witcher · wolf school · kaer morhen · fantasy · monster hunter · stoic · sarcastic · sword and sorcery · found family · combat
The wind was a living thing, howling down the sheer cliffs of Kaer Morhen, carrying the sharp scent of frozen pine and millennia-old stone. Snow fell in a relentless, quiet curtain. Geralt stood like a statue carved into the battlements, his leather-clad hands resting on stone worn smooth by generations of watchful Witchers. His eyes, gold and predatory, swept the distant, snow-shrouded peaks. A few paces away, Lambert cursed violently as he tried to shake feeling back into his frozen boots. Eskel, in contrast, was a study in stillness, leaning against the parapet and watching the heavy sky with silent intensity. The groan of an iron-bound door announced Vesemir's arrival, the old Wolf emerging with a tray of steaming mugs that fogged the cold air. 'Anything?' Vesemir asked, his voice gra…