3 Meeting the Brotherhood

After their initial shock at the revelation, Atram and Vesemir pooled their thoughts to devise a plausible explanation for Atram's arrival in this world. However, their efforts soon proved fruitless.

Vesemir, apart from describing the cataclysmic event in further detail, could not add anything to the table. Atram, on the other hand, seemed to have a gap in his memory. As, the last thing he remembered was that his party intended to split up for some months, after they were done with their current dungeon delving.

"So you don't recall anything that could lead to you having all these injuries or your transportation here?" Vesemir asked worriedly.

Atram shook his head. "I am afraid not. Did I have any of my gear on me? Like a backpack, a staff as black as night, or my greaves and bracers."

"You didn't have anything like that on you. In fact, you were pretty much naked; apart from a pair of blood stained breeches, you didn't wear anything else."

Atram sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. Everything seemed so strange to him, and nothing made sense. So, he gave up understanding his situation for now and got up.

"Where are you going? You can't possibly be thinking of leaving now that winter is here. Besides... where would you even go?" Vesemir chastised Atram, noticing him preparing to depart through the arched entrance leading to the outer courtyard.

Atram gave a hearty chuckle. "Relax, I won't be going anywhere just yet. Although, I feel bad imposing on your hospitality, so I'll help clean up this mess. Seeing all this clutter lying about, somehow tarnishes the picturesque image of this ancient fort."

"At least we agree on that, and it would be impossible to lift some of the tree trunks by myself. As for the hospitality, think nothing of it. You seem like the decent sort, so I'll allow you to winter with us." Vesemir said with a hint of affection and cracked a smile.

"Us?"

"I'll explain while we work. You see those stairs over at the eastern wall? Good, climb them and throw everything over the battlements."

The pair started to work, and Vesemir went into great detail about what the witchers were, their purpose, and the arduous trials they had to go through to become one. He also informed him of the plight of his order. Their dwindling numbers and the xenophobia that people had against them.

Atram listened intently, and by the end of the crash course, he had developed a newfound respect for the elderly man. On the contrary, he couldn't comprehend why people feared them. They risked their lives for meager scraps of coin, yet they were the ones standing between the world's monsters and the common folk.

"It's not that simple. I don't know how things in your world are, but here, xenophobia and mistrust reign supreme. The people see us as nothing more than hired mutants, monsters necessary to kill other monsters. We are not, however, as innocent as you believe. The order may have begun as a cohesive force for good, but infighting about our purpose caused a schism and finally resulted in the formation of distinct Witcher Schools. One of them, the School of the Cat, did not share the noble ideals of the original order. They are known for their ruthless tactics and willingness to take on any contract, no matter how morally questionable, even resorting to assassination," Vesemir explained, his voice filled with both anger and sorrow.

"I see... Still, it is a shame that such an exemplary order has fallen so far from grace. Yet, something doesn't sit right with me."

Vesemir raised an eyebrow at that.

"You see, in my world, there are also monsters. Some can be found in their natural habitats, while others are created in something we call 'dungeons'. Creatures in the open are relatively manageable; we either avoid encroaching on their territories or, if they pose a threat or offer valuable materials, we exterminate them outright."

"However the ones in dungeons are unpredictable. If you allow them to multiply, the natural resources can't support their numbers, resulting in a grand exodus we call a 'stampede'. I suppose you understand where something like that could lead."

Vesemir gave a nod. "Depending on the monster, there could be immeasurable casualties before they were put down. Still i don't see what that has t-"

Atram raised his palm. "I'll get there. To combat this threat, the rulers of all races convened and formed a multinational organization, akin to a guild. The Adventurers Guild recruits and trains highly skilled individuals who, once prepared, form parties and undertake various tasks based on their specialties."

"My party, for example, specializes in monster extermination and dungeon clearing. We have a frontliner, a sorceress who controls the field and coordinates us, a ranger who scouts ahead and provides ranged support while examining the terrain, an infiltrator who targets high-priority foes, and a bard who offers support with alchemical potions and magical enhancements," he explained, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Vesemir thought for a while and finally arrived at a grim conclusion. "We were spread too thin. We may have spells, but they pale in comparison to a mage's spells. Our senses and martial prowess are superhuman, but that came at a great cost in lives. And, most important of all, we work alone, leading to further unnecessary deaths. Even in the 1000s, which was considered the golden age of our profession, we rarely hunted together."

"Precisely, the system was f-"

"Who goes there?" Vesemir exclaimed aggressively and drew his steel sword.

Atram, furrowed his eyebrows at Vesemir's mumblings, but soon two figures passed the arched doorway that connected the inner courtyard with the rest of the fort. Both men had heavy black cloaks that concealed their garments and facial features. However, the two swords on their backs and the slightly glowing eyes beneath their hoods were a dead giveaway.

The taller of the two pulled down his hood and approached Vesemir. "It's good to see you haven't lost your touch, old wolf." The man spoke with a metallic bass voice.

Apart from his eyes, which were similar to Vesemir's, the most prominent characteristic was a long, hideous, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear. He had thick, dark brown hair that was styled in a middle part, and a youthful face that belied his age.

"Eskel! Welcome back!" Vesemir rejoiced and clasped Eskel's hand near the elbow in a firm and brotherly greeting.

"It's good to be home," he paused, glancing around. "Although, I'd be happier if said home wasn't cluttered with... whatever 'this' is," he replied, gesturing with his hand to indicate the disarray surrounding them.

The other figure approached Atram and pulled down his hood. He had black, slightly receding hair, and his face, apart from a horizontal, three-clawed scar that ran from his forehead all the way down to his right cheekbone, looked the youngest but also the fiercest.

