Fandom The Witcher Chronicles

[Joonster25]

"Sit, boy," the dwarf said, sitting atop a wooden fence in the city of Oxenfert. The long day that was filled with ceaseless gossip and sights of vibrant colors that signified trouble and miracles alike was slowly beginning to meet its end. Shops were closing down for the day, groups dispersed to take shelter into their homes, and the city floated down to a silence to strong that one could hear the slow crackling of the flames that lit the nightly shaded streets. While the pubs were open, there wasn't much business to be had. One would find the silence eerie, but the dwarf found it peaceful, as nights like this, where there was a calm silence, where all was well and yet nothing was happening was a rare sight to behold.

The boy sat on the ground, looking up at the dwarf with eyes of anticipation. "Since you keep asking about Witchers, perhaps its time that I tell you. Whatever you've heard about Witchers makes you think that they be some sort of heroes. That'd be far from it, lad. Witchers are monsters. Mutated creatures from the cesspools of hell itself. You have these knob-knocked knights and fight monsters and all things vile for honor and all that but these witchers? They do it for coin and nothing else. Not a single thing else in the world seems to matter to these sons of bitches.

"That's right. They be devoid of any sort of emotion. They kidnap little lads like you and take them back to their little lairs where you fall prey to all their little experiments. Some don't even survive, they say. But the ones that do come out monsters just the same. A terrible bunch if I ever saw one. And you call them heroes? I spit on such a statement. Anything that kills and kills and kills without any sense of right or wrong is a monster. Don't give me that look. It may be a wee tough to swallow after getting the idea that there be heroes in this world, but you wanted it straight and now I'm giving to ya. There ain't a single hero in this world."

"Not a single one?" The boy asked.

"Not a one," the dwarf said, stroking his long, grey beard, remembering what he saw on the road just the other day. He saw a man defending two women from a monster - a drowner, as people called it - in the outskirts of a small village. The man had two swords, and by the dwarf's expert eye in craftmenship and weaponry, he could see that one sword was made of steel, and the other of silver. The dwarf recognized the man was nothing less than a witcher, one that made quick work of the drowner. The dwarf had seen very few monster on the road, and had heard of even fewer. At that time he was convinced that there were too many witchers in the world, and that the time for them was over.

But he quickly changed his tune when he saw drowners running down the hill as fast as a mouse was small, and quickly surrounded the witcher. In that moment, the dwarf thought he recognized fear in the witcher's stance, a sense of hesitation. He shooed the women away and rushed towards the drowners. He tried to fight the drowners, their claws tearing at him one by one. The witcher was killed in seconds. It was the first time the dwarf had ever seen a witcher die so fast, so suddenly. He hightailed it out of there. Not that it mattered, as the drowners were focused entirely on feeding on their new corpse.

"Hey!" the boy said, snapping the dwarf out of his trance.

"Time to go to bed, boy!" The dwarf snapped.

"Just one more question," the boy said. "Please?"

The dwarf growled. "What is it?"

"What makes a hero?"

"Ah," the dwarf said, still thinking about the incident on the road with the Witcher. Were there not enough Witchers after all? Was that witcher paid to protect those women? Did he know them? If the witcher wasn't paid to protect them or to fight the drowners, didn't know the women, and only fought to protect out of the kindness of his own bloody heart then would that make him... "Who bloody knows, lad. Who bloody knows."

Autumn McJavabean

 

[Joonster25]

Zarken looked over his shoulder and was not pleased with what he saw. It was a glimpse, but it was all he needed to see. He turned back to his drink and did not move from his seat. He took another swig of beer. Was tempted to just down the whole thing and be done with the situation. The spell was bothering him again, and his patience was running thin. He was amazed by how the simple opening of the pub's doors was enough to create the most deafening sound afterwards. All the chatter, all the clinking of glasses, the laughter, the crying, the arguing and the cheers vanished in a fraction of a second.

