wanderingwolfwitcher

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Well, as a connoisseur of kitchen scraps myself, going all the way back to my growing up at Kaer Morhen, I can say you are a master at turning them into a delicious meal. Damn useful skill to have, out on the Path. It is fortunate for us both you were able to pick it up before putting on the armor. Even without my mutant appetite, killing the monsters of the world is hunger inducing work."

Eskel's low, amused voice returned to the blonde Lady Knight gradually with a chuckle under his breath, helping himself to more of the meal she had prepared, along with another sip of his ale, savoring it all with a breath. The day had been a long one with her, cutting, rending and burning their way through the Hollows... among other abominations plaguing the lands. A productive day even by the standards of a Witcher and a Knight sworn to hunt down the Lords of Cinder. A nigh impossible quest, yet one they were chipping away at a bit at a time. A quest that certainly wasn't boring either, whatever else it was. A worthwhile cause and challenge, no less. Even something as simple as a meal and fire in the evenings out in this wasteland had become the thing that made each day worthwhile and complete. In no small part because of her presence, of course. A lovely companion he could talk to, and enjoy far more with. They tended to go back and forth on who prepared the meal each evening... it was welcome to try someone else's cooking instead of his own for a change. His viper gaze studied the blonde young woman's sapphire one thoughtfully, listening as she spoke some more, smirk on his marred visage deepening at her teasing attempt and a smile he was seeing more of, these days, regardless of the odds stacked against them. The Witcher's deep tone spoke up to Anri again languidly with a knowing nod, speaking between further bites and spoonfuls of his supper.

"Mmm... I'd say you would look much better in one than I, and especially with nothing on underneath. Would be even more delicious than this meal already is. You would have dessert covered too. Think nothing of it, it does matter. Never know when and where you'll get your next meal, living my life in the wild at times. Sure you know how that is. Makes you appreciate what you do have all the more, when you have it."

@swordluck

⚘ @wanderingwolfwitcher // cont.

Anri had not looked at him for some time, though her face was turned slightly in his direction.  The firelight did peculiar things to Eskel’s face – softened it, perhaps, wrapping the deep scarring in a veil of gold.  His words stirred a tremor in her chest, a little flutter that she smothered with a practiced grace, the same way one smothers a smoking ember with a bootheel.

Her lips curled, faint and pleased. 

“The Astora Special,” she repeated, voice light, distant, as if tasting the name like a sugared plum.  “No, nothing so grand.  More like ‘kitchen scraps with dignity’.”

She shifted, drawing her knees beneath her.  The wind picked up slightly, combing through her hair with spectral fingers.  Something in her seemed to exhale – not her body, but her spirit, stretched thin after the day’s horrors.  The beast they had slain had not screamed like a beast.  It had howled like a mother denied her child.  She still heard it in her bones, vibrating faintly, like the last toll of a bell in the dark.

“I did not always wear armour, you know,” she said, quietly.  “There was a time when I wore albs and aprons, and trimmed candlewicks and cut vegetables instead of sinew.”

Her eyes met his then, finally – pale, watercoloured things that seemed at once tender and terribly tired.  Her gaze slid from his face to his hands.  Witcher’s hands.  Not monstrous, no.  Simply pragmatic.  With the look of something made to endure rather than embrace.  Her own were not so dissimilar now, she supposed.

“I like the idea of trading, of sharing,” she added, more softly.  “Not just cooking, mind you.  Roles, duties, burdens…”

There was a hunger in her voice then, but not for food.  It was subtler, stranger, shaded in melancholy.  She did not lean toward him, but the weight of her presence seemed to pull in that direction. 

“You would look handsome in an apron,” she teased, a flicker of mirth breaking the solemn spell.  “Though I suspect you’d insist on something black.  Leather, perhaps.  With many unnecessary straps.”

Anri chuckled, her mouth pulled into a rare smile.  Then: 

“Thank you, Eskel.  For your kindness.  For eating this meal like it matters.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"I see... an interesting dilemma. See why you came to collect me, at least."

Eskel's low, calm tone returned, silently considering the matter and alluring, powerful elven Queen alike. He noted but ignored the distaste some of the others present displayed... doubtless not merely at his being a mutant human, but rather his casual manner, not observing their expected ideas of royal protocol in the presence of a monarch. Nothing he wasn't used to. Nobles and monarchs of all races couldn't comprehend the idea of Witchers not being bound by such things that that those in societies were, not sworn in fealty to them. A freedom from a structure that not even the Emperor of the Nilfgaardian Empire could afford to ignore. It would hardly be the first time he had heard of such troubles from the fox demons. They could only reproduce by taking elven children and magically transforming them into beings like them over time. Little different from numerous curse bearing monsters who reproduced the same way. True demons or not, their behavior amounted to the same thing, in the end. He did not sympathize with them nearly as much as Geralt might, even if they were only doing what was in their nature to survive. He had seen the weeping faces of elven parents who had lost their daughters to such monstrosities. This kingdom was well defended, and surely prepared for such threats, elves would know about and be ready for Aguara better than most other folk, given the threat they had long posed towards elven children. Towards the future of their people.

