The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf

Sugo, keep your eyes and ears open!

It's frightening the girls.

They wouldn't even be scared...

...if you hadn't gotten lost.

Really, Papa, you grew up in Kaedwen.

King clearly dug new trails.

Is it true, Papa?

Are bandits killing innocents along these trails?

Oh, pumpkin.

There are no bandits.

No!

Sister!

A witcher.

Fancy look.

You must make a killing at druid festivals.

Don't usually see your sorts around these parts.

Ha! I see.

You're a trailblazer, flaunting the new fad.

Trendsetter, you.

Very bold!

Whoa, there. People should get acquainted more, really.

Converse, a little foreplay.

Especially when one's about to kill the other.

Though you leshens don't speak, so there's the rub.

Forest hobo or deadly, flapping swarm.

Let's pick a look...

...and stick with it.

Deadly, flapping swarm it is.

Away. It's not dead.

So kill it. You're a witcher.

There are several ways to kill a leshen.

Behead it, sacrifice a few of its furry pets,

even a few old dryad spells will do.

Which will you...

Garean bhaedh aip me vhoelynath.

Garean bhaedh aip me vhoelynath.

Thought you said they don't speak?

Garean bhaedh aip me vhoelynath.

They don't.

Wait!

Wait. I'm noble blood.

You can't leave me here.

What am I to do?

He said, "Practice your sad face,

and maybe a passerby will offer you a ride."

And what of your sisters?

The witcher said to use my sad face on the alderman too.

So he'd spare some men to...

gather the bodies.

Dry eyes, child.

I'll see that your father and sisters are returned to you and laid to rest properly.

Sugo's father was a treasured member of the Assembly

and a loyal subject to our king.

My students and I resubmit our petition.

Seize the witcher home of Kaer Morhen

and exile its occupants for crimes against Kaedwen's people.

From what the boy told us, Your Highness,

the witcher slew the leshen that was terrorizing our forests.

Lady Zerbst, since when have leshens prowled about Kaedwen,

never mind with such hostility?

Eh?

Oh, you're suggesting the witchers have been staging these forest attacks.

So scandalous, Madam Gilcrest.

Monster species have dwindled under their swords.

They need coin.

Some have turned to mercenary work, others criminality.

One even took a bounty on a cheating husband's head.

And you have evidence to prove your conspiracy?

Or are we to merely bank on your magical intuition?

It's their natures, my lady.

Witchers are the offspring of foul sorcery.

Roaming our lands,

voting themselves the stalkers of evil,

extorting coin from the gullible.

Honest, simple peasants who ascribe all misfortune to spells and monsters.

Mages create the witcher.

Then presume it's our duty to hold the bucket and mop up their brown mess.

I'm with Lady Zerbst on this one.

The witchers remain at Kaer Morhen.

At least until such time as evidence is provided

that supports your theory.

When a witcher inflicts pain,

he experiences ecstasy.

The creature's words are Ellyon.

A dead elven dialect linked to darker times.

Few remember the ancient tongue. Fewer dare speak it.

But how a leshen would know it

or be afraid of some den...

Never said it was afraid.

You speak Ellyon, don't you, Filavandrel?

You witchers are desperate for coin.

Turning to elves for leads on work.

These pleasures do not pay for themselves. What did the leshen say?

"Beware the den of my dead."

Hmm. Things you don't wish to hear in a bath.

Did you notice anything else unusual?

There was an energy in the woods.

Some sort of magic, maybe.

Controlling the leshen, bewitching it.

What's your face?

Over the last four summers,

girls have been disappearing from our ranks.

Oh, God, no elf drama.

The first we feared were deserting us after the last cleansing.

- But the disappearances haven't stopped. - Tragic, really. Very terrible.

One of the first to vanish was a young mage, Kitsu.

She spoke Ellyon. We should return to these forests.

See, I'm a monster hunter, Fil,

not an elf wrangler, not even the murderous ones, but good luck.

A favor to a friend, then?

Favors and friends don't pay bills.

Quite the opposite.

You've really no shame.

I have a reputation and a healthy estimation of my talent's worth.

My apologies for trying to save you from a wasted winter at Kaer Morhen.

Wasted?

Well, there's drinking, eating, sleeping.

All free.

And the training of another greedy gang of young witchers.

I leave that to my peers.

Imagine if you witchers labored for more than just thrill and coin.

Imagine if you elves wielded your swords

as well as you do guilt.

Please! Get them!

Vesemir, get over here!

Where do... Hey! They must go!

Now they're nibbling. No!

Licking. Ooh! They're licking.

Oh! Tongues!

- No! Aah! - Vesemir!

I told you, double knots!

I did, Father. Just as you showed.

Let's see if the boy can handle fetching a wet cloth.

A lesser man would sell your boy to another family.

Yes, sir.

At least my son proves a measure of your generous character.

Head to the market. We will need blue gum to sedate our lady.

- No! - Try not to cock it up.

Please stop! Please make it stop!

- No. - No!

Stop fidgeting!

Aah! Oh!

Oh!

Poor Illyana. I didn't even have to take a shot.

Moron! You could've killed me.

Here to bother me?

The Lord insisted I look after you in the market.

Seemed rather pissed.

We slave away all day long, getting shout at,

and the only coin we get is when we're sent to fetch them goods.

Just be happy you have a roof over your head and your belly's not empty.

Barely a roof, barely not empty. Just enough to keep us here breathing.

Fine.

There's the world.

What would you buy if you had all its coin?

I would get the hell out of this village and travel the continent.

- Adventure? - Of course.

- Glory? - Oh, yes!

Girls?

I'd buy a gorgeous lake house.

My handsome husband and I would picnic and drink wine by the water

as our children played jacks nearby.

You know what we should do?

We should take this coin and buy honey cake.

And how will our lady get her herbs?

- Yes, three more of those. - Fresh mixed grills!

There you are, sir.

Stop! Thief!

Hey!

This way!

- Oh! - Stop him!

Nutcase.

Mmm!

Save some for me!

See, it worked.

I knew it would.

In Nilfgaard,

they'd cut your thieving hands right off.

Make you wear 'em round your neck for weeks.

Smart trick.

Odd loot.

Who you got who's sick?

Where...

Where'd a girl find balls like that in an alley wi' a man like me?

I steal them from smelly cowards who try to bully young ladies.

Who are you?

A humanitarian, whose well-meaning ears have heard of a local lady

lost to madness and fever...

...seeing horrors that aren't really there.

That blue gum will certainly ease the affliction, but, uh...

a sword would kill it.

Name's Deglan.

And you're gonna take me to your noblewoman.

Or I'm taking you two pests back to the market.

A demon plagues this woman.

A mahr.

Puts you down with horrid delusions and feeds off your madness.

Meteorite ore disrupts the demon's magic,

so it can be... removed.

Out. Now. All of you.