Fuck This, I'm Going Back To Dunwall.

I’ll continue my roleplaying on Discord from now on. If you’d like to also start a new one, feel free to let me know. I’ll be writing on Discord instead of here now. I still have the same characters as my muses. If you’d like to continue our threads, let me know and i will make a channel for our writing to keep them going.

I'll continue my roleplaying on Discord from now on. If you'd like to also start a new one, feel free to let me know. I'll be writing on Discord instead of here now. I still have the same characters as my muses. If you'd like to continue our threads, let me know and i will make a channel for our writing to keep them going.

ㅤ           some   king’s   wishes   don’t   equal   a   witcher’s.   it’s   a   lesson   quite   clearly   learned   the   hard   way ,   all   their    faults   paid   for   with   agony  &   innocent   lives ,   a   vanishing   of   vipers   inevitable.   admittedly ,   sore    temptation   exists   even   now ,   perhaps ,   stronger   than   before   ;   getting   involved   just   one   last   time   in   search   for   revenge ,   thirsting   it   like   kings   thirst   their    blood.   it   wouldn’t   serve   any   good ,   of   course ,   altering   neither   past   choices   nor    state   of   mind ,   not   even   soothing   an   light-weighted   pouch ,   resting   by   his   hip ,   as   well   as   a   medallion ,   presented   after   slow   shifting ,   a   pendant   which’s   complex   shape   must   be   known   to   the  elf.          ❝   i   work   for   no   king.   ❞  

The Elf did relate to the Witcher in some ways, especially the suffering in the hands of crowned-heads, whch made it tempting to trust this man. Afterall why would someone that lived the similiar suffering that he did, want something bad for another’s? No, it would be too naive. Iorveth already had his back stabbed more than enough to learn that lesson to not trust anyone. 

Face together... face what? What was awaiting for him? For them? “Where are you taking me, and to whom do you take me to?” the Elf asked with a frown on his face, his voice almost sounding like he was snapping at the Witcher. Mistrust was painted all over the Elf’s facial mimics. Though, it was tempting to give in, to be naive just for one more time. Until the Witcher mentioned picking up a payment. For what? To bring in and sell the head of an outcast rebel that Iorveth was? This was confusing, and Iorveth was too unsure if he could trust him or not. 

As the voice rung in his ears, The Assassin swiftly took a step back, a hand going to grab the dagger on his belt out of reflex. As he kept his hand on the handle of his weapon, the Elf’s brows furrowed into a small frown.

                          ❝   i   know   whose   ship   i’m   on,   ❞          amé   is   quickly   intervening ,   preventing   an   unnecessary   introduction ,   avoiding   commutation   of   informations   that   is   most   certainly   not   wanted   ––––   by   him ,   at   least.   an       oily   palm   stops ,   rising   between   them ,   all   while    a   small ,   tired   simper   slowly   vanishes.   amé   heard   many   tales   about   this   infamous    ship ,   yet   none   told   of   such   a    …    loquacious   captain.        ❝   &   i   know   you.   ❞          

“Now, now.. you call me loquacious like it’s a bad thing. Some may dislike talking much, yes, but i personally don’t see any harm in a nice conversation, unless you’re going to be grumpy about it.” Captain Black crossed his arms loosely over his chest with a chuckle. He knew of Witchers, and their nature. People who were mostly serious, considered to be emotionless by the folk. Children that were put into training from a young age and went through the Trial of Grasses, enhancing their senses, and dulling out their emotions. But Harpy knew they weren’t all that cold and lacked feelings like the common folk say. Afterall, he did have three Witchers in the crew of his ship, two he knew for years, and one he considered to be his brother. Unlike what most people said about them, Witchers weren’t as dull and cold as they are said to be.

             it   is   calm ,   yes ,   or   rather   quiet.   a   witcher   is   aware   of   it   not   necessarily   meaning    assurance ,   something   good.   if   anything   at   all ,   it   is   worrying ,   really.   now ,   surely ,   a   grand   celebration’s   many   noise   might   drive   away   many ,   mayhaps   even   ill - tempered   sorts   of   beasts ,   yet   certainly   not   monsters ,   au   contraire.       ❝   me   &   drinking ?   ❞        nevertheless ,   a   curious   insouciance   is   clinging ,   pulling   mouth   corners   up ,   shaping   a   simper.

Garrett was hoping the Witcher had drunk, so if anything went wrong, he could try to talk out of it. But seeing the impish grin on Amé’s face, the Assassin let out a short, quiet chuckle. Not entirely idiotic, but amusing, huh? What Garrett had in mind was probably the second most idiothic thing he ever thought of doing in his life, but regardless, he wanted to do it. He had never had this feeling before, or wanted to do something like this, to anyone, at all. Even though he was still young, Elves do live long, and Garrett was probably old enough to be considered as someone that ‘’probably has done things’’, but he wasn’t. Most his life, the Elf spent his time avoiding people. Now, though, he wanted nothing but to spend as much time as possible with this Witcher.

‘Come on, be bold, be brave. What’s the worst that could happen?’

