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Witcher: The Red Doctrine





Prior to the events of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, a monster slayer from the school of the Viper, Letho of Gulet, embarks on a dangerous hunt.


After accepting a contract from a local resident in Ban Ard, the largest city of the Kaedwen Empire, the witcher has been tasked with investigating the small forest town of Salisbury.


Superstition runs rampant.


Men in the area have inexplicably lost interest in their spouses. The maiden who posted the notice, Abigail Williams, believes that her husband has fallen for another, yet no woman in the village goes unaccounted for and the man has not left the village since. Perplexed by her predicament, Ms. Williams suspects the paranormal and out of desperation reached has out to a professional: a witcher.


This venture is burdened by some additional company, one of the most notable sorceresses of the north, Síle de Tansarville. She comes to the witcher with a dangerous proposition, guised by a thin veil of professionalism. Perhaps concealing his own intentions, Letho tentatively agrees to the sorceress’s requests as the two head out on the path; like oil and water, the two must learn to hunt as a duo in search for answers.



“You are a boor, a philistine and an oaf, yet despite my repulsion we may see a brighter future “


- Lady De Tansarville, 1270



The shoddily made campfire was just one more annoyance that raised the dander of famed sorceress, Síle de Tansarville. She circled the minimal blaze, like a hawk encroaching an upcoming meal; the woman made sure her embellishment was noted by the witcher. The man in question, a sheer monstrosity, draped head to toe in muscle and tightly condensed scar tissue, was scratching his bald dome while simultaneously conducting a symphony of sounds in his mouth that resembled a boxing match between saliva and mucus. Perched on a small stump loosely constructed by the remnants of an old oak, the man was prodding the measly fire with a twig as he finally addressed the woman who was clearly demanding some attention.


“There is something that can be said for consistency, witcher,” Síle said with a curled lip.

The long break in silence was only met with a grunt.

Síle pressed, “Don’t they teach you manners in that school of yours?”

The man cocked his head with a sneer and clearly broke his silence of several hours as his throat opened with a stunning level of baritone; clearly needing a warm up before operating.

“My clientele are mostly peasants and other things that crawl, neither are known for their courtesy.”


A half smirk was all she could muster and attempted to see the horizon through the tree line. Despite being in the heart of the woodlands the sky was indeed visible as the brush could not obscure the plethora of beautiful diamonds that shone down upon them; not even the smoke emitting from the billowing fire could hide the natural wonderment. The expected sounds of the forest were all accounted for, critters trampling leaves, birds darting between the pines and the occasional howl of a beast devouring a welcome meal. Except for the odd nekker, the trek inland had been relatively tame and hazard free.


The sorceress regained her composure and approached the witcher once more. He had been seemingly lost in thought, although, whatever thoughts were circulating in that chrome mass of his were mostly likely primitive in nature. Síle gracefully sat down opposite the man on an equally uncomfortable slab of bark while attempting to maintain any pretentions of decorum. Gently crossing her legs underneath the labyrinth of a dress she had on, the sorceress addressed the man as she unfurled her long black hair and after she retrieved a small brush from her pack. The witcher looked up at her and focused his amber eyes and broke silence again.

“I’ve come across a few sorceresses on the path and the similarities are astounding,” said the man; the impertinence of the statement rolled off Síle’s glossy main as she was combing it furiously.

“Well in that case the pleasure is all yours,” replied the woman, “I must say witcher, I expected the road less travelled but this surely supplants my expectations.”

“These ingredients you want must be worth the dirt on the knee?” the man responded gruffly, as he continued to monitor the fire, which incidentally had greatly increased in stature. The sorceress laughed.

“Indeed witcher, even if this voyage bears no fruit, the experience will be surely worth it.”

“Whatever you say”, he concluded, clearly Indicating his reservation to chat; the sorceress did not heed his suggestions.


“Please tell me this Letho,” Síle put her brush back in her satchel and focussed intently on the witcher. “What beast so foul would cause a bounty like this?”

