B R I G A N D

this is an independent & highly selective blog for IORVETH from the Witcher franchise. i’ve been around for a hot minute but don’t let that stop you, please ! i’m compliant to the novels, videogames and have some headcanons of my own that diverge from canon. mature content warning. minors will be blocked.

please take the time to read my rules and pages by clicking the floating arrows on my blog.

                           LORE | PROMO | BLOGROLL: @morrias​

      𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 at the empty bottle before them, and how the rain plipped and plopped around the rim, only a few lucky drops making it inside. The small tented shelter smelled like war still, and Iorveth was eager to leave it. But he knew better, his wounds still aching from where a storm of arrows and pierced him. They weren’t open anymore, not so much anyway, but the scars littered beneath the bandages were almost as nasty as the gaping hole that should be his eye.

Silence continued as the last drops of rain seem to fill the space like ambience, yet the question hangs loud as a drum upon the elf. Truthfully, Iorveth didn’t know what to say to her. For now, he could only remember Geralt and the mage’s conference -- the vile smile of Philippa Eilhart. The short lived oy of Vergen. And where were they now ? Some sopping forest dwelling, hidden from the outskirting villages that reached out this far ?

        “   𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐈𝐍’ 𝐋𝐈𝐄, 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 .  ”  Iorveth practically spits. But even in the presence of a queenly dh’oine, he has the self control to minds his manners. Lest she sick her guard dogs on him and his squirrels waiting in the trees. The elf realizes belatedly, he should have listened to the dryads in Brokilon. He crosses his arms, or would so attempt if they weren’t already shackled at the wrists by the two dh’oine beside him, squeezing at his chainmail. 

        𝐀 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 found its way upon the shadowed figure before Iorveth. His grip grew tighter upon the blade at his hip, eager and ready to unsheathe it if need be. He snarled out on scarred, chapped lips, 

“  And what do you know of it, wretch ?  ”

     “ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 . ” Iorveth replied with a hint of smugness carrying itself in his eye to hear Geralt say so. He pulled out his pipe and began to pack herbs into it as leant his back against a tree. At their feet laid the slain arachas, its large legs curled in on itself, frozen from its last death throes. 

     𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 from one leg to the other, and the crossing of bow worked arms across his chest is all Eldain received at first. As Iorveth looked down over the valley, just over a shrouded cliffside. His expression grim, the elf opened his heart to reply in one truth: “  One hundred years of blood, indeed. Nilfgaard will never be able to repay the bloodshed they caused, and that bitch Enid an Gleanna is just as bad as the ploughin’ dh’oine .  ” 

      “ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . ” Iorveth replied sternly, draping her arm over his shoulder as he tried to get her up from the field of fallen corpses. “  We made a decision long ago, to have something better to live for .  ” His voice was rough, his breath ragged from tiredness as he hauled her body off further into the forest line. Once they found a tree far enough for safety, he laid her down against the trunk with only minor a wince to his own wounds of arrows that had missed their mark but still pierced his armor. His green eye bore intensely into Saskia’s as he put his hand over the gash on her waist to slow the bleeding and said, “  We will not die here, Saskia. Everything comes to an end, even Vergen. But we will begin again .  ”