"Bloodlines of the Unknown"- A witcher tale

Rivia's gates loomed ahead, tall and unyielding against the midmorning light. The city was alive with movement—merchants haggling, laborers hauling goods, guards watching the flow of travelers with wary eyes. The air carried the scent of damp stone, burning coal, and the unmistakable stench of too many people crammed into one place.

Kael pulled his cloak tighter around him as he passed beneath the archway, blending into the crowd with practiced ease. He had no love for cities, but he had business to tend to. His equipment was serviceable, but not ideal. His armor—worn and patched from too many battles—offered more restriction than protection. His steel sword, taken from a nameless corpse, was functional but unbalanced. Even the hunter's dagger at his hip, while reliable, lacked the weight he preferred in close combat.

He needed something better.

The market square was busy, lined with stalls selling everything from dried meats to alchemical ingredients. But it wasn't the merchants he was looking for. He moved through the crowd with purpose, searching for the weaponsmiths.

It didn't take long to find them.

The forge was set against the western wall of the city, its chimney coughing dark smoke into the sky. The clang of hammer on steel rang out over the noise of the marketplace. Inside, the heat was stifling, but Kael barely noticed.

A broad-shouldered man, arms thick with muscle and soot-stained from years of labor, looked up from his work. His gaze lingered on Kael's weapons, his sharp eyes taking in the Witcher medallion tucked beneath his cloak.

"Looking for something specific?" the smith asked, setting aside his hammer.

"Steel," Kael answered. "Light armor. And silver."

The smith arched a brow. "You're not the first to come looking for silver, but I doubt you'll find much of it in Rivia. The war's drained supplies dry. That kind of metal's better suited for a noble's vanity than a warrior's blade."

Kael reached into his coin pouch and tossed a small, folded parchment onto the counter. It was a writ of payment from a merchant he had helped during his travels—a guarantee of coin in any major city. More valuable than crowns alone.

The smith grunted. "Guess I'll see what I can do."

He led Kael into the back of the forge, where weapons hung in neat rows—blades of varying lengths, hilts wrapped in leather or wire, some gleaming, others dulled with use.

Kael tested the weight of a few swords, feeling their balance, their grip. Eventually, he settled on a steel longsword—light enough for quick strikes, sturdy enough to withstand prolonged combat.

"Good choice," the smith nodded. "That one's folded steel, holds an edge well. Now, for the silver…"

He led Kael to a separate rack. Among the blades, one stood out—a steel sword coated in a thin layer of alchemically bonded silver. Not pure silver, but enough to make it effective against creatures vulnerable to the metal. It wasn't perfect, but it would serve.

Kael nodded. "I'll take it."

The smith smirked. "You don't haggle much, do you?"

Kael only shrugged.

With his weapons secured, he turned his attention to armor. He needed something light—protective but flexible enough not to hinder his movements. The smith had a set of reinforced leather armor, layered with chain in key areas. It wasn't Witcher-forged, but it would do for now.

By the time the transaction was finished, Kael had everything he needed.

Steel for men. Silver for monsters.

And the road ahead waiting.

With his weapons and armor secured, Kael wandered deeper into Rivia's streets. The city had a rhythm of its own—blacksmiths hammering steel, merchants shouting over one another, beggars weaving through the crowd, hands outstretched. It wasn't the worst place he'd been, but he had no intention of lingering.

He needed supplies. Proper Witcher potions required ingredients that weren't always easy to come by, but a city of this size was bound to have what he needed—if he knew where to look.

The apothecaries were his first stop.

A small wooden sign, faded and worn by time, hung above a narrow shop near the edge of the market square. The scent of dried herbs and crushed minerals filled the air as Kael stepped inside. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with jars of powdered roots, coiled dried serpent skins, and vials of thick, murky liquids.

Behind the counter, an old man in a stained robe peered at him through thick, smudged lenses. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Kael's medallion, but he said nothing.

"What do you need?" the apothecary asked, voice hoarse with age.

Kael ran through the list in his mind—ingredients for potions he had brewed a hundred times before, but also a few he was experimenting with.

"Celandine, bryonia, white myrtle petals," he started. "Wolfsbane, rebis, and vermilion if you have it."

The old man scratched at his stubbled chin. "Haven't had wolfsbane in weeks—too many fools stocking up on it, thinking it wards off beasts. But the rest…" He turned, shuffling toward the back. "I'll see what I've got."

Kael waited, scanning the shelves. He spotted a few things of interest—crushed draconid bone, dried endrega venom sacs—but coin was limited. He had to be smart with what he bought.

A moment later, the apothecary returned, setting several small bundles on the counter. "That'll cost you."

Kael tossed him a few crowns. The man counted them, grunted in satisfaction, and pushed the ingredients forward.

With the basic herbs secured, Kael moved on.

His next stop was the tanner's shop—if he wanted to brew more advanced oils, he needed monster remains. But most tanners didn't deal in such things openly.

After asking around, he found a stall near the outskirts of the market, run by a grizzled-looking man with burn scars across his forearms. Skins of all kinds hung from wooden beams—wolf, bear, even griffin.

Kael approached, resting his hands on the counter. "Looking for alchemical materials."

The tanner eyed him warily. "Depends what kind."

"Mutagenic compounds," Kael said. "Powdered bones, venom extracts, alghoul marrow if you've got it."

The man exhaled sharply. "You're after monster parts."

Kael didn't answer.

The tanner hesitated before nodding toward a small wooden chest at his side. "Not cheap, and not legal in some places. But I've got basilisk blood, nekkar claws, and…" He tapped the lid. "Something special."

Kael opened the chest. Inside were carefully wrapped pouches and glass vials. He spotted the deep red tint of basilisk blood, the jagged shape of nekkar claws, even a dried kikimore heart.

He picked out what he needed, handing over the last of his crowns.

"That's all you're taking?" the tanner asked, watching him.

Kael only nodded and turned to leave.

By the time he finished, his satchel was heavier with ingredients, but his coin purse was nearly empty. He would need to take on a contract soon—preferably one that paid well.

But for now, he had what he needed. Steel and silver for battle. Potions and oils for the hunt.

And a city full of whispers waiting to be heard.