The Hunt of the Witcher

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WackyQuacky
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The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Thu Jan 16, 2020 8:34 pm

With countryside to city hearts of the world littered with the unsightly, unwanted creatures of the wild, the need for pest control is on the rise, while the exterminators are being shunned by those they help. The Witchers, those pushed from towns and cities. Called freaks and mutants for that which they had no control; Undergoing the pain of the trial of grasses and alchemical processes as a child, altering their bodies beyond the realm of repair. Some driven to madness from the poison that coursed through their veins until even the Witchers society no longer want to be associated with them.
Even in the healthy lands of marsh, fertile lands and cobble stone roads of the Northern and Southern Nations, from Gustfield in the north to Bold Mountain in the south, creatures of all walks of life scratch and claw for any scraps they can get as towns and cities encroach on their shrinking land. Beasts from every folklore you can think of; Wives-tales told to keep children behaving and stories only talked about in legends, none of which seem to be the stuff of lies anymore as even a Downer can be seen in every corner of the marsh lands.
From Cintra in the north to Nilfigaard in the south, the nation’s stone pillar cities hold their stand within this amalgamation of creatures, showing refuge for some or death and torture to others.

[spoiler]SPOILER ALERT FOR MOVIES AND GAMES[/spoiler]

The Cities:
Cintra: A very powerful kingdom to the north, ruled by Queen Calanthe before the Nilfgaarden wars and the kingdom became an independent state but actually ruled by Emperor Emhyr va Emreis of Nilfgaard. During Calanthe’s rule, she was known as the Lioness of Cintra and admired for her beauty and bravery in battle but met her end to the battle of Marnadal, where Cintra fell into Nilfgaarden rule. Canotaph’s were raised in her honour by Skillige and by Emperor Emhyr in the crypt of Cintra.

[dropshadow][/dropshadow]Aedirn: Ruled by King Demavend, Aedirn is a nation still trying to rebuild itself after the wars with Nilfgaard, being one of the southern-most kingdoms in the north, it was the first nation to be invaded by Nilfgaard in both wars. King Demavend cares little for his country or his people and only for his power and position, he is easily led but he is also proud. Aedirn has a sordid relationship with Non-humans due to being located so close to both Dol Blathana (an elven state) and Mahakam (Dwarven state). Since the rise of the Scoia'tael though relations have worsened and non-humans are now the subject of discrimination and in worst cases pogroms.

Kaedwen: Kaedwen is an interesting land for many reasons, firstly it is a steadfast nation that is very proud and has a strong military and economy. Secondly its nobility and King are absolute whoresons of the highest degree, during the second war with Nilfgaard, Kaedwen actually plotted with the Black Ones to take the northern portion of Aedirn for themselves. They are exploitative and willing to step on anyone in order to get what they want. Despite this though many Kaedweni's have a deep loyalty for their King Henselt and view him as a man who puts the needs of Kaedwen above all else, which from their perspective is probably true. They detest non-humans plain and simple, Scoia'tael most of all, and as a result most non-humans despise Kaedwen.

Redania: Redania is also an interesting nation however with far more nuance than Kaedwen. Currently ruled by King Radovid, son of the great King Visimir who was murdered during the Second War with Nilfgaard. Redania is a great nation with a strong military and economy as well as a fairly functional feudal system, in that the nobility actually seems to care about Redania and The North as a whole. But it is a nation of great political depth, with spies and agents around every corner trying to learn every secret about everyone they can. Redania is mainly considered one of the strongest Northern kingdoms due to this relative stability. Redania is like a spider, it makes a very nice and pretty web, but it covers a wide area and its many legs can feel everything that happens. Little in the way of politics ever occurs in the North without Redanian knowledge; and often influence. Their relationship with non-humans is neither better or worse than anywhere else.

