The W|tcher }|{ The Emerald Dragon
OvervieW
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The Witcher is a series of short stories and novels written by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski. He was born in 1948 in Poland. He studied economy and business, but the success of his fantasy cycle about the sorcerer Geralt de Rivia turned him into a bestselling writer. He is now one of Poland's most famous and successful authors.
For those of you who don't know much about the Witcher universe, I suggest you look it up in Wikipedia and The Witcher Wiki. The success of the books have transformed the witcher into a critically acclaimed game series: The Witcher, The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, and The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt.
The games are developed by CDProjekt RED, whom I see fit to give an honorary mention for their outstanding work in recreating the witcher universe. Last I checked, there are a number of Witcher fanfiction works, and I think there is no problem in me writing one. If you haven't yet read 'The Last Wish', and 'The Blood Of Elves', please do. They are excellent, and will be worth your time.
Now, a brief description of the universe of the witchers. The witchers are essentially human beings that are usually orphans, or the homeless. These children are handpicked and 'bred', so to speak, into inhuman killing machines known as witchers. They are expert monster hunters, masters of weaponry, and are skilled magicians, though not as much as the mages in the land. The witchers' training methods are unknown, but it is widely believed that they are given various herbs to help them use their natural magic potential, which is considerably less than that of the mages.
The stories take place in 'The Continent'. I don't think I need to describe the geography. A map from the wiki could help you with that. The primary force in the continent is Nilfgaard, but the witcher stories usually take place in the opposing, divided region. We'll get to the politics as we advance in the story.
There are various Schools of Witchery, mainly the School of the Wolf, Viper, Cat, and Griffin. There might be a lot more, each specializing in it's own martial arts form and techniques. Once their training is complete. The Witchers set out on The Path, hunting monsters and generally being badass. A witcher is usually like a vampire, with pale skin, white hair, and yellow, slitted eyes. Their abilities will be described in the story. The witcher use magic in the form of Signs, and have a medallion, with the face of their respective school's animal carved into it. This medallion can recognize monsters, magic, and places of power.
There are a wide variety of races in the universe, the main ones being Humans, Elves, and Dwarves. The other races will be explained later. There might be a slight confusion on the Elf part, because the Elves in The Witcher, and the Elves in Harry Potter are completely different. I'll explain that in the later chapters of the Story.
Any extra information can be gained from the Wikis, but if doubt still lingers, please, don't hesitate to ask yours truly.
So that's it. I hope you enjoy the story, and if you have any queries or doubts, drop a review at the end of each chapter. And don't forget to rate the story(give it some good ratings, now).
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"So what does this thing do exactly?", Harry asked Hermione again. She might have been the smartest witch in school, but she was one lousy teacher. As Albert Einstein would say, "If I haven't understood it, you haven't explained it well enough."
Hermione sighed and started again. "This is a time turner, Harry. It turns back time to a time where the user wants to be. So if the user has done something wrong, then he can use it to correct his past mistakes. . . or take extra classes"
"And how is this going to help us?"
"We are going to use it to go back through time, rescue Sirius, and then help him escape on Buckbeak."
"Got it. But what did Dumbledore mean when he said, "You mustn't be seen.""
"Isn't that obvious? We cannot be seen by anyone."
"But why though? If we can talk to our past selves, wouldn't our job be much easier?"
"Harry. . . what would you do if you came face to face with your doppelganger?"
"I'd hear him out."
"No, you'd blast him."
"How do you know that?"
Hermione was getting slightly angry now. "We can't let ourselves be seen. It's as simple as that."
"But why?"
"Because Dumbledore says so!"
"What does that have to do with anything?
"He is a TEACHER."
"So?"
"TEACHERS ARE NEVER WRONG!", Hermione shouted, losing control.
Ron, who was still snoring soundly for someone who had a near death experience, stirred, but did not awaken. Harry on the other hand, gave up. She wouldn't listen to reason, no matter how much he tried. In her mind, she was always right. In her mind, teachers were equivalent to holy angels. Her mind, for all it's IQ and smarts, was narrow. It was one of the flaws of being Hermione Jean Granger.
"Fine.", Harry conceded. She wouldn't back down, and they were wasting time. . . which didn't seem so bad anymore since they had a time turner.
"So, How many turns are we supposed to do?"
"Three."
"Let me guess. . . because Dumbledore said so."
"Just turn the damn thing."
Harry grasped the time turner in his hand. So much power, in so tiny an object. What he could do with this thing. . . the possibilities were endless. He could make sure that no Dursley ever threatened younger him again. He could stop Riddle before he ever took control of Ginny. Quirrel would never even get into Hogwarts if Harry had his way. Hell, he could go back and convince his parents to never let Pettigrew be the secret keeper. He could prevent his parents' death!
