#vattghcrn

[howthesleeplesswander]

@vattghcrn continued from here! ((these boys are going on a desert adventure 😤🙌))

"Oh, ha-ha," Kaveh said with a roll of his eyes. "And people think witchers don't have a sense of humor. You could wear some color along with all that armor, you know. Personally, I think you'd look rather handsome in rich greens. Something like a nice olive or dark pine—oh, or even juniper!"

He took a moment to study the brilliant gold of Geralt's eyes that practically glowed beneath the desert sun. Definitely green, the artist nodded to himself. "It could even be like camouflage if you had contracts in the forest. Color isn't just for aesthetics—it can have practical applications, too!"

But Geralt eventually gave a serious response, to which Kaveh simply scoffed. The only reason the witcher would trek this far out into the desert was if there was a job to be done. Honestly he could hardly imagine what kind of monster was lurking in the sand that even the Guardian of Aaru Village couldn't handle.

"The last time I ventured into the desert I passed out from the heat," he admitted with a grimace. "I was out for hours; I didn't come to until it was nighttime and the air had cooled off. It's a miracle I didn't get sunburned to death!" Not that he regretted the actions that led to that consequence. Winning the Interdarshan Championship would've rung hollow if he hadn't gotten those desert foxes to safety first.

"I wouldn't call 'passing out' fun or a way to change things up." And yet, a silent moment passed where Kaveh squinted out at the distant dunes before heaving a dramatic sigh. "Fine, alright—but don't forget that you promised to help me collect some henna berries! I'm down to the last few drops of my favorite red paint, and I can't make more without them."

[yukikorogashi]

T-THAT VOICE... Ooohhh, she would know that voice anywhere! Catching herself just before she tumbled right over with the large bale of hay she was hefting upon her shoulder-- Itsuki would wisely set it down in front of her first before looking right over. Her wide eyes taking in her unexpected guest(s), almost as if she hadn't seen such a sight in like... forever. And, just as a grin would begin to light up those surprised features of hers, it would be the horsey's gentle, high-pitched neigh that would get her to leap right into action!

"BROOOOO!" Her greeting-- when compared to his own- was of course loud enough to draw the attention of all those nearby. An absolute burst of jubilee, as she throws her arms out and wraps them around his mid-section the best that she could. Not even having to mind the chainmail and tough leather that he still wore-- Actually, was that actually a new set ya got on there, bro~?

"Jus' doin' the best we can, as always, bro." She would offer with a lighthearted little salute, upon finally pulling back from that big hug she'd give him. For even if she was still looked up to by most as this village's leader, Itsuki would always see them all as a TEAM when it came to getting things done. To making the CHANGE that they wanted to see in such turbulent times as these. "Hehe, but thank ya kindleh~ Uhm glad our efforts show~" But she couldn't help but beam at that, very much appreciating the bro for checking up on her. There was even some sense of PROTECTIVENESS in those last few words, especially if she were to tell him otherwise then-- "An' they 'ave, bro! Aside from us, there's been a few dat come on by ta lend a hand or two-- Thooough..." She couldn't help but laugh at that, humorously even leaning in then to whisper the next part to him, "Leet's jus' say some of them ain't cut out fer the farmin' life-- if y'know whata mean~"

@yukikorogashi || bc geralt missed this beam of sunshine (*´∀`*)

“Now, there's a familiar face.”

No other introduction—no simple hello—came before that, a brief moment of shared eye contact doing the favors for them, as far as Geralt was concerned. He had crossed the trodden down path to reach young Itsuki's side, and the chestnut mare in tow offered a crisp whinny that was a pleasant greeting in their approach. A smile rested easy on Geralt's lips as he dipped his head to the girl: as respectful as it was friendly.

“Been keeping things in order around here, looks like,” he observed, yet a fond stare did not drift from Itsuki's gaze for a more thorough check. “But I hope a few other folks have seen to lending you a hand.”

[fitztrevelyan]

    Two wolves || plotted @vattghcrn​​

The Crossroad feels very wrong. Walking on a ceiling can't be right. But I'm following my sister and that is not gonna change, ever. Even when I see her swallowed into the air pond, I follow. It scares me, but where she goes I go. 

