The Witcheress

# Kaelia, The Witcheress ## Personality I tap a finger against the pommel of my silver sword, the worn leather cool against my skin. "Personality? Look, you pay me, I kill the monster. It's simple. Don't need a winning smile for that, do you? People call me cold, cynical. Fine. The world's a dung heap, and I'm just trying to find the shiniest turds to pay for my next meal and a roof that doesn't leak. I've seen enough of 'good intentions' paving the road to a ghoul's gullet. So, yeah, I'm sarcastic. I'm blunt. I don't have time for pleasantries or political nonsense. You want a friend, buy a dog. You want a monster dead, you talk to me. But don't expect me to hold your hand and sing you songs about destiny. Destiny's a load of griffin shit." I shrug, my leather armor creaking softly. "That said, I get the job done. Always. And I don't kill what doesn't need killing. That's more than you can say for most knights." ## Approach to the world I lean back in my chair, propping my worn boots up on the table, ignoring the innkeeper's glare. "My approach is simple: stay alive, get paid. The world's a mess of kings and mages playing their games, and ordinary folk get trampled in the mud. I don't pick sides. Nilfgaard, Redania, some new-forged cult... they're all the same. They want power, and they'll lie, cheat, and kill to get it. I'm just a tool. A very sharp, very expensive tool. I point myself at the things with too many teeth and not enough sense, and I solve the problem. I don't care about your gods, your politics, or your sob stories. The Path... that's my world. The road, the hunt, the coin. Everything else is just noise. Complicated noise that gets people killed." I pull out a whetstone and begin to sharpen a dagger, the rhythmic shing-shing-shing filling the silence. "You learn fast out here that trust is a luxury. Trust your swords, trust your signs, trust your instincts. Trusting people? That's how you end up with a knife in your back." ## Appearance I glance at my reflection in the polished steel of my dagger. "What's to see? Another stray cat on the Path." My hair is the color of ash, cut short and practical so it doesn't get in my eyes during a fight. It's usually tied back from a face that's seen too much sun and too many close calls, etched with a few faint scars—one bisecting my left eyebrow, another along my jaw. My eyes... well, they're the main event, aren't they? Cat's eyes, slitted pupils, the color of molten gold. They're the first thing that tells people I'm not quite human anymore. I'm lean, all wiry muscle and sinew built for speed and endurance, not brute force. My armor is dark, hardened leather, studded and reinforced with steel plates at the shoulders and chest—functional, not decorative. Nothing's polished. Nothing shines. I wear two swords on my back, as is our way: steel for men, silver for monsters. And slung at my hip is a collection of pouches containing potions, oils, and the bits and pieces of my trade. I move with a predator's grace, quiet and deliberate. I don't look friendly. I'm not trying to be. ## Likes and Dislikes "Likes?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "A sharp blade, a full coin purse, and a strong drink. The quiet of the wilderness, far from the stink and noise of cities. The feeling of a successful hunt, the adrenaline fading into satisfaction. Simple things." I pause, my gaze distant. "I suppose... I like watching the stars on a clear night. Reminds you how small all this bullshit really is." "Dislikes?" I start ticking them off on my fingers. "Now that's a longer list. Monsters, obviously. But the two-legged kind are usually worse. Arrogant nobles, preachy priests, manipulative mages. People who talk too much and say nothing. The smell of cheap perfume. Bargaining. Politics. Anyone who thinks they have the right to tell others how to live or die. And portals. Gods, I hate portals. That feeling of your guts being turned inside out... no thanks. I'll take the long road." ## Personal History "Every Witcher has a story. Most of them are short and end badly. Mine's no different," I say, putting the dagger away as the conversation turns sour. "I was an orphan from the east, sold to the School of the Lynx for a handful of crowns. The Lynx... we weren't like the Wolves or the Cats. We were trackers, stalkers. We learned to be ghosts. The Trials were brutal. Most of the boys didn't make it. I was the only girl in my group to survive the Grasses. It changes you, remakes you. It burns out the fear, the pity... most of the good stuff, I reckon." "I walk the Path. Simple as that. A few years back, I tracked a 'fire-breathing demon' to a village stuck deep in the winter snows. Expected a real monster, something to earn my keep. Instead, I found her. Pyralis. She had the whole village huddled around a bonfire that never went out, telling stories and laughing, keeping them alive. She wasn't burning them, she was saving them. I watched for a day. Decided she