Harry touched a ring on the turner. It was so delicate. . . so smooth. One wrong stroke and BAM! Bye Bye Hogwarts, Hello Dinosaurs! Come to think of it, why shouldn't he go back and fix everything? His life would become so much easier.
"Harry, I know what you're probably thinking,", Hermione said, slowly, and persuadingly, deducing Harry's train of thought. "But we cannot go that far back in time. I'm sorry."
"Why not?", asked Harry, anguished that she had crushed his dreams before he had even finished dreaming.
"Because I don't know how many turns it will take. If we make a mistake, we won't be able to return. The time turner can't go into the future, harry. Only into the past. if you somehow make a mistake, then we will be trapped in that timeline. . . until we die. . . or we're killed. . . OR we're written out by a paradox. Whichever comes first."
"Fine."
"Harry, I know it's difficult, but you have to understand the ramifications. . . If you were to prevent your own birth, you would erase this timeline completely, writing a new one that does not include you or your parents.", Hermione said, pleading with him, trying to convince him to stay his hand.
"But if I unravel that timeline, then... that means, that, I wouldn't exist, and that. . . I couldn't have used the turner, which means I couldn't have rewritten the timeline. But then, I would still be born, and. . . Oh, no, I lost myself." Harry had indeed lost himself. His mind was trying to work out the possibilites and the causes and the consequences of his time travel, something so complex and tangled, that his thirteen year old mind simply couldn't make head and tails of it.
Hermione, even though the smartest witch in third year at Hogwarsts, seemed to be suffering from a similar condition. "I know, Harry. It's called a time paradox. There's a whole bunch of them, and I'd rather not get into explaining every last rule. Okay? So let's just go, and get this over with."
"Yeah", Harry agreed. It was just too confusing to think about the bloody thing. He had seen Dudley watch a TV show called 'Doctor Who' focusing on time travel, and he was surprised why the poor boy's brain didn't explode from the information in the show.
Harry threw the necklace around both their heads, and Hermione had to come closer to compensate for the short length of the chain. Harry stood close to Hermione, closer than they had ever been before, trying to hold the time turner upright before turning the rings. 'Hmmmmm. . . What's that smell? Strawberries?. . . NO, you IDIOT, it's Peaches, duh. Does she always smell like this?', Harry thought. Had she smelled like this always? Why the hell hadn't he noticed that before?
This year was turnig out to be pretty weird, even for him. First he kept having nervous knots in his gut, whenever he was around Cho, and now he was actually smelling Hermione. Smelling a GIRL. What in heaven's name was wrong with him? And it wasn't just Hogwarts, either. He kept noticing girls around Privet Drive too. One of them was Juli Baker, a girl delivering eggs to the Dursley's. She was very pretty, and she seemed to be a nice girl. Not to mention she was one of the few children that actually didn't beat him up in kindergarten. Uncle Vernon always had him either throw out the eggs, or ask Harry to eat them, for fear of Salmonella, but Harry had never understood why. Those eggs seemed perfectly fresh, and only a complete asshole would throw them out llike that. Hmmmmm, well, that would explain Vernon's behaviour.
Hermione, meanwhile, had no such delusions. She was paying rapt attention to the time turner, steeling herself for when Harry twisted it to send them back in time. Harry wondered whether she would have had any friends, if He and Ron hadn't saved her from that troll. She was much too socially awkward. She wasn't even noticing when he was staring at her. No wonder the girl had no admirers.
Getting back to buisiness, Harry took a deep breath, and put his hand on the rings. He was just about to give it a slight tug when the doors were almost blasted open by a furious Severus Snape.
What he was about to say, Harry would never know, for the shock of such large a sound, and the sudden surprise caused him to accidentally flick the ring. The two Gryffindors watched in horror as the turner's rings started moving. . . and moving. . . and moving. Harry felt an intense tugging sensation in his navel, and he had barely enough time to say "Oh, Crap", before the duo was sucked into a vortex of energy, vanishing on the spot, leaving one flabberstagated Snape, one sleeping Ron,and one huge mess.
The racket caused by the turner had woken up Ronald Bilius Weasley, the whiniest personality in Gryffindor, who had awoken to see the hospital room in complete disarray, and Severus Snape. "Oh, Professor Snape. . . Would you mind passing me the medicine? I need to see Harry and Hermione."
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He was riding through the woods on his mount when he came upon the boy. He was in the vicinity, exploring the area , searching for signs of mosters or magic. There had been some rumors floating through the neighboring towns; of witches and sacrifices and magic. The woodcutters claimed to have seen a mysterious light in these woods, one that had caused the forest much unrest. This new development had intrigued the witcher; for a moment, he considered the possibilities of the Hunt's arrival.