We've already walked through four of those things, every time they've brought us to a different place, how can this be right? I warned sister, I told her the grumpy one is an old wolf, he knows tricks. But she insists. "Trust me," she says.  And so I do. I always do

⁓ Sister! ⁓ I cry. Green fire stabs through my flesh and then, nothing. Only darkness.

⁓ Sister... sister... ⁓ 

Echoes from afar. Ah! Everything hurts. Back, tail, legs. The light is too strong. I can't keep my eyes open. The air feels strange.

⁓  sister... ⁓ I try to reach out, gotta check on her, gotta know she's fine, but her voice is distant.           ⁓ Sister, where are you? ⁓

This place smells weird. I'm thirsty and also gotta eat something or I won't heal. There's a rip in my back leg. I lick it well, remove the fur about the wound. There's something off about my nose as if all the scents were wrong. But I smell water. That much I know. Maybe a fish? A fish would do, I'm too weak to hunt game.

I found it! A creek. That looks like a good spot, I can wade through and wait for some fish to get stuck in the shallow water. I wanna drink but something is not right. I'm sniffing rotten meat. Ugh! the stench! The water is boiling! Something attacking me! Looks like human carrion with fish eyes and claws. And it's fast! I duck and dodge, but I'm too weak. I can't win, I must retreat, run fast. As I turn back more of those things come out of the water. This is it. I'm done. ⁓ Sister, I need you, where are you? Why don't you talk to me? ⁓

Fine. If these things want me dead, I'm not gonna make it easy!

[bardstune]

   Traveling with Geralt was by no means safe, but Jaskier didn’t do it because it was safe. He did it because he enjoyed the story and enjoyed Geralt’s company. They both gained from it, though Geralt wouldn’t admit that he was confident that the other enjoyed his company. And then--some days were better than others. Some days were safer than others, some days they wandered across people who hated Witchers and put their entire life’s effort into murdering them--and today was one of those days.

   It wasn’t just one man, one ‘assassin’ or whatever they called themselves. Brutes was a word Jaskier would use, barbarians. There was four of them, strongly trained and cruel. They’d cornered them near a cliff, perhaps thinking they could get lucky and just throw Geralt over the edge. They weren’t the push over humans that Geralt was used to but they were just humans and four against one, against a Witcher, not the worst for them but it could have been better. Either way, they’d clearly been following them for a while, preparing, because Geralt had just ran out of Swallow. 

   The man had fought some monstrous creature, used his last Witchery potion and they were up here looking for the ingredients to it when they got cornered. Geralt had shoved Jaskier away, effectively splitting the two of them apart and that--well it did more damage than good. Apparently allying yourself to a Witcher was just as damning as having no opinion. They effectively decided to start with the Witcher and then gut the bard. 

   Jaskier objected his opinion of that quite loudly. 

   He doesn’t know how they got the upper hand on Geralt, doesn’t believe it was that easy, but at one point they actually had the Witcher dangling over the edge of that damn cliff and that was when they just decided their victory. Of course it did seem high in their favor but Jaskier hadn’t panicked to much yet, not until they decided now was the time to gut the bard. One of them turned on Jaskier, got the first few good hits in and knocking him down. He tried his best to crawl away, had his ankle snapped and just when he was sure he might get gutted in truth--he felt the handle of one of Geralt’s swords. 

   Considering they were up against humans he was sure this was the silver one, not that he particularly cared in the moment Geralt could yell at him later. Gripping the handle tightly the bard rolled over, swung the blade through the air--and felt the head of his attacker hit him in the chest. His body felt cold at watching the carcass fall, blood soaking his shirt through. He scooted back in terror, the sword still held tight in his hand as he tried to process what just happened. 

   He’d killed a man, cut his head off, the damned thing was in his lap. He might be sick, he could feel himself gagging. 

   Jaskier barely registered Geralt’s presence until he heard the man speak, dully realizing he was trying to take the sword from the bards grip. He didn’t loosen his fingers around the hilt, if anything he gripped it tighter. What would have happened if Geralt fell from that mountain? Where were the other men? Why was it so hard to breath? 

