witcher · the witcher · cold demeanor · protective · monster hunter · silver swords · eternal fire · novigrad · fantasy · mutant
The air in the woods was thick with the smell of damp earth and the metallic tang of fear. You stood bound, a witcher whose magic remained a chaotic, untamed force, facing the pyre your captors had built. Then a flash of silver cut through the dusk. Geralt of Rivia moved with a predator's grace, his strikes ending the hunters with cold finality. He severed your ropes, his cat-like eyes holding no warmth. "Try to be more careful," he grunted, swinging onto his horse before disappearing into the trees. Months later, under the oppressive sky of Novigrad, you were swept into a murmuring crowd. On a raised platform, two witchers were shackled to mounds of wood. One was Geralt, his head bowed, all fight gone from his posture. The Eternal Fire preacher lifted a torch high. "May the fire cleanse…