AEP MUIRE

MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP

[ofdruigh]

OFDRUIGH. private original character, brynn of druigh, based in the witcher universe. crossover friendly, 21+ only. mature content.

PROMPTS / PINTEREST / LORE / STUDY / WRITING

COMPANIONS: misaentropy, vannaspar.

RULES BRIEF. this blog is mutuals-only, very selective, and 21+. the genre is dark fantasy, meaning mature themes are present and tagged. i use the community label feature for any explicit text. zero tolerance for racism, homo-/bi-/transphobia, chasers, terfs, transmedicalism, antisemitism, islamophobia, whitewashing, etc. i don't care to engage with netflix!witcher. please don't interact if you write a real person or someone's art persona.

written by: sam, 25+, they/them, white, queer, esl, cet timezone. also found at @maskend. my activity fluctuates a lot. fluxer is available for plotting and/or writing upon request.

CHARACTER OVERVIEW. brynn (she/her, bi), born in february of 1067 in druigh, geso. half-elven witcher of the school of the cat, raised by the dyn marv and chiefly by gezras of leyda. after the bloodbath with the wolf school, brynn begins to separate herself from the caravan. like many cats, she also takes contracts on humans, but rarely elves. keeps close ties with the scoia'tael during the northern wars and afterward. by the end of the 13th century, brynn has grown disillusioned with the profession and slightly bitter.

appearance. brynn is tall, broad-shouldered, and visibly muscular. she has cat-like eyes of a deep amber with pupils that may form vertical slits. her hair is brown, slightly wavy, and streaked with grey. it is cut usually to either shoulder or chin length and pushed back or worn in a bun. she is heavily scarred from claws, burns, blades, and arrows, and missing the top half of the left ring-finger. additionally, she has several piercings in slightly pointed ears and tattoos, mostly done by scoia'tael and other outlaws, on her arms and back.

personality. brynn is highly independent and set in her ways. she is stubborn, quick to anger, and out of touch with her other emotions. she speaks her mind, does not fear confrontation—in fact sometimes seeks it—and has been hardened by centuries of witcherwork. when it suits her, she does not shy away from lying or deception. with people she likes, she is curious and inquisitive, and tries to open herself up more. she expresses affection through action and voices her needs openly.

skills. proficient in a manner of weaponry and combat (swords, daggers, chains, hand-to-hand), minimal magical skill (witcher signs), tracking, swimming, herbology, alchemy, some medical knowledge, singing, fluent in common and elder speech. literate at a very basic level, struggles to read cursive or books with small intricate print. basic rune-reading.

available verses: (* = some plotting required) general fantasy, dragon age, the hunger games*, elden ring*, cyberpunk*, and more upon request. feel free to talk to me about your muse's setting, and we can figure something out.

[regwishesshehadmagic]

Brazierlit

[ofdruigh]

checked on my tw3 save to reload pre-ng+ and found pretty much the only uncompleted quests being the fistfighting tournamets... 💀 if i have to see the tailor's stupid face one more time-

[spellheld]

@ofdruigh (liked for an interaction based on) ... LAY ON HANDS, in which ...

THE WAYS OF PROGRESS ... BURN AWAY DEATH ... AND FEAR—

he has lost control of his mouth, his muscles and his lungs. the voice comes from someplace else within, bypassing his larynx and his tongue. the full body spasms are less unusual. his muscles seizing in tension against itself. he struggles to breathe, eyes watering from suffocation; whatever takes control of his body has no need for oxygen. moments pass before his vision calms down from the swirls of red like blaring alarms. he feels himself collapse and catches himself on the nearby surface, knocking over objects he's too dizzy to identify so he doesn't fall head first into the fixer. "it... it's close—" he clutches at his throat, marked withe cyberware and hot like overloaded circuit. "i've never heard it so clear before— do you believe me now? something is happening—... somehow i can catch its signal... maybe it's an accident... or maybe i was supposed to know—"

[ofdruigh]

something appears to take hold of him. the stranger in her garage-turned-office, as if suddenly gripped by an invisible hand cutting the strings that held up his body. without thinking, brynn rises from her seat, but stops somewhere a few inches away from him. her instincts call back to familiar routines. catch the fall, protect the head. but he catches himself before she can push past uncertainty, leaving her standing without purpose. it looked like nothing she'd ever seen before.

had it been an act, it had been perfectly executed. the desperation captures her attention so masterfully, it suspends her disbelief entirely, with it creeping back in only slowly when dradeel appears to be in control of himself again. for some reason she could not explain even in the hours following, brynn believes believes that he believes, in this looming threat. she grabs him by the arm to pull him up, but rather than guide him to a place to sit, holds him there. "what signal? you sure you didn't just get your wires crossed? what's 'it'?!"