Temeria: At the best of times resembles a whore house on fire, but a deep seeded patriotism and pride keeps the nation together. Oddly enough Temeria is ruled by its King alone more so than any other nation in the North. King Foltest is a passionate man who rules and leads with his heart, and not always with his brain. He has earned both the ire and admiration of most all the other nations in the north and the absolute loyalty of the majority of his people. Foltest is a harsh but usually fair man who is actually surprisingly forward thinking when it comes to non-humans, he neither likes them nor dislikes them, he does however detest the scoia'tael, but not for their race, but because they are terrorists. If anything were ever to happen to Foltest the country would likely crumble, that is how much this man means to his nation.

Nilfgaard: The final 'kingdom' if you can call it that is the Empire of Nilfgaard which consists of every nation and principality south of the great Yaruga river. The empire is vast with a military and economical might that dwarfs any northern nation individually, and likely most of them combined. It is a home of great culture and learning as well as civilization. However magic is controlled with an iron fist and any mages/sorceresses are kept of a very short leash. Non-humans are actually liked in Nilfgaard, at least no less than the humans, which is why the Scoia'tael allied with the empire during the second war, even if they were eventually betrayed in the name of peace. The Empire is ruled almost entirely by the great Emperor Emhyr Var Emreis, also know as the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies. He rules with complete control and assurance and every noble and commander trembles at the mere thought of him, he is a dictator is every possible sense.

Creatures:

Elves:
Elves are one of the humanoid races that inhabit the Continent. Forming a major part of the Elder Races, those known as Aen Seidhe came to the Continent on their white ships much earlier than humans, but later than the other Elder Races. They live much longer than humans and are usually very attractive.
Elves are capable of interbreeding with humans (thus producing half-elves and quadroons) and dryads. Though elves are incredibly long lived, only young elves are fertile, thus elven populations tend to reproduce at a slower rate than humans.
Like other nonhumans, elves are often persecuted by Nordlings. Because of that, many elves were members of the Scoia'tael guerrillas allied with Nilfgaard during the empire's second invasion of the Northern Kingdoms. In return, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis gave the elves a state of their own in Dol Blathanna and made Enid an Gleanna its queen.
Elves believe that they were created, unlike humans, who evolved. For this reason, some elves consider humans to be little more than hairless apes. Aside from Aen Seidhe, there exists another group of elves called Aen Elle that inhabits another world.

Elder Races:
Elder Races or Old Races is a collective name used by humans to describe those who preceded them on the Continent. The so-called old races include:
  • -Gnomes
    -Dwarves
    -Elves
Of these three, gnomes were the oldest sentient race on the continent with the dwarves following. Despite elves also trying to claim they were one of the original races in the known world, they in fact came from another part on their white ships about a thousand years before humans first appeared on the Continent.

Humans:
Humans are the dominant race on the Continent, forming the majority of inhabitants in both the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire. When humans first arrived on the already-populated Continent, they quickly set about conquering the lands already inhabited by Elder Races. The humans thus established themselves as the dominant race and so elves, dwarves, gnomes, werebbubbs, and halflings are now generally referred to as nonhumans.
Humans are not terribly dissimilar from Aen Seidhe elves in appearance and generally the same height. However, humans do not have pointed ears, delicate features and their teeth are slightly bigger. While elves tend to live far longer than humans, humans reproduce at a faster rate.


Monsters: (to list some)
  • Abaya
    Alghoul
    Berserker
    Bilge Hag
    Botchling
    Chort
    Devourer
    Djinn
    Doppler
    Drowner
    Drowned Dead
    Ekhidna
    Ekimmara
    Eredin
    Erynia
    Golem
    Grave Hag
    Graveir
    Griffin
    Katakan
    Kernun
    Melusine
    Mourntart
    Morvudd
    Mucknixer
    Nekker
    Nightwraith
    Nithral
    Noonwraith
    Opinicus


Sorceress and sorcerers:


