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#the witcher 1
kiritella · 8 months
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For those who haven't read The Witcher, I feel the need to tell you some things...
Ciri was something around 10, I think, when she met Geralt, and was a terrible brat.
One of the first times Geralt met Ciri, he gave her a piggy back ride because she hurt her leg.
He told her a bed time story because she asked him to.
Geralt is a sarcastic bastard, especially with Ciri.
Ciri led Geralt by the hand when he had to be blindfolded while walking through Brokilon forest by the Dryads.
Ciri would cling to Geralt's thigh when she was frightened.
Geralt would cuddle Ciri so that she could fall asleep, and she would reach out to him as she slept.
There were hugs, and I think all of them were initiated by Geralt himself because he could see that Ciri was frightened or he was just very happy to see her.
Stay tuned for more...
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darero-art · 1 year
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Ах, как же тают твои глазки Точно пастила Тебе поздно верить в сказки Ведь я снова голодна
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rpgchoices · 3 months
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The top 4 characters will get into the tournament!
Post 1 here for more explanation and info.
all parts at this tag
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tigger-png · 6 months
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drew Jaskier for the second time ☘️
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the first drawing was made 9 months ago, I used his design from the first game
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i changed the costume a little, but still like it 💚
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Dimeritium, the cursed, wicked silver
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Common, metal, weapon, armor, ammo, throwable
Dimeritium or it's common language name, cursed or wicked silver is a rare type of silver like mithril however dimeritium is an illegal metal it can still do extra harm to devils, demons, monsters and undead much like mithril and regular silver but it also drains the magic of those who are touched by it
In it's ore form it looks completely black like that of obsidian but when in it's ingot form it looks like silver but gives off a sickly bright lime green tint unlike mithril which gives off a pure pale blue tint
Dimeritium is illegal due to it's magic harming properties it is mainly used by "witch" hunters who are considered criminals due to the people they hunt are either innocent mages and nonhumans and they make bombs, weapons, armor, ammo and shackles out of dimeritium
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letter-orcs-art · 1 month
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"I mean, there's nothing wrong with the old posters, grandmaster. But don't you think there may be something about the saying 'Nudity sells'?"
also
The newest recruitment poster for the Order, a product of brainstorming with @akishito from a long time ago, *chef's kiss*
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doctordragon · 5 months
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If I had a nickel for every time I played a narrative RPG where the main city was run by a faction of racist guards with flame in their title who's evil leader is using racial tensions to further a genocidal conspiracy by taking the city over from within, id have 2 nickels which isn't much but it is interesting that it happened twice
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catgirlmissy · 7 months
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found a witcher one game manual here is a compilation of my favourite parts, that jaskier one is included because i think it's funny there is no reward for helping him $#%#%#
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elianzis · 1 year
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Foltest: You can't even be left for 5 minutes...
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naidleen · 1 month
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The Witcher (2007)
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marnasid · 1 year
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Drew art as a gift for my bestie❤️‍🔥
My blog began to turn into a blog dedicated to the first part. It's ironic that I never completed the game on my own, but know the whole plot and many details🥲
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kiritella · 6 months
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Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter 2: Interesting Company
Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader
Warnings: discrimination, hungry child, a short-lived, poorly written battle, injuries.
Words: 3.7k
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—Six Years Ago—
“We don’t serve your kind around here,” the man grumbled for the third time, sidestepping her. Again, she held up the coin, snatching the man’s wrist to plead with him. Her unnatural blue eyes grew wide as the man shoved her off him, her frail body falling to the floor with a thud as he stormed off. The noise of the tavern was loud as its occupants minded their own business. Her lip trembled as she slowly climbed to her feet, fingers curling around the coin she had been given by an old man outside. Rubbing the burn out of her eyes, she tried not to focus on the empty pit and growl of her stomach. She watched the floor as she left the tavern, unminding of the footsteps following her shortly after. 
The cold winter air was harsh, hitting her suddenly as the doors closed behind her and she began to wander the village. People passed on the street, most of them at least twice her height, some buying and selling, others moving carts of hay and wood. She fought against the wind and searched the booths for something to eat—anything, really. She would even be happy with a few poisonous berries. 
She jumped out of her skin when a hand gripped her shoulder. Whipping around, she jerked out of their hold, hand instinctively on a dagger and looked up. 
