#whitehairedbutcher

“Oh, gods, I’m dying aren’t I?” Jaskier whined, gripping at Geralt’s shoulder as he stared up at him with wide panicked eyes. He’d nearly gotten his arm bitten off by that gryphon if it weren’t for his friend. 

The bard wasn’t anywhere close to dying, but the talons on that thing had left a nasty looking gash on his shoulder before the creature was felled. “The beast was poisonous, wasn’t it? I can feel it coursing through my veins! Oh, if I could only survive to write about! Dying in the arms of the hero who tried to save me, what a beautiful ballad that would make…”For someone who claimed to be dying, he sure was making a lot of noise.

@whitehairedbutcher

The daw was stormy, dark clouds loomed in the sky above and thunder shook the air and houses around. Rain pelted the ground and turned the dirt to mud. The air rippled with power.

Black leather boots tromped through the mud as rain rolled off of the leather clothes the well over six foot woman wore. Her face was hidden by a plauge mask. In all honesty she looked like a plauge doctor. But she wasnt. She was a mage, but she didnt like people so she kept herself covered up and distant. The only implication of her magical tallents was a crystal star enclosed in a circle in the thick end of the wooden staff attatched to her back.

Her name was Violet the spirit mage. Or rather her name was Violet Spectra but her title was The spirit mage. Her main magical tallents were in communing with the dead and things not human. She preferred spirits and fair folk and “monsters” over people, because people in her opinion sucked. But she did every so often help people out when they had easily solveable problems that would preserve life and make her money enough to live.

Here where the air had grown cold and stagnant, one might not expect to find a demon tucked away in the woods, so far from any semblance of humanity. However, such was the path that Fate had chosen. Despite having grown accustomed to monsters hidden around each and every corner, the demon knew very little of this world beyond the mass hysteria she’d been met with the few times her path had crossed with any humans and the cries that she was little more than the mindless beast she’d encountered. Although the horns that grew from her head, the sharp fangs that fell over her lips, and the many pointed claws she bared certainly did lend themselves to a beastly profile, it was all Fate could do to hope that someday such a stigma would be lifted from the unfamiliar.

On this day, it was the sound of approaching footsteps that rose panic in her chest, the demon swiftly stomping out the fire at the heart of her makeshift camp and hiding as quickly and as quietly as her heavy frame would allow. For weeks now monsters had been her only company, a source of food and entertainment when all else was scarce, yet, even as a distinctly non-human scent stuck to the air, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Violet eyes peered from between the thick flora, terror and surprise setting in as they found a human silhouette approaching. Torn between not wanting to frighten anyone else, and a growing curiosity, there was only one thing Fate could think to do. 

When Loki found Geralt of Rivia, he did not make himself known for some time. Perhaps the man would sense a presence that refused to be revealed, keeping its distance. The god observed his behaviour; a few minor quests; his companions.

And then one day he waited for Geralt to venture out without Jaskier. It was the work of moments to steal in upon the unwitting bard’s room and enchant him. Jaskier would sleep for another day and night, and then he would wake and resume his usual activities without the memory of the Witcher - at least until the spell was broken.

Meanwhile, Loki took the form of the unfortunate Jaskier as well as his lute, and returned to the bar where he could await Geralt’s arrival. He sang songs - a little more expertly than the man whose face he had stolen - and charmed several of the locals. But he only had eyes for the Witcher once he strode back through the door.

“Ah! Geralt! Our dear Witcher returns! Come, come, fellow patrons, won’t you shower him with fortune?”

@whitehairedbutcher​

“Oooooo. That looks painful. Want some help?”

"Henry's out every night in the town, just sleeping around, like what the hell?! If that's how it's gonna be, baby I'll flirt with a guy or three, just to make him jell--" Heel turned sharply on the wood table, a wink as she straightened again.

"--Henry finds out and he goes mental, he screams and shouts-- like so judgemental. 'You dammit witch.' Mate just shut up, I wouldn't be such a bitch, if you could get it up!" Applause erupted and Anne's tipped back as she laughed in delight. Another age, another generation to trash Henry's name to. Drink raised to Kitty across the room and she jumped back to the ground.