Witcher Stuff

Just putting down some ideas for the Witcher-related fanon stuff I'd come up with.

Daveth
A Witcher of the School of the Cat, Daveth spent decades walking the Path alone as he hunted monsters from Kovir to Toussaint. The only boy of his generation to survive the Trials, he possessed little love for the his School and the trainers there for their utter callousness towards those who died for seeing them as failures. While a rather dour individual to be around, he greatly enjoys his work and is most at home while tracking some beast through the wilds. Like many of his brethren from the Cat School, Daveth eventually took up contracts on humans as well as monsters, though this was more for monetary reasons than the loss of any moral scruples. Daveth's solitary adventures ended when he chanced upon a Witcher named Karl while hunting a particularly violent Fiend. Despite being from different schools, the Cat and Griffin worked well together and after a lengthy battle managed to fell the beast, splitting the reward money afterwards. For six years since then the two Witchers have travelled together, profiting off lands left vulnerable to monsters by recent wars. With someone to watch his back, Daveth's mind has moved to more long-term plans as their neutrality as Witchers may be disrupted due to the turbulent political situation in the Northern Kingdoms. Favouring the use of his blades in combat over anything else, Daveth is an expert swordsman who relies on the speed and endurance granted by his mutations to quickly outclass opponents, and dodges monster attacks as easily as he does sword swings.

Karl
Given to the School of the Griffin as a boy, Karl's existence seems to defy the image of the emotionless killing machine Witcher as the veteran monster hunter is rarely seem without a smile on his face. Enduring the many trials that Witchers faced as boys, Karl kept an unfailingly positive attitude towards any situation and was undaunted by most threats even before undergoing his Trial of the Grasses. Possessing an innate skill for using Signs, he made his name after burning out a massive Endrega nest for a local Duke, singlehandedly killing dozens of the creatures in a contract that earned him more gold in a day than most Witchers earn in months. However, Karl would eventually fall on hard times as work dried up for a short period, which led to his eventual partnership with the Cat School Witcher known as Daveth. Though happy to have a travelling companion and outwardly cheerful as the Third Nilfgaardian-Nordling War has created many new opportunities, Karl's increasing apathy towards moral restrictions and willingness to take on almost any contract - monster or not - could become a problem in the future, should his partner begin to object to this abandonment of the Witcher code. Preferring to end his contracts as quickly as possible, Karl took to using silver-tipped bolts against smaller beasts and quickly mastered use of a crossbow of Cat School design borrowed from Daveth.

Olgin
Hailing from Ofir, Olgin's family were forced to flee their homeland shortly after he was born in 1243 after an altercation between his uncle and a member of the royal family turned violent. Settling within the Nilfgaardian province of Nazair, they found work with a local lord and eventually had the young Olgin tutored both academically and physically with the hopes of making him a knight. He would excel greatly, becoming an adept swordsman who eventually squired for a prominent Captain in the military. However, he would be killed during the Battle of Sodden Hill in 1263 and despite Olgin's efforts to return his corpse home while fleeing Nordling forces, he was mistaken for a corpse-robber by a friendly patrol and attacked. He barely survived his encounter, though this shook his faith in Nilfgaard and prompted him to abandon the body and become a mercenary for hire after stealing his former master's sword. Pretending to be a merchant, he was not suspected as a spy as he travelled north due to his Ofiri features and managed to earn some coin selling scavenged weaponry and armour as he went. Olgin would eventually join a Free company aligned with the Temerian Army, and found himself fighting against Nilfgaard during the Battle of Brenna in 1268, where he and his comrades distinguished themselves for their bravery. They would part ways several months later as Olgin travelled east for a time, taking whatever work came his way. It was not until news of Nilfgaard's third invasion reached him that he returned to the North, willing to ally himself with whoever intended to pay him the most.

?
Coming soon maybe.

