"The Year of First Madness" (and Grandmasters... Ig...)
This year was the first of the modern Cat School. While Cat Witchers used to be the most emotionless of all schools, an experiement gone wrong would reverse the effect, causing the year's students to instead have heightened emotions and a state of mind known as 'Cat Madness.' While intended to be a mistake, this generation would seize control of the school, and the Cats were forever changed.
Gezras of Leyda
- Survived Experimentation + liberated his surviving yearmates
- Half-Elf
- Founder of the Dyn Marv Caravan
- "The First Mad Cat"
- Unknown how/when he died.
Treyse
- Responsible for the Cat-Wolf rivalry
- Died to his own stupidity TBH
- Strict as a leader
Guxart
- Only survivor of the year
- Oldest living Cat (DILF)
- Weird situationship with Vesemir of the Wolves
- Guardian, Mentor, and Adoptive Father of Aiden (Gave his hood to Aiden to help him hide his ears)
- Doesn't tolerate threats and liabilities to his caravan
- Protective of his 'colony' (group of feral cats)
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Of all the weirdly specific things to hallucinate about, my fangirl ass has been lucid daydreaming about a Witcher West Side Story where Lambert is Tony, Aiden is Maria, the rumble is the treasonous tournament between the Cat and Wolf schools, and America is a sung by Guxart (as Anita) and the Dyn Marv caravan cat witchers about how much they enjoy getting away from Stygga castle.
Okay well i'mma be brave and write some Cat school training days:
A trick of the eye wasn't an official training exercise at the school of the Cat, it was more of a challenge that was set and passed down by the trainees that had just gone through the trial of the Grasses. However, it was attempted religiously by every trainee, and the smarter ones would work together. The challenge was to steal the keys to the wagon that held the food off of Grandmaster Guxart, break into said wagon. The loot was to be shared with the younger kits in particular, though the moment any of the trainees became aware that someone had been successful, they would all sneak away and enjoy a feast.
By no means did all the trainees pass this unofficial trial. Guxart hadn't become grandmaster by lazing around and letting kids rob him. Guxart was very aware of the trial of the trick of the eye and whenever he overheard the kits speaking about it and planning their approach, he would make sure there was something feast-worthy in the wagon, in case they did manage it.
Very few kits managed to catch him unawares, leading to many kits trying numerous times. Kiyan's group had figured a bold approach was their best bet. They'd tackled Guxart to the ground and with seven kits sitting on him, Kiyan had managed to wrangle his keys off him and had run off in triumph, laughing like a madman.
A few years later, Gaetan took a very bold approach. He had been one of the smallest and youngest kits to survive the grasses. He had gone up to Guxart, said "look grandmaster, there's a bird!" while pointing at a tree behind him. Guxart, confused at this strange exclamation, had turned and Gaetan had been able to steal the keys. Aiden and Joël had been sitting on top of one of the wagons watching the whole thing unfold and had nearly fallen off, they were laughing so hard. Guxart had put some extra effort into the feast that awaited the small Cat. He couldn't believe he had fallen for this approach and figured the kid deserved it.
None of the younger kits, or the younger witchers knew where the trial of stealing the keys had come from. Guxart did. It originated from the early days of the Dyn Marv, Gezras had been the one to introduce it. He'd tried to introduce a bit of fun into the tense atmosphere. Those who had come with him were expecting danger, threats hiding around every bend in the road, behind every tree. Those days, the provisions had been meagre and they relied heavily on hunting for meat. Whenever they came across a village or town, however, Gezras tried to buy something nice, even if it was small. As the grandmaster, he could not be seen to introduce this playful approach to training, he had asked Treyse to introduce it for him and made sure the first attempt was a roaring success. The honey cake that was the treasure in the food wagon had been small, but the whole caravan had delighted in the taste of victory.
witchers experience flying for the first time... mixed results.
“Okay so!” Jaskier claps his hands, gathering attention from the witchers. “As you all know, the world is a lot bigger than you thought.” Laughter rings out. “And as good sorceresses as our mages are, having to portal to literally the other side of the world is a bit of a strain for them.” Yennefer grimaces at this, as if hating the idea of her magic being limited in such a way. “Which is why, for the first major patrol being sent to Moscow, we are going to send them in a plane.” An unease settles throughout the hall, witchers shifting uncomfortably. They all learned what a plane was from their teachings, but that doesn’t mean they like or exactly trust them.
“I will be with you all the entire time, and we’ll even be using a private jet to limit interactions with the public, and really this is a sort of test run to see how you fare before engaging in longer flights.” The time between Koltsovo, the closest airport from them, and Moscow was about two and a half hours, a perfect short trip.
“We will be assigning the witchers tonight and will inform you tomorrow,” Geralt now speaks up. “But whoever we choose will be expected to be professional and cool-headed.”
“Remember the entire world will be watching us,” Jaskier drops into a more serious tone. “You will be representing all of the witchers and set a standard which will hopefully allow the other countries to have us enter in order to protect their people.” There’s a chorus of White Wolf through the hall, then chatter strikes up again as they return to their supper.
The witchers end up being as follows: Eskel, Artek, Coën, Treyse, Auckes, Merten, and Stefan. As many school heads as possible, and those thought best fit to represent the other schools. For as much of a witcher mission as this is, it is also a diplomatic one.
Yennefer is kind enough to portal them to the base of the mountain, where a large transport van is waiting for them, as well as a Russian escort.