Elves reproduced more slowly than humans, and nowadays were closer to extinction than not. Their lives were precious to each other as a result, at least far more than human life was among most humans, in his experience on the Path. He would inspect the crime scene himself, soon, judge for himself what happened, piece it back together and find clues... but Francesca's suggestion for who the true culprit might be was a wise one... doubtless the Aguara had help from either outside or within to carry off the children. Perhaps both. It wouldn't surprise him if a Crone had gotten tangled up in all this... he thought back to what he knew of the Relicts, especially of their most recent and known activities, in Velen. His occasional contracts that had included such Relicts. Promises of further elven daughters and the means to make it possible would make any desperate clan of Aguara throw in with the Crones. Everyone and everything had a price, when it came down it, the Crones knew that better than most, and had long exploited it for their dirty dealings no less than nobles and monarchs did. No different in nature than Master Mirror. At last, the Witcher's deep voice spoke up again languidly on the matter, remaining standing where he was, his viper eyes looking between the striking Queen's azure pair and the watchful eyes of the advisors and guards around the chamber alike. He focused his enhanced senses on their heartbeats as well, for any suspicious signs. Searching for treachery in their ranks.

"Furthest things from Ladies I've ever known, and I've been around. Never did like that unduly respectful term for those Relicts. Crones is a far more fitting moniker for child enslaving and eating hags like them. Abominations who have lived too long, wrought nothing but pain and sorrow. Two of the three known Crones were slain in Velen not so long ago, the third fled to whereabouts unknown. Could well have taken up in the Blue Mountains somewhere, not far from here. Set on restarting her grisly tribute collections and sacrifices from her lessers... as her kind did far more frequently before my kind was created to put a stop to the practice. But I digress, you probably already know the history of the original Order of Witchers. Even if it's not that particular Crone, there are still others like them in the world, weren't all exterminated, unfortunately. Might be using Aquara to do her bidding... they have been known to use all manner of thralls, of all races. Could even have some agents right here among your own folk, in these lands."

@ladyfrancescafindabair

It didn't take long for Francesca, Ida and other mages to notice something was amiss. Strong illusion magic and parents of young elven girls voicing their concerns. Locating a witcher was top priority... Elven children were like needles in a haystack and the last thing she needed was for more elves to disappear with the elven children gone as well.

"I will go alone!" The ruler of Dol Blathanna spoke up, partly to calm the throngs of faces that were volunteering to form an elven guard to find the located witcher that Ida searched for obsessively...

"Daisy, you might run into trouble with dh'oine." Filavandrel disagreed and it showed. "Do not worry," Enid replied softly. "We have no time to waste when our future is in danger." After that, the protests for Francesca to teleport to the witcher diminished at the sight of their determined monarch.

---

Francesca stepped out of the portal, long golden locks perfectly in place.

"Apologies, sir innkeeper, for the sudden intrusion." The elven queen curtsied ever so slightly, to show these humans the concept of manners. She opened her mouth but was quickly interrupted by an awed, astonished voice and multiple slack-jawed onlookers.

"It's you, the kn..." the innkeeper halted his slur and replaced it with something more surprising. "Findabear. " Azure eyes blinked at the innkeeper, caught off-guard. How did this simple dh... human know politics? ELVEN POLITICS, at that.

"Yes, yes I'm here to find a bear... witcher, that is." Francesca had no time to gape at somewhat educated innkeepers. She was on a mission, even Sheala's old mountain of meat would do. The sorceress took in a soft breath in order to compose herself. The mountain of meat and his two scrawny sidekicks were last place choices. She didn't need problems with Vattier's henchmen or even worse... Emhyr himself...

Azure eyes saw her prize and she gracefully headed for the mutant, considering the previous conversation settled.

(Let me know if anything needs to be changed. :) )

@wanderingwolfwitcher

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Well, the Small Council meeting had been enlightening, alright. Lord Tywin reminded the Witchers of the aristocrats back on the Continent, especially those of the Nilfgaardian Empire. Cold, ruthless and calculating... authoritative, the true brains and power behind the throne... but wise enough at least to seek out and appoint the best when it came to carrying out day to day business. Thus, despite their being outsiders, he had seen fit to agree with the appointment Cersei had suggested for them while they were staying in King's Landing, teaching the young Prince and future King some basic swordsmanship skills. It seemed clear soon enough to Eskel that Tywin had no expectations or designs for the boy becoming especially proficient, it was merely something expected of monarchs, another part of his many lessons. The Lord was clearly a corrupt politician and statesman to the core, far more than a warrior or a leader of men on the battlefield. Another blue blood obsessed with his House and family's standing, and the perceptions others had of them. For the most part they remained silent, speaking only when prompted. He could fairly confidently imagine how such a man had raised his own children, if he had been present at all, for his daughter to turn out as she had. Doubtless there was a great deal of turmoil and drama there that he did not intend to lift the lid off of anytime soon.

After the meeting had concluded, they emerged from the chamber... and the golden haired, ever elaborately dressed Queen swooped down on them almost at once, passing them by and covertly slipping him a piece of parchment before moving on as if she didn't see them. The two of them watched her depart, chasing after her father to speak with him, before finding a secluded corner, reading over the letter together, viper eyes meeting abruptly afterwards, the two Witchers chuckled under their breaths, shrugging, and continuing on with the day in the meantime, tucking away the letter. The rest of the day was spent getting acquainted with the Red Keep again, showing Geralt around it, at least what parts of it he knew of and they were allowed to visit. Though certainly more lavish and sizable than Kaer Morhen, it simply wasn't their home, they were as much outsiders here as they were anywhere else they traveled outside the Blue Mountains, drawing eyes and murmurs wherever they passed. At least here folk had the excuse of never having contact with their kind before. Come nightfall, he led Geralt to the secret passageway the Queen had shown Eskel during his previous visit, passing along it and standing outside the way into the chamber, knocking on it to let her know they were in the secret corridor and awaiting entrance. From some of the sounds evident within, it was clear the Queen knew just how to pass the time.