The man was cloaked in a heavy garment that looked very warm, an assortment of things held on the belt around his waist, and two swords, one resting on each hip. His gloved hands were held up, one open handed as if surrendering, and the other held up a tied up cloth bundle. 
“Easy kid…” he said softly, kneeling down on the ground in front of her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She furrowed her brow as the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Slowly, he lifted the hood of his cloak over his head, revealing his appearance. She eased momentarily.
His right eye was a brilliant blue, almost like her own, and rimmed with an unnatural light while his other remained a deep brown. His skin was dark, a stark contrast to the snow about them, and he was bald other than a well kept beard and mustache. His head must not have been very warm.
Besides all of these things, he also seemed…gentle, in a way, and a little bit sad. He held out a bundled cloth for her to take. 
“I thought you might want this,” he said, nodding toward her. Tentatively reaching out, she snatched the sack and backed away quickly. His lips dipped into a frown, but she didn’t mind it as she untangled the knots binding the cloth. She gasped when she saw bread and dried meat, and her knees nearly gave out in excitement. Forgetting her hesitance, she tore a piece of bread and shoved it into her dry mouth, chewing all too fast and swallowing before she had finished.
“Slowly,” the man pressed, the frown etching itself deeper as he watched tears overflow in the child’s eyes, spilling over her cheeks. She tried to nod, but it was indistinguishable from her filling her mouth once more. Sparing him a sharp glance when he shuffled with something in his satchel, a silver chain came loose from his tunic and she froze. 
Swallowing, she came closer and touched the medallion at the end of the chain. The man looked back at her, something now in his hand, but she was too focused on the wolf captured in silver to be aware of it. 
“Yeah..I’m—”
She cut him off with a hug, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him tightly. She nearly dropped the food. Her body trembled as she buried her frozen nose into his neck and his arms wrapped around her hesitantly. He was a Witcher.
She sniffed as she pulled away, and though clearly surprised, the man smiled. Cupping the side of her cheek, his thumb swept the track marks beneath her eyes. He held up a long red cloth with his other hand and wrapped it around her neck. It was still too long once he had bundled her up, so he tucked it around and over her head, creating a makeshift hood around her face. Her ears and cheeks blessed him for hiding them from the wind.
“There you are…” he said, rubbing her arm up and down. “Better?”
She nodded quickly and smiled. Perking up, she dug into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the coin. She held it up to him as an offering. The man shook his head, leaving it in her palm and curling her fingers over it with his own hand. 
“You hold on to that, okay? I don’t need it.”
Furrowing her brows, she tried to insist, but he shook his head and smiled weakly. Standing, he nodded at her and turned, pulling his cloak back over his head. And even as the people shot her dirty looks and scoffed, the vendors at their stands shifting uncomfortably, she watched him walk away until she could no longer see him at all. Only when he was out of sight did she pick up her food and eat a bit more before bundling it back up. Something hard as iron grew in her chest, and it reminded her of a knight’s shield, the stories her father had once told to her about Kings and Men. It reminded her of Geralt.
“It isn’t safe here,” D’ao whispered.
She didn’t stay in the village that night.
—Currently—
The fire crackled as she laid back against a tree beside the river, the only real light left now that the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The rush of the slowly freezing Lixela river kept the forest alive and moving. 
“We’ve ended up deeper in the mountain,” Geralt said, laying on his back beside the fire. He turned his head toward where she lingered in the shadows. She shrugged, pausing in her work of preparing a poultice.
Pointing further upstream, she explained. “Shortcut.” 
“Upstream is a dead end,” he said, disgruntled. “The passage is blocked, and if we don’t—”
She pointed at herself, then upstream. “Follow the river, to the mountain pass, then down to Gwenllech.”
“That road isn’t there anymore, it hasn’t been for years. A rockslide made it unusable even for the natives.”
“I can make road,” she said, voice a bit tense from consistent lack of use.
“What?” Geralt asked, his brow furrowing.
“I can make road. It will be faster.”
He hesitated, and she continued her work on the herbs, scraping the paste off the rock and onto a clean—clean-ish—bandage. She got up and carried them over to the fire, sitting back down beside him. Roach snorted nearby, enjoying her little bit of freedom while she could, her saddle offering Geralt a bit of back support. 