Aggravated by the incessant barrage of questions, Letho’s remaining answers were curt.

“Notice in my pack.”

“I prefer your honest, unfiltered interpretation.”

“Kill something, one that most likely squats in the mud and collect the change …”

Síle realized that she would pull no answers from him. “Are you certain the camp is safe for the night, I heard some noises most unsettling.”

The witcher grumbled. “Traps are set, Lucy’s Kiss coating the rope around the perimeter to ward of any stray arachas, should be fine.”

The sorceress was not prepared to end the evening, much to his dismay. She circled the perimeter and eyes said traps, nodding with approval as she paced back and forth.

“I must say, while your signs and silly baubles are akin to that of any novice mage, I am constantly fascinated by your lot’s ingenuity.”

“Your praise pleases me to know end”, Letho responded, with words stained with sarcasm. The witcher rolled over on his bed of sticks indicating his will to rest. Síle reluctantly respected his wishes and decided to read one of her tomes that she had brought with her before resigning

for the evening.


The next morning was too early for the woman, the witcher was already awake, seemingly performing his morning rituals; deactivating his traps and caressing his large blade with a whetstone. The noise of stone to steel caused Síle to wake prematurely. Finding her footing she caught a glimpse of Letho who had seemingly ignored her audible discomfort. The man was staring intently at his sword which was the length of its owner and has clearly seen just as much battle. Clearly aggravated by his lack of consideration Síle spat out some early morning venom.

“The cockerel is envious of you witcher!”

Letho responded as per usual, with a loud scoffing noise, reflecting his annoyance as he walked off.


The afternoon consisted mostly of trudging through the woods, with Letho ploughing through the brush and Síle carefully taking her time by lifting her gown and reposturing her hair every time it was met with interference. The mass of meat immediately halted, causing the sorceress to slam her face into his bicep.

“Damned lout, watch your stepping”, Síle blurted out.


Letho merely raised his hand, and the woman immediately fell silent. Síle gripped her ivory staff which often doubled as a walking stick and any façade of annoyance slipped away, replaced by concern. The witcher retracted one of his daggers from his vest which was half the length of the average arm. Síle’s fingers tightened around her staff. The sounds of the glade were deafly silent. Mere seconds later a massive palm gripped the hemline of Síle’s frock and hurled her to the ground. Spitting out a mound of dirt the sorceress looked through her momentary haze and through tiled vision saw a familiar figure along with one that she did not recognize. He was wearing an loosely button beige shirt with nothing more than a jerkin and a tattered pair of black boots. The vagrant was brandishing a short knife than was dwarfed by that of the witcher’s; despite his disadvantage he lunged at Letho with complete disregard for his own life. Síle reached for her staff with haste and by the time she glanced over her shoulder towards the target it was too late. The stranger’s head was leaving his neck as it slumped from his shoulder. What was once white was now crimson and as the man crashed to the dirt.


The witcher was using what ever piece of fabric that had not been stained with blood to clean his own blade. As Síle found her feet she screeched out, “Devils witcher!”

With a surprising act of kindness Letho extended a hand and Síle grasped it with a pale expression plastered on her face.

“On your feet, witch.”

“Pardon, let me regain composure.”

“He’s been on us since the morn.”

Síle’s temper began to rise as her face transferred from ghostly to rosy.

“And yet you say nothing?!”

Letho spoke with a comforting level of experience.

“Needed to see what he was after…your head apparently”

“Me?” Síle stammered.

“We are on the edge of town”, stated Letho.

“So, you expect this has to do with the contract?”


Síle regained her composure as well as a modicum of confidence.

“I must say witcher, you are quite adept.”

“…That a thank you?”

“Indeed, it is”, replied Síle.


After the sudden interruption, the two hastily returned to their trek through the woods, the scent of civilization was getting closer and closer, furthermore, the wildlife was slightly retreating further into the forest. Letho craned his neck towards de Tansarville.

“These ingredients worth the risk after all milady?”