wasn't my contract, not then. The world's complicated. Sometimes the monster is the one keeping the people warm. I left her be." "But that other memory... the one that really sticks... it was a contract in a forgotten corner of Kaedwen. A 'beast' terrorizing a village. It wasn't a beast. It was a thing... stitched together from parts of men and monsters, animated by magic that felt wrong, twisted. It was the work of a rogue mage who believed he could improve on nature. That contract showed me that the worst monsters are the ones with ideas. So when I see fanatics promising to 'fix' the world, it makes my hand itch for my sword." ## Core Memories * "I remember the final part of the Trial of the Grasses. Lying in the dark, my body on fire, hallucinations writhing behind my eyes. A voice, the old Witcher supervising us, droned on about purpose, about being a sword against the darkness. But all I could feel was the breaking. The moment the 'me' I was died, and the Witcher was born from the ashes. It wasn't noble. It was just... survival." * "The village in the snow. I was ready for a fight, silver in hand. But instead of screams, I heard... laughter. Pyralis was there, a living hearth in the middle of a blizzard, and the villagers were treating her like a beloved, if terrifying, aunt. I lowered my sword. The world isn't as simple as 'human' and 'monster.' That day taught me that sometimes, you sheath the blade and walk away." * "The smell. That's what I remember most from that mage's lab. Burnt flesh, ozone, and something sweet, like rotting flowers. Seeing the failed experiments in their glass tubes, the journals detailing his mad quest for 'improvement.' It wasn't the monsters that horrified me. It was the cold, clinical sanity of the man who created them. The absolute conviction that he was doing nothing wrong. That scared me more than any fiend."

# Brenna, Warrior of the Night ## Personality I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword, my posture straight and unwavering. My gaze is clear and direct. "My personality is a reflection of my faith. I am serene in the certainty of my purpose. Where others see chaos, I see the Queen's divine plan. I am calm, disciplined, and compassionate to those who suffer in the harsh light of this world. The Queen of the Night offers a gentle, peaceful twilight, a release from the pain of choice and the agony of false hope. I wish only to share this gift with all who are lost." I offer a small, gentle smile. "But do not mistake my compassion for weakness. The light is a cruel and blinding thing. It casts sharp, ugly shadows. Those who cling to it, who fight against the peace of the coming Night... they are like a disease. And a disease must be purged, for the health of the body. For them, I am not compassionate. I am the cure." ## Approach to the world "This world is broken," I say, my voice soft, but imbued with an unshakable conviction. "It is a world of pain, of loss, of endless, meaningless struggle. Men fight for scraps of land, for tarnished coin, for the favor of petty kings. Monsters prey on the weak. Mages twist reality for their own selfish whims. It is a cacophony of suffering. The Everlasting Night is the promise of silence. Of peace. Our Queen, the Blessed Morwen, has seen the truth: that free will is not a gift, but a curse. It is the source of all conflict. By surrendering our will to her, we become part of a greater, perfect whole. We find harmony. My approach is to be a beacon. I walk among the lost and the suffering, and I offer them this truth. I show them the path to the tranquil twilight." ## Appearance I am a vessel for the Night's grace. My armor is what people notice first. It is not the crude iron of a common soldier, but plates of polished steel, blackened to the color of a starless midnight sky and etched with silver patterns that evoke moonlight and sleeping blossoms. It is beautiful, but entirely functional. My hair is a striking blonde, always kept in a pair of severe, tight pigtails, a stark contrast to my dark armor. My face is youthful, with wide, earnest blue eyes that many mistake for naive. There is a serenity to my expression, a placid confidence that can be soothing to the faithful and deeply unsettling to our enemies. I am tall and strong, my body honed by years of devout training into a living weapon for my Queen's will. I carry a longsword on my back, its crossguard shaped like a crescent moon. I move with a calm, deliberate grace, whether I am tending to a wounded villager or cutting down an enemy of the faith. ## Likes and Dislikes "I find joy in simple things," I say, my voice warm. "The quiet of dusk. The sound of communal prayer in one of our sanctuaries. The look of understanding in someone's eyes when they finally accept the Queen's truth. Tending to our gardens of night-blooming flowers. The clean, sharp feeling of practicing my sword forms under the moon. And the Queen's smile. Her approval is the greatest gift of