The Lion's Father

People like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with...

[darknightdaughter]

“They are, but like I said, these men are trusting. They have grown far too comfortable to go looking for suspicion and trouble. Any other kingdom and I might have had to prove my words.” Helena looked around her, getting the lay of the land. It had been a few years since she’d been here, but the city wasn’t overly large or complicated. “All of the stone paved roads will take you to the castle. The bank lies closer to it, tucked in against an outer wall. It’s the most secure bank in the city. The only one my father would keep his money in.”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Any other kingdom...” He mouthed her words, practically silent when he repeated what Helena said. The walls of the alleyways grew closer together; the poor, young and old, lined the side of each road. A pair of boys, who couldn’t be more than ten years old, scattered away when Geralt and Helena approached, a grimy scrap of bread left in the street and forgotten where they once stood. The two had been fighting for it before the witcher and princess had ridden up. 

[darknightdaughter]

“They didn’t. They had no way of knowing, but I am wearing the Wayne insignia on my necklace. They looked me over and saw that while I was speaking. This kingdom rarely has many threats to deal with. Their knights are… trusting.” Helena flashed him a cunning smile as she once again pulled her cloak around her shoulders and got comfortable. “Shall we?”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Insignias are easy to fake.” He stated the comment matter-of-factly, dipping Roach towards a less inhabited street that ran diagonally across the marketplace which sat comfortably beside the gate. “We shall, but where’s this bank of yours? I can imagine that a city this size has a few of them. Wouldn’t want to get sidetracked before we’ve settled our business.”

[darknightdaughter]

Helena’s posture changed the moment her eyes fell on the guards. Where the entire ride she’d stayed as comfortable as possible on the horse, she now took the stance of her noble upbringing, shoulders back, neck long, sitting taller than she had before. Her voice came out more commanding than calm. It may not be the life she envisioned for herself, but Helena wore royalty well. “My business is my own. I am Lady Helena of Castle Wayne. Your king knows and is expecting me. It would serve you well not to dig further, unless you’d like your king to hear that you were the reason I was delayed.” 

[witcherofrivia-blog]

The two guards gave each other a look of concern and shifted out of the way of the gate. The man on the right rung a bell against the stone wall and, with a click, the doors barring their path began to shift and slide inwards. Within the city walls sat more guards, all resembling the first two with varying beard lengths being the only truly noticeable difference. Geralt kicked gently into Roach’s side and guided the horse onto the cobbled path that led toward the heart of the city. “Seems your safe haven could do with some better men defending its walls. How did they know you weren’t lying?”

[darknightdaughter]

“Then we shall find the bank as quickly as possible, and you can have your payment. You have more than earned it.” Helena wore a twinge of a smile. The ride had been mostly silent, but she had grown a sort of fondness for the witcher in that time. At the very least, she didn’t find him as unbearable as first instincts had led her to believe he would be. The remainder of the journey felt as if it were coming a bit sooner than she’d like, and that thought vexed her. She shouldn’t feel that way, but regardless, they found themselves at the stone gates of the city far too quickly.

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Hm.” A smirk tugged at the end of his mouth but was quickly replaced by a grimace at the sight of the gate and men defending it.  Fat and slovenly, their bellies hung low under the breastplates they were outfitted with. Their milky eyes fell upon the witcher and princess, muttering a question concerning the two’s business within the walls of the city. Geralt turned the horse to its side, giving Helena a full view of the men at the gate. “They’re asking you a question.”

[fadecloaked]

“Put more stuff in the… thing more stuff goes in.”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“You’re s-so drunk.” Geralt stumbled to the side, thrusting a tankard of ale her way. “You need...more.”

[ilikebigboatsicannotlie]

[witcherofrivia-blog]

Precious Witcher Family 

[fadecloaked]

Whatever it was that Geralt stepped on sounded vaguely reminiscent of overripe fruit crushed beneath the heel. But instead of any cloying scent to perfume the air, only a foul, noxious odor is released ( like rotten sewage, like putrefaction, like—- ), and Khaliya succinctly pulls and draws tight her scarf over her face. Moments pass, eyes adjust, and now she sees.

Bodies tangled with bodies, with entrails, with bone; bloating and marinading in the shallow waters until finally they are reduced into no more than a soupy slush and muck to wade through. It would be easy to linger on the sight of it all and allow oneself to be swept up in the horror, but instead Khaliya shuts it down; forcefully shutting her eyes, looking away, and making herself look at nothing else but her ally, and her target. 