Síle responded with a chuckle.

“That remains to be seen, the frae berries of Salisbury are known for their regenerative properties that are in short supply back home. The locals will not part with them without demanding a hefty sum, unless of course they no not their value. Obtaining a witcher’s services was both logical and fortuitous.”

“You seem oddly at ease for a lass who almost lost her head.”

“Conjunction or not, a lady must learn to adapt or lest she, as you said, lose her head.”

The witcher stared at her blankly, the slits in his pupils awarding her a dull response.

“My, my, my, Letho of Gulet, I do believe we have arrived,” Síle said with an ample level of assurance.


The forest suddenly gave way to a small hamlet, small enough to remain obscure but large enough to become self sufficient. The hallmarks of typical Kaedweni architecture were mostly present; stone bases, wooden structures and red clay laden rooftops. No more than two stories each, except for a singular three-tiered house which rested in the centre of the town square. There were gaggles of women, moderately dressed hauling wheelbarrows filled with equal mixes of lumber and straw transporting them from one house to another. Clearly the deforestation process was a constant factor of daily life. The bedding was mostly chipped copestone which showed evidence of moss and other weeds creeping through its foundation. The entire village was practically visible through a single, immobile gaze, yet surprisingly, it appeared to be expanding rather quickly, despite its minute population. The fact that the town was molested by the local woodland was not lost on its appearance, roots and branches crept in through the earth, seemingly linking the two ecosystems.


The focal point was obviously intended to be the solitary fountain which each house faced, however, it was inexplicably missing its key attractor; the customary oceanic geysers were absent. The stone almost glistened a milky white hue, indicating a level of tender love and care that the buildings sorely lacked. Inside was a basin filled with rustic coins, what once was an ordinary oren had half its bronze coating scratched off leaving no insignia to speak of.


Despite the witcher and the sorceress clearly standing apart from the rest of the locals, no one seemed to notice their entrance. Before Síle could point out the discrepancies Letho was trudging towards the nearest building while scratching his underarms which could be heard from several meters away. If his lack of decorum could not be traced then his pungent odour would be. “Where do you think your going!” Síle hollered.

“Wet my whistle”, Letho mumbled. It became painfully obvious he had already sniffed out the local tavern; putting his witcher senses to use.


Síle was patting down her dress, realizing that she was now in public and needed to present herself as such. Shedding any residue of her adventure thus far, each slap of the linen created a small cloud of soil, so much so that it caused Síle to succumb to her sinuses as she let out a sneeze. Despite Letho’s interruption her focus remained fixed on the fountain. Approaching it slowly she peered into the steel basin, it showed no signs of rust, indicating high levels of care. The coins however were not shown such fortune, they looked old and many of them showed signs of mud and grit. The sorceress reached into her dress and dropped her palm into one of the many hidden pockets that were concealed by the sheer amount of cloth. When her hand was visible again it was gripping a small piece of parchment. She then proceeded to fondle each coin with her left thumb while murmuring under her breath. She then quickly stuffed the parchment into her the abyss of her frock before she was quickly interrupted.

“Can I help you madame?”

The sorceress craned her neck to the side and noticed someone of modest means addressing her. It was a middle-aged woman, short grey hair with patches of soot on her cheek. She was wearing a tightly wrapped beige shirt that extended all the way down to her knees. Despite her course appearance she had a pleasant smile that put Síle at ease.

“Indeed, you can”, Síle responded with an artificial smirk.


Letho stood up from his seat and went over to compensate for his ale that he consumed rather quickly. The barkeep was a middle-aged man with short dark hair, dressed in modest linens that only pointed out his lack of financial security, despite seemingly owning the only pub in town. The witcher reached into his pocket and flicked a coin towards the man.

“You go now”, the man uttered with haste.

Letho stared at him blankly and barged through the doors into the sunlight. He noticed Síle still standing in the square, seemingly lost in thought. She quickly noticed his presence.

“Didn’t fancy a snifter?” said the witcher.

