They said elves once danced in the morning mist. Now they hid in it—waiting for the wars of man to end.

How long they had waited.

Samson Bas walked the trampled south-road through Brokilon while listening to the idle conversations that flowed as easily as the second-hand smoke through the creaking carriages of the baggage train; his nose filled by the thick musk of sweat-slicked horses and oxen. Sunlight shone soft and warm through the canopy above—illuminating the vibrant greens and browns of the forest and turning each axe and sword carried lazily across the shoulders of the walking-men to twinkling stars. He avoided the early-morning eyesore to fix his eyes on the various rock formations that lay about the road. Most people never paid them much mind; they were rocks, after all--old as time! But the wars of man drove both elf and spirit from their stations. And a wayward spirit could find themselves spent and settle upon a cluster of moss-ridden rocks... only to bond with them. But not every spirit was meant to have a body; not every spirit could be tempered. Instead they became Golems of a sort.

Samson's Griffin-School Medallion hummed.

He hurried past the carts of women and children--all resting on burlap sacks doubling as beds.

Ground shook now. Once, twice.

Samson looked about the place, no rising gaggle of rocks. Then, a shadow streaked past; big enough it blotted the sun, shrieking like a monstrous and maddened eagle. Samson unsheathed his sword with one hand, and his hand-crossbow with the other. "Everybody get down!"

Suddenly--the blur of a half-eagle, half-lion came crashing through the canopy; claws and beak thrashing amid an explosion of debris, branches and leaves.

Shit, Samson thought--already in a sprint toward his School's namesake. That's a bloody big bird!

Women shielded their children atop their carts as the Griffin dove for them. Samson let loose a bolt from his hand-crossbow. It bounced across the Griffin's beak, snapping and clattering to the ground. But it got the bastard's attention. Meanwhile--the walking-men got to their feet, axes and swords readied.

The Griffin dove for Samson; he worked his fingers in a strange and archaic way, the air around him now shimmering. When the Griffin struck, it did so with all of its weight, and against the surface of a magical shield. It shrieked as it toppled sideways. Samson spun to plunge his sword into the beast's heart. His blade found purchase--and he buried it down to the hilt. And at the same time, the other men hacked at the limbs of the bird.

In the end, the beast died. But soon as the topic of a reward came up, the walking-men refuted that Samson had been paid to escort them to Velen. And not once had it been specified he'd be paid per monster slain. For a bit they argued. But then one of the women offered the Law of Surprise; that most ancient of customs; a reward unbeknownst to both parties at the time of agreement.

Samson Bas agreed, and eighteen years later... you arrived.

Hi! I've been replaying the Witcher as of late and find myself as in love with the world as ever. Figured an RP in that world could be fun. You don't really need to know anything about the lore--but if you do, that's of course a plus! All I really require is someone that's detailed and literate. Aside from that, I would be playing a Witcher from the School of the Griffin; chivalrous Witchers that aren't as hated as most. How we meet is for us to discuss--could be you show up at the door of my School. Could be I do a contract somewhere and you track me down. Could be you're a mage. Could be I actually received you much earlier and I've raised you into an adult! That one would have a real daddy/daughter bend; but I'm open to discussing!

Kinks aren't exclusive or required but do include dubcon, noncon to con, size difference, rough fucking, sloppy head, ruined makeup, sub/dom switching, power-dynamics, lots of cum, and more!

Limits: scat, watersports, vomit and futa.