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The Wyvern Witcher
Story Arc One: Grim Up North
Chapter 3: Draconic emblem - part 3: Emotions or Instincts?
{ - … DAYS? … MOUNTHS AGO? - }
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After filling the ceramic bowl with water and boiled it using the Igni Sign, Urick put it to his left side and moved to the loaf of stale bread.
Living by himself for most of his life had certainly taught him that Igni was probably the most useful Sign a Witcher could have while traveling, whether he followed the Path or not: lighting lambs, starting fires to warm yourself, cooking (provided you're skilled enough to regulate the fire and not burn your fingers), incinerating multiple foes–not to mention that a great number of post-Conjunction monsters are weak to fire… "It should have been the first Sign to be taught during magic training not the third damn it. Who the hell came up with that order of teaching anyway? First Aard, then Yrden, Igni, Axii, and then Quen and Heliotrop." the Witcher thought dejectedly while cutting the loaf into slices – though 'struggling' may have been a slightly more appropriate word to describe his current activity, since it must be four days old, at least. "That teaching order was a recipe for disaster… as Aneirin and Ilar learned… the hard way." Urick paused as he finished cutting the slice. Reminiscing his so-called 'training' at the School of the Wyvern had yet to grow any more pleasant. "To survive the Trial of the Grasses only to die unceremoniously at what constituted as an exam in the sick minds of those cold-blooded sadists that had the gall to call themselves 'Instructors'." The Witcher frowned. He hoped that with the passing of the years, he would either forget or grew numb to it; or at the very least, would stop pissing him off so much…
But he didn't forget…
He didn't accept…
And he was still just as bitter and angry about it as ever.
"You've learned your first Sign" the Witcher thought to himself "Congratulations! You are not totally useless sons-of-whores" he continued, a bitter smile decorating his face as he proceeded to cut a second slice "Oh, but guess what? That was the only Sign we are going to teach you inside the walls of the keep, the rest, you have to earn for yourselves" Urick went on with his comical recreation of the events of that accursed day in his mind while cutting the slice of bread, with slow strokes that each might as well held all the anger he was feeling, picturing the face of elder Drowovir saying exactly that with a smug, shit-eating grin. His bitter smile bared teeth on the right side as he imagined that complete killjoy of a man grinning – since the Old Witcher wouldn't know a joke even if it bit him in the rear. "And how will you do that you're asking? Why, by passing the Trial of the Forest of course. The Circle of Elements awaits deep within the incredibly dark, creepy, foreboding woods full of dangerous predators to the east of the fortress. But have no fear for we will provide you with the necessary tools to survive, we are a little short on them though, so please make sure to use them wisely and sparingly, because you may really need them… Good luck! You've got four months. Oh, almost forgot to tell you, if any of you show up at the fortress a day earlier or later, or you haven't acquired all four elements when you returned, we are gonna chop off your shitty head, and decorate those nice spikes you just saw outside the entrance – YES, only half of those heads belong to bandits, we lie to you when you first came here – so you better keep a track of the hours and the size of the moon when out there. Because you see, surviving encounters with wolves, nekkers, foglets, endregas, the specters of those that didn't made it- Oh, AND FUCKING BAMBI, is as much part of the Trial as it is to locate those magic boulders. And 'when' you find your way back, then, we will teach you how to cast the Signs associated with that element. Cause we're funny like that! Yes! Your objective might be to harvest the raw elemental energies of fire, water, earth, and aether. BUT. You won't be able to do anything with them since we forgot to teach you how to. Hilarious ain't it! A real side-splinter! The silver lining? Well, I guess it is that you're in no danger of going insane by drawing a little too much from the Power thanks to your mutations. Everything more mundane that can drive you insane though, is fair game. But you won't go insane because you're Witchers, and Witchers don't have emotions to go out of control. And if it happened that you do, don't you worry. After the Trial of the Forest it's guaranteed that you won't be feeling anything. No sadness, no fear, no mercy, no- Agh! Son-of-a-bitch!" the Witcher groaned as he cut his thumb.
"Ya've done Witcher?" the innkeeper's voice was heard from behind. Urick turned to look at him, fully aware that he hadn't taken his eyes off him since he entered the kitchen.
The innkeeper stacked his huge cleaver to the counter, giving the Witcher a good view of its massive blade. "Well?" said the tall, fat, and visually unpleasant man with a raised eyebrow, and began rotating his cleaver in a threatening gesture with his equally fat fingers.
