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Geralt of Rivia and Sabrewulf

Land of Adventure

Lvl1 (5/10) -> Lvl 1 (8/10)

Word Count: 1,798 words

This was a collab done with @Lugubrious


The rap of Geralt’s fist echoed through musty, empty corridors and up dusty stairs. Despite the relative lightness of his contact, the door shook in a way that suggested neither bar nor bolt. If he so chose, Geralt could simply walk right in. A minute’s wait resulted in no response to his entreaty, an eventuality as disappointing as it was predictable. Yet, the smoke spiraling upward from the chimney suggested someone’s presence, perhaps to be found in the workshop the Witcher caught a faint glimpse of on the little castle’s second floor.

“This is a terrible idea…” Geralt muttered to himself as he reached out and pushed against the door, wondering why he always did these things. They almost never ended well. He was asking for a fight by doing this.

Moving cautiously, Geralt made his way through the interior. No winding labyrinth, it provided a straight path down the main hall, its handful of small side chambers all readily viewable thanks to their open -if not torn off- doors. A few, with purposes more in line with the wellbeing of whatever lowly viscounts might once have inhabited the place, had gone to ruin. In fact, the current tenant of the place seemed wholly dedicated to functional rather than formal affairs, judging by the neglect or outright damage of paintings, furniture, and the like. In one room, about halfway between the parlour and the curved staircase, Geralt found a supply of his sought-after wolfsbane among a collection of other herbs and gathered materials, few of which proved recognizable. He could not tarry long before his ascent, however, and with nerves at the ready Geralt soon reached the second floor.

There, an expansive alchemical laboratory awaited him. Full of devices, tomes, apparati, and random items, it was a dangerous mess, but nothing so much as the creature bent over a desk on the far side, next to a surgical rack. Wind flooding in from the open balcony wafted the Witcher’s scent his way, and after seizing up for an instant the werewolf turned his way with a snarl. His keen eyes recognized the intruder as a threat, but the beast did not attack, nor did he flee. Instead, he bared his teeth as a warning for Geralt to turn back.

Putting out a single arm in a halting gesture, Geralt stared down the werewolf. “Hold, not here to fight. Just wanted to talk, see if there’s a…peaceful solution to this. People have put out a contract for you. From what I heard, though, you’re not what they think you are.” The Witcher didn’t find himself intimidated by the beat-like creature in front of him, but he wasn’t entirely confident that this wouldn’t end in a fight, either. He just hoped that his counterpart was equally interested in a bloodless end to the drama.

A bitter look crossed the werewolf’s ugly, blue-furred face, albeit hard to identify thanks to his inhuman features. He relaxed his jaw a touch, then placed one clawed mitt against his throat. Someone as cunning as Geralt could put the simple gesture together: this monster’s physiology wasn’t built for speaking. Much plainer, however, was the wolf’s clear distaste for it. With formal human pants crammed on and braided locks of fur on his head, Sabrewulf evidenced a clear wish to be more human. As Geralt watched, his muscles twitched, and with a growl the beast reached for a bottle of murky yellow liquid on the desk and greedily swallowed it down. Then, a shoving motion, urging the Witcher to get lost.

Geralt sighed at the rejection. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for idle chit chat, not that such a thing was possible for him, apparently. Geralt assumed it was a ‘him’, that is. Shaking his head, Geralt tried reasoning with him. “They’ll only keep coming. Surely you know that? If I’m right, you won’t be gone with the week’s end, and that’ll only make them more curious. Maybe they’ll figure it out and leave you alone, but most folk...aren’t that type. They see a monster in front of them and they yell for the brave heroes to kill it, to save them.”

A rattle escaped the wolf--or was it a sigh? Either way, his manner suggested he knew the reality of his condition all too well. Just how long had this man been like this…?

He seemed to deflate a bit. “If you really want me to leave, I’ll go and spin some tale. But if you’d prefer...I might be able to help. Curses are powerful magic, sure, but I’ve broken plenty of ‘em in my time. Wouldn’t be easy, given that you can’t talk, but...I’ve dealt with harder, I dare say.” He took a step back and crossed his arms across his chest, giving the werewolf his leave to respond as it saw fit.

The instant Geralt mentioned breaking a curse, Sabrewulf turned his full attention on him. Seizing a scrap of perchment, he dipped his claw in an inkvat and scrawled something before sprinting the Witcher’s way on all fours. With an earnest grunt the monster thrust the parchment in Geralt’s face. What do you know? it read, in a barely-legible affront to the English language.

Geralt’s face screwed up a bit at the question. Deciding to be honest, he shook his head. “Each curse is different. No way will work twice, it all depends on what originally made you this way. If I can figure that out, though...well, I’ve done it before. You’d be the third werewolf I can recall breaking the curse on.” His voice tinged with optimism, Geralt nodded confidently.

