Making his way through the rain soaked forest that evening, he looked about his surroundings, cloak shifting on the cool breezeā¦ water washing over his Witcherās armorā¦ weapons remaining holstered, but his senses alert. Breathing in the cool air of the night. Eskel had the feeling he should have come to this land of Skyrim sooner, with the sheer number of contracts and monsters to hunt. To say nothing of the Nord people having much in common with Witchers, a strong and hardy warrior people who respected strength and martial prowess. Like the islanders of Skellige as well. That and their food and ale already made this trip a worthwhile one. As it had turned out, he had saw a contract on a bulletin board for a faction calling themselves the Silver Handā¦ fellow hunters of beasts and monsters, who had been offering good gold for the job. At present, they were preoccupied with hunting a clan of Werewolves, calling themselves āThe Companionsā. He was not used to many of them working togetherā¦ in his own lands they tended to be lone wolves out hunting in the night, unlike the Vampires working together towards a goal, with their own shadowy aristocracy and covens. According to the Silver Hand they had killed a number of travelers here in the north on the roads and in the mountains and woodsā¦ were responsible for many disappearances. Merchants from abroad and inhabitants of the land alike. They had directed him to this particular forest, where the latest sightings had been.
The Werewolves up here were another sort, it seemed, he had read up on them before setting out, books provided by the Silver Handā¦ and would be prepared to face them. The Witcher crouched now and again, examining the ground and treesā¦ searching for track marks. Spotting some now and again, belonging to animalsā¦ and human or humans alike. In the process of doing so, he rose his head suddenly, catching a scentā¦ not of the many forest animals he could hear and smell with easeā¦ but a different oneā¦ the scent of a human, it seemed, not a Werewolf. All the same, he proceeded cautiously, viper eyes within the hood looking about the forest as he moved quietly, enhanced senses sharp and at the ready. These Werewolves could control their transformations, were not forced to become beasts at night or under a full moon. Though it could also be a weakness to exploit, if he could catch them in their human forms before they transformed. All the sameā¦ he was no fool or amateur, in this sort of work. Too old for deceptions. The Silver Hand had their own agenda, clearlyā¦ and he intended to figure this thing out for himself. Whether the contract was worth fulfilling or not. Let them think he was some ignorant mutant of another land, an easily tricked outsider. He did not draw his silver sword just yet or cast any of his Signs, instead moving quietlyā¦ following the scent deeper into the trees, and keeping his guard up as it grew stronger. And as his silver wolf head medallion began to buzz lightly, warningly.
A GROWL. Woman and wolf merge as it leaves her throat, a new scent telling her that she isnāt alone with the forest. The scent is human enough. Coming towards her...moving with purpose. Her ears perk upātoo quiet for a simple traveller. The Silver Hand?Ā
Her beast blood sings louder, but again she resists turning. Instead, she draws her bow from her spot among the branches, aiming where she believes the intruder will appear.Ā
Under a pair of glowing yellow eyes, her voice calls from the darkness, āYou're not wanted here. Take your leave, make yourself known, or bleed.ā
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