A mage, is a person skilled and educated in the use of magic. Only rare individuals have the potential to become mages and many of those with this potential are doomed to madness. Unless the individual in question learns to control their power quickly, he or she may end up a half-insane, slobbering oracle. That is why schools of sorcery were created, where talented children study for many years, acquiring knowledge and mastering magical skills. Because of their powers, mages age more slowly than ordinary people.
They can extract magical energy from the four elements, transport themselves long distances and heal, as well as kill, in the blink of an eye. They have extensive scientific and political knowledge; in the latter respect, many mages are the equals of rulers.
The Lodge of Sorceresses arose from the ruins of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers after the incident on Thanedd Island essentially killed the older order among mages. It was a secret organization composed entirely of female mages and even referred to as a sisterhood due to no men being invited, as the sorceresses saw men as too incompetent to handle governing areas of magic


Witcher’s and their schools


A Witcher is someone who has undergone extensive training, ruthless mental and physical conditioning, and mysterious rituals in preparation for becoming an monsterslayer for hire.
Taken in as children, witchers-to-be are subjected to intense alchemical processes, consumption of mutagenic compounds, and relentless physical and magical training to make them dangerous and highly versatile against their vast array of opponents, many of which possess superhuman speed, strength and/or other deadly powers.

The key permanent results of mutations shared by all witchers include:
  • -Sterility
    -Cat-like eyes that grant very acute nightvision - witchers can constrict their pupils to see in blinding light or open them to see in near pitch darkness. Their entire sensory system is overall enhanced, allowing them to identify the species of animal from the scent of their blood, and detect nearby beings even when out of sight.
    -Tremendous resistance to disease and a boosted immune system, allowing them to consume large quantities of potions that could prove easily deadly if consumed even in small amounts by a normal man.
    -Exceptionally increased strength, speed, reflexes, and endurance, far beyond any normal or well-trained human, that allows them to swiftly end fights with minimal effort and perform physical feats non-witchers couldn't hope to match. A witcher's physical skills alone are sufficient to defeat most monsters single-handedly if combined with extensive training and proper weaponry, whereas regular men could only hope to accomplish this in large groups.
    -Having the ability to perform simple yet incredibly versatile combat magic in the form of signs. They also develop a sixth sense that allows them to "feel" things around them, be it items of importance or people's immediate intentions. This explains their uncanny ability to track and hunt people and monsters.
    -No capacity for emotion
    -Accelerated healing granting quick recovery from injuries.
    -Incredibly long lifespan and prolonged youth
    -They cover proficiency in basically any weapon that comes to hand.
Witcher's training focuses on two primary tools; The Steel sword and the silver sword
These swords are typically carried on the back. A steel blade used for more mundane beings, while a silver blade for beasts of the supernatural. Witchers are also frequent mixers and users of powerful potions, having developed an advanced tolerance to their inherent toxicity, but still limited to a few at a time. Finally, their formal magical training deals with signs.

School of the Wolf (The Advanced)
The school of the Wolf is the most recognised Witcher school with the highest reputation for their professionalism and reliable monster killing methods. The school of the Wolf or the order of the Witchers is the most advanced school due to their advanced technology of bombs and traps. They use medium strength and medium flexibility armour along with their two silver and steal swords.

School of the Crane (Ranged)
Those from the Crane school are skilled in both swords and early guns, proving to be the best for monsters by air or sea, which can be encountered on the long routes between cities. A Witcher from the school of the Crane prepares a long rope with one end to bind to the mast of a vessel and the other to a close-fitting protective suit covering their bodies. When not expecting to fight, they prefer to wear not significant armour.

School of the Manticore
Those from the Manticore wear medium armour and, light the school of the Wolf, are very skilled fighters with Steal and silver swords. The school of the Manticore have less members than the school of the Wolf does, due to either dying out or being attacked. The Manticore have stronger armour with more flexibly and less durable to wear but the sword skills of the Manticore school does not equal that of the Wolf; The members still being skilled fighters but not as strong as those from the Wolf.

School of the Viper (Knowledgeable assassins)
The most secretive of the schools. The Vipers manage to collect an incredible collection of books and scrolls. The school of the Viper was said to have been created to figure out what the wild hunt is and fight it, by their extensive knowledge from books and scrolls They are trained on twin small blades and an assassination-based approach to killing monsters. Their fighting style features sinuous, unpredictable movements using the two blades.

