The Heart of a Witcher Chapter The White Wolf Returns, a witcher fanfic | FanFiction
If you chose to help Roche/Iorveth, is she going to be mad at you in the next game? . My advice would be to move this to "Quests related Topics" or change with Roche training her) and then on the other path I want Saskia to lead As for Triss and Geralt, their relationship seems to be solid and as has. I never asked you to be my therapist and I damnwell didn't ask you to decide for me. Personally I felt my relationship with Iorveth was a tense one at the end of I just wish I could save Saskia and side with Roche ah what a. Relationship: Iorveth/Saskia (The Witcher) what input he could and felt oddly humbled when his advice was heeded, and not just by Saskia.
Iorveth tossed his branch aside and pocketed his knife, glad to rise to his feet and stretch out his legs. Is it the tits? The stone halls were refreshingly cool and always smelled pleasantly of earth and moss. He hesitated near the door, caught between the desire to barge in and address whatever it was that concerned her and listen quietly from the hallway.
Fortunately for him, he did not have long to wait. Only silence remained within the room. When he was certain no others would be exiting, Iorveth stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He cast his gaze about the large meeting room and found only Saskia standing next to the large table, palms flat against it, head hung and chest heaving as she muttered furiously under her breath.
It was a rare thing to see Saskia lose her temper, but the few times that he had, Iorveth had been astounded by how fearsome she could be, even in human form. In truth, it was one of many of her traits that resonated with him, and he rather liked seeing her worked up… He adamantly pushed the ensuing thoughts from his mind, irritated at how quickly his thoughts devolved into amorous daydreams.
After a moment, she looked up, and the furling smoke in her eyes abated. They are egocentric psychopaths. They will show no respect for you or for any husband that you choose, especially Radovid.
But what I think matters little. She looked tired and tense, he noted as he studied her, like she had not slept in days.
- Would Triss be mad a Geralt if he chose to help Iorveth/Roche instead of saving her
Iorveth unfolded his arms and stepped towards her, leaning back against the edge of the table beside her. Perhaps one we can indulge in another time. The first was a little over a week ago, scouts headed to the east along the Pontar.
The second was a few days ago, searching for the first. Eislenir had told him of the second patrol, and the ever-restless Brenswyck had eagerly joined.
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Saskia paced to a window, her shoulders tense as she gripped the stone ledge and looked out over the city. It reeked of death. Not of war, something different. That it has our people. I spoke of this to Zoltan the same evening, told him of my fears. Did he agree to come? Zoltan assures me that he will, but I have my doubts. Even if he is nearby, with the war I fear he will not arrive in time. But we need our people back. We need everyone we can muster if we are to face what is to come.
I would go with you myself, but every day the city grows more anxious, and I cannot risk being absent if one army or another appears at our gates.
If my suspicions are right and our people were taken, by no means are you to investigate further. The witcher will help us, or we will find another way. You must return and tell me what you find. Is there anything else?
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The land to the east was hilly and forested, difficult to traverse by human standards, but Iorveth had spent a good amount of time exploring the area. He was certain he could find the answers they needed. She stepped forward slowly, seeking the right words in her patient, thoughtful way. As he moved through the trees, Iorveth remained alert for any signs that would suggest trouble, but nothing seemed out of place.
Both sets of trails stayed close with little evidence of conflict or divergence from the set course. In truth, the journey was quite dull, and Iorveth found himself wondering if Geralt ever found his job monotonous or tiresome. It was several hours before Iorveth found anything of interest, and when he did, the information he gleaned was unusual at best. The trails he had been following east turned suddenly and sharply to the south, away from the Pontar, and towards a rocky hill.
But the unsettling truth was the second trail turned in a similar direction before the first, meaning that something else had driven the second patrol away from the river. Either way, the path was clear, and Iorveth decided to continue following the trails towards the hill. As he walked, he drew his bow, an odd sensation of uncertainty sending a faint chill across his skin. The paths continued upwards, pressing onward even when the terrain grew rocky and difficult. He wondered what could have driven both groups away from the river and across such unstable ground, but there was little around that Iorveth could see to explain what had happened.
As the hill grew steeper and more treacherous, he returned his bow to his shoulder and used his hands to help pull himself up the rocks.
The hill gave way suddenly to a brief plateau, then dropped again suddenly into what appeared to be a roughly-hewn cave entrance. The tracks he had been following below were gone or impossible to follow over the rocky ground. What, he wondered, frequented caves? From what he could see, there were no monstrous footprints, no remnants of the patrols, nothing to mark the cave as special.
Yet Iorveth had the distinct feeling that answers were close at hand. He knew full well that he should turn back, that he had accomplished what Saskia had asked of him, but curiosity drew him forward, and he carefully advanced down the steep slope towards the cave.
The air moving out from within was cold and damp and smelled of mold. If there were traces of anything else, he could not detect them. No movement, no noise. He moved forward slowly, fingers trailing along the wall to guide him. If his vision adjusted to the lack of light, it was only just. Iorveth began to slow, growing more uncertain as the mouth of cave shrank behind him. The floor seemed to be angling down further into the earth, and the sounds of the outside world had grown dim.