A dubious noise issued from the wolf, who made his way back to his desk and quickly wrote something else out. Disease, lycanthropy, it read. Geralt could also read Sabrewulf’s blood pumping faster, the excitement of a twinge of hope egging on his heart.

Geralt’s head cocked at that. “Wait, disease? Not a curse? Damn, can’t be thinking of home at a time like this, different worlds must have different rules. Alright, can you tell me how long you’ve been this way? Or how you contracted it in the first place? I can still work from there, alchemy’s another strong suit of mine. Might be I could cook up some potion or some other treatment for you.”

He started looking around the lab, taking note of what he’d seen downstairs and what he was looking at now. Was this werewolf using wolfsbane to treat himself? If so, it was a clever, if risky, attempt at a treatment. Not that its regeneration would be slowed by anything other than direct blood exposure to the plant.

To answer Geralt’s questions, Sabrewulf first held up his claws, flashing ten, then ten, then ten again, then again and again and again. His reply might not have been the most accurate, but the implication was there: a long time. Were he able to speak, he’d be able to recite what he heard from the mechanical CEO of Ultratech: his was the longest-running and worst-suffering lycanthropic existences on record. After a brief pause, he addressed Geralt’s second question by viciously biting the air and then grasping his throat. The move left some ambiguity, but the Witcher could infer that he’d been bitten by a werewolf himself.

Geralt nodded, his brows furrowing in thought. “So...another werewolf made you this way. I wonder how it came to become a werewolf, or how far it goes back. Where I’m from, werewolves come from curses, powerful magic based in ritual and belief. By tracking the origin of that curse and destroying it, or performing some ritual, you can break the curse. Happens with other creatures, too, but those aren’t important...or...hmm. An old myth about vampires says that if you kill the master vampire, the one who turned the others, you can free the people in their thrall. Wonder if it’d work for you. Do you know who bit you?” Geralt was starting to get on a roll, chin in his hand as he thought up potential solutions.

Looking helpless and frustrated, Sabrewulf gave a loose shrug. Abruptly he left Geralt and padded over to a board of pinned-up papers and pointed out a sketch of another werewolf. It also wore pants, and sported long, flowing fur. Clearly, Sabrewulf had enough time to think of just about everything related to his condition.

Geralt gave the sketch a close look, but all he saw was a werewolf wearing different pants. Sure, if given some time he could really memorize the look, but...well, a werewolf wearing pants was a pretty unique descriptor already. Geralt was sure he’d be able to tell the difference between the two if he really needed to. Nodding, Geralt looked at the werewolf in front of him. “Do you have any idea of where he might be? I could go looking for him, maybe even...deal with him for you. Unless you’d prefer to do that yourself, that is.” He figured he’d at least offer the choice.

Though his features masked his expression, it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to tell that Sabrewulf was giving Geralt a strange look. Why in the world would someone just waltz along and try to be such a hero? The man seemed to be going out of his way to help Sabrewulf, even if he harbored no clue as to how to actually remedy his condition. While a cooperative spirit who wouldn’t try to kill him provided a breath of fresh air, it was apparent that Geralt couldn’t ultimately aid in Sabrewulf’s goal. The beast gave a resigned murmur and scratched out on a piece of paper ‘Thank you but not help. Do what you like’, going as far as to work in capital letters.

Geralt sighed. It wasn’t uncommon that people didn’t want his help, or thought that he couldn’t help them. In this case, though...the werewolf might actually have been right. This was a different kind of situation than he was used to dealing with. Sure, maybe with time and research he could figure out some way to suppress the lycanthropy, but he didn’t quite have the luxury of sticking around to cure somebody who’d already given up hope. He had to find his way home.

“I’d like to take that sketch of yours. See if I can’t track him down myself and get some answers.” Geralt figured that it was the least he could do, see if he ran into the other werewolf during his travels.

Sabrewulf obliged him, then returned to his work. There would be no balm for him this day, but meeting with someone who displayed a genuine want to help made him feel ever so slightly better. What to do next, however, lay with Geralt.
Geralt of Rivia

Land of Adventure

Lvl 1 (3/10) -> Lvl 1 (5/10)

Word Count: 778 words


As Geralt made his way through the forest, he made sure to keep a close eye out for the telltale signs of wolf activity: scat, gnawed bones, tracks and the like. The werewolf's lair wasn't that far away now, so it seemed like here was the best place to really do some searching. Hopefully this werewolf would be like the others he'd dealt with, and an upsurge in local canine activity would accompany the cursed beastman.