School of the Griffin (Mages)
The school of the witchers headquarters and are known as one of the known ssplinter fractions of the order. The Griffins, with their high social etiquette, are considered to be knightly and have nothing against killing dragons. Some say they earned their name by exterminating nearly all of the griffins of the Koviri mountains while others say the Griffin banner was choosing by the schools founder. The griffins school equipment is of medium weight and amplifies the intensity of the wearer’s signs, so much so that the school specializes in the use of magic.

School of the Bear (Tanks)
The School of the Bear was one of five known witcher schools. By 1272, it had long disappeared into the annals of history. The witcher Gerd was the few known member of the school.
Witchers of the Bear School wore heavier gear: "Ursine" armor. Along with the Cat School, they are the only know Witcher schools to use crossbows in their hunt.

School of the Cat (Assassins)

School of the Cat is a "school" of ragtag witchers whose current headquaters are located in the travelling Dyn Marv Caravan. The Cats (or Felines) were witchers who developed fighting styles focusing on speed, precision, and agility. As a result, witchers using them do not deal a lot of raw damage but can inflict deadly critical hits. By extension, their gear was designed to maximize flexibility and provide the greatest possible range of motion.
Unfortunately, members of the school proved as flexible in terms of morals and politics as their armor. Over time, they became pariahs even among other witchers, due to their proclivity for assassinations, murder, and other activities not part of the witcher curriculum. One of the possible reasons for that was the mutation process, which tended to create an abnormal number of psychotic witchers. Regardless of the reasons, they are known to have betrayed the Wolf School which led to the massacre during the tournament. Curiously, it appears the Cats were the only school to accept women as witcher candidates.

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Post by WackyQuacky » Sun Jan 19, 2020 1:22 pm

A quiet tavern in the middle of the town stood solitary to the homes and stalls that littered the rest of the village, with children and pets running around in the courtyard while the adults joyously laughed and drank inside until there eyes blurred and they stumbled home. Within the tavern, patrons of the town basked in the warm candle glow as the clink of metal jugs and singing filled the vacant spaces in the silence. At the peak of the marry singing and chanting along with the bard with his lute, the door of the small wooden building swung open along with a gust of ice-cold air that blew some of the candles out and made others shudder. Carried on the wind, came a lady dressed in ebony and followed by a trail of golden blonde locks that flowed down over her shoulders to lay over her cloak. Along with her presence came a halt in the music, washing over the crowd of drunkards like a wave of suspense. On one of the arms of her armour plating, a slice from a knife had left a tarnish on the leather. Although barely noticeable, she still tsked at the indentation on her cuff.

The lady, with a small chain necklace dangling from her hand, she made her way through the crowd of people, most moving out of her way from just a simple glace of distain in their direction. In the far side of the tavern sat a man in tarnished garbs, a trickle of blood from a bleeding nose spotting his collar; A bar fight most likely. As she passed the others of the tavern, the bard began to play again, trying to lighten the mood from the deathly grimace on the faces of the once exuberant patrons, slowly getting them back off the topic of the woman who had silenced the tavern. Celestria, a face of stone decorating the rather fragile and delicate features of her face, strode her way towards the man in the corner of the bar, his forehead nearly touching the rim of his drink as she stared into the foaming liquid inside.

Swinging her hand slightly Celestria chucked the necklace, that enlaced around her metal claw tipped fingers, onto the table before it slid across to tap on the side of his mug, stirring him from his mile-long stare into his drink. The necklace was a tarnished silver with a small quartz stone embroidered between delicate strings of silver to hold it in place. Even in the dim lighting of the tavern, it was clear that the necklace was slick with ruby red blood. The man glanced at the necklace before glancing up towards Celestria, his eyes puffy red and blood shot from crying. The emotionless look on her face stared down at the man as his grip got tighter around the base of the mug.

“It is done. As you said, she was with her lover in his house. They will no longer be seeing each other.” As her words passed her lips, the man curled himself back into his ball, tears rolling down his cheek and into his drink as quiet sobs were barely audible through the sound of the bards strumming.

