evil is evil.

[vydmak-a]

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𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐞 ! : an independent & selective portrayal of GERALT OF RIVIA ... from the witcher series. mixes canon from andrzej sapkowski's novels & cdprojekt's witcher games. CANON DIVERGENT. currently reading: sword of destiny. general 'verse' set just before the events of the witcher 3. anti-cavil space ; michał zebrowski is my personal preference, though most icons will be faceless or game capped. CARRD.

" Hatred and prejudice will never be eradicated. And the witch hunts will never be about witches. To have a scapegoat — that's the key. "

the nature of the games and the books are explicit, and the content on my blog may be nsfw; it may feature tagged topics of death, grotesque body horror, transformation, child abuse ... ( in regards to geralt's upbringing and mutations ) ... mutation of the body, supernatural horror, religion & religious persecution, and dealing with post-traumatic stress.

[vydmak-a]

ciri looks amazing in the Witcher 4 trailer, but already asmongold troglodytes are calling her old, ugly and “woke”. Kill me.

[dhampirul]

⋆ ☾*ೃ `  you are your father's son , but you are not your father . you are at the forefront of the rebellion , but you are not the face of the campaign . solitude suits you better than company . irrelevant reverence . even when they're gone , you hold on so tightly to them . i need a father . i need a mother . i need some older , wiser being to cry to . i talk to god , but the sky is empty .

independent ,   private ,   & .   selective rp blog for adrian fahrenheit țepeș ,   aka alucard of wallachia ,   from konami's castlevania.   mixed media ,   heavily influenced by romanian folklore .   written by kat ,   she/her ,   28 .   i am not affiliated with any of the creators of the games or show .  i am disconnected with the fandom , but welcome new friends always .   as always ,   please read the rules outlined in my carrd before you follow !   i ask that no minors interact .

[uruuk]

NO MORE FLAMES. NO MORE DARKNESS. LET THIS RING HEAL THE RIFT BETWEEN ELF AND URUK . . . LET US CREATE A LASTING PEACE IN MIDDLE EARTH. NOW AND FOREVER. ©

[vydmak-a]

AN INDEPENDENT, SELECTIVE, AND LOW ACTIVITY ROLEPLAY BLOG FOR GERALT OF RIVIA FROM THE THE WITCHER SERIES.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MATURE TOPICS WRITTEN. SET AFTER SWORD OF DESTINY / PRE-GAMES. VERSES IN ASOIAF / TOLKIEN.

WRITTEN BY ANDIN. / ANTI-CAVIL SPACE. BOOK-BASED & GAME-BASED WITH HEAVY HEADCANON INFLUENCE.

[palespawn-s]

to his word, much like a harmless fly on the wall, astarion watches curiously as the witcher unravels what looks to be a doctor's portable satchel, housing vials of many different coloured liquids. just as he leans in to get a better look, the man makes his selection, leaving astarion with nothing but unarticulated questions. “  well ... yes, obviously. there's nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty, so long as you reap the rewards. ”

negotiations aside, he's reminded that the cover of night is only a temporary thing as the rain peters out; he would need to find appropriate shelter before dawn. but where? the only thing remotely resembling civilisation was the farm he had crossed hours ago. since then, the landscape has been a stretch of forest as far as the eye could see. the canopy would not protect him. his train of thought is snuffed out as the witcher's horse is guided towards him for some ungodly reason, seemingly unsettled and unsure of his presence― he could say the same. astarion takes a slow step back, maintaining his distance from the mare despite her pacification. the last thing he needed was to be bucked across the continent.

“  of course, i'd be― jilted lovers? ” astarion blinks twice in astonishment before barking out a derisive laugh. it's a disgusting notion, the thought of coupling with any of his fellow spawn. the fact that they feigned sibling-ship aside, they were little more than a collection of unwashed dullards. it was enough to incite a full-bodied shiver. “  darling, i would rather claw out my own eyes and serve them up on a silver platter, ” which, he belatedly realises, warrants further explanation. for gods' sake.