Sighing, she carefully lifted Geralt’s arm. Red lines strained up his forearm and reached his elbow, pulsing heavily with each heartbeat. She swallowed thickly. His heart was very slow. Was that normal?
“Three days,” she said as she began to wrap his arm with the fresh bandage. “I get you there in three days.”
Geralt watched her doubtfully for a moment, but nodded. She tied off the end of his bandage.
“You’re not used to talking,” Geralt said as she shuffled in her bag for one of her bottles. 
She hummed. Is it that obvious?
“Of course it’s that obvious,” D’ao said, “You sound like a caveman.”
“Well, pardon me! I don’t keep any company but you.”
“I taught you more than monkey speech, child,” he said and she smiled. 
“I…I am not used to speaking fluently for very long periods of time. I live in the mountains and have for years now,” she said aloud, making an effort to sooth over her monkey speech.
“Years?” Geralt asked. She nodded. “You aren’t very old.”
“I’m actually running on over a century.”
He coughed, eyes widening and she smiled. It was soft in the glow of the campfire.
“I’m kidding,” she said. There was something in her eyes that made Geralt wonder. Something very worn and ancient. With a satisfied hum, she uncorked a bottle of dark amber liquid. It was nearly black in this light, so she gave it a sniff and tasted a bit on her finger first. She handed it to Geralt.
“Echinacea Angustifolia,” she said. “Three to one with Redanian Herbal.”
Geralt grimaced but accepted it. He drank more of it than she had anticipated, but quickly attributed it to his mutations. After all, a Witcher knows his tinctures…well, she supposed they worked more diligently with potions, but…it was probably similar…
“Yeah, let's just pretend that is the case,” D’ao teased and she was tempted to roll her eyes. 
“Oh, leave me be,” she said, shaking D’ao from her mind. He sighed dramatically as she turned from Geralt. 
“You should try to sleep,” he said, grunting as he began to fight his own hazy sight. She hummed. 
“I’ll be getting us moving soon. Just…rest,” she said and gathered up their water costrels, heading back down to the river. Geralt seemed to have been caught between bewilderment and a scoff, as if the notion of him resting was ludicrous. He wouldn’t have a choice in the matter in a few minutes, she guessed.
“That is an unnaturally cruel way of getting someone to sleep,” D’ao said in the midst of a chuckle. “Yes, you will sleep, or else the ghoul venom seeping into your body will slowly put you to sleep. Yessss, you have no choice in the matter.”
She snorted, but it was short lived amusement. She pulled off the corks of the costrels and began to fill them with water. It was difficult to keep her hands steady. 
“Do you think he will be okay?” she asked D’ao.
“I can not say for certain, En'ca minne (Little love),” he said. “And if he is right and the mountain pass is closed, then it will be difficult.”
“But not impossible?”
“Not impossible.”
She nodded. “Then we will make it.”
“Alright. Then you will need to sleep, if only for an hour. I will wake you.”
Humming, she agreed and finished filling up on water, climbing back up to Geralt. She sat near the fire against a tree, opposite Geralt, with her sword unsheathed and laid across her lap. Geralt, with his last fight to stay awake, watched her settle with a curious look and then both of them fell into a deep sleep.
She heard them before she saw them. There was shuffling of feet, disgruntled voices off in the distance. They were a disturbance in the woods, and she had grown very, painfully familiar with those. Her eyes snapped open even before D’ao could speak. The fire was dwindling, but it was not out, so she couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. 
“Geralt,” she whisper-shouted, but he remained silent. Crawling silently over to him as she listened in on the voices drawing closer, his face was contorted painfully. Grabbing his arm, the red tendrils were reaching up past his elbow. 
“Shit.” With a sharp word, the dirt beneath the fire shifted suddenly and became a hole, swallowing up the flames and wood and covering it back up. It became dark, nearly pitch black.
She removed the saddle and pad from beneath Geralt and brought it to Roach, tacking her up as quickly as she could. It had been a long time since she had needed to do this, but she was grateful when she had been forced to, it had been for dozens of times in a row. She could find nearly every piece she needed in the dark and was done in record time. The steps grew closer, the voices louder, and as they did they became clearer, more disgruntled and angry. Horse hooves became apparent in the midst of the noise, and torches waved about amongst the trees as they drew near.
