A timeline of the foundings and falls of the Witcher Schools, as reckoned by me.

Everything that's canon, as far as I know, is in italics.

Enjoy!

910 - Mages tasked with making monster hunting knights at Rissberg. (In the 10th century)

915 - First witcher is made.

917 - Order of the Witcher established at Morgraig.

935 - School of the Bear established at Haern Caduch.

938 - School of the Viper established at Gorthur Gvaed.

940 - School of the Manticore established. 

941 - School of the Cat established at Stygga.

942 - School of the Griffin established at Kaer Seren.

943 - School of the Wolf established at Kaer Morhen.

950 - Behelt Nar and Bialsuf Alsarea are finished being built.

952 - Cats of Stygga are all killed on order of nobles. School of the Cat Dyn Marv caravan is founded.

1146 - School of the Manticore loses majority of their number to a Fire Elemental & loses support of the Zerikaanian crown.

1160s - Monster numbers start to decline.

1164 - Kaer Seren is destroyed with an avalanche by mages who were denied entry to the Griffin library.

1180s - Monster numbers are noticeably small.

1188 - Bears fail to destroy a cabal of vampires, and peasants destroy Haern Caduch.

1194 - Wolf Pogrom.

1210 - Witcher Tournament culls the Wolves and Cats. 

1230s - The last Wolf mage capable of performing the Trials died or vanished. The trainees of the late 1230s or early 1240s were the last of the young Wolf witchers to ever be trained.

1230-1257 - Gorthur Gvaed is destroyed by the Nilfgaardian army on The Usurper’s orders for not joining his empire.

1264 - Geralt brings Ciri to Kaer Morhen.

1268 - Nilfgaardian Soldiers overrun the Dyn Marv caravan. (Prior to 1272 the soldiers overran the Cat Caravan)

1272 - Battle of Kaer Morhen.

He'd marched into the Cats camp with his 'saviour' at eight years old. Bold as brass where others were gripping onto hands or hiding behind legs but turned as meek as a temple mouse the first time someone had only slightly raised their voice at him.

He had to be physically dragged out of hiding to run drills, such was his hatred of them and yet he excelled at them every single time, beating both older trainees and full Witchers to the point where they'd seriously been considering sending him out on The Path early (until it got pointed out that nobody would take a Witcher who couldn't even grow a proper beard yet seriously. He wouldn't last a year).

He was one of the smartest in his cohort but hadn't been able to even sign his own name up until two years ago when Axel had finally pieced things together and sat him down with a bunch of old contracts he'd found at the bottom of his pack to use as paper and an even older pencil before asking Schrödinger if he had any interest in learning how to also write his letters, not just read them. He still remembered the relief he'd felt when the older Cat had softly but firmly reassured him that no, this in no way meant he was stupid and was nothing to be embarrassed about and anyone who told him otherwise was talking out of their arse.

He fought down the rising bile as he crouched to check over the bodies. The rotten fish odour that accompanied the black ichor of a kikimore, or the earthy stench of a nekkers he could handle. The more humanoid monsters (and humans themselves; he was a Cat after all) though....

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aiden & Gaetan (The Witcher), Gaetan & female OC, Gaetan & Joel (the Witcher), Gaetan & Schrödinger (The Witcher) Characters: Gaetan (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher), Joël (The Witcher), Schrödinger (The Witcher), Original Female Character(s), Guxart (The Witcher), Lexandre (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Dyn Marv Caravan (The Witcher), Cat School (The Witcher), Mentor/Protégé, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Team as Family, so what if Gaetan had a kitten, and if it was terrified of thunderstorms, caring Gaetan, Fluff and Angst, Language Barrier, dwarvish

Summary:

Gaetan's kitten Brigitt is facing her terror of thunderstorms and goes out into the nightly Camp of Dyn Marv to search for her mentor.

Ask and ye shall receive, my friend! It ended up just slightly angstier than intended, because witchers and Vesemir are involved, but I hope it meets your expectations for the Kitten Shenanigans™. Full disclosure, it is heavily inspired by this post.

