Chapter 1

"Help! Somebody, help me!"

Thorin pushed aside the branches of a large bush and sped up his pace. The cries of the merchant echoed off the walls of the small ravine, but they were loud enough to indicate that Thorin was getting close.

Intermingled with the man's cries was the faint growling of monsters. He had to hurry.

If the sound hadn't drawn him in the right direction, the tracks would have served him well enough. The wagon had left a trail of destruction through the brush, snapping branches and leaving deep tracks in the mud as the panicked horse had fled.

The next indication of chaos slithered its way through the air, and Thorin tilted his head at the stench of blood leaking from just beyond a copse of trees. When he finally entered the clearing where the wagon had stopped, he was relieved to find that the source of the smell was the horse, not the merchant himself.

The ghouls swarmed above the downed beast, their claws and faces slick with blood as they tore flesh from the side of its body. The wagon and its owner were a few feet away, the front wheels of the vehicle almost half-buried in mud.

Though the horse had taken the worst of the damage, Thorin noted that the driver was not entirely unharmed. He must have been thrown from the wagon before it crashed, as his legs were caught and half-crushed beneath the spokes of one of the back wheels.

"Please," the man gasped as he caught sight of Thorin. "H-Help!"

His cry finally attracted the attention of the ghouls, and a couple climbed from the haunches of the horse with matching red-stained sneers.

Thorin slid his silver sword from its sheath and skirted the edge of the clearing, readying his weapon as the ghouls turned their sunken black eyes towards him. Despite resembling humans in shape, ghouls stood on four feet. And despite their low stature, Thorin knew better than to underestimate the creatures. The bulging, veiny muscles scattered across their misshapen bodies spoke to their dangerous strength and greater speed.

As the first one lunged, long black claws outstretched, Thorin dodged to the side. Barely had it landed before his blade entered its neck, just below the base of its skull. He sidestepped again as its companion attacked in the same manner, and his blade left a long, deep cut along its right flank. Dangerous as ghouls were, they were predictable, and if one had experience, they were easy to take down.

Thorin sliced the head from the second one's body and faced the remaining three. They turned, snarling, from the horse's corpse and lunged as a group. With his free hand, Thorin cast Igni, and the simple spell threw the creatures back with a burst of flame. He made quick work of the ghouls while they were downed, and flicked their blood from his sword.

The merchant behind him gave a stuttering gasp, followed by a groan as he attempted to extricate himself from beneath the wagon wheel. Thorin turned to face him, sword still in hand, and the man paused in his efforts.

"Thank you," the merchant said, his voice strained. "I-If you would be so kind as to help me up, I will gladly offer you a portion of my goods as payment."

"I don't want your goods," Thorin said, stepping closer. "You can pay me in information. Where is Phineas Ward?"

At this, the man stiffened. "I know not of whom you speak."

"Don't bother lying to me. You've had dealings with him before, and you were one of the last people to see him before he disappeared." Thorin knelt down next to the merchant, eyes boring into his. He'd been tracking this wagon for miles now, and his patience was wearing thin. "Where is he?"

"I'll tell you nothing…" The man grit his teeth as he attempted to free himself once more. "Because I know nothing." He stilled again as Thorin's blade came to rest just above his throat. "Y-You wouldn't. Witchers are monster killers. I am but a simple merchant. You…" He trailed off in his pleading as Thorin sheathed his blade.

"You're right. The silver sword is for monsters." He reached back and drew his other blade, this one made of steel. "My mistake."

The merchant glared, switching from pleading to defiant in an instant. "Have at it, then. Cut my throat, and prove true what everyone already knows—that you witchers are the real monsters, the whole lot of you. Must be hard being a dwarf as well, adding another layer of scum—" He stopped, still glowering, as Thorin stood up.

"Where is this sudden courage coming from?" He kept his voice calm, though he seethed on the inside. This man was testing his patience, both with his stubbornness and insults, though Thorin had encountered plenty of both in this world. He walked away from the man and picked up one of the dead ghouls by the arm. "You seemed all too ready to beg for my help when this was crawling about." He punctuated his statement by tossing the ghoul in his direction.

The merchant jerked away as the beast landed next to his head, red-slicked jaws inches from his face.

