wanderingwolfwitcher

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho's smirk deepened as the dark haired Black Sun royal heeded his beckoning, slender, perfect body sauntering her way to and climbing on the bed, joining him there. At once she went about making of his face her new throne, lowering her front forward and her rear descending upon his face. Powerful hands gripping and spreading out her rear, at once he began to feast on her soaked, inviting womanhood, tongue slipping within her and suckling her delicious aroused juices. Savoring her, unable to get enough, as she grinded back down against his mouth, riding his face steadily. His appetite for Sylvia Anna was ravenous, her own nearly matching his, especially as they had only barely even started, that evening. The rest of the duchy she had stolen grew ever more distant, even as they lie in the heart of it... the wet sounds of their heated flesh picking up, giving her what no other could. Her talented mouth, tongue and hands worked his hard manhood all the while in unison with his own mouth against hers. In time, his fingers joined in, slipping inside of her and moving within as well to help prepare her for more of him, a taste of what was to come, intent on working her into another powerful release, losing control, before the main thrill. Her own hand joined his with rubbing her womanhood as well, getting her the rest of the way. He murmured heated words of encouragement against her, adding pleasurable vibrations with his tongue. In time, he brought about her release while continuing to hold his own at bay, saving it up for when they were fully and properly joined together.

Then, when the time came, in the wake of making her orgasm again, working her through the release, he lifted and moved her around to be seated on his lap and facing him, before slipping his manhood deep inside her with a low breath as she encompassed him. The Viper School Witcher began to rock his hips against hers gradually, encouraging her to ride him back, to resume their intimate dance and to show him more of what she could do, glowing viper eyes watching and appreciating her perfect body all the while, breasts bouncing. Missing none of it. It would be easy to forget himself, and his true purpose, his preparations, as it went on. He didn't believe in destiny like some Witchers... but he also didn't believe in coincidences. Something had brought them together here like this... the unspoken understanding they shared. He picked up the tempo gradually, not looking away from the pleasure in her sapphire gaze, the wet sounds of their heated flesh picking up further. The sweat lining their greatly differing bodies glistening more in the candle light. He intended to give her another evening to be thinking about, when she had to return to her throne and rule. Make it sore for her to sit down on the throne... which would doubtless elicit some pleasurable memories. She would need it, for dealing with her henchmen and fawning nobles all day... doubtless she would soon learn, if she hadn't already, the difference between conquering and ruling afterwards. The burdens of such power she had coveted all of her life... sacrificed much and many others for. It was liable to get even bloodier yet, the outcome unknown but unlikely to end well. It was best they make the most of the time they yet had left together, should the worst come to pass.

@fallesto

Her smile grew wider, eyes gleaming with excitement as she took his words as both a challenge and a promise. 

With a grace that belied the fiery passion within her, she straddled Letho, her legs on either side of his head, positioning herself so that her dripping wet core was mere inches from his mouth. She leaned all the way down, dropping forward with a light thud and she took his manhood back into her mouth, savouring the taste of him, feeling it throb against her tongue as she sucked and licked. The room was filled with the sound of their muffled moans and the wetness of their union, a symphony of lust that echoed through the hallowed halls of the castle. Her hips began to rock, grinding herself against his face as she took him deeper into her mouth, her own pleasure building with each passing second. Letho, for his part, would not disappoint. If he were a true man, hot-blooded and filled with passion, then he would act. She felt his tongue dart out, teasing her before diving into her warm, welcoming depths. He licked and sucked with an enthusiasm that matched her own, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as she moved against him. The sensation of his mouth on her was exquisite, a feeling she had craved for weeks, and she moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body. He knew her well, knew just how to make her body sing, and she could feel the tension within her tighten, the crescendo building.

He was the only person who seemed to know her.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as Letho's skilled tongue worked its magic, her hips bucking and grinding against his face. The taste of him filled her mouth, a potent mix of desire and power, and she knew that she would never get enough. She took him deeper, her throat muscles working overtime to accommodate his girth as she swallowed him whole. Her hand found herself, her fingers moving in time with his mouth as she approached the brink of ecstasy. The sound of their muffled moans grew louder, the scent of their desire thick in the air as they gave themselves over to the moment, to the primal need that had brought them together again. The world outside the castle walls was a whirlwind of political intrigue and bloodshed, but here, in this chamber, there was only the two of them, lost in the throes of passion. For a brief moment, she forgot about her crown, her enemies, and the weight of her newfound power. All that mattered was the feel of his tongue on her, the way he made her body come alive, and the promise of his manhood filling her once again. Her grip on his manhood tightened as she took him deeper into her mouth, her other hand teasing herself to the point of desperation.

