Witcher

[Lillian Gray]

Witcher - a man born of mutant blood, his life is forsaken to take up the blade and pursue the monsters in the dark others would care to forget to the nightmare.

Geralt of Rivia may be gone, but in his wake are the others. Witchers trained in under different masters, selling their souls for coin. There's a new face though, one of ill fate for the world who recruits other under his wing in a path of destruction.

So let's take him down.

A copy of the map can be found here.
Elder Speech dialogue can be found here.
Information on Witchers can be found here.​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

The rain poured hard on the crumbling rooftops of the brothel's inn. Dominik had no interest in the painted whores in the rooms above him, the calls of men's pleasure being something off a disgust to his ears. Especially not having spent the past few days in the hell hole of a city, he'd come to know the locals by their gargled cries after fucking the whores. He'd find pleasure another time, in another city where the coin flowed a little more freely and the men didn't have names on the streets. He picked up the cup of ale and threw his head back, there was little pleasure in the taste. It was almost stale against his tongue with the frustration he felt with the current situation. Whores and beggars screamed their obscenities above him, gamblers and cheats fought through the night below him. There was no haven, no matter which city a Witcher went to, there was no welcoming hand to guide him through the town, not a second glance at the eyes which screamed of murder.

Flotsam was the town he currently stayed, the ale was easy and the work nothing more difficult. Nekkers had inhabited the forests once more, having been cleared when the infamous White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia had come through some years prior. At the same time, he'd also managed to get the infamous Iorveth captured, kill a mutated and overgrown Kayran, and kill off the local sheriff of sorts, Loredo. Flotsam was lawless, full of whores, and full of contracts for him to fulfill. It was his kind of work, and the added bonus of free room and board in a whorehouse wasn't bad. The only problem was the city. He hated the atmosphere.

"Witcher?" A man stumbled up from the basement of the inn, jabbing his hand towards the white haired mutant. "Yo-you said you'd be riddin' the-"

Whatever he wanted, it wasn't clear. The Witcher eyed him up, golden orbs of the trade giving him a stern look. The man stumbled back down and the instance was over. The whole room was silent as they watched the man's every move. Witcher's were once feared, hated beings. They still were, but had it not been for Geralt his presence would've been shunned.

Dominik fumbled with the chain around his neck, a menacing wolf medallion hung on the end. The Witcher hadn't the pleasure of studying under Geralt, but he had the privilege of being from the same school. The wolf was their symbol, and the medallion aided him wherever he went. A Wticher was never seen without a few things. One being the medallion of their school, and the other a famed silver sword. Silver was key in banishing most creatures, but the Witcher himself was also just as important. Without his improved skill and ability, a normal man wouldn't last five minutes with any beast.

"Come now, Witcher, don't be shy!" One of the whores approached his table. "Come on upstairs, we can tumble for a while."

"Fuck off." He growled.

"Oh, sour one." She teased. Her hand reached for his face, but he swattered her away easily. At the action she finally scowled, folding her hands across her barely covered chest.

"I said, fuck off." He repeated. Dominik looked up to her eyes, signing with his hands beneath the table. It was an old trick, and when his hands stopped moving, her eyes grew glassy.

"Of course, Witcher, good'day." Her voice was far in the distance, the trance the Witcher put on her would fade as soon as she was gone. It was nothing harmful, he just didn't want to be bothered.

Dominik slammed the glass on the table and stood from his seat in the inn. There was work to be done, most of it at night when the Nekker population was above ground. Nasty little things they were. He strutted from the inn and out of the town's fortified walls. They were once guarded with Loredo's men, but since his passing, the town had gone to shit. Guards were nowhere to be seen on the walls, instead flaunting their cocks at the local prostitutes. The only ones watching the walls were the local Scoia'tael forces, but they did so behind enemy lines. An elf in the city was a dead elf.

He rolled his shoulders and pulled his silver sword from his back. It slid effortlessly from its sheath, glowing grossly in the pale light of the moon. From deep in the woods he could hear the cries of monsters unknown, it was Witcher's work for sure. Slaying them was never easy, but the pay was well worth the fight. Coming back with a new scar only meant a better story in the end. So he smiled, his golden eyes glinted eerily to those who might have seen, and trekked on into the dark. The pay was always worth it.

