Child of the Elder Blood

He stopped at the field. The stench of death was heavy in the air, but it was a smell he had smelled countless times before. The grass was taller here than in the rest of the forest, as there was a large clearing here and the rays of the sun made the grass grow tall. But now most of it was trampled and large parts of the field were black with dried blood.

He walked forward and kneeled at the nearest of the corpses and summarized what he saw. His deep, grumbling voice sounded in the silence of the woods.

"Large wounds... lacerations, but not from claws, nor from teeth... shattered bones and skull, takes incredible strength. Was killed by something very strong, but not eaten… this was no hunt."

He stood up again and looked at several other corpses but found the same as with the first one.

"Wiped out the whole pack… the beast is both strong and large."

One of the last corpses had some interesting information, and as he kneeled beside the dead animal, he noticed it.

"Tuft of fur in the mouth… brown, thick fur."

He took the fur from the mouth and examined it.

"Ripped from its owner… and…. Whoa." he recoiled. "It seems it hasn't bathed in a long while."

He turned around and looked over the field. The dead wolves had provided all the information they could give, despite their deaths. As he stood there he tried to catch the scent of the beast he was hunting. It was easy to find, as the smell was strong and unmistakable. Following his nose he left the field and kept walking until the grass started to become less thick and shorter. Then he saw footprints.

"Hmmm…. Large tracks… three 'toes' on each of the paws."

He glanced up and saw the last piece of the puzzle he was trying to solve. "Branches are broken… four, four-and-a-half meters high… a Fiend."

He knew now that he was in for a tough fight. Even to a man of his skill and size, a Fiend was a truly fearsome opponent, and they were quite aptly called 'walking mountains of muscle'. Strong limbs, large antlers, strong jaws, a third eye and the ability to regenerate wounds made a Fiend the nightmare of every village. But he also knew that this Fiend was not his first, and he had no intention of making it his last. His knowledge of all manner of beasts was large and he knew exactly what to do against this one.

He followed the tracks deeper into the woods and he pulled a small vial form a satchel. The smell that came from it was not pleasant, but he knew that he would need it, and he coated one of his swords with the liquid that the vial held.

After a short walk he saw something strange about the tracks. They were still going the same way, but he saw that there was now an extra set of tracks.

Human.

"Human tracks... a hunter?... no, they are too small to be from a man… or a dwarf is hunting this far in the woods… but no, the prints are too far apart to come from a dwarf… Elves? No, as far known there are no elves here…. Hmmm… small prints… a woman? Here?"

He followed the now two sets of tracks and he saw that there was no coincidence here. Someone else was tracking the fiend.

A huge roar echoed through the woods, but he did not look up. He already knew where he needed to go, and he grabbed a sword from his back. The oil was still wet on the blade and dripped from the tip.

It was a strange blade… or it would be strange to anyone not knowing its purpose. The blade was made from silver, a material used not often for swords. Near the hilt it was barbed and the cross-guard was strong and forked forward. The pommel was shaped in a strange way as to make the shape of a head. The head of a bear.

The roars became louder, and between them he could hear other noises as well. The yells and grunts from a person attacking and fighting. But the voice was from a woman. He quickened his pace and when he walked through a few bushes he saw the Fiend, and her.

The fiend was huge, as he expected. Four metres high, huge antlers that looked like overgrown deer antlers. Strong limbs, brown fur and a face that was furious. He saw many cuts on the body and limbs, yet a few of them started to close again already. The terrain was trampled, smaller trees were levelled and parts of bushes were scattered everywhere. But amidst the carnage, there stood a woman.

He could see that she was much smaller than him, but so was everyone he had ever met, save his old master. Her clothes were grey and brown. Her hair was ashen, her figure was slender, and her hands held a sword. Even from a distance he could see it was a witcher's sword, but not made of silver. She was panting, but she did not have a scratch on her body, something he thought to be impossible when fighting a Fiend. As soon as he entered the battleground, his medallion, also shaped in the head of a bear, made a slight wobble.

He grabbed something from a belt that hung over his massive chest. A small fuse hung from it, and he carefully walked forward, but he did not reveal himself. The Fiend however did notice him. It turned its head toward him and roared so loud that his medallion made another wobble.