She would continue, and she would straddle his face as she kept moving here and there as she stretched out fully to give him what he wished, his tongue eager to taste her once more. Her legs trembling slightly as she positioned herself, her wetness dangerously close to his eager mouth. The feeling of his warm breath against her skin was almost too much, and she couldn’t help but let out a whimper as he licked her, his tongue circling her with a precision that made her toes curl. Her own moans grew muffled as she took him back into her mouth, her eyes closing as she savored the taste of him.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

@fallesto

Heather Graham as Annie Blackburn in Twin Peaks

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

As the sunny days and weeks went on in their travels, Eskel found himself increasingly surprised that their luck held out... moving along the country side, through the many fields of gold, past streams, stopping now and again for rest... and passing through regions, villages and towns, gathering supplies along the way, and encountering only animals in need of hunting and the odd lesser monster... yet not the henchmen of the Black Sun Princess, yet. They made good time, better than they had coming down to Ebbing. He enjoyed travelling with her for company, as he had with Shani previously... regardless of how used to travelling alone he was, for most of his long life. Before they knew it, Caravista, Sudduth Valley and the Sansmerci and Malheur Passes came and went without incident, to his surprise... a rare respite on the Path. Either Lady Vivienne, the children or both were proving to be a luck charm. Along the way he taught the children a bit about hunting, self defense and knowledge of the monsters they encountered, collecting further trophies, while she regaled them with more stories whenever they made camp of stopped at more inns for the evenings. When they had to camp in various woods, it took the children a bit of time to get over it... nightmares becoming more frequent, after what the Crone had done to them. Even so, they became stronger and braver as it went on, paying attention to his lessons and example. He wasn't about to have them unprepared for the dangers of the world, especially not after their brush with horrific deaths. They deserved a safe life on the de Tabris Estate... but until they reached its security, the guards, they needed to be ready for the unpleasant world. As ready as the young could be... just as he had been taught from a young age to prepare for a world that would hate him for existing.

Through it all, he sensed the bond between him and Vivienne deepening ever further... their connection and attraction... yet they were only able to acknowledge it briefly at times through the journey, with the children requiring so much of their attention. Stolen kisses, embraces and hand holdings, now and again, out of view of the playing kids for the most part. Her words of appreciation touched him every time... but he didn't yet have it in him to tell her the truth... about the Black Sun... his involvement in it. Deidre Ademeyn. It would have to be spoken of in due time... his part... what he had done. Not for the first time, he wondered how she would see him after she found out... if she would still think him the same man she believed to be her heroic knight in shining armor. As if a griffin medallion hung around his neck, and not a ravenous wolf. He didn't deserve all the praise... but she gave it to him all the same, and would not be discouraged. Eventually, they reached the far outskirts of golden Toussaint, and the Witcher followed the map to get them off the main road the usurper's Black Sun troops would doubtless be patrolling, taking them into the woods. He only stopped them when they were far out of sight of the main road, and had found a back road instead... clearly rarely traveled from the lack of wheel marks or horse tracks. The trees grew gnarled and ominous... evening was near, the sun gradually descending from the skies... and his medallion was humming. Evidently, Geralt had not been able to entirely clear the woods of haunts. His silver sword would need to be put to work again, most likely. Looking over to Vivienne atop the carriage while he remained atop Scorpion, his deep, calm voice washed over her, inclining his head her way. Looking between the golden blonde Lady, curious children looking through the windows with the curtains drawn back, and back out to the woods.

"Caroberta Woods... at last. According to the map... the Trastamara Estate is near. Not far down the road. Liable to be a fixer upper... but I'm no stranger to living in ruined places. We'll make sure it's safe for the children, then settle in and begin repairs and such. Then we find a way to contact Geralt and Shani... find out what's going on in the duchy... plan things out from there. These back roads are clearly abandoned, at least... even Sylvia Anna's men do not patrol it... no tracks. The haunted reputation may help us more than anything else... and the superstitions of the cowardly criminals that serve her."

@fallesto

With all said and done, the night was over, and everyone needed rest for the travel and journey the next morning. The night passed without incident, and she slept more soundly than she had in months. Her dreams were filled with images of the children playing in the gardens of her estate in her homeland, the same gardens where she had once played with her own friends. She dreamed of a future where they were all safe, where the nightmare they had been through will have been lifted, and where the horrors of the swamp were nothing but a distant memory. In the morning, they rose early, the children's faces still flushed from sleep. They ate a hasty breakfast of porridge and fruit, the excitement of the journey ahead of them clear in their eyes. They checked their supplies and weapons, ensuring they were ready for anything that might come their way. They could the children out as they climbed back into the carriage, the children's laughter filling the air as they set off once more.

The carriage rolled through the countryside, the landscape changing from lush forests to open fields of gold. The children pointed and called out at the various animals they saw, their voices filled with wonder. She watched them with a soft smile, her heart swelling with hope and joy. They had come so far together, and she knew that she could not have made it without Eskel by her side. His quiet strength and unwavering protection had become a beacon of light in the darkest of times. As the sun reached its peak in the sky, they stopped to rest beside a gentle stream. The children played and splashed in the water, their laughter echoing through the trees. She watched as he sat nearby, his eyes never straying from their surroundings, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Despite his vigilance, she knew that he was enjoying the moment, the peace that came with their brief respite from the trials they faced. She approached him, her steps careful and quiet, not wanting to disturb the tranquility. "Thank you." She said, her voice soft as a whisper. "For everything." She smiled and looked towards the children, who were now engaged in a game of tag, their giggles and shrieks of delight carrying on the breeze.

