☜ The Witcher Imagines ☞

Imagine you turned out to be unlike any girl Geralt has ever met

A mage gone rogue and for his death a hundred crowns, that was enough incentive to have The Witcher on top of his horse and toward the town Sheriff's manor.

From what he had heard, the Sheriff had been exploiting the people he was meant to serve, abusing his authority and collecting wealth as if a king.

Now, as the Witcher trotted among a dirt lane with his eyes barely wandering to assess the land, he felt an uneasy presence boiling with fear ahead. Before, every mission included an aura of intimidation and hunger that marked their soon-to-be battle ground. This time, as he climbed down from Roach and came to the threshold of the Sheriff's manor, the fear was concocted into an emotion so pungent Geralt nearly choked on it.

He pushed open the wooden door with a ringing creek, it's warning sending distant pots and pans to rattle with erratic movement. The Witcher proceeded to exhale a breath of determination, his nostrils flaring with the readiness for a fight. He knew he'd gone under many times, subdued by a monster's power but he still rose up and exterminated them in the end, appearing victorious.

With one feather light step after the other Geralt quietly scoured the manor of stone and assessed his surroundings with a keen eye. A hundred crowns for a simple kill, one he must've executed every week with every visit to each village, town and kingdom.

Suspense filled the air suddenly when he reached the entrance to the kitchen. It was deep into the manor and shrouded in darkness with hints of candlelight. If the mage was as rogue as the townspeople said, what stopped him from attacking the Witcher? So far, Geralt could smell them inside and felt the tremor in the air of their shivering form.

With a calculated movement, he pushed the door open with the knuckles of his fist and immediately at the action the kitchen went into disarray. Pots and pans clamoured, wooden tables toppled over and a jug of water wobbled upon a stone counter before saturating the floor.

This was a scared creature.

Once he met himself amongst the mess, Geralt carefully observed his surroundings before hearing a slight whimpering that trembled in the shadows.

With a sigh of annoyance, toward the townspeople more than anyone else, Geralt sheathed his sword and gently crouched down tonthe mage's level. From this perspective he could see the unmoving, shrivelled body of the Sheriff. And at the modification of his eyes he captured the mage in his sights.

Firstly, you weren't a man. Instead, Geralt saw you, a woman, covered in a thick layer of grime and sweat.

You were scared above everything else. The man -who turned out to be the Sheriff- had initially appeared nice enough with his soft smile and welcoming hand into his carriage, but, like your mother once said: nothin's free with a sweet stranger's smile.

If you didn't act only horrors would take place.

"It's alright" Geralt awkwardly attempted to comfort as his hand reached out. He could barely muster a smile, only an extended arm and a maybe a night of rest.
"I won't hurt you".

"Y-You have a s-sword-", you unexpectedly stumbled out with a quivering lip and wet cheeks, "- people norm-normally use them when they have 'em".

Geralt swept his vision to his back where his iron and silver swords sat. To any prey they would seem an obvious danger so he slowly pulled them over his shoulder and threw them a few feet behind you both. While he did so you flinched and even harder as the clang of metal rang out across the room, assaulting your ear drums.

"See... I am not here to hurt you".

The calming effect of his voice eventually worked. His tone was steady and almost like the pillar you'd been hoping for throughout your life. It was deep and steady, infusing a peaceful feeling into your bones as you proceeded to exhale a shaky breath and crawl out from your corner.