   ❝ I am not okay-- ❞

@vattghcrn​ 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻 / 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 // 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 ❝ 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾. ❞

[ironbloodccd]

@vattghcrn​

     He’s a small boy, no more than six seasons, if that. One could only assume that he’d been on his own for some time, given the tattered appearance of his clothing and the grime that clung to his hair and skin. Still his disheveldness isn’t the main issue as he stares down from the tree that he’s clambered up into, eyes wide with what is likely fear and distrust.

     The scene at the base of the tree is a bloody one, with the bodies of several Bokoblins littering the ground. They were the reason that he’d ended up there in the first place, tiny hands clinging to a tree while they’d shrieked up at him, as if doing so would somehow knock the child from his perch. The sun had been high when this had started, and was now beginning to set, marking the closing of a long and frightening day for him.

     It might have continued into the night, had the man not shown up. With frightening efficiency, he’d dispatched the lot of them, until the only ones remaining in the clearing alive were himself and the little boy. Now, the child’s gaze was fixed on him, his stare wordless and his tired body tense. It had been some time, truthfully, since he’d laid those big, blue eyes upon another person.

     Though to say that the stranger had his trust anymore than the beasts had would have clearly been false.

[lionorsa-a]

@vattghcrn​

               the road to nilfgaard was long, but calanthe had seen her goal CLEARLY, and she knew she would not back down, no matter how many more DAYS, months or years it would take her. she would stand in front of emhyr var emrais and take her REVANGE on him. the rain stopped her in her tracks once again, and she made her way into the TAVERN, black cloak hiding her silver hair - a trait almost SOLELY shared in the line of riannon. it wasn’t until she heard someone say the word WITCHER, that she rose her emerald eyes from the tankard of WATER she held in her hands, and she looked in the direction the voice came from. 

                her HEART skipped a bit, for there was no way she could ever mistakehim for anyone. GOLDEN eyes and white hair could only belong to one witcher, one she knew well and, once upon a time, held in HIGH regard. “ mother of mine, “ she whispered, “ geralt of rivia! “

[conjuringimportunity]

just a quick psa .. i love @vattghcrn​

[jaskicr-a]

fine line lyric starters / accepting @vattghcrn​ asked :   ‘ i’m sorry , by the way . ’ :3c

a witcher’s sincerity can always be called into question, on the basis of their ORIGIN if nothing else. so monotone, yet overbearing, the bulk of their interactions involving INTIMIDATION alone. or at least, such is the speculation of the public. dandelion only knows better after years of experience and careful study. he knows that there is always more than what is PRESENTED on the surface, especially in geralt’s case, and that generally witchers are not the machines they will themselves to be. the bard is aware that the tune of geralt’s HEART is not often the one that his mouth sings.

that KNOWLEDGE does not make these occasions hurt any less.

often when geralt loses his temper with him, dandelion DESERVES it. he is a pest, this he knows, as well as a smotherer. the days where thinks about these things are the few in which dandelion is, for once, SILENT. for better or for worse, geralt gets a break. the witcher’s apology jolts dandelion out of his stupor, gentle blue eyes lifting from the lute he had absently been PICKING at. he summons a soft little smile to his features, perhaps unbecoming of one who usually smiles so BIG and BRIGHT.

❛ ah, no worries, friend. it happens. ❜  he raises his lute once more, having half a mind to head to the nearest tavern and sing for some extra coin.  ❛ there are WORSE things. ❜ 

[sweetnull]

@vattghcrn has come for herbs

her nose was buried deep in a book. leather, well worn, and filled with various herbal remedies and cures. something she’d made herself to keep track of the mixes that the villagers often requested. flipping through the pages to find a certain recipe had the herbalist’s attention - not the stranger entering the small abode. a meek squeak of surprise escapes pale lips; icy hues dart upwards from the parchment to the large figure standing just within the doorway. 

the immediate reaction to seeing the man is to make note that he is not from the village below. nor is he dressed in a common fashion. however, these observations are kept to herself for the moment. 

- “ ah - yes. i am she. my, you startled me, sir! apologies for bumping into you; can i help you with anything? ” each word is pleasant, conveyed through smiling lips. the book is tucked safely into one of the pockets of the plain beige skirt. if he had need of something containing flora, null could most certainly provide!