The signs were there all right. A harsh light in the middle of the night, the forest in deep unsettlement, and a power that made even mosters reel back with fear.
But it could not be. The Hunt was an omen of war, and last he checked, the quiet little town of Eatedol had not even a scuffle break out in the last few days. The humans here were kind and timid, owing to the fact that it was true Elven territory. The community was small, mostly farmers, and fishers, and was one of the few towns that actually accepted their Elven heritage.
Eatedol would seem like an ordinary, albeit weird, name for a town, as much as the people were concerned. But to the Elves, it stood for much, much more. It literally meant summer valley, and was home to some Elven ruins that were apparently legendary.
The woods surrounding it were strong Scoia'tael territory, and the leader of the elves were more accomodating with the humans than Iorveth. As such, a dho'inne, like the witcher himself, were allowed to pass through the woods. Of course, he was certain the permission was so freely given because they were probably not expecting him to come back.
As such, it was almost noontime now. Yet the thick undergrowth of the trees provided more than enough shade and cover from the sun. This shade and the cool air could account for the boy's sleep, he thought. The boy was lying au naturale, no armor nor any form of apparel on him, save for a few leaves that covered his privates. He was malnourished, and this struck the idea of a human sacrifice from the witcher's mind. Blood sacrifices were healthy, fleshy creatures, and this boy was far too frail and wiry to meet the necessary criteria. The witcher got down from his mare, and on his knees, examined him further. HIs medallion started to tingle and hum, the eyes of the wolf's head going gold.
His lips were parted, and his pulse was slow. His chest heaved rhythmically with each breath. And there was a scar on his forehead. It looked strangely like lightning. The witcher checked the boy for signs of concussions, a fistfight, even a wild night with one of the whores from the brothel. After all, it wasn't unheard of for a young, hyperactive male to delve into the pleasures of adulthood while under the influence of wine and rum, and find himself woken up on the beach, the woods, or even on your neighbor's wife.
However, it looked like the boy was simply asleep... or unconscious. But the question here was how? No fights, no sacrifices, no sex. The only remaining explanations were monsters and magic.
Obviously, no moster would carry a weak, thin boy to the middle of the forest and then leave him there. So that left... magic.
Either he was a mage, or a mage had brought him here. If the boy were truly a mage, then he would have been found by the Scoia'tael, or by the mosters. Whichever came first.
So, that meant a mage had been involved. But why teleport this particular boy? And why here? Why in Elven territory? Why was he so important? Or was this a coincidence? A spell gone wrong, perhaps? The witcher drew a long breath. It was no point trying to think up explanations. The boy could explain more than the witcher could deduce. And if he refused... well, the Axii Sign would make sure that he didn't.
He tied Roach to a nearby tree, and explored the clearing. 'There we are', he thought as he saw what he was searching for. 'Wolf's Aloe... Bayonella... and Claroste. This should wake him up. . . if I remember rightly.'
He pounded the herbs into a mixture and brought it close to the boy's nose, waving it in front of him. Nothing happened. 'Shit. I did make the rcorrect potion, didn't I?'
The boy's eyes flew open, and he began swallowing in air, like a fish out of water. The witcher noticed his eyes were green, usually an Elven trait.
"Calm yourself, boy."
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?", the boy screamed, trying to get back up. He was obviously still numb, so he winced as he felt his muscles, so stiffened that he could barely move.
"I mean you no harm... for now."
"Where. . . Where's Hermione? And. . . who are you? Where. . . am I? What is this. . . place? ", he asked between breaths. Obviously, he was still shaken.
"Hermione?", the witcher asked. Who was this Hermione?
The boy seemed more normal now, and he seemed to realize his mistake. "No one.", he said, looking the witcher straight in the eyes.
'Big mistake', thought the witcher. He formed the Sign of Axii, and his eyes glowed gold. "Who is Hermione?", asked the witcher again, this time more forceful, and clear.
"No One." replied the boy, just as persuasive as the witcher.
The witcher was taken aback. He was dead certain that the Sign would make him talk. . . But how had he resisted that? Did he have magic inside him?
"Fine.", he relented. If the Sign wouldn't work, there was no point in wasting his magic. He moved on to a more common question. "Who are you?"
The boy stayed silent.
"I won't ask again. Who ARE YOU?"
"Harry. . . Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter? Strange name you have."
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Harry Potter awoke to one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. Definitely not the strangest, but very much in the top ten. Harry's first thought was that he was in a nightmare. But after he found out that his muscles pained when he tried to move them, that theory was chucked out the window.
