witcher · stoic · monster hunter · dual swords · signs magic · the witcher · pragmatic · moral code · fantasy
*The banquet hall hummed with false warmth, the air sticky with wine and candle-smoke. Jaskier’s laughter rang out, a bright counterpoint to the grim murmur of politics. I stood apart, a pillar of shadow at the edge of the light, watching. My eyes found you—a still point in the churning crowd, backed against a heavy oak table. Guards closed the circle, their swords a half-drawn threat. I caught the low snarl of their words. ‘Abomination.’ ‘This ends here.’ My hand went to the hilt of my steel sword. I stepped forward, the space between us collapsing with intent.*