Author's Note:

This is a story based very loosely off of the RPG The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings. It is centered mainly around an OC, but later on actual characters will become very prominent. I plan on including storylines and locations from the game throughout, so there may be spoilers. If you have not yet played or even heard of The Witcher, fear not; all backstory knowledge required to understand the fiction will be stated in the prologue.

Wow, that felt stiff! Too many big words. Anyway, enough dillydallying. Enjoy, and don't forget to comment! :)

The Panther of Vergen

Prologue

My name is Kathryne of Vergen. I have the eyes of a cat, the hearing of an owl, the scent capabilities of a hound, and I'm the best swordswoman in Aedirn. Which is to say, I'm a witcher. The only female witcher I know of.

If you don't know what a witcher is, chances are you either have only just been birthed from your mother's womb, or you come from some other realm- which is actually a surprisingly common occurrence. Whichever the case, I'll enlighten you.

A witcher is a monsterslayer for hire. We kill vile beasts and monsters for a living and help people in exchange for coin. Some may call us mercenaries, but mercenaries kill people. Witchers don't. Well, the occasional few do...just not as a rule.

However, you see, we are often shunned by the very people we protect, especially by the humans. We are called monsters, mutants, and freaks. These insults are often emphasized with physical violence, as well. But I suppose that when the people call us mutants, they do not lie.

Witchers have to be exceptionally powerful and enduring to live to fight monsters every day. At childhood, we are given mutagenic plants and toxic herbs to ingest. If we survive the changes, the mutagens enhance our existing abilities a thousandfold, and add new ones to boot.

But great power comes at a great price.

We gain the eyes of a cat, which allows us to see in darkness as well as if it were day. We are also far more resilient, able to withstand many more blows with much less trouble than any ordinary person, humans and nonhumans alike. This in turn allows us to return even more punishment to our opponents. The damage we cause, too, is tremendous compared to anyone or anything else.

But we witchers are hunted and hated- out of spite, of fear, of jealousy. There are many in this world that would love to claim our power for themselves, no matter the cost. Others simply see us as a blight to all of Temeria, vile vermin that must be exterminated. Yet the people that despise us so need us to dispatch the monsters and beasts that prey so mercilessly upon their ungrateful flesh.

It is nothing short of bitter irony that we save so many lives, human and nonhuman, only to be hated and hunted. But that's the way life is, I suppose.

Naturally, there's the occasional assassin or murderer witcher that tarnishes our image even more. We do our job a bit too well, and although we are few, the numbers of the monsters we hunt dwindle as well. We are an endangered species, a dying race.

Another reason witchers have become so rare is because of how a man or woman becomes one. The secrets of the transformation into a witcher are treasured and closely guarded...but even the strongest of walls can crumble, and the sharpest of weapons can dull.

Once, the mutagen formulas for the witcher transformation were snatched right out of the grasp of the valiant warriors at Kaer Morhen, a former witcher sanctuary and training keep. We eventually regained what was ours, but this story does not have a happy ending. Almost all the lives of the witchers present during the assault were lost in battle and no more witchers have been trained since. In addition to this, the toxic plants we witchers are subjected to during the mutations leave us sterile...witchers are made, not born.

Due to the rarity of monsters and fellow witchers coupled with the rejection of society, some of the remaining witchers turn to murder for coin and assassination for their daily bread. I am not one of these corrupted men, but you know the saying...one bad apple spoils the bunch.

I suppose I do well enough, though. I make coin substantial enough to live off of so I am neither starving nor must I resort to darker methods of achieving funds. I may not be as well-known as the famed Geralt of Rivia, but at least I'm not wanted in every last city...well, yet. And my mutations did not leave me albino, either.

Speaking of which, I never told you what I looked like, did I? My apologies. At least I introduced myself. I really look no different from an average elf- slightly pointed ears, fair skin, delicate facial features. I am lucky enough to possess ample breasts upon a lean and tall body covered in intricate tattoos, which makes persuading the men to my favor quite easy. I have ebony hair so long, it reaches past my back end...however, I find this feature quite annoying, particularly when fighting. I've had unspeakable things get lodged in my locks, and let me tell you, it is never fun getting them out. So I simply tie it into a braid.

But the distinguishing feature I, like all witchers, possess are my eyes. Some witchers have yellow irises, some orange, some blue. But mine are as green as the leaves upon the trees. I also prefer leather armor over a flowing emerald green blouse. I prefer quick strikes and agile movements to slow weapons and clunky armor. And honestly, let's face it...steel plate doesn't flatter anyone's bodice.

Oh, and I have my swords. Every witcher has two swords- a steel sword for the more violent humans and a silver one for monsters. A witcher should only use their silver sword for monsters, including people suspected of being beasts such as vampires or werewolves. But this judgement is at the witcher's discretion.

But I must tell you, I've killed people that I knew were not of the supernatural. That doesn't mean they weren't monsters.

And one final thing- each witcher has a steel amulet representing whichever school they were trained at. I was trained at the School of the Cat, thus the head of a panther rests upon my chest. But after the siege on Kaer Morhen, which I learned had been set up by my own school, I wear it beneath my blouse. It shames me to allow it in public view. But I suppose I've rambled long enough about witchers.

I think it's time to tell you my story.