Witcher

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

It was hard to admit, but she was honestly shocked at how easy it had been to sway the Witcher. She had heard all the stories indeed of his race and creed and what they set about to do in the world, so his sudden acceptance of her "offer" or lack thereof stopped her in her tracks.

"I--" Huh?

"Where are you going?" she asked then, taking his acceptance and his silence for a sign that she was allowed to follow. Whlle his reasoning remained a mystery to her Aniela decided it was best not to ask questions and avoid him changing his mind. She had what she wanted for the time being, and as long as he kept his curiosities and his hands to himself she would keep up her end of the bargain.

"If we're stopping in Flotsam, there's something I need to do before we book a ship. I'm sure you have business there as well, right? 'Orens to collect'. I will go about my business and you will go about yours, and we can meet along the docks. I know the captain of a ship called the Shy Maid. She's a smaller boat but still big enough to take us to where we intend to go. He'll offer me passage for half the price, and you as well if I mention we're friends. More orens to keep in your pockets if that is what you so desire."

In truth, Aniela cared less for money. She had seen it turn men into monsters and women into demons. It wasn't hard for someone with stealth to steal enough to get by, to purchase food and water and a room in an inn should the fates deem in necessary.

But, it was so like a dh'oine to care most for orens. By waving what he wanted in front of his face, she hoped to manipulate him somehow, to get him to bend his ear to her advice more and more throughout their travels. Humans were so unpredictable however, and Witchers even less still. Aniela hoped her prying wouldn't cause any damage between them.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Meet me at the ports, I want to leave by the end of the day." He warned. That left them both with around twelve hours to get what they needed done. For Dominik, that'd be easy enough. He'd collect his payment and be on his way, what Aniela had in mind was something he didn't care to learn. Just as she believed humans to be strange, he believed elves to be just that - strange.

Most of the elves he'd met had the same agenda. There were only two occupations if you were an elf, one of which being a Scoia'tael unit, the other being a poor whoreson in the slums of a racist capital city. Neither were pleasant and both always turned back towards their common goal. Always, always, always when the Witcher met an elf they wanted his help to bring about freedom. Whether that be slaying the local power or fighting for a time on their side, each time he'd decline. Human politics were not his area of expertise, nor did he condone the killing of humans, no matter what the price. He'd been offered a hefty one one town back, the Scoia'tael unit there was on the verge of collapse, and he was offered 10,000 orens to bring them the head Merchant, a cruel man regulating trade and making it impossible to survive on the meager woods alone. Dominik said no. The unit still survived, and the merchant continued to collect his unfair taxes.

So it went, and always would go.

Dominik left her at the Southern Gates of the city. There were no guards to stop them, as he'd noticed earlier they were all busy with the local women. With notice in hand, he turned right towards the Eastern side of Flotsam. There used to be an official from the Temerian Kingdom living there, but since Loredo's unceremonious death, he'd long fled. The next closest thing to an authority figure was the Madam of the whores. She liked the privacy of the small estate, more important clients were encouraged to rent the space for more adventures nights.

As he entered, two half naked girls ran across the main floor, giggling like fools as a drunken guard chased after him. Dominik scowled as he passed. The man reeked of sweat and booze, his steps were becoming heavy, and before the Witcher made it halfway up the stairs, he could hear the man collapse in a heap.

The first floor acted as a display of sorts. Men were encouraged to enter and examine the girls working the house, small spaces lined the rooms with privacy once a man had chosen his girl, and from then on it was their business. Upstairs was where the Madam resided. It was her personal quarters and where someone could receive payment if they took up work for Flotsam. Witcher's work, through and through, to clear the notice board of every town it would seem. The Madam sat behind a banged up desk, papers and notes strewn across the dated surface. There was an old lock box in the corner and tall bookshelves with novels from the last resident. Something implied the Madam wouldn't be too interested in reading An Elven and Dwarvish History of Diplomacy between the Human Capitals.

"Madam Sylvia-" He started.

"Oh, Witcher! Girls, girls, come form a line for the man." She waved her hand to the side of the room. She was like a dwarf in stature, but not one in terms of lineage and she thanked the Gods for that blessing.

"I'm not here for that." He sighed. Everyone assumed he was looking for a whore wherever he went. That was more Geralt's style, the man made Witcher's famous, and he liked both women and drink. So why not Dominik? He still had personal tastes, that was why.

"Oh, oh I see." Sylvia peered at the Nekker head dangling from Dominik's hand. She had him drop it out the window before giving Dominik what was due - and then some, upon hearing about how he'd also rid the forest of an Endrega. "Five...six...seven hundred orens then?"

"You could make it eight, the Nekker network is destroyed." This was fine with the Madam, and she happily gave up the orens to the Witcher. Whatever kept the guards out of fighting and in her brothel was worth every penny, because she'd make it a thousand times over.