Stories
Wolves asleep amidst the trees  Bats all a swaying in the breeze  ''But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths  For your dolly Polly sleep has flown  Don't dare let her tremble alone  For the witcher, heartless, cold  Paid in coin of gold  He comes he'll go leave naught behind  But heartache and woe  Deep, deep woe  Birds are silent for the night  Cows turned in as daylight dies  But one soul lies anxious wide awake  Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths  My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes  Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries  As the witcher, brave and bold  Paid in coin of gold  He'll chop and slice you  Cut and dice you  Eat you up whole  Eat you whole

—The Lullaby of Woe

Cat and Griffin
There they are.

Stood by a set of crossorads that cut through the dense forest, Daveth waited as the men approached. There were nine of them, clad in red cloth and bearing pieces of mismatched armour. Judging by the state of them, they had long since deserted the Redanian army and taken to banditry like so many others. Sighting the hooded man before them, they slowed down, some fingering the hilts of swords or axes right away.

"Lo there, stranger!" called a grey-haired man, evidently their leader. "You lost?"

Daveth stepped forward, throwing back his hood and cloak. Several of the bandits drew their weapons threateningly at the sight of the two swords strapped to his back, though their leader held his ground. Dressed in dark leather armour that matched his tied-back hair and with a jagged scar running down below his right eye, he might have passed for a mercenary or hedge knight, were it not for the silver medallion hanging from his neck and a pair of yellow cat-like eyes.

"Not at all," he glanced towards the ragged band before him. "I was just resting here."

"You're a Witcher," announced the bandit leader, crossing his arms.

"That I am."

"If you're 'ere, then does that mean there's a monster needs slaying?"

Daveth nodded. "Yeah. A particularly dangerous one. If you-"

He stopped suddenly, gloved fingers reaching for his cats-head medallion. As the Witcher's other hand moved for his silver blade, the leader took a step back.

"The hell d'you think you're doing?"

"My medallion's vibrating. That means either something magical's nearby, or a monster's close."

At this, the bandits began to look around nervously, now very much aware of how deep into the forests they were, road or no. A few began to pace around, forming a circle while their leader focused on Daveth. The black-haired Witcher stood calmly for a moment, one hand holding the medallion towards the group of former soldiers. Then, he drew his weapon.

"Witcher?"

"It's one of you."

The atmosphere changed immediately as the men looked towards Daveth, then to each other. All pretence of violence against the Witcher seemed to vanish as they now hung on his every word, now noticeably worried. Bandits, he knew, had no qualms with inflicting atrocities on other humans, but against the terror of creatures that preyed on their own kind they soon found themselves banding together.

"I'm after a Doppler," Daveth continued. "This one's killed dozens of people so far."

"So what do we do?" asked another bandit, a skinny man hefting a large axe.

"Has anyone been acting strange lately? Anything out of the ordinary?"

The bandits immediately began to talk amongst themselves as they recounted various recent events from their camp. Daveth stood and watched impassively, noting that they made no attempt to disguise the fact that they'd long since deserted the military, and some even spoke of raids against nearby farming towns. Eventually, the axe-wielding man cried out, jabbing a finger towards the group's youngest member.

"It's Derun!" he yelled. "We only picked up the ploughin' bastard a month ago!"

There was a murmur of assent among most of his comrades, while some seemed unsure. Derun, who couldn't have been much older than twenty, shook his head, stumbling over his words out of fear as he tried to proclaim his innocence. It wasn't long before they began to surround him, barking insults and adding to the accusations.

"He must've tried to poison us. I 'ad the shits for days the last time Derun cooked!"

"What about that last raid, eh? I nearly got pitchforked because Derun weren't watching out!"

Before his former comrades could tear him apart, the young man turned and tried to run into the woods. He'd barely made it off the road before one bandit rammed a pike through his back. He screamed as he fell forward into a ditch and two eager killers leapt forward to finish him off, bringing down their blades upon the unfortunate youth.

"Aha!" the bandit leader clapped his hands together, smiling. "Looks like we did your job for you Witcher, eh?"

"Not yet."

Suddenly, there was a loud thunk from the trees across the road. The axe-wielding bandit shuddered and toppled forward, a bolt in the side of his head. Before he hit the dirt, Daveth had already sprung forward, and shoved the length of his silver blade through the leader's chest as he turned towards him. While usually reserved for the slaying of monsters, Daveth had found that it was just as capable as any other sword when it came to killing men, provided you stabbed them with the pointy end.