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Kittens love to be tossed.

This epiphany —perhaps the most important one in all of Guxart’s many, many years of raising kittens into Cats— came at the cost of his ungreyed temples and his witcher-slow pulse. All he remembers now, four decades later, is that he had been walking through a Toussaint forest with Gezras when a horrible, ear-piercing shriek shattered the peaceful morning air. It had ripped through him like poison. Made his guts fall through to his feet. Nearly took him out at the knees before he whipped his useless body around, sprinting to the source, the lake where he’d left his kittens to bathe. Another scream found his ears, and he barely fucking registers the orange blur of Gezras beside him as he pushed ahead, bursting though the treeline to save his kitten 

“Lexandre!”

The sound nearly tore his throat apart, but how could he care? Just beyond the shores stood Lexandre, cowering from the claws of a water hag. He ran. Vicious, disgusting claws tore into his back as he tackled his kitten, curling him into his chest and away from the danger. He barely felt them, just kicked away underwater as fast as he could, hearing the sound of steel on flesh, knowing that Gezras had the danger in hand so he could focus on getting his precious cargo to safety. When Lexandre began to scratch at his arm, he pulled them upwards to the surface, took their heads above the sudden waves.

He expected screaming. He expected whimpering and sobbing, to have to comfort his kittens and scold them in the morning.

He hadn’t expected laughter.

—

— — —

—

From that day onward —when the beat of his heart had kept pace only with the rapid, joyful cries of “Again! Again! Again!” as rowdy kits begged to be tackled once more— Guxart had a new tool to wrangle his growing clowder. Lakes, rivers, bushes, leaf piles, snowdrifts, pillows. Other kittens, on occasion. And oftentimes, right back into his arms. Any and every surface that could give them a somewhat soft landing, and Guxart has both an irresistible reward for good behavior and a deterrent for excessive mischief, all in one. Good kits are tossed, repeatedly. Naughty kits would have to, unsatisfyingly, throw themselves. It minimizes considerable damage. So, when he decides to show Vesemir his newfound knowledge, he expects more gratitude than he gets, and maybe even a fun, tossing-related reward of his own.

“What the actual fuck, Guxart.”

It was foolish, in retrospect.

“What? They’re having fun, look at ‘em.” 

Guxart’s newest charge, a dwarvish girl just barely past five summers, falls hard into his arms, giggling with glee. Kiyan’s weight pulls at the strained muscles of his back the same way her smile pulls at the strained strings of his too-soft heart. Shrödinger handles his other kit, Joël, in a similar manner, tossing him higher still. The pair had done excellent in their drills today, and had been slowly learning to hold knives properly with no delays, thanks to the promise of being tossed. His wolf snarls, curling his lip. It’s handsome, but ultimately unnecessary.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, damnit! What the fuck are you even doing to them? What for?”

“I’ll be fine, pretty boy. My kits aren’t so big yet. And it’s called kitten-tossing, a favorite pastime around here.”

He catches Kiyan again, and lets the resistant kitten wiggle her way out of his arms to be tossed by some other willing elder before turning back to his sometimes-lover.

“The long and short is that they like it. It keeps the hellions sweet, and I thought you’d appreciate that for your own little pack. I’m sure they’re no kits, but surely not all of your pups are as stiff as the pole stuck up Rennes’ ass.”

“Don’t you bring up Rennes, not when he doesn’t know I’m even here. What are you coddling them for? With their odds, what’s the point?”

Guxart sighs, rubbing at his graying temples. The movement makes his shoulder twinge again, but he ignores it again.

“Fuck off, Vesi. I can love them at least a little while, or however long they last. Besides, I think it really does help them —we don’t just get lucky picking acrobatic children, not with how desperate we’ve been for new trainees. The throwing… balances them, oddly enough.”

“Maybe. Or it’ could be what makes them all crazy.”