Dominik left as quickly as he could. He must have been the only man in the world to hate the sight of a brothel.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela left the tavern with a confident smile on her face, brushing the dirt from her skirts and slinging the large bag over her shoulder. She would have to move fast if she wanted to make it to the docks on time, to secure their passage and put the disgusting town of Floatsam long behind them. She counted the orens in the palm of her hand and chuckled, counting them again just to double check what she had taken. Aniela pocketed her monetary spoils and broke into a jog, not wanting to seem too obvious to what she had done but she knew that the sooner she reached the docks, the better.

"Aniela!" shouted a familiar voice from the deck of a small vessel. The elf maid broke into gentle laughter, waving to the man at the source of her name and embraced him amiably.

"Anton," she laughed. "It's so good to see you. How have you been?"

"Alright, I suppose. Gettin' by." He ruffled her hair and adjusted the had on his head before resting his hands on the twin hilts of two different blades. "Do you need passage? You look fuckin' tired, Ani."

The woman groaned and readjusted her hair. "Yes, actually. I have money to pay you, too. There will be two of us."

"Sure. Where you goin'?"

"Far from here." Aniela set the massive back on a nearby barrel and dug through it, pulling out a coin purse and tossing it to him. "That enough?"

"Aye, seems like it. Who's your friend?"

She laughed. "Not a friend, more of a travel companion. He's a bit...well." How to explain? "He's a Wi--"

The bells and shouts rang out from the corner of Flotsam from where she had just come, and in a flurry of panic Aniela grabbed her back and ran down into the hull of the ship. "He's a Witcher, wait for him and then get the hell out of here!"

"What did you do, sis?!"

"Nothing! Just do as I said!" Aniela found a small room and barricaded herself within, just in case, keeping her spoils close and her strength even closer.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

The Witcher roamed the town for some time, an angry mob passed him at some point, yelling about a witch and a pickpocket all in one. That had to be a hell of a girl if she could get both nicknames. He passed it off as nothing more than local banter and moved on, meandering in the ghettos of Flotsam. The locals there seemed to appreciate his monster hunting efforts far more than the human side of town. They had to forage out there from time to time, and he even picked up a few extra orens as well as half of a cooked goat.

"Please, take it Witcher." An old Dwarven man approached with the goat all wrapped up in leaves and twine. There was nothing he could do but accept, and listen to the tale of the Nekkers killing off many of the poorer folk. He didn't feel so bad taking it all from the man after hearing about how he was helping them out in the end. It was an equal trade, better than orens, because he didn't have to put in the work to cook a damn goat.

"Thank you." Dominik held the goat easily, throwing it over his shoulder and tying it to the top of his sheath. Witchers wore swords on their backs instead of at their sides. It made travel nice, when he didn't have anywhere to hang packs of food or samples from monsters. However, it also made it inconvenient when it came down to actually fighting.

The sun was beginning to set, and Dominik started to wonder where the hell this Elven girl was. He had said to meet at the port, but so far nothing. There were a few human men walking around, but no sight of a pointy eared girl. He grumbled about it being a bad decision. Especially now that he had a gift for her. Slung just beneath the goat was a properly strung bow, made of oak, and he even took the liberty of finding a few scraps of silver to tip the ends with. If she so much as lost a single one, she'd pay him back triple.

"Psst. Witcher." Someone called from the docks. He turned, and was greeted by a man he'd never met. By the way he called the Witcher forward, he felt as if they should've known each other. Dominik drew closer, eyeing the area warily with each step. It was still safer to be on guard than to listen to the whispers of a stranger. "You are the Witcher, yes?"

"I am a Witcher if that's what you're implying." Dominik sighed. "A contract?"

"No, Aniela said to watch for you." He hissed.

"Oh yeah, pointy eared girl, about this tall-" Dominik threw out his hand to mark an incredibly inaccurate portrayal of her stature.

"Just get on board." He shook his head and motioned towards the hull.

Dominik crossed over the small boards leading onto the ship, ducking down beneath deck and searching around for his companion. He couldn't spot her, but it was easy enough to sense the fear radiating behind a closed door. The energy source also hinted at her being an Elf, so in all fairness, he could tell who it was even if she weren't hiding there like an idiot. No one else could, and he retracted his thoughts. She was just being safe, careful, as if she'd know who could and couldn't tell what was hiding anyways.

"Open the door."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela had kept a little dagger in her hands for some sense of protection, allowing herself a moment to recognize the voice behind the door. She gave a hesitant sigh before placing the steel weapon in her pouch and rising from the bed, moving the furniture out from in front of the door and lessening her self-preservation with each rearrangement. The bells in Flotsam were still ringing with the alarms of murder and thievery. Aniela didn't want to make the mistake of trusting someone whom she was confident would sacrifice her to the authorities for a few more orens in his purse.

"Welcome to the Shy Maid," the elf told the Witcher as she sat back on the feather bed. Placing each object she had stolen in it's proper place would take a great deal of organizing on her part, but it was necessary to relieve some of the stress that had been pumping in her veins for more than a generation.