It was time to turn around. Just as his pace was about to slow to a halt, a startling clang of metal sounded as his foot connected with something heavy on the ground. Iorveth knelt, fingers tentatively reaching into the darkness.
His hands closed on the object, fingers tracing its cold edges: Yet, its outside was sticky with half-dried liquid. He brought his fingertips closer to his face, though little confirmation was needed. Iorveth gritted his teeth in a silent curse and lowered the helmet to the ground as quietly as he was able, fingers seeking out the safety of the wall. He turned back towards the way he had come, suddenly very eager for the clarity of daylight, and started in alarm as he became aware of something standing just inches away.
He stumbled backwards, heels catching on the rocky floor, and desperately reached for the sword at his belt. Its shrill, piercing cry seemed to shake the cave walls, or perhaps it was simply that his vision was blurring from the involuntary tears of pain that the deafening sound raised. Iorveth dropped his sword in favor of covering his ears, his feeble balance lost completely as the monster threw itself upon him.
It was smaller than he was, shorter and frailer, but it was immensely strong. Clawed, gnarled hands closed around his arms, its knees wedging into his chest as it held him against the ground. Iorveth twisted and bucked, trying to throw the thing off, but it held fast above him, its rancid breath drawing closer as it leaned in. The creature opened its mouth, revealing rows of long, vicious fangs, its black eyes glittering wildly in the darkness.
He struggled to push himself away, but the monster persisted, leaning in closer and closer until its jaws snapped down on the bare skin between his shoulder and neck.
Iorveth cried out in pain as its fangs ripped through his jacket and dug into his flesh. The sound seemed to momentarily startle the creature, and its grip loosened just enough for him to shove the thing off. The monster screamed again, more feebly than before, its hands scrabbling uselessly at the blade as Iorveth twisted it and pushed it deeper. The corpse toppled to the ground heavily. Injured and unprepared to venture further into the cave, he decided to return to Vergen for help.
If anyone remained of the two patrols, Iorveth had neither seen nor heard any signs of them. The journey back to the city felt endless, and a deep fatigue soon washed over him. Several times, Iorveth found himself tempted to stop and rest, but he knew he had to get back to Vergen as soon as possible. Even so, his eye seemed to grow heavier with each plodding step.
What was more, the sun was beginning to set, and long shadows stretched and twisted around him, turning the forested terrain into something surreal. Blurred torchlight flickered again, a beacon drawing him out of the twilit wilderness and into safety.
He heard voices, saw faces, but he could scarcely recognize them for the tiredness that had overtaken him. One voice cut through the others, high and melodic, but sharp, directing. Fetch me clean linen, bandages. He became vaguely aware that he was sitting somewhere indoors.
What of the others? His thoughts were sluggish, his movements delayed. He groaned softly in irritation and shook his head, desperate to clear it. Eislenir finished with his wound and handed him a cup. It was a cold tea of sorts, herbal and earthy, but she was right.
Iorveth could feel the pain in his shoulder ebbing away to an odd tingling, and the fuzziness behind his eyes seemed to be abating.
He finished drinking and placed the cup on the ground, relieved to feel himself returning to the present. Saskia was ready to stand firm against those who opposed her.
Saskia was a strong, benevolent Queen who was ready to protect her people. He was extremely vain and his servant accuses him of using him as a sex slave. He held one of the highest positions on the royal court as an advisor to King Henselt in The Witcher 2.
Mages in The Witcher series always strive to become advisors for the opportunity to manipulate them. He was loyal to his homeland of Kaedwin, but has no problems doing whatever it takes to get the job done. Dethmold is more than willing to kidnap and murder those who stand in his way, making him naturally disliked. His powerful advisor position allowed him the power to demand the death of Vernon Roche's comrades, which was an action that led to the death of King Henselt.
Dethmold was an evil manipulator who was more than happy to use his others for his own gain. He simply wants a place for his people. His travels brought him and elves to defend Saskia's dream of a free Pontar Valley. Saskia knows of his misdeeds yet trusts his excellent skills with a bow and arrow.
At first glance, King Foltest seemed like a respectable man. He commanded a large army of troops who were happy to fight in his honor. At a young age, he fell in love and had an affair with his blood sister, Adda. Adda died during childbirth of their daughter, who was named after her mother. Foltest continued his short-sighted thinking in The Witcher 2. Due to his attention to romance and lack of care to his country, his death brought on an intense war for the fate of Temeria. Olgierd von Everec via: Olgierd was no saint in The Witcher 3: He did his fair share of murdering, stealing, and ruining lives, but he was not evil, just lacking morals.
What made him so intriguing was that he was aware of the pain he caused others, especially his late wife Iris. At first, Olgierd seemed like a happy and carefree guy who just wanted to have fun, even if it was at the expense of others. As the story unfolded, you learned that Olgierd was also a romantic who wanted nothing more than to be with the woman he loved.
He is well-liked by his crew, a skilled fighter, and you soon find out he is chivalrous. He doesn't allow his men to take advantage of women and demands a fair fight.
Olgierd is a loyal man who cares for people deeply, even if it turns his heart to stone. He ruled the casinos and fighting arena. Wiley inherited his father's very sadistic methods and intended on collecting his debts by any means possible.