“My Mary. My sweet Mary. I’m sorry. I so hoped it wasn’t true.” His sobs did nothing to twinge the Witchers heart and she, without another word, turned on her heels and headed back towards the far end of the tavern and found her stop close to the corner, as far away from the sobbing man and the singing patrons as possible. The apprehensive bar maid set a jug of ale down on the table in front of her, less scared of Celestria that anyone else in the bar but still knowing of the Panther Witcher dress in full black. Setting in to her seat, Celestria tucked her back against the corner wall of the room, cradling the ale in her hands.

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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by lowlaville » Mon Jan 20, 2020 3:40 am

Image
Alaric sat at a table quite close to the counter, at the far end of his table leaning against the flimsy wooden walls of the tavern at that moment, pretending to be drunk. He did enjoy the taste of the brew, but it was no different from water to him. Someone like him could only get drunk on the richness of the blood of mortals. Fortunately he has had his fill as was in no mood for another for weeks.

He had worn a white shirt at that moment, and a pair of black leather pants and shoes. If one paid attention, they would even smell the sweet scent of Jasmine, a flavor distinct from the filth. He surveyed the Witcher entering the bar, the cold air that followed her. Witchers, he recalled, infamous freaks renowned for bringing down monsters. He never had a run-in with their kind but he'd heard how dangerous they tended to be, having slain many Vampire Kin. His sharp ears caught the conversation.
“It is done. As you said, she was with her lover in his house. They will no longer be seeing each other.” As her words passed her lips, the man curled himself back into his ball, tears rolling down his cheek and into his drink as quiet sobs were barely audible through the sound of the bards strumming.
“My Mary. My sweet Mary. I’m sorry. I so hoped it wasn’t true.
It would seem the Witcher was in the business of killing humans rather than monsters. It made sense though given how hated Witchers were in this day and age, because of the fact that they were mutants, freaks, abominations of nature. His eyes surveyed her as she moved away from the sobbing man to a table of her own. Drink in hand Alaric stood up, and moved across the relative calm of the tavern aided by the bard and his lute, singing. The blond haired Vampire would take a seat opposite from the Witcher, unafraid and unflinching as the server that had come with the mug.

"I couldn't help but overhear, you take on assassination contracts?" Alaric, being unfamiliar with the many schools of Witchers, didn't know whether that was a thing or not.

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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by harbinger. » Mon Jan 20, 2020 4:32 am

"Here y'are, dear," the tavern owner's wife, Meralda, set down the wooden plate of rye bread, beets, and venison with a gap-toothed smile, taking a moment to refill the mug of ale that sat half-empty by Cadeir's hand. "'S there anything else I can get you? A bowl of porridge, or perhaps some jerky for the road?" Meralda fussed, her weathered hands wringing the dirty rag on her belt with a motherly worry. Cadeir smiled softly at the concern; he had been traveling the road for weeks and the towns he had passed through for resupply were often lacking such genuine hospitality. It was a breath of fresh air.

"No, Meralda. I'm all taken care of, thanks to you," Cadeir grabbed his mug and tilted it towards her with a rakish grin, one that Meralda tittered at with a good-natured flap of her hand, before she trundled off to keep working at the blood stains on the table where the newest brawl had broken out at- something about dues unpaid, Cadeir recalled. The brawl was actually one of the quickest he had seen thus far in his life, with only three participants- excluding the old Temerian veteran that had broken it up- with minimal bloodshed. It was interesting to watch, especially the reactions of the others in the room which ranged from drunken disinterest to content spectatorship.

