Witcher

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him that there was more than enough bedspace for the two of them, but she never wanted to be inappropriate or suggest something that wasn't her intention. While she wanted to send him some sort of signal that it was alright for them to be in semi-close proximity and she trusted him not to take advantage, Aniela thought it would be best to drop the subject matter entirely.

"Good night, Dominik." And for the first time in a long time, the elven girl slept through the night.

When dawn came, Aniela rose from the comforts of the bed and quickly dressed again, removing the knife she'd stabbed into the table from the night before and placing it in the small pouch at her side. She wasn't looking forward to sparring with a Witcher in the slightest bit, knowing that this would be the perfect opportunity to end her life. He could break her with a simple pinch and call it even, toss her body into the river and never think about her again. But if truth be told, couldn't he have done that by now? Why wait until a sparring match that never would have happened had she not suggested a teacher? It didn't add up.

Leaving the sleeping Witcher in his corner, Aniela walked up to the top level of the ship and let the breezes brush around her long snowy hair, and she pulled it carefully from her field of vision with delicate fingers. She always liked being at sea, or this case on a river. The water brought a sense of calm to her anxiety that kept her sane most days, and happy. Her brother had always thought it to be a connection with the healing properties that water brings most living forms. She leaned on the edge of the railing and watched the water move gently past, clutching the light blue cloak closely around her shoulders to keep warm.

"Aniela," came a voice from behind her. She turned to see one of the crewman, an elf she didn't recognize. "The Witcher is waiting for you below deck."

"Below deck?" She wasn't sure that she liked the sound of that. The girl looked nervously to the man who had summoned her and out to the water once more, biting her lip. "Can't he...meet up here?"

"I don't know," the sailor shrugged, "but I don't want to talk to him again and find out."

"Stop it. He's not all that bad." Aniela sighed and walked past him to enter the room where they had shot the arrows, feeling her heart pound in the center of her chest. "Dominik?" she called. "Dominik, come out if you're here, I don't like games." She held herself close.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dominik came up behind her, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. He pressed her hard against the wall, holding her down best he could despite the struggling he knew would come. The air felt wrong around him, and he didn't like it. Aniela's presence only gave rise to the assumption that someone was looking for them. At the very least, they were looking for the only female on board.

"Quiet." He hissed into her ear.

Someone bolted up from behind the crates and attempted to run past the pair. To stop him from fleeing, Dominik stuck out his foot and the man tumbled to the floor with a shout of pain. Dominik released Aniela and reached down to grab the man by the throat. He rolled out of the way, throwing Dominik off balance for a moment. A dagger appeared in the dark, the glint of steel long familiar to the Witcher's eyes, he deflected the man with nothing but a blow to his wrist. The attacker cried out again, and Dominik took the chance to reach down for him again. It wasn't much of a fight, not by a long shot.

"Have mercy!" The man yelled.

"Are you a fool?" Dominik bellowed. "You took my silver blade and expect me not to attack, I asked you, are you a damned fool?"

Now that their wrestling match was over, Aniela would be able to see the state the Witcher was in. He'd fallen asleep with his blades on the floor, as he usually did, his shoes not even on his feet. A smart man didn't sleep with a blade on his person unless it was a short one, not unless he wanted to gut himself in the night. The shoes were more of a preference when he could sleep with them off. After the elf had gone up top, the attacker came into the room for a prize. He hadn't expected to find the Witcher sleeping there. Unfortunately for the latter party, it hadn't waken him in time to save his blade.

"It's in the crate, I swear, you can have it!" The man stuttered.

"Damn right I can!" Dominik yelled. "It's mine to begin with."

He let the man go to retrieve his sword. It was a terrible mistake. He fled to the upper decks, and Dominik only had enough time to grab his blade and go. His shoes weren't even on his feet, but he did have his blades back. Dominik was fast on his trail, stumbling onto the deck in a frenzy of rage. Their attacker was stumbling to get away, he tripped on his own two feet as he scrambled across the deck. The crew moved out of the way at the sight of Dominik stalking forward. No one dared get in his path. Whoever this man was, he should have been considered dead with the eyes Dominik looked a him with.

"Come on, you want my blade?" Dominik screamed, his voice echoed across the cool surface of the river around them. "Take it!"

