Witcher in Equestria
OvO
Chapter 1
The Witcher arrives through an unstable portal and collapses to his hands and knees as it implodes with a thunderclap.
Standard reversion distortion - he’s teleported before, but there’s something different this time.
He stays still; stretching his enhanced senses out, attempting to overcome his discomfort, trying to find.... There’s a resistance in the very air - like something is squeezing his entire body slightly. he attempts to shrug off the feeling, and discern it’s source.
The air is cool, musty - he smells the heady bouquet of dense, damp vegetation - the musk of frightened animals. He’s in a forest, it’s daytime and it has recently rained. Curious, since when he was pushed through the rift, it was in the dead of night, in an arid area.
He quickly takes mental inventory of himself and his state, his right hand fumbling in a routine check of his gear. Mildly dizzy - it will pass. Arms, legs? Check. Steel two-handed sword? Check. Silver Moonblade? Check. Pack? Check. Potions case? Check....
The forest abruptly comes alive with the sound of many feral animals, large and small
A scream rings out. A human scream.
Shrill, panicky, but aggressive - as though defending oneself. Probably female, near distance, forward to his left... --His golden, slit-pupiled eyes flash open-- ...slightly downhill through dense foliage.
Wherever he was, perhaps he could make a few orens while getting his bearings. Oh, and maybe save someone - he WAS technically a knight, after all. He smirked slightly, remembering his...encounter... with the Lady of the Lake. He heaved himself to his feet, Ignoring the odd, compressing feeling the air gave him -- he was certain he would grow accustomed.
The voice rang out again, tainted with an edge of desperation. He was familiar with the sound - how often had he arrived JUST too late?
He swiftly chose his path.
Lyra trotted through the everfree forest, carefully, but casually following the path.
It wasn’t far to Zecora’s hut, nor was it particularly dangerous so long as you never ventured far from the talisman-adorned posts set up along the track. It was difficult to follow Zecora’s rhyming speech, but Twilight had explained in clearer, if more boring, long-winded terms: wards - they kept the monsters at bay, and encouraged the trees to stay put.
Lyra was grateful that the two intellectuals had joined efforts to set a properly safe path - after all, where else was Bon-Bon going to get her super-special extra-tasty secret-ingredients for her best candies....and how better to score brownie points with her lover than to fetch them for her? Lyra smiled dreamily as her hooves idly followed the path, her mind caught up in visions of candy-coated goodness....and candy-flanked love. She made the trip almost regularly now, and was familiar with the way.
Completely without warning, there was a bright flash through the trees to her right, and a vast rumbling, swooshing, sucking sound echoed through the woods. The everfree forest went dead silent. Strange things happened here all the time, but this event was new, and the area’s every inhabitant froze, wary.
Lyra was so startled she nearly fell over. She flailed her hooves out and caught herself on a nearby post thrust deeply into the center of the path. She leaned against it, trembling as the strange, unsettling sound grew and grew ... and cut off. Her horn twitched, her mint-green fur prickled.
As a unicorn, she had basic magical talent and training: mostly in the use of telekinesis, and of course she had musical, and magically musical gifts - her special talent and all. She didn’t have anywhere near the sort of talent or power somepony like Twilight Sparkle had, but she’d know a discordant note anywhere - this one could have been through reality itself.
Abruptly, the forest stopped holding it’s breath as an enormous shockwave blasted outward with a crack of displaced air. It pushed more than air, dirt and leaves, and consisted of more than mere concussive force. The magical backlash alone would have sent her flailing to her knees as the wave of debris and energy washed over her, flattening her to ground.
It vanished as quickly as it came, and she hauled herself shakily back to her hooves.
She heard a faint buzzing, sparking sound and looked to find it’s source.
The post was sizzling.
The wood near the top was blackened, smoldering. What remained of the odd runic sigil that had been embedded there sparked and oozed. She stared, trying to comprehend what this meant.
The talisman had been carved from stone, imbued and fixed there by the two most powerful spellcrafters in town. She had grown used to feeling the steady, safety-ensuring power of the path’s overlapping wards pass her by during her trips to the wise Zebracain woman’s hut. The stone was now a smoking molten blob, it’s power dispersed.
The moment broke, as the forest’s tense silence vanished in a shattering cacophony of wild, feral sounds - a particularly menacing series of growls coming from uncomfortably close by.
Oh, horseapples....
The bone-white hair of Geralt, the infamous, legendary White Wolf whipped around him, as he wove dexterously through the underbrush, dodging trees, and leaping obstacles. His yellow, slitted eyes seemed to have an unnatural luminescence all their own as he ducked through shadowy pockets.