She had no shame in letting him see what she had taken. A blood-stained knife lay next to a necklace of quartz and crystal in the shape of an oval. A burgundy purse filled with orens sat beside an old compass and some crumpled up tickets, all next to a large bag that smelled of freshly roasted meat.

"You can have some if you like," she said, gesturing with her chin to the brown satchel. "There's a leg of goat as well as some bread, vegetables, even a jar of soup and some ale. But the wine is mine, sorry."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

She should have been ashamed. Dominik took one look at the bloody dagger and put two and two together. It was her who'd killed the person in the streets, man or woman he wasn't sure, and taken his possessions. There were things he could tolerate, being a non human made him far more understanding, but murder of any race was not one of them. He scowled and sat at the opposite end of the room. How could she be proud of slaughtering a man?

"Keep it. I don't want anything to do with that."

The Witcher threw his own goat over his shoulder and unwrapped it carefully. He discovered that beneath the wrappings, it had been cut into chunks for his own convenience. Maybe killing the Endrega wasn't worth his time at first, but it certainly was proving to be true. Dominik pulled off one off the legs and pulled the meat away angrily with his teeth. He'd even complimented the person who could earn the title of pickpocket and a witch all in one. Well, he took it back. She was a common murderer and that wasn't sitting well with him, one wrong move and he'd consider leaving her as soon as they reached port.

"I can't believe I even..." Dominik grumbled.

He pulled the bow from his back and tossed it her way, adding to the spoils she certainly didn't deserve. It clattered to the ground noisily before the three arrows with silver tips. it was a vast improvement from the broken weapon she currently had. He threw out his arm, gesturing that all was hers now.

"If you're going to travel with me you'll need this. Don't use those arrows unless we're fighting any kind of monster. If I see one of them in a man, I'll drop you off at the port and say goodbye." Dominik warned her. "Got it?"

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

It was painfully obvious in every move he made that he was angry with her. She took a single look at the blood-stained dagger resting on her sheets and immediately knew why. Aniela's little smile turned into a frown, sad, before it twisted to one of anger. He was judging her. He was judging her as they all had judged before, holding her to a law that didn't belong to her or her people and never would. Angrily, Aniela snatched the hilt of the blade and rose from the sheets moving to the table where he sat beside and stabbing it brutally hard through the wood.

"You're upset because I killed a man?" she asked with a voice of venom, eyes of dark fire. "The perhaps it would ease you to know I didn't kill a man at all. I killed a monster, just like you did in those woods. I killed an unholy creature that prowled around on two legs and snatched the innocent to force into his bed, a beast with round ears and foul breath. I killed something that took women, elves, dwarves, even children to claim as his own, I killed a beast that hoarded gold and glory. I slit his throat in broad daylight and stole everything of value I could carry from his nest, because clearly dead monsters don't need their toys, and I set free everyone he had stolen. I killed a monster, Witcher, and if you have a problem with that then perhaps he was one of the few monsters you are too cowardly to face yourself. And all the better for it. I'll kill as many monsters like him as I can get my hands on, and what you may claim is murder, I claim as justice."

Aniela kept his eyes locked in a shared gaze, never fool enough to think she had intimidated him but hoping that somehow, she had gotten him to see sense. Witchers were hated, but they were feared. Elves were hated and enslaved. She had no pity for him whatsoever, and expected none from him in return, only the mercy of indifference to her vigilante demeanor.

She let the hilt go, leaving the knife stabbed in the wood as she returned to the bed. The elf picked up the arrows and the bow, examining them, not knowing exactly what the difference was between this bow and the one she had, but she was appreciative all the same. "Thank you for the gift," she told him softly, though there was still flickers of fire in her eyes.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

There was little to argue about, but Dominik wanted to scream at her, throttle her for being so blind. There was a reason he didn't dabble in human squabbles, because they were always so damn messy. The lines, if any at all, were too thin, not to be decided by the likes of a Witcher. While there was likely to be a contract to kill such a man as a rapist, a child molester, there was one thing for certain. Dominik was a Witcher, he killed monsters, not people. This is where the lines in human standards blurred. Was the man a monster? By physical trait no. He didn't have a poisoned club for a tail, such as Endregas did. His nails weren't sharp like that of a Harpy or Nekker, and he certainly didn't share the strength of a Troll. He was human, and that's what made him dangerous. That was all. By the standard of mortal men, he was a monster though.

Dominik didn't want to cross this line.

"I'm as much a monster as the man you claimed to kill." Dominik struggled to keep calm. "The only difference is who does what to who. Stop making new stories for the humans to tell. How do you suppose they sleep at night knowing the blood thirsty Elves are out to steal their purses?"

He didn't care if she was fighting for equality, or even killing monsters. That wasn't the problem he was concerned with. He just wanted to know how she could believe that what he called murder she called justice. If that's how she saw the world, she was in for a sore surprise once they continued. Rape was common, Elves were still slaves in some parts of the world, and she couldn't fight her way through the crowds with justice.

