Geralt meets with an old friend, and takes on a contract which is more then it appears to be.
**
He began to hear them now, rustling around, making low calls beyond human hearing. He began to hear the splash of water too. He looked to his notes and saw that the cistern in which they were nesting normally only held three feet or so of water, just enough to let the refuse settle. But the rains of the past weeks had flooded it. As it stood now, the water was twelve feet, for that’s all it could handle. There were several outlets that should have allowed it to drain, but the drowners or the Zeugl had likely closed them off in efforts to make their environment ideal. It was an old nest, which had some new influx, likely from females as it was spawning season. Geralt frowned, and inched his way to the outlet where the water was draining. The catwalk, which normally hovered nearly ten feet from the water, was submerged by nearly a foot and half. He could see the drowners clearly. He could see clutches of eggs floating near the surface, anchored to the iron catwalk.
Hello all I am back on my buklshit again coming to you with a steaming hot and fresh new Witcher story which takes place in the continent's future!
Fic preview:
The city was alive. Really, that’s all one could say about it and one could barely say that on the best of days. Fall rains which had been blanketing the coast of Bremervoord for nearly two weeks, had finally begun to let up. But once it had let up, fog and smog filled the already tar dyed cobblestones which lined the main road leading into the city center. Every house was burning coal and the result was a toxic miasma, which was being held close to the ground.
People rushed to-and-fro, even during this late hour. Houses would open, laughter and music would pierce the veil of fog and bright light would flood the streets for a moment as a couple quickly left, scurrying into one of the waiting carriage taxis like rats. The taxis, often with lame horses foaming at the mouth, would rush into the fog, taking their occupants to parts unknown without a care for who or what may be in their way. Several times, the sounds of the city were broken by the shrill screaming of humans and horses, followed by the sound of gunshots. The smell of horse blood was thick in the air too as carts hauled by mules would pick up the unfortunate beasts and cart them to less than savory places to be pieced out and sold or utilized to make glue and ink.
Electric lights lined the main road, their warm buzzing bulbs providing another sound which made the city seem even more unbearable to those who would avoid it if they could. They stood proudly beside the oil lanterns and the listless men who lit the lamps looked to them in fear of the jobs they would soon lose.
The world was changing. It always was.
The sound of steel horseshoes on cobblestone was not unusual in the city at night, but a singular rider, draped in a thick oiled wool cloak quieted the noise. Men and women looked on to the rider, who looked as a specter of death, riding silently as carriages rushed around him with shouted words.
He truly was a specter of death, for who could imagine one such as he could still be alive, still be riding even though he was born nearly three hundred and fifty years ago? His eyes, glowing golden, were hidden behind dark spectacles. They stared forwards, as ladies clung to their friends and pointed, before coughing and hurrying to find themselves back through their windows and into their houses.
It used to be, in times past, he would enter a city and he would run the risk of either being stoned or challenged. But these days, people didn’t know of his kind like they used to. These days works of historical fact were looked upon as fiction and the idea that something like him could have ever existed was told to young boys and girls with an air of glory. He was a hero in the stories, always. He died a hero in those stories too.
But Geralt of Rivia had not died. He had lived and so too had the rest of his caste.
My process for tattooing preproduction! Featuring a time-lapse of my drawing process! Our lovely old stencil machine which I love and my amazing client who is letting me take pokemons and have fun with them!
Let me know in the comments if you would like to see more of this!
I am currently open for tattoos and I am booking march to may! Message me if you would like to get on my books!
wanna say hi, send you some homemade coffee or tee you like. Hope you have a good day and if it's hard I hope it will be better soon. Your art is amazing, I love your tatoos and I adore your fics 🤗💜, Lizz
Alright, the casting has had tome to settle for Regis, so its time to weigh in.
First things first. With the conclusion of season 3 and the story changes from which there is no recovery in my mind, I have made the decision for my own wellbeing to continue my stance on TWN being an AU fanfic rewrite.
That being said, like most I was rather blindsided by the casting of Laurence Fishborne as Regis. However after my initial knee jerk "take the redpill" moment, I realized that I love Lawrence Fishborne. I very specifically LOVE his potryal of the Bowery King in John Wick. I use him as inspiration for a lot of characters including one in an origanal series I am writing.
Now he looks nothing like the book description of Regis, however the Bowery King and Regis are parallel characters as far as I am concerned. The whole idea of Regis is as a raggedy ass barbour surgeon who is far too well spoken for his place in society. That is Regis to a T.
TWN may not be the witcher i want, but the casting of Laurence Fishborne is something I am looking forward to.
Remembering that time I was so invested in a fic series that I would squeal when it came out, only to have the ending be one of the must unsatisfying cockblocks I have ever eexperienced...
It was doubly so because the author promised a good ending, then absolutely failed to deliver. After years.
I fear this happening with Baptism which has been on hiatus for a bit now. Not by choice, but by issues unforseen. Its driving me up the wall to have it sitting idle.
Odd comic panels: Kingpin's weird dog and Wolverine's really excitable beers.
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