With lightning reflexes he threw the bomb and while it still flew through the air he snapped his fingers and the fuse was lit. The Fiend closed his mouth, but too late. The bomb had entered his mouth and the woman looked at him.

"Duck." he said, and not two seconds later the fiends throat exploded in a burst of blood.

The bomb went off inside its throat and now massive amounts of blood poured from the wound. The Fiend tried to roar, but couldn't. It stumbled away in an effort to flee, but the woman ran toward its flank and drove her sword deep into its gut. Another gurgling grunt came from the Fiend's throat before it slammed on the ground, and then there was silence.

"Aha!" the man laughed and he sheathed his sword. "Admit it, that was a perfect throw."

The woman sheathed her sword as well, but only looked at him in suspicion as he walked calmly toward her. He saw a fierce glow in her emerald-green eyes, surrounded by black eyeliner. He saw a healed scar over her left cheek.

He stopped. There was something strange here. The woman looked like she was a witcher, just like him. But he saw no medallion, no yellow, cat-like eyes and no twin swords on her back, just the one. It also seemed like she was wearing normal, yet sturdy, clothing, and not armour like every witcher would.

And she looked at him, and was just as surprised. He was incredibly tall, almost two full feet taller than her and most likely the tallest human she had ever met. He was broad shouldered with a thick neck, thick arms and a waist twice the size of hers. His face was harsh and weathered, and he had thick brown hair. He wore an unusual set of armour, with plated shoulders, gauntlets and boots. The shoulders were covered with fur and the chest seemed to be made from thick, heavy leather that reached down to his feet like a wizards robe. She saw the twin swords on his back and noticed his medallion. Overall he made an intimidating impression… one that would fight bears with his bare hands. She knew he was a witcher.

"So," he said after both stared at each other. "What brings you to this neck o' the woods?"

"I suppose the same thing that brought you here." she answered. "I have a contract."

"You have a contract?... you?"

"Why? You think I cannot take care of myself because I'm a woman?"

He smiled and his laugh was deep. "Ha ha… feisty aren't we? Well…. I don't think you got that sword just for show. I'm just surprised. Nobody told me that the contract was already taken."

"Neither did I. Where did you get your contract?"

"Village south o' here."

"Really?" she said surprised. "I have my contract from the town north of here."

"Is that so? Well, then we are in luck. We cut off its head, take it to the northern town, collect the reward, take the head to the southern village and collect the second reward."

The woman made a slight chuckle. "You are practical aren't you?"

"Very."

They both relaxed and shook each other's hand.

"Beram." he introduced himself.

"… Falka." she answered.

"So, Falka. I gotta ask you. Where are you from? And where'd you train?"

She pulled a knife from her hip and walked to the head of the Fiend that lay dead beside them.

"At the School of the Wolf. At Kaer Morhen."

"The School of the Wolf?" Beram asked. "But you are not a witcher, although you seem to fight like one."

"True.. I am not officially a witcher." Falka answered as she drove her knife into the Fiend's neck and started cutting. "But I am trained like one, and it is the life I lead."

"You mean you chose this? A strange choice."

"Maybe, but I chose it anyway. And you? You are from the School of the Bear, but I don't know anything about it."

Beram chuckled. "Well spotted. But yes, I am from the School of the Bear. We used be settled in Skellige, but…. That was many years ago."

"You are from Skellige?" Falka asked.

"Yes. Born on Undvik, but that is all I remember. It's been too long."

"But where is the School located then?" she asked, and she looked at him. "I've been to Skellige before, but I have never seen, or heard from a School there."

"Not suprising. The School has been completely destroyed, and it was not widely known. I am the last witcher that was trained there, and I am one of the very few still alive from my School."

Falka had almost cut the head off the Fiend, yet the spine proved troublesome. The Fiend was large and the spine was strong, but with the help of Beram she managed to take the head. Falka whistled and a young mare emerged from between the trees. They knew the horse would not be able to carry the head with antlers, and Falka tried to cut them off, but the bone was too strong for her knife. Thicker than even Beram's arms, it seemed that only extreme force would be able to cut through them or break them.