“I thought you lot were supposed to be professionals”, Síle replied with a scowl.

Letho merely responded with a belch that made Síle’s skin crawl as she rolled her eyes. The sorceress then straightened her spine and began to speak with authority.

“Now listen witcher, see the basin trapped within this monument?”

Letho lazily directed his vision to where she was pointing. “Hard to miss it”, he said.

She continued, “well I have deduced that…” Síle began to unfurl a roll of parchment that appeared to be plastered with several fingerprints that emanated a bluish hue.

“These coins were only handled by men…” Letho curtly interrupted.

Síle was visibly taken aback which greatly heightened the witcher’s mood.

“A positive surprise for once witcher.”

“You should go to taverns more often witch.”

Síle smiled, “perhaps your right although they likely don’t serve drinks to my liking”.

“Who was you new friend?”

“Perceptive aren’t you, funny you should bring that up, at first glance I thought it may be the one who posted the notice, alas it was a mere laundry maid. Fascinating as she was seemingly holding back her enthusiasm under false courtesies.”

“Years of balls and fancy silverware adorned meals teach you that?”

“Your sarcasm and lack of decorum is perhaps your least admirable quality witcher, now if you would let me finish; she uttered code through her tongue, fortunately I think I managed to decipher it.”

“Come again?” Letho said while not attempting to hide his confusion.

“The grove is especially appealing after dusk…” Síle was massaging her brow, “indeed a curious incident as she mentioned nothing of the contract or even the beast.”

Letho interrupted, “we are being watched.”

“I should think so, we do rather stand out”, Síle said quietly.

“That is not what I meant, a man darted around the corner after I looked his way.”

“Well the sight of you would send most people running for the hills”, Síle said while barely containing her snark. “My curiosity is peaked; shall we rendezvous at this so-called grove when the sun begins to fade? I must gather supplies in the meantime”

The witcher nodded and walked away.


The grove was located on the other end of town, opposite to where the duo entered the town. The witcher was yet again muddying his boots with the filth of the brush but was not as bothered by it compared to the sorceress. Síle was sitting on a nearby rock, pouting by her lonesome as she was chipping dirt from her stilettos while cursing the land under her breath.

“The novelty of his voyage has dissipated faster than expected”, she scoffed.

“Just stay behind me, wouldn’t want you to wear out the diamonds on your dress.”

“Well if you had any sense in that dome of yours you would know that these are not diamonds but Zerrikanian pearls, much more valuable.”

Letho had already lost interest and pressed on.


The sun had disappeared completely; while not as heavily shadowed by the towering birches, this grove was still secluded enough that it would illicit a similar sensation. As the two hunters progressed the witcher immediately thrust his forearms in front of Síle yet again. Before she could verbally chastise him, her face went ghostly pale which was becoming quite the trend as of late. The only clearing in the forest was littered with death; several bodies were crumped, most bleeding profusely but Síle remined silent. Letho knelt on one knee next to one of the victims as he scanned the others with his black slits. There was nearly a dozen, and the blood that was being displaced had clearly been there for some time due to the discoloration.

“All female…All from the village,” said Letho softly.

Síle managed to spit out several syllables, “Are you sure?”

“Your friend is here too, not very talkative as her neck has been cut.”

Síle fell silent, “speculation witcher?”

Workin’ on it, do you job and I’ll do mine.”


The two then briefly separated and began to ply their trade.

As Letho was studying each corpse, Síle was circling around the perimeter dousing the soil with a milky white powder that was being released from a small hip flask. She again began to mutter under her breath as she placed a candle at several markers around the grove. Letho had finished examining the bodies and was met with a request from Síle.

“Would you be a dear and light these will you, I would but I have several more preparations to see too.” For once without a fuss Letho approached each candle and flicked his fingers. A spark flew from his cuticle to the wick. A small flame now flickered in its place. Moving from candle to candle he glanced over at Síle who was now sprinkling some sort of local herb over the previously applied chalk like substance. “Step back witcher,” she hissed.


