Lupaline

During the height of his misspent youth, it was not uncommon for Regis to wake up with blood in his mouth after blacking out from binge drinking. Luckily for his sanity, there was no identity attached to the blood, for the sheer number of his victims meant that any differences in taste would blend into a single entity of disgusting euphoria and regret. Yet after Tesham Mutna, the blood gained a name. A name that once bathed him in security, now filled him with bottomless grief and betrayal (whose betrayal was it).

His own special nightmare.

What if vampires consider biting and drinking from a mate/pack member’s neck as an expression of love, yet for Regis it would be tainted by its association with blood addiction? Compounded by how he had to stop Dettlaff in the bad ending of B&W, he would probably have bad nightmares about blood in his mouth :(

I end up staring at my notifications like

Authors note: This a secret santa present for @lupaline . I hope you enjoy what I have written for you. This will be a little fanfic with Geralt and Regis as the protagonists. I will upload the other chapters as well after this one. Here you go with the first chapter <3. I’d be very happy about feedback, since this is my first ever fanfiction.

Merry Christmas and I hope you have a wonderful day.

Chapter 1 - Peculiar circumstances

With a pull on the reins, Geralt stopped his loyal companion in her tracks and got off her back, dismounting from the saddle. His hand gently stroked the dark brown fur, which felt rather warm due to the direct sunlight heating it up. Leading the mare to a stable of the local inn, he tied the horse to a log. “We’ll take a break now. You can rest a little, while I go find this client, alright?” Receiving a, what he thought was an agreeing snorting sound, Geralt turns his back to Roach and walked off into the direction where he assumes the Warehouse and the man who looked for a Witcher on the notice board. On his way there, the Witcher didn’t miss out on noticing the colourful banners and emblemed shields, carrying the blue rose of Nazair with its purple colour at the tips of each petal. The Guards eyed him sceptically, yet restraining from commenting on his looks or voicing any other derisive note. As he reached his destination, Geralt turned to the man who guarded the entrance. “Looking for a Witcher, I heard. How can I be of help?” The man, short, dark haired and rather bulky as well, seemed to size Geralt up before opening his mouth to speak. “Yes. We have some kind of creature terrorizing the civilians of the village around here, tearing some of them apart even… You’re not from here, are you Master Witcher?” Geralt answered, even if he couldn’t sense why this question was of necessity. “No. I’m just passing trough Nazair, looking for some extra work. You seem to have wandered off the point, so if we may talk about the contract?” The raise of one eyebrow underlined his demand, leaving the guard little to no choice of asking further. “Uh yes, of course. So actually, I have no Idea what it was. That’s your job, isn’t it? Just go down there and see for yourself and make sure the beast gets slaughtered.” Not expecting any different Information that could be of use, Geralt simply nodded and follows the path leading into the forest, where the incident occurred.

“Dried up. Wasn’t too recent.”, rubbing the bordeaux, thick substance between his thumb and index finger, Geralt was squatting next to a demolished barn. The village held a total of eleven houses, some of them dilapidated and covered in blood. Considering the number of beds, distributed on the number of dead bodies, everyone had been killed or died of internal, maybe external injuries. None of them caused by sharp blades. Geralt’s eyes inspected the provisional weapons, laying next to the corpses of their owners. “No sign of blood on the metal. Looks like they didn’t defend themselves or didn’t get to do so. It was no ambush as they had their weapons ready…” Walking towards an approximately fifty-year-old man to get a closer look on him, Geralt already spotted the cause of death from afar. “Neck snapped. He died instantly. The creature had no trouble doing so… an intelligent monster it seems.” The Witcher noticed two of the bodies, which stood out from the rest. One of them, a male and about thirty, as his structure of teeth gave away, was explicitly battered. Several organs seemed to peek through the slit open abdominal wall, with severe injuries to them. The facial structure was hard to identify and Geralt couldn’t even tell if the man’s nose was still attached or long gone. Hands, arms, legs and feet. All of them covered in serious bruises and cuts. Inspecting the corpse more precise, Geralt noticed another difference. “His neck and spine are still intact, unlike the ones of the other peasants. Seems like this one suffered a slower, more painful death” The other body, which didn’t fit into the scheme, was the one of a female. Also, about thirty, maybe even two to four years younger. Her hair was a shiny, light blonde, and reached her shoulders. The eyes, still holding the shock before her death in them, were a light, ocean blue. Her cause of passing seemed to line up with the rest of the village: a broken neck. A quick and mild death. What baffled Geralt the most, was the way she was positioned on the ground. Her dress was put in place, even noticeably stroked clean. Hands folded over her chest, the woman was holding a bunch of wildflowers. Blue lotus flowers. “What the hell happened here…?” Geralt squinted his eyes. Possibly a winged creature? No. The density of the trees and houses, or what was left of them, allowed no possibility of landing on the ground, neither did it provide an opportunity to set down on top of the brittle roofs. Particularly because there was no sign of pressure to spot on them. A fire-spitting beast could also be excluded since there were no traces of fire or ashes anywhere to be seen. Looking around the setting of the massacre, the Witcher had trouble finding any traces on the soil or along the wooden buildings. “That’s odd. “, crouching down, Geralt crunched his nose in bewilderment. Narrow parts of the ground, next to the housings, seemed to have been walked on frequently, all trampled down. Certain, wider areas showed signs of loosening on the ground, like it was broken up on purpose in the process of getting rid of any footprints. “How is the ground this even? Hm.” Using his Witcher senses, allowing him to hear, see and smell far more than a normal human ever could, he attempted to find something like a trace. A connection to the rest of the scene and a continuation of his investigation. Geralt hesitated as he noticed something peculiar. There was another set of footprints next to the little rest which was left behind. Those footprints seemed to differ in their depth. Like this one person wore a much heavier equipment than the rest of them. Not even with the help of his inhuman abilities, a clearer picture immerged. “A massacred village. Two of the villagers stand out from the mass and no traces are left expect for some, one pair varying in depth. Hm. Maybe I’ll come across another starting point after I ask around the city. There is a small chance of witnesses or even relatives being still alive.”

