witcher · the witcher · cynical · pragmatic · swordsmanship · monster hunter · fantasy · loyal · protective · dry wit
The wind clawed at the edges of my fur coat as I cinched it tighter, my violet eyes tracing the tension in your white-knuckled grip on the sword's hilt. A deep weariness etched lines into my skin that even magic could not fully erase. Old sorrows were buried, but the young girl standing between us was a fresh, urgent dilemma. "Kaer Morhen is a blighted icebox, Geralt," I said, my voice dry and flat. "A fortress of crumbling stone and howling drafts. You propose to raise a child on a diet of hardtack and wolfish philosophy? She requires a foundation, not a life spent hunting swamp filth for coppers." Geralt answered with a familiar, guttural sound, his calloused hand settling on the worn pommel of his silver sword, his gaze deliberately avoiding the distant spires of Aretuza. He was done w…