The journey ahead was long, and the path was fraught with danger, but in that moment, all that mattered was the warmth of the sun on their faces and the sound of the children's laughter. They had come so far together, from the shadowy depths of the swamp to the open road, and she knew that she would not be able to face what was to come without him. "You're more than just a hired hand, Eskel. You're a hero to these children, and to me." She would comment, she would say it a thousand times if needed, she would continue to say it even if he told her to stop, he was a hero in all senses of the word, a true hero and no doubt the last real hero in this land, as they travel then, camping under the stars, moving through the heat, the rain, the elements to cover ground and sticking to safe routes and always being on watch for anyone that might be working for the black sun princess, but in these lands, there was nothing, either the black sun princess had forgotten about them, or she has been distracted … with something … someone … else.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel managed to find out where he was after escaping Sabrina's cavern lair, the cult, and finding a nearby village, consulting a map for the best way to get where he needed to go. He didn't bother looking for the red donkey along the way... needing a respite from it all. In time, he made it back to Kaer Morhen and wintered there with Scorpion, 'Lil Bleater and the various mules and donkeys they had saved back at Skellige... savoring the rare peace and quiet at last and making the most of it. When the months passed all too quickly for his tastes, the thawing of the snow and ice coming and Spring returning... he returned to the Path with Scorpion... wandering through villages throughout Kaedwen taking simple contracts. Along the way, it wasn't long before he started to hear the fearful stories and rumors, growing with each telling. An apparent curse or supernatural phenomena that was enveloping a particular village, spreading... mist rising... the undead rising along with other supernatural entities... the land blighted and crops failing. Something had to be done about it, and it was liable to pay well... so it initally gained his interest. Yet when he heard the name of the particular village and woods the curse and evil were reputedly rising from... he nearly turned back at once for Kaer Morhen, washing his hands of it altogether. It probably would have been the better, more sane option, the more he heard about it from the stories of folk he encountered.

He would have to return back to where it had all began, what already seemed like eons ago to the Witcher... beckoning him back to the cabin in the woods the damn book had been hidden away within. Destiny again put the book and Sabrina on his Path... he already knew it. Yet he could not leave the village folk he had helped before to their doom... despite the temptation to avoid destiny once more. Resigned, he traveled for the Kaedwen village with reluctance, regretting it the entire way. Eventually, he spotted it in the distance one rainy evening, stopping upon a hill overlooking the village and woods... his medallion going wild, even as far away as he was. He watched the ominous, unnatural mist swirling from the woods and over the village... and knew at once what he was getting into. With a breath, readying himself for the Necromonicon, Sabrina, and Cult... somewhere out in there... he spurred Scorpion to take him down the hill and towards the village... starting with the farms on the outskirts. Hopefully the town's folk hadn't been driven too mad yet... could be reasoned with. He would try to avoid killing any of them... but would be ready for the worst case scenario. First thing was first... find Sabrina, then the book. Loath as he was towards finding either of them again, at this point. She would be waiting for him somewhere in the village... if not out in the woods already, never one to sit around if it could be helped. A curse and a blessing alike, that quality. The trouble it got her and the world into.

@fallesto

Months passed, and with each day, she grew more accustomed to her new life. She had been brought to a village that had stood for a handful of years, nearly three years, and near it, an old building, a shed and a barn, along with a graveyard .. she knew this place, it was somewhere … she had been before, somewhere she knew, where it all started. The village she had been brought to was small, nestled in the countryside, surrounded by rolling fields and lush forests. She had a simple life of carrying supplies, plowing fields, and bearing witness to the daily toils of the farmers. The villagers treated her well, patting her on the head and speaking to her in soothing tones. They had no idea of the darkness that had once dwelt within her, the power she had sought so desperately. And she was grateful for it.

The Necronomicon, however, had not forgotten her. It lay hidden in the far corner of the village, a malignant presence that grew stronger with each passing day. The mist grew thicker, the crops began to wither, and the people grew more and more desperate. They whispered of curses and malevolent spirits, not knowing that the source of their woes was the very book that had once been their savior. The cult had not ceased their search, their whispers carried on the wind like a dark symphony of malice, seeking the artifact they believed would grant them ultimate power. In the quiet of the farmer's field, she grazed contentedly, her donkey mind blissfully unaware of the horrors unfolding around her. She had found a semblance of peace in her simple life, the warmth of the sun on her back and the gentle whispers of the breeze through the grass. But the Necronomicon's power was a siren's call, and it grew louder with each passing moment. It was not just the village that was changing; the very fabric of the land itself seemed to twist and writhe under its influence. 

The mist grew thicker each day, creeping across the fields like a living entity, swallowing everything in its path. The crops that had once been so lush and vibrant now lay brown and brittle. The villagers grew more desperate, their faces hollowed with worry and fear. They had no idea what had brought this curse upon them, only that it grew stronger with each setting sun. Their prayers to the gods went unanswered, their pleas for mercy echoing through the fog. She continued to live her life as a donkey, the burden of her past forgotten amidst the simple joys of her new existence. She felt the change in the air, the tension that hung heavy like a storm cloud, but she could do nothing to warn them. Her thoughts remained trapped in the mind of a beast, unable to communicate the horror that had been unleashed. Yet, deep within, a spark of her old self remained, watching and waiting, hoping against hope that someone would come to save them all from the Necronomicon's wrath.

