[ It’s a rhetorical question, mostly, since Lambert isn’t in the least bit enthusiastic about reporting this — and reporting is what it is, like a dull recitation of how many forktails one saw fucking on patrol. ]

Followed my nose. [ More literal than Geralt probably even understands, even with witcher senses; new and unwelcome instincts aren’t something Lambert has been happy with. ] Found a few places they sell monster parts around the city. Nothing too legal, but nothing banned, either — nothing stopping monsters selling their own hair or feathers as magic components for a few cunes, or witches selling their blood for money. Enough people are hard up for cash. Broke up a few times it didn’t seem like the monster was keen on being there.

[ He shrugs, casual, even as he recites probably the most embarrassing part of the experience. ]

Guess I caught someone’s attention. Next thing I know, I’m getting knocked out, wake up in a cage of some other poor bastards waiting to get sold off to some aristocrats. Not just for pets, but parts, too. Then some blood-drunk vampire showed up and broke the door down.