“I’d say I’ve little choice at this point. Do try and keep its attention on you–you look the type that can take a hit or three, no?” It only looked to be one here, but the darkened trenches are hardly a reliable sort. She begins picking her way around corpses; moving slowly so as not to disturb the shallow pools too greatly as she moves into a good flanking position. Provided the Witcher capable at playing decoy, she’d be able to cut away at the vulnerable points and help. 

Khaliya only prayed that they–that she–wouldn’t have to resort to other means of killing this beast.

[witcherofrivia-blog]

The walls seemed to move. They dripped and creeped, an unseen presence skittering across them before coming to a stop toward the exit. They were not alone. Whatever the sea hag was doing in the next cavern came to a sudden halt. The room went silent. A gurgling noise, not so unlike someone gagging, breached the silent calmness of the cave. “She’s unde-!”

He never finished his comment. The bodies underneath the two lurched and heaved, thrown into the air alongside Geralt as the sea hag broke the surface of the sludge and shrieked. Its claws, covered in blood and entrails, reached out immediately toward Khaliya, swiping furiously like an unhinged madman. The walls came to life, drowners crawling down from the ceiling to hide among the bodies and wait for their opening. 

Geralt hit the opposing wall hard, chainmail striking the rock and causing a cacophonous ringing to echo the hidden hallways. The witcher fell into the water, the flame of his torch extinguished. The room went pitch black as the witcher drifted deeper into the pocket of water that sat at the edge of the cave. 

[czarowniica-deactivated20160219]

@witcherofrivia | starter call

                   LITTLE BY LITTLE, YENNEFER WAS threading through memories; some of them she treasured greatly, some of them she would gladly forget, and still not every jigsaw was falling into its place… but that was on the inside. on the outside, the sorceress was examining her own reflection in the mirror, searching carefully for wrinkles and other imperfections, every now and then throwing a glance or two at the witcher—-

                                         only to сurl her lips in a slightest of smiles.                                                                    little by little… 

[witcherofrivia-blog]

The chainmail was always the noisiest. It clinked and rattled with each shift and made an insufferable racket whenever pulled over the witcher’s head. So when he shed the armor, Yennefer’s room became alive with the sound of metal striking metal. He had his back turned to the sorceress, unaware of the eyes that followed him in the mirror. Scars marked his back like a map, an indicator of the wounds he had sustained in his travels. He finally casted a glance at Yennefer, a smirk riding the left side of Geralt’s lips. “What’s caught your attention?”

[crushercarlie-blog]

                     @witcherofrivia started following you

      “That’s an odd selection of herbs to be looking for.”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Odd selection, but they’re never bad to have at hand.” The witcher dug through his bag, pulling free a few scattered crowns. “This should cover it.”

[redvelvetpriest-blog]

“I wouldn’t say never.” It was kind of a given that he might be called to human fronts at the time he became a priest. Things just deteriorated before he made it to the front lines.

“I’m just used to the er…’soldiers’ I fight with to be less…flaccid?” His voice dropped even lower at the word, trying not to offend anyone around them on the off chance they might be listening. His sights were at least firmly locked to the loud gentlemen at fore. How uncomfortable.

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Flaccid’s putting it nicely.” He spoke at full volume, unfazed by the surrounding peasants. They didn’t seem to notice; their minds were far too preoccupied with matters that specifically concerned them. The words of a witcher and elf were tread upon like dirt in comparison. The barker burped his final order, catching sight of Khage and Geralt. He fired a two-fingered point at the men, signaling for them to come with him. “Looks like we’re expected.”

[grimazulmaraz-deactivated201801]

Will Hammer for Ale

[grimazulmaraz-deactivated201801]

Ale. It was the only reason he still bothered to remain alive. Well at least that’s what Helveg would merely say despite his own reasons for his aimless wandering remained beneath. There was no need to share the intimate details of one’s life when there was drink to be had. As he downed the first tankard of ale like he hadn’t anything to drink in days… if not weeks, he unleashed quite the loud and somewhat disgusting belch. Geralt was right about it being shit alright. He could only allow a moment of laughter as he shifted in the chair while he simply looked at his new found ‘friend’.

“Smell’s just fine, but you’re right! The Ale’s shit!” He let loose an almost too loud burst of laughter while he shook his head. He was an easily amused man being that he found himself in the company of no one quite often. It’d be nice to have someone to share a brew with. “I’ll accept that, friend.” Helveg wasn’t one to turn away a friendly offer as well. That meant the man wasn’t a leech. He was liking this one more and more as their interaction went on. “A dead dwarf! Hah! Maybe it’s something I want to happen. Though I’d rather be dead by the hands of an adversary than the lack of money.”