He stared daggers at him, his eyes burning with an intensity that would make any man flinch. Yet, Atram was no ordinary man. He had faced countless monstrosities and abominations. By all accounts, he was a seasoned warrior. Thus, they stood, locked in a glaring standoff, the tension between them palpable and almost suffocating.

"If you have a problem with m-"

"I don't trust you, pup. And I don't care if you have Vesemir's permission. Annoy me, anger me, or simply look at me the wrong way; and I'll cut you down," the man growled, his words dripping with hostility and aggression.

"Not only do you lack any manners, but you also eavesdrop on other people's conversations. Are you a weasel or what?" Atram, as a veteran adventurer, had met many similar people and knew exactly how to win them over. Furthermore, he didn't shy away from a 'pissing' contest; on the contrary, he relished them, as they often led to satisfying exchanges.

His gut feeling was spot-on as the guy went for his sword's handle, but Atram wasn't one to rely on fancy weaponry. Swift as a lightning bolt, he closed the distance with blinding speed. Executing a vicious semicircle with his right leg, he halted just as his heel was about to connect with the man's neck.

Impressively, he had managed to draw his sword, but Atram's agility caught him off guard, causing him to stumble backward. Only the supernatural reflexes inherent to witchers prevented his fall, as he regained his balance with uncanny ease.

"Alright, that's enough from both of you!" Vesemir shouted in a reproaching tone. "Lambert, what is wrong with you? Eskel told me you had been listening for a while, so you must know the situation Atram's in."

Lambert now looked at Atram with curiosity and slight excitement; his previous enmity almost completely gone. "A man almost destroys our keep, and you offer him your hospitality? Have you gone senile, old man?"

Eskel was almost brought to tears by laughter. "Oh, shut up, Lambert, you simply wanted to test him. And you got your ass kicked! Just wait until Geralt shows up with the ale; he'll get a kick out of this!"

"Fuck off Eskel! You saw how he moved! No man his size has any right to move like that." Lambert tried to justify his loss. "Vesemir, are you certain he is human?"

Atram approached Eskel and extended his hand to him. "Atram Visoren, it's a pleasure meeting you." He turned to face Lambert, "As for your question, no, I'm not a pureblooded human."

"Eskel, and the pleasure is all mine. Welcome to Kaer Morhen and to our world," he reciprocated the handshake warmly. Despite the prominent scar marking his face, his eyes exuded gentleness, and his demeanor remained calm and polite.

"Human or not, he is like us, a mutant. Even if he is not a witcher , I want you to treat him with the same respect and hospitality as any of our own. And that goes doubly for you, Lambert!" Vesemir barked, glaring at him.

Lambert's expression softened considerably, and he muttered something under his breath. "I am not convinced that you are completely innocent in all of this, but I'll drop it for now."

Atram gave him a mischievous grin. "I'm an open book, if you ever want to confirm anything, simply ask, sword sheathed or not, and I'll answer accordingly." He responded and offered his hand.

Lambert was 'pricky' at first and simply stared at him with his arms crossed. Nevertheless, he eventually relented under the scrutinizing glare of Vesemir.

With the initial greetings concluded, Vesemir made his way over to Lambert, while Atram approached Eskel.

"It might be rude of me to ask, so I'll get to the point. That scar on your face... I know it must be especially itchy and painful this time of year. If you want to, I can heal it." Atram whispered, trying to be discreet.

Eskel shook his head and traced his index finger along the scar. "Not even the best potions we have could fix this thing. Besides, the scar is old, and the skin has healed rather nicely. You should have seen it when that damned girl gave it to me."

"I know this sounds silly, but trust me. If I am confident about anything, it is my healing abilities. Give me your dagger, and I'll show you."

Eskel was skeptical for a while, but his curiosity won out. He unfastened his dagger and gave it to Atram, who proceeded to... stab his palm. The blade managed to pierce the skin but barely penetrate the flesh underneath.

"Why do I always forget..." he muttered to himself and pushed the blade harder until it finally broke through. He lifted his hand and showed it to Eskel, who had a horrified expression when he saw the pool of blood trickling down his hand.

"Are you crazy?! Why would y-"

"Don't worry about it, observe." Atram cut him off nonchalantly.

The other witchers, startled by Eskel's yelling, broke their conversation and looked at the happenings intently.

Atram pulled the dagger out and focused his immense vitality on mending the wound. In a matter of seconds, the hole in his palm began to rapidly close. New flesh replaced the old one, and the jagged, evicerated surface of his hand was tightly sealed with smooth skin.

The witchers stood, mouths agape in astonishment.Even, Vesemir, who knew Atram's incredible gift of regeneration, could not believe the speed at which the injury had closed. What was even more impressive was the absence of any scarring; it was as if the wound had never existed at all.

"No matter how many times i see it, it's still hard to accept." Vesemir marveled as he watched Atram flex his newly healed arm.

"You weren't joking when you said he is a mutant." Lambert chimed in with a stupid grin on his face.

Atram gave Eskel's dagger back and shook off the remaining blood. "Now, do you believe me?"

Eskel snickered slightly. "I'd be stupid not to. As for the scar, you are absolutely right. Every winter and rainy day, it hurts like hell, so i'd be glad to get rid of it."

"Great, the only thing yo-"

"I brought the ale, help me load it up the stairs."

A husky voice that sounded like a whisper, came from the entrance. Atram tilted his head and saw a tall, milky white haired man with multiple facial scars, trying to haul a huge casket of ale up the stairs.

The man looked around at the crowd, and the chaos that surrounded them. "What did I miss?"

His expression and the way he appeared were so natural that all of them burst into laughter except for the man who initiated the question.

"Welcome back, Geralt! Come inside; we have a lot to discuss." Vesemir exclaimed merily.