Witcher's work, he reminded himself, it would always be worth it.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Golden rays peeked through a shrouded sky, covered in the thickness of leaves and branches of the forest canopy above. Occasionally, a breeze as soft as a lover's caress would trickle through the brush and surround everything in a warmth that could not be mimicked by much else. Laughter would carry on the wind as if the gods whispered in a joyful tongue, and sometimes a drop of morning dew would fall from the earthy cover and grace her skin with a little kiss.

She missed those days terribly.

Aniela woke in the same forest from a dream of times long past. She looked up at the barren canopy that no longer covered the ground as it once did, burned away by time and war and a plague of humankind, and the breeze which broke through was neither warm nor welcoming. This is not the forest of my family anymore, and it will not be again. She ran her fingers through her hair, gathered her things and hopped down to the dirt from her tree branch hammock above.

A small pond still remained about a quarter mile south of where she had made her bed for the night. The water was fresh and cold, a welcome gift on a hot day that this was sure to become. Aniela knelt beside the break and cupped liquid in her hands, splashing it upon a face as fair as a lady's. But Aniela was no lady, and if she ever was those days had been burned away with what was missing from her forest. After filling her empty skin with pure water, she stood and slung her bow over her shoulder and began her trek further into the heart of the woods.

Was it mystery that called her on her quest? Was it a revenge she knew she was incapable of reaping? Or was it a fool's errand conjured by the useless ambitions of a small girl with not much to her name? These were questions Aniela could never seem to answer no matter how often she repeated them in her mind. Even the birds could not reply. She clutched the pendant around her neck and yearned for simpler times, when the promise of a future was plenty and her only job was healing the sick and wounded.

Now, however, there was no one to heal. No one left to fix.

A broken branch snapped her attention as the craa-aack! resounded through what was once a forested paradise. She whirled around and searched desperately for a place to hide, finding a nearby hole in a tree trunk that would serve well for her needs. Aniela hid there until the suspect of her fear emerged from the shadows of dead trees and shattered bushes.

Witcher.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Goddamn you're ugly!" Dominik lurched forward at his target, slicing its head off in one clean blow.

Nekkers were nasty business. They looked like small trolls with thick claws they used to rake at their opponents. It was never just one nasty bugger either, they came in hordes of six or more at a time. Once one knew something was wrong, the others came running, and running, and continued on until the whole nest was on you. One of the rats jumped on the Witcher's back, clawing at his face with its claws. Small lines of blood beaded at the surface of his skin before he managed to throw the Nekker off his hide.

He cast a symbol, Quen, a shield of sorts which might aide him for a few moments as he collected his bearings in the middle of the fight. The Nekkers around him jolted back away from the field, as touching it could prove deadly to their claws. Every Witcher knew a few basic spells, but nothing as powerful as a mages'. Aard, Yrden, Ignis, Quen, and the Axii symbol to finish. Aard was something like a force field, one which stunned enemies no matter their size, trolls being the exception of course. Yrden was something of Dominik's favorite. In order to get this sign to work, he needed to slam his fist into the ground, which was always quite dramatic in a public fight. Anything that might step on the spot would be shocked in place, at the mercy of the Witcher's blade as they were stuck there for a few seconds. Ignis summed flame, Quen protected him momentarily, and Axii was nothing more than simple persuasion. He'd used it earlier on the woman at the inn, as he'd noted, it was nothing harmful when used carefully. It could take over the mind of one for a moment though, which turned the tides of many past battles.

His time was up, the shield dispersed, and Dominik spun out with both swords in hand. While the steel blade may not have done much more than scrape the surface of their hides, it was enough to get them bleeding. The silver sword came crashing into every beasts chest and they stumbled awkwardly to avoid the taste of steel again. It was too late, Dominik flashed a wave of fire, Ignis, around him and they slowly burned in their places until they were ashes on the ground.

They troubled him little after the display of fire, running back to their dens. It was easy work now.

Dominik pulled a device from his belt, a small bomb he'd crafted with the help of local blacksmiths. Once inside the ground, it would disperse like a snake throughout the tunnels, blasting them to smithereens. The Witcher smiled upon hearing the sound of the collapse, the dirt falling awkwardly in places around him. All he'd need now was the head of one of the creatures, and it was proof of the deed.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

The glittering magic was something Aniela had never seen before. Her people had taken great care to avoid Witchers and their craft due to the disturbing stories coming from the East, of a great cursed being who took all manner of criminals and turned them into slayers of all creatures, but surely such a plague would not have reached these parts just yet. Had they? There was no way to be certain. A deadly curiosity about her drove Aniela to the verge of inquiring about his business once the fight had ended, but she valued her life more than she valued stupidity, and so her tongue was stayed.