"Oh, don't bother." Beram said. "Allow me…" and he grabbed the antlers and broke them off the head. Falka stared at him with her green eyes wide open.

"How did you do that? Those antlers are incredibly strong, and won't break for anything. How did you manage to break them?"

"Witcher mutations." Beram said plainly. "At the School of the Bear we had a different mix-up. We'd add additional mutagens to increase height, build and strength."

When Falka looked puzzled at him he explained. "Why'd you think we're called the School of the Bear? The Cat School pays more attention to agility, and we focus more on strength."

Beram rammed a hook into the Fiend's mouth and lifted it up with one hand. When he stood up he made his point by towering above Falka and she did not even reach his shoulder. "That is what we rely on. Strength and might. Like a bear." he finished with a smile.

She nodded in understanding.

"Alright then… shall we hand in the contract then?"

"Lead the way."

Beram hung the head of the Fiend on Falka's horse and as after she mounted it, he followed her.

"Where is your horse?" she asked him.

"My horse? Ha!" he laughed. "Look at me… there is no horse that can carry me. And even if there was, I would break its back when going into full gallop."

He smiled. "No thanks… I'd rather keep both feet on the ground."

They both left the dead Fiend behind and went north, Falka on her horse and Beram walking beside her.

=End of Chapter=

-Fiends-

I regret to inform Your Grace that Your Grace's son fell while hunting a Fiend. He died on the spot, along with his squire, his guide, the beaters, his peasant entourage and his hounds. – Kavin Jell, manager of the Villepin Estate near Vizima.

Fiends are walking mountains of muscle capped with horned, toothfilled heads. Like their rarer cousins, Bumbakvetches, they live in thick forests, swamps and bogs. When possible they avoid humans, but when not possible, they kill them, and without much difficulty.

Their size alone makes Fiends and Bumbakvetches extremely dangerous – one blow from their powerful paws can kill a horse along with its fully armoured mount. Their enormous heft also makes them invulnerable to Aard; even witchers specializing in the power of Signs could not move one even an inch. Furthermore, any wounds they receive heal at lightning speed.

=Author's Notes=

So there is the first chapter for my Witcher fanfic. I do hope you like it.

To explain a few things before we continue, about the characters, the events that took place, etc. I am basing this mostly on the Witcher games (mostly 3, but 2 a bit as well) as I have not read the books. Should I? Are they any good? Tell me if you know.

The Witcher 3 has ended the following way: Nilfgaard won, Radovid is dead, Ciri chose the life of a witcher. These are the main things you should know. About the fate of Skellige, Geralt and his romance with Yennefer or Triss or neither, the Baron and his wife …. Those things will be told later. When there is time for that info.

School of the Bear info: (Not mentioned in the books (I do know that) and only rumours remain in the game. This is all me making stuff up.) Set in Skellige, on an island north of Ard Skellig. An earthquake + mountain-slide destroyed the School, everyone in it and all the knowledge it contained. Beram is the last witcher to have been trained there, though there are two others alive. They focus on the brute strength of the bear and far less on speed and agility than the Cat School for example

Beram: Witcher from the School of the Bear. Huge guy (think Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson (the Mountain from Game of Thrones)), good humoured guy mostly. One of the few witchers that does have emotions. (I know that the mutations strip witchers of emotions, but come on. Lambert has plenty emotions, and there is at least one reference (in Blood and Wine DLC from Witcher 3) where a witcher does have emotions). 87 years old, so not thát old. He is from Skellige, and trained in Skellige, so he does have that Skelligan attitude and way of talking. I don't know if I'm doing it right with his dialogue, so if anyone has tips, let me know.

Falka: This is technically Ciri, but she uses the same alias she used before (I got it from WitcherWiki). She prefers not to reveal her true name… for her own safety. Young witcheress (never undergone any mutations, only training), you should know her. Ashen hair (white in the game) emerald-green eyes, slender figure, and nobody tells her what to do. If you do…. something about 'hell hath no fury'.

If the readers want it, I could include the descriptions for the monsters he/she/they hunt as well. I'll drop it at the end of the chapter, but can also include it as soon as someone finds out what they are up against.

PS: I am Dutch (from the Netherlands) so if there are any mistakes in spelling/grammar, please let me know.