"Not yet, be patient master." Urick simply said and turn to take a look at his finger. "Guess this Temerian shit is stronger than I expected" he thought and licked the 'wound'. It was a rather instinctive action as he wasn't actually hurting…
He could not help it in the end, his mind went there. And to his own shame, he found himself aroused as he remembered how sensual Loreil was when licking the blood from his wounds… The Witcher stopped abruptly licking the blood, shook his head, and pushed that memory away. "I really need to stick my prick between a real woman's legs – Immediately!" he thought to himself. If he only knew how difficult would be to find sex in these barbaric lands the first day he came, he would have swallowed his pride and put up with Crippled Kate's madam's insults -at least long enough to convince her that he was 'clean', or simply cast Axii on her in the event his arguments failed- instead of punching her in the face. But then, he was fresh out of Nilfgaard territory, unaware of the hostilities he will encounter. Not to mention that he was both frustrated and furious that no more than twenty-four minutes after setting foot in Novigrad's docks he got into a fight with a bunch of drunkards over some imaginary insult, almost got stabbed by a passerby for no other reason than he just happen to walk towards him, got mugged by a street urchin that thought (or perhaps didn't) that mugging a Witcher was a good idea – which it wasn't, as the stupid little shit ended up at the bottom of the Pontar river along with his one-eared whore of a mother… The madam's blatant racism was the final straw that day. She hadn't said such vile things really as far as Urick remembers, neither did she ordered the bouncers to throw him out of the brothel, but he was just so angry at what happened to him up until then that he lunged his fist at her without any thought, or awareness, for everything went red… What actually brought him back to reality was the screaming of one of the girls. Was it really just one punch he gave the madam? The Witcher wondered as a picture was becoming clearer in his mind – That of the madam, lying on the floor, blood covering her face, her teeth on the floor…
"No more booze for me tonight." The Witcher was done with reminiscing. He decided to focus on the task at hand without obstructing himself further, even if it was nothing more than a stupid whim devoid of any promises of 'reward', or, simple, old-fashioned gratitude.
. . .
After cutting the bread into five slices and toasted them carefully, Urick placed them in a plate to his right.
The Witcher looked around the kitchen. And to his fortune, spotted a whole bunch of eating utensils of different materials to his left – all clean, the waitress' handiwork, he guessed. He took the one ceramic spoon that seemed to be a set with the bowl as they shared a similar motif -that of blue flowers- and dropped it inside.
He took the bowl in his left hand, the plate in his right, and headed outside the kitchen.
He passed by the innkeeper who had an unpleasant scowl in his ugly face. To the Witcher's surprise, he didn't attempt anything.
"Hey lads, looky 'ere." The bald patron said with a laugh, prompting Urick to stop walking "The Witcher's doing the wench 'ere heh, heh."
"Hey freak, why don'd ya clean the floor where you're ad id haha, ha, ha." The noseless one mocked further. It almost made the Witcher lose his balance and drop the things he carried as anger started boiling inside him.
"Why don't you drop by as well?" Horseshoe mustache said, unlike his fellows, his tone lacked any joviality as he spoke "I want you to suck my cock."
Horseshoe mustache's degrading suggestion managed to elicit a reaction from the Witcher, one that spilled some of the water from the bowl he carried in its abruptness, thankfully not enough to warrant refilling. He turned to look at the patrons, specifically, at Horseshoe Mustache himself, his golden cat-like eyes narrow and full of malevolence.
"Hey! Watchid ya fuckin-" the innkeeper never finished his sentence as Horseshoe Mustache stood up aggressively and loudly slapped his hands at the table.
Mutant and man stare at each other for a few seconds. Each one's eyes held a nasty promise for the other, none of them blinked.
"Hey, I'm not 'avin dis shite again today!" barked the innkeeper "Iv ya two wanna kill each other. Then geddid outside!"
The Witcher and Horseshoe both ignored the innkeeper and kept glaring at each other, not saying a single word. After a short while Horseshoe's friends began staring at the Witcher as well, perhaps not as aggressively as him, but their looks told Urick that they were ready for a fight.
The Witcher… gave them a wide and goofy grin.
Baldy's expression turned less serious and No-nose choked out a laugh. "Something funny bitchboy?" said Horseshoe after a short while. Unlike his friends who eased up somewhat, and in general didn't seem to be edging for a fight as much, his face was completely serious, his eyes narrow, and his tone threatening – He was asking for a beating.