At least, momentarily.

Aniela's attention was snagged immediately when her safe haven began to fill with smoke. Fire! The tree is on fire! Knowing she would risk discovery should she parade out in the open, it was either risking her head or guaranteeing her demise. The risk was infinitely the better option. Coughing and gasping, Aniela scrambled from the hole in the trunk and out onto fields of hard, stale grass, the orange glow of flames meeting her eyes as they devoured the dry wood of her solace. She watched with a heavy heart, the Nekkers and the Witcher all momentarily forgotten.

"Ugh," she groaned, pushing to her feet and brushing off dirt from the bottom of her cloak. The heat from the fire was beginning to turn her skin a light pink, and she backed away slowly to avoid being caught in the trap.

He is bound to see me now. What if he is a dh'oine? I can't go back to slavery again. Aniela drew her bow though she knew it was no match for a Witcher's skill, keeping an arrow loosely nocked and ready to draw. There was no knowing what she would need to prepare herself for, or when, but the threat was present and that in and of itself gave her reason to exorcise caution.

Hesitantly, she crept towards where the Witcher was last seen, marveling silently at the remnants of his power where they were marked in the earth.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

So that's who's been hiding.

Dominik turned his head to see an Elven girl coming towards him. He paid her no mind, her footsteps were awfully loud for someone of the forests, but it was most likely his mutated senses being over cautious. She drew her bow, but didn't fully load the arrow, he could hear the sound from where he was picking apart Nekker remains. The heart made a valuable resource for some of his potions, the blood was a valuable poison to some. He set up a small station of sorts, pulling out vials to salvage what he could. Then there was another set of footsteps, and he had to stop. The Elven girl wasn't moving, it was something else.

"Down!" He bellowed at her, shoving his hand on her shoulder so she might fall to the ground.

The Witcher wasn't a moment too late, a massive endrega came down from the treetops, having been watching its home most likely being burned down. He'd almost forgotten about the beasts. They resembled scorpions and spiders, the majority of them anyways. They were highly venomous to every being alive. Dominik had his silver sword jammed in its claws so it might not bite him. Just one touch of the venom and he'd be seeing stars for hours, any more than a drop and it was lights out. He glanced back at the girl on the ground, she was indeed Elven, but he found no markings which indicated her unit. So she wasn't Scoia'tael then? Odd.

"Stay back, don't touch it!" He ordered her.

The beast shrieked at Dominik once the silver sword was free of its gaping mouth. It scurried along the forest floor until it was just near his face again. Dominik grunted with the effort it took to force himself away, for added measure he cast out an Aard symbol. The Witcher flew back, and the endrega was stunned where it stood. As he sat on the floor regaining himself, he had the wits about him to get the girl to do something, be that run or fight.

"Go for the thorax, or run, I really don't care." He scowled, but he was back on his feet soon enough, sword raised before him.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela fell hard to the forest floor the second he laid a hand on her shoulder. She had almost rose again to bark some sort of protest and explain how rude such an action had been, but at the sight of the scorpion crawling quickly across the grass all sense of language seemed to fail her. Terrified, Aniela scrambled to her feet and fumbled with the arrow, nocking and drawing, hoping to get a good aim on the creature before she released.

She was never supposed to learn the ways of the bow and arrow. Born with an affinity for healing magic, spells and potions, she was trained to aid the sick and wounded Scoia'tael‏ whenever they came with need of her. Word of her skill had traveled far and wide throughout nonhuman communities--even dwarves came seeking her assistance. The White Witch she was called among the dh'oine, among those who did not understand what they witnessed with their own eyes, but among those who appreciated her skills she was simply known as Haela, the Elder word for "medicine". It was hardly magic and more sleepless nights of studying, though there was a fantastical element to her performances and oftentimes she frightened those in attendance.

It was an old art, the mastery of healing, one that required a mentor. But when the humans came with their hatred and their nets of slavery, the mentors were gone and all that was left were memories of a better time. It was then that she knew healing would not be enough, and more practical weapons had to be pursued.