The sound of angry stamping feet grew ever louder as the inevitable approached. The witcher shook his head with a wry smile. He knew how this would likely end. But he made a promise to himself today that no matter what happened, he'd try. "Get up," the soldier said behind him. The Witcher turned in his seat, half facing the soldier, half facing his drink. He gave the soldier a blank expression, one open to many interpretations, but was harmless in its simple nature. The slight raise of a brow only politely asked that the soldier make himself clearer.

"I said," the soldier said, drawing his sword. "Get up! Don't make me repeat myself." The witcher scanned the room. In the twenty seconds the soldiers had been here, more than half the people had left the pub. Standing behind the angry soldier were about six guards. The simple wave of a hand would send them all flying, and Zarken could easily dispose of them then and there before they would be able to make it to their feet. Could even be comical about it if he wanted to. Scare the bartender by singing the tale of little red riding hood in a dwarven accent.

But he was supposed to try today, so that was off the table. He did not say a word. Only nodded to his drink. "My patience is running thin, Witcher!" said the soldier.

"Yours?" Zarken replied with a scowl, leaning his head back as if surprised that the soldier had the audacity to say such a thing. He realized the mistake and put a hand over his mouth. Then he realized that was a mistake because it showed that he was aware he'd said something he shouldn't have and brought attention to it. Then he realized that he had moved his hand way too fast, making the soldiers in front of him panic. In the split second of eye contact he made with the soldier, the witcher saw fury and fear dance in the soldier's eyes.

"Fuck was that?" One of the other soldiers said. "What the fuck did he just do?"

As the soldiers stood there, paralyzed, the witcher turned to look at the bartender, who just shrugged, as if knowing how things were going to end. "Just kill them already," he thought he heard the bartender say. Zarken blinked. The bartender hadn't opened his mouth at all. Hadn't said a word. And in this moment of fear and anticipation, why would he begin by saying that? No. Zarken knew it had to be the voice. It was always telling him what he probably should do, but at the same time telling him what not to do. Slowly, he stood up from his seat, sad that he didn't get a chance to finish his beer, mad that he had to deal with this bullshit, but happy that he was capable of at least making sure it happened on his own terms.

"I don't want to ruin this man's bar. Whatever business you guys have with me, we can take it outside."

"Get going then," one of the soldiers motioned towards the door with his pike. Zarken slowly made his way towards the door, hands to his sides. Then, just as he was about to make it to the door, he leapt forward and threw something at the ground. Before the soldiers knew it, gas surrounded the inside of the pub, blinding the soldiers. The Witcher gave them no time to recover. He was gone, speeding away from the pub as fast as he could, hiding himself away in the alleyways of oxenfurt. A danger to be sure, but for a witcher, it was no different than traveling off the roads in search of monsters. What witcher couldn't handle a bunch of petty thieves?

He was headed for the square, where he could check contracts for monsters. It'd be a great distraction he could indulge in until things calmed down.

Autumn McJavabean

 

[Autumn McJavabean]

The leaves fell slowly falling from the trees as a beautiful female made her way through a crowd of people as night slowly made its way through the town. As she walked through with her ashen-hair and mixed gear of black and brown metal and leather with vials strapped across her chest, she could hear the whispers of those around her. They would gossip about her being an emotionless monster. In truth, she hunted them down. In her hand, she even carried the head of a Kikimore, the blood dripping from it's a severed head. It was the main reason people rumored negative things about her, she didn't care needless to say.

There was a bar nearby that she thought she could head towards for information pertaining to her needs. This woman was not a normal human, rather, she was a Witcher from the school of the cat. A fitting school considering her very cat-esque eyes that almost glowed in the growing darkness that enveloped the town itself. Vare Nirilt walked closer to the building before her when screams could be heard within the walls. Out came a man heading for the square that looked strangely familiar. The ashen-haired women found him to be interesting, it's not every day you run into another Witcher. As she followed, she passed by a stand where the man who had given her the task was standing when she tossed the head on his cart.

