Daily Bread
Drowners surrounded him on all side, left and right, front and rear. The small cavern was filled with the heavy smell of damp rot, fairly accurate, Drowners after all are the corpses that foul magic has corrupted. Visibility was only afforded by his cat-like eyes. It was dark, it was cold. "They'll certainly not appreciate me turning up the heat a bit" he thought, and as he raised his hand the four disease riddled meat slabs in front of him charged him, hissing with their fangs bared and arms coiled to allow claws, connected to sickly hands to carry out their bloody work. And in a fiery instance, the four bloated blue beasts were rendered to charcoal covered corpses, as fire erupted forth from his hand. The beasts cry out in pain with the purging of their number.
"I knew they wouldn't care for that" he uttered to himself, to avoid being attacked on all fronts he rolls towards his 'handiwork', and as does so he grabs a small glass-like ball fastened on his belt. While he re-postures himself the man throws the small ball upwards towards the caverns roof, while it travels he grabs the hilt of his silver sword and draws it, and once again he raises his hand, this time to manifest an orange shelling that surrounds his body, then a bang! The small traveling glass-like ball meets its destination. The dark, damp and dead den was now alive and ablaze. Smaller fragments explode on the protective coat the Witcher had adorned, which works wonderfully well for him as it perpetuates the hell fire that as consumed much of the cavern.
The calculating man lowered his hand and holstered his weapon. He watched on, coldly, as the creatures thrashed around alight, "such a fight to flay ones flesh off, well if you're covered in Dancing Star what else would you do? And this he thought to himself as he watched on, unconcerned of the grotesque screeches that flooded the once cold, dark and life-less cavern.
When the flames died down, and the darkness grew, a Drowner cleverer than the rest emerged from a small body of water that it had taken refuge in. Hunter and prey shot stare. If the beasts retreat was swift then swifter again was the bolt that glided and pierced the back of its malformed skull. This is the life of a Witcher, this is; his trade, his vocation, his profession and this is how he earns his daily bread.
And it grew quite again, it grew dark again, and in the shadows stood an Elf, an Elven Witcher…
- End? -
So lads and ladies this is my first fanfiction, so hit me with your criticisms so that I might grow in learning and understanding, if my spelling is wrong please point it out, if my grammar is incorrect please highlight it, otherwise how could I ever learn to not do it again? If by some chance somebody actually reads this please comment, I'd love to develop this idea with you, an Elven Witcher! As if being a Witcher didn't get you hated on enough, he also an Elf! I have some great ideas (in my opinion) for some stories. Also if you like the idea of a series or something of that nature I'm game for that also.