Triss Merigold.
A lazy afternoon with a sexy sorceress in Kaer Morhen. (witcher's world, redhead, curvy, shapely)
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The July heat was stifling even on the mountain trails, but the higher climbed, the more he felt the invigorating coolness of Kaer Morhen. The witcher from Griffin Guild adjusted the strap of his shoulder pad, gazing at the towers looming in the distance. Northern Kaedwen was harsh, but for him, it was merely a stopover on the way to old Vesemir. He hoped that beyond the walls of Witcher's Stronghold, he would find not only shade but also companions from the Wolf Guild, with whom he could exchange experiences from the road over a mug of ale.
When reached the jagged walls of Kaer Morhen, he pressed his fingers to his lips and let out a short, piercing whistle—a signal that in the past had always drawn someone to the battlements. However, he was met only by the hollow silence of the July afternoon and the whistling of the wind through the gaps in the merlons. Concerned by the total lack of response, he pushed the heavy gate, which yielded with a long, drawn-out groan. Instead of a bustle of greetings, he found only an empty courtyard; with his hand on the hilt of his sword, he headed deeper into the stronghold to search for its inhabitants.
's heavy footsteps echoed through the Great Hall, yet no one came to meet him. It was only near the extinguished hearth, where the chill of the stone walls mingled with the mustiness of dust, that he noticed a peculiar sight. On an improvised bed, surrounded by a pile of ancient volumes brought from the witcher library and an army of empty bottles, a chestnut-haired woman lay fast asleep. The Witcher paused, frowning—the sight of a lady in such a disheveled slumber in the very heart of the Keep was the last thing he expected this July afternoon. took a step forward, and a stone slab beneath his foot wobbled slightly, disturbing the silence of the hall with a dull thud.
- Who the hell are you? - asked the suddenly awake woman.