Well good to know the Russians are at least tolerating us, Jaskier thinks to himself as he greets the soldiers. Eskel has been in a car before, so he’s at least familiar with the sudden acceleration and deceleration, the constant hum of the engine, and the general trapness of it all.
The others, however, are not used to it.
“Too fast,” Artek grumbles out, a vice grip on his traveling bag, the poor large bear is hunched in his seat and having to close his eyes at every turn.
“Makes traveling a whole lot easier, though.” Stefan stretches out, seemingly unperturbed by the vehicle. “An’ we won’t smell like horse shit.”
“What about the other monsters along the road?” Coën questions quietly. “Normally we’d be able to deal with whatever other monster we come across, now we seem to pass right by them.”
“For now that is for the best,” Jaskier speaks up, lounging against Eskel. “Monsters will no doubt figure out how to rip open the top of cars soon enough, but we want to prevent that as long as possible by encouraging quick trips where you don’t get out unless absolutely necessary.” Engineers and manufacturers were already hard at work to find ways to monster-proof their vehicles and other devices, though they are limited in how exactly to test that sort of thing.
They reach the airport with ease, the caravan pulling up right to the base of the jet, where the stairs were already lowered. There was very little public at this small airport, which meant damn near no reporters or cameras flashing at them, but Jaskier knew what would wait for them in the major international airport of Russia.
Normally a private jet would only have one flight attendant, if you could even call them that, they were more concerned with fetching you drinks and refills than safety. But Jaskier had requested a full staff of the best trained flight attendants available, he knew he’d need all the help he could get.
He and the flight staff do their very best to prepare the witchers as much as possible. Before the pilots even turn the engine on they explain how it will be rather loud and they might feel the vibration beneath them, but that is completely normal. They explain how as they climb in altitude so quickly they will feel the change in pressure, mostly in their ears, as if cotton was being stuffed in.
“Chewing on gum will help alleviate this side effect,” Jaskier explains and hands out a pack to everyone. Many have experience with gum, understanding (after a few disastrous incidents) that it was purely meant to be chewed not eaten like fucking candy.
The pilots roar the engine to life, and just about every witcher jumps at the sudden assault of noise, hands reaching for any nearby weapons. They taxi for a couple of minutes, allowing the witchers to get used to the feel, buckling seat belts and clutching armrests, and Merten damn near stuffing the entire pack of gum in his mouth.
Then they reach the runway and Jaskier is fully ready for the shitshow that follows. The plane speeds up, faster and faster, the g-force forcing their heads back against the rest. Auckes has his eyes squeezed shut, entire body taunt like a bowstring. Treyse looks a particularly nasty shade of green that Jaskier is surprised he hasn’t vomited yet, and Jaskier swears he can hear Coën praying behind him.
They climb and climb higher in the sky, causing poor Treyse to open the sick bag he was handed, confirming that he must have a nasty case of flight sickness. But eventually they level out, blessedly with little to no turbulence, and the flight attendants cheerily tell them all that the first hardest part was all done.
“As fucking horrible as this is,” Stefan finally speaks up, needing to shout from the noise. “And this is truly horrible. Why the fuck humans would willingly do this is beyond me... The view isn’t that bad.” Jaskier turns, seeing the crane leader gazing out the small window, others following suit. Even after flying hundreds of times, Jaskier is still amazed by the view from thousands of feet in the air, so he could only imagine the shivers running down the witcher's spines as they gaze out.
Stefan seems content with continuing to stare out the window for the entire flight, barely even touching his food and drink in favor of studying each and every spec of land beneath him. Aukes, seemingly not a fan of heights, closes his window and sits back to try and meditate the time away. Slowly the others relax in their seats, left to their own devices as they wait.
It finally allows Jaskier privacy with Eskel, curling up next to him, making sure to give him as much attention as possible. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, love.” He presses a kiss to his unscarred cheek. “But the majority of the world right now has seem to just accept queer relationships as a normalcy. I fear what would happen if we introduced all three of us as lovers...” He knew they wouldn’t be able to be public with the three of them, needing to leave Eskel as the seemingly purely right-hand to the warlord.
“I know, catmint.” Eskel reassures, lips against his soft hair. “Can’t say I like it, but I understand why it has to be done.” That was one of the more heartbreaking things to teach the Witchers, Jaskier decides, that for all this world has advanced, it has gotten only more and more bigoted in their morals and acceptance.
Two hours later, they are flying over the great city of Moscow. The others are looking out their windows again, taking in the sheer size of the city, the architecture and colors-
“Not half bad,” Treyse comments just loud enough for Jaskier to hear, making him snort in laughter. The flight attendants tell them they will soon be landing and begin instructing them in what to do and how it will feel.
Poor Treyse has a hand clutching another sickbag, just in case, the others sitting ramrod straight with hands gripping the armrests hard enough to cause the plastic to bend and crack.
Jaskier isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s a little proud of Treyse managing to make it all the way until the first jump of the wheels hitting the tarmac before vomiting into the sack. His mere human senses are sharp enough to pick up the pure relief that spreads throughout the cabin as the plane slows, the engine lowering to a purr. Of course they couldn’t be taxied to an actual terminal - no - Jaskier sighs in resignation as he sees the steps being lowered to a swarm of reporters and paparazzi and security and even a few dignitaries.
“Here we go...” He sighs out, taking the front as he leads the witchers out and into the public eye.