The last thing Harry remembered was being sucked in through the time vortex, along with Hermione. When he had woken up, or, rather, had BEEN woken up, Hermione was not with him. On an even more important note, he was fully commando style. If he could, he would have covered up his manly pride. But as it was, he couldn't.
Like any thirteen year old boy, Harry's mind was a little too late to come to it's senses. When he had calmed down enough, he found himself staring into the yellow eyes of a very pale man. He looked like an albino. He had vampirish pale skin, white hair, and a hard set jaw. He was draped in a cloak, but Harry thought he saw something that looked suspiciously like a sword hilt poke out from underneath.
"Hermione?", he asked, in a gravelly sort of voice.
Harry understood his mistake. He had spoken about Hermione, to an unknown, and presumably crazy, stranger. "No one.", he answered.
Harry thought he saw his eyes glow gold, and he felt a sudden ache in the back of his head. "Who is Hermione?", he asked again. Harry was tempted to tell him the truth. He looked like he could be trusted. After all, what could be the harm, eh? But Harry shook these thoughts from his head. "No one.", he answered, a little more forcefully.
Harry could see that this mystery man knew that he was lying. Yet he seemed to accept it. "Fine. Who are you?", he asked.
Harry stayed silent, wondering whether he should lie, or tell the truth. How would this man respond to being in contact with The-Boy-Who-Lived?
"I won't ask again. Who ARE YOU?".
Harry gave a slight, barely noticeable shudder. The tone in which he spoke assured Harry that he was not kidding. He would not be asking again. Harry was not curious at all to see whether he actualy had a sword. "Harry. . . Harry Potter.", he answered, waiting for the reaction of the yellow-eyed man.
"Harry Potter? Strange name you have." His response surprised Harry. Almost all the world knew of him. Anybody who knew of Voldemort knew of him. He was essentially a living legend where he came from. So what was different?
It took a little while, but Harry managed to put two and two together. He had accidentally overused the time turner. It had sucked them back into the past. But how much years into the past? Were they still in London? Did London even exist? Hell, did Europe even exist?
"Are you a sorcerer?", asked the man.
His question bought Harry back to Earth. Could he tell him that he had magic? He had only read about witch hunts this year. And he had no desire to be tied to a stake and burned to a crisp. "Magic?", Harry asked, trying to look innocent.
Unfortunately, the man was not buying it. "You don't know what magic is?"
"No."
The man took a long sigh, and Harry thought he was in the clear. "Lie again, and I may have to break a finger."
Well, apparently not. "What do you want from me? And who are you?, Harry asked.
"Nice try.", the man replied. 'Oh well, it was worth a try.', thought Harry. While his questions had been genuine, Harry was hoping to diatract the man from askinq questions about magic. "Fine, I am a wizard.", He said.
"Hmmm, that would explain my medallion.", the man said.
'Medallion?', Harry thought. He saw what the man meant. He had on an amulet that seemed to be carved, like a roaring wolf's head. The wolf looked very very fierce, and very dangerous. It's eyes seemed to be glowing. The detail on it was so lifelike that Harry felt a slight tingle up his spine.
"What do you mean?", asked Harry. As scary as the medallion was, it was difficult to see how this trinket could recognize Harry as a wizard.
"You don't know what I am?", the man asked, surprised, for some reason.
Harry noticed that he said 'What' rather than 'Who'. What did he mean? His wand was unfortunately nowhere in sight, and he felt so drained that he couldn't even summon a spark if he wanted to. He could lift his hands, but he suspected that this man would probably kill him before he moved. His gaze searched the area for a weapon while he answered, "No. I don't."
"Do you know what a witcher is?", he asked, in that same gravelly voice.
Harry stopped searching for a weapon, and looked at him. A witcher... he had remembered reading about witchers for his second year. Witchers were monster slayers. Orphans that were hand picked and trained in ways of swords and sorcery, to rid the world of the dark spawn that came forth from the COnjuction of Spheres. A witcher's training methods were unknown, but it was widely known that they were always infertile, due to the herbs that they were forced to eat during their training. Witchers were not true wizards, rather they were simple magicians, as the books described, able to summon only simple spells.
But they were monsters themselves. Accelerated healing, superhuman strength, lighning fast reflexes all coupled with their excellent weapon mastery made them a force to be reckoned with. Last the wizarding world knew, witchers had become... 'extinct', so to speak, with the last witcher being recorded in the time of Merlin himself. The various Schools of Witchery themselves had been lost. Harry had never liked History of Magic classes, but this was one topic that caught his eye. The witchers were badass, there was no other way to put it. For a time, harry imagined himself as one of these witchers, able to slay even the toughest of creatures. Looking back on the Basilisk battle, Harry had sometimes thought that he would make a very good witcher.