Aniela eyed the scorpion, aimed a moment, and released. Not particularly skilled in weaponry, she missed the first time but hit home on the second, stabbing the creature right between the eyes with an arrow made of steel. That only aggravated it more. It retaliated with a swing of a massive tail in her direction, which she was fortunate enough to duck under at just the right moment.

"Witcher!" she shouted above the chaos. "Witcher, look out! The tail!"

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Effortlessly the Witcher was able to hack off the endrega's tail. It screamed in protest at the lost limb, and turned to make a meal of Dominik but the fight was over. Thick blood poured from its open backside, and it staggered as it pressed on towards the man who attacked. The silver sword came down one more time with a final thud. The Endrega's head came clean off and it collapsed in a heap of legs and other bits.

Dominik was panting heavily, his shoulders heaving with a small bit of exhaustion. He'd been prepared to fight the Nekkers, but nothing after. Had it not been for the minor aide of the Elven girl, he felt like it would have been a lot more deadly, with more serious consequences to bear. So long as it was dead, there was no time to waste in collecting the venom. It was far more precious than any Nekker remains and he was sure there was a contract out for a few ounces of the stuff anyways. It was dark purple in color, oozing out from special glands in the creature's mouth.

With his sword sheathed and his worries subsided, he felt he could hold a normal conversation with the girl. She posed no threat, certainly not with her aim. Dominik hadn't missed her arrows flight. There was something else she must have possessed which made her valuable, something which made her stay in the hell hole that was Flotsam. Years ago it had been terrorized by the local Kayran, a beast with six massive tentacles, thick as ship masts, and venom so powerful it would make even a Witcher drop dead without the aid of powerful defensive magic. The Kayran had scared away most of the Scoia'tael, and Ioverth had taken the rest on his plight with Geralt of Rivia. So why was she here? What kept her in the woods of Flotsam?

He cleared his throat as he checked his gloves for tears. Dealing with Endrega venom was careful business. "Girl, what are you doing out here. Town is that way, I'm sure the local guard would be most appreciative of your aim." He took a jab at her archery skills, not meaning much by it, just being casual.

Dominik pulled a vial from his belt and began to harvest the purple muck. He waited for her answer without giving her a second glance. Small, Elven, not too good with an arrow. She certainly wasn't a Scoia'tael archer by any means, nor a fighter by the look of her clothes.

"And you're welcome. This beast woul've killed you in that hole in the tree, that's its nest."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

She felt her back straighten and her demeanor stand on edge the second he spoke, careful to analyze everything he said in search of some form of trickery or falsification. She had grown from childhood knowing that Witchers could not be trusted, but Aniela had a long life to live if the gods were good and she was certain this would not be the last monster slayer to encounter her. Clearing her throat, Aniela returned her bow around her shoulder and stood in a more relaxed position. She even dared to closer the distance between the two of them.

"Thank you," she said respectfully. It was true that Witchers were generally feared, and she had been raised to think no differently, but he had saved her life and she owed him a shred of kindness. "I didn't know those things still lived in places like this. They weren't here when I was little." But when I was little, everything was different. "I, uhm. I think I hit it with an arrow. Do you mind if I take it back? As you can see, I clearly need as many of them as I can get."

Aniela was not at all ashamed to admit her lack of skill with a bow an arrow--oftentimes, she jested about it with those she was comfortable enough around to make jokes. But it was the only source of protection she had, and she would utilize it until she became just as good as anyone else. no matter how long it took.

Slowly, she walked forward and yanked the arrow from the skull of the scorpion with much difficulty. Aniela felt a fool, certain he was laughing at her within his mind, but it mattered little in the end. She put the arrow back in the quiver after cleaning it and looked upon the stranger once more, examining him when she was confident he couldn't see her prying eyes.

"Uhm. Do you need any help? With gathering things or harvesting parts of the Nekkers, or healing of some sort. As repayment for my life, I suppose." Unless this dh'oine thinks himself too pure for an elf's favor, in which case I'll regret trying to help him.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dominik watched her as she pulled the arrow from the Endrega with great difficultly. It was no wonder, their skulls were as thick as stone. He was impressed it stuck at all, even more so she had the strength to pull it out. The man shrugged in response, offering no criticism that time. He'd have to get a look at her arrows, whether or not they were tipped in silver to fight the local beasts. Although he sincerely doubted it was the case. There were no mines in the area and because of Loredo's absence in town there was no regulation in the ports. Silver was expensive.