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"The head of his mistress, first. Gonna take a bit of time to reach the top of that list, get to him. I'm good, but I ain't a miracle worker. There's a process to it, step by step. Many factors at play, but you'll get the results you're after, in the end. Got my word on that."

Letho's low, gravelly tone returned to the golden haired beauty with a smirk on his rough visage... before the Empress pushed his hand aside and rose up in the water, making her way to the closest pitcher near the edge of the heated pool. His viper eyes watched her perfect form appreciatively all the while, looking every bit like a Water Nymph... at the rate she was going, he wouldn't be surprised if she brought one to their bedroom at some point. Perhaps Bruxa, Succubus and other beings, from how deeply her carnal appetites seemed to run. Regardless of her limitations, she thus far had a way of impressing him, seeming to outdo herself each time. And she understood how deeply his desires ran, knew how to satisfy them, bringing others into their pleasures to aid her in that. The Imperator poured herself a drink, before making her way over to take a seat on the opposite side of the Witcher, sipping from it steadily. He met her emerald gaze as she spoke up again... and at her revelation of her intent and desires for him, he was careful to keep his inward surprise from showing up on his features, leaning back casually against the back of the pool of water. Not the easiest thing in the world to pull off, considering how unexpected it was.

He supposed it shouldn't be a surprise... but he had expected it more likely she would try to kill him once he killed her brother and outlived his usefulness to her... as it was with the upper classes, yet it seemed killing was not the only usefulness he still had to her. He had ideally intended to depart with the gold she paid him one way or another and return to the Tir Tochair Mountains, to the dwarven, halfling and gnome villages up there that had always been on good terms with the Viper School Witchers, who had played a crucial part in saving the survivors of the Usurper's destruction of Gorthur Gvaede. Had taken them in. The villages were the only places he was safely welcome in, any longer, the closest thing he had left to a home. Remaining here with her would be a huge risk, a target always on him, in the middle of all the scheming and conflict, the heart of the Empire. Even so, Emhyr's visit to his jail cell had taught him that an Imperator would not accept an outright refusal from those they deemed their lesser... which was everyone not themselves. He would require a potential escape plan, but he couldn't deny he was intrigued as well, to see where such an altered arrangement went. Smirk deepening, he inclined his head to her after a brief consideration, choosing he words carefully.

"Interestin' offer. Not one I expected... doubt you have any shortage of noblemen and others lined up around the Empire and beyond wantin' to be your paramour or husband. Proper men you could be more public with. Flattering and tempting. Wouldn't be the first Witcher paramour for royalty. Learned in Zerrikania that Grandmaster Iwan of the Manticore School was once involved with the Queen there for more reasons than business... but probably be a first with an Empress. I didn't have many plans for afterwards. Besides returning to the Amphitheater now and again, keeping my skills sharp. Be lyin' if I said this arrangement hasn't been fun... not much of that to be found out on the Path."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel nodded at her instruction, returning the kiss, before rising up carefully with the baby and heading back to her room, settling her down even more carefully in the cradle. All the while Elsa remained sleeping, mercifully, and he took a bit of time to rub her back gently, before returning back to the bedroom. There the Witcher found the golden haired beauty, nude again and ready for him atop the bed, the desire in her emerald gaze, as his viper one silently appreciated her ever gratifying visage. Then, almost at once, with a smile, the Witcher rejoined her on the bed, settling atop of her and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her slowly and intimately again, taking his time, already aroused and ready for her. He rubbed his manhood against her womanhood enticingly as they kissed and embraced all the while, taking his time... especially with morning already here, or on the cusp of being so. Another time for both of them to remember, before he had to depart. Then, when Cersei was even more aroused, looking back in her eyes to see her pleasure all the while, he slowly slid back deeply within her, letting her adjust to him, before beginning to move inside her gradually, picking up the tempo at whichever pace she desired. Once more he lost himself in the intoxicating dance they so often had shared, making the most of the time they had left. In this moment, nothing else in the world awaited them, there was only the here and now.

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Mmm... be careful what you wish for, then..."

Eskel's heated, amused voice murmured back to the dark haired Sorceress' command, smirk on his marred features deepening, her appetite and desires ever impressive to behold. It was easy to forget she could take what he had to give. Thus, he began to fuck her ever harder and faster, unrelenting, until he was pounding her with everything he had furiously, losing himself in the momentum of it. The wet sounds of their flesh grew along with the moans and curses escaping from each of their mouth, along with one another's names, holding on to each other for dear life. Leaning down he began to kiss and bite Rhaena's neck as she clung to him with her arms and legs alike, the bed moving beneath them, by this point, between their combined vigor. The Witcher gladly gave her what she desired, while holding back only his seed for the moment, if not his strength. Even so, each orgasm he drove her into threatened to make him lose control of it... and soon enough despite his efforts, he did, manhood throbbing deep inside her inviting cunt. The pleasure hit him in waves, overtaking him, viper eyes shutting, making him grunt and moan loudly as his warm seed spurted forth, filling the beauty deeply and claiming her as his own again. His hips did not slow or relent all throughout his release, appetite for her only growing further still, remaining hard and within her, giving her every drop of him that he could.