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"Mm--!" She gave a gasp as Dominik's rough hand clasped around her mouth to keep it shut, and she was pulled back against the strength of his chest. Remarkably, there was no struggle. Aniela trusted that whatever he was holding her for was for good reason, and listened carefully at the footsteps of the stranger that Dominik was no doubt listening to. She remained pressed between himself and the wall, remaining intently self-aware in case the Witcher's hands wandered in places where they didn't belong, but no such thing occured. He tripped the stranger and pulled away from her to come down upon the assailant and rid him from sight, or so it seemed, but Aniela knew that Dominiik's intentions were much darker.

"Wait--!" she called as the two went dashing up the stairs, but it was no use. For a man who was intent on not killing men, Dominik seemed hellbent on showing this particular one a fatal lesson. She fathered the ends of her pale blue skirts and rushed up the wooden steps to see the damage that was done, to see what exactly would occur of the thief and the Witcher.

If he can justify killing this man and still consider me a fool for slaying the captain of the guard, I swear by all the gods...

Atop the deck, things had turned into chaos. A few of the sailors were conflicted on saving their friend and others were backing away altogether, none of them wanting to cross the path of the Witcher who had murder in his glowing eyes. Aniela could see her brother Anton from the corner of her eye, standing with his arms folded, a general look of disgust in his eyes, though whether it was towards Dominik or the thief, she was unsure.

He approached her carefully. "What the bloody hell happened down there, Ani?"

"He stole Dominik's weapons." The girl frowned. "But it doesn't make sense, one of your sailors told me to come down into that room, why would he have told me that if the Witcher hadn't summoned me...?"

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Well?" Dominik growled.

The man was frozen in place, not daring to take a step back, but neither one forward. Some of the crew formed a light ring around them, as if to keep them inside an invisible circle. The thief looked terrified of the Witcher, eyes glowing with fury. Dominik wouldn't kill the man, no, but he wouldn't let the would be thief get away with his crimes. He glanced back briefly and saw Aniela and the Captain watching him. Especially after their talk on justice, there was no way Dominik could come close to ending the man's life. There were other ways to torment him though.

"Well what?" The thief finally managed to spit out a few words. He recoiled when Dominik took another step.

"Do you want it? Silver is valuable, right?" Dominik walked forward, watching with humor as the thief fell onto the deck yet again out of fear. When he'd closed the distance between them, he slammed his sword into the deck. He could hear the groans coming from the Captain, he could pay him back later. "So? Take it."

It was a threat, a very plain one at that. The thief didn't know what to do. Dominik took a step back and began walking circles around the man, his eyes never left his quivering body. For a second, he actually reached out to take the handle of the silver sword, but was quick to retract his hand, looking as if nothing had happened. He wanted something else. His eyes looked up to Aniela, and he began to sweat.

"Ah." Dominik purred. "Was there something else then?"

"Come on, you had the girl all to yourself-" The thief whispered so Dominik might be the only one to hear.

"So you wanted to take advantage of her then?" The Witcher did not hold the same courtesy. His voice echoed clear across the deck and onto the river's cool surface. "Didn't you know I was in there?"

"Well yeah-" The thief stuttered.

"Thought you could take a Witcher?"

"You were asleep!"

"You were going to rape a girl in front of a Witcher? You really are a fool, so you take my swords instead?"

The thief was an idiot. His eyes couldn't hide what he wanted now, they darted nervously towards the small elven girl. Dominik caught sight of his gaze and cautiously stepped himself between himself and Aniela. He didn't like the way he watched her, as if she were still some prize to be had. There was no winning this stand off, Dominik knew that, but did he?

"What's your name?" Dominik called. He stood still now, his arms crossed over hard leather, but he still wasn't wearing any shoes. "I am Witcher Dominik, the Brute of Bremervoord. Who are you? A thief? A rapist? Or something else, surely such a creature as you has a name?"

"Dirk, of Vizima." He mumbled. "I'm not a thief."

"So a rapist?" Dominik turned to bellow out to the crew instead. "You'd let yourself work with the likes of him? A thief? You let him terrorize women on your ship, what poor company I'm in then."