"I'll turn to the" Urick stretched his next word "lady first." He said in as friendly a tone as could manage and pointed at the waitress's direction with his head "Then I'll come suck your cock." The Witcher's last line was delivered in a much lower volume "Just be patient, handsome." He finished, then turned around and resumed walking back at his table as originally intended. He decided that his pride wasn't as precious a thing to him at this hour as a bed was. For tonight at least. Tomorrow though, who knows?
"Yes, go 'ide behind Fiona's skirts you chickenshit." Horseshoe said from behind the Witcher. One of his friends -Urick wasn't sure who- started making chicken-like sounds – or at least made an effort to, since he sounded more like a harpy chick, appropriately enough.
Urick managed to get to the table without farther interruptions.
He placed the bowl and plate in front of the waitress. She was still clutching at her belly, but not as tightly as before, sweat was still clinging on her face and hands.
The waitress looked at what lie before her with a look that Urick could only describe as a combination of curiosity and apprehension "What is all that?" she asked, her tone far from friendly.
The Witcher chose not to answer and simply sat on the bench opposite of her.
Urick picked up the bundle full of peppermint leaves he left on the table earlier. He brought the bowl closer to him. Unwrapped the bundle, and, one by one, began dropping the contents in the water. Once they were enough inside, he began stirring the mixture using the wooden spoon to mix it thoroughly.
"What are you doing, what is this?" the unfriendly tone the waitress insisted on using prompted the Witcher to pause and raise his eyes to look at her. Her expression matched her tone – irritated and distrustful.
Urick started to seriously question his judgment looking at her face now. "What the hell am I even doing this for?" he asked a rhetorical question in his mind and frowned.
"What?" huffed the waitress. Her expression seemed to also be an attempt to mask her pain.
The Witcher didn't answer. He lowered his eyes, and returned to the task at hand.
Once the tea was finally ready, Urick presented it to the young woman.
She lowered her head, eyeing the mixture suspiciously.
The Witcher rested his arms on the table. "Drink." he said after three seconds passed.
The waitress raised her eyes "What is? One of your, Potions?" she asked, just as indignantly as before, her face twitched with pain for moment towards the end of her sentence.
"No. It is not." He informed her, his tone clear, but he let a hint of annoyance to slip through his words "Now drink."
"What is then? What did you put inside?"
The Witcher was losing patience. "Peppermint leaves." he managed to say, calmly enough, and without any slips in his accent.
She took a look at the bowl again and then back at the Witcher "You're lying." She accused, her eyes narrowed "I know what pepper is – lived in Maribor you know. And are those tiny black baubles you put in food for seasoning, harvested from an Eefret once its flames had been ek- ek-"
"An elk?" offered the Witcher, not at all seriously, he struggled not to laugh.
"Ek-stink-wished."
Urick suppressed the need to facepalm (hard!) at the young woman's unwarranted paranoia – not to mention the absurd and ridiculously wrong information only the gods know where she got. In the end, he failed to choke out a soft giggle. He leaned back and folded his arms.
"What's so funny?"
"It's extinguished."
"Huh?"
"What you try to say. It's spelled 'ex-tin-guised' not 'ek-stink-wished.'" The Witcher felt strange for once being the one to correct someone else over a subject different than post-Conjunction creatures. It was such a pleasurable feeling. Being considered 'dumb as a rock troll–or drowner' by most people in his life, friends and lovers included, it felt nice to be the 'smart one' in a conversation for a change, even to a random peasant woman who most likely was uneducated.
The waitress grimaced unpleasantly at being made a fool of. She began sweating again. "I don't fucking care about any- Agh- spellings." She said, pain returning to her face "I'm not drinking any of those-" she put her hands in her abdomen "those poisons you-" And once again she lowered her head, clutching tightly at her aching belly.
Urick smiled contemptuously at the young woman's suffering, his patience has been exhausted.
After allowing him a few precious seconds to savor her pain the Witcher spoke to the waitress. "You know what," he giggled, facing away from her, the mocking smile not leaving his face "I felt like doing a kindness to you. Because… because fuck it that's why, I just felt like it, call it whatever you want. But," he turn to back the waitress, leaning forward "since this is how you want things to be" his expression changed into a frown then "I hope you spew your guts on the floor, bitch!" The Witcher was done with his less than supportive speech, sealing it for good by taking a slice of toasted bread, leaned right back, and began munching on it.