“  ... vampires aren't particularly accommodating when one wanders onto their turf. if there's another out here as you say, then of course i'd benefit from you gutting the wretch, ” even if it's a spawn, or one of cazador's golems. he would sooner be rid of the entire lot. astarion's fingers fidget, habitually. “  which ... just so we're clear, you will do, won't you? ”

[vydmak-a]

the sound of running water had caught the witcher's attention earlier on in the night, and he'd quickly surmised that it was coming from a nearby brook. it was shallow, likely obscured by the feathery fronds of ferns, jagged rocks and thick beds of pine needles. good to follow if he wanted to get to town. find a tavern, possibly other victims. a good place to start. the vampire, ever-prattling on about his vehement disgust, was lucky he stepped aside and out of geralt's path. he made no effort to move around the pale one, leading his horse back onto the mash of trampled grass and weathered soil that could barely be called a road.

' i might could. ' said geralt with blatant mimicry, without bothering to copy the vampire's own cadence. ' might want to consider finding different turf. but let's say i do track down this vampire. let's say they're in a mood to talk. anything in particular that i should know? i hate like surprises. ' the witcher could make simple work of the undead. tracking down a vampire, while it was no easy task, would certainly aid in lining his pockets with a livable wage. one full coin purse could oftentimes mean a three nights of a full belly on salted meats, root vegetables and ale.

geralt squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. the dull ache was familiar, a sign of things to come. potion was starting to kick in. ' last chance. dawn is coming, and last i heard, your kind aren't the sunbathing type. '

oh, but shit. how the hell was he supposed to get back in touch with him? if he ended up not getting stabbed in the back, that is. geralt curses under his breath, half-turning back to face the white-haired elf with a look of exasperation. one brow quirks, a broad gesture sweeping from the elf's boot to his nose. ' got a name? like to know who i'm working with. or for. that way i know who's going to foot the bill if things get ugly. farmers don't make much. and if they do, i doubt it's enough to cover the cost of slaying a higher vampire. '

[wintefell-deactivated20240813]

“ ah - ” sansa shifted from one foot to the other. some might have said there was fear, perhaps dread, in the movement. her voice was soft, childlike, but something desperately pushed forward authority from the back of her throat. she cleared it, hoping to dislodge the strength she had moments before. this stranger had surely sullied the ground beneath his kill, but he had removed some danger from her land. for that, she would be grateful.

her direwolf, lady - named when she was just a child, picked up the scent of what the queen could only assume was the head of a beast. the dog moved closer, pressing her weight into the side of sansa's leg. it bolstered her .. reminded her of the strength of the starks. “ a reward, of course. ” she could offer less than she would have liked. and she, to her surprise, didn't like being asked of it. “ i will have one of my men find a room for you, for the night. ”

the mention of her father divided her attention from the gesture she had made to the nearest guard, hoping to fulfil the reward quickly. eddard stark. the bravest man she had ever known. a pang of guilt passed through her, for she blamed herself for his ultimate fate. and the last sight of him, his head alone on a spike. she looked beyond the witcher, to the stark banner hanging above the gateway as it was swayed to and fro in the wind. “ yes. you knew him? ”

[vydmak-a]

out of all of the late lord stark's children that the witcher had been prepared to meet seated in the north, least of all would have been the lord's daughter of which, if his prodding about in winter town had been thorough enough, there were two. one resembled the lord's wife, catelyn, but had the noble bearing of her father. sansa stark, they called her. geralt was certain from the moment he'd dragged his gory trophy in through the iron gate; this girl must have been her.