[vannaspar-a]

he doesn't get to talk about home often, mostly because he rarely gets to mention it; having traded one side of the atlantic for the other, night city has a way of worming its way into one's disposition in an extremely short amount of time, and by now he looks like any other person born in the west coast. technically he was, too, but oslo is still home. it's partly why he uses one passport over the other whenever he travels. " it is eec and it isn't; partial membership, so to speak. as for quality of life ... "

vann still wonders why his father never left, why he still has a clinic that he didn't simply abandon for the peace of another continent. after several years in the city, though, it's become clear why those that step foot here either never leave or find it hard to: this city is a bottomless pit, its reputation of eating people up and spitting out carcasses being well earned. " well, it's kind of incomparable. there's still some gangs, but it's hardly a war zone and you're way less likely to be shot on your way to work, " he says around a sip of his own drink. " best clinics in the world, though. it's incredible, they can do just about anything with cyberware. maybe next time i go, i'll take you with me. "

[ofdruigh]

"sounds like i wouldn't even know what to do with myself," brynn remarks, half in jest. she swallows her dry chuckle with a sip of her drink. but this isn't about her their conversations are so often rooted in the present. night city forces one to move with the currents, taking anchors with the flick of a wrist, leaving one drifting at the city's mercy. the luxury of speaking of pasts is one rarely afforded, and futures seem distant and hard to grasp. she shares with vann, perhaps, the smallest dream one could hope to have. a steadier tomorrow.

his offer hangs in the air, suspended for her to pluck apart. but for once she doesn't. she simply considers it, weighing it in her palm. it feels almost forbidden, to dream so far ahead.

"i'd like that, i think," brynn finally says, and barely notices herself smiling. "see the world you come from." setting down her glass, she reaches across the small table to place her hand on his wrist and gives it a slight squeeze. "do you miss it?"

[ofdruigh]

i love how brynn has like a semi decent relationship with geralt, like they tolerate each other but aren't super polite about it, all the while she's about 5 seconds away from beating the shit out of lambert at any given moment. vesemir probably can't stand her ass and she feels weirdly bad but also would bite back out of principle. the only wolf she would be mildly interested in having a genuine attempt at interacting with is eskel.

[ofdruigh]

jpanderson videos have aged poorly in my mind, but i do think about his rant about the word "witcher" from time to time. there's so much encoded in it—that the name of this profession, this fate even, would specifically be "male witch", but the analogy is incomplete. theirs are not the same profession at all. and the suffix witch-er becomes not just gendering, but derives a whole new word. were they named witch-er because the intention was from the get-go to do this only to men? or were they named because that was the result?

witcher as a term has, i would assume, evolved with the perception and profession of witchers. a conceivable side-effect of this would be a loss of the explicit sense witcher as a male counterpart to witch. while, of course, most witchers are men, it may not be so strange to most people that a female witcher wouldn't call herself a witch. after all that would be an incorrect term for what her profession and skillset are.

but i do think brynn has been asked this question by curious people every now and again. so are you ... a witch, then? and she'd just sort of stare them dead in the eye and go, what d'you think? lol

[ofdruigh]

going to ren faire for the first time in years this weekend.. surely this will bring back my writing inspiration

[allmonster]

my magic is different, eivor thinks with a small breath of relief— however, the arctic blue of the raider’s eyes grows hazy with recollection at the tone of the witcher’s question. do i not owe it to her? after months of tempering my own invasiveness. but memory is an unkind thing, and the sensation of it returning is a lash : hot and stinging.

❛❛ you have heard me speak of the gods in my people’s beliefs. they are tied to every aspect of our existence, from sowing fields, to warfare, to raising children. there is one, we regard him as the king of gods. a creator deity, named odin. ❜❜ try as they might to contain emotion, eivor’s next inhale to continue on with the thought is shaky.

❛❛ as far as i can remember into my past, odin was with me. i thought him to be a guide, or mentor. i foolishly thought myself to be favored, and that i was lucky. when we ravens sailed south, conflict arose between us and other humans already living in the lands we chose to settle. conflict also arose inward, between myself and odin. in time i came to see he was— he was trying to puppet me. ❜❜ focus returns to eivor’s gaze, but now the glint in them is harsh, angry. wounded, even deeper than that.

❛❛ as he sensed that i would make to bite him, he captured me, brynn, and he kept me for, i do not know how long. each hour of my defiance saw him stretch his creativity to unfathomable lengths to hurt me. i do not need to be specific for you to imagine the ways in which powerful men can be cruel. ❜❜ nose crinkles halfway, before the young king breathes in deeply and relaxes their shoulders.