No counter-speech came from the young woman as she was way too busy clutching at her belly in what she undoubtedly believed to be an effective way of keeping the contents of her stomach from spilling out. Urick was sure that time won't be too long now. The only thing she managed to do in the end as a protest was to raise her eyes to give, what the Witcher was sure meant to be, an angry look, but since she was so obviously in pain it only made her look more pathetic. She began sweating, once again.
Urick kept munching on the toast, making as much noise as possible simply to annoy the waitress. Velma hated those sounds so much that she started casting Silence on him each time they had breakfast together… The young woman was no mage though, and could do nothing to muffle the sounds the Witched was making without resulting to physical force, and in her current state, that was unlikely. Not that she would be able to if she was any healthier of course. She was but a meek peasant woman… "Velma was more 'raw-bust' than her" a smile lightened up the right side of the Witcher's face for that brief moment "Not to mention taller, a head almost," he went on, comparing the two women's bodies in his mind, chewing, slowly, and absentmindedly "with longer, thicker legs… The waitress's are the better ones." Urick though… said to himself… not exactly confident that he actually agreed, since his member got a little bit stiffer remembering how the enchantress used to lock her legs behind his neck while he held her upside-down. "Fiona has a much better pair of tits though – meatier and juicier." the Witcher recalled the waitress's name as he admired her superior rack, he could not currently see it of course due to the woolen-something covering her, but that image won't be leaving his mind any time soon. "Mel's were pretty average. Wasn't a dealbreaker, they went well with her toned body, but considering. She. Was. A Sorceress. An average rack left something to be desired. Her ass though…" The Witcher's face twitched "She won't even let me fuck her there! Damned witch." Urick pushed what remained of the toast aggressively in his mouth and began crunching noisily. He crossed his arms, frowning all the while. It angered him that despite more than a year had passed since their 'brake up' he still hasn't completely got over her.
The Witcher concluded that he tortured himself enough for one night and decided to fully focus his attention to the waitress.
Fiona's situation hasn't improved in the least. And Urick relished in that. If he could not savor her pussy, he could at least savor her pain.
He finally swallowed. "Oh, almost forgot." The Witcher smiled nastily as a terrible idea came to him now that the innkeep wasn't behind the counter. He leaned forward. "You don't want this right?" he extended his hand towards the bowl, intending to spill its contents and then threw it on the floor as well to leave a whole new mess for her to clean up.
Before he managed to move the bowl enough though, the waitress grabbed it, touching his hand as well "Wait." She said, her tone not exactly desperate but definitely more needy than before, her eyes too.
Urick hated being touched without permission. He was tempted to just force her hand away and do as he originally intended… but lost his nerve when the young woman's eyes shut again. Pain was returning to her face.
"Would this potion really cure me?" Fiona asked, her voice lower than before, her eyes betraying mounting desperation.
"I really am asking for it!" Urick berated himself internally, rolling his eyes as well. "It's no Potion," he said, annoyance gripping at his voice "I wouldn't give you one of my elixirs – they'll kill you. At best."
"Then what- mgh" the young woman's winced in pain, her grip on the Witcher's hand tightened "is that?"
The Witcher let out a heavy sigh before continuing "Just an herbal tea. Won't cure you on the spot or anything, but it helps with nausea and stomach aches. There is nothing that is dangerous for you in it." Urick explained, trying his best to keep his tone as calm and friendly as possible. He didn't expect her to trust him… But he decided to give her one last chance to accept his help. He really hoped he won't regret it, this one act of selflessness.
Fiona didn't say anything, nor did she retract her hand. She just shot the Witcher a rather mistrustful look.
A few seconds passed and both the Witcher and the waitress stayed where they were. Both holding the bowl along with its other's hand, and keep glaring at each other. The whole scene was becoming awkward, and not in the pleasant way. "Listen," Urick spoke "if it gets cold, it won't be of much help. So start drinking." He argued. The bowl was indeed feeling less warm than before but that wasn't really a problem since he can always boil the water again using Igni. But, he really wanted her to stop griping at his hand like that, as she reminded him of that fisstech addict he came across in the docks during his third night in Novigrad, begging and nagging him for a few coins for 'medicine.' The fact that she smelled as well wasn't helping the comparison the Witcher was making in his mind.
No changes yet.
"If you really like suffering so much, can I at least drink it, so it won't go to waste?" Urick said in a fake jovial tone, only to change to a much bitter one as he kept talking "Since, you know… I went in all the fucking trouble of making it for you!"
