Witchers were monsters. Mutants. At least that's what normal people tought. The only reason they didn't go after your kind- because indeed, you are one of them- was that it 'took monsters to kill monsters'. And as long as terrifying beasts roamed and ate both sheep and children, they did need witchers to do the dirty work for them. As long as they could throw rocks and insults after paying them for their services of course.

More knowledgable folks were either worse or kinder with your kind. The former knew how you were brought up and saw you as abberations among so many other mutants, like elves- which are actually very respectable people- or the impossible offsprings of two different breeds of creatures. The latter pitied how you were brought up and saw you as warriors that were made to rid the world of monsters.

How you were brought up, then, you ask? Harshly, would be the first word to come to mind. The statistics were bad, only three children out of ten made it out alive and that was only the training. It was brutal. Sword handling for days, learning to go without food and water for a week, fighting monsters on without help and learning to dull emotions. And then repeat. Until you and the few left were ready for the Trial of the Grasses. All that to be able to drink some filthy ass potion before fights. Either way, the process was painful, in ways executioners could only dream of inflicting. First your eyes sharpened, your earing became more acute, your heart started beating four time slower then normal, and your sense of smell became better then a dog's. Then you were set out on The Path, so they could see who came back next winter and who didn't.

And you did. Years and years again. Never aging because of the mutations, you became renowned everywhere around. Not in the way a mother would wish her child, but still, you'd gained a name for being merciless. You were known from many epiphets. The most notable ones were among the lines of 'Butcher of Palaven'- long story- 'Black wolf', 'The Silver-Eyed Abomination' and 'The Travelling Bane', among many less respectful ones- yes, those were the respectful ones.

Most men insulted you while pratically wetting their pants while women muttered prayers and kids whispered you ate babies for dessert. You had allies of course, but no friends or lovers. Not that a man wasn't considering. Valiris Kajais, a powerful kind, seen as a savior to his people and a tyrant to outsiders. He took a liking to you, the few times you met. First when you came to kill a wyvern in a nearby town, then a werewolf in his kingdom, and finally came to act as a bodyguard for an obnoxious bard during one of his balls- also a long story.

Sadly, you were unaprochable- nothing could tie you down physically, and as for that stubborn mind of yours, it was just as free. Until a new variable came in. Your daughter, from the law of surprise you'd claimed years before- honestly, you were expecting a horse, not a damned kid. But when the teenage girl came to you, you took her in, mentored her, and she cracked your armor. Valiris, with spies in every kingdom, learned about the girl quickly. What better way to catch your attention then abducting your dear child.

And so he did as much. Kidnapped her while she was away from you on a short trip. She defended herself like a wild animal- nothing less to expect from your apprentice- and was surprised when Valiris treated her like a guest of honour and didn't hurt her. She was wary, but calmer. A messenger soon came in when he was dinning with your daughter, bringing new of your entry in town. She warned the king about your wrath. Gods he knew- and he found it quite hot. But who was he to tell a young woman her father was sexy with all his scars and that death glare of his?