"The hell?!" The man screamed loudly, grabbing the attention of all around him. "You don't just lay that bloody thing on my cart, I have a business to maintain."

"The task is done," she replied. Her cold tone showed her little care for his business; it was her business she cared about. Despite this, she didn't care too much about her reputation. She held her hand out for a second as the man raised his eyebrow.

"What?!"

"You owe me my charge for slaying the beast," Vare firmly stated. The man shook his head 'no'.

"After that stunt, I don't think so," he retorted. "Maybe next time you will possess some decency and be a tad more discrete about your slaying of the monster. You're the problem everyone had with your kind. Your kind are nothing but vile..." He was cut off. A silver dagger was pointing at his neck with Vare's free hand holding him firmly by the collar.

"Perhaps I should inform you I left the eggs there knowing you would cut me short of my dues." Vare let him go as he fell to his rear-end. That's when he looked over to see someone next to Vare. What shocked him was not his look, but the man walking nearby also had a neckless on his neck. However, he could not tell if it was a cat such as Vare's.

"Fine... fine, here, take your damn purse." The man tossed a purse of currency towards Vare, who caught it mid-air. She turned around to find someone else she saw nearby.

 

[Joonster25]

Zarken peaked his head out of the entrance of an alleyway, searching the crowded streets for signs of trouble. Finding that there was no such sign to be found, he stepped out into the streets, blending into the crowd of civilians the best a witcher could. In Oxenfurt there were all sorts of people walking about, each with their own brand of habits and quirks. The incident from earlier likely happened only because the soldiers were tracking him from the beginning, as soon as he took his first step into the city. Even the petty thieves waiting for him in the alleys thought nothing of him until they took a good look into his eyes.

But Zarken felt an uneasiness in the air around him. Call it natural instinct or paranoia or the effects of the spell playing with his head, but something just didn't feel right. Couldn't put his finger on it. Was he being watched? Was there something foul about? Something wicked coming his way? He looked over his shoulder for the second time today, cringing sheepishly, and what caught his eye this time was something he felt very indifferent about. "What the fuck?" Zarken said, his eyes drinking in the rare, strange sight. It was what many believed to be a possibility. Something few even considered was a possibility. It was...

"Is that a female witcher?" he muttered to himself. He caught a brief glance at the eyes and found that he couldn't be mistaken. The walk, the weapons, the way she held the head of a kikimora. Was the spell playing tricks on him? No. Unless it was getting stronger, that couldn't be it. Athelina didn't have such a vibrant imagination or sense of humor. The powers of mystery demanded his attention, and his thirst of curiosity begged to be quenched. He had to see if this was the real deal and not just some poser. This would certainly be a story to tell for the ages! He walked over to the witcher, cleared his throat, and got in her face.

"Damn, you're ugly," Zarken said with the most hateful scowl he could muster, doing all he could not to burst out in laughter at least until she responded.

Autumn McJavabean

 

[Autumn McJavabean]

Vare heard the voice come from her rear as she turned slightly to eye the witcher. "Still makes me twice as beautiful as yourself." Her eyes looked the man up and down. "I take it you're shocked by my very existence, as well?" She sighed at his sight and petty and childish comment. That's when she saw his neckless. He was not from her school of witchers. The man at the cart began to shout when Vare punched him in the nose without looking. She hated people, her life prior to being abducted by the school of the cat was a dark one, one better left unheard for those who could not handle it. Between the beatings, the rape, the abuse, both verbal and physical, she wanted it left unheard to those around her and thus never got close to anyone.

She held her hand out and tossed one of the coins from the purse to the witcher. "Name's Vare of Cintra, you can just call me Vare," she said as she tried to put a smile on. I'm from the school of the cat, I don't think I have ever heard of your school before if I'm honest."

Joonster25 ChimpMan