"The world is a cruel place, and if you want to fight with justice, then you go on right ahead." He spat. "Remember that when the humans come looking for you, it was because of what you did to earn that spot. I met you, and I had no judgments to make until you murdered a man. For God's sake, I'm a Witcher, the world would rather swallow me whole, my judgement is far less harsh than the noblemen you'll encounter. Think about what you've done, and learn how to hold your tongue."

That's just how we have to get by. She'll learn. She'll have to.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

She couldn't help but laugh. "You misunderstand," she told him with a groan of slight irritation. "I don't kill people because I like it or because I want all the humans dead. I kill whomever has wronged me or those that I love, because they don't deserve to live, because the world of the future is better without them in it. If you pity the rapist and the murderer and the thief, the slaver, perhaps you had better join them. If not, let me do what I must. I have nothing left. This is all I can do."

Aniela took a moment and stopped, looking at the bow in her hands. In truth, she hated that murder was necessary. It made her feel no better than the dh'oine that had harmed her and her people, than the monsters that littered the world. But it was better to be a good monster than a bad one, right? She slid her hand along the curve of the weapon and admired the wood, wondering what kind of tree had to die for this to be carved from it.

"Besides," she continued, "you are no monster to me. You kill monsters, that doesn't make you one. You do what people are too afraid to do. You're crude and forceful, yes, but you have never owned a slave? Never raped a woman? Never killed a man?" She looked to him, searching for an answer. "Even if you had, it is not something you seem like you enjoyed, at least no longer. You're no monster, Witcher. Dominik." It felt odd to say his name. "You're just an outcast. Being an outcast is all I have ever known. Perhaps that is why I don't see a monster in you, only a man who does what must be done."

Aniela bit her lip and put the three silver arrows in her quiver, wondering how upset he truly was with her. Not that it mattered. She didn't need his approval. But what she did need was his sword, and his cooperation to find this new School. Maybe even a sense of friendship should the gift arise, though she didn't keep her hopes up. He probably hated her for her actions, if not for the shape of her ears. It wouldn't be the first time a man had despised her and she had been despised for much less than that.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Do you see what assumptions you make of the word monster." He scoffed. "I've never owned a slave, nor have I touched a woman's skin for many years, forceful or not. As far as men go, I've killed my fair share. That, dear Elf, is another story not meant for the likes of girls with a sense for justice."

He hated the way she used the word, as if she were doing something right. Dominik understood why she did it, but, his morals simply pointed the other way. He knew what would have happened had she not killed him. Many other victims would have been made, and nothing, no force out of Flotsam, was going to change that. There was no good way to tell her that he didn't care for murder. There was another kind of justice, but that wasn't something which would appeal to Aniela's ears. No. Time, a prison cell, and a long life behind bars wasn't as satisfying as steel cutting through flesh.

"Don't say I'm not a monster though." Dominik chuckled darkly. "If you think a rapist is enough to be considered as such, then what does that make me? You say I'm no monster, but this is a different kind of outcast, something you will never understand. There are few Witchers living in this world. Just as I will never know what it's like to be an Elf, you will never know what struggles a Witcher faces."

People automatically assumed he was a drunk, assumed that four women came to his bed at night yet only one lived to tell the story of the Witcher who ravaged them all. Of all the beasts in the world, Witchers were the worst, because they still looked human. All save the eyes, Witchers could blend in naturally, attack from within the walls the people deemed safe. They were to be feared. At one point they were to be slaughtered. Yet never would they be accepted, not until far after men and Elf, Dwarf and Halfling could live side by side. Witchers were another sort of monster.

They had a choice in becoming what they were. The inherent evil of slaying a monster for coin, the greed associated with the task, that was something no Witcher could erase. Born with pointed ears or not, they did what they did mostly for coin.

Mostly.

"Of all the people to see as a man." He bit back into the goat leg, his sense of humor was not lost on the words. "Me."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"Don't you mock me. I will not sit here and be made fun of by another dh'oine who seeks to insult me." She cleaned the blood from the blade and slipped it into her pouch as if it were a token of some great accomplishment, as if it were made of pure gold. "I don't expect you to understand. I don't know the pains of being a Witcher, but I would take them any day to the pains of being an elf, and I don't say that simply to wish for tears of pity or some other lie. I know I won't get those things and I don't want them. But I'd rather be a Witcher than what I am now, and no matter what you tell me, that will never change."

Aniela removed the blue cloak that was clasped around her shoulders, revealing a white dress fringed in gold that clung to the hourglass shape of her small frame. Aniela was a tiny thing, standing at only five feet tall if her posture was straight, but her form left nothing more to be desired. She didn't care if he looked. A part of her wanted to, to test his resolve and intentions, but that was the last of her worries at the moment. The jewelry on her ears and wrists jingled as she crawled her way on top of the bed, crossing her legs and picking up the small pouch of coins. She dumped it's contents into her hand, an impressive amount, and began counting exactly how many orens she had stolen from the monster she slew.