Cadeir took a sip of his dark ale and leaned further back in his chair at a table in the back corner of the room, taking in every corner of the tavern while the bard played on with quick fingers and a low, melodic hum. There was a couple at a center table playing gwent- rather sophisticated gwent, what with how long one match had been going on for- there was a finely-dressed blonde man staring longingly at the bard, playing with something in his hands while a similarly dressed woman spoke sharply across from him. The long table along the side of the tavern, close to the gwent-players, sat one of the instigators of the bar fight and beside him was the foreboding bulk of the veteran that had ended it. Another blonde man- though considerably better looking and with lighter hair- sat at a table by his lonesome, drinking deep from his cup and splayed across his seat near the counter; his eyes had a depth to them that reminded Cadeir of the hawks that would perch near his house in Tridam. It made him uneasy.

Further on, in an opposing corner to Cadeir, a figure sat slumped and sniveling into his cup: a perfect picture of misery. Cadeir had first seen him enter the tavern a few minutes after he himself had settled in, the stranger had the special look on his face that only the inadvertently guilty did, a look Cadeir had seen often on men that used power or coin to bring ill upon another. It interested him, in an abstract 'who is this person? What drives them?' sort of way.

Cadeir's eyes were still fixed on the miserable man when the tavern's doors burst open. The silence that fell was thick and stifling, ending the merriment that had once ran through the room. The wanderer looked towards the entrance.

A Witcher stood there like a black-clad omen.

Her two swords reminded Cadeir of the spines he had once seen on an Alghoul; sharp and a threat not only in appearance. Cadeir watched as her cat eyes- and that was a truth to the stories that he had not expected- zeroed in on the man he had been wondering about. She moved like lethality personified, like she was prepared to cut a man in half at the drop of a pin.

And with how some of the tavern's patrons stared at her, with barely concealed malice and half-constrained violence, Cadeir was not surprised if that was how this would end.

He watched as the Witcher conducted her business with the man in the corner- watched as he burst into fresh sobs and cradled the bloody necklace she had tossed to the table with a sort of thoughtless regret. The cat-eyed mutant barely blinked at the man's tears and took a seat in the corner near Cadeir but farthest from her 'customer'.

Cadeir caught a look at her medallion; he had a passable knowledge on Witcher schools- as much as any human did, but with a little less fearful superstition. Cadeir believed in what he saw and felt- he believed in experiences. And he had never met a person who's child was eaten by a Witcher, like some women in Tridam said Witchers did.

The medallion glinted silver in the warm light, the tips of feline teeth tapered to a snarling point.

School of the Cat.

A repainted monster hunter at best, a morally bankrupt killer at worst, but either way Cadeir had need of a hunter- be it one for monsters or men.

Cadeir had just about made a move to join the Witcher at her table, when the lean figure of the blond-haired patron sat himself there confidently, leaning in to speak with her. Cadeir stayed where he was, straining to hear.

He couldn't, not with the bard's bleating. He would need to get closer...

A bar maid passed his table, unease written on her young freckled face as she shot glances towards the Witcher's corner. "Hey! A moment, if you will," Cadeir said, leaning forward quickly to gain her attention. The maid almost jumped with fright, turning her wide eyes onto Cadeir, who smiled widely in apology. "I don't suppose I could borrow an apron? Or a pitcher of ale?"

The girl peered at him, her momentary fear melting away into a mulish purse of her lips and a cocked hip. She stretched out an open palm, "If you've the coin, you can have an apron and that pitcher. I won't even ask what for."

"Deal."
"We are Harbinger."

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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Thu Jan 23, 2020 2:18 pm

Celestria rested her eyes as she leant back against the corner of the wall, tiredness sweeping over her from the restless nights she had been having. Sleeping on the back of her horse for five minutes at a night as she rode was probably not best for her. To be in the heat of the bar was pleasant but the burrowing glares and glances that made her skin crawl mixed with the obnoxious music was making her stay in the corner less than favourable. She could tell just from sense, where the eyes were coming from, a barmaid walking by, the bard glancing at her over his lute, a few men and women from the crowd and a man in the corner who had been staring at her medallion. Just as she thought about leaving, she could feel the weight of the table shift under her arms and hear the shuffling of the bench opposite her alerting her to the presence of a man.
"I couldn't help but overhear, you take on assassination contracts?"
She listened to the man’s enquiry as her eyes remined closed, a heavy sigh forming in her throat. With the fresh blood from the necklace still slick across her fingertips, Celestria looked up from her drink and towards the man who had sat opposite her, feeling slightly annoyed that her peaceful drink had been interrupted by the possibility of another contract. Straightening up her back from the slumped position against the wall, she set her drink down heavily on the table, a few precious droplets of the brew escaping onto the wood of the table.