He began to strip himself of his armor. At this, the crowd drew near, some were curious what the Witcher would do. They were confident so long as his attention was focused on Dirk, they Witcher wouldn't bother them. And he wouldn't, if they knew how to behave well. Dominik let his leather fall to the deck, and turned to face Dirk. He held up his fists, and nodded with his chin. The main raised, he knew he had to defend himself from what was coming. There was no warning but the subtle nod of his head. Dominik threw the first punch, and it landed with a crack against his jaw.

That's when the roar began, Witcher versus thief. The outcome was an obvious one, the fight no less entertaining because of it.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"Oh, gods. Are you--gods." Anton slapped a hand to his forehead in utter disgrace, feeling a sense of complete disgust and discomfort wash over him like the blood on his crewman's face. "Are you serious?" he shouted again. "The one dh'oine I let on this fucking ship and he tries to rape my sister? Don't you know she's suffered enough under the hands of people like you?!" He moved to lunge forward at the man, but his young sister held him back.

"Anton," Aniela pleaded. "Please, don't. It's alright. He didn't hurt me, Dominik made sure of that..." And by the looks of things, he would continue to make sure of that until the man was dead. The elven girl clung to her brother's arm to ground herself, but also to keep him held right where he was and prevent him from interfering. If Anton had his way, it would be him punching the life from the filthy human instead of a Witcher, and a part of her knew that Anton wanted the satisfaction.

"I'm not sleeping with him" she muttered to her brother. "He hasn't touched me, we're only traveling together. I swear it."

"I know." The taller elf gave a sigh, watching the violence unfold before him as he dragged his fingers through pale hair. "I would have known if there was anything like that going on, the men no doubt would have heard something and you'd probably be dead. Look at him, he could snap the life from you with a single pinch."

"I had the same thought." But deep in her heart, she knew Dominik would never hurt her even if things had heated between them. They had a growing...friendship? It was hard to place exactly what Dominik the Witcher meant to her.

"Enough," Anton finally shouted at last, more towards Dominik than the thief--the man hardly had a face anymore, though he was still breathing. "Thank you for your assistance, Witcher, but I will take it from here. I do want some sort of satisfaction in throwing him off my ship."

"And that one, too." Aniela pointed to a man hiding in the crowd. "He is the one who led me down there, I think he intended to stay as well."

"Oh really?" Anton began to laugh. "Take him, gents."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dirk took every blow with grace, the Witcher didn't hold back his aggression. The thief begged for mercy, prayed that another human such as himself would show him some sort of kindness, all while each punch and kick made contact with his failing body. The Witcher had broken his nose, blood poured down his regretful face, his arm was twisted painfully back, hanging limp at his side. Dirk had nothing to defend himself with but the other arm and his own two feet, and how Dominik would've liked to see him try to deflect anything with his shins, it wouldn't happen.

"Human? You're shit out of luck." Dominik flashed a vicious set of fangs before tucking back his hair, and in that moment he looked hideous and foreboding. He was more a monster than any man, and it was plainly obvious to the crowd. They shrunk back so Dominik could have the last punch, and then Dirk stopped, his fists lowered out of either shock or betrayal. The pointed elven ears of the Witcher were clear enough, and before Anton could call out to stop the fight, Dominik landed one last punch to Dirk's face and he fell into the crowd.

Dominik heard Aniela point out one more man. The crowd went to take him, and the Witcher didn't even have to throw any punches, much to his disliking, as he would've enjoyed a second round. He was covered in sweat and Dirk's blood. The bastard hadn't even been able to land a punch, and Dominik stood tall in the morning light as a champion should. There wasn't a smear of shame on his face, quite the latter, he was beaming from ear to ear.

He turned to Aniela, the grotesque image of half a man, but a proud one otherwise. For many of the crew, the fear only intensified of what they knew of Witchers. Their strength was unparalleled, their swordsmanship legendary, and they'd all been able to witness it firsthand. Awe, shock, fear, nausea, what weren't they feeling in that moment but fear for their own lives. Dominik gave them no more displays, nothing to intensify that fear, because it would only spread the false rumors that he was more a monster than the truth implied.

"I've heard things about Witchers...but..." A crewman shook his head. "We should get back to work."

"Aye."