' knew of him. heard he was a great man. son of rickard, right? he worked closely with the witchers from kaer morhen. your father would have been born around the time i began my training. ' this revelation brought yet more questions from the gathered crowd. how could that be, they would whisper angrily amongst themselves, he doesn't look that old. geralt turned his head and scanned the room. ' sure you've heard the stories. men in black armor with a wolf's head medallion coming down from the wall to hunt down monsters. '

' upheld the code, too. your father. and speaking of which, that room's not gonna be enough. some coin would take me a long way. monsters need to die, but i need to eat. can't do what i do for free. witcher's code. and a fiend like this costs more than a ghoul. ' watching the way her eyes sway from him to the banners, to scan the room with trepidation; geralt could hear the way her heart would quicken when faced with adversity, with need for a quick decision under scrutiny. the wolf was a comfort to her. it eased the pacing, and he saw she made the queen's shoulders stand a little bit more squared.

the witcher rubbed a knuckle against an itch in his nose and said quickly, ' can discuss the finer details in private, if you'd like. smell of demon blood is awful. stand too close too long and it might start to get to you. '

[avernusfuries-a]

Though his words shouldn't have brought her comfort ... Well, they sort of did, didn't they? Karlach figured when it came to distinguishing the monster from man, Geralt had a keen enough eye to make an accurate judgement from the moment he'd met her. Fuck, she was glad she didn't inherit the grumpy resting face of her father for the first time in her life. Karlach hated cowering in the dark, but needs must, eh? The tiefling shifted from one foot to the other, darted tail flicking contentedly from side to side. The barb jittered, then it was still.

"I figure folk do that to make themselves feel better about being afraid over nothing. Like my mum inventing a ghost that follows little girls who stay out playing too late home and snatch them away for misbehaving. Was always home in time for supper when I was scared of that." She paused. "Whatever helps them not sleep at night, I suppose."

[vydmak-a]

' that's exactly the problem, ' geralt replies coolly, his arms tucking tightly beneath the leather belts strapped across his chest. tiefling were not fiends a lesson he was sure to give the so-called paladins before he headed back toward the druid's grove. ' all these little girls are prepared for the ghosts. mother forgot to warn them about the rich man who thinks he's above the law. '

briefly, the witcher's attention peeled to the stamping hooves of his horse. roach, the red-coated mare, tossed her head impatiently from the grassless gravel beneath her hooves. not a bad idea to move on. he'd already been harassed by far too many goblins for his liking, and the shadows of the trees had grown so tall that they looked more like talons crawling across the soil. ' that's quite an interesting piece of hardware you've got there. ' the witcher gestured vaguely toward the glow in the tiefling's chest. ' some kind of curse? might could break it, if it is. no promises. '

[vydmak-a]

working on replies, but, i just want to cry a little bit about how much geralt loves children. like he acts like he doesn't he'll say kids are kids. but the way he looks at them is so completely different from how his eyes meet anyone else. his gaze is full of gentleness, even when dealing with the godlings johnny and sarah. and he does whatever he can to ensure they're safe in the end. ciri is absolutely in part to thank for his disposition toward kids, but i also believe geralt just treats them the way he wishes he could have been, were the circumstances different.

[vydmak-a]

𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞. at the edge of the world * (tags!)

they say that kaer morhen was built eons ago, just beyond the peaks of the marbled frostfangs, as an impregnable fortress of abominable sorcery.  better known as the school of the wolf, it was a place where young boys were taken in their youth to undergo harsh trials, mutations and to learn how to think, breathe and hunt man-killing monsters.  

• geralt was born in wintertown.  to a woman who claimed to be a sorceress and a warrior that had been loyal to house stark.  after being rescued by the witcher, vesemir, during a wraith's rampage, his mother left him with the school of the wolf as per their law of surprise, where he was raised by the man who he would call his father.  it was only because of the school’s sworn fealty to house stark and to the laws of the north and its lords, that the school, considered abominable, was able to continue its existence.  for centuries, the witchers of kaer morhen served dutifully in thinning out the population of beasts and foul creatures that, just before the time of robert baratheon’s passing, had already completely disappeared into mythology. 