He considered her offer for a while, then remembered the scratch on his face. When he pressed his fingers to his cheek there was the sticky sensation of blood on its way to drying. There wouldn't be a scar if he was lucky, he already had plenty anyways, but too many on his face gave him a reputation of being more menacing than he actually was. Dominik was crude at the least, but he wasn't a terrible man. There was already a scar flat across his nose, extending from one cheek to the next, and it earned him plenty of looks. Or maybe it was the eyes, that was more likely the answer.

"I'd be a fool to say no." He decided. "Don't touch the Endrega though. Not unless you want to wake up lame and drooling."

The Witcher motioned to his face, where the blood was streaming down in three vertical lines just beneath his right eye. Most people wouldn't look him straight in the eye, the golden eye looking more like a cat's than a man's. It was unsettling, but he was used to the sudden darting of another's eye when they looked his way. He was supposed to be cursed, his eyes the source of all evil. Of course, that was all bullshit, but he'd let the people believe what they wanted.

"What about this?" Dominik asked. "The healing arts are your specialty then? It certainly explains your fighting stance."

He shook his head, not wanting to insult her any more than he already had, and resumed pouring the Endrega's venom into small vials. That would be enough to last him for a while if he needed, but he'd keep a vial for himself in case he needed. The venom was hard to come by, seeing the difficult nature of the beast which required slaying. A Witcher's help was required when it came to any manner of beast, trying to fight it head on without the aid of the mutant was foolish. A death wish, he liked to say.

"What's your name, girl?"

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela knelt beside the mutant and lightly traced her finger over the wound without touching it, getting closer to a Witcher than anyone would typically dare. She was always one who crossed boundaries and men who saved her life never seemed to scare her. The cut would be simple enough to heal in a few moment's time, and she opened her small leather pack to retrieve a simple set of herbs and ointments that would assist with the job.

"My name is Aniela," she told him honestly, dipping a delicate finger in the pasty solution and dabbing it on the side of his cheek. "And to answer your questions, yes I am a healer, and no, I'm no good with a bow and arrow at all. But I managed to hit something this time. You should be thankful it wasn't you."

A poorly timed jest to the wrong Witcher could mean the difference between life and death, but Aniela was confident she had nothing to fear from this dh'oine. Upon being gifted with the ability to heal easier than most who chose such a path, she had also been granted an intuition of sorts that allowed her to guess the nature of people before getting to know them. It came in handy in most situations, though she lacked any ability to physically deal with those who wished her harm, and while her readings were always accurate sometimes they landed her in more trouble than the sight was worth.

"Archery is the best means of defense for someone like me. If I risk getting too close, I risk death, or worse, capture. It's better to stay at a distance, and if a fight turns sour I am always faster than my opponents. It works out in the end."

Carefully, Aniela curled her hair behind her ears and waved her fingers in little elegant gestures that encouraged the mending of his skin in a magical fashion that earned her the title of "witch" among the dh'oine. Fitting, that a witch should heal a Witcher. She let her hands fall into her lap when the job was done, examining her work at a short distance before deciding that the task had been successfully completed.

"And who are you?" she inquired curiously. "A Witcher, obviously, but do you have a name?"

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Dominik of Bremervoord." He responded dryly.

The paste on his skin reminded him vaguely of being covered in slime from the swamps in the East. It was cool to the touch, her fingers treading carefully over his thick skin. Most didn't dare to come so close, actually touching him though. He didn't know there was a touch other than that of a paid whore, or the attack of a man's fist. It was, dare he even think it, somewhat nice not to be brutalized by anything. Dominik forced the thoughts out as quickly as they came, thinking himself ridiculous for getting worked up over a mashed slime on his cheek.

"The Brute of Bremervoord some call me." He scoffed. "Not very clever of them."

He lapped up the last of the venom and stowed away what he could on his belt, the rest in a small pouch at his side. It was already filled with other collected herbs and toxins from the local beasts, they were essential in some powerful potions. Most humans couldn't stomach the kinds of brews Witchers crafted. If they weren't vomiting within the hour, they'd be dead in the next. If it sat in the system for too long, the potions were deadly to humans, not always though. Those with either strong stomachs or the energy to pass it would still survive. Even with it being powerful stuff, there was always the option of a watered down mix. That helped.