"Oi!" one startled brigand yelled to his occupied comrades. "The Witcher's-"

Daveth had drawn his steel blade in a flash, decapitating the man in a single swing before lunging towards another. The swiftness of the Witcher's attacks had taken them entirely off-guard, as the second was barely able to raise his sword before cold steel pierced his neck. Jumping nimbly back to avoid a vicious swipe from another bandit, Daveth moved slowly while the man held up a shield.

"You fucking mutant coward!" his opponent spat a gobbet of phlegm towards him. "Can't fight fairly, can yeh?!"

Daveth adjusted his stance. "No such thing as a fair fight."

Moving forward, he thrust his left hand towards the bandit and a burst of telekinetic energy burst forth, sending the sword spinning from his hand and making the furious man stumble backwards. This split-second opening was all Daveth needed to spring forward and deliver a second throat-slicing thrust. The moment one of the bandits clambered up onto the road, a second crossbow bolt whizzed past Daveth, piercing his forehead. The Witcher barely gave him a glance as he hopped over the corpse to face the pikeman, who had been busy extracting his weapon from Derun's body.

Could've done with you taking this guy out first, Griffin.

Despite the weapon's long reach, dealing with this enemy was more of a chore than anything else. Deftly evading a surprisingly quick flurry of stabs and sweeps, Daveth slowly moved closer until a near miss allowed him to grab the metal pole with his free hand and yank it towards him. The wielder let go as he toppled forward, taken aback by the Witcher's strength as he fumbled for a shortsword. Daveth stepped forward and finished him off with a single, lazy swing before moving back towards the road.

"Last man standing," he announced to the final bandit, who had been attempting to flank him. "Think you'll fare any better?"

He could see the fear in the man's eyes. He'd seen eight of his comrades killed in a little under three minutes, and armed only with a rusted longsword, stood no chance against the Witcher in single combat. The pair circled each other for a few moments before the man's nerve broke and he turned and ran, tossing aside the weapon and half-sobbing in abject terror. While a surprisingly fast runner, the bandit suddenly slowed to a halt as he moved to the other side of the crossroads, turning back to face Daveth with a blank look on his face. A figure emerged from the undergrowth beside him, one arm raised towards the bandit while he shook his head in annoyance.

"I do wish you wouldn't play with your food, Cat."

Daveth shrugged, and watched as the now-pacified bandit stood quietly and allowed the other man to chop his head off. The Witcher extracted his silver sword from the leader's chest and knelt down beside the body, taking out a piece of cloth to wipe the blood from his blades. Eventually his partner joined him, carrying the head in one hand. Blonde-haired, skinny, and less muscular than Daveth, Karl seemed unalike from the dour, stone-faced monster hunter in almost every respect. Nonetheless, he was a Witcher with just as many years spent on the Path as his friend.

"That wasn't so bad," remarked Daveth, sheathing his weapons. "Not exactly Witcher's work, though."

"Easy money, Daveth."

"Yeah, but we'd earn more going after Leshens or Forktails, not doing knight's work."

Karl sighed, producing a sack from his bag and tossing the first head inside. "Oh, come on. I thought you Cats wre more than used to being flexible with your contracts. Besides, what's the difference between killing one person for money and killing nine?"

"Quite a lot, actually. Let's just take the heads and go."

"Right you are," Karl nodded, a smirk on his face. "Oh, and nice work with the Doppler excuse, by the way. We'll have to use that again."

"Thanks."

As they had agreed earlier in the day, Karl would be the one taking care of the messy business that was collecting the heads of these bandits after Daveth took care of most of the fighting. Having been contracted by the alderman of a local village after one of their raids brutalised the local area, the pair of Witchers had swiftly tracked them down and lain an ambush. Had it not been for their empty coin purses and stomachs, Daveth would have turned them down on principle; men weren't a Witcher's job, after all. Monsters were.

"My crossbow?" Daveth asked.

"In my bag."

