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cranetreegang · 3 years

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Witcher Fanfic with OC Characters: Part 1: I Need Your Help

A/N: So... I've never actually played the Witcher, or read any of the books. I've only seen the tv show and movie and random videos on Youtube. But I know enough about it to make me wanna write this.

Lanas and Nisalla are OC and I don't plan on included any actual characters from the original games/books because I'm kinda doing my own thing here and I don't wanna butcher them by accident. I don't know what time period this is set in either. I'm thinking in the future of where Witcher 3 takes place... maybe. I apologize for any wrongness I may make in regards to Witcher lore, and am very open to corrections. I like writing semi-believe/semi-accurate fanfics. Also, any input is greatly appreciated and welcomed. With that being said, I do hope you enjoy!

Summary: Lanas, a lone witcher just finishing a job in Ivalo, is looking to head to the next contract when a strange woman offers him a job. Will he accept, or will he ignore her request?

Warnings: Mild cursing

Word Count: ~1,600 words

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Lanas stared into his pale brown ale with more content than he’s felt all month. The tavern was void of lively patrons, save him. Not that he was a lively patron by any means. In fact, far from it as he sipped his mild drink in comfortable silence. He had been in Ivalo for over a week tracking down a Spriggan that was terrorizing the logging crew. Lanas murmured a curse to the greedy lumberjacks that ventured into the forest for their prized wood, and tore down the Spriggan’s home; causing this whole mess.

Lanas took a hearty swig that barely stung his throat. The tavern's thin walls shook from the lumber yard back in business thanks to Lanas’ swift execution of the Spriggan. With only four loggers dead from the Spriggan’s revenge, Lanas was rewarded with enough crowns to get him down the road. And he was ready to get as far away from this shithole as possible. The smell of putrid waste hung in the air everywhere you went in Ivalo. Which was enough to keep him in a constant bad mood.

He stared at his empty drink with thoughts to get more when the door flew open to the tavern. The draft brought in the fresh scent of mud, a mixture of human and animal feces, and a hint of Damiana.

“There you are!” A female voice called out to the empty room. Lanas didn’t bother to turn towards her and he made a silent prayer that she wasn’t talking to him. He heard the wood creak and groan until she plopped down across from him.

The auburn haired woman was unfamiliar to Lanas. Her dark reddish hair framed around her face and just touched her shoulders. The numerous freckles dotting her pale skin only served to make her look younger than she really was. Her lips, a dull shade of vermilion, formed a bright smile that suited her well, and made her appear warm and easy to talk to. Her cheeks were well-defined, but not overly sharp. Her storm gray eyes were soft, and directed right into Lanas’ dark amber ones without a hint of fear. She wore dark brown, nearly black, leather armor that was made specially for her. A black cloak hung off her back that didn’t conceal the silver-tipped bow poking past her head. Overall, her presence didn't give Lanas much concern or second-thoughts.

“You’re a hard person to find, witcher.” She drummed her covered fingers on the worn table that had several slashes and holes from years of misuse. “But, luckily for you, I’m a very determi-, hey! Where’re you going?”

Lanas had stood up from his seat and was slumbering over to the lone fat bartender by the entrance.

“Another.” Lanas gruffly ordered while setting his mug down on the bar. The barkeep looked between him and the woman running up to him with a knowing smirk.

“Ya’ll need a’least three if ya don’t wanna go deaf ‘fore the day’s done.” The bartender laughed at his joke while pouring more ale into the mug. The woman let out a sharp scoff then crossed her arms.

“I’d say that hurt my feelings, but that would imply that I care what you think.” She spat.

“I’ll take those other two now.” Lanas sighed.

The woman leaned on the bar with her full body turned towards the annoyed witcher. She looked over him with interest. Sizing him up, it seemed. He was at least a head taller than her and far more broad than she. His shaggy raven black hair hung past his pierced ears. The two studs in his ears weren’t of any value, from what she could tell, and he didn’t possess any other forms of jewelry besides his silver amulet laying on his décolleté. His face was well-defined like that of a wolf and he had a fine stubble of dark hair on his lower face. Even though he was broad, he was still lean and agile.

The armor he wore was quite heavy just by looking at it. Scratched metal covered parts of his chests, forearms, and legs while thick quilted earthy brown leather protected everything else. Her eyes strayed on his silver bear amulet for a moment too long. Lanas bared his sharp teeth at her and she smiled sheepishly at him.

“I’m sorry. Very rude to stare, I know. I just couldn’t help but notice your bear thing.” She pointed at his medallion, making him promptly shove the necklace underneath his armor.