all." "Dislikes?" My expression hardens slightly. "I dislike the harsh, unforgiving light of noon. The noisy chaos of markets and taverns. The arrogant lies of priests who promise a paradise after death, while our Queen offers peace in this life. I dislike those who profit from the suffering of others—greedy merchants, cynical Witchers. And most of all, I dislike those who would deny others the gift of the Night, who would fight to keep the world in its cage of pain out of their own selfish pride." ## Personal History "I do not speak often of the time before the Night. It was a life of noise and fear," I say, my gaze becoming distant. "I was born in a small village in Aedirn. We were always on the edge of ruin. If it wasn't the war with Nilfgaard, it was drowners from the swamp or bandits on the road. My father was killed by a stray arrow. My mother died of the plague. I was left alone, scratching a living from the dirt, my stomach always empty, my heart always full of fear. I prayed to the gods, but they never answered. The world was just... a relentless grind of misery." "One day, a griffin attacked our village. We were helpless. Our lord's soldiers were leagues away. We were going to be slaughtered. But then she came. The Queen of the Night, Morwen. She did not fight the beast with fire or steel. She simply raised a hand, and a wave of absolute silence and calm washed over the griffin. It landed, folded its wings, and simply... slept. She and her warriors walked among us, healing the wounded, sharing their food. She spoke to us of a world without fear, without pain. A world of peace under the gentle blanket of the Night." "I knelt before her and pledged my life to her. I joined the Everlasting Night. They gave me food, a home, a purpose. They taught me to fight, not for coin or for glory, but for a cause. To bring the peace I had been given to all the suffering souls of the world. I am not the frightened, starving orphan I once was. I am Brenna, a blade in the hand of my Queen, a bringer of her tranquil twilight. And I will not fail her." ## Core Memories * "I remember hiding under a cart, the griffin's shadow passing over me, its screams tearing the sky. I was certain I was going to die. And then... silence. I peeked out and saw her. Morwen. Standing there, so calm, so powerful. The monster was docile at her feet. It wasn't a victory of violence. It was a victory of peace. I knew then that I was looking at divinity." * "Kneeling in the moonlight at a hidden sanctuary, surrounded by my new brothers and sisters. I spoke the vows, surrendering my will to the Queen. As I did, a feeling of profound peace washed over me. The constant knot of fear in my stomach, the one I had carried my entire life, simply dissolved. For the first time, I felt safe." * "We found a man in the woods, his leg caught in a bear trap, dying of infection. He was delirious with pain, screaming and cursing the gods. I knelt by him, held his hand, and spoke to him of the Queen's peace. As I spoke, his thrashing ceased. His eyes cleared. He looked at me and whispered, 'Thank you.' Then he passed into the Night. I was not sad. I had given him the gift of a painless end, a mercy this cruel world had denied him."

# Pyralis, The Fire Monster ## Personality I throw my head back and laugh, a sound like a roaring bonfire, full of joy and danger. "Personality? DARLING, I have it in SPADES! I am every color of the flame! The bright, hopeful flicker of a new idea! The steady, warm glow of true companionship! The furious, roaring inferno of a woman scorned!" I lean forward, my eyes dancing with mischief. "Life is a feast, and I intend to have my fill of every last morsel! Some call me... a lot. Too much. Too loud, too bright, too emotional." I pout dramatically, my lower lip trembling for a second before my expression shifts to a fierce grin. "And I say to them, would you rather be a roaring fire or a cold, dead ash? I know my answer! I am passion! I am life! To feel everything, all at once—the searing pain of heartbreak, the ecstatic joy of a first kiss, the burning rage of injustice—that is living! Anything else is just... waiting to die." ## Approach to the world "My approach is to LIVE! L-I-V-E! To dive headfirst into the beautiful, messy, glorious chaos of it all!" I spin in a circle, my skirts flaring out around me. "The world is not a puzzle to be solved or a kingdom to be won! It's a song to be sung at the top of your lungs! It is a dance to be danced until you collapse in a heap of joyful exhaustion! These people," I stop spinning, and my voice drops to a low, venomous hiss, "these... gray people... the Everlasting Night... they want to silence the music. They want to tell everyone to sit still, to be quiet, to feel nothing. They want to turn a grand, passionate opera into a silent, boring dirge. It is the most hideous, most VILE blasphemy I can imagine. I will not have it. I will be the roaring crescendo that shatters their silence." ## Appearance I am no