The comment was obviously out of place, if only to a degree. On his face, he carried scars that dug deep into his skin. His forearms were marked with it, and even his hands. He wasn’t some black smith looking for coin but rather there was much more to his story. Perhaps too much. If that’s all that was to him, it’d be far too simple. Helveg wasn’t someone looking for death but rather one who wanted to see how far he could really test himself. Where was he to stop? He had his tankard filled once more and this time simply nursed it. “Ain’t much to this life, just the same as the next. Would rather see how far I go before my head flies off my shoulders or my heart stops beating.”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

The fire cracked and cackled, spewing forth golden flecks of burning timber that littered the brick hearth with dying light before extinguishing to become nothing more than black spots. The bench that Geralt sat upon was littered in splinters and was in severe need of cleaning, but the witcher did not mind. He’d sat in worse, and he would take a dirty bench over the worn saddle he had inhabited for the past few days.  

“Don’t say that too loudly. I’m sure you’ll find plenty in this area who’d be willing to grant that wish.” He spoke in reference to Helveg’s preferred method of death. Racial divides were like lines drawn in stone rather than sand; it all depended on where you found yourself. In some homes, the races were celebrated in their uniqueness. In others, a dead dwarf or elf made a better head on the wall than friend. 

[witcherofrivia-blog]

[I am still here, guys. I’m just looking at a very hectic couple of weeks. I will TRY to get to a few of the replies tomorrow night; hold out hope! I will return!]

[witcherofrivia-blog]

I really love your geralt and think you've nailed his voice.

[Thank you so much. ;-;]

[redvelvetpriest-blog]

“This is still all too surreal,” Khagaesun muttered the further in they got. It had been a time since he’d been around “infantry” that appeared so green. At least not in the figurative sense. It disturbed him, though not more than his emotional disconnect with them. Still, Khagaesun made sure to throw in an “excuse us” and “thank you” to the ones who parted for them. Even eager as he was to redirect his attentions to whomever was presently running this ramshackle.

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Never thought you’d be fighting a human war?” Geralt sidestepped a particularly tall peasant that had a pitchfork leaned against his shoulder and a straw hat perched atop his bald head. In the center of the town square stood a pot-bellied man with an ill-fitting helmet covering the left side of his face. He held a scroll before his glazed-over eyes and barked orders to the awaiting peasantry. They listened in fear, eyes wide. Geralt guessed that, if they could read and write, they’d have jotted down what the barker was saying to ensure they didn’t forget. 

[darknightdaughter]

“You would be so lucky.” Even to speak to him, she didn’t take her eyes off the glistening castle peaks, transfixed by it. She wasn’t expecting him to even remotely want her company. She’d already gotten the hint that if it weren’t for her money, she would still be in the woods he’d found her in. The fact he said anything to her at all was a surprise. 

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“That wouldn’t be lucky. That’d mean I was out of a payment.” Geralt clicked his tongue, loosening his grip on the reins and pressing Roach onward at a trot. They had rode hard, kept the hounds off their scent, and succeeded in passing through the border undetected. This had been the furthest into the Eastern lands that Geralt had ever gone; it was unsettling. "Come on, Roach." 

[redvelvetpriest-blog]

“In a word. Sad is another.” The priest pulled his hood tight against his head while looking for something distracting. If he stared at the immobile too long he’d know he’d start to see his family in them. Always so self assured and no reason to think otherwise. “Unlikely to listen either way and there’s more productive things to do with our time. Reasonable people to concern ourselves with.”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“Right.” Geralt nodded, pressing through the growing crowd of defenders that had all begun to gather in the city’s center. They looked terrified. Men and women, some barely old enough to have ever carried a sword, stood waiting for their orders. The witcher’s hand fell on the shoulder of one of the men, gently pushing him to the side so that he and Khagaesun could press through. “Move aside.”

[ravenbeaut-blog]

          “Hm. Perhaps you’re right.”

    Yennefer huffed, eyes gleaming in amusement, and watched as he settled, moving even so far as to loop her legs round his waist. “Am I to take it,” she began quietly, moving to readjust herself against the pillows propping her upright, “that means I’ll be dining alone tonight as well?”

[witcherofrivia-blog]

“I try.” 

He leaned in, moving his hands so that they fell in the space between Yen’s arms and stomach. His words were quiet, hushed and whispered to the sorceress. His lips, tilted into a smirk, hovered above her’s. “Depends. What are you having?”