“How far cud tha bastard be gotten to?!” one of them shouted.
“Wi all da gabbin, ya warn ta Witcher each time!” another followed.
She rushed back to Geralt. She jumped into the saddle and whispered, hoping Geralt would forgive her for the way he was tossed about in the next few seconds. The vines and roots settling him behind her were not as easy on him as they had been the first time. With a firm heel to the sides, Roach launched into a steady run.
Someone shouted nearby—much closer than anticipated—and though it sounded like gibberish, there was a chorus of shouts and cheers, and all at once everyone began to run in her direction.
“Shit,” she and D’ao said simultaneously. The forests opened up for Roach as they sped up, dutifully trying to carry her master out of the hands of the people behind her. The landscape was rough this high in the mountains, and dangerous. At any point there was likely to be a sudden drop of easily ten feet or more, and if Roach found even one, that would be the end of it. For this reason, she kept within sight of the Lixela, the surface around the river just flat enough to not worry. Unfortunately, it meant losing Geralt’s angry mob was unlikely, and the best she could hope for was to get far enough ahead of them to toss him in a bush and hide him until she could return.
“Halt!”
“Stop there!”
She kicked Roach again and they sped off, but even weaving through the trees, their company still drew closer and closer. The weight of two people was too much for the poor beast to maintain a decent speed, and before long she found torches on her right and left flying in the wind. She cast a quick illusion over her blue eyes, turning them brown.
“It’s a lassie!” 
“We’ves gots him!”
An arrow whizzed past her, its tip swiped her cheek with a sting and she yelped, yanking the reins. Geralt. She turned them as another arrow whizzed by, hitting a tree with a thunk, but a horseman appeared out of the darkness in front of her and Roach skidded to a sudden stop. The saddle horn dug into her stomach as they jolted forward.
Eleven riders formed a circle around her, several carrying torches, each one donned in a sort of leather armor. She breathed heavily, narrowing her gaze at a man who steered his horse closer to hers. His dirty gray beard reached his broad chest, and his forehead was wide, giving him a strong browline. It made it seem as though his eyes were sunken into his pale face. It didn’t help that the only light to see his short, bloated appearance was from mere torches waving about them. The daylight wouldn’t have helped him much, she knew, because she had seen that face wandering the woods a time or two. He was from the village who hired Geralt to kill the Ghouls……she assumed.
The very air between them became disturbed, the earth groaning as the trees became discontent. The forest was tense and apprehensive, and nothing dared to move as her fingers began to twitch. The horses picked it up and shifted uncomfortably beneath their masters as a humming similar to cicadas vibrated the air quietly.
“Ye picked up inter’sting company, lass,” the man said and she scoffed. “We’ves got business with this here Witcher on yer back,” he continued. “We hired it with gold ya see. Ghouls. He killed my men, a damned bloodbath it was. We want him.”
She remained still, narrowing her eyes.
“Yer a young’ne, what you be? Fifteen, sixteen? Ye don’t know what the likes of Witchers are, but ya must’a heard ta ballads. He’s a cursed fell, and brings death wherever he goes. A mutated ‘bomination,” he said and dared to move closer with a hand on his sword. She snapped, gnashing her teeth at him as a growl ripped out of her throat.
The forest responded, and the dirt beneath their steads began to shift, the air became heavy. The horses unsettled, tossing their heads. Murmurings erupted amongst them, and in their discourse, she spotted the archer. She turned back to the old man.
“Go back,” she spoke, and her eyes flashed out from beneath their brown curtains like lightning in a storm. The hunting party cursed.
“Mage,” the old man said with utter disdain, and his face contorted into something familiar. Disgust, contempt. She smiled, teeth shimmering in the low light like bared fangs. A warning. 
“I will have his head for the rampage he wrought!” he said and added when she remained silent, “Se’en men, witch. And yer head be added this night if ye growl like a devil again. Loose him and be gone.”
She shivered at his words, but Geralt moved behind her, his arms twitching at her sides. He groaned, and his heart, however slow, was still beating against her back. The iron growing within her since the day she had met him, met his kind, would not even allow the consideration of the man’s offer. Her heart ached, and her lips parted in a final warning.