"Just checking."

"You know," the blonde Witcher asked as he hacked off the pikeman's head, "It's been more than two years since you let me use it, and it's still 'your' crossbow."

"Force of habit. Besides, it's not my fault that the School of the Griffin weren't fond of them."

"Yes, we were taught to favour Signs. Shame really, since I'm a better shot than you."

"And I a better swordsman. You nearly done?"

two severed heads came flying out of the ditch, landing at Daveth's feet. The ever-smiling Karl emerged shortly after, sheathing his own sword.

"Done."

"Good. We ought to burn these bodies, though. Smell will attract Necrophages."

"We could do that, though I've an idea that'll ensure we make a killing from repeat business..."

Daveth gave Karl a withering look, and the other Witcher relented. He knew his partner had a fairly morbid sense of humour that more or less came with the territory of hunting monsters, though it was likely that any of his suggestions and jests could quickly become reality if Daveth agreed to them. They swiftly rounded up the corpses, tossing them down into the roadside ditch one-by-one after checking them for coin.

As he doused the blood-soaked bodies with a small bottle of oil, Daveth turned to his friend. "I'll let you do the honours."

"Cheers."

Kneeling down, Karl raised an arm and after a second's focus, unleashed a great gout of flame. The pile of bodies were engulfed in moments as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The Witchers lingered for only a moment before picking up their sack of heads, heading back towards the village where they'd stabled their horses.

***

"Oh, master Witchers, you're back!"

The village Alderman had been alerted to their arrival in advance and greeted the pair as they returned, allowing them into the settlement's largest hut to discuss payment. As Karl produced head after head from the bag, he set down more coins upon the table between them. After some haggling the previous day, the fairly generous price of thirty-five Novigardian crowns had been decided on. While some in the village had argued that it was too high a price to pay to rid them of some bandits - no matter how troublesome - Karl had pointed out how they were getting the service of two Witchers.

"Everything seems to be in order," Daveth said at last, putting seventeen coins in Karl's purse and eighteen in his own. "Should there be any more problems, find us."

"Yes, we shall," the Alderman clasped his hands together, looking somewhat uncertain. "And the heads, will you-?"

Karl spoke up as Daveth opened his mouth. "They're yours now. Mount them on spikes or burn them."

"Well yes, you see-"

Seeing that Karl was about to go off on a rant about how disposal would likely cost extra, Daveth simply threw the severed heads into their sack, slung it over his shoulder and walked outside without another word. Rolling his eyes, Karl followed him, finally catching up to the burly Witcher's long strides as he neared the village stables. Daveth's horse, Crowfood, nickered as he approached and attached the sack to its saddle.

"What the hell are you keeping those for?"

"Might come in handy as bait. Plenty of creatures are attracted to rotting flesh."

"Makes sense," Karl said, seeming satisfied as he clambered atop his own mare, Hoofsie. "Where next, then?"

"North, perhaps? There's sure to be contracts with the war on. Or maybe east."

"East sounds good. Heard tell that there's been plenty of monstrosities coming down from the Blue Mountains recently."

For the first time today, Daveth smiled. "East it is. Maybe we'll get to kill something that makes me feel like a proper Witcher again."

"You miss the monsters?"

"I miss having to put in effort."

With that, the Witchers rode forth out of the village, happy to finally have both coin and some clear goals for the first time in months.

Neutrality
They had barely left the cave when they saw the smoke.

"Oh, what now?!" Karl shook his head, having only just sheathed his sword.

Behind him, a Witcher in black leather emerged, carrying a severed, bestial head. Daveth was still spattered with dark blood from their battle, which lad lasted all night as the pair of monster hunters had chased their quarry through the cave network, eventually cornering and slaying a particularly fearsome Katakan. The vampire hadn't made it easy for them, though with ample pay promised by the now-desperate town nearby there was no way that either Witcher would've turned down a contract like this. In the distance, the dark smoke stood out against the red dawn sky.

"The town?" Daveth asked.

"What else could it be? Come on, let's move."