“Monster prices depending on the species and humans are considerably more. No pregnant women or children.” Leaning forward on her seat, she could smell something in the air around the man, something slightly different from the others in the tavern but nothing she could distinctly put her finger on. The slits of her golden eyes narrowed in the light of the bar as another entry through the doors causes a few of the candles closes to them to waver and snuff out. “Cash up front for all contracts.” She took a large swig from her ale, never taking her eyes off the man.
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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by lowlaville » Fri Jan 24, 2020 1:08 pm

Curious! Alaric wondered. Why was she taking more money for humans than monsters? That made no sense. "Are humans that much more difficult to kill than monsters?" He asked, taking a sip from his glass, looking directly at her. He wanted to test the myths, you see. Witchers, their medallions were supposed to be able to tell if a monster such like himself was around. So far he was not getting any reaction from the rather obvious trinket.

He produced a bag of coin, tied to his waist it was, and put it in front of him on the table. This to show he was capable of making the full payment up front.

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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Fri Jan 24, 2020 2:33 pm

She set her drink down in front of her again, drugging her fingers against the metal of the mug nearly in time with the strumming of the bard’s lute. Lifting one hand from the jug, she brushed the necklace around her neck to check for any vibration that indicated that the man across from her was hiding himself. Nothing. Something about the man’s aura wasn’t sitting correctly with her, making her very aware of where his hands are and where her swords lay on her back. Celestria has never relied on her medallion to tell if monsters were near by but without the second assurance, she couldn’t help but feel wary.

“Monsters don’t speak and spread lies. If I’m going to be ran out of every town I enter in to, I at least want gold lining my pockets.” The reputation of the Witcher has already been tarnished by the rumours of cat eyed mutants that kill everything without remorse, expendable mercenaries and pest controllers. She had grown weary of running from town to town from annoy merchants that regretted the job they had asked her to do, blaming her for just doing what she was told.

She glanced up from her drink to the bag of coins as the man set the back of coins down on the table, the contents sounding hefty. With a soft sigh, she raised her eyes towards the man, hoping that its not too big a job that he asks her to do.

“Who is the target?” Blunt and emotionless, just like the Witcher everyone spoke up. Its hard to break free from such a stereotype when you are changing it within yourself. Celestria reached into a small bag at her hip and pulled out a sharp, metal talon which she placed over her index finger. Unlike most Witcher, the two swords that crossed on her back were not her only weapons; additional close range claws helped her when she can get close enough to her target as to not need such a heavy, obvious weapon as a sword.
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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by harbinger. » Fri Jan 24, 2020 7:26 pm

The apron was oddly stiff and stunk of old ale and mildew, but it would do. Cadeir tied the laces at his back, fiddling with the string that hung it around his neck and smoothed it down over the cotton work man's shirt he wore beneath it; he was glad that his armor was packed away, it normally made him stand out and look like a brigand with it's worn, mismatched style of leather and padding. That was the last thing he needed right now.

"Very fetching. You look like a right bartender, you do," the barmaid said with a playful wink. Cadeir chuffed a laugh beneath his breath as she pushed a long wooden pitcher into his hands. He gave her a couple coins he fished from the pouch at his belt and turned to exit the little alcove behind the staircase and the counter at the bar. "Wait," the freckled maid called, "I know I said I wouldnt ask why ya needed the apron and the pitcher, but..." Cadeir didn't fill the pause her words left; she wouldn't get answers from him. She knew that too, from the look in her eye.

"Just, don't be stupid around the mutant freak. Those Cat Witchers... they're bad news." Cadeir didn't deign that with a response, just a half-hearted wave before he fell back into the tavern's crowd.