"Now..." Before the man could recover, Thorin strode back over and placed one boot on the wagon wheel, making the man howl. "Phineas Ward. Focus. Where is he?"

The merchant's pained cry turned into a groan. "H-He'll have my head if I tell. He'll know it was me, I'm the only one left who knows where he went."

Thorin sighed, keeping his weight on the wheel. He didn't enjoy interrogations, nor did he appreciate the amount of time it took, but he'd not yet mastered the Axii sign, and was unable to simply bewitch information out of people as other witchers could. "I'll have your head right now if you don't give me the information I need."

"Look, whatever Phineas stole from you, I-I'll pay you its worth in gold. I'll find you a replacement. Whatever you want!"

"What he stole from me can't be replaced," Thorin said. "You tell me where he is, or I'll leave you here until more ghouls show up. And I promise they will not end your life as quickly as I will."

The man spat at him. "You can rot—" He was cut off with another cry as Thorin applied more pressure to his injured leg. "Skellige! H-He's in Skellige, an old watchtower one one of the islands, please!"

Thorin took his foot off and cursed. Of course the rat would try and cross the sea to save his skin.

"I've given you what you wanted." The merchant was panting, no doubt shaken from the pain in his leg. "Will you help me up, now?"

Thorin could not risk someone alerting Phineas that he was being pursued. His search for the thief had dragged out long enough, and he could not afford another setback.

The merchant let out a gurgling gasp as Thorin's sword entered his chest. Without looking back, he jerked it out, wiped off the blood, and sheathed it. More ghouls and other monsters would flock to the area soon, and he had no desire to be there when they did.

Skellige. The group of islands was situated across the sea, and he only needed to find a vessel willing to take him across. From there he would find the man who had stolen from him, retrieve what he had lost, and after that…

The road before him was still long and no doubt filled with obstacles more threatening than a downed merchant. But at the end of that road lay his chance to go home.

And Thorin would stop at nothing to reach it.

Ten Years Ago - Bree

"Take back your homeland."

Thorin sat back, meeting the wizard's shrewd gaze. Erebor had long been on his mind, but as of late his thoughts had turned more frequently towards his home. His people were safe in the Blue Mountains, but it was ever in the back of his mind that they deserved more. His grandfather, his father, his brother, all the other good dwarves they had lost—their sacrifice could not have been for the simple victory of survival.

And now a wizard of all people had shown up in the tavern and was showing interest in a quest that many of his kin had looked upon with doubt and reluctance. "This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?"

"No." Gandalf leaned forward. "The Lonely Mountain troubles me. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor. Thorin, you can wait no longer. With the dragon gone and the throne of Durin restored, defenses will be strengthened in the east." The shadows in the crowded room seemed to grow deeper as he spoke. "And I believe we will need those defenses. A darkness is coming, from where I know not, but none will be safe if they gain a foothold in the mountain."

Orcs had grown bolder in their attacks as of late, that was true. If Gandalf was sincere in his predictions about the mountain, then they had a common goal. But that did not change the fact that Erebor was lost to them.

"And how do you propose I reclaim the mountain? Not even the Seven Armies of the dwarves could defeat a dragon." He knew any attempts to reclaim the mountain through military means would only result in more casualties, and he was loathe to ask that of a people that had already lost so much to war and violence.

"It is true that those strong enough to slay a dragon have long since passed from this world." Gandalf folded his hands on the table. "Which is why we must extend our search beyond. Have you ever heard of a witcher?"

Thorin shook his head.

"They are not of this world. A witcher is a powerful warrior, trained and altered to become an expert monster hunter. I believe if we were to find one powerful enough, the dragon could be slain."

"No." His jaw clenched. "I do not hire mercenaries, and I will not ask another to fight my battles. Smaug has usurped the kingdom of Durin's people, and it shall be one of Durin's line who reclaims it."

Gandalf was silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable beneath his wild gray beard. For a moment, Thorin was forced to reconsider his words. If this was his only chance at reclaiming a future for his people, at restoring the legacy of his line, would he really throw it away for pride?

"Then I may have another solution in mind."

Thorin lifted his head.