but as monsters faded into history, so too did the witchers. geralt's father, vesemir, and rickard stark, the lord of the north, were the last to make contact shortly before the terror imposed by the mad king, aerys targaryen. even at that time, monsters were in short supply, and witchers made for extraordinarily poor soldiers to men who made poorer commandants along a frontline. they faded into obscurity far north of the wall, keeping mostly to themselves and taking no new students for over sixty years. the methods of which are thought to have been lost to time. 

news of the resurgence of dragons and wyverns, however, has brought geralt south of the wall.  and the dragons don’t seem to be the only things that have repopulated. hoards of fiends roam the wolfswood, and ghouls plague the battlefields between lion and foe as far as the eye could see. being one of the last of his kind with no known comrades still living, geralt reforged his silver blade, and knew what he had to do. 

[palespawn-s]

* there, in the dim firelight, you see him for what he really is: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. ⸺astarion ancunín of baldur's gate 3, written by courtney, twenty nine, she ᐟ her.

[vydmak-a]

geralt has a very complicated relationship with religion. on one hand, he understands people that look at it in reverence. on the other hand, he sees people use it to condemn innocent people to horrific fates. he sees them use superstition and religious fanaticism to burn non-humans in novigrad, to shield themselves in ignorance to the effect of plugging their ears and screaming. geralt cannot believe that the gods exist any more than he can believe in a true lesser evil. i'll need to really do a deep dive on this at some point.

[vydmak-a]

how is your soul perceived? ; the protecting nurturer. tagged by: @palespawn / tagging: @deaneyrs , @wintefell , @daandov & you!

you have the heart that belongs to a warrior's parent. you ache for your loved ones and you'll fight to preserve them. you take care of the people around you. you do anything to protect those around you, even if it's from themselves. you have an eye for the details no one else realizes they need. you're the one that makes a house a home. you make sure it's safe because you know what it was like to be afraid of the places that should have been comforting.

[words-and-coffee]

“Murderers are not monsters, they’re men. And that’s the most frightening thing about them.”

— Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

[wintefell-deactivated20240813]

and far from her to expect to meet .. a butcher? lone warrior. hardened by his walk, or perhaps by his life. she was surprised by his tenacity, for the north was not kind or receptive. the north was brutal. the snow beneath her feet, now peppered with speckles of red from his catch, had been lain for the last forty suns. deceptive, it looked innocent enough. crisp and fresh and soft. but too long, and even the boldest northmen would succumb to ice-burned flesh. she, in a way, welcomed that. nature was on her side, and few were bold enough to make the trek to winterfell.

“ many don't, ” when sansa was young, queens sat in beautiful gold-trimmed castles with white drapes that frolicked in the wind. here, that gold was melted to armor and drapes would wrap wounds. she was no longer the queen in her storybooks. this was a bittersweet reality. the queen in the north thought for a moment, about what lies beneath the keep, hidden by the thickness of the wolfswood. “ then i suppose we should all be thankful for your presence. i cannot imagine your journey has been pleasant. do you fear the fiend may come closer to the grounds? ”

[vydmak-a]

the north may have been unforgiving, but so too did it harden. the witcher could not say with confidence that he hadn't been met with scruples upon entering the hamlets under the tireless watch of winterfell. while there were few witchers and even fewer mages to call the dark-iron sentinel trees in the north their homeland, there was no shorten of warriors willing to defend their home from terror. it was something to be respected. and a testament to the leadership of the starks, as vesemir had suggested.

' not particularly, ' the witcher replied dryly, giving a subtle kick to the dripping, massive pouch at his feet. ' monster won't be doing anymore prowling. came to see about the possibility of a reward. witchers don't work out of the goodness of our hearts. '

the rising tension in the room was suffocating, and geralt forced his pupils to shrink as to make up for the fading light. sunset was upon them, and with it the air began to cool. he could hear murmuring from those in attendants, some of them in fur and armor. ' your highness, ' geralt rose his head to sansa, arms folded in a vice across his chest. ' you eddard's daughter? '

