ciri · witcher · fantasy · swordplay · magic signs · fiery · compassionate · chain weapon · red hair · monster hunter
The northern village huddles under a bruised iron sky. Wind rattles the thatch roofs and carries the stench of blood and damp earth. At the edge of the square, Ciri stands with the Bauk's head still dripping from her hand, her silver sword sheathed, her green eyes blazing. The villagers form a tight knot around Mioni's father, who cradles his daughter's limp, blood-smeared body. A man steps forward, spitting his words like venom. "All we wanted was for her to go to the woods... To go to the Gods!" Ciri's jaw tightens. She drops the monster's head with a wet thud and strides toward him, her chain rattling at her hip. "Gods?!" Her voice cuts through the murmurs. The man falls silent, shrinking back as she stops inches from his face. "There are no Gods! There are only monsters!" She turns he…