"How is it you came to be a Witcher anyway?" she inquired, wanting nothing more than to change the subject and avoid his questions that were no doubt dying to be asked. "I have heard that Witchers don't remember their origins. Is that true?"

She trapped the wine bottler between her knees and uncorked it with her free hand, clearly liking the sweet scent that filled her nostrils, and took a few quick sips straight from the bottle. She liked the drink more than she ought to for someone so small, but she had a surprisingly high tolerance gained over the years and Aniela was confident she could drink anyone under the table. Maybe even a Witcher.

"...if you don't mind answering, of course," the elf added as an afterthought, looking at the money in one hand and the wine in the other. "We'll be spending some time together. I thought I might as well attempt to be friendly versus arguing over what it means to be a monster."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"It seems you and I have something in common." Dominik hinted. He waited for her to settle, watching with disinterest as she disrobed partially to reveal a white dress. She for far too much jewelry for his liking, and couldn't help but wonder if they, too, were tokens from monsters she'd slain. His stomach churned at the thought of who else had received her justice.

Aniela made comments on him being dh'oine, and how it was better to be a Witcher than an elf. Well, she was right in that matter. Dominik curled his hands up around his ears and brushed his bleached hair back to reveal the slight points near the top which gave some insight on his origins. They were smaller tips than that of Aniela's, likely because she was a full blooded Elven born girl. He was not. When he was sure she'd gotten a good look at his obviously Elven ears, he pulled his hair back down to hide them. There was no shame he felt, it simply saved him time and effort when approaching a new town. So yes, he understood the difficulties, far better than she because of both his status as half a man, and a Witcher.

"You're thinking of Witcher Geralt." Dominik explained. "He's the only one of us to lose memory of his past, all of us remember."

The trials which led up to being a Witcher were often times gruesome, not something to be forgotten when all was said and done. He used those moments to define himself, all of them did, if they forgot the feeling of blood in their veins and a sword in their hands as they faced down whatever beasts the school unleashed, then they wouldn't know what it meant to be a Witcher. The apprentices, Dominik included, needed to remember their lessons of they wanted to be strong. The job never got any easier, even with the curse of being a Witcher, and so it was important that they always remember where they came from. That was one of the first teachings Dominik had learned.

"I won't regale you with the story, in the simplest terms, my father died at the hands of a Succubus, the whole town thought it was my mother finally showing her true form." Dominik felt he didn't need to explain she was an Elf. There were no good things to say about their kind when the rest of the town was human. "I found the real thing, slaughtered it, and we moved away. Close enough to the Order of the Wolf. I trained, because what good is half a man, half an elf, and a man without a father to teach him any trade?"

Even in the Elven communities, children born of human and non human parents were shunned. It wasn't as if they hated the child, often times it was never the case, but they represented a future which could never exist. The children were often times the product of rape, excluding Dominik's rare case which was that of love. It was never good to be a child of a human and something else. Neither party cared what happened.

"There's your answer." He chuckled, waiting for her response now. "A half-breed Witcher boy."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

A part of her had always known what lay underneath his locks of pale hair. It didn't surprise her nearly as much as it should. His attitude alone had exhibited the symptoms of his affliction but she had been too busy focusing on his Witcher status to give any thought to the man behind it. She frowned, feeling a fool. She had come across so few half-breeds that made it past a year of life that Aniela supposed it made sense for her to look past it, there were so few of them in the world. I am looking at a miracle, she thought, and her heart swelled. I am looking at the product of an impossible love, a mystery.

"I'm sorry," she admitted after a few moments of silence. "I just assumed...you don't see many elves in positions of power, even as Witchers, much less a man of your background. I prejudged you. It seems I'm guilty of the same crime I accused so many people of..." Aniela set the uncounted money on the mattress beside her, deciding after a long minute to take another swig of the sweet wine.

"Still, that does not somehow change my mind of my actions. You have seen a small amount of years on this earth, with these people. I have been here a hundred and seventy two and seen no mercy, no love like that your parents held for each other, only death and destruction towards my people and my family. Towards myself. This justice is all I have to give towards those who would suffer more at the hands of those I've slain. I don't want your help nor do I want your judgment. Just...leave me be when it comes to those things, and I will not pester you more about Witchers and where you come from should you consider it an annoyance. Or...I don't know." Aniela chuckled, "there is so much I don't know."

The elf girl brought the bottle to her pale lips and took a few more large gulps of wine, clearly with the intention to lose herself if only for a night. They were safe aboard a vessel run by elves, there was nothing that could harm them now, and as such she felt safe enough to drink herself to happiness.