“Go home,” she insisted, and the wind burst forth from around her and the ground trembled. The hum of the cicadas grew louder. Their torches wavered, but though the men stirred and anxiously settled their panicking horses, they did not leave.
“Foolish Child!”  the old arse shouted and drew his sword. A cheer went around as a chilling hiss of metal filled the air. It was drowned out quickly with the terrible, dreadful hum. 
Her breath caught as the men charged toward her. Roach panicked and reared, and as focused as she was on keeping both herself and Geralt on the horse, the old arse’s blade struck firmly across her leg. She cursed, violently and wretchedly. 
In a flash of light, the sound of metal clanking, chains snapping thundered and the earth surged as if it were the sea. Trees creaked and groaned under the weight of each Elder word she let loose from her mouth. The mob stumbled and fell as their horses freaked and ran as they could. 
Roots and thorns burst out of the ground and wrapped around the men, yanking them from their saddles and dangling them in the air as they struggled to break free. Some were diligent, smart with their swords and were able to cut themselves out of their bindings, but as their feet hit the ground, it trembled. 
“Fools,” she said coldly, and her eyes haunted the darkness as she reached out her hand. The bindings tightened around the few and there was a sickening crack. And then there were screams. 
The few men on the ground stumbled toward her, but the earth reached out with massive hands as if it had been given life. A brown smoke lifted from its surface and entombed them, morphed as if the ground had turned to ash and hovered with a terrifying face. See through it was like looking out from a shallow grave. The cloud grabbed hold of them, and their feet sank into the ground up to their knees. They fought, and they struggled, and in all this, her lip quivered. 
She clenched the Roach’s reins tightly as her lips sealed upon themselves. The dust began to settle, and a soft white light lingered beneath her skin like spirals of smoke or shattering glass. Her eyes dimmed back into the safety of their shadowy brown, and she took in the chaos. Of the eleven of them, four struggled, hung from the branches of trees and roots, each with an arm broken; three laid on the ground unconscious, relatively unharmed; another four were sunk into the ground to their knees, red faced and pained. Amongst the buried ones, there was a young man, probably no older than she was. She looked away.
With a word, the dirt swallowed their swords and torches, leaving only one of each. With another, the young man was released from the ground. He looked up at her with contempt as he struggled to find his balance, and she merely smiled.
“Release your friends,” she mumbled
“Yer just as they say, a damnedable witch.”
“I am,” she said, and something in her voice was terribly old. It was used and worn and exhausted. Geralt shifted. She kicked Roach gently in the side, and left what remained of the mob to fend for themselves. She never denied what she was, not when she was faced with it. Still…a deep ache took hold in her chest. 
It didn’t take much longer for the Lixela to shrink into a stream and the trees to sparse out. And as they came to deep, impassible crevasse and sheer hillsides, D’ao made a way. D’ao was the only reason this passage would be faster than the rest, and he was most certainly the only reason they were going to be able to keep going. The mountain pass Geralt had spoken of was indeed completely blocked. Massive boulders had tumbled down with a mudslide from the mountains and filled the narrow pass entirely. It was no wonder it was no longer in use, especially if one was going to try and clear a pass through the mess. However, with a bit of determination and earth magic, they were able to make it over the blockage with a new road. It would not be safe to attempt without magic, given that one could sink into a pocket beneath, or something could shift, a metaphorical crutch slipping and causing a disaster, but alas, that was without magic. 
As they finally settled off the narrow road she had built on the other side of the mountain pass, she lowered her cramping hand as sweat drenched her neck and back. The path she made crumbled, disappearing as she panted heavily. The sun was high in the sky, but it was still bitterly cold. For that much, she was thankful. She groaned as she sat up straight again, heaving Geralt’s weight with her. 
 By the end of several hours, the far reaches of Kaedwen opened up before her, the Gwenllech River winding its way through as it poured from the mountains on her right. She sighed in relief at the sight. Almost there.
 North the river, east side of the vale within the peak. Kaer Morhen.
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darero-art · 9 months
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bloodybiohazard · 3 months
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sorry i was busy playing RE8 and shopping .. man i love resident evil
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nerureika · 1 year
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Ciri and Adda 😏
The Witcher and the Princess (Striga)
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rochatoadovna · 11 months
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sketch 'cause I love Siegfried sooo much
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