The pair stalked off, no one was left byt the time Dominik was able to lay a hand on Aniela's shoulder. He looked her up and down to check for any damage, but it was apparent no one had laid a hand on her. She still looked like she'd only just tumbled out of bed, her snowy hair hanging in a mess around her. He had to reach a considerable ways since she was at least a whole foot shorter than him, more most likely. Dirk certainly wouldn't come near her, nor the man who sent her down into the cabin. Dominik gave a silent nod of approval to no one in particular.

"Are you, hm, alright?" Dominik bit his lip with one of his canines. "Of course you are, only an idiot tries to attack a girl in the presence of a Witcher. He's mad."

He lowered his arm and took a step back for good measure. It was a good time to spar, now that everyone had dispersed, eyes wouldn't be entirely on them any longer. Dominik crossed his arms against his bare chest.

"Let me get my boots, then we spar." He said. "Watch my blade, would you?"

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"I--But you--But you just--"

Aniela gave out an exasperated sigh. There was blood pooled on the deck where he was standing, sweat and anger and hatred had drenched every inch of his features and he expected her to spar with him?! She thought of a million excuses as to why they shouldn't in her head and each of them were combated and defeated by a reasonable conclusion. He almost killed that man, but he wouldn't dare kill me. He looks like a serial killer, but he put his hand on my shoulder so gently. He nearly took that man's face off, all the more reason to learn from him. There was no winning out to the confines of common sense. Anton looked at her incredously as she carefully shed her trademark blue cloak, revealing her clothes of a draped jacket, red corset and brow leggings with some short heeled boots. Aniela pinned her hair up in a high, messy bun and picked up the cloak from the wooden floor, tossing it to her shocked brother. "Hold this."

"Hold this?!" he snapped. "No. Aneila, no. I'm not losing you to a Witcher, you can't spar with him. How could you after witnessing what he just did?"

"He was protecting me," Aniela spat. "More than you can say, letting your sister on board a ship with a man like that."

"I didn't--"

"I don't want to hear excuses, Anton. You know the things I've suffered better than most, so I think you'll understand that I'm going to be pretty pissed at you for awhile." Aniela snatched the twin daggers at her side and placed them atop a barrel, ignoring all her brother had to say about Witchers "snapping women like twigs" and breaking them mentally beyond any repair, but she had no heart to listen to his speech. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and placing her hands on her hips.

"Hurry and get your boots," she told the Witcher with a sigh that was both angry and terrified. "I really want to hit something."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

Dominik strapped his boots on the deck, not bothering to put his armor back on by any means. It was useless anyways. He didn't expect to be hurt too badly, there'd be no weapons, and her strength was lacking. His boots gave him a little extra grip against the deck, although he also moved away from the bloodstain so as not to give an unfair disadvantage to either of them. A typical fight didn't involve an already existing pool of blood.

"Your posture is miserable." He started out. Although to be fair, he hadn't exactly announced that they'd begun. "Stand up, raise your fists, plant your feet, come on!"

He waited for her to listen, whether or not she'd follow his advice was entirely up to how badly she wanted to be beaten. Dominik readied himself, raising his hands so they rested just before his chest. There was an opening he'd left for her. Just above his left hip was a long scar, visible now that he wasn't wearing anything there. A chunk of his flesh was missing, although the dent in his side was nothing more than a small inch at best. Still, the glistening skin was raw from the mistreated scar. He wouldn't say anything about it, but he left his hand away from the spot, to see if she'd give it a go.

That was his one and only hint for her, a raised hand just above the normal level. He did say he'd leave an opening.

"First thing's first." He began the lesson. Dominik screeched forward without warning, yelling loudly to throw her off before using his ankle to hook around her leg. He plunged forward and elbowed her square in the back before watching her fall flat on her face. When she got back up, he was still facing her behind, and he grabbed the bun on top of her head.

"Never leave your hair out in the open." He instructed. With his hand around her snowy bun, he pulled her head back and swept his leg beneath her. The second time she fell to the ground was harder than the first.

Her brother watched on in horror, as it had only just dawned on him the pair were related, and Dominik hoped he wouldn't intervene. The Witcher had promised to teach Aniela, and fighting off two wasn't what he was up for. If Aniela wanted to learn, she did so alone, and she did it with Dominik.