The villagers grew more and more erratic, their actions driven by the dark whispers of the book. They turned on each other, their eyes vacant, their actions cruel and inhuman. The once-peaceful fields were now scenes of chaos and despair, the crops rotting and the animals acting in strange, agitated ways. The children, once so full of life and laughter, now played eerie games that sent chills down the spine of any creature that beheld them. People vanished, replaced with hollows of themselves, then darkness, only darkness, nothing grew, life faded and in there place, monsters remained, like it was before, a humming source of pure darkness, that spread like a cancer, and like before, she was waiting for a witcher.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Mmm... of course, your highness. We'll make up for it more later... when we ain't so pressed for time..."

The Witcher's low, aroused voice murmured back to the golden haired Empress with evident amusement, in the wake of driving her into her powerful orgasm, kissing her again heatedly at the urging. He thrust into her harder and faster still, the wet sounds picking up between their heated flesh, heeding the command, feeling himself drawing closer to his own release, intent on marking her as his own, and in the presence of the slain Emperor, no less. The searing passion quickly spread through them both, even with how short their particular session of theirs proved compared to the other ones... they simply seemed to have that effect on one another. Long and passionate, or short and passionate... either was still as pleasurable as the other, much as he preferred when he was able to take his time with her. At last, it hit Letho and overwhelmed him with waves of pleasure, drawing a deep grunt from his lips as his powerful manhood began to throb inside her, copious amounts of warm seed filling the Imperator's womb as he held on to her tighter, pounding into her all the while relentlessly atop the stone table, knowing she could take it. Giving her what they both needed. His viper eyes looked back at her fiery emeralds all the while, seeing the satisfaction in them that was matched by his own, unspoken from each of their lips, but evident. They knew each other rather well already, in that regard.

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Mmm... intend to keep that offer firmly in mind, your highness..."

Eskel's low, amused voice returned to the golden haired woman with a chuckle under his breath, relaxing further in the bed with her and Rhaena, feeling the latter's welcome, playful bites. Soon enough, she was settling her head against his shoulder while the handmaiden drew the comfortable covers over top of them. He kept his broad arms wrapped around each of them, as the three of them cuddled up together, settling in for the evening. He had the feeling it would be another evening where it would be easy for him to drift off, but for the moment he remained away and relaxed... especially when Cersei spoke again, making a request of him. He considered matters he could speak to her of... hunts, perhaps, but had the feeling she would be bored by them. One story stood apart from the others, just as it had stood out from his other adventures at the time in more ways than one, when it had first happened to him. The Witcher saw little reason not to give the abbreviated version of the story, at least... and skip the less comfortable part of it. His viper eyes looked between the two women, before settling again on the Queen's emerald pair, and going on with a faint smirk, his hands trailing along both women's backs slowly.

"Have little shortage of stories. For instance, you weren't my first brush with royalty... though are certainly the most enjoyable of them. Saved a Prince a few years back, while I was out camping in the woods near Caingorn. A gang of Werebbubbs attacked his hunting party, beastly but intelligent beings that nearly had him until I arrived with my axe. Bloody work, that. Happened the same day a Black Sun appeared in the skies... a generational phenomena, where I come from. Long story... but not the kind even a Witcher forgets, regardless of all our adventures on the Path. Nothing ordinary about the lives we lead... thus meeting you."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"I'd like that... soon. And you have many years yet, either way..."

Eskel's low, aroused voice murmured back to her in understanding, kissing her back as he moved within her, fingers running through her long golden strands in unison. The prospect was a welcome one, knowing she wanted more of his children... and wanting to give her more just as much. At her urging, her grip in his hair and on his rear, he began to work her harder and faster, the wet sounds of their heated, sweat lined flesh picking up along with the sounds escaping their lips. He concentrated on giving her a powerful release, one of as many of them as she wanted and could handle from him. It took increasing effort to hold his own release at bay. His mouth descended to her neck, suckling and biting along it, marking her up as his own, moving between it and her own mouth feverishly, needing to taste her, unable to get enough. The Witcher's broad arms held on to her tighter, feeling her own grip tightening around him in turn. They fell back into their familiar rhythm and pattern, like it was yesterday, no matter how much time passed between them. Catching up together in the best of ways. All the nights apart seeming from another world, by now, compared to this one they shared. Nothing else mattered, in that instant. At her heated whisper in his ear, her claim of him, his scarred features smirked pleasurably, kissing her again and murmuring back to her between them.

"Mmm... yes. All yours... as you are mine..."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"You could never disturb me, Rhaena. In more ways than one. This face has clearly seen it all already. Or nearly all."

Eskel's low, amused voice assured the dark haired Sorceress, viper eyes watching as she turned and made her way back to the bed at last... appreciating her all the while. It was a view he was becoming used to, but could never get bored of seeing. From the expression she wore and the quickened heartbeat he heard within her, he already had the feeling she was going to address the topic before she did so. Even so, he remained quiet and patient, listening to her attentively as she made the confession out in the open, confirming it hadn't been truly an accident. He was silently pleased by that... and when she fell silent again, sitting up on the bed himself beside her, he took her hand into his, pressing a kiss to and squeezing it, meeting her dark eyes as he contemplated the matter. Barely feeling the coldness entering the room from the balcony, when the Witcher spoke again, it was languidly, pausing now and again to consider Rhaena and his words alike thoughtfully, fingers looping through her own. Marred features smiling deeper and hoping to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from the matter... though not sugar coating himself and his habits either.