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

@fallesto

It was like you were holding the world, when you held her.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Jessica Cioffi - Bury My Body

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

His glowing viper eyes gazed back at the golden haired lady, hair and bared flesh already damp with the falling rain, as she stood there with him in the waters full of wide eyed wonder, emerald eyes still trying to comprehend what had happened in the wake of the curse breaking. Then, her hand slowly rose up to his scarred cheek, touching it gently as he held her in his arms. Her fingers traced along it, feeling the warmth of the flesh, without her talon clad, feathery hands to interfere with it. Then, leaning in, she kissed him again, and he gladly returned it slowly and tenderly, letting her feel more of the warmth and love he felt for her... that they shared together. Tasting one another and committing the moment to memory, the rest of the ruined world of the grim Ebbing swamp seeming to fade away. They might as well have been standing in her special forest spot by the stream in Toussaint, again... somewhere they would have to return to, to be certain the curse was gone. The kisses reminding her without words that she wasn't alone and never would be again, if she would have him in the wake of the contract being completed. He felt for her something he couldn't remember ever having felt in his century on the Path... his own quickened heartbeat, just as he could hear hers... each of them feeling relief that it had worked out, in the end. In her case, he understood she would need time to come to terms with it all, suddenly losing the weight she had been carrying all her life. At her murmur against his lips, his smiled against hers, and between further kisses, he murmured back to the Lady gradually, his hands settling on her bare back and rubbing along it soothingly.

"Fear and love open the doors, Vivienne. Magic, of another sort, not like the crude, flashy kind I cast. Doors to the worlds beyond, where deeper, older powers dwell. Out there, under the Sycamore trees that blow in the breeze, and listen. The Crone did evil, made many afraid, those were the sorts of dark doors she forced open for her power, through sacrifices. We opened one of another, greater sort. There are many mysteries of life and death... perhaps only those who venture to the beyond ever fully understand them... but they are true. As there is truth to the fairy tales you have enjoyed. Seen it before as a Witcher... but never experienced one like this. It's a power great enough to break curses... to do far more than that. Perhaps it is part of destiny. But... this isn't exactly the best of places or times for mystical discussions."

Eskel remained close with her, feeling and savoring her touch, as she began kissing him on the head, cheek and neck as well, his serpentine eyes closing partially at the gentleness of it. Of her. Everything had changed between them in an instant, after all their time together... and somehow he knew it was not a change for anything but the better. Destiny had bound them together... and breaking the Crone's curse had not changed that, merely solidified their connection. She looked down again, into the murky waters of the swamp they stood in, seeing her whole reflection, unmarred by the curse that had nearly claimed her, turned her into forever into the Oriole being it had been meant to. Her beauty and purity unrivaled in a land of conflict, horror and lies. He saw the conflict there, writ large in her visage and heartbeat... but above all, he saw the relief as well. He saw the tears in the noblewoman's eyes as she turned her emeralds his way... but her smile triumphed over her tears. Then she spoke, reminding them of their present, and her state of undress... her face flushing as she buried her face against his armor near his medallion. Their surroundings returned, the sounds of the swamp animals... and the heartbeats of the distant group of frightened children. They could not remain here like this. What they had shared here could be further explored once they were safely back at the inn. Taking action with a nod, he took her by the hand and led her out of the swamp water and among the tall grass on the banks of it. Then he removed his less than clean dark cloak and draped it around her bared, lovely slender frame, before reaching for some rope in one of his pouches and starting to fasten and tie the cloak more securely around her, as though it were a makeshift dress. Once it was fastened tight, he looked it over and back to her gaze with a faint smile on his marred visage, speaking up again with a trace of amusement.

"Ain't much, but it's something. Wish I could cast illusions like the hag, instead of just pulling them down. Would give you something fancier looking... but the cloak will have to suffice. Don't have any spare boots either, anything that fits... your feet will be cut apart walking out here with the children... so I'll just have to play the knightly tournament champion again. Least until we get back to the inn. Starting with sweeping the fairest Lady of the south off her feet..."

The Witcher wrapped his arms around her on that note and scooped her up with ease, one arm under her legs, the other around her back, and turning he began to carry her away from the waters and grass and back to the woods... headed in the direction of the children's heartbeats, whispers and weeping. And in the direction the smoke of the burning Crone's lair was coming from, of course, the scent and sight of it. He heard the birds in the trees now as well, out in the mist... as if the Crone's death had lifted the ominous silence of a once natural place... the life returning here. Of course, that didn't mean there weren't other monsters lurking out there in the night... but for now they were keeping their distance. Likely sensed what he was capable of, after the Crone. It didn't take long for them to reach the over a dozen children standing outside the burning lair, their features illuminated in the light. The one before with the crossbow aimed it at him, but quickly lowered it again when he saw it was them, breathing a sigh of relief. All the children looked around at them... and despite the sorrow and trauma, he saw hope as well as the Witcher and Lady emerged. Some of them looked to the burnt skull of their tormentor swinging from his belt, and smiled. Still carrying Vivienne, he came to a stop in front of the kids for the moment, illuminated in the fire of the burning house as well... and looking over the boys and girls damp, troubled faces... some of them liable to be orphans with no home to go to... his deep, authoritative voice spoke up again, taking command of the situation. Giving them the strength and authority the young required... especially this far out in monster infested territory. Just as the Wolf School instructors had spoken to him long ago, and him to subsequent students of Kaer Morhen. He could be the protective strength, while Vivienne was the reassuring gentleness.

"Stand tall and keep pace, youngsters. Now ain't the time for tears. Just because the Crone's dead doesn't mean there ain't any other monsters calling this godforsaken swamp their home. Stay close at all times, hold hands, keep your eyes open, and watch each other's backs and mine. Well past time we got out of here... and you got back to your families. At least if they didn't send you out here to begin with. The Lady Vivienne and I will think of something fitting for those who did. Justice will be meted out."