The barkeep placed Lanas’ three drinks in front of him then turned his attention to the woman. “If ye gonna be botherin’ folks, ya better orda somethin’. Else, git.”

The woman waved her hand at the barkeep to dismiss him. “As I was saying, before you walked away, I’ve been looking for you.”

Lanas chugged the first ale and let out a satisfied sigh. He turned his head slightly towards her and seemed disappointed that she was still there. He began drinking his second mug as she continued speaking.

“I’ve been tracking, what I believe to be, a cyclops.” She said with her eyes wide in enthusiasm. “I know! Exciting, right?”

Lanas finished his second mug, and was working his third.

“This cyclops has been picking off poor travelers on the road from here to Dorian. It’s been hiding out in the forest then swooping in to smash everyone to bits.” Her fist slammed on the wooden bar to emphasize her point.

Lanas also slammed his empty mug down then wiped off the ale slipping down his stubbled chin. He shoved himself away from the bar and began to leave the tavern. He didn’t make it far down the street before the woman was beside him once more.

“You’re seriously still gonna leave. Even though a cyclops is terrorizing people!” She exclaimed over the roaring noise from the lumber mill that vibrated the muddy ground they slogged through.

Lanas rolled his eyes. “Cyclops keep to themselves.” He tried to speed up his pace, but she easily matched him.

“Yes. Yet, it’s still out there causing havoc.”

“Not my problem.” Lanas dismissed with a grunt.

“Oh, you’re one of those witchers. I see. Not your problem until someone pays for it to be your problem.” She reached into her pack to produce a well-sized sack that made a nice clanking noise. She held it out in front of Lanas, who slowed down his stride to better examine the dangling prize.

She grinned at his interest. “Ah, there we go. Should’ve done this sooner. I’ll pay you to help me kill this cyclops.”

Lanas went to grab the pouch when she yanked it out of his reach. His scowl consumed his already harsh features. “I get paid now, woman.”

“It’s Nisalla. Nis for short. And no.” She shoved the pouch back into her pack. “Not until you agree. Can’t have you running off on me.”

Lanas glared down at Nis, but she just smiled back. Lanas let out a low growl and stomped ahead. “I don’t work with others. Especially not humans.”

“If you’re worried about me dying, don’t. I can handle myself.”

“That’s what they all say.” Lanas grumbled under his breath. “And I don’t care if you die. You might get me killed because you do something stupid.”

She let out a sharp gasp while clutching over her heart. “You wound me, witcher. Truly. Especially since I haven’t done anything stupid so far.”

One of his black brows rose as he side-eyed her. “You’re following me around. Testing my patience. I’d say that’s stupid.”

She hummed to herself in thought. “Reckless, maybe. I don’t think it’s stupid though.”

Lanas stopped walking, causing Nis to stop as well. Lanas got right in her face, forcing her to look up at him, and glared at her.

“Whatever it is,” his jaw was clenched so tightly that the words coming out sounded like hisses, “it won’t matter when I slit your throat and feed your entrails to the wolves if you keep bothering me.”

Nis’ brows rose and her stormy eyes widened. Her heart beat a bit quicker as she stared into his glowing amber eyes with slits like a cat ready to pounce on her. Then she let out a nervous giggle as she patted his shoulder. “You almost got me there. Nearly pissed myself, honestly!” She laughed as he stared at where she touched him in furious disgust.

She motioned with an exaggerated arm movement down the muddy path, “Come now. I think if I stay here a moment longer, I’m gonna cut my nose off. This place smells like shit.” She sauntered towards the stables, with a couple of bystanders flipping her off for her blatant comment. Lanas stared after her with his fists balled tightly at his side.

“She didn’t even flinch.” He grumbled under his breath. He chuckled to himself that maybe she wouldn’t faint at the sight of this supposed cyclops. He caught up to her at the stables to find her preparing a sorry looking red roan. She hopped onto the mare and flashed Lanas a pleased smile.

“So, you are coming then?” She asked.

Lanas went over to his tanned stallion and petted the beast’s muzzle. He saw the burning curiosity brimming in the young horse’s eyes.

“We’re off again, Horse.” He patted the side of the horse’s neck before hopping on Horse's back.

“Horse? You named your horse, Horse?” Nis questioned.

Lanas sent Horse trotting ahead and Nis turned her mare to follow. She giggled to herself at the unoriginality before asking, “What’s your name, witcher? Or is that your actual name?”