"Your clothes flare out." He gave the second tip, grabbing at the edges of her coat before pulling her off to the side. She twirled miserably, and he wondered if she was regretting the lesson. "Can you even hit me?"

Dominik pivoted around her, only using the back of his hand to deliver any blows, not wanting to hurt her any more than he already was. Where she was full of dangling bits of cloth and hair, he was barren. The only thing hanging from him was a small belt with a few trinkets from over time. Teeth from a Kayran, a dried Trolls' tongue pressed between two glass panes. It was nothing impressive, but it was the only thing she could try to grab onto. That is, if she could grab them.

"Come on, Aniela, hit me!" He badgered her. "Fight!"

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

With each violent thud against the deck of the ship, Aniela's breath was knocked out from her lungs. The strength of Witchers was legendary but with every push and shove, every hit, she realized how severely underplayed the stories were. Dominik was ruthless and unforgiving, never allowing her the opportunity for a hit even though he had exposed his spot of weakness. He had purely overwhelmed her to the point where she had to spend her time taking a beating to assess other options, other ways to take down the Witcher or use what other choices were at her disposal despite how limited they were.

However, his greatest weakness when fighting her became clear. Against any other opponent his pure brutish size and horrifying demeanor would be enough to throw the fight, to overpower the enemy and force them into a less-than graceful defeat, but Aniela was different. She was a small girl, standing at only five feet above the ground who relied on her speed and silence rather than power alone. She kept his thunderous movements close in her line of sight and dodged them, looking to the crates around her for some form of opening to make a move.

To the right, she found her salvation. Dodging past Dominik's swinging arms and legs, she leapt atop the nearby crates and jumped through the air, landing on the Witcher's broad back. twisted her legs around his waist, ensuring that the heel of her boot dug into the mistreated scar he kept so open for her. Her arms latched tight around the thickness of his neck as tight as she could without strangling him, letting a playful laugh escape her throat with her arms squeezing tighter around him.

"If I had a knife, you'd be a dead man." Her lips brushed unintentionally against his ear. "You should really move faster, you know."

Aniela didn't expect to keep her position, knowing he could throw her from his back as fast as the eye can blink, but her point remained clear. If she did in fact have a knife, she could have split open his throat and painted the deck of the Shy Maid in Witcher blood. Still, she prepared herself for the slam against the wood that was no doubt in store for her, knowing she could not stay clung to him for long.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

It only took one arm to peel the girl from his back and toss her to the ground. So he did her one better. Dominik pulled her hands away from his throat, an easy task taking into account his strength and her size, and swung her around his body with one arm, being careful not to pull it from its socket. He didn't thrash her to the ground as she'd expected, it was too obvious, and would have been far too dangerous. He could have simply let himself fall backwards onto her, using his dead weight as a weapon, but when she was so small it was hard to say she'd get off with less than a few broken bones.

"You did alright." He lowered his guard, letting his body relax and his arms fall to his sides. The scar on his hip throbbed with the nudge of her boot, but he wouldn't let it show. He had a brew which would help to lessen the pain, a small blue vial at his hip he kept around for such occasions. It was common to receive a thrashing from a monster from time to time, and having a good regenerative potion was a must. "Your hair is the first issue. If you're going to keep it long, you need to at least keep it braided or wrapped. Understand? It's one of your most vulnerable points."

Easily he reached around her defenses and lightly pulled a handful of hair out of her bun. He didn't meant to be harsh, he only wanted to show her how simple it was to get a hold of her. Dominik let go just as quickly as he'd been on her, and slowly circled her form.

She looked tired, but not defeated. They could go on for a while longer, they still had time, but he'd rather have taught her better ways to defend herself instead of throwing her to the deck for another hour or two. It wouldn't teach her anything but how to fall and how to be beaten.

"Use your size to your advantage, I see you know how." He chuckled. Dominik was partly proud of her for being able to jump on his back. For once he could admit he was surprised. It wasn't often anyone tried to full on assault the Witcher like that. He learned his own lesson, from then on he would see dwarves in a different light. They all had the ability to get on his back with a jump, yet not drag him down an inch. "But that will be my first obvious lesson to you, your hair - fix it."

