Although they had traveled together, Corenn was separated with her at the very moment. Even in the countryside on the borderlands of the northern kingdoms, both stuck in a bitter war of attrition, folk were desperate enough to plaster any mutant, elf, dwarf or sorcerer as the root of all their problems, from cow giving blood to milk, to monsters lurking around.

It did not help that the war was of a more interior nature, one kingdom suffering a coup, the other, invading it, while clashing with peasantry and remnants of the army that was still loyal to the murdered king. They arrived to Carsten together, yet split off on the last straight, Corenn left to find them new work. Something quite simple as he had gathered the herbs and scouted the area last time.

Then again, there's hardly anything "simple" in Witcher's life, one could say that she was the lucky one to not step into the village first, the stares he was given from the few armed men just strolling out of the tavern, telling him enough. Still as he brought the horse to water through, the black-haired witcher, a complete foreigner, standing out among the white and at times pale-skinned Northmen. Not as pale as the raiders of the isles. She told him, but to Corenn all of them, her included were simply too pale for his tastes.

His skin was darker, sun-kissed or tanned would perhaps be the right term, if not the fact he came from the distant, far eastern deserts of Kuvat, this world he had wandered to was just as much an enigma as he was to the people seeing him for the first time, his hair, in this mixture of dreadlocks and tied like a ponytail, with both of his blades curved, almost like sabres and a rarity among witcher schools...a round shield strapped to his back. Though he normally wielded one sword in both hands like all schools taught them, the school of manticore had dealt with too many threats to not rely on their specially made shields, even in this region the meteoric and silver lined round shield, had protected him from a wraith's blade, a drowner's claws or a tossed rock or fired arrow.

But he had to admit, the lack of foes that spat venom or acid his way was both surprising and in a way comforting.

Approaching the board, his grasp of the common tongue was good enough that he could comfortably read the parchments nailed to it, the ones marked with a wax seal of a scribe's guild or a stamp of the village's elder or a noble lord, interesting him. His eyes skimmed quickly through complaints about some neighbors or please for food or help with cleaning of corpses in the river stream, only to stop on a contract, speaking about a "Howler". With parchment wrinkled, and stained with some dirt and mud already, he took it if not out of curiosity, then from the information on the said parchment.

To Whom It May Concern:

Let it hereby be known that whoever kills the howler, the monster that's wove its nest near Carsten and has taken to killing both men and beasts, will be given a sizable reward. Take heed that it's a dreadful dangerous creature and killing it'll take a trained fighter, not just a pack of peasants with pitchforks.

-Oswell at Carsten

He folded the contract and was quick to look for Oswell, luckily for him, without any need to ask locals, as he overheard the two men speaking, one addressing the other with the name he was about to start asking for. His enhanced senses, picked up sounds of scratching of someone writning somewhere in the house right behind the message board. Blinking he headed to the left, following the faint voice of two humans talking even if in truth they were more than 15 feet away from him.

Making a sharp turn towards where the two men were, he interrupted their conversation, with the contract still in his hand, this time unfolding. The seal attached with a string of separate paper to the parchment, dangling as Corenn spoke.

"I'm interested in the contract."

If there's one thing all witcher's share, it is that strong feel of apathy, they're drained of emotions. Or so people claim, they certainly can't show them as well, even when they are suppoused to feel things, the toxins within their bodies ensure they won't express them, though the effect wanes with passage of time and proper potions, there's a reason folk dislike them, his voice was cold, but not terrifying, for Oswell or the other man he spoke with did not run.

"I'll talk with you later Olof."

"I'll see if I have the clothes for that kid then."

As Corenn came closer, standing in front of the bench Oswell was sitting on, the slowly aging witcher, looked down at the bearded man, his hair slicked towards back, a fitting padded jacket on his body, and an apron on top of it, a craftsman of sorts, explained why he would have coin for a contract like that. Another problem of this job was the risk of getting scammed and jumped by bandits really. This one at least so far appeared genuine.

"Heard you have a problem, a monster you call a howler?"

"Aye, prowls about it does. Snatches cows and goats, mostly, but it won't scorn a man if it runs into one. Givalt, huntsman under the old lord, well...he said enough's enough, claimed he'd put a stop to it, drive the beast away."