She tossed the heavy leather pouch to the witcher. He looked inside the bag, and was pleased to see it filled with golden crowns glittering in the sunlight. He stuffed it into his saddle bags then glanced over at Nis awaiting eagerly for his answer.

“Lanas.”

Nis said the name quietly to herself then grinned. “Alright, that was half. You get the other half after you kill the one-eyed beast. Try to keep up, Lanny.” She took off ahead of Lanas, who watched her with an irritated scowl. If this cyclops doesn’t kill her, Lanas was sure he would.

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#the witcher #witcher oc #my writing #creative writing #fanfic #witcher fandom #witcher fanfiction #original character #witcher 3 #tw3 wild hunt #the witcher 3 #tw3 #writing #writers #fanfiction

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wellmeaningshutin · 7 years

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Short Story #48: Delivery.

Written: 2/21/2017

Delivering pizzas wasn’t the most exciting job, it wasn’t the most thankful job, it didn’t pay very well, and at the end of the day, if you asked him, Pete couldn’t tell you why he hadn’t quit yet. It was probably his least favorite job he ever had, and he once spent three weeks gutting fish in some run down factory. What Pete had never realized, was that the only reason he had stuck to the job for so long was because it gave him a sense of duty. He came from a military family, where everyone was expected to serve, even the women, however he had a long list of little disabilities that kept him from getting any job in the military. So, in a way that he never understood, delivering pizzas helped tune into that need to serve, and in a way it felt heroic to him. Nobody thanked him, but he provided a much needed service to many people.

At this moment, Pete was nearing the end of a long pizza run. He had already delivered pizza to a man that tried to pay him Canadian money, a couple that was in the middle of a domestic dispute, which lead him to threaten to call the cops, but then the wife told him, “I am a cop, and if you dare call 911 on us I’m going to get every officer that comes over to beat the piss out of you. Then we’ll take you down to the station, and put as many charges on you as we can, to make sure you get locked up for a long time for sticking your nose where it damn well doesn’t belong.” She was waving a gun around as she gave this little speech. They were originally arguing about what breed of cat to adopt. It wasn’t worth the trouble, and Pete went back to his car telling himself that he was a good person, he did the right thing, it wasn’t worth the trouble, who cares how badly the guy was bleeding?

The next stop had a friendly, elderly man who delivered pizzas every day just so that he could have an excuse to strike up a conversation, but Pete never tried to stay around for very long because the man never ate the pizzas, or threw them away, and they were starting to make the house disgusting. Just seeing the inside made his skin crawl, and the smell that wafted out clung to his clothes, for some reason, and the smell of rot would always stick with him for quite some time. If he paid more attention to the man than the house, then he would notice sores and cuts along the man’s legs and feet, which were mainly caused by the rats that had taken up residence with him. Today, as Pete was hurrying back to his car after breaking off a conversation about how the president is turning frogs gay, he saw one of those rats on its way into the house. Intimidating was the perfect word to describe the large thing, and they both stared at each other, wanting to move past, and Pete was the first to step out of the way. Slowly strolling into the house, while the lonely man kept the door open, it showed the delivery boy that it was much more important than him.

After that, he doused himself with cologne and brought several pizzas to a house that seemed very lovely on the outside, but when the door was opened he was greeted by a mountainous skin head with a swastika tattoo under his right eye, like the tear drop tattoos that some inmates have. Looking past him, there seemed to be no furniture whatsoever inside the house, and the only object, that was in immediate view, was a for sale sign that had been tossed in a corner. The man said, “About time”, he said, “wait here while I get my friends.” While the man walked back into the house, whispering some lazy, anti-Vietnamese slur under his breath, Pete decided that it would be best to run back to his car and drive off as quickly as he could.

The next house was on fire, so he sat in his car for a little while, wondering if he should try to deliver it anyways, call the fire department, or just drive away. Delivery seemed like the best option, mainly because he didn’t get the money for the last set of pizzas, and his boss already didn’t like him. Surprisingly, when he knocked on the door somebody calmly answered, and paid for the pizza’s. “You know your house is on fire, right?” Pete said as he tried to look out for the guy.

“Yeah, so what?”

“Well.. Do you want me to call the fire department or something?”

The man grabbed Pete’s face, squeezing his cheeks tightly together, and barked, “Look here pal, I’m a fireman! You call the fire department about this, and I’ll make sure they spray you down with the fucking hose like you were protesting for civil rights.” His smoke detector was screaming nonstop. “You got that?” It was hard to nod when the man was holding is face in place. “Arson laws can’t apply to me if I’ve put out so many fires, you got that? If you put out a fire, you can start a fire of lesser or equal value.” Burning wood began to drop from the second story. “Now get the fuck off of my property before I use those rights on you.”