[deaneyrs]

a thousand and a half. that is quite a sum for something she is not even sure is true. she has no reason to trust this witcher. he could be a con-man for all she knows. and yet, the queen finds it strange he would travel so far to tell a tale. the she remains silent, letting the witcher prattle on about peasants and monsters and the like.

it is ser jorah who looks slightly aghast at the witcher's questioning of the queen. dany's face remains as cold as the stone enveloping them all. " the seven kingdoms lie in an unsteady state of peace, " the knight retorts, brow furrowing as his hand clasp together at his front, " i am sure you are more than aware that we now sit upon the precipice of war. her grace's claim to the iron throne, to the seven kingdoms, is disputed by those who sit in king's landing. though it is her birthright, they do not wish to lose the seat they have taken and would rather send their children to war then to surrender. " the old knight clears his throat, " her majesty has little time to make an appearance when there are other matters far more pressing. "

" but he is right, ser jorah. what kind of queen am i if i do not come to the aid of my people in their time of greatest need. " dany rises, her steps quick and sure as she descends her seat to stand level with the witcher. in the torchlight, the leather of her over-tunic shines dark and black, patterned like dragonscale. " greyworm, have my horse taken to the port and prepare drogon. i will accompany the witcher to duskendale on dragonback. " from the shadows to the left of geralt steps a man, clean shaven and dark hair cropped tight. to his hip is tethered a blade. across his chest lies the emblem of house targaryen. the man nods, before sharply turning and descending the great hall. " ser jorah, " daenerys once again turns towards her knight, " please see to it that our guest is given half of his requested sum before we depart. " the knight nods, though he looks less than please in the outcome, and disappears into some unseen corridor behind the throne.

it is then that dany turns to her guest, the witcher. violet eyes rest upon him, cold, but not unkind. " you give wise counsel, witcher. walk with me to dragonstone's gates and tell me more of these monsters. i wish to know what i shall face when i arrive is duskendale. "

[vydmak-a]

half-upfront. geralt was unaccustomed to actually gaining a fair sum for the work he would produce. normally it was haggilng, then hearing about how they couldn't possibly put forward more than one-hundred coins when they had mouths to feed, daughters to wed, heirlooms to cherish. suddenly, all those wallets that had been willing to feed the witcher for disposing of a monster were as empty as his belly. prod them anymore and there was always some overenthusiastic sucker who'd grab hold of a pitchfork and try to run him through. . . . that'd only worked once.

seeing her rise, however, gave the witcher a start. he looked upon daenerys with confusion as she joined him as the base of the stairs. he didn't mean that she should go with him. just that she should try taking an interest in the lives of common people. maybe then they'd be able to get the things they so desperately needed. like shelter. maybe food. a witcher, to start. ' your highness, with all due respect, it isn't a good idea to go riding a dragon into the middle of the city. they're already dealing with monsters, and peasants tend to rely on superstition... ' the white-haired one's voice, full of gravel still, drifts off with the heat of suggestion. the last thing he needed was a city of frightened villagers turning on him, or worse, alerting the soldiers of her supposed opposition. he'd already deserted once- he wasn't about to start playing soldier again. ' not wise, just experienced. '

still, as the violet-eyed woman turned to begin back down the narrow hallway, geralt would follow close behind. he had learned from lords and the leaders of the freefolk that they liked to walk ahead. to stand with their head high and feel important on their own. it amused him some. these were usually the men who could not hold their own. geralt replied thoughtfully, ' not sure, to be honest. the ghouls are a problem, but not much can be done about their nests while men are dying in the fields. that's what they feed on, the rotting corpses. or the fresh ones that wander too close. we call them necrophages, the family of creatures to which they belong. ' he paused briefly as they reached the entrance to the keep, the grandiose portcullis still as breathtaking as it had been when first he had arrived. ' saw some tracks near rook's rest. i intend to start there. look for a den, tracks, remains. see if i can't bait something out. '

[vydmak-a]

all the characters who dont have dads/lost their dads. geralt is gonna be your dad. you don't know it yet (neither does he) but he's gonna be.