they said a witcher had been looking for her, gray haired and moody was the description given. renfri expects the witcher that she met in blaviken, the one by whose hand she died. she doesn’t expect to step into the room and find herself faced with the witcher that saved her from the side of the road many years back, her old mentor. “vesemir?” there’s no mistaking that sour expression, and renfri almost laughs at the sight of it. “damn, you got old.” it’s a jest, and her fond smile says as much before it fades to a more neutral expression. @thegraywclf
for three solid years, geralt simply refused to come back to kaer morhen. the pain was still there, the memories too fresh, and part of him wondered if the keep was even still there, considering how everybody scattered around the continent after the battle and after vesemir’s funeral. the thought of his father alone had the witcher pause in the entrance courtyard of the witcher keep grounds, letting himself reminisce of the good old days for a while ----- when ciri was still a little girl, endlessly complaining when she had to train with the training dummy, his own days as a little witcher in making when vesemir would show him how to handle the sword, the occasional mischief he did and the troubles he got into.
those were the good old days, and part of him so desperately wanted to go back to the past so that everything would have been nice again.
geralt came to kaer morhen with a plan, or rather, intention, the intention being to go into the keep with hopes of some of the alcohol still being there, grabbing a bottle of it and move towards the small overhand where they held vesemir’s funeral. the white haired witcher wanted to sit down there, just drink and talk to vesemir, hoping that at least that would help him to cope with the loss of his father.
as he moved towards the keep through the inner and upper courtyard, he couldn’t help but notice how tidied up the place looked ------ all of the debris was gone, there were no corpses of wild hunt riders, there were for most part no grass or weeds growing from under the stone that had seen its share of messed up things that happened in kaer morhen. geralt brushed it off as eskel being the one to maybe still live there despite saying otherwise. well, there was only one way to find out, hence he moved towards the keep, pushing one wing of the heavy wooden door open.
@thegraywclf said : Vesemir walked into the tavern and wasn't surprised there was already a blanket of tension in the air. For he knew he wasn't the only mutant in the establishment. He had come to town to discuss a contract, but he was told another witcher had already claimed it when he went to accept the job. He would have simply passed on it if he hadn't been told it was a witcher with white hair. He spotted the man in question at the bar and slapped him on the shoulder. “How are ya, boy?"
geralt heard him before he saw him . heard the draft of air pour through the open doorway before it crept behind him to brush at the back of his neck . heard the whispers creep amongst the other guests as they muttered to each other their fascinations not , this time , about himself . there were few who could evoke such a response amongst taverngoers , whose sole goal would be to drink themselves dizzy or forget some unpleasant memory .
geralt was of the latter .
the thought slipped his mind strangely easily when vesemir’s glove hit his shoulder . he turned his head , glancing to the old witcher out of the corner of his eye . a moment lingered where he said nothing at all . then he smiled , as pleasantly as he could smile with a tankard of wine already down , and slid his arm to fold in front of him , the other gesturing across to the seat next to him . ❛ i have a feeling you don’t want to know . ❜ he lifted his chin . ❛ better question is , what are you doing here ? ❜ he already knew .
@thegraywclf said: " Even raised by wolves it is obvious Ciri will always have a lion heart. I would say you should be proud, but I feel you are."
“ she was hardly raised at kaer morhen. “ the lioness replied, crossing her arms on her chest, leaning against the stone wall, emerald green eyes staring off into the distance. “ and i don’t mean to diminish your efforts, but when she came here, she was past her tenth year. a child raised, in my eyes. which does not mean... your teachings had no effect on her. but yes. of course i am proud. just look at her... “
Fear. It was the only thing she had felt then. Like a plague it consumed her from the inside. Tearing away all defenses and eating away the hope she had come to know. She was afraid. Her breath was panicked and short. With each release a fit of whimpers followed. Pale lips quiver as her eyes fall shut. Her form convulses as her body seemingly rejects its own life. Slowly, with what strength remained, she shifts her body to its side. The position allowing a moment of relief. Her stained face twists and contorts in pain as blood spills from her mouth.
Her blood.
Tired eyes take in the crimson display. Nothing. All thoughts cease and the world loses its voice. Every breath, every flinch and every cry is heightened. Trapped within her own senses. Time seems to slow, her heart pounding loudly. Tears sting her eyes as she releases a mournful shriek. Its continuous, her lungs burning as she continues. Loose leaves and broken branches spiral frantically from her powerful cry. The display matching the torrential feeling inside her. She meets the ground as her strength fades into nothing.
She shatters.
Her body falls flush against the ground, arms tucked beneath her. Heart wrenching sobs escape as tears begin to fall. Head against the cold ground her tears mix with the ruby life that continues to sputter from her lips. Questions were endless, drowning out all other thoughts. Why? Why did she have to leave? Did she do something wrong? Why did they attack her? She didn’t harm the witchers. So why did they harm her? Her back burns in response, providing the obvious answer.
She was a bruxae. A monster. Hated and hunted.
“ I just -” Her mind goes blank. “ Where is - “ She chokes struggling to finish her thoughts. “ I...I need - “ Her body aches. Continuous waves of pain crash over her exposed self. Temperature lowers, the cold ground aiding in its decline. The battle was lost and the wars end was drawing near. Acceptance overcomes her and settles in her heart. Salome slowly curls within herself breathing slowed.
She wishes for one thing. The presence of a single person. To look into his eyes and be held, warm and secure. To hear her name from his lips. His tone gruff and comforting.
She wanted Vesemir. She wanted her father.
“ Vesemir...”, Her voice is soft and weak, “ I’m sorry. “
@thegraywclf || “ for that verse? He would probably slit his wrist and make her 'eat' lol “
Concern overtakes her. Lips part, parched and eager. Pupils dialate as crimson runs down the skin like water. Each precious drop causes her body to lurch forward. Just a little. A small taste, it was all she needed. The young bruxae slowly draws near. The closer she gets the more intoxicating the blood smells. Her hand snaps forward and clutches his wrist tightly. Grip tightens causing her arms to tremble from power. Mouth widens a full set of razor-like teeth bared for the world, and witcher, to see. Face shifts into her true monstrous form. A loud snarl escapes as brings his wrist towards her lips. Her body screams for contact. Crying for the hunger to cease.
Eyes are frantic, until they fall onto his face. Vesemir’s face.
Something within her seems to break. All adrenaline and instinct disperse immediately. Salome looks at the bleeding limb before looking to the witcher once more. Brows furrow as she casts his wrist aside. “ No, I don’t want it.” It was a statement, a personal reminder. Vesemir was kind and provided safety. Provided a family. She wanted to show her gratitude and prove that she could be trusted. Her decision was drastic but she believed it was best.
Her fingers grip and twist the fabric of her clothing. It kept her occupied. She would pass whatever test this was. She wouldn’t fall for it. She wouldn’t hurt him. She couldn’t hurt him. She would never forgive herself. “ I don’t need it.” She distances herself from him, “ I’m fine. I’ll...be fine.” Body becomes weaker as she fights the hunger with everything she has. She could do it. She would do it.
There is a sharp inhale before she speaks. “ You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.” A tired smile appears on her lips. She needed to change the subject. “ You should probably bandage your wrist. Don’t want an infection, right? “
