The Witcher | Strength Of The Bear

Part Two | Silver for Monsters

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Ah, The nights on the continent are the definitive source of woe for men and a source of guaranteed coin for Witchers. Monsters thrive during the hours of dusk, for that is when they are most fierce. They prowl the gloomy darkness, ready to strike; the dark is their shelter and their aide. It is a gift; their natural camouflage they may abuse as they wish. To hunt under the duvet* of the stars meant feasting on the flesh of an unwary traveler or an unfortunate drunk who had strayed too far from home.

This particular night was a rather calm one; the only sounds that filled the air were crickets chirping, owls hooting and the steady trot of a mount that slowly faded. Rowen strode along the narrow forest path astride Maggie, his loyal steed, whom he holds dearest to his heart, as much as a Witcher can anyway. She was a parting gift from Assire Var Anahid, a Nilfgaardian mage whom he shared a bed with on multiple occasions. They'd last seen each other when he picked up a contract concerning a Zeugl* who had prowled the sewers of Vicovaro, he hadn't expected to run into her at the time, and it's a good thing he did-while hunting down the Zeugl he saved her life in the process, thus earning himself a reward. Maggie - a magically tainted horse, was to be his well-earned reward, along with one night spent in the alcove with the sorceress herself. That was many moons ago, he thought.

He's been on the path for a couple of years now, without a home to go back to. What else was he to do other than move from place to place? After all, he is an itinerant monster slayer. Travel comes with the job description, but ever since the sacking of Haern Caduch he felt urged to keep moving and never stop. Despair haunted him, he hadn't known this feeling before. He felt as if a part of him was torn away. Losing one's home will cause anyone, even a Mutated freak of nature to experience the smallest amounts of heartache. He had to cope. The Bear School was no more; all that's left of it are remnants of brothers who once were, a ruined keep bestowed upon the throat of the world, and memories that slowly fade and fade...

He would remember his brothers and the way they would boldly spring into battle. "Brothers are like glue; they stick together." If only the saying were true in his case... He knew his brothers didn't share his views. Iwo, Junod and Amerin preferred a solitary lifestyle, away from the company of other witchers, even those of their own caste.

Rowen wasn't much different than his brothers; he was serious, oblivious to the passage of time, and ignorant of the progress the North and the South had been making. Unlike his brothers, however, he appreciated company on the path; he would often join merchant caravans on the road and offer protection to them in exchange for good conversation, and of course coin. Conversation filled that empty spot in his heart, the spot where bad memories would often linger if allowed to, and coin filled his pouch.

Rowen wasn't the type to chat about politics.
He cared not about social standpoint, titles, hierarchies, or the nobility. The amount of ignorance he would show often got him in trouble, mostly with the loyal patriots. You can imagine that these pesky encounters often ended after a lot of blood had been spilled. The Bears were very, very familiar with these kinds of encounters; every single one of them could concur.

Our Witcher was well-known, he wasn't quite George of Kagen, Letho of Gullet or Geralt Of Rivia but he had a reputation, a reputation he upheld. Skellige is where his reputation preceded him, on the continent he took a few odd jobs here and there, nothing notable really - rarely would he come by a big contract, a contract that would earn him more than a fair share of fame. On Skellige though - business boomed, and his witcher work was in high demand. After a few dozen jobs the news of his feats spread like wildfire across the entirety of the Archipelago. He became an icon of sorts, a hero as some would say. Children were particularly fond of him. To them he was like a fairytale character, a destroyer of evil, banisher of darkness or their protector. He liked this, it was nice to receive the respect and courtesy he was due so he never went against their appreciation. Skellige was where he felt at home; it was his home away from home. Still, he never stayed there long, he'd seen a whole lot of Skellige but not a whole lot of the continent and this lack of knowledge about the continents vast expanses drove him to explore more and more of it. Generally speaking, Skellige is where Bear Witchers thrived; as mentioned earlier, on the continent, they would have faced repercussions for their ignorance, but on skellige folk weren't so sensitive about political nonsense. Still, The Bears never had an easy-going time in their history.