The two Witchers clambered down the rocky hillside, the severed Katakan's head dangling from a hook on Daveth's belt. Their horses were still in the small meadow where they'd left them, thankfully both unharmed due to the protective wards Karl had placed around the area to ward off any potential threats. They quickly mounted up and set off at a steady gallop through the woods, moving onto a wide dirt road that connected the town of Hillsbury to the rest of civilisation.

"Still got that oil!?" Karl called, patting Hoofsie's mane as the palomino moved faster.

"Yeah. Didn't think we'd get a second vampire, though!"

"Might've moved to take this one's territory. If it is a vampire, that is!"

It didn't take long to reach the town. Daveth and Karl had set out just before dusk the previous day, having prepared numerous potions and the requisite oils needed to take on a dangerous Katakan in combat. The palisade wall around Hillsbury still stood tall, though its thick wooden gates had been smashed open through brute force. The pair of Witchers slowed their horses with a gentle tug on the reins and dismounted, urging them to move back as they looked for evidence of an attack. As Karl knelt to check for distinguishing footprints in the muddy ground, a shrill scream rang out from nearby, followed by distinctively Human shouting.

Karl drew his steel sword. "Shit, it's not a vampire."

"Bandits, then." Daveth set off at a steady pace towards the town square. "They don't often attack towns this big."

The main hall that served as home to Hillsbury's alderman and his family had been set ablaze, and over forty citizens had been rounded up in the square by well-armed knights in black armour. The red, black and yellow heraldry of the flag of Aedirn lay ripped to shreds in the mud, while iron banners flying the golden sun of Nilfgaard stood flapping in the breeze above them. Upon sighting the pair, a shout went up from one of the soldiers and the Witchers soon found themselves facing six men in plate armour.

"Halt!" cried a figure on horseback, trotting past a line of terrified villagers. "Who goes there!"

Daveth stepped forward first, knowing full well that Karl had a history of provoking figures of authority. The Witcher slowly sheathed his blade and surveyed the speaker as he approached. It only took a single glance for him to tell that the Nilfgaardian commander was an aristocrat; the haughty look and ridiculous moustache were dead giveaways. Clad in ornate armour, he trotted up to the pair and waited.

"We're Witchers," Daveth held up his cats-head medallion. "Here to turn in a contract."

The Nilfgaardian wrinkled his nose as Daveth held up the severed Katakan head. Karl smirked and crossed his arms.

"What was the arranged pay?"

"Fifty gold coins, as I recall. There was a contract, you see."

At this, Karl stepped forward and produced a roll of parchment from one of his belt parches. The town's alderman had insisted on writing one up before officially hiring the Witchers, and had muttered something about wanting to prevent raised prices. Neither of them had disagreed, it being a fair price for one creature. The commander clambered down from his steed and approached Daveth, flanked by his guards.

"With these traitors, not with Nilfgaard. Do you know why we must make an example of these peasants?"

"I'm sure you have your reasons."

Waving for the Witchers to follow, the commander strode back towards the townsfolk, halting before the soiled Aedirnian flag. Daveth silently counted the number of soldiers positioned around the square and weighed up their options if things went badly. There were over a dozen knights in full plate, likely sent as the vanguard of a much larger force. The Witcher hadn't expected Nilfgaard to dispatch its armies this far north, but with the war with Redania heating up again they were likely attempting to move into what had once been Kaedwen. Daveth and Karl had remained away from the frontlines so far, picking up contracts largely in the wake of battles as monsters descended, feeding on both the living and dead.

"Do you see this?" the commander pointed at the tattered scraps of cloth. "We made it clear to these people over a month ago who their new rulers were, even handed them a new flag to fly atop their buildings."

"And they still flew the flag of Aedirn." Karl looked over the terrified villagers. Some wept or trembled, while others simply stared straight ahead, waiting for this ordeal to end. "They burn your flag?"

"Indeed. Such defiance demands punishment."

As the commander turned towards his captives, the village Alderman shuffled forward. A rotund, grey-haired man in his late forties with a large walrus moustache, his well-adorned clothes were now ripped and spattered with mud. He looked pleadingly up at the Witchers before speaking.