Fiona finally let go of the Witcher's hand. She then took the bowl in both her hands and brought it closer – with as careful and delicate movement as when she caught her serving disc earlier. Urick couldn't help but notice since her movements weren't as 'refined', so to speak, when serving in general.
Fiona lowered her eyes, and, once again, began staring suspiciously at the contents inside the ceramic vessel. She soon she raised her eyes, to shoot the Witcher another mistrustful look.
Urick wanted to get angry… But he just couldn't. Instead he put his left hand on his face, covering the entire left side of it, closed his eyes, and began making laughing sounds – with the mouth closed. The whole thing was just so ridiculously pointless, pathetic and stupid he could not even feel offended anymore.
"What's so funny?" the waitress asked, totally serious.
Urick promptly opened his still visible eye. "What's so funny, she asks." He thought looking at the waitress "These folk are as dumb as they are suspicious of outsiders. The trolls here are way more civilized than them." As he thought that, his mind immediately went to Boris. That rock troll was probably the nicest person he met since coming here. He still killed him in the end of course but that was beside the point. To think that a representative of this race of dimwitted brutes could come off as sensible -in that peculiar trollish way- when put besides the 'people' of these lands only managed to reinforce the hilarity of the situation.
As his 'laughing' grew more audible, Fiona's eyes began narrowing. She was about to say something but the Witcher spoke first "Please tell me" Urick moved his hand away from his face "do all witchers get this 'nice' treatment from you" he laughed "or is there something reaaally wrong with my face?"
The young woman's face twisted into a grimace… but it was different than before somehow. It wasn't mistrust coupled with annoyance like before. "My cousin Lena" Fiona uttered suddenly, her voice raspy "took a potion from one of yours." Her voice began quivering from then on "Was supposed to help her. Instead it- it turned her into a- a-" the young woman struggled with the next word "it destroyed her mind." She said in the end, though it was obvious that she was going to say something different originally judging by the wording. "She couldn't even recognize me. I have to remind her who I was. And every day she was getting worse… The last time I saw her she didn't even speak – as if forgotten how to, she just… stared at me like a toddler."
And just like that, all joviality has left the Witcher's face, and replaced by his usual, passive, emotionless mask. He definitely expected some sort of reaction from Fiona. Just not this one. He leaned back again and crossed his arms.
Urick looked at the young woman in the eyes. "He shouldn't have." he said, his voice came out as a whisper almost "Whatever his reasons were, he shouldn't have given her a Potion." He repeated more clearly. "Our elixirs are not meant for" the Witcher averted his eyes for that one moment "humans." he said, that last word felt like something stacked in the Witcher's throat, choking him, as he uttered it. Despite the years passed, Urick still had difficulties when attempting to dissociate himself from humanity. It both frustrated and angered him to be constantly regarded as something else than human, by humans, human mages especially, who stubbornly and proudly insisted in calling him 'it' and refusing him any personhood. Most Witchers didn't have a problem with it -They even accepted it as the truth- but he did. "And…" Urick paused "I am…" he paused again. He licked his lower lip "I am sorry about your cousin." He finally managed to say. It was strange, to say the least. He didn't remember when was the last time he offered words of sympathy to anyone. Empathy wasn't coming naturally to him anymore like when he was younger. Things like violence, thievery, murder, and rape that he once saw as terrible crimes now he simply saw as mere flaws of character – He wasn't above them himself sometimes… But things like compassion, camaraderie, and selflessness just seemed… so strange… alien somehow now.
Fiona gave the Witcher an ambiguous look. While not initially sure as of how to interpret it, after a few seconds passed, Urick could make out one thing: It wasn't hostile. Her features had softened. A nice change, he thought.
The young woman brought the bowl closer, raised it above the table's surface with both her hands, and, FINALLY, began drinking the tea.
"Praise be to the G-" "Great Sun." Urick almost said "Gods."
The Wyvern Witcher – Codex
Bonus story: The Wyvern School's Bestiary – Unique Monsters – Page 228
BAMBI
Class: Relicts
Variation: Fiend
- Unique Features: Reddish-brown skin with black stripes, an extra pair of antlers for a total of four, white fur, larger eyes
- Height: Around 8m at the shoulders
- Weight: Around 3500kg
Intelligence: Undetermined – While originally thought to be as intelligent as any other Fiend specimen -namely no more than your average bear- the various reports provided by the novices that passed the Trial of the Forest suggest that the so-called 'Bambi' may have developed higher cognitive functions unprecedented in the species, including the capacity to correctly access danger and eliminate the highest immediate threat, lay in wait to ambush pray, and even the cunning to utilize its surroundings to its advantage during a fight.