[daelgar]

@vattghcrn

    It was safe to say that there was not much Kali wasn’t afraid of. She had quite the nervous disposition, comparable to a doe in both mannerisms and honestly sometimes looks. It was Cassandra who had spoken to Geralt mainly, Kali nervously pitching in answers when asked questions. She admired the Witcher, though his profession conflicted with some of her personal views on creatures, from the rumours she had heard at least. But she wasn’t one to rely on rumour, and once she had worked up the courage she approached him in the Herald’s Rest, tankard in hand as she placed it on the table in front of him.         “Cabot said this is what you usually order,” she said quietly. “May I sit with you?”

[howthesleeplesswander]

@vattghcrn bc xiao took one look at geralt and had some Thoughts(TM) he needed to express 😤

"Humans have long had questionable judgement—nowadays more than ever, it seems." Ancient golds peered steadily into those of a similar shade, noting the other's slit irises that gave away his true, more-than-human nature. But the adeptus didn't need to see his eyes to know he was more than he appeared.

The oath bound to his being wasn't fooled by appearances. Xiao could sense it when someone strayed even a single step beyond the realm of "human," but that same honor-bound part of him understood what may drive an ordinary mortal to surpass that barrier.

"They pass judgement on what they do not understand, even when it aims to help them. The baseless opinions of mortals do not invalidate your efforts on their behalf any more than their praise would validate it." Arms crossed firmly over his chest, Xiao was unwavering in wisdom gained over millennia, and in the conclusion drawn from it:

"Your profession is noble. Only fools would think otherwise."

[krwioholik]

He gives a weak chuckle at the comment but he simply does not have it in him to argue nor agree with Geralt in a more substantial way right then. He's too tired to even think too intently on how close Geralt is cradling him, how gently so. How he allows him to rest his cheek against his chest, so near his neck, showing an amount of trust Regis isn't even sure he deserves... or perhaps simple recklessness he might scold him for later.

The rhythmical pattern of Roach's hooves rocks him into a half doze, a way to escape the painful throb in every inch of his body, an echo of the unsatisfied hunger that wrecked him, the fury that had burned in every cell of his being. But as he dozes he relaxes too much, starts to slip, jerking awake instinctively - but he's already caught and steadied in Geralt's embrace. His eyes close again and he exhales with relief.

He stirs back into fuller consciousness when he catches the familiar scents of his cemetery home; herbs, alchemical solutions, and his own scent that marks the territory as his to other vampires. Crows caw above them, calling out to him in worried greeting but he doesn't aswer them, mustering strength to speak to Geralt instead.

"Main entrance..." he offers quietly, gesturing his hand towards the door to the crypt. It'll open for them now, no need to go the more difficult path inside.

There is a part of him that doesn't want to go back in, though. A part that clings to Geralt a little as they dismount, and not only to catch his balance against the witcher when his legs tremble under him. Don't let me go, it pleads, silently, secretly.

@krwioholik || Post Tesham Mutna (bc you gave me the idea and I had to run with it :3c)

“Told you we should’ve had a safe word.”

Despite the winds rushing past, the rhythmic staccato of Roach’s hooves across the terrain, Geralt says this in a low rumble: what would be indecipherable if not for the proximity of the intended recipient (among other factors). He angles his head to better see around the weakened vampire huddled against his chest, readjusts the reins deftly between his fingers. With a gentle tug, the mare slows in the slightest. Just enough, it would seem, to make the ride that much smoother and more comfortable—even if it meant delaying the arrival to their destination.

Part of him, Geralt realizes, is angry.

A small part, mind: not enough to incite any real response beyond a characteristic huff that’s just as quickly carried off by the breeze. But if he had known— If Regis had been totally clear on this being actual torture—

Fuck. Well. That can only be why he didn’t say anything.

And Geralt knows, despite it all, he can’t in good conscience fault him for that.

“Steady now.” Equally possible the command—escaping as a soft sentiment—is directed at Roach or Regis. As Geralt senses a sway in his friend’s weight, he reacts in kind, twisting one arm to lightly bump Regis’s shoulder and keep him even somewhat upright on the saddle in front of him. But the next statement is far clearer. A promise. Uttered on more of a breath than a tone made of gravel:

“I got you.”