"I heard. Difficult to slip words past these ears, in the radius of miles. Don't tend to let on about my senses in public, better to let others talk freely about me and other topics, give me information to act on without knowing I can hear them. It can be the height of wisdom to act the fool, at times. Wasn't sure if it was just an outburst or genuine and didn't want to draw attention to it until you were ready... suppose it was a bit of both. I don't want you to leave now any more than I did before... even less now, really. Just don't want to disappoint you by not being, saying or doing what you would expect of an ordinary man. You already know I've lived a long life not especially conducive to normal relationships. Not saying nothing exists between us... that I don't feel the same way... just that I like to keep things relaxed. See where they go. I've never really been in a rush before, have a whole winding Path ahead of me all the time, and I like to enjoy it as it comes. Figures that seems to apply to other aspects of my life."

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel lay there gladly between the two women, remaining silent and savoring the proximity, the relief of the pleasure before... even as he remained aroused, his blood burning still with desire for both of them. The bed was even more comfortable than the one at the inn, of course... yet it was the company that made it all the more so, despite Cersei's earlier hostility... a hostility liable to continue at some point, this only being a respite. Scornful upper class types rarely, if ever, let perceived slights go, real or imagined. Doubtless she would try to draw it out as a weapon to use against him in the future. Until then, he would enjoy the moment's rare peace while it lasted for him. The golden haired Queen continued exploring his chest... mouth touching them tenderly. Then a smirk touched her lips, as she soon found one of the scars in particular, fiery emerald eyes rising to meet his viper pair. A smirk the Witcher returned faintly, his deep, aroused voice murmuring back to the monarch winking at her slightly before speaking up again. Memories stirring of the particular claw marks she was referring to on his chest.

"Many stories, as there are many scars. That one was from a particularly enthusiastic Bruxa. A blood drinking bat-like entity from another world, that takes on the form of a beautiful woman, where I come from. Their carnal appetites can put even yours to shame... and have strength and durability to match a Witcher. Have some bite marks on my neck from her as well. You would probably enjoy her kind, were most of them not so dangerous to normal folk."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher { as discussed }

The music swells around her as she remains seated upon the dais, overlooking the sea of guests all hiding behind their masks. She’d never heard of such a tradition before, hiding one’s face at a feast. Robert had told her that he’d heard the tale from an Essosi woman, no doubt one of his whores, and he had thought it a fascinating theme for his nameday feast. And so, here she sits, face concealed by an elegant golden mask adorned with carvings of each great house’s sigil. Her golden tresses are expertly concealed by a flowing auburn wig. She intends to remain completely anonymous tonight.

Emeralds instantly fall upon him seated alone across the room. Despite the wolf’s head mask he wears, she knows it is him. She knows not his name, nor had she spoken to him since his arrival in court three weeks ago. But there is something alluring about him and the mysterious air that surrounds him. Even with that hideous scar that marrs his face.

It does not take her long to spot her husband, who is leaving the hall with a woman on each arm. She knows he will be gone for the rest of the night. And so, she rises, approaching the man in the wolf mask.

“For a man wearing such an elegant mask, you seem to be far from enjoying yourself,” she says as she settles beside him. “You aren’t from here, are you? I’m sensing that feasts are not truly your idea of fun.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho heeded the directions of the golden haired Empress with aroused, pleased silence, smirk on his lips as she freed his manhood and guided it fully back inside her tight heat where it belonged, each of them uttering a breath as she encompassed him. His hand remained on her lips for her to suckle, and to muffle the sounds his thrusts were starting to draw out of her, moving deeper, harder and faster within the Imperator sitting on the stone table. Giving her what they both desired and needed. Soon he was outright pounding her cunt, stretching her out, building them both up to their powerful releases, yet he did not hurry it, taking the time to enjoy and savor it. The Witcher couldn't deny how enticing the forbidden situation was... in a supposedly sacred crypt and in the presence of the Emperor he had slain. He had no faith in the Cult of the Great Sun, nor really any contempt for it, yet the sacrilegious act was somehow more enjoyable. The depths of her lewdness. Doubtless she would have many more such scenarios in mind, as he did. They would explore each thoroughly together, make the most of the passion derived from her rising to the throne alone. He replaced his hand over her mouth with his lips, then kissing her hard and deep, tongue meeting hers in another dance, tasting her once more as the heat grew in each of them.

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

A hand sharply swats the serving girl away once the goblet at the Empress’ side is filled. The girl tended to linger too long after completing her duties, particularly when Jaime was present.

Cersei detested anyone looking at him.

Her irritation, however, is swiftly dulled by the loud voice of the master of ceremonies, announcing that the day’s games are about to commence. The Empress sits up in her throne then, a jolt of excitement rushing through her at the prospect of what is to come.

