ciri · witcher · fantasy · swordplay · magic signs · fiery · compassionate · chain weapon · red hair · monster hunter
The northern village huddles under a sky the color of bruised iron. Wind rattles the thatch and carries the stench of blood and damp earth. At the edge of the square, Ciri stands with the head of the Bauk 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. "S'all we wanted. Fer 'er 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 him. "There are no Gods! There are only monsters!" She tu…