@fallesto

For so long in her life she had all but given up hope as her eyes searched his, looking for answers he might not have. She felt... she felt alive. Human. Her feathers were gone, replaced by the softness of her own skin. The curse had been lifted. She didn't know if it was the death of the Crone or the power of his love, but she was free. She placed a trembling hand against his cheek, the warmth of his flesh a stark contrast to the coldness of the rain that surrounded them. She felt her heart swell in her chest, the beat echoing through the swamp like a drum. She leaned into him, kissing him again, feeling the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the love that had been there all along. For a moment, the world around them seemed to pause, as if even the swamp itself had stopped to acknowledge the power of their union. The rain continued to fall, but it felt softer, cleaner, as if it were washing away the last vestiges of her curse. She could feel the humanity rushing back into her, filling her with hope and strength she hadn't felt in years. The fear that had been her constant companion was gone, replaced by a newfound sense of purpose.

“How …”

She felt him so close as he held her tightly, feeling the tension in her body melt away with each passing second. He knew the curse had been broken, could sense the shift in the very fabric of the world around them. The swamp's malicious whispers grew fainter, the malevolent spirits that had clung to her aura dispersing into the night. She watched as he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes searching hers, looking for any hint of doubt or pain. All he found was a spark of life, a spark that had been extinguished for too long. She stepped back, her hand traced the outline of her face, feeling the familiar contours of her human form. She looked down at her body, the water droplets shimmering in the moonlight, revealing the soft curves and delicate limbs she hadn't seen in years. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were discovering herself anew. The weight of her humanity settled upon her, a warm blanket she had missed in her long, feathered exile.

“I never thought it to be possible.”

She moved back and held him, she held him close, feeling his heart race against her chest. He could feel the magic that had once bound them now transforming into something purer, something more profound, to what she was always meant to be before the crone changed her fate and her life. The curse that had taken so much from her was gone, leaving only the woman he had come to care for deeply. She kissed his forehead, his cheek, his neck, each touch a silent promise that now they were safe, that she felt loved. His rough, scarred hands were a stark contrast to her smooth skin, a testament to the battles he had fought to be here with her in this moment. As she looked over her shoulder at the water, her eyes searched her own reflection in the murky water, disbelief and joy warring within her. She was human again, the curse that had haunted her for so long lifted from her soul. The feel of her own flesh, the sensation of her hair brushing against her skin, the way her limbs moved without the weight of feathers – it was all so alien and yet so utterly, blissfully familiar. She turned to Eskel, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a smile playing on her lips.

“I need clothing Eskel, I cannot go back to the children, naked.” As she buried her face into his chest, bright red, as that was the one thing she had not accounted for at all, the lack of anything when she was a bird monster, as she just squeezed him all the more tighter.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Suppose you're right. More can wait. One dead royal is enough for an eventful evening. Wouldn't want to exhaust you into perishing, with your limits."

The Viper School Witcher returned to the dark haired noblewoman with a grim chuckle under his breath, hands continuing to appreciate her bare form all the same after they had recovered. He enjoyed her touch upon him as well, her kiss to his jaw, hands tracing him, and the way she pressed up against him possessively, tangled together amid the equally tangled sheets. Despite his teasing of her limits, she had held up better than most outsiders, especially the usually soft upper class sorts of her age. Her own experience abroad, no doubt. He remained hard and pressed back against her... likely he would be unable to get enough of sharing a bed with her, the nights they were together like this, a benefit and disadvantage of that side effect of the Trials, a double edged sword. Fortunately he was disciplined and experienced enough to handle it, unlike some younger Witchers back in the day, who had added to their lecherous reputations from non Witchers. The rumors... of which there was never a shortage. Whether this had been a cynical, calculated attempt to manipulate him or not like Dettlaff, or if it had really meant something to her, it was evident at least that she had enjoyed it... no less than he had.

At her assured, confident words, he was silent for a time, considering the matter and her, glowing, serpent eyes studying the flickering of the candles about the royal bedchamber, casting shadows along the walls. She was already making her plans, or had long ago, more likely... even as he knew it wasn't liable to end well... or last. He had no doubt she was capable at taking power, but holding on to it would be another story altogether. Especially with the Lady de Tabris and Eskel out there, should they manage to return... there was little doubt everyone against Sylvia Anna would rally around the Lady in an instant. Even so, he knew she wasn't about to see reason, had come too far to back down now... another who might fall to the sunk cost fallacy. What she had done to her own sister had guaranteed that much, her determination to see it through. He wondered if she was prepared to die on the throne, or would be willing to flee, either alone or with him, when it inevitably all went south. At last Letho's low, gravelly tone murmured again to Sylvia Anna, uttering a breath and leaning back further in the bed, looking sideways to her sapphire eyes, her satisfied, alluring features, while his own rough ones remained expressionless and shadowy.

"We shall soon see, now won't we? There are plans, and then there is the reality. Best not to tempt fate any more than you already have, your highness."

@fallesto

She couldn't help but laugh lightly, her hand tracing the line of his jaw before she kissed him again.

"I think I've had enough for tonight, Letho. But... I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

Her leg lay over his, her arm draped lazily over his chest. They were both still breathless from their intense lovemaking, their bodies entangled in the disheveled bed sheets. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt genuinely happy, a feeling she hadn't allowed herself since the dark days that had led to her banishment from Toussaint. The weight of her past had been lifted, if only for a brief moment, and she cherished the warmth of Letho's embrace. She knew their union was unorthodox, a dance of power and passion, but she didn't care. For now, she had found something she hadn't realized she'd been missing - a connection that went deeper than mere politics or survival. He was ruthless, he was dangerous, he could kill her at any time he wished, it would not take a whole lot of effort from his part to do it and she would not be able to do anything back to him to stop it, but she hardly cared, she was used to the dangerous, the more danger that someone had over her, the more comfortable she would feel around them and that was why she was relaxed, she knew he could end her, he knew it as well, at least they had an understanding that he could kill her and she could do nothing to him.

