cut him off suddenly. "I'm not looking for glory, so all your talks about dangerous beasts are just raising the price tag. And I'm not overly fond of traveling by portal. So cut to the chase, mage. What creature do you want me to kill and how much do you think it is worth?"

He cleared his throat, staring at her. "I cannot tell you exactly what beast it shall be, for matters of secrecy, however…"

"Then I cannot tell you I am taking this job. Good day." She snapped, raising her tankard and looking away, feinting disinterest. Truth was, she needed the coin. She's traveled far and wide in her adventures, but of late, it was hard to find work. The war had impoverished the land, sucking the villages dry and turning friend into foe on the long roads of wilderness between the cities. People were suspicious, hungry and stingy and that made for a terribly dangerous combination. She's had to fight off bandits more often than neckers of late and it was doing nothing to help her gather spare coin.

"However," The mage continued, lowering his voice. "I am willing to pay you five hundred Novigrad crowns for the work. I shall pay any expense along the way and will even send you back by portal from Poviss to wherever you need to go, once all is said and done."

Alyra had to fight to not spit out her foul beer at the mention of the price. She'd been expecting two hundred crowns at most for the work… but five hundred? It was more than enough to keep her well-fed for a while and send some back home…

For a moment she stayed silent, carefully weighting her options.

"But I mustn't know what I'm going to face until I am facing it, correct?" When he nodded slowly, she sighed, knowing how little choice she had. "Make it five hundred fifty crowns and we have ourselves a deal."

The mage smiled widely, extending a hand to her to shake. She seized it with a firm grasp, feeling his soft, gentle hands in her rough, calloused ones and wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake…

Then again, she had years of brutish, intense training and leagues of knowledge and techniques to back her up, no matter the situations she got herself into. She'd faced terrible odds and won. Or faced terrible odds and run. What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words, as they said…

"Pay me a third in advance. The rest upon completion." She ordered as they rose form their seats. When she saw him reaching for his pouch, she made a gesture to stop him, nodding at the bandits seated in the tavern. "Not now. Wait till we're on the road. No need to attract a hoard of hungry scavengers atop your mystery beast."

The mage nodded sagely and turned away, walking towards the exit.

Alyra sighed, grabbing her sword belt and securing it tightly around her waist, one light sword on each side, ready to be drawn. She strapped her quiver to her back, the leather band running over her chest, between her small breasts, and threw her bow over it so it held on the quiver. With a shrug, she decided to down the remains of her tankard in a long gulp, grimacing at the terribly sour taste of the liquid inside… truth to the matter, the beer tasted just like the innkeeper's face looked…

Before leaving, she flicked her hand at the candle burning at her table. Folding her fingers into the signs of Igni, she extinguished it briskly, smiling sadly.

No, she was not a Witcher. But she had a trick or two up her sleeve and more than one arrow in her quiver…

It was with a determined step that she walked out of the tavern and into the fading daylight.

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I do hope you like my characters and the setting. I'm a Witcher fan (I'm Polish so I read the books in Polish) ad this is really just me expressing an idea that's been starting up in my mind… I'm not expecting many reviews, as the fanfiction aspect of the Witcher world is somehow, sadly, lacking, but any comments are appreciated.

I'm shipping mainly OC/ Eredin. Am I crazy or is he not even a choice in the choice of characters?