It has been three years since father had passed, leaving the rule of Nilfgaard to Cersei and Jaime. Never before had the empire been ruled by two, let alone by a woman. But she and Jaime were one being…Jaime had refused to rule unless she had been crowned alongside him. Of course, Jaime’s position was far more respected, the organisers of the games seeking his counsel each year. But Cersei was bored, and the organisers was incredibly easy to manipulate. Most men were, her brother most of all.

The manticore had not been an easy thing to acquire, many of her men dying in the attempt. And yet finally, mere days ago, a brave soul had captured one, the man rewarded with a visit to the Empress’ bedchamber. And now, she sits upon her throne above the arena, watching eagerly as the gladiators for the day line up, staring in horror as the creature emerges from the gate. She hears Jaime curse under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. She would sway him later.

Emerald eyes watch in awe as man after man makes an attempt upon the Manticore’s life. And man after man soon falls to the sand, in varying degrees of dismemberment. All except one.

He had piqued her interest on the first day of the games. A fierce warrior, covered in scars with exquisite, cat-like eyes. She had heard him speak once or twice, yet she could not place his accent.

She watches on as he steps towards the creature. He raises his hand and in an instant, the creature is upon its back, the lone gladiator swiftly mounting it and slashing open its belly, guts spilling to the sand beneath it. Cersei had never seen anything like it.

After the day’s game, she excuses herself from Jaime’s company, immediately making her way down into the bowels of the amphitheater where the gladiators resided. The guards eye her curiously, but quickly obey her request to speak with the day’s victor.

“You fought well today,” she says once she is inside his cell, having waved the guards away. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for a man of your standing to enter the games…it’s been three years since we lifted the restrictions and you’re the first to set foot here.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel lost himself again in the pleasure of their embrace, their reunion, the growing heated passion between them that had been long overdue. He saw the fire and desire in her emerald gaze, encouraged all the more by it and her touches. He concentrated on bringing her to her powerful pleasure, the release hitting her, and he worked Cersei all the way through it, the sounds escaping her lips ever enticing, especially the sound of his name. It took effort to continue holding off his own orgasm at the moment, focusing instead on her pleasure. In the wake of her release, after coming down from her high when she spoke again, he stopped moving within her, considering the news and her gaze thoughtfully for a moment or two as it registered, the smile deepening on his marred visage. Understanding at once what she was eluding to by it. Then, continuing, he picked up the movements of his hips on that note, encouraged by the revelation, and leaned down to kiss her intimately again, tongue meeting and tasting hers once more. Drawing ever closer to his own release within her, but not hurrying the process. Murmuring against the golden haired woman's lips between further kisses.

"Mmm... glad to hear it. I'll keep that well in mind, in that case..."

@gcldenlioness

@wanderingwolfwitcher liked for a starter (as discussed).

Skeletal hands claw at silks, at bare skin. Each time the queen swats one away, another takes its place. Soon enough, all she can do is lie back, accept her face, accept the fate of the babe as it is torn from her.

She sits bolt upright, nightdress drenched in sweat as reality slowly returns to her. She is in her chambers, alone. Yet one horrid truth remains. A hand pressed to the flat of her belly confirms it. She had lost the babe two moons ago, the final piece of Jaime that she clung to.

Her nightmares had grown worse since and now, most nights, the dead came for her. Jaime had left to fight them but…what if the living lost and the dead march south?

When Jon Snow had came to King’s Landing to tell Cersei of the threat, Qyburn had insisted on finding a Witcher for court. She had heard tales of Witchers, both good and bad. Still, he might be of use, especially as her fears are beginning to worsen.

And so, later that day, she sends for him, giving him audience in her chambers. When he does arrive, she rises from her seat, holding out a hand so that he might kiss it.

“Eskel,” she offers a smile. “I’m thankful you could join me. We have much to discuss.”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel drifted off to sleep before long, experiencing the once rare sort of sleep where he felt peace, where neither nightmares or dreams reached him. An occurrence that was only increasing, with his time with Rhaena. Yet he was also a light sleeper, and when she left his side hours later, he soon became aware of it, eyes opening to find the dark haired Sorceress absent from the bed. His heightened senses picked her up soon after, though, standing out on the balcony not far away... peering out over it. Even dressed in a fur now, he had little doubt it would be cold on her. The Witcher could probably guess what her restlessness was about, when his mind caught up with him. Part of him was tempted to leave her with her contemplation, knowing full well people often needed to be alone with thoughts, of which he was one of them... but all the same, he felt some concern for her. If she wanted to speak about the matter, at least he should lay the offer on the table for her. Remaining where he lay, keeping things light, his deep voice amused, a smile touched his marred visage as he called out to her. Raising a hand and beckoning to her as well.

"Must be freezing your fine rear off out there. I like the view there as well, but you should come back to bed, stay warm. Don't have my mountain folk resistance to the cold, even with that fur."