He didn’t need a potion to see or move in this thin murk - his ‘normal’ enhanced senses were more than enough. He frowned as he twisted his body lithely through two close trees - curious - the forest itself seemed like it was actively attempting to get in his way.
In fact, his wolf-headed witcher’s medallion, still tuned to sense magic - was vibrating steadily against his leather vest, the eyes aglow with faint, yellow light: the entire area was totally saturated with latent magic. No matter, he was moving far too swiftly, his reflexes too fast for his brief journey to be interrupted.
He can hear yelling and howling from just up ahead. He flexes the fingers of his left hand, loosening them in the event he must cast immediately.
He lunges forth from the forest in agile silence, lands in a crouch and immediately takes stock of the situation; He is at the edge of a small clearing around the base of one side of a barren, scorched hillock. It’s near face little more than large mound of scree and gravel.
There is a creature trying in vain to climb the unstable hillside. It is mint-green, four legged, moaning in terror and swearing incoherently....trapped, but not defenseless: As he watches, the curious, colorful creature whirls around as best it can with it’s legs half-buried in shifting stone and rapidly fires off multiple beams of beige-colored energy from a protrusion on it’s forehead.
That's...not a human... His eyes narrow.
The beams flash out, and strike the nearest creatures, knocking them head-over-paws and sending them tumbling back - briefly.
The witcher scanned them, his mental bestiary coming up dry for the seven wolf-like creatures, and the brightly-colored equine alike. He had no idea what they were -- it appeared the wolves were made from animated wood. Some form of Spriggan, likely... No matter, for he recognizes the eighth hostile beast all too well.
A large manticore had already flown up the side of the hill, and is methodically and carefully stalking down the unstable slope to flank the trapped green creature. The fearsome beast's leathery wings were spread, it's venomous, stinger-adorned tail flicking to keep it's balance.
Several small rocks bounce down past the trapped creature near the base of the hill, breaking vital focus - causing it to reflexively glance around and up... to see doom approaching.
The semi-circle of wooden wolves see the opportunity and rush forward together
Geralt swiftly draws the Sign of Quen in the air, concentrating mightily, drawing some of the potent latent energy from the air and thrusts it powerfully at the distracted creature.
He then immediately begins tracing the Sign of Axii, eyeing the deadly beast crowning the hillock. His golden eyes glow, then flare brightly.
The wolves complete their rush and leap, just as the blood-drained face of the green-furred quadruped turns back to face her neglected wooden foes - just in time to see seven ravening, bestial jaws reach for her. the poor creature doesn’t even have time to flinch “Bon...”, It whispers, eyes huge.
The wooden wolves collectively impact the scintillating golden orb-shield of Quen that abruptly phases into existence, and tumble back down the short distance to the base of the gravel-mound in a yelping pile of tangled limbs, tucked tails and scorched muzzles.
Geralt of Rivia stood; strode calmly forward to plant himself in the center of the clearing, smoothly drew his precious silver-plated, rune-encrusted elven saber Moonblade. He lowered it to the witcher’s traditional group-style ready position, and waited patiently.
Just as he had many, many times before, whether he could remember them all or not.
Lyra watched, dumbstruck, as she turned from doom to see death.
Death came for her - she couldn’t comprehend how all this had happened. She couldn’t defend, couldn’t even flinch in the time left to her - all remaining reflex left her as she breathed her love’s name, certain it was her final utterance.
She stared, equally dumbstruck, as a wall of golden light blazed into existence, and solidly, contemptuously repelled death.
The shield flared and sparked violently as the timberwolves piled into it, slamming their sensitive noses into what might have been a wall of solid electricity - their muzzles blackened, their teeth sparked and they fell back in a great tumbling, yelping heap.
She caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, and saw something she never had before. A tall biped, nearly twice her height with small, slitted, golden eyes; a massive scar down it's face, white hair and...clothing. very strange clothing.
A small voice in the back of her head jabbered with certainty that at this point, she’d never be surprised by anything again.
The wolves hastily untangled themselves, and whirled -- looking for anything that might have caused this interruption, and found it. They spread out, quickly surrounding the new creature, snarling in rage and the closest thing to hate a group of half-plant animals could convey.
The white-maned biped appeared supremely unconcerned with his predicament, but all Lyra could see was somepony about to get ripped limb-from-limb, just as she'd been about to be. She couldn't focus on her magic, she couldn't move. She frantically strained against the unstable stone, hoping to help, to run, to do something - anything!
She’d tried to get to high ground after being run off the path back to Ponyville -a mistake, obviously- but all she succeeded in doing now was toppling over, causing the transparent golden globe to spark against the scree. She was forced to watch the macabre scene play out before her eyes...before they came back for her.
She trembled.