Corenn's eyes narrowed, the cat-like slits unmoving as they were still unsettling staring at the man. He knew how a story like that ends.

"Took a hatchet, laid in ambush for the howler beyond the moat, where the fields start...it's where we found him - guts stretched over' the crown of a tree-like gossamer. Took half a day to collect the parts, put 'em in a grave."

He heard plenty of tragic stories, back in the east and now as he wandered so far west to come here. It didn't get better or worse. The fact he wasn't working alone, meant they needed more coin for contracts like these, and he needed to specify the reward they would get for whatever the howler was.

"What was the price you had in mind for that "Howler"."

"Two hundred Crowns, whole village contributed."

"I know times are tough...but I'll need you to cough up more coin."

They exchanged stares, before whatever resistance Oswell had, seemed to die in his eyes. The negotiation was quick at least. One hundred extra was a lot but with info he had right now, and the fact there were two of them to feed and supply he stood his ground.

"I suppose I can add that. Ye are riskin' your neck for us."

"Then we have a deal. Anyone around here know more about this Howler?"

Oswell looked down at the ground, running a hand through his bushy beard, before finally some inner fight in his mind gave in.

"Givolt's son, Alko does. Saw the horror with his own eyes. But...ye might find the lad hard to chat with. Still mourns his father, methinks."

"I see...Where'll I find him?"

"At me homestead, door right next to me. I took the tyke in when he lost his dad. The mother passed long ago."

With that Oswell opened the door, leading Corenn in. Humble house of a carpenter, splinters of wood everywhere, even on the pelts on the floor. Going further back, to a small muddy fenced field where few goats were, Corenn could see the buy, nine...maybe ten years old, fur jacket on his body, crouched in the mud drawing something with the stick in it. Bloodshot eyes are still proof he was crying recently.

They say witchers are apathetic, but the sight was gut-wrenching even to Corenn. For a moment, he wished he would be the one out scouting again. Though a witcher, whether it's cause she's not like other witchers, she had a way to talk with people, at least he believed that.

As the boy spotted him, he seemed to take a step back, dropping the stick and destroying whatever he was drawing in the wet mud. Corenn kneeled in front of the lad, one hand resting on his knee as the other simply hanged, reaching for the stick. His voice...trying to not scare the young human.

"Can we talk?"

But the boy was a mess, he could see it. Still though his father died a pointless death, his son shown Givolt was a good father, the boy did not curse or throw hands at Corenn just...stomped his foot and half crying half-trying to yell he opened his mouth.

"Lemme be!"

"Calm down I just wanna-"

"Go, I said!"

The boy was at the risk of bursting into tears again, confused, scared...Whatever he was going through Corenn could not relate, nor did he judge the boy for it. But he needed an answer from the young lad.

"I want to avenge your fahter. But to do that, I gotta know what killed him."

Corenn could see tears pouring down the boy's cheeks, he wanted to scream but his throat hurt too much, he stomped his foot again.

"Howler killed him! Don't you know?!"

"That name doesn't mean much to me. Describe the beast. Tell me what it looked like."

Corenn was patient, calm. And it bore fruit as despite the anger, the boy's gaze seemed to soften, as he sniffed, wiping the snot from his nose with his forearm, he...answered his question. As best as he could.

"Somethin' like a rooster...but huge...with a lizard's tail. I-I-I heard Raffik barkin' in the woods. Ran to see what he were on about. There were dad...in the bushes..."

He could see the boy reliving these memories as he explained. The trauma, as he willingly threw himself back into the scene when it first happened. Corenn wanted to say it was enough but any vital information counted, so he did not interrupt Alko even if he knew what it would mean.

"There were dad...in the bushes...a hole through his belly! And he were...moanin'! Screamin'! I wanted to help! But how could I? How?!"

With Alko about to have a panic attack Corenn, not wanting to see the boy suffer, nor to have Oswell reconsider paying them the agreed-upon reward for messing the boy further, was quick to point his pinkie and thumb slightly, focusing to cast Axii sign, to calm the boy before he suffers. With maintained eye contact, the boy stared into the glowing golden sigil until it's hypnotic effect came. Calming the boy.