"What are you still doing in the woods, if you don't improve your arrows-" Dominik pulled one from her back and examined it with a delicate hold. "-Awful, the shaft isn't even straight on this one. How do you survive out here?"

Dominik eyed her carefully. There was really nothing special about her save the healing. Her being there when all the Scoia'tael had gone was oddly suspicious, was there still something in the woods that warranted protection, or was she a straggler left behind by the masses?

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela frowned as he pulled out arrow after arrow, examining them for sturdiness and easy shooting ability. She knew she wasn't the best archer to ever draw a bow, but she certainly wasn't terrible either. I have survived this long on steel arrows and a cheap bow. That has to count for something.

"They aren't mine," she admitted. "I stole them. When you're surviving on your own in a world like this one, you learn the valuable skills of thievery." Aniela was small enough to fit through crawl spaces and sneak through homes without making a sound. It was the only way an elf could get food without being flogged, or gather clothes and supplies without the threat of slavery and captivity looming over her head.

"I didn't know how to shoot until I took it about a week ago. I suppose I'm not that good, but I could be much worse."

This Witcher was a strange one. For a dh'oine, it was remarkable how he neither assaulted her nor degraded her for the ears that peeked out from behind thick snow white curls that corresponded to an inferior race. Most men in his station would rape her and steal her goods, leaving her in the woods to die among the beasts who lurked there. Others might drag her to Flotsam to claim a reward of some sort. And while his taunts were minimal and his intentions seemingly harmless, she couldn't help but remain on a raised guard around a man who instantaneously had a reputation of destroying elvish cultures simply because he belonged to the human race.

"Dominik," she repeated. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Aniela went about picking up the arrows he threw out of her quiver, placing them back where they belonged. He was being honest about the state of them--they wouldn't pass any military regulation, but she was no soldier, just a lone girl with a price on her head and a mission to carry out.

"You don't look like a brute to me."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dominik scoffed. A pleasure? He doubted that would ever be the case. Witchers were bad company no matter where they went, it was as bad as being a nonhuman in a city. The looks he received for just his eyes alone would make women flee, at least being a nonhuman gave them class among themselves. A Witcher was a nobody in both human and nonhuman communities.

"That's good enough for me. Just don't stick around, then you'll see." He warned.

He'd had enough chatter with the girl, Aniela. Whatever she wanted was unclear. She was horrid with a bow, had no one else around her. Yep. He nodded his head in silent agreement with himself, it'd be a week before something like a Drowner got to her. They lurked at the edge of the pools nearby, and if she wasn't careful, they'd pull her in and she'd be a goner. Mentally he waved her goodbye, it wasn't his problem unless she had the coin for hire.

"It's been a pleasure," He mocked. "But I've got heads to turn in and gold to collect."

The Witcher picked up a lopsided Nekker head and held it at eye level. The last bits of blood dropped from the shreds of skin. It was grotesque to look at, and perfect proof he'd done what he set out to do. There were a few hundred orens coming his way, and he'd be off to the next town. There was some business about an emerging Witcher school he wanted to look into. By the sounds of the rising hordes, it was fairly popular, and it concerned him. People didn't willingly become Witchers for a few gold coins, it was dangerous work, taboo work. Where this school was getting followers was a mystery Dominik wanted to crack.

"Turn in a few heads yourself and you might actually be able to buy a working bow." He suggested before turning his back to the girl. They met, he'd leave, and never again would they meet. Dominik waved the Nekker head in the air as a parting gesture.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"Wait!" Aniela called in a hopeless attempt to regain his attention. Dominik had seemed hellbent on leaving her behind in what she knew he believed to be death row, and while she normally would have taken the assumption as an insult Aniela could see where he had drawn that conclusion. And elven girl alone in the woods with a faulty weapon and no sense on how to use it? It was a miracle she had survived this long.

"Hold on a moment." Aniela held out a hand and approached the Witcher where he stood, certain he must have been irritated with her command but it mattered little to her. "You're a Witcher. I'm looking for Witchers actually, and I wonder if by chance you have heard of them."

Heard of them? Of course he heard of them. A new school of slayers had been growing in tremendous, record-breaking size and pillaging, raping and burning their way across the West. There was no way he hadn't heard of such destruction on a massive scale, but she thought it would be better to ask politely. There was no knowing if he was one of them regardless of how "kindly" he had treated her.