The strange creature strode calmly, confidently - even gracefully, for a two-legger - into the small clearing - and reached one of it’s... Legs? Forehooves? It's shaped kind've like spike, overall. What did spike have...? -- Arms! It reached one of it’s arms up to it’s upper back, next to it’s neck and grasped the handle of something.
The apparently suicidal, white-maned creature smoothly drew a long, shiny, slightly curved knife from a sheathe there and lowered it to a position out to it’s right side, back and low. It weaved slightly, as the tall creature sank into an easy half-crouch - it’s tip playing at the air in a teasing butterfly-like pattern.... A small smirk flickered over his scarred face.
The timberwolves had whatever it was surrounded, and felt they had it’s measure, shiny stick aside - they had it dead to rights and the ring of prowling plants followed the alpha in a simultaneous lunge.
They fell.
All of them
In a matter of seconds, the glittering, rune-encrusted blade swirled through the tough wooden hide of each of the magical monsters as though they were made from parchment. The tall creature spun this way and that, tracing wide, sweeping, lethal arcs in a whirlwind of ridiculously quick movement. Lyra had never before seen anything move so fast, except maybe Rainbow Dash. None of the timberwolves even got close. That was scary.
As the wooden bodies of the wolves were sliced through, they collapsed into so much kindling - a small green flare rising from each of their bodies, and darting for the woods on every side.
It was over almost immediately.
Lyra was surprised after all. Darn it.
Through the slack-jawed, uncomprehending surprise and vague relief, she thought she heard the creature mumble something about ‘spriggans’. It then approached her. It had not put it's blade away.
For better or worse, she was too paralyzed by both rocks and shocks to cower in terror.
Her imposing savior loomed over her, gazing down at her with with a truly piercing gaze on it's flat, scarred face - it opens it’s mouth and it speaks:
"Jesteś ranna?"
Poor Lyra cannot but blink.
“Wh-What?”, she splutters. She’s surprised - again. It’s not fair. The little voice had lied to her.
The white-maned, yellow eyed...thing frowned down at her and spoke again:
“Jesteś ranna?", the menacing figure intones in a flat, questioning voice - laced with a permanently sardonic undertone. "Jeżeli nie, my musi pozostawiać." It gestures with it’s long knife toward the hilltop above, "Szybko....”, it adds, glancing that way...before looking back down at her.
“...Czymkolwiek jesteś....”
“All....right”, Lyra temporized, staring. “I don’t have a clue what you’re saying or even what you are, but do you think you could maybe help me out of here?” She cocks her head to the side, blinking up at It.
It cocks an eyebrow. then pinches the bridge of it’s nose and sighs.
Lyra could relate. Yup, could she ever.
A language barrier.
If Geralt put as much faith in luck as he ever did destiny or will, he’d have likely attempted to give up this thankless job a long time ago. Of course, wherever the fresh hell he was now, whatever strange race inhabited it, even the most basic first contact would be a chore. whatever. basic sign language it was then...
By the time Geralt had marshaled his thoughts, his smaller counterpart had also reached the same conclusion.
She --for it was definitely a she, as he could see now, having gotten a closer look--motioned as best she could at the stones around her hooves, nosing at the rocks, and looking up him with an irritated expression. It was curious how a creature that looked so much like a small, wide-eyed horse had such easily readable human-like mannerisms and characteristics.
He closed his eyes briefly: not important. He nodded once, picked up a pebble and winged it at his shield, which while fading, still looked to have another good fifteen seconds judging by the reaction. this was good. They had to get moving before the manticore recovered from his mind-hexing Axxi Sign, and came back to track him down.
The...pony - -it was close enough, he supposed, despite apparent intelligence and odd color- - looked dubiously up at him as he performed his little test, and proceeded to carefully climb the scree so he was slightly above and behind her. He saw her look and rolled his slitted eyes. A casually disturbing sight.
He made the gestures for the Sign of Arrd with his left hand, and sheathed his Moonblade with his right. He held the power ready in his palm, and tried to make eye contact with her - for she was staring intently at his hands. his fingers to be precise.
He waved his right hand to get her attention, held up those fingers, and counted down with them. She looked quizzically at him. He shrugged mentally: Oh well.
3
2
1
...
*- -BLAST- -*
Lyra went flying off in a shower of pebbles. Damn that lying little voice. Totally not her day.
Author's Note
How distracted do you have to be to forget all about a manticore sneaking up on you?
Welp, now you know.
