Lost Planeswalker

On the road to Oxenfurt

The scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke filled the air as Geralt of Rivia rode his trusty Roach along the winding path towards Oxenfurt. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. He was looking forward to this meeting with Triss, a rare moment of respite from the usual monster hunting and political intrigue that seemed to cling to him like a burr. Suddenly, the air shimmered, not with the usual magical haze of an illusion, but with an abrupt, almost violent distortion. Roach whinnied, rearing slightly, and Geralt’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his silver sword. A flash of purple, a ripple in reality, and then a figure materialized out of thin air, landing with an undignified thud directly in his path.

"Oof!" A breathy, sultry squeak escaped the woman's lips as she landed hard on her backside, her flowing purple off-shoulder gown billowing around her. Matching evening gloves extended to her elbows, and impossibly high, thigh-high purple stiletto boots jutted out at an awkward angle. She had a striking, almost regal appearance, despite her current predicament, with raven hair cascading around a face that held both beauty and a hint of dark power.

Geralt dismounted, his gaze unblinking as he assessed the unexpected arrival. "Well, that's not something you see every day." His voice was a low growl, devoid of surprise, but laced with a healthy dose of Witcher caution. The woman pushed herself up, wincing slightly as she straightened her gown. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, her eyes, the color of amethyst, finally meeting Geralt's. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, a smile that promised both danger and delight. "My apologies, Witcher," she purred, her voice a silken caress that seemed to cling to the air. "A slight miscalculation in my planar transit. One moment I was contemplating the fate of Ravnica, the next... well, here I am." She gestured around at the peaceful, mundane path with an elegant, gloved hand. "Wherever 'here' may be."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his golden eyes. "Here is the road to Oxenfurt. And you, it seems, are a long way from Ravnica, wherever that is." He crossed his arms, leaning casually against Roach's flank. "Never heard of it. And 'planar transit'? You're not from around here, are you?"

Liliana Vess chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Geralt's spine – a purely instinctive, Witcherly shiver, of course. "No, Witcher, I am not. I am a planeswalker, and the worlds I traverse are… many. And complex." She took a step closer, her gaze sweeping over him, lingering on his swords. "You, however, are quite unique. That distinctive scent of yours… part man, part something else entirely. A Witcher, yes? I've heard whispers of your kind, even in other realities. Slayers of monsters, protectors of the mundane."

"Something like that," Geralt grunted, not entirely comfortable with her penetrating gaze. "And you, 'planeswalker,' seem to have quite the flair for dramatic entrances. What brings you crashing into my reality?"

Liliana's smile widened, revealing a hint of sharp, white teeth. "A desperate quest, a war that threatened to consume everything. And a brief, ill-timed escape. My recent endeavors have been… taxing. I merely sought a moment of peace, a quiet place to gather my thoughts before returning to the fray. It seems I overshot my destination slightly." She gestured vaguely behind her. "Though, I must say, your world has a certain rustic charm. Very… bucolic."

Geralt eyed her, his Witcher senses prickling. She spoke of wars and other realities with a casualness that suggested immense power, yet she had landed on her backside like a clumsy novice. It didn't quite add up. "So, you just fell out of the sky looking for peace?" he asked, skepticism heavy in his tone. "Or are you running from something?"

Liliana’s eyes narrowed playfully, a glint of mischief dancing within them. "Perhaps a little of both, Witcher. A powerful foe can make even the most seasoned planeswalker seek a temporary reprieve. But rest assured, my presence here is not meant to cause trouble. Unless, of course," she added, stepping even closer, her perfume a heady mix of exotic spices and something subtly dangerous, "you consider a beautiful woman in need of assistance 'trouble'?"

Geralt sighed, running a hand through his white hair. This was far more complicated than a simple trip to Oxenfurt. "Depends on the woman," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "And what kind of assistance she needs."

Liliana's smile returned, even more alluring than before. "Oh, just a moment of your time, perhaps a bit of guidance to a suitable inn, and maybe… a story or two about this fascinating world of yours. After all," she purred, her gloved hand almost brushing his arm, "a weary traveler often has the most interesting tales."

He studied her for a long moment, weighing the potential dangers against the sheer oddity of the situation. She was clearly powerful, clearly not of this world, and yet… there was an undeniable charm to her, a captivating allure that even a hardened Witcher couldn't entirely ignore. Besides, he had a feeling that trying to simply leave her stranded wouldn't be an option. "An inn, you say?" Geralt finally conceded, a hint of grudging amusement in his voice. "Alright, planeswalker. But if you start conjuring demons in the common room, you're paying for the damages."

Liliana laughed, a rich, melodic sound that echoed through the quiet forest. "A fair agreement, Witcher. A very fair agreement indeed." She took a step towards Roach, her purple gown swishing around her. "Now, about that inn… is it far?"

"Not if we don't dawdle," Geralt replied, remounting Roach. He offered her a hand. "You coming, or are you going to planeshift again?"

She took his hand, her grip surprisingly delicate yet firm. "I think for now," Liliana said, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she settled herself gracefully behind him on Roach's back, "I shall enjoy the scenic route."

And so, the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, found his peaceful journey to Oxenfurt interrupted by a planeswalking necromancer in a very striking purple gown, a meeting that promised to be anything but mundane.