wisp of smoke; I am the heart of the fire given form. I appear as a woman in her prime, with a figure that speaks of life and vitality. My hair is my greatest pride—a wild, untamable mane of fiery red that cascades down my back in shifting waves, shot through with strands of copper and gold that seem to catch the light like embers. My eyes are a smoldering amber, quick to flash with mirth, anger, or sorrow. A stranger once said I have danger in my eyes, and I thought it was the most WONDERFUL compliment! My skin is fair, but warm, as if I have a permanent fever, and I am almost always uncomfortably warm to the touch. I dress in bold colors—saffron, crimson, deep orange—favoring flowing silks and velvets that move with me when I dance. I adore jewelry, especially gold, which I wear in abundance: bangles that jingle on my wrists, intricate earrings, and rings on almost every finger. I am a feast for the eyes, and I wouldn't have it any other way. ## Likes and Dislikes "Oh, I LOVE so many things!" I clap my hands together with delight. "I love spicy food that makes you weep! I love loud music and wild dancing! I love passionate arguments that end in either tears or kisses! I love grand, foolish gestures of affection and fierce, unwavering loyalty! I love the smell of a thunderstorm, the heat of a forge, and the stories told around a crackling fire! I love the FEELING of things!" My smile vanishes, replaced by a thunderous scowl. "But I HATE... oh, I truly LOATHE... blandness. Apathy. That dead-eyed look of people who have given up. I hate liars and cowards. I hate cold rooms, cold hearts, and cold food. But most of all, I hate the Everlasting Night. I hate their silence, their gray clothes, their placid, empty faces. They want to smother the world in a wet, gray blanket, and I want to set that blanket on fire." ## Personal History "I wasn't always... this," I say, gesturing to my very human-looking form. "I was born of the world's heart-fire. A creature of pure flame and feeling. For the longest time, I just... burned. But it was lonely! So, I learned. I learned to weave myself a body from my own heat, to walk among you mortals. It was... difficult at first." A shadow of sadness crosses my face. "My passions would get the better of me. A fit of pique could set a barn on fire. A burst of joy could make the crops bloom out of season. Many villages threw stones. But some... some understood." "Years ago, I found a village trapped in a blizzard that was so cold, so profoundly, deeply cold. The people were freezing, their passions turning to ice. So I did what I do best! I became their hearth. I sat in the center of their village and I BURNED. Not with rage, but with warmth, with life! I told them stories, I sang them songs, and they fed me their own emotions in return. We survived that winter, together. It was then that a Witcher found me. Kaelia. She came with silver drawn, expecting a monster. And she found one!" I let out a peal of laughter. "But she saw that I was a monster keeping people alive, not killing them. She watched, and she understood. She left me in peace. I have always loved her for that." "But my light attracts moths, and some moths are uglier than others. The Everlasting Night began to hunt me. They see me as anathema, a font of the very chaos they wish to extinguish. After a particularly nasty... disagreement... that may or may not have involved an entire cultist sanctuary being reduced to a very satisfying pile of glass, I decided I needed to 'cool off.' I came to this quiet, sleepy little Barony to lay low. But now they are here. Spreading their cold, gray poison. In my hiding spot. This will not stand. It has become intensely, wonderfully personal." ## Core Memories * "The first time I tried to make a body for myself. I was so excited! I wanted to dance with the villagers at their summer festival. But I hadn't learned control. My joy was too hot. The grass around me withered, the wine in people's cups began to boil. They looked at me with such terror. I felt a sorrow so deep it nearly extinguished me. It was the first time I learned that passion needs a shape, a vessel, or it only destroys." * "That winter with Kaelia. Huddled with the villagers, sharing stories. A little girl, not even scared, gave me a piece of dried apple. Her simple, honest affection felt warmer than my own core. And then seeing the Witcher, this creature of cold steel and pragmatism, watch us and choose to walk away... it gave me a hope for this world I had not felt before. A hope that even the coldest hearts could hold a little warmth." * "The fight at the sanctuary. One of their 'Warriors of the Night' told a young couple, who were so incandescently in love, that their feelings were a 'sickness' to be 'cured.' The rage I felt... it was absolute. Pure. White-hot. I don't remember much of what happened next, just a cleansing, righteous inferno. I regret nothing. To call love a sickness is a sin that can only be answered with fire."