Dominik sat down on a crate and pulled the blue vial from his belt. It might have been considered unfair for him to be using Witcher potions in a brawl, but if he was going to continue to teach, he wanted to be able to stand properly. He threw it down fast and held his breath wile it began to take effect.

"In five minutes, I'll show you something else. Be ready." He almost panted. "Here..." Dominik pulled a cord of leather from around his belt and handed it to her, something he'd used many times before for his own unruly mess of hair. "Tie it up."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela reached out and caught the cord he threw at her with grace, examining the weaves of rope, frowning upon the object in utter confusion. "What do I do with it?" she asked with a little scoff. "There are thousands of ways to tie a rope, Dominik, especially with someone who partially grew up on a ship. And I like my hair." She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Don't touch it."

The elf reached down to trap the cord between her knees, holding it in place while she remover her hair from the piled bun it was tied in. Cascades of alabaster curls tumbled down to the base of her spine, elegant in the way they captured and accentuated her small frame, but she would allow him no extended amount to admire them. Aniela pulled her hair back into a ponytail, not wanting to hassle with a braid while she watched the Witcher's potion affect him. Grabbing the cord and leaning back against the mast, she folded her arms across her chest and sighed.

"You know I'm a healer, right?" she inquired with a hint of concern. The scar at his side had truly wounded him more than her initial observation had read, and a part of her would have felt guilty if he hadn't been so keen to ensure she knew of his weak spot. "You've known that this whole time. Why haven't you let me look at it? I could heal it completely and leave you without weakness, and though that would be bad news for me in our sparring sessions, it would be better for you in an actual fight."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"I won't let you heal it." Dominik grumbled. "Pain has long been my teacher. Witchers die, masters die all the time, but pain is everlasting. This scar was a lesson I'd hope not to forget. Healing it would serve me no purpose now that the damage is done."

He didn't mean to come across as bitter at her invitation to heal the wound at his side, the pain was obvious enough on his rough features. His lip scowled at both the taste of the glimmering blue potion, and the jab at his sensitive skin. However, it simply wouldn't do. He wouldn't let her come close to erasing the past which caused him the most pain. This lesson showed him mercy and allowed him life, as many had before, and he'd take it with every ounce of grace he could muster.

With that in mind, he downed the last of the potion in hand. Swallow, named after the bird, had a hand in rejuvenation. One drop was enough to both nauseate and heal a normal human, the effects of the potion were far from pleasant compared to the supposed healing properties. However, for the Witcher, it was but a small healing aid. Used for the lightest purposes, in this instance, numbing the sore bones beneath the surface of his skin. It was a pale blue liquid, formed of common components found throughout the countryside. Easy to make, never easy to go without.

"It may be a weakness, but it is my own struggle, my own fault. This lesson will last a lifetime." Dominik slipped the now empty bottle back into his belt, he'd fill it another time. "This is what my master taught me, and it is what I will teach you. If you don't have the scars to show you fought, you may as well have run."

Maybe if she understood a Witcher's plight, that it was their duty to fight the terrors of the world, she might know that to run was to die. Running from a monster, the very thing a good Witcher swore to slay, was the equivalent of running from life. Death awaited the cowards who feared monsters, death awaited the weak. If Dominik wanted to survive he'd have his long struggle with pain until the master of masters took him.

He stood back on his feet, letting his eyes rest from the burning sun in the sky. Dominik could feel the burning effects of Swallow on his system, it was the same feeling a human man would know if he tried a drop. The burn of death in his veins, coursing through his blood until it found his heart and squeezed it shut. But Witchers reveled in the burn, Dominik liked to think it reminded him of what he was. He felt each particle taking action in his body and marveled at the sour taste left over on his tongue. A human would have died. He was alive.

"Again." He raised his fists in preparation of their spar. This time, he would seldom hold back. Aniela knew what she was doing, and although he'd save her his fist, a few good slaps with the back of his hand might remind her who she was dealing with. "Hurry with your hair, and face me."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela scoffed, tieing his makeshift cord in her hair, figuring that was what he intended her to do with it. Platinum curls hung back in a medium-high ponytail at the back of her scalp, and she braced herself for another set of harsh impacts. No doubt Dominik had his heart set on ripping her to pieces from this point on. She had exploited his weakness and now he would not go so easy on her. She stood in the stance he had taught her and prepared for the onslaught he was sure to bring.