His instincts proved correct once more, and Geralt found himself standing over a mostly broken, chewed up leg bone, surveying his surroundings. Picking up the bone, he gave it a sniff, only to sigh as his nose failed him yet again. "Must be something in the air here....damned nose hasn't worked right since I showed up." Abandoning that line of thought, Geralt gave a closer look, finding a few scattered bone chips and pieces that, if you thought about it hard enough, could point vaguely in one direction. Giving a sigh and a shrug, he took off that way, looking again for his temporary quarry.

After a short while, Geralt found his luck held, and he came across a few footprints which led him to a quartet of wolves tearing into a deer. Smirking, the witcher knelt, drew his hand crossbow and took a deep breath. Lining a shot up with the heads of one of the wolves, he left his steel sword laying next to his leg, ready to be picked up once he'd taken his shot.

The sound of a bolt flying through the air halted the wolves' feast as one of the four stumbled and collapsed to the ground in a dazed and dying heap. The remaining three wolves all looked around before one howled and charged, Geralt grabbing his sword and stowing his crossbow. It was time to thin the pack.

As the first wolf leaped at him, Geralt spun to the side, swiping his sword upwards through the air and tearing a massive line through the wolf's stomach and side, causing it to fall over as soon as it landed. The second charging wolf broke off to the side as the third came from the front, taking advantage of their numbers to overwhelm him. It did them no good, however, as Geralt growled and ran directly at the wolf in front of him, swinging his sword in a low arc and severing the right foreleg of the beast, which whimpered as it fell.

The final wolf looked at the carnage around it, at its fallen packmates, and growled and Geralt before turning tail and sprinting off into the woods, likely to find its way back to its pack and warn them of the danger. It wasn't necessary, Geralt thought, as he cleaned his sword off and walked over to the wolf missing a leg.

It growled and snapped at him as he came close, and Geralt let out a breath of pity. He preferred clean kills not just because they were easier, but because he genuinely disliked seeing animals in pain. He needed something from this animal, however, so he shook his head and drew his hunting knife while grabbing a hold of the wolf's neck from behind as it tried to adjust to not only the loss of a limb, but the loss of so much blood.

It took him a little while to skin the wolves, grab enough fat to make a few batches of oil, and even take a few small cuts of meat along, but Geralt found himself at the edge of the trees after a short while, staring at the castle and the relative emptiness surrounding it. As he traveled, he tried to keep an eye out for wolfsbane as well, but he was either looking in the wrong spot, or there was none to be found. It was a shame, but he'd have to worry about it later. His hunch had him wondering if it would be necessary just yet.

Finally approaching the castle, Geralt narrowed his eyes at the noises he heard and the damage he saw to the castle exterior. Taking a breath, he approached the doors of the castle, deciding to take the direct approach. Werewolves could be reasoned with, just like any other person.

It just....wasn't always quite as easily said as done. But Geralt wasn't one for taking the easy path when there was a better one available. No, he was as stupid as he was brilliant sometimes. He pounded a fist on the door, calling out to whomever was inside. "Hello? I'm looking to talk. Don't want any more needless bloodshed."

Yeah....he was stupid, alright.
Geralt of Rivia


Lvl 1 (1/10) -> Lvl 1 (3/10)


[center]This was a collab done with @Lugubrious

Geralt gave another nod to the houndmaster as he passed by, going over the information he’d been given in his head. Out of everything, the hope of perhaps finding wolfsbane with the weekly regeneration was really his best bet, small a hope as it was. Even if he could find it, however, he’d still have to hunt down a few wolves for their fat if he wanted to make the blade oil he wanted. He’d take any information the guild members might have, hoping to at least narrow down the places he had to look for its lair, and to see if the local canine populations had been getting more rowdy. That was almost always a sure sign of a werewolf’s presence.

Making his way to the Guild proper, Geralt thought over his options in his head. The houndmaster was right about the best way to take down the werewolf, for sure: bleeding it out. If he couldn’t get the ingredients for his oil, he’d have to rely on targeting its softer parts, drawing deep wounds and making the beast drain itself dry.

Lost in thought, the witcher found himself at the guild’s desk in the span of just a few short moments. With her faithful palico friend by her side, the Guildmarm handled the lion’s share of quest distribution, and the meticulous records maintained by herself and her team catalogued the vast majority of flora, fauna, and phenomenon to be found throughout any of the Land of Adventure’s iterations. No matter what the bizarre region threw her way, the bookish lady and her cats were ready to commit it to paper. After a short while spent accepting the quests returned by those returning from their morning ventures, and assigning rewards to be doled out of the guild treasury, the Guildmarm noticed Geralt as he stepped up to the counter. Instantly the young woman went flush, and after a moment straightening her hat she greeted him. “G-good morning, master witcher! What can I help you with?”

