#wanderingwolfwitcher

Shani lingered for a moment, her hand resting on her hip. The soft morning light of Oxenfurt bathed the buildings in gentle hues of yellow and orange. It was a serene scene, yet the fatigue etched on the man's face caught her attention. She recognized that expression; it mirrored the faces of those she had cared for after the chaos of battle.

With a sigh, she turned and resumed her brisk pace through the city. The sound of her boots clicking against the stones echoed in the quiet before the day’s activities began. The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery, causing her stomach to rumble. It had been a long trek from the countryside, where she had been tending to a village suffering from the recent outbreak of swamp cough.

As she neared the sign of the Cat and Golem inn, her mind wandered back to her days at the esteemed Oxenfurt Academy. Those revered halls had imparted much knowledge, but it was her time with Eskel that had truly sharpened her abilities. Two years prior, they had confronted the toad prince right in these streets. It had been a harrowing experience, yet they had triumphed, and she had discovered a renewed sense of purpose: to aid those who were unable to help themselves. He had helped her in more ways than he could ever imagine, he had turned her life around, pushed her career forward and left an impression on her.

Once more, she set out to find him, her satchel brimming with supplies and her thoughts racing with the murmurs of a new dilemma haunting a city further away from here, within the land of Toussaint, where blood and wine flow side by side, and rumors of vampires and people suffering under them run wild. This was the kind of challenge she yearned for, and is Eskel was by her side, she felt ready to tackle it head-on.

As she pushed open the sturdy oak door of the Cat and Golem, a wave of warmth and the rich aroma of roasted meats enveloped her, mingling with the soft chatter of early patrons. The inn had remained largely unchanged in the two years since her last visit. The same weathered wooden tables and chairs, the same battered bar, and the same shining copper kettles dangling from the ceiling greeted her. It would be the last time she would see it, the war, the purges, the death of the king, the chaos that had come with it, her time here, was at an end, it was time for her to move, onwards with her work.

Her gaze swept across the room, searching for the familiar silhouette of the witcher. There he was, tucked away in a corner, his back turned to her, engrossed in the map laid out before him. The flickering candlelight danced across the furrows of his brow, revealing a more seasoned and weary visage than she remembered. Yet, she knew that beneath that exterior lay the same fierce resolve that had seen them through the darkest depths of the sewers.

"Eskel," she called out, her voice slicing through the ambient noise. As she quickly, a skip within her step would approach his table.

Each word Eskel spoke resonated with a weight that was at once humbling and painful.  It seemed impossible to process the casual way he spoke of years of cruelty, insults tossed like stones against his appearance, against his very existence.  Uglier still was the tale of those who fetishised him. 

And yet, he still managed to tease, his self-deprecating humour softening the edges.  Anri saw the flicker of warmth in his scarred features as he smiled, and felt it when his lips found her cheek.  The gesture, so gentle despite his rough hands and gruff demeanour, seemed to hold all the gratitude and vulnerability that words alone could not convey.  

As he kissed the back of her gauntlet, she stared at him in awe, at once breathless and overwhelmed by the way he carried himself – with humour and dignity, with an effortless strength that had nothing to do with swords wielded or potions quaffed.  But it was his final words that rooted her to the spot, his deep, gravelly tone softened by an honesty that left her defenceless:  Long as it’s you appreciatin’ my looks, that’s all that matters to me.

Anri parted her lips to speak, but her throat betrayed her, tightening like a snare, and she had to look away for a moment, gathering her thoughts.  When her gaze travelled back to the Witcher, her blue eyes burned bright.

“You… you mustn’t dismiss yourself so lightly,” she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.  “Your scars, your mutations – they are not the marks of a monster or an aberration, Eskel.  They are the marks of someone who has survived, who has fought and endured where others would have crumbled.”

Stepping closer, her armour clicking faintly with the movement, she hesitated for only a heartbeat before placing her hand over his.

At his comment about the fools in the tavern, a small and amused smile snuck onto her face. It just seemed there were some people who would never learn, that was for sure.

She quietly listened to his story about the monsters he was hunting, intrigued by it. While she had luckily never come across any of these monsters in her life, she had heard about them, and wanted to learn all she could in order to defend herself, but also for natural curiosity's sake. She was just a simple elven bard trying to make her way in the world and learn more about it. All she had ever known as Dol Blathanna and whatever her teacher would tell her.

grymforge has certainly been living up to the first part of it's name ---- not that she had any real expectations for a crumbling ancient city that was completely underground. the fact the majority of it was still standing should have been enough of a marvel for her to overlook the rest of it.

but she isn't exactly here to sightsee ------ between the pressing matters of trying to find a drow ( and separating him from his head ) and navigating a particularly volatile group of duergar ( as if there really were any other kind ), admiring the architecture is tucked a long ways back in the rearmost part of her mind somewhere behind the parasite.

deep gnomes and the duergar are expected, of course ------ but a taller figure easily manages to stick out from the rest without much effort. ( he seems out of place here, but then again, so does she and the rest of her group --- which of course means her curiosity takes over in wanting to know the who's and why's of it all. )

"a witcher," it not her best, but it'll have to serve as a greeting when she gets close enough ---- one with a good pinch of awe woven into her tone. he may as well have been one of the other mythical creatures she'd been warned about while wandering this part of the underdark ----- the kind she's heard about in stories and song, but never seen for herself. until now, of course. the list of things she never thought she'd be seeing grows a little shorter every day.

