A little story from the community
[ Rules:
1. Has to be a Witcher-universe thing.
2. What you write cannot exceed one line (even so, try to be simple).
3. Try to end whatever you write with (...) to keep the story flowing.
4. You cannot post right below to another of your own posts.
5. You can use emoticons.
6. Uncensored stuff (whatever you write is your responsibility and yours alone. Thankfully we got moderators observing us every move).
7. Last but not least, be creative (this doesn't apply to the OP, but anyways. This also means that you can break any other rule above for the sake of creativity, WITHOUT been abusive of course. Your freedom ends where the other's one begin) ]
[ WRAP UP ] (original idea by .Volsung.)
Once upon a time, there was a Witcher named Geralt of Rivia, some called him a freak, others a champion but little did he care for the opinion of sheep. Magnus cared about none of these rumors and legends, all he knew was that the Witcher had slain his king, and he would yet pay the blood price! It was still dark outside when Magnus readied his horse and blades.
— The white wolf -he mumbled- how do you kill a rumor?
Without a second thought he left the stable, riding fast towards the meeting place. Meanwhile, unbeknown of all that, Dimpi Shlizelclomp, who happened to be a halfling and also a professional alchemist, and member of the infamous Pyromancers Club, was very preoccupied in his lab, wondering whether his new mixture would produce the desired result or destroy the hut. Suddenly, there was a panicked and rapid knock at the door, so he dropped the flask he was holding on the floor. The elixir was his 107th attempt of creating a stronger, longer lasting liquid fisstech. It splattered over the floor. More knocking and shouting at the door. “Shut it”, he said. “I'm coming already”. Cursing, he opened the door.
— What, damnit? -outside stood the captain of the guards Gortan and he did not seem happy.
— You imbecile -he shouted- before you blow yourself and this precious lab to pieces, remember that we had a deal: you make the finest fisstech ever to grace this god forsaken land, and I use my extensive network of agents to try and erase all evidence of your past life. The last thing you want is yet another little... accident, added to your personal record. Now put that thing away and take off that stupid lab coat, you're coming with me. There is err... someone, you should talk to.
The halfling gasped... “It cannot be. I was expecting her to arrive soon, but... but not today. Not here. Not in Vizima”. The halfings fears were answered by the great booming voice of a portly old halfing lady. "Dimpikins!"
— Cielerblanche my love, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking care of Junior back in Oxenfurt?
He should have known that this was going to happen, he shouldn't have sent a package to his wife filled with golden coins. But it was the least he could do after he abandoned her and their sick child and ran away to Vizima.
— They know about you, Dimpikins! They've been watching, and they know you've been sending this... this... wretched gold. I don't know who they are, but one man approached me this morning asking about you. He was tall and somber, and said he would find you before sunset. Be careful... I am leaving now, I- takes a deep breath- don't know how much longer I can put up with this.
Dimpi Shlizelclomp, the halfling alchemist nobody knew about, who had been working in secret for years, scratched his head in confusion as he saw his portly wife walk down the cobblestone road. Who could be looking for him? And why now, that he was so close to completing his little, personal side project?
The halfling alchemist went back to his shack. “I must be going crazy”, he thought, “I keep hearing muted voices, like the sound of a million tortured souls trapped in between brackets. But brackets haven't been used as a torture device in ages. Ah, never mind”, he said as he sighed heavily. “Must be the alchemical fumes...”
Also known for his marvelous tea making, Dimpi sat on an old, rickety stool sipping on hot cup of his favorite blend. And tapping with his foot, he let minutes and hours pass him by. Right when the last rays of sunshine peeked through his sad excuse for a window, the sound of heavy footsteps startled him and a loud, determined knocking sent him right off his stool, accidentally dropping his teacup in the process. A booming voice came from outside the door:
— Open the door, halfling. My name is Magnus and I'll skip pleasantries. I have business for you.
Dimpi rushed to the door.
— A-and what business would that be!?- Dimpi stuttered, his hands standing indecisively next to the door, not sure if he should open or close it tighter shut.
— The one where you make it through the night, halfling. Now open it, I will not ask again- Dimpli hesitantly complied.
A face from his nightmares looked down at the halfling, one side of it was burned or torn away, leaving a massive angry red wound covering the remainder. There was no eye on the left hand side of the man’s face and only the battered nub of an ear, and now Dimpi could tell why the man’s voice had contained a hoarse note as he bellowed, there had been some damage done to the throat.
The man brushed past the halfling with an air of arrogant authority, and Dimpi finally recognized the colours and harness of a Temerian Man at Arms, a veteran of La Valette no doubt. Dimpi should have slept in and tended to his Beggartick blossoms that day. His father used to frighten him with stories about the dangers of halfings letting strange folk into their homes, actions that only led to wolves, nasty ghouls and dragons. And he broke his favorite cup! Scared and desperate to break the silence, Dimpi screwed up his courage. "Tea?" he squeaked...
...and right after that he started coughing badly with Magnus turning his head away in disgust.
— You may be a genius alchemist and I bet you can finally come up with your cleanest liquid fisstech formula, but for Melitele's sake, go and see a medic someday. Anyway- Magnus shrugs- I have business with you. You are well traveled for a halfling and yet you are no squirrel- he says while squinting at Dimpi as though suspicious of the facts.
[ END OF STORY SO FAR / LAST EDITED: 7th MARCH ]
---> Once upon a time, there was a witcher named Geralt of Rivia (...)