Letho obediently walked away from the scene and plopped himself down on a severed tree stump and began to pick his teeth with a twig that was retrieved from the ground. His personal grooming was short lived as he noticed several pebbles moving by themselves. In fact, the entire grove was now agitated. The sorceress moniker was now earned and on full display. Síle’s eyes were emanating a light shade of blue, which matched the flames that sprung from the powder that replaced the soil. It was quite the spectacle but the witcher did not budge.


Each corpse now possessed a ghostly echo, dancing in the moonlight; both haunting yet beautiful, the witcher was slightly taken aback. Síle’s hands were swirling in the air as her eyes were focused intently. The marionettes were moving around, trampling the dead bodies, not impeded by their proximity. Several ghostly figured from the tree line joined the party and started to converge. As this happened Letho understood the witch’s intention. Each ghost was fell by blade and arrow and the intruders departed as quickly as they came, leaving the grove with their cohorts lying upon the corpses. The candles flickered one last time and extinguished themselves as a gust of wind swept the area. Síle fell to her knees and the area was silent yet again. Letho stood up and approached her position, offering a hand which was promptly declined. Síle stood up and proceeded to pat down her dress.

“Well then…” she said.

“All men” the witcher replied.

“Seems that way. Perhaps there was no beast”

“Succubus”, said the witcher with a blank expression.


“All the signs.”

“Please avail yourself.”

As Letho spoke he was circling the corpses that were previously teeming with life; “While you were gathering your pixie dust I was doing some investigating of my own. Upon reading the notice I had my suspicions, however, succubi typically enthrall one mate at a time, rarely more; furthermore, their scarcity in these parts led me to believe otherwise.”

“Met a lot of them in your time, have you?”

Letho ignored her query and continued.


“I spoke to many of the men in town, all of which had similar symptoms, I won’t bore you with the details the sake of brevity but there are several word traps that indicate subjugated soul. Certain gaps in the mind are present when under the influence, simply put, one’s long and short-term memory are hampered. Without blowing our cover I did not inquire as to the contract per say, simply drinking with several lads led me to question their time before arriving at this town. I consistently bounced back and forth between what they did yesterday to what they did, say, a year ago.”

“Quite clever witcher,” traces of admiration were now present in Síle’s voice.

“Your spell merely confirmed my suspicions. The entire male population, or what is left at least, has now been affected.”

“That would explain the coins…” said Síle.

“Not quite, we know they were only used by men but not why, and we have no idea where the creature keeps its lair. Lucky for us I have made contingencies, Pardon me m’lady.”

Letho left the grove briefly but before Síle could complain the oaf returned, yet he was not alone. Síle screeched, “What is that?!” Letho had a length of rope slung over his shoulder, attached to it, a dazed man, long greasy hair that seemed to merge with his unkempt facial hair. He was hogtied and sported several bruises over his arms and cheek.

“My precaution”, Letho grunted.

Síle bent over and stared deep in the man’s eyes.

“It appears he is under the influence of one of your silly witcher hexes.”

“Indeed, he is.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“While you were out shopping, I was shopping for answers so to speak.”

“Very poetic witcher. Now what good is this?”

“Go ahead, question the lout.”

“What is your name?” Síle said with a strong and assertive tone.

“B-Baxter, ma’am”, the he mumbled.

“Good to meet you sir, my name is Síle. May I ask where you cam form?”

“Salisbury ma’am.”

“Lovely town”, said Síle with all pretention she could muster. “May I ask what the coins in the town basin are for?”


Síle continued, “For what?”

Saliva started to come from the man’s mouth. His eyes were shuttering and his next sentence was less that intelligible.

“Where did you come from?”

“Salisbury ma’am.”

“Have you heard about a beast in the area?”

The man started to drool yet again, confirming the woman’s suspicion.

“That will be all Letho”, said Síle abruptly “take him back to town.”


Letho made a sign with his hands, contorting his fingers into unnatural shapes and patterns. Suddenly the man was lucid and before he could stand up he was bleeding profusely from his neck.