"Do you want some?" Aniela offered at last. "It's white, sweet."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

She had the ability to be humble it seemed. Dominik took the bottle at her offer and swallowed a mouthful before handing it back. He wasn't one for wine, but if he refused the offer it would have been rude. They were making amends, slowly, but he wanted nothing more than to put the talk of monsters behind them. Dominik was a monster after all, and one day her justice would find him, too, if he played his cards right. Witchers didn't have a good reputation no matter where they went, and if Aniela could only open her eyes she might have been able to see what Dominik really was.

"I don't care if you ask about what it's like to be a Witcher." Dominik crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall of the cabin. "No one ever stops to ask, and I'd prefer that than what you know from the most famous of our kin."

Their trip up the river would take a while after all, and it'd go by faster if they had some sort of conversation rolling. Dominik wasn't used to conversations of course, but he could muster something up so long as it kept the girl distracted and his mind at ease. There were monsters at sea, too, and they'd likely have better luck with the Witcher on board. It was definitely going to be a long trip, and with that in mind he pulled an ancient tome from his belt. Every Witcher had one, somewhere, if not on their person. He began to flick through the worn pages in search of knowledge of the sea. He wasn't familiar with the monsters there, save Sirens.

"Every Witcher has this book, for instance." He mumbled as he continued to shift from page to page. "Mine is old, in dire need of new information. However, it does the job just as well. Information on every living creature is inside, blank towards the end in case I discover something. Every so often, I go back to the Order, it helps if they have any new apprentices. Rare, of course."

It was easy to speak when he wasn't fully concentrated on the action. His hands stopped on a page, a few slimy looking creatures were drawn into the yellow pages, and Dominik began to read about them. Some were nameless, others he recognized. Massive eels the size of men, Sirens, Kayrans of various sizes, the occasional storm elemental made its way tot he sea. All things he needed to prepare for if they were going to stay on the ship. Domink set the book down on the floor and traced an outline at the door and window.

"For Sirens." He explained, the chalky outline glowed as he read aloud an incantation. "You're immune, I am not."

There was little else he could do but wait for something to show up, the preventative runes would keep them safe inside the cabin. If anything came too close to the ship, only a silver edged blade would do any good. Steel was fine, if you knew how to use it, silver was the best option though. Aniela could maybe help if she got used to her new bow. All of this, he'd find out in time, and with a little bit of chance.

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

Aniela watched with interest as he read about all the things she had only heard of in horror stories. He was so passionate about his job, that much was clear, and she supposed he had to if he intended to live with himself through the things he had seen. His hands were so much larger than the old, tattered little book that rested in them. She couldn't help but admire it, admire everything about him in that moment, for though they clearly had their disagreements he was a man who cherished what he did.

Aniela could respect that in almost anyone.

She lifted herself off of the bed then, padding across the floor to lean over his shoulder and see the drawings on yellow, brittle pages. "This looks old," she said with a tone of admiration in her voice. "Very old. Though I suppose that makes sense with how ancient the orders of Witchers are known to be."

She couldn't help but feel her heart speed up only slightly. He smelled good, which seemed odd for a mutant known to bathe in blood if the rumors were true. Aniela shook her head slightly to shake the thought.

"If we're going to come across any of these," she told him, "I'm going to need to be better with a bow. Could you teach me?"

She lifted her head to look at him square in the face, not unnerved in the slightest bit despite the dark glow of his eyes. "I'm terrible with a bow and a shortknife won't help me against half of these enemies. I'm going to need something else if I'm going to survive at your side. I can't very well heal the enemies to death, can I?" Aniela chuckled softly at her own joke. "And since the answer is obviously no, I'll need someone to show me how to properly shoot. You're the best option."

Us monsters have to stick together after all.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"Give me a moment to prepare." He requested. "I haven't shot a bow in years."

Domink shut the book with one hand, a whirl of dust coming forth from the ancient pages. It was high time he return to manage his outdated tome, possible rearrange the pages until it were better organized, but this was on time. There was a rampant Order on the rise, and only another Witcher was deemed worthy of investigating. The only thing that might slay a Witcher was a hundred good men, or one other Witcher. Even then, the difference in skill could mean life and death. The tale of Letho and Geralt for instance was a good example, Letho had the muscles of a bull, but Geralt the speed of a snake. Their advantages worked for them, but their skill was simply mismatched for their fight. It all depended on what was studied, and in the end, speed won out.

He exited the room, taking the bow from Aniela as well as a few arrows from her quiver. He held them between the gaps of his fingers as he sauntered down the hall and into a small storage area beneath the ship. His head almost touched the boards of the ceiling, and he could hear the chatter of the crew just overhead, but no one would mind a few dents in the hull. Not really. Dominik would try to fix them up when he was done, as they were not about to go above deck and start wildly shooting arrows at the mast.