When he shoved Pete away from his door step, he also threw a twenty dollar bill-as a tip-at the driver.

As he drove to the next house-which he is currently doing, welcome to the present-he began to notice, as he circled around the neighborhood, that the address he was given was a fake. Parking his car, he decided that the best move to make would be to call his boss, and figure out what he should do about it, although he already knew that the pizza was going to be taken out of his paycheck.

While he was busy with the call, he hadn’t noticed a scuffed up, olive sedan that was slowly creeping up behind his car. The driver was the person who had ordered to the fake address, and he had done so to get his revenge on Tony Pepperoni, the mascot of the pizza chain. The man hadn’t been able to sleep for quite some time, and he eventually picked up the habit of keeping several televisions in his house, and leaving them all on at full volume. After a long while of doing this, he began to notice that they all seemed to sync up when the Surfin Pizza commercials would come on, and it was his first sign that something shady was going on. Why had they all come on at the same time, on different channels? The easy explanation, and the real one, was that they were actually all on the same channel, and he was just too sleep deprived to realize this. The explanation that he came up with, was that it was code for some criminal enterprise, shadow government message, or maybe even a form of corporate espionage.

After a hundred letters written and sent to the police, and the chain, to investigate the suspicious activity, after following one of the delivery boys and noticing that he went to the same house every day, after deciphering the secret codes and realizing that Pepperoni Tony was actually the mastermind behind it all, after many other layers of crazy, he finally figured that it was best to take matters into his own hands, and after all was said and done, he’d be a god damned hero.

“Look, I don’t care if the address doesn’t exist, you gotta deliver it somewhere or I’m taking the money out of your paycheck.”

“Where am I supposed to deliver it?”

“I don’t care how you do it, I didn’t hire you not think for yourself, I hired you to get on the front lines and keep all of our customers satisfied. It shows lack of ambition that you wont go out and find new customers to sell that pizza to, and I’m starting to question why I hired you in the first place. I could have hired Franklin Smith you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I could’ve poached him from that lousy Pole down the street, but I had to hire your sorry ass. You know how good Frankie is at his job? I heard he gets a $20 tip every single time, and people will order pizzas wherever he works, just to get serviced by him. Yet I can’t get that from you, can I?”

“Well-” he wanted to explain that his prized Frankie was actually a weed dealer, and the main reason that people tipped and loved him so much was to, well you can figure it out.

“I thought hiring you would’ve made our shop so much more popular with all of these Asians, I can say that right?”

“Yeah”

“With all of these Asians coming over from god knows where, bringing all of their stupid traditions and gibberish way of speaking, and I thought having one of them delivering pizzas would’ve upped my sales, but instead I get some boycott because of ‘offensive comments’ I had made, and all I get is complaints from you.”

The man in the olive car was slowly getting out of the driver’s side, but Pete was too busy getting yelled at and trying to get rid of a stress headache, to even notice the threatening figure.

“Like yesterday, I get some call from some angry man because you offended him in front of his wife. We can’t have you humiliating people!”

“He was-”

“Oh, this’ll be a good explanation. Please, explain to me why you thought it was justifiable to treat a customer that way.”

“He was trying to get me to sleep with his wife, I didn’t-”

“Well, why didn’t you, huh? What do we have pizza boys for if they can’t bone lonely broads every now and then? What’s wrong with you, if you can’t take the time off to-”

“Sir, I’m, uh.. You know I’m gay, right?”

“Well, you’re just scared of pussy is all, if you only-”

And then a gunshot was heard and his rear window was shattered. Then he noticed the man standing behind his car, ready to take another shot, which sunk into the headrest of the passenger seat, before Pete could even get the keys in the ignition. “I want to speak to Pepperoni Tony.” He got the car to start, and shifted into drive, then a bullet fractured his radio. “Take me to Tony, and I wont have to hurt you.” Flooring it, Pete drove off as quickly as he could, not knowing where to go, figuring that the man would follow him. In that moment, he realized that he might die in the line of duty, just like a majority of his family. There was a tradition to have as many kids as you could, because almost all of them would end up dying while they were enlisted, even during peace time.