“Damn you!” screamed Síle.

Letho was cleaning the blood from his dagger as he sheathed it yet again.

“You want to find this bitch or what?”

Síle was clearly sorting through many emotions in her head but eventually succumb to a gentle nod of the head.


This was perhaps the shortest hunt in the witcher’s career. Upon returning to the town square the witcher and sorceress noticed that seemingly the entire population was loitering near the basin.


Notably all male.


They were shuffling about and immediately halted when they spotted the duo. The sight of Letho drawing his steel blade from his back raised Síle’s hackles, however, none of the men were doing the same. The witcher’s cat like eyes darted from side to side, scanning the predicament, immediately finding the source of the hunter’s anxiety.


“Greetings, Letho of Gulet.”


A soft voice was emanating from behind the town monument. A small tale unfurled itself, followed by the clattering of small hoofs and the brushing of neatly trimmed fur; sounds the witcher knew all too well. A figure stepped into the open, a bizarre amalgamation of mule and woman. A similar height to that of the sorceress, the creature stood on its hind legs, showcasing its regal violet cloth that covered her luscious breasts. Síle was no longer the sole attractor in eye sight. While the lower half of the body was that of a beast and the midriff be maidenly, the head seemed to be a perfect blend. Two large, circular horns, akin to that of a mountain goat, were placed upon long locks of dark hair. Unlike many beings of this ilk, her skin was crimson, lighter perhaps than the blood that had been spilled earlier. She ran her hand through the basin, cycling several coins through her fingertips.


Síle’s concern was well masked, giving way to her famed professionalism.

“Was the grove your doing?” she asked.

The succubus parted her large lips to begin speaking.

“Of course, not dearest.”

“Well, the work of your admirers then”, remarked Síle.

The beast arched her back and was stretching out her arms, seemingly out of boredom. “I can’t help what those do for me.”

For the first time Letho opened his mouth.

“This Abigail lady, Ms. Williams, I assume you dealt with her already.”

“I was very disappointed she filed that notice, an occupational hazard I suppose,” said the succubus. “Sorceress, you must have your fair share of attractors surely you can relate.”


Síle moved closer, “The difference is I know when to turn them away.”

“She has a way of doing that,” scoffed Letho. “I have never heard of a succubus to have so many subjects, clearly you leave quite an impression.”


“Indeed, I do witcher, but tell me, the contract has subsided, the giver is dead, why not leave me to operate as I see fit?”


The hoard of men that were lining the perimeter were stepping closer. Notable scowls were spread across their dirty faces. Síle was looking as fierce as ever, “Surely you must have known someone would come?”

“Someone did come, and then another, and another, now you are here. I wish you no harm, you may leave freely, I will even award you a small reward for your troubles. I assure you, the men here are happy and well looked after.

“Husks,” said Síle.

“Only those who willingly commit are occasionally called upon, nights like these for instance.” As she spoke, several of the coins slipped through her fingers.

“And those?” Síle said while pointing towards the currency.

The succubus smiled. “Well, my bedchambers can only hold so many, those who no longer burn for their spouse can find one in me. These coins are a reminder, for them and for me. A crude system I admit but over the coming days, more and more people desire someone who reminds them of their youth, rather than the inevitability of death. If one wishes to swap a crow’s foot for a hoof they merely ask.”


The monologue was cut short as Síle’s arms whirled through the air as she screamed her ancient teachings. Letho caught on quickly and took a knee, contorting his fingers yet again; a gold shimmer encased his flesh, hardened to the touch. The succubus looked on in bewilderment, her eyes widening by the second. A noise than was akin to the sound of morning thunder punctured the air as a large wave emanated from the sorceress, blowing back the gaggle of husks, knocking them to the ground. A large gust of air than only rattled the witcher slightly but rendering his hex now useless. It mattered not however as before the men could regain their composure the mountain of meat was barreling towards the location of the succubus. Letho now had a fistful of a beautiful, wispy mane which he used to propel the beast to the ground; she let out a shriek that was filled with an equal amount of surprise and pain. Letho clutched one of the horns and hoisted the woman up to his bust, facing the side of the basin the witcher slammed her forehead into the monument, creating a noise that rivaled Síle’s magic. The beast’s face added a shade of red, dripping town into the basin filled with coins which now sported a new colour. The witcher repeated the process multiple times in quick succession until the sounds of the succubus subsided.