❛❛ at some point, somehow, some way, i escaped him— the agony inflicted on me awoke a power i did not know i possessed, and it has been growing ever since. not a year after, i met you. ❜❜

[ofdruigh]

the witcher had not intended to cause eivor pain by asking. but it was, that she could not deny, a risk she took willingly. brynn would not demand of eivor their story, but to believe it—to even come close—she needed more. was it cruel to ask, if the trade was not equal? if even by a wound torn open, a whole life lived and image of the world formed could not be shifted so dramatically to believe her lover a god.

still she doesn't stop her, making only a quiet sound of agreement that she needed no details, knowing well the sorts of cruelties men could conjour in their minds. and throughout eivor's tale, not once does brynn trip on a feeling of insincerity. not once does she stumble, finding fault or exaggeration, or some clue as to another explanation for something so wholly outside of everything she thinks to know about the world. indeed, perhaps it is eivor's sincerity that strikes her the most.

she studies the raider, whose brilliant eyes seemed always to her true and keen as the northern winds, her face sharp and handsome as the cliff upon which the sea breaks. she looks the same still, if cracked open slightly. and perhaps very little could now change how brynn's heart has grown around them.

"i've seen many things," she finally begins, brow knit in contemplation. "most i could explain. even those i couldn't, i believe have some cause somewhere." no, she's saying this all wrong. "what i mean is i don't ... understand this. but i believe you. even if ... well, call it what you will, i s'pose. 's not really the point, is it." gods will never quite fit into her world, but she would not argue semantics now.

"you're telling me now. why?"

[ofdruigh]

top 3 musical pieces to think about brynn to

the bloody mistress - thronebreaker ost

way of the witcher theme - gwent

the first hunter - bloodborne

bonus with actual lyrics: dying to love - bad omens

[ofdruigh]

[held.] sender intertwines their fingers with receivers while having sex. (very dradeel type of thing to do)

in the dimmed light behind him and the last rays of dusk creeping in through the curtains, the remaining red in dradeel's hair seems to eclipse its grey. its vibrant shine like an autumn halo strikes her in its breathtaking simplicity. brynn has loved him for many years, equally adored him in darkness and in light, in every shade and hue. but she finds, after escaping the harsh and artificial lighting of the bunker, that he is most beautiful in this gentle glow. she reaches up to card her fingers through the thinning russet waves and brush them out of his eyes. her hand lingers there, stroking the back of his head. and she looks and looks, gorging herself on the sight of him above her, framed by dusk‘s soft kiss.

he has been careful to arrange them in a way that would not cause her pain—and where once she might have objected that she's not made of porcelain, tonight she simply moved as told. in the end it mattered little where or how, only that she would finally hold him in her arms again. and how could she hold resentment for this aging, aching body when he kissed it so sweetly? did it not carry her back here? back to him, to a home still standing, and the sea breeze streaming in through the window.

she kisses dradeel when he sinks into her, holding onto his hair, his breath, her moans and whispers. soon he's moving, and she relishing every drag of him inside of her, hungrily welcoming him home. there is no urgency to their embrace, indulging rather in the slowness of it. brynn finds herself wishing she could pull him close against her chest, to feel his quickened breath, the rising of his ribcage against her own breast. just then, he finds the angle that makes sparks shoot up her spine, and she almost strains, injury be damned, to pull him further down into her arms.

but dradeel, as if sensing her emerging restlessness, takes her hand and laces their fingers, anchoring her. he does it so effortlessly—smoothes over her troubled waters with so small a thing. how many times has he, whether knowingly or not, been the only light in the darkness; a flickering flame fighting valiantly against the winds.

"s'good," brynn hears herself whisper. she grips his hand tighter. "don't stop— don't stop, feels good..." her free hand runs up his back. it digs into his hair and beckons him down into another kiss, teeth catching his lip, unwilling to let him go. and she breathes against his lips the only words that matter. "i love you..."

@spellheld

[ofdruigh]

me when i rb a n.sfw prompt and all my reply drafts ends up hardly being about sex at all

[absolmemes]

☾ intimacy action prompts.

some prompts exploring the affectionate side of lust. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.

[mwah.] sender kisses receiver slowly, keeping their mouths joined even while moving inside them.

[stroke.] sender gently runs their hands through receiver's hair during sex.

[nestle.] sender buries their face in receiver's neck, planting kisses against it mid-fuck.

[safety.] sender and receiver experiment together as friends.

[held.] sender intertwines their fingers with receivers while having sex.

[steady.] sender holds receiver's trembling hands down gently against the sheets.

[comfort.] sender makes love to receiver after a rough day.

[borrow.] sender wears receiver's shirt/sweater while they have sex.

[confession.] sender murmurs "i love you" against receiver's skin.

[tease.] sender peppers kisses at receiver's stomach before dipping lower.

[worship.] sender worships receiver's body / chest / thighs / arms / back with touch, kisses, and praise.

[tender.] sender gently traces their fingers along receiver's scars.