"how did the duergar manage to recruit themselves a witcher all the way down here? i don't think i've ever seen them all that eager to give away coin to outsiders."

“I see. Well, I can fulfill the first two parts of your criteria well enough, when needed. Witchers are good at those things… as most of us are with the third. Though, truth be told, in my case it’s the lady who splits on me, come morning. Can’t be caught dead around a mutant drifter, highborn or peasant alike… much less with one sporting this mug.”

Eskel deep, amused tone returned to the blonde, looking back at her alluring blue eyes steadily, marred visage smirking Ves’ way as well, uttering a metallic, bark-like laugh at the thought, recalling a number of those times. Some things rarely changed about the Witcher’s life, the Path, and that was one of them. He’d long ago since stopped feeling bitterness about it. Lifting his tankard of ale again, he drank from it some more, savoring it steadily… already enjoying himself well enough. A calm before whatever storm would arrive at Kaer Morhen, inevitably. He had known similar sorts to the young woman, over his many years, when he took contracts clearing monsters from battlefields… the horrors they saw first hand on the battlefield… it changed a person’s outlook. Made them believe they could die any minute, which was often the case. It was no wonder she wished to keep others confined to a bed instead of pursuing a deeper attachment. Still, he also understood taking comfort, solace and pleasure in whatever arms would hold you… even if they only held you for an evening. At least destiny had shown them both a rare mercy, bringing them here together to share some of that. He looked about the inn… spotting others watching the two of them… hearing them whisper about the pair, the other occupants not realizing how capable his enhanced senses were. Ignoring Roche’s pointed glare, he swallowed some more of the ale, he wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, drawing in a contented breath. Then his viper eyes and attention returned the blonde beauty’s way again, expression turning thoughtful, and remaining friendly, in features and the tone of his voice alike when he spoke languidly.

“That said, hope you won’t mind too much my not being entirely gone in the morning. Have to guide you two up to Kaer Morhen somehow. Even if I told you the way, you’d never find the valley, much less the keep. Easy to get lost… and that’s if your lucky. Treacherous slopes, wild animals, monsters… the works. Why the old Witchers chose to settle us there, long ago. For all the good it did us in the end, of course. The sorcerers who initiated and led the pogrom against us saw to that.”

@wanderingwolfwitcher

She eyed the witcher as he spoke of the treacherous road to his home. He was too harsh on himself. Yes, he was scarred, perhaps moreso than any other man she'd seen. But then, he wasn't exactly a mere man, was he? Any other surely would not have survived the ravages this Witcher had overcome.

Ves knew what it was to survive ravages. She'd been pulled out of a life of servitude to the Scoia'Tael by Roche and been given something to live for. Whether it was worth living for, she still wasn't sure, but Roche kept her busy enough that she didn't have to think about it for too long. He'd promised no one would ever hurt her again like that Socia'Tael commander had, only he'd lied. Roche hadn't been able to stop Henselt. And he'd never forgiven himself for that.

She didn't hold it against him, but it'd been a lesson. She was the only one who could keep herself from being hurt.

Flirting and banter, it was all fine. But the walls wouldn't come down. Walls and armour -- they'd become her mainstay over the years.

"in that case, I suppose you don't have to make yourself completely scarce in the morning," she allowed.

❛ There were, however, others who of all things liked the wolf in him, precisely the side of him that was free, wild, untameable, dangerous and strong. ❜

An amused, but also shocked smile graced her lips, listening to him speak of what he wished to do to the mastermind behind all the "Curse of the Black Sun" nonsense. And with it, Syanna started to feel herself relaxing ever more slightly with this witcher. Maybe...just maybe she could trust him as she had come to trust Geralt?

"You speak of it as if you almost have some connection with the curse," she lightly teased. "But I guess as a Witcher that would only make sense. You have probably come across one of these girls in your line of work..." she tried to remain calm, but her heart slightly raced in fear from the thought of one of the girls being taken down like a monster by the witcher, picturing herself among them.

No... it's okay, you're safe now. You can trust him. He is a friend of Geralt. You have no reason to fear.