Her eyes remained closed, a content smile playing on her lips as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound she never thought she'd find comfort in, yet here she was, feeling more at ease than she had in years. The room was filled with the scent of their love, a potent mix of sweat and desire that hung in the air like a musky perfume. The candles flickered, casting shadows upon the walls that danced in time with their shallow breaths, painting their bodies in a soft, intimate glow that made everything feel almost ethereal. "Tomorrow, we begin to build our kingdom." She murmured against his skin, her voice a gentle purr of satisfaction. Her hand traced the lines of his scarred chest, feeling the power that lay beneath. It was a power she intended to wield alongside him, a tool to shape the lands of blood and wine to their will. She felt his chest rise and fall with his own deep inhale, his arm tightening around her slightly in response.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel watched as Sabrina's goat form came running at last, moving down the side of the mountain with her hooves with ease and rejoining him where he was waiting. Trading a nod, he watched as she took off again, back through the woods and towards the source of the noise, the summoning circle, where the Necronomicon lie in waiting. He followed after her, soon enough running alongside her, an advantage of his mutations, while her own was having four legs. Along the way, assorted surviving cultist attempted to intercept them, but he acted quickly in cutting them down where they stood with his blade and magic alike, undeterred. The last thing they would need now of all times would be interruptions as they worked to destroy or send the thing back to the other side it had spawned from. In time, they reached the hulking, tendril covered cosmic entity bound by his magical restraints... though they were close to giving way by the time they reached the circle and book. Raising his hand while Sabrina worked her own magic, he concentrated his, strengthening the Yrden Signs again. Even so, he and Sabrina had to work to avoid the swipes of its free tendrils all the while. It was sure as hell not about to make anything ease on them, as it never had been, between the book and cult alike. He would be glad to wash his hands of them all, if they ended up prevailing with all this.

The Witcher was startled briefly when she opened the book up with her teeth and instead of using the Necronomicon in a more obvious way, she tore out a page, starting to chew and consume it... with the magical book reacting like a living being, screaming with rage and seemingly fighting back. The magic pouring from the book intensified, the humming and dancing of his medallion going wild by now. No further cultists came to attack them as all hell broke loose, the giant entity within the circle going wild too, convulsing as the summoning circle came to life... his own Yrden Signs starting to weaken faster and fray. Flashing, glowing magic poured from the center of the circle and overtook the giant thing... as at long last, it was sent back from where it came, the noises carrying through the valley that it was emanating vanishing in an instant... just a moment before it could break free of his bindings altogether. He drew a breath at last, breathing in the cool air, as he looked around at the ruined, burning battlefield for any further threat... but his heightened senses picked up nothing. Any survivors had seen sense to retreat by now, at least. At last his deep, grim, though thoroughly relieved voice spoke up again to the red goat form of the cursed Sorceress, who had taken a seat near the circle and the book, recovering as well from the strain of the magic, and whatever the page she had eaten had done.

"Not half bad work, old goat. We've dealt with the last of them... for now. Best we get you and that damned book back in the keep... unless you need me to carry you there, red. Probably exhausted by now, after all that. We'll get you some water and proper food, that page wasn't liable to have tasted well. Not even 'Lil Bleater would have eaten from that book. You still able to talk in this form?"

@fallesto

That was a close one as she breathed out and she heard Eskel's call echoing through the mountain, she took a deep breath and nodded firmly to herself. It was time to end this. With a swift leap, she began her descent, her hooves finding purchase on the slick stones as she deftly avoided the more precarious spots. She could feel the eyes of the remaining cultists on her, but she was done running. The Necronomicon was her priority now. It had brought this horror into their world, and it was up to her to send it back. As she reached Eskel, she saw the exhaustion etched on his face, but his eyes were alight with determination. He nodded to her, and she knew what she had to do. Without a moment's hesitation, she ran then, seeing that there was no one else here in her way and she approached the book, its pages fluttering in the breeze, as if eager to be read. With a snarl that was surprisingly fierce for a creature of her size, she opened the ancient tome with her teeth and if it made her a goat, well the only thing she could think about was to be a goat as she ripped out one of the pages. The parchment was dry and brittle, and the arcane symbols danced before her eyes, whispering secrets of forgotten power.

The Necronomicon let out a scream of rage as she ate the page, the magic within it searing her goat's throat. She could feel the power of the curse fighting against her, but she was fueled by a desperation that surpassed any pain. The air around her crackled with energy, and the whispers grew louder, trying to dissuade her, but she was unyielding. The page crunched between her teeth as she swallowed it down, the taste of ancient ink and the smell of decaying knowledge filling her mouth. The monster on the field below them began to convulse, the tendrils of magic that held it in place starting to fray. Her head turned and she watched in amazement as the creature writhed and shrank, the very fabric of reality seeming to tear around it. He could feel the strain of the magic he had cast, and knew that if they didn't act fast, the creature would break free. The cultists who had summoned it were nowhere to be seen, having fled at the first sign of trouble.