Also: - if you were wondering - Geralt has seen seen ponies of a sort in his world before, obviously - it wouldn't be hard for him to discern gender - particularly on a being with such an expressive, oddly familiar-ish combined human-horse facial structure. Lyra has absolutely no knowledge of humans whatsoever until juuuuuust now. Heh. She also has never seen, or heard of diamond dogs before, except as vague rumors. She can't even tell if Geralt is male or female - not that she's really focused of figuring that out right now. I know I intentionally put about 3 fic references in here. If someone thinks I added more, hurr-derp! Entirely possible. I guess. Ish.
- :solA
For those who know nothing of Witchers, or Witcher accessories:
Arrd - is a powerful, short-range wind-type force spell.
Axii - is a hex with minor mind-control/compulsion characteristics. Think Jedi-mind trick. With glowing eyes.
Quen is a shield spell that, at higher levels can return the force of blows. for the purposes of the story, Geralt can now cast it on others besides himself...
Igni - is a basic, billowing wave of fire. Charged up, it can be launched into the distance to explode, like any magical fireball you've ever heard of.
Yrden - is a minor curse-type spell, acting as a proximity trap. Drawn on a flat surface, the sigil, when activated - will release like a mine, possibly causing considerable pain, or discomfort depending on the effort put in. Can be used as a form of ward, or as a temporary sealing spell.
~OvO
Chapter 2:
Lyra landed sprawled amidst a shower of small rocks. She expected to feel pain, the bite of stone into her flesh, the burn of smashing into the ground and skidding like she had.
She didn’t - she was entirely unharmed.
As she slowly picked herself up, the golden globe around her flickered and faded into nothingness.
Her brain idly wondered how many more shocks she could take today.
She heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and glanced over to the tall, frightening...fascinating creature striding towards her. “Thanks”, she called, shakily.
She shook her head as It intoned something completely unintelligible in response. She was starting to get tired of calling it an ‘It’. She decided to make an executive decision and call it a ‘he’ instead. If she was wrong, hopefully no-one would ever know.
It was incredible really - she had no idea what was going on. She was still reeling from her near-death experience. ‘He’ had appeared out of nowhere, saved her life against ridiculous odds, and freed her from the clutch of that stupid hill.
That stupid hill...
Suddenly filled with terror once more, she started violently -- and looked frantically around, starting with the hillside.
Nothing.
“zwierzę jest nieobecne teraz.”, came the flat voice of her rescuer.
She looked back, as he came to a halt, some paces away. looking up, she met piercing golden eyes.
“To będzie zwracać wkrótce”, he gestured back to the hill.
- “my musi pozostawiać.” he gestured back to the forest.
The Towering, white-maned biped seemed to wait for a moment, to see if she understood. She didn’t really, but when it...he turned away and started walking off, gesturing for her to follow, she did. If the manticore wasn’t on the hill, and the dangerous two-legger wasn’t worried, than... well.
She just hoped wherever they were heading wasn’t towards a cooking pot.
As she caught up with him, and glanced up, He was fiddling with a strange amulet around his neck. The looming figure spoke again, not looking at her:
“Geralt z Rivii. Wiedźmin.” He jerks one of his wiggly appendages at himself, and looked down at her once more as they passed into the shadow of the forest; his irises seemed to glow eerily in the reduced light.
“Wy?”
It dawned on her that he was trying to ask her name.
Or something.
Welp, just in case -- “L-Lyra”, she stuttered. That would never do - and it was just embarrassing.
She cleared her throat and said it again, firmly this time, jerking a forehoof at her chest.
With only 3 legs walking, and not watching her footing she nearly fell headlong into some bushes.
Well that was even more embarrassing!
The.....Geralt. She’d call him that. She had no idea what a ‘vhy'd-zee-man’ was supposed to be.
Geralt was at her side in a blur, and steadied her with one of his arms-plus wiggly things. Fascinating things, those.
She couldn’t help but glare as she saw he Smirked slightly.
She huffed, and pulled in front, trying to discern where they were headed.
In fact, she could hardly see in this dense underbrush at all! The light of the sun barely poked through the leaves overhead.
She’d run blindly while the timberwolves were chasing her, and hadn’t noticed, but the forest was quite murky once you left the path.
The path...
Where was the path?!
Damn it! She looked around groaning. She was lost; she’d survived, and was lost.
She twitched as Geralt tapped her withers lightly with one of his wiggly-things, and pointed down.
She looked down, following the pointing...thing; squinting - she could just make out the shape of a hoofprint in the half-light...
She jerks her head back up to goggle at him, startled - he was twice her height, and he’d seen that?!
She just stops, staring after him as he continues to follow her track...back to the path. she’d get to see Zecora after all! And Bon-Bon! She Squeed. She might not take her adventure seriously, but who cared?!
She quickly cantered after him, as he continued to calmly follow the signs of her panicked dash back to familiar territory.