The two blonde heads of the Witcher and her visitor drew his attention immediately, but one thing Cadeir had learned early was that patience was a valuable virtue. Especially if you were banking on subtlety. The crowd was easy to maneuver- having lived as an urchin in Tridam, crowds were but an amateur's obstacle course- and he managed to keep his pitcher from sloshing it's contents over onto his hands. He kept his image as a tavern employee by topping up a few cups he passed, but, ultimately, he had his sights set on the corner table.

And soon, he reached it.
"Who is the target?” Blunt and emotionless, just like the Witcher everyone spoke up.
For some reason, the words she spoke paired with her voice made his skin itch with unease. If he had any reservations when it came to a Cat Witcher's reputation for assassinations, they were gone now. She was a killer, of men just as well as monsters, and that's what Cadeir had need of.

And, it seemed, so did the hawk-eyed man that sat with her.

Cadeir shook off the prickle of fear he felt crawl up his spine- he had no need of such an emotion, and he refused to be a pawn to it- and stepped up to their table, brandishing the pitcher he held like a prize. "May I tempt you in a refill, perhaps?"

He was proud of how steady his voice was, even as apprehension strained the crease of smile-lines around his eyes.
"We are Harbinger."

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lowlaville
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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by lowlaville » Sat Jan 25, 2020 11:33 am

"Are you perhaps referring to the tales of the 'Butcher of Blaviken'?" Aye, that was a tale he had heard many a bards sing. A Witcher who mercilessly slaughtered men in broad daylight. The way she spoke suggested she did not believe the tales of the butcher, but he felt it was too sensitive a subject to pursue. From the corners of his gaze he saw the man wearing an apron that gave off the stench of beer and rum, approaching their table. "I don't believe in false stories, and I rather prefer to see something up close before deciding the merit of its legibility," He'd taken another good long sip and finished his glass just as the server stopped at the table.
"May I tempt you in a refill, perhaps?"
"Indeed," Alaric said, pushing the glass closer to the edge of the table and towards him. "And one of the Witcher as well. Rounds on me," He smiled at her, giving a hearty grin. "After all, I can smell the stench of blood on your blade. No need to rush forth so soon, eh?" He rested his head lazily on one hand, casually looking at the pouch of coins in front of him, waiting for the server to be done and leave them alone so that he may continue the rest of the conversation.

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Re: The Hunt of the Witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Sat Jan 25, 2020 1:23 pm

Her jaw clenched at the mention of the “Butcher of Blaviken”, the story well known around the Witchers, many in the Cats seeing his disregard for human life as a monument to be praised while the Wolves and Bears see him as a tarnish on their name. Celestria on the other hand seeing him as neither of those things. She saw him as a lone Witcher who had been given contracts and when the person who proposed the contract regretted what they did, they sent hellfire down on the Witcher, making him public enemy number one.

“What really happened that day is all rumours. No one walked away and all was seen was the aftermath. Everything else is speculation.” She took a deep drink from her ale, downing nearly all of what was left in the jug. The subject wasn’t exactly tender with her, but the legend of the Butcher had chased her from towns across the nation in the minds of village people not wanting to be apart of the next chapter of the legend. Although she was tense from the subject, she felt glad that she might be able to see the blankets of an actual bed.

Lazily leaning her head on the top of he bundled fist, Celestria rolled her eyes from the man in front of her towards the man beside them at the table, untidy apron tied around his waist and back of his neck. The last dribble of ale occupied the bottom of the jug, which she swirled around and threw it above the head, downing the remining drips of alcohol, cherishing it like it was liquid gold. She pushed the mug towards the man to be refilled with the ale.

“Ye, I’ll take some more but what I was wondering was when did this tavern hired a man to serve drinks?” Her head rolled on her fist as she turned to look at the man’s face, suspicious since she had been to the tavern nearly every night that week, but this was the first time that she had seen that man before. She wasn’t concerned about the man but she found it curious that he would approach them acting as a barmaid. What was he planning to hear from their conversation?

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