The husks began to find their feet, which Síle had recognized.

“Haste witcher!”

A ripple in the town square protruded from Síle’s hand; an oval break that the witcher recognized as a teleport, commonly used by mages. In a matter of seconds, the conflict was absent, familiar trees were seen over top and the scent of the weeds were as pungent as before. It was clear that the teleport was linked to another section of the previously trampled forest. Letho recognized the foliage but now the exact coordinates. Síle was attempting to catch her breath, “Pardon witcher, this was the first place… “Síle’s mouth opened to ungodly proportions before she could finish her sentence.

“W-What is t-that?” she stuttered.


Dangling from Letho’s leather belt was a mass of hair and horns, still dripping with blood. The mouth of the succubus was dangling open and her eyes that were once full life was no more. Her jaw line was askew and the pupils were facing opposite directions; a sight that made Síle nauseous so she kept her eyes fixed on the witcher’s face, although that was not much of an improvement.

“For all those books, you read you still don’t know spit about witchers, I don’t carry around severed heads for jest. The horn of a succubus can fetch a good price down south; also, many superstitious folks believe they increase one’s own sexual productivity.”

“Do many of your contracts go awry?” said Síle

Letho just stared blankly as the two began to walk north.

“Cat get your tongue as well as your eyes?”

Letho replied calmly, “Everything went as expected actually, and I even have something to show for it”. The witcher then gave the head of the succubus a rattle with his massive palm.

“I do not know what you mean,” replied the sorceress.

“Trouble in the North I hear; did I pass your little test?” Letho said blankly.

“Indeed, quite the show, your bedside manner is astonishingly poor but I half expected you to leave once you found out there was no payment on the horizon. At what point did you figure out that the contract giver was dead?”

“Before dusk, but tell me witch, how goes the hunt for the berries?” said the witcher with all the sly of a feline ready to pounce.

“I needed to see you in action, see if you would deliver, commit to something, that sort of thing. My allies and I require someone both tenacity and commitment to the task at hand.”

For the first time on their joint venture the witcher smiled.

“Humour me witch.”



Thank You For Reading.


I Hope You Enjoyed It. Look for More Stories and Adventures In The Future.


If you would like to provide feedback or have any other comments please reach out to my email address: [email protected]


Also if you enjoyed the illustration please check out Oleg Rotar on Artstation.

Witcher: The Red Doctrine

Prior to the events of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, a monster slayer from the school of the Viper, Letho of Gulet, embarks on a dangerous hunt. After accepting a contract from a local resident in Ban Ard, the largest city of the Kaedwen Empire, the witcher has been tasked with investigating the small forest town of Salisbury. Superstition runs rampant. Men in the area have inexplicably lost interest in their spouses. The maiden who posted the notice, Abigail Williams, believes that her husband has fallen for another, yet no woman in the village goes unaccounted for and the man has not left the village since. Perplexed by her predicament, Ms. Williams suspects the paranormal and out of desperation reached has out to a professional: a witcher. This venture is burdened by some additional company, one of the most notable sorceresses of the north, Síle de Tansarville. She comes to the witcher with a dangerous proposition, guised by a thin veil of professionalism. Perhaps concealing his own intentions, Letho tentatively agrees to the sorceress’s requests as the two head out on the path; like oil and water, the two must learn to hunt as a duo in search for answers.

  • Author: Jeremy Bowes
  • Published: 2017-06-30 01:20:09
  • Words: 5445
Witcher: The Red Doctrine Witcher: The Red Doctrine