#;witcherthread

     It’s been but a day since the manticore’s attacked and were repelled, a day since claw’s took his eyes from him. Nothing feels right. Smells right. He’d been confined to the infirmary at the castle after he’d been cleared to move, not that the exhaustion in his very bones made that easy upon the Witcher. But, he’d moved, barely spoken a word the entire time. Even with feeling like he was running on empty, he hadn’t been able to sleep. To calm the buzzing in his head at all the missed opportunities. He’d never be able to finish his bestiary. Never be able to watch the young soldiers training in the yard. Never be able to watch the first sun as it peeked over the horizon.

      But what provoked his current rage was when his blade was brought to him. Found within the spine of one of the slain manticore’s, they knew it to be his. Thought nothing of delivering it to the man as he led there, and left. It provoked a new wave of those breaking sobs, before rage took over. No matter how much his body screamed in agony, he was on his feet, grabbing whatever vial was closest to his bed after fumbling around for a moment, and with a roar, lobbed the glass at the closest wall. He heard the steps, and not even considering who it could be, was turning without a second thought.

        “Leave me!”

     The life of a Witcher wasn't one that he'd ever prepared himself for, but now... It was second nature. Supplies in a bag near enough constantly over one shoulder, weapons adorning his body, both the blades displayed proudly at his hips, and lesser weapons hidden upon his person. Even when he wasn't actively pursuing prey, he found himself... Aware. Enhanced senses were both a blessing and curse. It always felt like something was crawling over his skin, like something was watching him. Maybe he was just growing paranoid.

     "You know, staring is hardly the most courteous of actions, ser," Sulvan spoke easily, gaze not shifting from the book of pages spread open in front of him, pencil scratching away on a blank piece of parchment. Notes from his most recent hunt, all while the memories were fresh in his mind. "Can I aid you with something?" The Witcher still hadn’t raised his gaze, just figuring the individual was curious. He got a lot of that more recently. Curiosity, of what he did, of what he hunted. It was easy to distinguish his kind from most. 

       He could tell he’d been pushing himself too far. He could feel it burning in his blood, yet still he could not stop. There was still one, he’d assumed would have fled with the sword embedded within it’s spine. Maybe that was preventing it. Regardless, it was the last Manticore to remain and to say exhaustion was leaving it’s toll upon him was an understatement. But that would not be the thing that stopped him in his duty. Not on a day like today. They’d lost enough, and the beast was already wounded. 

     In his haste, however, he forgot one of those golden rules. A cornered beast was far more deadly than one with bravado.

      All he could hear, all he could smell, everything was just terror. For the normal person, it was loud, unwelcome, abrasive. For Sulvan, it was all consuming. Every roar that shook the air, every cry cut through him. Enhanced senses were all well and good, but when it came time to focus up, it could prove the worst distraction. It’s why he almost missed the sounds closest to him as he set about following one of the wounded Manticores. Blade held in one hand, the other already set to carve a Witcher Sign upon the floor if the thing attacked. He knew by the end of this he’d be in trouble. Over use of the signs proved problematic for his kind, but he knew it was necessary in the face of an attack like this.

       And then he heard it. The beast’s roar, the rearing up. Faster than he had been, he was driving forward, vaulting over the remains of a tent to instead place himself between the creature and it’s target, sword piercing the beasts paw as it swung upon the young nobleman.With a wrench, he cleaved through, at least glad the beasts own weight had helped him break through it’s tough hide. Before another paw could be raised, the flask of oil he kept at his waist was thrown in to the gaping maw, and another use of the igni emblazed upon his palm saw the beast’s throat roasted. It was only then he turned to the boy, slipping in to a crouch in front of him.

He joined the roaring crowd as another match drew to a close, grinning to himself as he finally took the opportunity to stop wandering the grounds. If any issues arose, word would be quick to spread, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have his blades at the ready. Most creatures weren’t brazen enough to attack in this situation. A few ccubi indulging at night, perhaps, but they were beyond his concern for now. His mind was idly distracted, enough to wander in to another individual wandering the crowded stands, offering a nod of apology.

“Apologies, seems the crowds been getting the better of me today.” A pause, before flashing the most charming grin he could muster. “How have you been finding the events so far?”

      He’d bested three of the beasts, he knew a few more of them had been felled by his fellow Witcher’s. It was hard to keep track of just how many there were still lurking around. He could already feel it in his blood, the effects of using the signs too much. Uncorking another flask from his belt with his teeth, he took another swig from the bottle. Bitter still, but he should be able to keep going for now. Maybe pushing his limits, but there were still beasts to handle, and eh was one of the few equipped to handle them. 

     As much as Sulvan had steadily become more accustomed to these events over the recent years, he still found himself shying away from anything close to the forefront of it. Sticking to the sidelines, to the shadows, and just keeping a watch. It was in his nature to observe, not participate. Besides, it was hardly fair for him to compete in most of the events. His training, his experiences, it was hardly fair to put him against ordinary knights hwen he was used to taking a beating from beasts far beyond the normal. So, instead, he was enjoying the show. The clanging metal around him would usually have him on edge, but for now, he was content to enjoy it.

     Eventually, however, he found himself navigating his way toward the queen, perched far enough above the crowd that he could observe it all.