It’s a low blow, and it stings like bitter herbs in a fresh wound. But Vesemir can’t stay for long, so Guxart lets it slide with a wink and a laugh. A joke.

“Then what’s my excuse, hm? And yours, for coming here?”

“Don’t make it like that. You’ve always had your way of handling your recruits, and I won’t stop you. Lexandre turned out mostly fine, explosives aside.”

With that, the Wolf bumps his hip against Guxart’s, the best apology he can make, and Guxart takes it. He likes his way, and this method is one of his best to not only prepare his kittens for witcher life, but show them some kind of affection under the guise of training. It works, whether Vesemir understands it or not. He’ll bet anything the bastard adopts it himself, once he gets a pup who needs it badly enough.

Witcher 3 + Netflix / This part is rated G / Geralt & Ciri / Incomplete 

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They're on the last hard leg before Kaedwan to Kaer Morhen where he'll be able to fucking figure out what to do with his child surprise. They’re trying to outrun a Aedirnian windstorm,  Roach axii-ed half out of her mind to follow the path- when the unmistakable stench of other witchers and people was carried on the gale to Geralt. He immediately dove all three of them off the road into a gully under an upturned tree: he and Ciri and Roach were downwind and he'd probably only smelled them at all through the storm because of how big the group obviously was. He caught a great sound besides the cacophony of the storm-

You're pouting in your sleep

I'm waking still yawning

It was a tight fit and Roach started to shift uneasily- Geralt recast axii and thrust a sheathed dagger into Ciri's trembling hands and thanked the uncountable gods Calanthe at least made sure the girl could ride. He touched his forehead to Ciri's and dismounted, looping his finger through Roach's halter, debating whether he should guide Roach or sprint off as a distraction if they're noticed by the party. It didn't really fucking matter, there were enough of them to break off and hunt them both- better they stayed together.

We're proving to each other

That romance is boring

The shouted bawdy singing came through like static and the ring of a blade; a whole host of fucking trouble when he heard the groan of wheels-

Through the roots of the upturned tree, thirty yards beyond them, he saw the Dyn Marv caravan crossing the parallel road. 

It was only his third time passing the caravan, but the whole clowder appeared to be making the most of the storm. It was unnerving the way they somersaulted and vaulted over the brambles and ducked around the wheels seemingly unperturbed by the heavy drafts bending the trees and the youngest kits were nearly blown away by the stronger blasts of wind. Crowing their song like they’ve filled a whole tavern on their own.

Still there are things I could do

If I was half prepared to

Prove to each other that romance is boring

A child, still brown eyed and scrappy, nearly flew into a trunk when a witcher scooped him from the skies and pulled him down to earth again. Geralt realized the whole tumbling crew was paired and tethered together- elders dancing around the youths who wavered between elegant rolls and buffeting into the sky.

As more than half the caravan and its wagons and eccentric inhabitants thrashed past, without giving any attention to them, Geralt silently held Ciri's hand and nudged her to peer out at the strange school.

Through the shaking world, Aiden's roguish eyes met his and winked.

He thought of the songs of Kaer Morhen. The pattering work songs boys chorused as they ran the walls, teaching them the roads spidering across the continent and the names of the constellations; the supper ballads reminding them their noble histories; the rolling melodies for learning footwork.

He didn't think any of them could bear to sing with Ciri.

.

A/N- wOw! My draft has ballooned from 5k to 10k words! Thanks y’all for getting me excited about this WIP :) 

The song is “Romance is Boring” by Los Campesinos! I just saw them live again and they’re so so so good! I love the song and listened to a few covers- I guess I imagine it sounding somewhere between their KEXP recording for energy and mood and a few acoustic covers  for an idea of what it will sound like when it comes back into the story.

Encouragement and kind words will always make me more excited to write stuff <3 and feel free to dash off a message to me! I haven’t really made any friends in the fandom yet :3c

Thanks for reading, friends!

Rough and tumble ragged drafts on tumblr here: actual fic varieties of exile