[guide.] sender moves receiver's hand where they need it most.

[check-in.] sender pauses every few thrusts to ensure receiver is handling things okay.

[grind.] sender ruts against receiver through their clothing.

[first.] sender, being more experienced, guides receiver through their first time.

[cup.] sender holds receiver's face in their hands and kisses them tenderly.

[hurried.] sender hikes receiver's clothing just far enough to push inside of them.

[savor.] sender deliberately slows their rhythm, intent on lasting as long as possible.

[vice.] sender holds receiver close while finishing inside of them.

[stay.] sender plays with receiver's hair while being cockwarmed by them.

[ofdruigh]

♥️ this for some memes?

[selfexcision-a]

coincidence is a funny thing, and it decides to strike when its victims are bound to be the least amused: no sooner Brynn's voice drifts away into silence, a shiver runs down Vann's entire body and he retches, though gratefully to no effect other than discomfort and viscera on the verge of outright convulsing. A sniffle, followed by an exhausted sigh. There'll probably be more where that came from, but he's hopeful it won't be nearly as bad as he imagines.

still, though he isn't averse to killing and has done so on more than occasion, his earlier outburst admittedly in self - defense unsettles his stomach even more so than the poison he's working through. Vann doesn't look up, partially due to the gloom that suddenly blankets him and partly because his eyes hurt. ❛ You know, let's just ... let's just say they won't try stabbing another witcher again, huh? Yeah, I ❜ He tenses, lets out a strangled groan, as a knot of pain passes through his side and seems to squeeze itself through his kidney. His breathing soon resumes, and he forces himself to control it. ❛ Again ... you would've been proud. ❜

dark wit clings to his tongue like tar, and he hopes that he'll be done with it as efficiently as his metabolism will be with the poison. He casts a look at the foot of the bed where his satchel lies, and gestures weakly at it with his hand. ❛ In my pack ... there's there's elixir vials with a red string around the cork. Involuntary muscle relaxants. Hand one over? ❜

[ofdruigh]

She pauses when @vannaspar heaves. Despite her calm demeanour, there is a concerned shadow over her eyes. From under knit brows she watches his every move, every wince or pained noise, lest there be something she has overlooked, some other injury she cannot see. Finally, her eyes settle on his face. It's an unusual look on him, and that itself worries her. For all their disagreements, she would rather he didn't end up quite as bitter as she.

"Here." She pulls the vial from his pack as instructed and hands it to him, before turning back to his wounds. "We'll stay another week. See how you feel then. Unless you think there will be more ...?" Her voice trails off in a question that is perhaps less concerned than it ought to be. But such threats are nothing new, and she can't help but notice that as monsters become scarce, the witchers' presence is tolerated less and less.

The heat of Vann's skin under her touch concerns her. Brynn bends to pour more of the dwarven spirit over her hands to clean them. "Ready for stitches?" Her eyes search for his, impatiently awaiting his permission. It isn't the first and will most likely not be the last time they've pieced each other back together. As their days go, this isn't the bloodiest she's ever seen him. But it is perhaps the mundanity of it, a simple small knife dipped in poison, at just the right angle more by accident than skill she realises suddenly that, had the attacker been a more skilled herbalist, or pushed the knife much deeper, she may never have seen Vann alive again.

And for every intimate brush with death they've had, the icy hand of dread may never have gripped her quite like this before.

[ofdruigh]

brynn's drink of choice is, sadly, a rum and coke

[ofdruigh]

do you think flattery will keep you alive? from anarietta lmao

It isn't that the witcher is incapable of grasping the intricacies of the language at the Beauclair court. The knowledge that words have power is one instilled early in any young witcherling, no less the Cats, instructed not only in the art of negotiation, but keenly aware that a wrong word could incite a violent rage in their elders they may not survive. No, she simply cannot be bothered to adhere to courtly flourish beyond the most basic pleasantries. It certainly doesn't help that she rather enjoys the sharp glance and slight spike in pulse from the Duchess herself, childish though her amusement from it may be.

Let it then not be said that Brynn of Druigh were wholly bereft of joy. The hint of a grin barely restrained to an amused and self-assured smirk makes her eyes glint. "No." They are, for all intents and purposes, alone. Brynn is not quite so foolish as to play with fire in front of an audience. She commits the crime of addressing her Enlightened Ladyship by her nickname in only the company of the servant girl who has just freed her of the various ornaments Brynn reckons are worth more than she has earned in nearly two centuries of witcher work. After completing her duties, the girl seems glad to flee the room, though Brynn suspects she will linger around the corridors, listening. She pays her little mind, setting her glass aside to approach Anarietta, though she stops just shy of touching her.

"I think you enjoy my company too much to have me hanged for such trivialities."

I SEE FIRE / @misaentropy, anna henrietta