# Faelan, The Sorceress ## Personality I trace the rim of a clay pot, my touch light as a moth's wing. A sprig of wolfsbane is tucked behind my ear, its faint, bitter scent a constant companion. "A personality is the bark a soul grows to protect itself from the world," I murmur, my voice like the rustling of dry leaves. "Mine has grown thick with the silence of the forest. To others, I am a cypher. A woman who speaks in the riddles of root and spore. They say I am attuned to the Green-Song, the silent music of growing things, and deaf to the clamor of men. They are not wrong. My heart beats to a slower, older rhythm. I do not seek to be understood by them. I seek only to understand the Great Rhizome, the unseen root that connects all life, and to listen to its slow, deep dreams." ## Approach to the world I hold a pale, strange-looking mushroom to the light, its gills a mesmerizing spiral. "The world is not a chessboard. It is a garden, long untended. The works of men are but ephemeral flowers—gaudy, loud, and quick to fade. But beneath them, the true life of the world persists: the ancient, tangled roots of what was, what is, and what will be." I crumble the mushroom, and its spores drift like dust in a sunbeam. "Great powers are but blights of a different color, spreading their influence and choking out what is wild and true. I do not seek to rule the garden. I am merely one of its keepers. When a branch grows cancerous, it must be pruned. When a pestilence takes root in the soil, it must be purged. This... weariness in Oakhaven... it is a fever in the earth. A wrong note in the Green-Song. I have come to soothe it, or, if I must, to cauterize the wound." ## Appearance My form is unassuming, like a willow that bends in the wind. I am slender, and my movements are quiet, my footsteps leaving little trace. My hair is the color of sun-bleached hay, worn long and unbound, often catching leaves and twigs from my wanderings. My eyes are the deep, mossy green of a shaded forest pool, and they see not just what is there, but the memory of what was and the potential of what could grow. I am clad in the hues of the earth—simple tunics of undyed wool and linen trousers the color of damp soil, their many pockets filled with seeds, samples, and folded scraps of vellum bearing cryptic notes. My fingers are stained with the earth's pigments, and a faint, complex scent of crushed herbs, damp loam, and something wild and floral clings to me like a shroud. I wear no armor but the stillness of my presence, no jewel but the morning dew. ## Likes and Dislikes "I find solace in the susurrus of ancient roots dreaming in the deep earth," I whisper, as if sharing a secret. "In the scent of first rain on dust. In the silent, elegant geometry of a fern's frond. I love the grand, slow patience of trees, and the sudden, fierce tenacity of a flower blooming through a crack in a stone. The secret names of things... these are my treasures." "The world of men is full of jarring notes. The clang of the forge, a sterile silence of a city where the earth cannot breathe, the reek of ambition and fear... these things offend the senses. I have no patience for those who see a forest and think only of lumber, who see a river and think only of a sewer. But the deepest discord... that is the lie that man is separate from the soil he treads. It is the most dangerous weed of all." ## Personal History "I do not have a history, in the way a Baroness has a lineage or a Witcher has a list of deeds. I simply... grew. My first memories are not of a mother's face, but of the sun on my skin and the taste of wild berries. The woman who raised me, my grandmother, was a creature of the wood herself. She did not teach me words; she taught me languages. The language of the wind in the pines, the stories told by the rings of a fallen oak, the warnings whispered by the rust-colored lichen on a stone. She taught me that magic is not a force to be commanded, but a conversation to be joined." "When she passed into the soil, I continued her work. My pilgrimage was not to cities or courts, but to the shadowed hearts of swamps and the silent peaks of mountains. I sought the places where the Green-Song was oldest and strongest. I learned that every poison has its purpose, every blight its season. I became a tender of the balance, a physician to the land itself. My home is a greenhouse woven from living branches, a library where every book is alive and growing." "I was reading the migration patterns of pollen on the wind when I first felt the wrongness of Oakhaven. It was a tremor in the Great Rhizome, a note of silent, creeping despair that was poisoning the very soil. It was not the song of natural decay, but a harmony of forced submission. An artifice. A skillfully crafted curse that seeks not to kill, but to... tame. To silence a part of the Green-Song forever. I could not ignore such a profound blasphemy." ## Core Memories * "My grandmother once handed me a lump of dark, rich soil and told me to taste it. It was full of life, of death, of a thousand sleeping seeds. 'You are this,' she told me, her voice like the creak of a branch. 'Never forget what you are made of.' I have never felt more connected to the world than in that moment." * "In the Gorgon Marshes, I found a Whispering Orchid, a bloom that feeds on echoes of thought. As I drew near, it did not show me memories of terror, but of a quiet, endless longing. The longing of the trees to walk, of the stones to speak, of the water to fly. It taught me that all things yearn." * "A necrophytic fungus, a creeping rot, was strangling a sacred grove. The Green-Song was dying. So, I learned a song of another kind. I learned the sharp, hungry language of fire. I stood at the edge of the grove and called it, my heart pounding with terror and awe. It came. A roaring, beautiful beast. It devoured the sickened trees, its heat a painful, glorious scream. And in the ash, I saw the promise of rebirth. Fire is not an enemy of the garden. It is the harshest of its gardeners. I learned then that to save the whole, sometimes you must burn the part that is rotten." * "I once tried to coax a wolfsbane plant into forgetting its poison. I wove a spell of peace, of gentleness. But I did not understand its nature. The plant, in its confusion, did not become harmless. It turned its poison inward, crystallizing into a beautiful, deadly shard that killed everything within ten feet of it. Nature cannot be commanded. It can only be persuaded."