The Witcher held the bow in his left hand, raising it to see how the height would work. He'd grabbed the thing just for Aniela's small size, so the bow felt more like a child's in his hands, but for a few lessons it would still work. He understood the basics of how to shoot, probably a lot better than she did. Once he gauged the height, he raised his hand, all four arrows still in between his fingers. He breathed in, pulling back the string until it grazed his cheek, let out one exhale while he found a target. There was a center beam along the back of the ship, just above a stack of crates. That was his aim.

"Always draw back, far as you can. That's the only way you'll get power." He gave the first lesson. Aniela knew how to hold it, he could skip the introductory crap. "Breathe."

Again, he took in a solid breath before letting it out, and with it, the quick succession of four arrows which all found their mark in a line going top to bottom. He hadn't so much as given her a second to follow his hands, the Witcher only wanted to see if he could still shoot with the small bow. Satisfied, he retrieved the arrows and found his stance once more. This time he stopped to explain what he'd done, pulling back to his cheek, aiming with one extended finger instead of his eyes. There wasn't much he could teach her in words, she'd have to practice on her own.

Without warning, he took a place behind her and pulled the bow up in her hand. His arms wrapped themselves around hers and didn't wait for protest, he knew it would come. Now wasn't the time to be nervous about hand holding, she'd have to get used to it until her aim was good. "Pull back, release, always follow your hand, especially when your eyes cannot see." And release. Draw, he'd release, draw, until she had one arrow left and he stepped back.

"I want you to be able to split your own arrows before we get off this ship."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

"A reasonable goal," she agreed. "I think." Aniela held her stance and listened to all he had to say, not flinching in the slightest bit as he touched her to guide her aim. She took in a slow breath and held it a moment, aiming for the center of the crate before letting the arrow go. It found it's target, but not as close as she originally wanted and the elven girl frowned upon seeing her skill was not as good as she hoped it would be.

"Ugh," she sighed. "Again. Let's do it again."

Aniela drew her arrow and aimed, keeping her elbow up, her breath tight, her focus pinpointed. She let this arrow go again until it found a spot ion the wood closer to where she was aiming, though still not close enough. Again, she repeated. Again. Again. The more she shot the more she lost a small bit of confidence, but Aniela was never a woman to give up when her heart was set on accomplishing a task. She would continue to try as much and as often as she could in order to complete the task he had set before her.

After a few minutes, Aniela had emptied her quiver and the crate had been shot full of holes, none of which in the area where she wanted. The elf let out a small sigh and a groan. "I'm really quite terrible, aren't I?" she jested. "Oh well. I suppose I'll have to keep at it, it's not like there's anything else to do."

She stepped forward and yanked the arrows from the wood, filling her quiver with an aura of frustration about her. "I should have picked an easier weapon," she chuckled under her breath. "Okay. Again."

Aniela lifted the arrow and did exactly as he had instructed, feeling the ghost of his hands along her stomach and her hand to keep her posture and aim correct, and she let go quickly. This time, the arrow was less than an inch from her intended target and the elf gave a little gasp of joy to see it had been so close. "Ooo! That's better! Right?" She looked to Dominik for approval.

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

He watched her, time and time again the arrow failing to meet her mark. The place she'd been aiming for ways always a few inches away, and gradually that distance was diminished, until she was near spot on. Dominik couldn't help but laugh as she looked to him for his approval, as if he was suddenly proud of a little bow work. The man was a Witcher, and these things came as naturally to him as breathing after having trained under the best. He eyed up her mark, the tip of the arrow was only just poking inside the wood. Dominik stalked up to it and pulled it from the crate and examined the small hole. Her shots were still lacking in strength, that was something she'd need more training in.

From across the room he looked her up and down. She was lean, probably from having lived off of berries and stolen goods most of her life. That same stature also came from her Elven blood, nothing she could do but look the lean little thing. Dominik took one step closer, hie eyes still lingered on her body. She had muscle, there was no doubting it, but to improve her aim, he felt a bit of sparring was in order. She was a small girl, but in no time at all Dominik would have her working hard to keep up with his pace.

"In the mornings, you'll spar with me for at minimum two hours." He ordered. "Your mark is good, but the strength is poor. We could both use the exercise anyways..." His voice trailed off. It was odd, the way he felt he watched her, trying to see what he could learn from stature alone. As a tried and tested warrior he could see about where she stood in terms of strength and ability, and it wasn't very high, but she had plenty of potential. His deep golden eyes followed her every movement, learning what they could from that alone.

Dominik came closer still, the arrow in the tips of his fingers. His were hard and calloused, large too as Aniela had noticed earlier. He picked up her hand, absent of any arrows for the time being as she waited for the Witcher to hand them over. While not as thick as Dominik's, they still showed signs of having worked a weapon. He nodded with the approval she searched for earlier and handed the arrow back over to its rightful owner, at the same time he dropped her hand so she could continue to practice.

"Again." He demanded, only this time a small smile was on his lips. "Don't miss."