Lost in suburbia, Pete had no idea how to get out of the neighborhoods and began to repeatedly drive in circles, going about 40 miles an hour. There hadn’t been any sign of his attacker, but he had been trying to escape for five minutes straight. There was a middle aged woman who was watering her lawn with a hose, he passed by her three times, and each time she screamed, “Hey! Slow down! Children play here!” He almost ran into a mail man who had somehow dropped a package in the middle of the road. Not once did he ever see any children out playing. After three more minutes of panicked driving, he figured that his pursuer had not followed him, and he was just being needlessly paranoid, but it ran in the family.

When his relatives died while in active duty, it was hardly ever due to normal circumstances. Very few of them were reasonably killed by enemy soldiers, and more were actually killed by friendly fire. Some suffered worse hazing than their peers during boot camp, which turned out to be severe. Several died in bar fights, suspicious accidents, were poisoned, or were simply found dead, cause unknown. There was something about them that tended to bring out the worst in people, even though they were typically kind and quiet. There were some theories in the family as to why this happened, but none of them were really satisfying or realistic.

When he finally slowed down, figuring that he should probably pull over and notify the police of the attempted murder, he was t-boned by an olive sedan, but he was lucky enough for it to impact the passenger’s side, so he wasn’t injured too seriously. For a while it felt like time stood still, he could only hear the hissing of his engine, throbbing in his head, and the scream of some children who had seen the accident. The woman had been right. It hurt when he tried to move, but he reasonably assumed that the person who rammed into him was probably his attacker, and if the man didn’t die he should probably seek cover. One of his ribs were pretty fucked up, but it didn’t feel broken. It was a hassle to even get out of his seat belt, and when he finally did he decided to check if the man was actually alive, just so he could know if he should take his time or not. Before he could turn his head, a bullet flew by and shattered his side window, which was a satisfying answer.

One of the theories as to why his family was cursed, was because way back when, hundreds of years ago, one of their ancestors had decided to put a witch in a sack and throw her in the ocean, so she cursed his bloodline. Nobody could really make any sense of this story, but most assumed that it had been distorted as it was passed down generation to generation. Some suggested that the ancestor was actually the witch, and was thrown into the ocean, but that didn’t explain how the bloodline was cursed, especially if the witch drowned and couldn’t have children. On top of that, it would also imply that the family was cursed even before that, and the harsh treatment of the supposed witch only happened because of the curse, if there even was one. The only stories, that predated the one about the witch, were mostly about ancestors who traveled and talked to animals, but those are just another load of nonsense.

Only when he finally tried to get his door open, did he realize that his car was pressed up against a tree. It started to dawn on him that he might be more injured than he first expected, but he didn’t know if he should investigate his wounds or escape danger. When he tried to crawl into the backseat, he realized that he couldn’t move his legs, and on top of that there was a hot pizza in his lap that he couldn’t feel. Questioning how he didn’t notice this when he took off his seat belt, a shot took out his rear view mirror, and the oddness of the way it was torn off made him realize that his vision was actually pretty blurry. In his mind, he had two options: against all odds, try to escape, or sit there and accept death. The latter seemed like the better alternative, mainly because he was guaranteed to get into heaven.

Another theory was related to pheromones, but this didn’t explain why they were often yelled at over the phone, and the relative who brought it up didn’t really know anything about the subject to provide anything accurate. Some people questioned if it was racism, but every time it was brought up this would quickly get shut down, because in Vietnam they were hated exactly as much as they were in America. Most ideas were easy to poke holes in, so most of them just believed that it was probably some curse, origins unknown. The curse also helped explained why psychics, palm readers, and spiritual advisers would always become terrified around members of the family.

Luckily, when the man finally got close and lined up the kill-shot, his magazine was empty, and all Pete heard was click click click. Maybe he would live after all. A man came out of the house, whose lawn contained the tree that Pete’s car was jammed against, and the man began to pull Pete out of the car. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The broken delivery boy almost responded, but then he realized that the man was asking his attacker.

One shameful thing about their family: incest was actually semi-common. Most family members found it easier to date inside the family, because everyone outside was incredibly toxic towards them. Because of this, when Pete was lying on the lawn, body broken, he thought about a third cousin of his who he hoped to see again.

The rescuer pinned Pete to the ground, and told his attacker to go at him. The insomniac then awkwardly placed his hands around the boy’s throat, upside down, and started squeezing as hard as he could. The whole time he muttered, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but I know you’re important, and I have to send a message. Pepperoni Tony needs to know that I’m coming for him.” The man, who was pinning the unresponsive guy down, spit into the victims face, muttering something about how he didn’t know the context of the situation, he knew that Pete deserved what was happening to him.

#Well Meaning Shut In #Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Curse #February

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