[ Rules:
1. Has to be a Witcher-universe thing.
2. What you write cannot exceed one line (even so, try to be simple).
3. Try to end whatever you write with (...) to keep the story flowing.
4. You cannot post right below to another of your own posts.
5. You can use emoticons.
6. Uncensored stuff (whatever you write is your responsibility and yours alone. Thankfully we got moderators observing us every move).
7. Last but not least, be creative (this doesn't apply to the OP, but anyways. This also means that you can break any other rule above for the sake of creativity, WITHOUT been abusive of course. Your freedom ends where the other's one begin) ]
[ WRAP UP ] (original idea by .Volsung.)
Once upon a time, there was a Witcher named Geralt of Rivia, some called him a freak, others a champion but little did he care for the opinion of sheep. Magnus cared about none of these rumors and legends, all he knew was that the Witcher had slain his king, and he would yet pay the blood price! It was still dark outside when Magnus readied his horse and blades.
— The white wolf -he mumbled- how do you kill a rumor?
Without a second thought he left the stable, riding fast towards the meeting place. Meanwhile, unbeknown of all that, Dimpi Shlizelclomp, who happened to be a halfling and also a professional alchemist, and member of the infamous Pyromancers Club, was very preoccupied in his lab, wondering whether his new mixture would produce the desired result or destroy the hut. Suddenly, there was a panicked and rapid knock at the door, so he dropped the flask he was holding on the floor. The elixir was his 107th attempt of creating a stronger, longer lasting liquid fisstech. It splattered over the floor. More knocking and shouting at the door. “Shut it”, he said. “I'm coming already”. Cursing, he opened the door.
— What, damnit? -outside stood the captain of the guards Gortan and he did not seem happy.
— You imbecile -he shouted- before you blow yourself and this precious lab to pieces, remember that we had a deal: you make the finest fisstech ever to grace this god forsaken land, and I use my extensive network of agents to try and erase all evidence of your past life. The last thing you want is yet another little... accident, added to your personal record. Now put that thing away and take off that stupid lab coat, you're coming with me. There is err... someone, you should talk to.
The halfling gasped... “It cannot be. I was expecting her to arrive soon, but... but not today. Not here. Not in Vizima”. The halfings fears were answered by the great booming voice of a portly old halfing lady. "Dimpikins!"
— Cielerblanche my love, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking care of Junior back in Oxenfurt?
He should have known that this was going to happen, he shouldn't have sent a package to his wife filled with golden coins. But it was the least he could do after he abandoned her and their sick child and ran away to Vizima.
— They know about you, Dimpikins! They've been watching, and they know you've been sending this... this... wretched gold. I don't know who they are, but one man approached me this morning asking about you. He was tall and somber, and said he would find you before sunset. Be careful... I am leaving now, I- takes a deep breath- don't know how much longer I can put up with this.
Dimpi Shlizelclomp, the halfling alchemist nobody knew about, who had been working in secret for years, scratched his head in confusion as he saw his portly wife walk down the cobblestone road. Who could be looking for him? And why now, that he was so close to completing his little, personal side project?
The halfling alchemist went back to his shack. “I must be going crazy”, he thought, “I keep hearing muted voices, like the sound of a million tortured souls trapped in between brackets. But brackets haven't been used as a torture device in ages. Ah, never mind”, he said as he sighed heavily. “Must be the alchemical fumes...”
Also known for his marvelous tea making, Dimpi sat on an old, rickety stool sipping on hot cup of his favorite blend. And tapping with his foot, he let minutes and hours pass him by. Right when the last rays of sunshine peeked through his sad excuse for a window, the sound of heavy footsteps startled him and a loud, determined knocking sent him right off his stool, accidentally dropping his teacup in the process. A booming voice came from outside the door:
— Open the door, halfling. My name is Magnus and I'll skip pleasantries. I have business for you.
Dimpi rushed to the door.
— A-and what business would that be!?- Dimpi stuttered, his hands standing indecisively next to the door, not sure if he should open or close it tighter shut.
— The one where you make it through the night, halfling. Now open it, I will not ask again- Dimpli hesitantly complied.
A face from his nightmares looked down at the halfling, one side of it was burned or torn away, leaving a massive angry red wound covering the remainder. There was no eye on the left hand side of the man’s face and only the battered nub of an ear, and now Dimpi could tell why the man’s voice had contained a hoarse note as he bellowed, there had been some damage done to the throat.
The man brushed past the halfling with an air of arrogant authority, and Dimpi finally recognized the colours and harness of a Temerian Man at Arms, a veteran of La Valette no doubt. Dimpi should have slept in and tended to his Beggartick blossoms that day. His father used to frighten him with stories about the dangers of halfings letting strange folk into their homes, actions that only led to wolves, nasty ghouls and dragons. And he broke his favorite cup! Scared and desperate to break the silence, Dimpi screwed up his courage. "Tea?" he squeaked...
...and right after that he started coughing badly with Magnus turning his head away in disgust.
— You may be a genius alchemist and I bet you can finally come up with your cleanest liquid fisstech formula, but for Melitele's sake, go and see a medic someday. Anyway- Magnus shrugs- I have business with you. You are well traveled for a halfling and yet you are no squirrel- he says while squinting at Dimpi as though suspicious of the facts.
[ END OF STORY SO FAR / LAST EDITED: 7th MARCH ]
---> Once upon a time, there was a witcher named Geralt of Rivia (...)
Last edited:
Or we can remember other events and characters. For instance, we can try to link the alchemist and Magnus.