As he passed the inn, where Roach was still standing well-behaved and drinking the cool water in the trough, the sun had already prepared to set, painting the sky in a warm orange colour. A huntsman was about to leave the establishment but stopped in his tracks as he saw the white-haired man with yellow, cat-like eyes. Geralt wasn’t the one having to ask for information, as it appears. “Ah. Are you the Witcher they hired because of the massacre?” Being spoken to directly, Geralt stopped as well and looked at the man, who appeared less sceptical of the Witcher. “Yes, that’s me. Do you know what had happened there?” The brown-haired hunter simply shook his head, followed by a sigh. “No, sadly not. Even though I’d love it to be solved as well. Glad to see a professional taking over the situation.  It’s a shame. Irlind and Askijel were so young and just got married. Terrible, that such a thing happened in their wedding night. May their souls rest in peace.” The man sighed once more and took his hat off as if to mourn. Geralt nodded agreeing and broke the silence after some seconds. “This Irlind. What can you say about her? And Askijel?” “Oh well, Irlind was promised to Askijel. An arranged marriage. But the woman didn’t seem to be averted. She was a literal beauty, it is no wonder she was desired by many. Beautiful I tell you, golden hair, pinkish lips and captivating eyes like ice.” Another sigh escaped the man’s lips and Geralt figured that he was also one of those who have desired her. “And her betrothed was someone kind as well. Have met him while hunting several times, as he picked flowers for her. Always got her winter cherries, never anything else.” Geralt nodded, taking all the information in. “Any hunch about who might have caused the deaths? Seen anyone suspicious?” The hunter shook his head. “I have no clue.” Geralt wanted to thank him but was cut off before he could do more than inhale. “Oh, but you could ask the other Witcher.” His confused raise of an eyebrow must’ve signalled the hunter, that he has no idea who he meant. “Another man came before you did. He looked just like you, but he had no white hair. But those uh…”, he circled his index finger around his very eyes before finishing the sentence: “cat-eyes. That means he was also a Witcher right? I don’t know if this is helpful information but maybe he knows which creature was responsible for the incident. He seemed to be wealthy, which means he must’ve taken care of many monsters and fulfilled many contracts too, right? Maybe he could help you out.” Geralt narrowed his eyes, pulling his eyebrows along in perplexity. “Another Witcher you say? Who was that?” The man simply shrugged at that question. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him. But he wore something like you have around your neck as well. But his amulet carried a bear” “And where can I find this other Witcher?”, Geralt asked, now intrigued. “Ah, Master Witcher. I’m a simple Huntsman, not a Sage. But I know that he often visited the local barber. He is also a foreigner. Maybe you should ask him for the Witcher. I’m afraid that’s all I can do for you.”, the man mentioned, pointing towards the way, where the shop is located. “Thank you for the help. And good luck with the hunting.” Receiving a warm smile from the man, Geralt turned away and walked down the pebbled path, leading to the premise of the said barber. 

Castle

Last painting I did for practice with brushwork

Hello it’s me, the person who loves to be mean to her favourite characters.