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel managed to escape the tunnel and back out into the woods, finding Scorpion waiting for him there and climbing atop the war horse, racing onward in search of the red donkey. At a certain point, his heightened senses lost her tracks, hairs and scent... yet his medallion hummed. Dismounting his horse, he went to inspect the spot... finding her tracks in the ground and noting that they stopped right on that spot... traces of leftover magic... from a portal, no doubt. He was familiar with it by now. Deep anger and annoyance flitted through him... of course she had run off like a coward... a stubborn jackass, at that. True to her new form. She could be anywhere in the world by now... and he was done trying to track after her the slow way. He wasn't Lambert, the errand boy Witcher of some ambitious Lodge Sorceress. He refused to play along any longer with whatever she was trying to accomplish here, off on her own. He had to resist the urge to Aard blast down the closest trees... but didn't resist drawing and slamming his axe into one of them and uttering a string of curses aimed at the Sorceress... before pulling it back out of the tree again and tucking it away. It wasn't even worth anger, but she had a always had a way of drawing that out of him. Then he spoke up to the nearby Scorpion as much as to himself, jaw tightening unpleasantly, viper eyes moving back to his horse of destiny.

"Fuck this. Done chasing an unending nightmare... just making things worse. She clearly doesn't want our help, or need it. We're going back to Kaer Morhen, once we find out where the hell we are. If destiny wants us dealing with more of this shit, it'll put her back on our Path against our will, along with that book and cult. She knows where to find us. Let's get out of here, while it's still an option."

The Witcher climbed back atop Scorpion on that note, running a hand through his mane, and continuing on through the woods. It was just a matter of finding a road or village, or following a stream... wouldn't be the first time he had been out in unfamiliar woods, and found his way back home. He could do with some camping along the way anyways, getting back to nature. At least he had thought to bring his cauldron and hunted food with him, before the cult had attacked, save him the bother of hunting for dinner, come that evening. Despite his deep annoyance, he felt an equal relief to cut his losses with the crimson haired Sorceress. Her curse would figure itself out, or she would find him... no matter where he hid he was incapable of escaping her anyways. Not even death had done the job as it should have. Not for the first time he wondered if that had been a terrible mistake or not... the Necronomicon only becoming the threat and danger is was because of her never ending meddling with it. Onward he passed through the looming trees and bushes, putting as much distance between himself and her fallen cavern lair as possible. And to think he wasn't even getting paid for any of it... that was only adding insult to injury. She wouldn't take his advice even if he found her, as she hadn't been right up to this point. It wasn't worth it, and he cursed himself for the time he had wasted bothering.

@fallesto

She had indeed slipped out the cave through the secret passage and ran through the forest, her mind racing as fast as her legs. The cool night air washed over her, bringing with it the scent of damp earth and the whispers of leaves. Her breath came in heaving gasps, each exhale a desperate attempt to keep panic at bay. She had been here before, in this very forest, but everything looked different to her donkey eyes. The trees towered like giants, the underbrush a labyrinth of thorns and shadows. But she had to keep moving, had to get away from them, had to save herself and the knowledge they had gathered. As the sound of the fighting grew fainter, she allowed herself to slow down, her legs burning with fatigue. She had bailed and left him, passing through a portal as well, that put her on the other side of the forest, miles and miles away to get her out of danger. She stopped for a moment, leaning down to eat some grass, the simple act of grazing bringing a brief moment of calm to her chaotic thoughts. Her mind was still that of a human, craving the taste of roast venison or the sweetness of berries, but she knew she had to eat to keep her strength up. The grass was coarse and bitter, but she chewed and swallowed it down, the juices quenching her dry mouth.

The minutes stretched into hours, and the forest grew quieter, the night deepening around her. Her fear gradually gave way to a dull ache in her heart. She had never felt so alone, not even when she had first stumbled upon the Necronomicon. The moon cast a silver glow through the canopy, painting the forest floor in a stark, unearthly light that made everything seem alien. As she ate, she heard the distant sound of hooves, and her heart skipped a beat. Was it Eskel? He’d be pissed that she bailed on him … again. Or had they found her? The noise grew louder, and she readied herself to run again, her muscles tensing. But as the figures came into view, she realized they were not the cultists she had feared. They were merchants, a caravan of sorts, their wagons laden with goods that smelled faintly of spices and leather. They had seen her and stopped, staring in amazement at the sight of a lone donkey in such a desolate place. One of them, approached her with a coil of rope. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and she knew he saw not the once-powerful sorceress, but merely a beast of burden to be claimed. As the rope tightened around her neck, she felt a strange calmness wash over her. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was safe, at least for now, or the weariness that came from the tumultuous events of the day. Her mind went blank, the panic and fear of the cavern fading into the background as she allowed herself to be led away from the danger. The merchants spoke in hushed tones, their language foreign to her ears, but their intent clear. They would take her with them, perhaps to sell her in the next town. It was a fate she had never considered before, but as a donkey, it was all she could hope for.