"Shush now. Calm..."

His young body shuddered for a moment, he could see his muscles relaxing, as if someone had poured warm water over him. Something to relax to. Naturally from afar it looked unnatural, had a peasant or guard seen it, they would, in a way rightfully so, accuse Corenn of casting a spell on a poor lad.

"Caaa-aalm. Calm."

For a moment there was peace, content clear in the boy's exhausted bloodshot eyes, Corenn took his hand to guide him to the bench. Even if regret was visible in his cat-like eyes. For a moment, he truly wished she was around for this, he was bad at such things as it was.

Seated and still under the hypnotic effect of Axii. Corenn left, patting the boy on the back one last time.

"Take care kid."

At least, he had some more incentive to hunt this Howler. Or should he say a Skoffin. Or how the northmen call it, a Cockatrice."

Now it was all about finding her again.

Thanks for reading, with recent update to the witcher's game, my love for the universe even if It's been a while since I read the books, and my preference to worlbuild stuff, I shamelessly took the Witcher idea but decided to set it in not Witcher's world. Or rather I set it in a shameless copy, with changed names and a bit different situation. North is still the biggest continent. But you won't find a kingdom of "Temeria" or "Nilfgard" but rather some other twisted name, slightly altered cultures and such. Simply because I'd rather worldbuild something new than butcher OG creators work. So I guess we can call it a heavily-witcher inspired RP. But if you'd be interested I'm happy to use the original names and set it in the original world, granted you'd have to be fine with me missing a few details or names. Also yeah this prompts starter here is heavily inspired from a particular contract.

But yeah the idea: Basically, I want to write out a grounded dark/grim fantasy between our two characters. Originally I envision two witchers, 1 cause badass woman witcher (or futa ;y) is always hot (even if in books it's said they're not present for the School of the Wolf.) And 2 cause I have a fetish for strong muscular women. I mean I guess that's also obvious in the first point but you get it. Strong big tiddy witcher gf.

If that's not your thing really I'm also fine with just one of us playing as a witcher. So if you'd rather play as some sorceress, elven rebel, human mercenary or even some intelligent monster like a Higher Vampire. I'm all for it.

But yeah RP would focus on them doing lewd stuff, killing monsters or getting into morally difficult flavor of choosing between two evils at times. I do see a lot of lewd stuff though cause uh, DPP.

Anyway kinks since you know the gist of it.

Kinks: Amazonian women, either them being dominated or them dominating their partner; breeding; anal, and feet, face sitting, switch relationships, romance, cuddling, playful wrestling, sweat, pubic hair (armpit/crotch), monstrous characters, musk, giantess, frotting, addictive cum, foreskin play, small dom big sub/big dom small sub, futanari, MILF's, very curvy/well-endowed characters, mommy/big sis personality, chubby but strong/big women/futas, fat cocks, big testicles, huge breasts, thick thighs, dark skinned/tanned characters, Foodplay (Kinda related to chubby characters and more extreme fetishes) -> (More extreme kinks from vore and toilet play are fine too but have to be discussed, and also aren't a must/needed to those against them. I'm into some of them and I'm indifferent to others.)

Not really kinks but writing preferences: Third person, multi-paragraph responses from both sides. (4-6 paragraphs minimum or more.), mutual worldbuilding.

Limits: Abuse, Underage, Cheating, Cuckold, ntr.

Not all kinks will fit in this. Or well it really depends on how we desing our characters (Corenn's appearance or even origins can be changed entirely. Including bending of the rules since lewd fantasy, want a boyish/feminine witcher from the school of the cat? Some hulking, hairy witcher from the school of the bear? Something else from a new school? I'm open to all of em.

This also reminds me, if ya wanna go with a woman as a witcher, don't feel limited, feel free to even create a new witcher school for your character if you wanna, from different region. Maybe different fighting style entirely, could be even located in the north etc. All I really want is to have them dangerous but grounded. The beauty of witchers or really any characters, is that they have all these tools or abilities at their disposal. But all it takes is one solid pitchfork thrust to their chest to get them down.