Good riddance, she thought, as she watched the creature shrink further into the summoning circle. As she would sit down and let out a sigh, dead all around them, a monster now gone, a page from a book of the dead, eaten, as she sighed, all of this was meant to be easy and it has been one nightmare bleeding into another.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho required all the willpower he could muster to hold off his release, each one he drew from her threatening to make him lose control... the way the Imperator slammed her hips back to meet him, thrust for thrust. She didn't plan on making things easy on him, her pillow muffled cries just as enticing that he drew from her with each orgasm as he kept her restrained with ease. Then... not holding back any longer, he gladly obeyed the command when it arrived, manhood throbbing furiously by then and flooding her womb with his warm seed, claiming her once more in a way no other truly could. At least for an evening. He grunted and cursed with the pleasure of it all, overwhelming him, and he fucked her all the way through it. Gradually, his slowed down and ceased altogether, remaining deep inside her, and remaining hard and aroused for her... but the fires of his appetite momentarily quenched. Though he couldn't deny she had a way of sending them into an inferno again any time. Were it not for his training, experience and discipline, he could see how easy it would be to become like putty in her hands... as many ordinary men doubtless had.

With a pleased smirk and chuckle, the Witcher drew out of the Empress again, watching his copious seed flowing from her stretched womanhood and down her thighs and on to the bed. There was a primal pleasure he derived from it, having her in a way so few ever did. Then, spanking her on the rear firmly and approvingly, he grasped her in both broad arms and scooped her up with no effort, rising up from the lavish and stained, untidy bed with her and turning her around to the far side of the room. He carried her at once from the bedroom and towards the welcoming, steaming, heated waters of the bathing pool outside, the cool air welcome... and upon reaching it, drawing a satisfied breath as he lowered her down into it with him, settling the Imperator on his lap. One of his hands settled on a long leg, while the other settled on a breast, gently tracing his fingers along each, manhood remaining hard against her, where she sat. Then his amused viper eyes turned to the unrivaled golden haired beauty, her fiery emerald gaze, and his rough features smirked again as he got comfortable, gravelly tone murmuring to the alluring royal more intimately.

"Mmm... that's more like it. Could get used to this treatment, between contracts. Somethin' tells me you'll have further welcome surprises, as the names start gettin' scratched off your list."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"It'll be interesting to finally meet the man who raised such an... interesting daughter. Should prove illuminating. In that case, I'll be there, your highness... perhaps even on time, this time, circumstances permitting."

The Witcher's low, amused voice remarked, viper eyes studying her angered emerald pair some more as the disguised Queen drank her ale. Her childish sense of entitlement was entertaining, and foolishly hoping she might injure him by sleeping with his brother, regardless of it already having happened in the past, as if the two of them were in a relationship. All because he wouldn't roll over like a dog for her, exist at her beck and call. Paradoxically, he gravely doubted anyone who did everything she wanted actually interested, aroused and satisfied her for very long. Her rude awakening of equally cold water and the departure at least were a good reminder that he hadn't gotten properly reacquainted with King's Landing, yet... what better time than now, the evening he had arrived again after all this time? No sense in wasting an opportunity, or remaining present in his tavern room to help satisfy her lewd attempt to spite him in the other room. As she started for the door in the wake of her spiteful announcement, with a smirk, Eskel rose abruptly from the damp bed at last and began to reach for his non wet attire, his red Redanian robe, speaking up to her with a chuckle as she departed and as he started to change. Knowing Geralt was undoubtedly listening in, he helpfully added a warning for his fellow Witcher, a reminder of what he would soon be dealing with... someone little different in her nature from a Bruxa, when in a particularly venomous and spiteful mood.

"And I the other, more pleasant local ladies of the evening. Recall the address of that establishment we visited awhile back. Night's young, and I did pack my mask. Enjoy yourselves. I know I shall. Do try not to murder him afterwards, as you did your dear late husband. We're real light sleepers. Won't end nearly as well for you."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel's eyes opened quite some time later when Cersei moved against him, retracting, and rose to go tend to the awoken baby again... remaining away and leaning back in the bed as he watched her depart. It had become a nightly ritual since she was born, and one he had become accustomed to. It didn't hurt that he didn't require as much sleep as others, and he was used to keeping hours like this, the late night not affecting him nearly as much as it did her. Even so, she managed impressively, with experience to fall back on. In time, she returned with Elsa in her arms, along with her new currently favorite toy, dropping the stuffed item on his face, and making one of her more welcome noises he was becoming familiar with. He quickly turned around his silver wolf medallion necklace safely once more, so she wouldn't reach for the spiky device. When Cersei let the girl go, crawling up his chest, his own arm wrapped around her gently and carefully, as she went for his hair this time instead of the glinting chain of his hidden silver wolf medallion. He chuckled as well at the baby's attempt and Cersei's words as she managed to retract Elsa's grip from his hair, instead turning her attention back to the nearby fallen stuffed wolf. As she played with the item, he rose a hand and rubbed her head gently with the palm, amused glowing viper eyes and deep voice turning the golden haired woman's way again, seeing the amusement dancing in her emerald gaze.