"You will travel yourself to the world of the witchers. Your body will be strengthened, your senses honed, so that you may possess the physical prowess needed to hunt monsters. You will train with them, learn from them, and when you have developed the skills necessary, you will return to this world and kill the dragon yourself. Though you may spend years there, only a few days will have passed when you return."

A dozen questions crowded to the tip of his tongue, but Thorin held them. He knew the path Gandalf had presented would be long and arduous. It was possible that he would never return. But if that was what it took to return to Erebor, then he would seize the opportunity—the details mattered not.

"Tell me what I need to do."

Present Day

Thorin blinked as reality reasserted itself, and absentmindedly lifted the tankard in his hand to his lips. The crowded, boisterous atmosphere of the Seven Cats Inn had transported him back to a different tavern, a different time, a different world. It had been ten years since his arrival in the world of the witchers, known by most as the Continent, but his meeting with the wizard still resonated in his mind.

Gandalf's magic had not only granted him passage between worlds—it had also changed him. His senses had been enhanced, and he had gained what was known by most as the witcher's sense—a heightened intuition that allowed him to detect objects of importance and, to a certain degree, other people's intentions, be they good or bad.

His physical strength, speed, and endurance had increased, as well as his capacity to heal from injuries. Dwarves were a hardy folk by nature, and this enhancement had greatly improved his ability to survive.

And with it all had come the feature that set witchers apart from others. His eyes, once a piercing blue, had turned yellow, with cat-like pupils that helped him see in the dark.

Too often his gaze had been met with fright and consternation by those who distrusted witchers. Added to this was the loathing that came from those who hated nonhumans, including dwarves.

A group of soldiers across the room sent another bundle of suspicious glances in his direction, and Thorin stood up, walking to the counter to pay for his drink. He had no wish to become involved in another skirmish with those who expressed their prejudice with violence.

Thorin pushed open the tavern door and stepped out into the cool fall air. Soon he would rejoin his kin. He had spent most of his time training with the witchers in the mountains to the north, learning about different monsters and how to kill them. He had paid special attention to those classified as draconids. They were creatures similar to Smaug, though only a fraction of his size, and Thorin knew memorizing their weaknesses would be useful for when he battled the dragon in his home.

He was ready now. But the object Gandalf had given him to return home—a black key—had been taken by the thief Phineas Ward during an unfortunate encounter he'd had with the man about a month back. Without the key, he was trapped here.

And even though he had a lead now on the thief's location, his time at the tavern had provided a reminder that he was running low on coin. Some people offered payment for the extermination of monsters, but these contracts were less than frequent and hardly ever as well-paying as Thorin would like.

The papers on the notice board outside the tavern rustled lightly in the wind. Thorin stopped in front of it and scanned the flyers. If there were any contracts offered in the area, taking one might give him the extra coin he needed for a boat to Skellige.

One in particular caught his eye:

Good folk,

There has been a large, bird-like creature spotted in the eastern hills of the Grassy Knoll. It has been killing off livestock, attacking farmers, and has most everyone in the area afraid to leave their homes.

If anyone is willing to rid the area of the beast, they will receive a handsome reward.

—Bilbo Baggins of Bag End

There was an opportunity for payment. The creature described in the notice could be one of a few different creatures, but Thorin was confident he'd be able to kill it.

He took the notice down from the board, stuffed it in his pocket, and ventured into the shadows, the handle of his silver sword glinting in the fading light of the setting sun.

Okay, this is the last new story I'll be posting for a while, so apologies to my followers for having to put up with my nonsense.

This fic takes place in the world of The Witcher series, and uses a bit of its lore as well, but I'll try to describe everything to the best of my ability so those of you who don't know the series aren't lost. For those of you who are familiar with the games, this fic will take place during the Witcher 3 (Wild Hunt) era.

The premise for the whole witcher thing came about because I think it's dumb as hell that their plan was, "Hey, Erebor's army couldn't stop the dragon, so let's try six more this time!" So I'm thinking outside the box on this one.

I'm also hoping to explore a bit of a darker characterization for Thorin, which I haven't written much of yet, but hopefully you guys will find it interesting.

Next chapter we will meet our favorite hobbit (or halfling, as they are called in The Witcher). I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and feel free to leave a comment if you want me to continue!