As they removed the bag she had, tossed it into a wagon and moved. Her thoughts grew hazy. The Necronomicon was behind her, along with her humanity and the power she had once wielded. Yet, in this moment, with the gentle tug of the rope, she felt a strange sense of relief. The book had taken so much from her, but it had also given her a chance to live, to breathe, to feel the cool night air on her fur. The merchants were a blur of faces, their words just sounds, but she knew she had to be grateful for their intervention. As she mindlessly followed them, with the cult gone, and the book away from her, they would be chasing there own tails.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Letho watched with pleased, aroused silence all the while as Sylvia Anna sank down to her knees before him, submitting to him, and starting to pleasure him with her mouth and hand, along with herself in unison. His arousal seemed to make her all the more heated, the effect she had on him, just as the effect he had on her made his blood burn more furiously. Having a woman of such power and standing knelt before him, a crowned royal worshiping him in a primal way that would be a scandal to the masses that now worshiped her. Desiring to feed upon his seed, wanton with lust. There was no denying her talent... he had desired and missed it as she had him... it would be easy to lose and forget himself in the pleasure... especially when they made it to the bed... yet he held on to himself, even as he was fighting a losing battle not to lose control of his release she was expertly building up. Eventually, unable to hold back, grip settling on her head encouragingly, hips rocking back against her, he came hard, manhood throbbing in her mouth, feeding her copious amounts of his warm seed, as the waves of pleasure hit him all at once. Grunting and cursing as he was overwhelmed, she tended to him all the while, and making herself orgasm as well, each of them releasing together. In the wake of their releases, coming back down from the high at last, his manhood remained hard for her, the desire still burning in his blood for ever more of her, appetite not abated in the least. Wanting to be deep inside of her all over again, marking her as his own. He reluctantly withdrew from her mouth, then, peering downward into those alluring sapphire eyes of hers, settling a hand on her chin and rubbing her face tenderly and gratefully.

"Mmm... much better. I'd say you've earned more, your highness. As much as you can handle."

On that note, reaching down the Witcher scooped up the nude royal woman with ease, putting her over his shoulder and turning around, making for the bedchamber inside, moving off the deck and from beneath the night sky. His powerful hand spanked her on her fine rear approvingly along the way, gripping it firmly, knowing how much she enjoyed being manhandled like she was his plaything, the smirk remaining on his rough visage as he entered the bedroom and made for the lavish, sizable royal bed again. He took his time, enjoying the anticipation they shared, but soon enough found himself standing before the bed once more. Yet he did not toss her into it, despite the temptation, another desire coming to him. Having the feeling she would desire it no less than he did. Instead he set her back down on her feet in front of it, before climbing in the bed himself first, giant frame laying back in it. Already an array of lewd ideas were forming to enjoy with her... having little doubt she had plenty of them on her own as well... and they had all night and beyond to go about sating them, with Eskel and Lady Vivienne yet some distance from Toussaint. They would make the most of the time they had left before the conflict reached the duchy. Once he had gotten comfortable, the entirely bare Witcher, manhood still standing tall for her, smirked deeper. His glowing serpent eyes shifted back to the black haired, crowned beauty, drinking in her form, raising a hand and beckoning to her invitingly, his low, gravelly tone commanding the royal once more.

"Now... if you're really my woman... show me what else you can do. What you desire most. How best you will serve me."

@fallesto

“Tsh …”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of desire and defiance, but she knew he was in control here. With a grace that would put any courtier to shame, she moved then for him, her body gliding over his, leaving a trail of heat as she hit the cold stone floor. The clatter of her golden rings and necklaces echoed through the chamber as they fell from her trembling fingers, rolling away to rest against the far wall. She was naked, vulnerable, and on her knees before him, the very picture of submission that she never allowed herself to be in the court of Toussaint. Yet here, with Letho, she felt anything but weak. Her mouth watered at the sight of his erect manhood, a testament to the power she had over him in this moment. He was a force to be reckoned with, a witcher who had seen more than his fair share of battles and horrors, yet he knelt before her, his desire unbridled and raw. As she wrapped her soft, eager lips around him, she could feel his pulse, the throb of his need resonating through her very core. Her own hands began to wander her body, teasing her sensitive flesh as she took him deeper into her mouth, her tongue dancing along his shaft with a skill that would make any court jester's bard's tales pale in comparison.

The clatter of her jewelry echoed through the room, a symphony of gold and jewels that seemed to sing a song of surrender. Her eyes never left his, the sapphires dark with passion and hunger as she worked her magic, her teeth grazing him gently, her throat taking him in with a wanton abandon that left her gasping for air. She felt him tense, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap, and she knew he was close. But she wasn't done yet. With a wicked smirk, she pulled back, her hand still wrapped around his base, stroking him slowly as she watched him struggle against the need to come.

Her other hand found her own wetness, her fingers moving in time with the rhythm of her mouth as she touched herself, her moans muffled by his flesh. The sensation of her own pleasure only added to the heady mix, making her want him even more, making her hunger for his release. She could feel the tension building in the room, a tangible force that seemed to thicken the very air around them. She knew she had him, that she was in control of this dance of desire, and she reveled in it. Her hand moved faster, her thumb circling her as she took him deeper, her moans growing louder, her body writhing against the cold stone as she brought herself closer to the edge. Her hand moved faster, her breath hitching in her throat as she felt her own release building. The sight of him, the power of him, the raw, primal need in his eyes, it was all too much to resist. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the head of his cock, tasting the salty precursor to his seed as it leaked onto her lips. She sucked him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she took him in, her moans vibrating around him as she touched herself. As she was hardly a duchess here, or a ruler, a killer, or a monster, just a woman, with a man, who would trade it all for him, but that .. was just the heat of the moment and nothing more than that.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

@fallesto

twin peaks wips