He thought, with a sigh. “You can stop me, if you’d like...” the Elf spoke in a quiet, shy tone, while moving a hand up to tug on the fabric of the mask covering half of his face. The Assassin hestitated for a second before pulling the mask down, his face now exposed under the moonlight, the Left side of his face covered in horrible burns that reached down to his neck, and high up near his eye. Some of the flesh gone from his cheek, along with a part of his lips, some of his teeth showing over the empty place where his cheek should be. At least now Amé would probably understand why the Elf’s speech was off, and slurred like that. Pushing his hood back, he shook his head a few times to air out his hair, pointy ears poking out of the black, wavy locks. 

              a   witcher’s   attention   wavers.   it   was   all   going   a  little   differently   than   actually  meant ,   a   night   of   observation ,   gathering   informations ,   informations   which   would   surely   prove   useful   in   oncoming   contract’s ,   now   evolving   into   something   …   something   else.    a   strung - out   good  bye ?   it   is   anything   but    easy   to   categorize ,   especially   for    amé ,   who’s   consciousness   is   filled   with   more   knowledge   than   experience ,   presumably   in   any   existing   field.

a   step   behind ,   always ,    always   adjusting   one’s   own   movements   to   the   leading   figure’s ,   amé   follows   garrett   over   the   dirty   rooftops ,   rotting   wood   not   croaking   even   once   under   nimbly   moving   feet.   it   takes   time ,  spent   in   a   comfortable   silence ,   which   gives   each   one   time   to   gather   their   thoughts ,   their   composure   as   well ,   until   the   city’s   left   behind ,  until   yells   of   drunkards ,   scents   unique   to   crowded ,   unclean   locations   give   way   to   sound   &   smell   of   the   wilderness.

The Assassin’s mind was, at this point, almost a mess. A storm of emotions had  hit the Elf’s thoughts, and it was slowly starting to become harder for him to keep calm, normal. Even having a conversation, or looking someone in the eye for longer than a second was something rare for Garrett, yet there he was now, at that dark, silent place near the calm lake.  Half of his mind was screaming with anxiety. What was going on? What was this feeling he had?

As the two arrived at their destination, Garrett took Amé to the pile of big rocks beside the lake, and sat down on one, second closest to the lake, the tip of his leather pad covered boots touching the water. “It is..” This was calming, and a beautiful view, that brought a smile on Garrett’s face, which he immidiately wept off. Expressions such at that...still hurt those horrible scars on his face.

It took everything in him to swallow up his fear and put on a brave face, to pretend he was fine after witnessing the biggest fear of his life. Garrett only hoped that this woman would never incinerate fire like that again, at least for a while, until he was calmed from it enough and managed to get over it. The elf's heart was beating faster than a marching drummer's rhytym, rush of adrenaline flushed his cloth covered cheeks. After a moment, he managed to atleast control his breathing, which he was doing so frantically, and soon calmed down.

The Elf thought to himself, Why would it be a bold thing to admit? If any problem, obstacle, any hint of violence towards him, he could easily take care of it. Garrett had to keep his thoughts mostly to himself, though, as he had the habit of barely ever speaking aloud. Not only did it hurt him mentally to hear his "off" speech due to his facial scars, it physically hurt him to do so aswell. If he would open and close his mouth constantly for a few minutes, keep a conversation, it pained his jaw. An old battle scar that kept tormenting the Elf with it's pain.

"I.. uh-huh. Welcome." the Assassin tried his best to speak as little as he could, though even that he did so, his speech was still obviously off. He would only hope this woman wouldn't notice, and if she did, she wouldn't ask about it.

               it   isn’t   a   surprise.   it   is   a   relief ,   if   anything   at   all ,   an   overly   sensitive   nose   only   unwillingly   spending   any   span   lasting   longer   than   absolutely   necessary   amidst   reeking   &   completely   senseless   people ,   alcohol   flowing   in   almost   incredible   masses ,   only   almost   as   it   occurs   way   too   often.   amé   is   swiftly   shifting ,   cranium   inclining   subtly ,   a   glimpse   thrown   over   a   tense   shoulder.         ❝   i  didn’t   know   about   that   poetic   streak   of   yours.   ❞

a   lot   is   still   unknown   to   him ,   admittedly ,   which   isn’t   anything   amé   is   particularly   eager   complaining   about   at   any   point ,   as   garrett   himself   is   in   a   similar   position.   a    smile   spreads   over   a    witcher’s   pale   visage ,   small   &   yet  clearly   genuine   –––––   no   questions ,   not   even   now ,   only   quiet   acceptance.   it   is   relieving ,   yes ,   relaxing ,   a   feeling   only   some   awoke   inside   of   the   viper   over   many ,   many   years.          ❝   fine ,   alright.   please ,   lead   the   way.   ❞

“Poetic?” the Assassin let out a quiet chuckle, his lips not moving even the slightest to curve a smile on his mask-hidden face. The Elf still couldn’t believe what he just said, that was so unlike him. A romantic side. That wasn’t something Garrett had ever expressed before, or even thought of, really, which just caused the Assassin to grow nervous and not know what to do or say for most of the time.

That smile, though. The geniune, beautiful smile curved on the Witcher’s lips took almost all of Garrett’s attention. How could just a simple facial mimic be so beautiful? Then, the Elf turned his two coloured eyes up, the brown one looking black like a coal in the dark, his bright blue left eye catching just a little bit of light from the torches nearby and reflecting it like a diamond. Then he met the Witcher’s eyes, his amber coloured, cat-like gaze. Garrett felt like the world had stopped rotating, and the time froze for a while as he stood there looking at Amé.