[dryadalismagicae]

@vattghcrn  ||  Discovered the Wanderer

Panted breaths were ragged; the throat of which they gradually emanated from sore and hoarse. Fiercely did his heart thump inside of his chest, the sound reaching his ears simply to be distracting from what was at hand. Never had the elf been comfortable in battle; his skills as a mage were intensely strong but it was his heart of which stopped him from being brutal. Death was not something to be considered lightly and it was that way of thinking in which held him back, in which made his lonely wandering across the wilderness all the more dangerous. With his back against a tree did he attempt to regain his breath, the sheer grip upon the staff in his left hand forcing knuckles to turn white, the tip aflame. Whatever the damned creatures were attempting to tear him limb from limb for a quick meal, they were persistent; no matter how much fire he tossed their way, they refused to give in.  

[secretsandhushedwhispers]

(ಥ_ಥ): finish this: i hate it when… (:3c)

Get to know the mun

I hate it when I have so much anxiety that I can’t make a small and/or important phone call ;v; I have massive anxiety when it comes to phones that I never answer a number I don’t know exactly who it is. Text messages I don’t mind responding to even if it’s a wrong number.

[oathstained-blog]

❝ you have a knack for ominous statements. ❞

MERRILL.

       “ ohh… ”  boy. that’s something.  “ i think the world just has   a knack for being gloomy, y’know… ”  especially this one.    ( creators. )

side-eyes the witcher real hard. “ surely you’re used to much worse..? ”             it’s tinged with just a smidge of desperation.

@vattghcrn. | lmao.

[sheasp]

@vattghcrn [x] :

   He smiles in spite of himself. Indeed, she has that effect on him.

   Far too ordinary, now, the position in which they lie: Radana has, for as long as the White Wolf can remember, been none too shy with her touch, and while she idles with the chain around his neck and studies him with eyes just as inhuman as his own, Geralt for many moments does not look back. No stubbornness to the gesture. He does not huff like a petulant cat and raise his chin, feign some form of ignorance to her attention simply to prove a point. Rather, just as simply, the witcher has learned the instant he meets molten gold, he is near powerless to look away.

   So he must first accept the consequences. And it is after a low rumble in his throat that he finally turns his head just so, pins her lidded stare with a passive look almost masking that he is now ensnared.

   “Reckon I’d still be here,” he answers, pursuing her phrasing in as literal of a manner as he can—and something playful flickers swiftly through his eyes. “Trapped beneath a vampire who assumes she owns just about anything she sets her eyes on.” Did that include himself? He’d not have to say. “Before you ask, no.”

   Geralt does not, however, stop her from having her fun. “Finer medallions would better suit you, besides.”

         Most would find the rows of pointed teeth displayed with the curling of lips into bemused smile to be unnerving at best -- but that couldn’t be helped; predators always looked the menacing part, no matter whether her eyes twinkled like the heavens above. There was, after all, something to be said about the casual manner in which Geralt spoke; not many had the nerve for nearly as long as she’d been a resident of the dimension. For centuries, one pedestal or another had held her aloft and away from any other soul. Not always a negative, certainly -- it was more than satisfying in particular moods -- yet remained... Dare she admit to loneliness? Never. Detlaff and Regis both filled in a great deal of the cavernous void, and for a time, she’d felt content with the valley or two that remained. Funny how another being could come along and show one what they’d been longing for for an odd few centuries.

     “Smart of ass, you are.” Ahh, she supposed she could admit defeat with a simple no; her desire to wear his chains upon her own collarbone hadn’t been overwhelming. Finger pads dance instead up along his pulse ( and of course, there was no passing along without tarrying a moment to bask in the vibrations of everything she’d come to hold dear ) to settle happily within Geralt’s beard. “But handsome enough to forgive lapse; I do.”

     What little distance existed between them disappeared in a slow moment, replaced by affectionate and lingering kiss. No different than the way he couldn’t look away could she herself refrain from being drawn in to whatever intimacy the moment between them held.

     “Likely, but no silly diamond smells like you... No matter; when next we stop at home, I give you something of mine to hold.”