A short Witcher 3 story
Hi all!
I'm new to the forums but long term Witcher fan, and I'm looking at perhaps doing a series of short Witcher 3 stories. It is only an excerpt, but feel free to comment, and if people like it, I could look into doing it on a regular basis. Enjoy!
It was a cold misty morning, the sun cresting over a distant wood, golden fingers flittering through the trees, piercing the darkness of the fading night.
I rose steadily to my feet, inhaling the cold, crisp air, filling my lungs and awakening my senses for the long road ahead. My next stop was Crow's Perch, a small fortress-like town ruled by an ambitious baron, who proposed some work that might be of interest to me. It was a days ride north, and my noble steed, Roach, seemed delighted at the prospect.
After a few hours of riding, a cool wind descended on the marsh either side of the road, like a veil protecting me from the warmth of the sun. It's perpetual heat baking the sodden grass and damp soil, the smells of the wild permeating the air, instilling a sense of freedom.
I paused for short while to rest, create some fresh Swallow and Tawny Owl, and took stock of the land. I fed Roach a mixture of hay and forest herbs, when my senses warned me of impending danger. The mud around me began to bubble and groan with heavy sighs and hisses, like the last dying breath of thousands of merchant travellers. Three Drowned Dead rose around me, their rotting stench fouling the clean, pleasant air, a noxious odour to turn even the hardiest of stomachs. Their bloated bellies cracked and blistered in the sun, and where there used to be eyes, remained but empty dark sockets filled with blood, crimson tears falling down their faces. Twisted and distorted, they shambled towards me with surprising speed, lashing out with sharp claws covered in rotten flesh, no doubt some poor farmer and his family from several moons ago.
I unsheathed my sword, a dash of Necrophage oil on the blade, and extended my blade at arms reach as I spun around on the heel of my foot, slashing at their bellies. The blade cleaved their flesh like butter, until all three were lying at my feet, crawling and groaning, trying to claw at my legs. A final act of mercy put all three to rest, as I sheathed my blade and rode off.
I arrived at Crow's Perch in the early evening, the sky a blanket of fire, it's gold and red hues reflecting off lakes around the town. The wind had passed, leaving the waters surface like a mirror, the great keep reflecting its majesty for all to see. The air here was damp and humid, you could almost taste it. Heavy and laden with woodsmoke from the peasant quarters below the barons keep. The sound of tree frogs and small insects in chorus, conducting their own unique symphony, was pleasing to my ears. I crossed the bridge into town, to the disgust of the local guards. Witchers were not always a welcome sight in these parts, as most people assumed wherever a Witcher went, trouble was soon to follow. Sometimes they were right. I approached the town inn, fed and watered Roach, tied him up for the night in the stable, and entered the inn.
The air was thick with smoke, the scent of Viziman wine and incense. A lady of the night was working a ragged band of soldiers in the corner, plying her wares for all to see. A stout dwarf sat at the bar with a tankard of mead, the droplets hanging in his beard like golden dew. The hammer at his side was bloodstained and missing a corner, clearly it was well used and looked extremely old. A trio of elfs and a bard were singing by the window, eating suckling pig and baked figs, and everyone seemed content. I paid the inkeep for a room, with a little extra to keep him quiet. A Witchers business is his own.
I sat in a small shabby room, cross legged near the window, with my back to a wall. I made sure to face the door, swords at my side, and I rested. The moonlight shimmering on the lake outside, flooding the room with comforting light. Tomorrow I would approach the baron, and hear his plea. I hope he has good coin. Lots of it too.
Hi all!
I'm new to the forums but long term Witcher fan, and I'm looking at perhaps doing a series of short Witcher 3 stories. It is only an excerpt, but feel free to comment, and if people like it, I could look into doing it on a regular basis. Enjoy!
It was a cold misty morning, the sun cresting over a distant wood, golden fingers flittering through the trees, piercing the darkness of the fading night.
I rose steadily to my feet, inhaling the cold, crisp air, filling my lungs and awakening my senses for the long road ahead. My next stop was Crow's Perch, a small fortress-like town ruled by an ambitious baron, who proposed some work that might be of interest to me. It was a days ride north, and my noble steed, Roach, seemed delighted at the prospect.
After a few hours of riding, a cool wind descended on the marsh either side of the road, like a veil protecting me from the warmth of the sun. It's perpetual heat baking the sodden grass and damp soil, the smells of the wild permeating the air, instilling a sense of freedom.
I paused for short while to rest, create some fresh Swallow and Tawny Owl, and took stock of the land. I fed Roach a mixture of hay and forest herbs, when my senses warned me of impending danger. The mud around me began to bubble and groan with heavy sighs and hisses, like the last dying breath of thousands of merchant travellers. Three Drowned Dead rose around me, their rotting stench fouling the clean, pleasant air, a noxious odour to turn even the hardiest of stomachs. Their bloated bellies cracked and blistered in the sun, and where there used to be eyes, remained but empty dark sockets filled with blood, crimson tears falling down their faces. Twisted and distorted, they shambled towards me with surprising speed, lashing out with sharp claws covered in rotten flesh, no doubt some poor farmer and his family from several moons ago.
I unsheathed my sword, a dash of Necrophage oil on the blade, and extended my blade at arms reach as I spun around on the heel of my foot, slashing at their bellies. The blade cleaved their flesh like butter, until all three were lying at my feet, crawling and groaning, trying to claw at my legs. A final act of mercy put all three to rest, as I sheathed my blade and rode off.
I arrived at Crow's Perch in the early evening, the sky a blanket of fire, it's gold and red hues reflecting off lakes around the town. The wind had passed, leaving the waters surface like a mirror, the great keep reflecting its majesty for all to see. The air here was damp and humid, you could almost taste it. Heavy and laden with woodsmoke from the peasant quarters below the barons keep. The sound of tree frogs and small insects in chorus, conducting their own unique symphony, was pleasing to my ears. I crossed the bridge into town, to the disgust of the local guards. Witchers were not always a welcome sight in these parts, as most people assumed wherever a Witcher went, trouble was soon to follow. Sometimes they were right. I approached the town inn, fed and watered Roach, tied him up for the night in the stable, and entered the inn.
The air was thick with smoke, the scent of Viziman wine and incense. A lady of the night was working a ragged band of soldiers in the corner, plying her wares for all to see. A stout dwarf sat at the bar with a tankard of mead, the droplets hanging in his beard like golden dew. The hammer at his side was bloodstained and missing a corner, clearly it was well used and looked extremely old. A trio of elfs and a bard were singing by the window, eating suckling pig and baked figs, and everyone seemed content. I paid the inkeep for a room, with a little extra to keep him quiet. A Witchers business is his own.
I sat in a small shabby room, cross legged near the window, with my back to a wall. I made sure to face the door, swords at my side, and I rested. The moonlight shimmering on the lake outside, flooding the room with comforting light. Tomorrow I would approach the baron, and hear his plea. I hope he has good coin. Lots of it too.