The Witcher sat down against the wall outside their cabin. His eyes followed after her bow, watching her hands work the wood. Every arrow was closer and closer to the spot she aimed for, and it was progress, so he was silently proud of her quick learning. He just hoped that she'd be able to manage in a stressful situation. Aiming at crates beneath the deck of a ship was different than in the middle of a marsh, surrounded on all sides with nothing but a bow. He knew the feeling, and was used to the rush of adrenaline. Was she?

"Again."

 

[moffnat]

Aniela Vandathiel; Protector of the Damned, silver

They trained for what felt like hours, arrow after arrow after arrow all to improve the strength in her arm and the steadiness of her posture. By the end of the makeshift rigorous training, her arm felt ready to fall off or burn to a crisp under the pain she suffered, though Aniela tried hard not to show a single notion that her muscles were in agony. It was all a part of the learning process, as much of a physical test as it was a mental one. There wasn't much she could do besides wait it out and continue to pursue the skill, knowing that the pain would lessen over time.

But of course, that didn't make it any easier in the moment.

"Thank you," she said with a slight grimace as she slung the bow over her shoulder. "This has been helpful. I'm sure the sparring will help too, though you've got a good foot or more on me in height and a much stronger demeanor--are you sure it would be a fair match-up? Though I suppose I would learn better from someone beyond my skill level rather than a person closer to my range." Still, she wasn't sure she liked the idea of letting a Witcher wrestle with her. But she supposed it would have to do, for now.

Aniela walked with Dominik out from where they had their temporary training and back across the hall, into the room they would be forced to share. Luckily the bed was large enough for three people to sleep comfortably so there was no worry of closeness and discomfort, at least not as much as there could be. She placed the bow on the table beside her area of the bed and grabbed the bottle of wine, drinking a bit more before peeling the wrappings off the spiced goat meat she had stolen earlier.

"Mmm," she groaned happily, popping a pulled piece into her mouth. "It's delicious when prepared properly, unlike your massive leg over there. Are you certain you don't want any? It's wonderful." Aniela propped herself on the bed once more, kicking off silver sandals and crossing her legs on the sheets. "It's been so long since I've had meat, it was hard to remember what it tasted like."

​

 

[Lillian Gray]

Dominik of Bremervoord: Witcher, #990000

"No, this'll be fine." Dominik refused her offer. He'd earned the goat from a grieving family, saved the lives of who knew how many, all because he slew an Endrega. It was a simple task, really, but it made the victory all the sweeter when he sank his teeth back into another chunk of the goat. As much as he wanted a bite of hers, probably spiced beyond compare, he was satisfied with what he had. The reward felt greater than a few spices.

Even with the large bed, Dominik eyed it up when they came back in the room, he wasn't sharing with her. Not a chance in hell. She could have the whole thing. He'd slept in worse places, hung from moss in trees to stay off the ground floor. Even the rocking ship floor was better, so long as he didn't have to deal with the awkward bump in the night if he got to close to Aniela. They were traveling together, that didn't mean they had to share the same bed. Even if she offered, it was probably better he play the gentleman and let her take it. For all he knew, she hadn't slept in a bed for fifty years.

"When we spar, I'll tell you a few things." Dominik returned to the conversation of exercise. "I'm willing to show you one weakness, aim for it if you can. I can teach you how to overcome large opponents, and don't be surprised when you don't win. A Witcher knows how to defend himself." He smirked. "Especially this one, I know my weaknesses, as you should know yours. You're small, and you'll need to be quicker than I am."

Dominik felt comfortable enough to loosen the straps of his armor, letting the thick boiled leather fall to the floor around him. Beneath the layers, he was wearing a plain white tunic, stained cream from various wounds and hours of fighting while covered in slick sheets of sweat. There was no good in cleaning it, a day later it'd be stained the same color. At least it didn't smell, and Dominik thanked the Gods for that small allowance. He even pulled his belts from his pants, kicked off his knee high boots, and pulled every weapon away from his person. They were on the river, and there wasn't a good chance anything would come barreling through the door any time soon. It just felt so good not to have to wear all that armor for a while. His trousers were cut off at his shins, thick woolen socks covered his feet to keep him warm, but everything he owned was stained with his own blood. Dominik glanced down for the first time and noticed a large gash in his leg. It wasn't fresh, but the pants would need a quick repair or two, so he laughed instead at how oblivious he was.

He sat like that for an hour, leaning back against the wall so he could find a moment of rest. It was a compliment to Aniela if she knew how to take it, because somewhere deep down it meant that he trusted her to some extent. Dominik had stripped himself bare before her, and if she was bothered by it, she was reading the situation all wrong. When the time was up, he redressed himself and set his swords down at his side once he found a spot to lay in the corner. Even then he didn't shut his eyes. They glowed in the darkness which had washed over them both, a rich golden color compared to the gray hues slithering from the corners of blackness in every crevice.

"Go to sleep. We spar in the morning." He murmured softly, even then his voice was thick and tough sounding, far from comforting. "Good night, Aniela."