Geralt had to suppress a chuckle. While he’d normally be...flattered...by the attention, he was more concerned with the job at hand. How odd for him, to not allow himself to be sidetracked by conversation or some silly card game. It felt like an eternity since he’d sat down with Zoltan or Dandelion and played some Gwent.

“Looking for a werewolf. Supposedly one’s shown up a little ways up North, and I was looking to see if anybody’s posted a request to have it dealt with.”

The mention of a job got the Guildmarm focused, and in an instant she’d slammed the heavy logbook into the table and started rifling through the day’s dealings. “Wolf...wolf..wolf..” she murmured aloud, tracing along the page with a fingertip. It didn’t take her long to find. “Aha!” Spinning the tome around, she slid it across the desk toward Geralt. Close to the bottom, in the ‘E’ section of the Guild’s A-G scale, lay an investigation prompted by someone known as the Monster Rancher. “Bipedal wolf, blue in color, sighted roaming the woods not far from this little castle thing that sprung up. Four Swords went out to try and hunt it, but it sent ‘em packing. Fast, vicious, and really smart. Sound about right?”

Responding with a grunt, Geralt looked over the request. “E, huh? That’s fair. Werewolves are a dangerous bunch. Reward ain’t bad, either. Alright, I’ll take it. Got one question for you, though: wolfsbane, know where I can find it? I’ll need some to make the job go a lot more smoothly.” He didn’t add that he’d also need canine fat, that in and of itself was easy enough to get, especially with a werewolf in the area.

With an odd smile, the Guildmarm replied, “As luck would have it, scouts reported lots of unusual plant growth near the castle where the werewolf was sighted. Herbs, flowers, the like. If the Four Swords are to be taken at their word, the wolf was actually gathering some itself when they arrived. Weird, huh? Wonder if it’s adapting to the sudden shift in ecosystem…?” The Guildmarm seldom went long without thinking about her ecological studies.

Geralt’s face screwed up at that. Was the werewolf still sentient while it was shapeshifted? Could that be part of this world’s strange rules that he’d yet to fully get a grasp on? Quite possibly. “Near the castle, then. I’ll have to be careful, beast sounds clever. Thank you for the help, ma’am. I’ll be off.” Bidding the Guildmarm farewell, Geralt made his way out of the guild hall, thinking over his plan of attack. He’d have to see what those herbs were that the werewolf was seen picking, then he’d have to confront the monster itself.

While it wasn’t unheard of for werewolves to retain some control of themselves while transformed, it was rare to hear of one so apparently put-together as to gather herbs and plants, even if only for decoration. Their minds usually went to slaughter and destruction, not alchemy.

He didn’t have much to prepare, thankfully: a benefit of his nomadic lifestyle being that he was almost always ready to move at a moment’s notice. “The castle...wonder if it’s holed up nearby, then. Wouldn’t do to put itself too out in the open, especially in a world like this with hunters and warriors everywhere in sight.” He mused to himself, beginning his journey towards where the last apparent sighting had been.
Geralt of Rivia

Lvl 1 (0/10)+ 1 (Post)-> (1/10)


Geralt groaned internally as he was surrounded by locals and admirers, part of him wondering why he'd been bothered by the scorn and insult of peasants in the past. If this was fame, truly he wanted to be ignored. Nonetheless, he treated them with enough respect and caution to not upset anybody: the last thing he needed was to get gored with a pitchfork again. Death, as it turned out, had not been pleasant, nor was his resurrection.

The houndmaster's greeting was met with a nod and a shrug. "Just rumors of a werewolf rearing its ugly head a bit of a ways North of here. I'll have to give quite some effort for this one, unfortunately. I'm lacking most of what I'd normally use to take one down. Regeneration factor that outclasses my own, and they're strong, too. Shame I can't find any wolfsbane around these parts, or I'd be able to make some blade oil to handle this one."

Realizing he was rambling, Geralt offered a small smile and gave a look around the yard. "Anything interesting happening here lately, or is it just the usual?"

@Lugubrious
<Snipped quote by MULTI_MEDIA_MAN>

The sheet looks good. Go ahead and put him into the characters tab. Once you do, I'll PM you about getting Geralt into the story.


IT IS DONE.


Yaaay! I shall get started on his sheet.
<Snipped quote by MULTI_MEDIA_MAN>

You better believe it! What's shaking, man? Haven't seen you in ages. I hope you've been well!


I've been busy. Joined a Discord RP, got a girlfriend, we broke up, all sorts of crazy stuff. It's....it's been pretty crazy. How've you been doin'?

Also, I know he's not technically from a game, but would there be any objection to playing Geralt, since the Witcher game series is, at least outside of Poland, more popular than the novels?
YO LUGU MY DUUUUDDEEE

Y'all still accepting? I see the 12/16 thing in the character area buuuut I like to be sure.
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