"Grip's harder than an angry Water Hag. Let's just hope my own mutations hold out, where my hair is concerned. And you might want to keep a running tally of broken items around here, for when I get back. Best keep her away from all your wine bottles. She'll be wrestling the local Panthers in no time at all as well, at this rate."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel merely smiled and chuckled back at her moan as Rhaena rode him furiously, tempo of his fingers picking up along with his thrusts, enjoying the view of not only her perfect form, but the expressions he gave her. The sounds she couldn't hold back from articulating. In time, she removed the binding enchantment on him altogether, his medallion humming again from the magic, but she skillfully turned them around so he was atop of her without slipping from her. At once, before she made her desire clear, he took her wrists and pinned them up and over her head, viper eyes looking back heatedly at her visage. Then, he began to gave the sweat soaked beauty what they both desired, fucking her hard and fast, building up the tempo gradually, but holding ever less back, knowing she could handle it now. The bed creaked beneath them with the force of the movements, the wet sounds echoing through the tower room along with their breaths and her cries of pleasure... and descending his mouth to her lips, the Witcher cut them off, muffled them with his tongue. He was intent on driving as many powerful orgasms out of her as she could handle... a challenge, and one they would both win regardless of the outcome of it all. Every returned bit of passion from the dark haired Sorceress threatened to make him lose control... but like her, his appetite was nigh bottomless, especially in the midst of the throes of their pleasure.

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Grandmaster Eskel will suffice... or better yet, just Witcher. Ain't the formal type, nor a noble knight in tin armor, to say the least. Just a simple problem solver, here to look at a prospect. Appreciate the friendly reception, though. Let's get in there, then."

The Witcher's low, amused, but not unkind voice returned to the messenger who arrived... a seneschal of some sort, perhaps, and with a nod, the elf turned back around and led the way from the fountain and to the doors of the palace, which were opened for them swiftly. For the moment, he left the sprawling lands behind him, along with the simple elves walking among it. As it was outside, he glimpsed banners within the palace of the official symbols of Dol Blathanna, the yellow and white arrows and daisies on fields of green. All the way inside and through the winding, elaborate corridors, he sensed the numerous guards watching his every action with their otherworldly eyes, along with the citizens and other servants milling about who stopped in their tracks when they took notice of him... heartbeats quickening, more whispers in their elven tongue and stares... but he paid more attention to the lavish interior. As it had been outside, there was no denying the architecture was vastly more beautiful than the human sort... and full of various oddities even he didn't know about, and not being much of an expert on art, statues and sculptures. He heard distant music and saw various plants, flowers, trees and greenery along the way, the building as if it were part of nature itself. He had much to learn about the Aen Seidhe, if business here in their lands panned out and he ended up staying awhile.

Eskel was ushered not long after to one chamber in particular, spacious... where the fancy throne and monarch of the land awaited him, along with her advisers... one of whom with long white hair and a elaborate blue, robe-like attire with white floral pattern looked particularly sour and displeased to see him. This one stood directly next to the throne... and the Witcher had the feeling he had some idea of who it might be, from Geralt's stories during the winters, and from one of his cards. It was the Daisy of the Valleys he soon glanced at, looking every bit the Queen she was, sitting on her throne... a Gwent card come to life as well. An ocelot pet was with her... and as he approached the throne and came to a stop at the bottom of the steps to it, he heard its quiet growls, sensing him... what he was, on instinct. It wasn't just smaller cats who reacted to Witchers, he knew... the Panthers of Toussaint had been the same way towards them. A mystery likely never to be solved, but he had a good enough idea of the cause. Something to do with the magic in the Trials, no doubt, or the mutations themselves, able to be sensed by the cats. His viper eyes shifted from the ocelot and to the elven monarch rubbing its now tensed up fur, meeting the azure gaze with a respectful nod. His marred visage smiled at her, as his calm, deep tone washing over her, echoing respectfully about the chamber, as all eyes in the place fell on him in return.

"Nice place you Aen Seidhe got here... slightly less nice of a cat, but nothing I'm not used to. My kind's presence has that unpleasant effect on felines... and far more of an effect on certain others who are far less receptive. Now... might I ask what the problem is that required a simple Witcher be teleported all this way to your illustrious kingdom, your highness?"

@ladyfrancescafindabair

It didn't take long for Francesca, Ida and other mages to notice something was amiss. Strong illusion magic and parents of young elven girls voicing their concerns. Locating a witcher was top priority... Elven children were like needles in a haystack and the last thing she needed was for more elves to disappear with the elven children gone as well.

"I will go alone!" The ruler of Dol Blathanna spoke up, partly to calm the throngs of faces that were volunteering to form an elven guard to find the located witcher that Ida searched for obsessively...

"Daisy, you might run into trouble with dh'oine." Filavandrel disagreed and it showed. "Do not worry," Enid replied softly. "We have no time to waste when our future is in danger." After that, the protests for Francesca to teleport to the witcher diminished at the sight of their determined monarch.

---

Francesca stepped out of the portal, long golden locks perfectly in place.

"Apologies, sir innkeeper, for the sudden intrusion." The elven queen curtsied ever so slightly, to show these humans the concept of manners. She opened her mouth but was quickly interrupted by an awed, astonished voice and multiple slack-jawed onlookers.

"It's you, the kn..." the innkeeper halted his slur and replaced it with something more surprising. "Findabear. " Azure eyes blinked at the innkeeper, caught off-guard. How did this simple dh... human know politics? ELVEN POLITICS, at that.

"Yes, yes I'm here to find a bear... witcher, that is." Francesca had no time to gape at somewhat educated innkeepers. She was on a mission, even Sheala's old mountain of meat would do. The sorceress took in a soft breath in order to compose herself. The mountain of meat and his two scrawny sidekicks were last place choices. She didn't need problems with Vattier's henchmen or even worse... Emhyr himself...

Azure eyes saw her prize and she gracefully headed for the mutant, considering the previous conversation settled.

(Let me know if anything needs to be changed. :) )

@wanderingwolfwitcher

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel

Witcher Eskel at work.

Shot by ningnomaningnong and my Lightroom/PS edits