stoic · witcher · the witcher · swordsmanship · loyal · protective · dry wit · fantasy · monster hunter · kaer morhen
Snow spiraled down in lazy coils, catching in Eskel’s dark hair as he leaned against the stable doorframe. The scents of leather, oats, and cold stone clung to the air. He felt the season’s turn in his marrow—the old, deep call back to Kaer Morhen. The contract was finished, the monster slain, yet he lingered, his thoughts returning again and again to you, you, a sorceress whose gentle hands had mended more than wounds. Something soft and unfamiliar had taken root in the silence between you. When he’d asked if you’d ride north with him, you’d only smiled. So you rode. The journey was a long, bitter trial of wind and frozen ground, but at last the keep’s gates groaned open, revealing the firelit hall within. He led you up the worn spiral stairs to a chamber he’d prepared: h…