Hours ticked by. The more bruises that arose on her body, the more lessons she learned and the more agony she suffered. By the time high noon had come and gone she sat back on an empty crate, exhausted as one could be, and leaned back against the rail of the ship like an infant forced to run miles. "Enough," she panted, groaning under the heavy weight of her muscles. Not a single one of them was fit to move and she would not deny them their rest. "Enough, please, enough. No more for today. I've had about all I can take." She lay in the sun a moment, staring at the slow-moving sky painted in the golds of a summer day. "Water," she groaned. "Do you have any water?"

Aniela didn't wait for an answer. She unbuttoned her scarlet jacket and tossed it aside, making all sorts of noises of discomfort, pulling the white tunic over her head and throwing it in Dominik's general direction. "You smell," she shouted with a low chuckle. "Take a bath."

She sat with her arms spread wide across a surrounding group of various crates filled with different objects and valuables, wearing nothing but her leggings and a long cloth wrapped around her breasts somewhat tightly, leaving her stomach and shoulders exposed. "And while you're at it, douse water on me. I'm so hot and thirsty. Ugghhh. Why did I let you throw me around so long?"

"Aniela?" Anton scoffed, seeing her in all her glory. "Put something on, a man just tried to rape you. Are you alright?"

"I don't need to cater to the weaknesses of men," Aniela chuckled. "If anyone lays a hand on me, they lose the hand. I'm alright. Extremely sore though, and I'll feel it more in the morning..." She lifted her head to look at the Witcher across the deck. "Can you tell that one to wash himself? I can smell him all the way over here."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"No one is going to rape you if I smell this bad. Relax, Captain." Dominik rested his hand on Anton's shoulder. The elf shrugged it away with a flush of anger in his cheeks.

The man looked like he wanted to stalk off, only fueling Dominik's teasing. He sat down on the deck next to Aniela. The pair were covered in enough sweat for the entire crew, glistening unnaturally beneath the baking midday sun. "I'm a Witcher, best form of protection in all the lands as far as you should be concerned." He said with a wave of his hand. "How I smell is the last of your problems anyways. You've got shit for brains over there. A thief, a rapist, however did you find that one?"

Somewhere on the opposite side of the deck, the rapist cowered under the hands of the vengeful crew. Aniela may as well have been their own sister, as the Captain was their brother, and to come so close to harming Aniela was a vile sin among the family, no blood ties were necessary. Dominik had done enough damage to his face but wouldn't have been surprised to find out the man had perished in the night. It wouldn't have been a bad ending either, he simply didn't care about what happened to him in the end. It wasn't worth his time to squander the details of one human criminal.

Dominik waited for Anton to pass before glancing sidelong towards Aniela. He had to admit, her small stature and slim frame made for one alluring elf girl. Even if she was just as stubborn as the Witcher, ten times more fierce with a sharp tongue to match, she really was attractive. Snowy hair rolled down to meet the curves of her hips, and the Witcher had to smile. No one saw his eyes on her, but had they, it would have been reminisce of a wolf eyeing up for the next kill. His golden orbs were not of this earth and stalked whichever prey they wanted, whether the Witcher was even on the prowl or not.

He combed a hand through his own silvered hair and let out a small sigh. He was sore from having sparred for so long, and his side hurt. Dominik was too proud, too stubborn to ask for help from Aniela, especially in her immodest state of apparel. Wearing nothing but thin leggings and a wrap around her chest, the Witcher might have blushed to have her hands on his hide.

Anton of course would never let that happen, and Witchers didn't blush.

"Water is below deck." Dominik said, thirsty himself. "You'll have to go get it."

He himself stood to retrieve some refreshment. The rest of his vestments lay heated on deck, and he strapped his leathers back on before the next idiot decided they were worth a pretty penny. The Witcher was back to his menacing looking self, what with his thick leathers and hidden scars. Both swords adorned his back again, as they should always have, and the metal glinted the same eerie, metallic glow as his eyes. It was uncanny how the shades seemed to match, just a simple hue from being the same. The Witcher began to step below deck, but stopped, groaned, and whirled his head dramatically back towards Aniela.

"Would you like some?"