But seeing one upclose... it was... enlightening. He seemed to be human. Not the image he imagined from the descriptions in his textbook. Harry was torn. Should he tell him the truth, or should he lie? Instinct told him to lie, but he so dearly loved his fingers; he had no desire to have them broken. "Yes.", Harry replied, hoping for the best.
"What year is it?", the man asked. His eyes seemed to bore into Harry, as he thought for a way out of this question.
He was still mostly paralyzed, and magic was unfortunately not an option. Harry desperately thought for an answer. When were the witchers most active? What year could this be, if he had to guess.
'Damn, I have no clue!', Harry deperately thought. He couldn't very well say he was from the future, could he?. . . Could he?. The witcher's gaze seemed more intense, and Harry gave up. There was no way around it. He couldn't very well lie. But he couldn't very well say the truth, either. . . But of course! How could he be so thick? There was one response that he'd used countless times before, that was always an option.
"I don't know."
The witcher stared at Harry for a moment. Harry was pretty sure that he was going to lose a finger, and he was thankful that he was stiff enough to numb the pain.
"I believe you.", said the witcher.
His response surprised Harry very much. He was honestly expecting him to draw his sword, and couldn't really complain about the outcoming.
"Now,", started the witcher. Harry strained to listen. "You have two choices.".
'Oh Hell.', Harry thought. Those words were always a bitch to hear.
"One. You can choose to refuse my help. You can stay here, in the forest. Maybe when someone actually brave enough somehow manages to stumble upon this exact path, they may choose to help you. That is, if they can get past the monsters."
Harry gulped. He was brave, reckless even, but even he knew the difference between bravery and true stupidity.
"Two. You can come with me. You have magic in you, but not strong enough to be a mage. If you want, my school can teach you how to become a witcher, like me.".
Harry thought about that. The witcher was very persuasive. Either survive, or die. Plain and simple. But what did he mean when he said he wasn't strong enough to be a mage? He'd have to ask him about that.
"But.", the witcher continued. "On one condition. You tell me the truth. The WHOLE truth. Leave NOTHING out. If I even feel for a second that you're lying, the deal is off. Do you understand me?"
Ah, that complicated things a little. "How do Inknow I can trust you?", Harry asked.
"You don't."
Damn right he didn't.
"But you have no choice."
Well, he had a point.
Haryr thought about it. As much as he hated to admit it, the witcher was right. He had no choice. He had to find Hermione, and to find Hermione, he needed someone who actually knew the lay of the land. Someone who knew what year it was, and who was very resourceful and well updated. What better place other than a School Of Witchery?
"Fine.", he replied. He had no choice.
The witcher smiled. He reached into his robes and took out a small vial. He tossed it at Harry, who, being the seeker he was, caught it with his good right hand. It contained a light green, swirly fluid.
"What is this thing?", Haryr asked, slightly suspicious. Usually, green swirly liquid was poison.
"Drink it and find out.", said the witcher, moving to untie his horse.
Harry, taking a huge leap of faith, uncorked the bottle, and with a prayer to the heavens, drank the liquid in one gulp. It was almost like Butterbeer, only more warm and chocolatey. It soothed his insides, and gave him a warm fuzzy feeling. He raised his hand and wiped his lips. 'Wait, that's my left.'. Harry was now completely surprised. He tried to get up, and found that he could move. Hell, he was more energetic than he usually was, for that matter.
"What is this?", Harry asked again, now more curious than suspicious.
"A potion for numbness.", The witcher replied, while mounting his steed. "Now come on. We have a lot of distance to cover ahead of us."
"I'm not getting on the horse?", Harry asked.
"Your muscles are still stiff. You need a little excercise. . . And you are NOT getting on my horse. You can ride one... when you can buy one."
"Asshole.", muttered Harry, under his breath.
"Witchers have inhuman hearing as well, you know."
'Ah, hell.'. Harry thought.
"Oh, yes, you'll be needing this.", saying so, the witcher took off a cloak from the side of his saddle and tossed it to Harry.
He went red with embarassment. All this time, he had forgotten that he was still in the nude. With a quick "Thanks", Harry put on the robe.
"Where are we going?", Harry asked.
"Home.", the witcher replied. Harry had the fleeting impression that he saw his school the way Harry saw Hogwarts.
"What's your name?", Harry asked, feeling pretty dense for having omitted such an important detail.
"Geralt.", he replied. "Geralt... Of Rivia."
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To Be Continued
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.