"A new group," she explained, meeting his golden eyes. "A horrible one, filled of darkness and decay. They destroyed my city, my home, my family. You may think it a fool's errand but I'm looking for them, somehow, someway, and I want to know if you have any idea of their location."

Any information on the group would be valuable at this point, anyway. She was traveling on nothing more than rumors and intuition. There was no guarantee that Aniela would reach her target alive, or at all, and while the prospect was frustrating she knew better than to give up. It may be a hopeless errand, but it's the only goal I have left. What else can an elf hope for?

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dominik paid her no mind until she mentioned the Witcher school. Had news traveled so quickly? He thought he was one of the few in possession of the knowledge of the slayer school. There were only a few schools in existence, Witchers being a less than desirable position to be in. There were the Schools of Wolf, Cat, Griffon, and the newly formed and recently wiped out - Viper. Dominik belonged to the Wolves, the medallion around his neck proving so. These new Witchers had an interesting icon to display their masters. A star. Wound around a thick chain was that of a morning star. The reasoning behind it was something of an oddity, only a rumor the Witcher heard.

Where wolves and cats stalked the night, and griffons keeping guard of the skies, there was one aspect they seemingly could not fulfill in the eyes of the new school. The stars, whether or not noticeable to the naked eye, were always there. While not shining in they day, they would come back always, something of a dependent being which needed no title. The cult, as Dominik liked to call it, was growing in number and it concerned him greatly. The three schools were sending out whoever they could to gather information on the Star School.

That included Dominik of Bremorvood.

"We are always watching." Dominik said lamely, but with an undertone which spat at the Stars. "I've heard of the school, are you saying they've been this far South already?"

South was a relative term. They were already positioned in the Northern Kingdoms. Flotsam was a ways north of Vizima, one of the Norths' capital cities, but the Star Order was even further up on the map. The best guess as to where the school was located was in the Narok mountain range. It was by the coast, giving it access to ports, but also connected to the main road. It was a good location, problem being no one had been able to find the Witcher in charge.

"I have some idea, but what do you intend to do?" Dominik whirled around and paced up to her spot. His boots crunched hard against the ground as he came forward in a whirlwind of both curiosity and intimidation. "Fight them? Take revenge? I sincerely doubt you'd last a few days in the mountains, it's not like the woods here. There are harpies, trolls, all manner of beast you've never even dreamed of."

He shook the head in his hand for emphasis.

"This is nothing compared to where they are."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela folded her arms, offended. It was not the first time a dh'oine had underestimated her, or a man for that matter, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but she was a proud creature and didn't take to offense very well. It had landed her in trouble countless times considering her race. Gods, it might grant her more vexing situations in the present as well, but she had a temperamental nature and was occasionally too easy to anger.

This was no exception and she intended to let him know as much.

"Do you assume that I have never been to the places you speak of?" she asked, resting her hands on her hips and frowning. "You know little for a man of your stature. Forgive me, but I hadn't made any assumptions about your travels or your origins when you first intruded onto these lands. I deserve the same courtesy, or perhaps the decency to ask questions instead of make assumptions that make me seem a fool."

Aniela gathered what remained of her arrows and shoved them in her quiver, visibly upset. How dare he claim to know where I have and haven't been? I've lived longer than him. I have seen more than he has. He should be telling me these things about the Stars willingly rather than me having to ask for it. She didn't care if that sounded self-entitling or demanding. He had offended her, made a low-level assumption as everyone had in her one-hundred and seventy years of life. It was an understatement to say she was getting incredibly sick of it.

The world would never acknowledge the wrongs committed to her and her people. While that remained an everlasting fact, she still strove to change it, all while carrying a useless bow and obstructed aim.

"I haven't seen them this far 'South', no. But I'm not from the South. I don't belong here, so I wouldn't know. You're the only Witcher I've seen in the past thirty years, so I thought to ask. I apologize if I seemed to have fallen upon the wrong Witcher."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"I never assumed a thing." Dominik folded his arms against the thick leather armor he wore, studded with iron and perfectly suited for his flexible fighting style. He didn't like to be made a fool by an elf, especially not a woman at that matter. Typically race never mattered much to him, being a mutant was a class all in itself and earned him the same stares if not worse than those she might receive. "Do you have the coin to hire me? What is it you intend, that I give you a small bit of chivalry so you might have your petty revenge?"

That wasn't Witcher's work at all. Whatever grudge she held wasn't his problem, it was her own, and she'd have to solve it herself unless she had the coin to hire the Witcher for a full month's work of pay. The North was far away, and a long trek filled with drowners by the ocean road and Nekkers by land. Getting there was a fee in its own.

"You've a faulty bow and nothing more than a grudge, in all your years, wisdom hasn't found you?" Dominik questioned. the head in his hand was starting to feel heavy, the sun would be up in a while and he wanted to catch the first boat out of port. Flotsam only had so much order and the faster he could leave, the better he'd feel. It wasn't a place where information flowed freely, no one in their right mind came to Flotsam for anything but the lawless order and the whores, ugly as they were.

"Witcher's aren't the kindest creatures, didn't your mother teach you stories about us?"

As if on cue his eyes glowed in the moonlight to remind her of his status. White hair, golden eyes, and scars which adorned his body like jewels on a King. A Witcher was no companion nor was he a man to catch up on the times with. He was a sell sword if anything might be said about him.

"We hunt the monsters in the dark you're too afraid to face, and we do it for coin. If you want to learn more about a school, join it. I'm on my way to learn more about this Star school, so I'm sorry if I've offended you, but I don't know anythin'."

Again, he waved the head in the air, jabbing to it with his free hand.

"I've got some orens to collect."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Angrily, Aniela scoffed. This Witcher was as stupid as any dh'oine she had ever met in the past, out of the ones who had stopped to give her any sort of conversation, which were few admittedly. When Dominik walked, she stubbornly followed him as if she had no intention of letting him leave her presence without hearing the final words from her lips, or agreeing to take her along on his quest. Whichever came first. It mattered not to her.

"Wisdom? You are not one I would think to talk of such things, Witcher, for it clearly seems to have left you. I don't know where you plan to put those orens unless you intend on shoving them up your ass. Money, ships, monsters, races, whores--none of it will matter when the Star school descends upon us and the rest of the world. Call me what you will. I have seen it, seen them. You're running the wrong direction with your tail between your legs. Coin will help you reach them, yes, but one Witcher against the entirety of their forces will only get you killed. I can't stop them alone, and neither can you. If you want to have any hope of discovering their actions, either take me with you or deal with how long I will follow you from Flotsam to the North, and wherever else this journey takes me."

Her point fair and settled, Aniela folded her arms across her chest again and tapped her foot against the forest floor. She was losing patience with Dominik's arrogance and his lack of cooperation. It was true, was she terrible with a bow and any other means of battle, but she had survived long enough on healing skill alone and if that power could assist someone else with the same motive, she saw no reason to deny it to him.

"Do you accept? It would be awfully foolish not to. I can be the difference between life and death for you, as I have been for countless people over the past two centuries. I don't want money or anything else, just the protection that your skills can offer and way to help destroy this Star school rising in the other kingdoms."

I don't want your questions. Just an answer.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"You don't want my money, you don't want anything? Is this a joke?" Dominik raised a brow her way. "If anything you should be paying me for having to guard you from peril at every turn. I don't know what kind of skills you have, haven't seen them to the full extent, I don't trust you, I just met you."

He stalked towards Flotsam, but she followed close behind. His mind weighed the options, and they weren't bad. So long as she stayed out of the way, she wouldn't be a bother. Feeding her would require extra orens, but healing, it was an interesting trait to have in a partner and a rare one at that. Not everyone had an aptitude for the arts, and she really had shown her skills, Dominik just liked to ignore that she had any worthwhile qualities about the annoying elf.

"Fine. Follow to your heart's content." Dominik shrugged. "I'll raise a sword for you if things get tough, but if you put your own neck on the line I'm not helping you."

That was the deal he struck. Elves were not well met in many cities, hardly any at all. If she was stubborn inside a city and got in trouble of her own accord then he wasn't coming to the rescue. It'd be her own damn fault, and he'd stay far from the scene and her squeaked cries for help. Hunting humans wasn't his business, nor were politics or race wars. Monsters were what he knew, understood, people were the strange ones with their Kings and wars. To think, he was once human, long before being mutated into the creature he was.

If they left though, she'd have to have a better bow. As much as he hated to, he'd get it for her. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd be able to fire without anything short of a well strung bow and a few silver tipped arrows. Although not normally acquainted in the matters of humans...

...he still wasn't apposed to 'borrowing' a few supplies before they left port.

Silver was damn expensive.