Organization: Solitary
Occurrence: The Murmuring Wood
Threat level: Severe
Immunities: Aard, Axii, King and Queen
Resistances: Meteorite Steel, Silver, Poison
Recommended Kit:
• Potions: Cat, Blizzard, Willow
• Decoctions: Werewolf
• Bombs: Samum, Zerrikanian Sun, Red Haze, Dimeritium bomb
Also known as the King of Murmuring Wood. And it's fairly easy to know when his majesty is coming. Earth trembles beneath his feet, and, with the exception of wraiths, once close every other beast in the area will scatter away in terror. Regardless of the situation.
To the point at hand, I don't know if Bambi was ever an flamboyant elven king that insulted his witch-wife by sagging her little sister as the old story goes -and I highly doubt's it- what I know is that this Fiend is a king in his own domain – and wears the crown to prove it. A crown fit for a king indeed, in the form of four enormous antlers that can skewer up to three grown men each. A more effective symbol a ruler could not have asked for. Humor aside, I survived my encounter with the monster during the infamous Trail of the Forest. I didn't fought it, I run away from it. I was with three of my broodbrothers and we barely escaped with our lives, by sacrificing one as a distraction. Cowardly, cruel you think? It was both. But otherwise there would be three dead novices instead of just one. And Yes we had studied Fiends by the time of the Trial, and if you honestly think that we should of have been fine then, you are WRONG. We thought as well that conventional tactics would work on it. So I'm telling you upfront: THEY DIDN'T. You may think 'I've lost count of how many varieties of Griffin, Fiend, Cyclops, and Leshen I've killed all these years. What this big deer has that is so special compared to them?' Well, let me break it down for you – And pay attention!:
First of all, Bambi is twice as big as your average Fiend (you didn't misread the above) and twice as heavy or more-A real mountain of muscle-yet quicker than one would expect for a creature of such size and heft. I see him topple tall trees, and he is perfectly capable of destroy the toughest fortifications – Want proof? Go check the original headquarters of the School of the Wyvern by the Fiery Mountains. After taking our old seat for themselves, the Nilfgaardian army sent a patrol in the Murmuring Wood. The men never came back naturally, so the commander decided to sent out a search party, a rather large one. A few soldiers returned, beaten, some mutilated, and at the brink of madness. I swear for all the mistrust they harbor for the mages in their ranks, the blackclad legions are surprisingly fond of using fire as their favorite means of getting rid of a problem as long as it's not the magical kind. And that's where they erred. Bambi had never attacked our fortress, NEVER, ventured beyond the Murmuring Wood's borders. But he did once his new neighbors decided to burn his home to the ground~~/
Go and see the end results for yourselves.
Like all Fiends, Bambi has the ability to regenerate. But the true danger in his case is that silver doesn't work as it should be. Normally, silver blocks regeneration long enough to give us a chance against any post-conjunction creatures that posses them but that's not the case with him. Silver can harm him, but it doesn't halt his regeneration, and not nearly enough to do any significant damage – he is not afraid of it either, so don't waste your time with Moon Dust. The only way your silver sword could serve you against the so-called 'King of Murmuring Wood' it would be as a projectile, aiming at his eyes – that it'll give you some time, hope you're good at calculating distances. More importantly, DON'T-I repeat-DON'T use any poisoned weapons against him; I don't know how the fuck is that even possible but somehow once enough poison enters his bloodstream, his speed and reaction time increases to the point that it's almost impossible to dodge his attacks without Blizzard, and I haven't seen any evidence that suggest that poison can kill him. I cannot speak about the effectiveness of poisonous gasses though.
Scared yet? You should be. I left the best for last. The last special thing about Bambi is how he uses the most refined weapon nature has granted his species. Like all Fiends he can hypnotize his pray to leave it vulnerable, but unlike other Fiends all three of his eyes have this power. Worse yet he doesn't need to 'charge' that power – the effect is instantaneous. The only indications you have that he is attempting to hypnotize you are his eyes themselves, which pupils shrink during that time. Those hellish eyes will be the last things you'll see before you're plunged into a world of darkness, staring at the towering monstrosity before you. You'll be thinking that since all three of his eyes have the power to hypnotize that means that you'll get three visible signs of his location instead of one when under the 'spell.' You're right. Except he closes them during that time, stays put, and uses his acute hearing and sense of smell to locate you, and once the opportunity presents itself, he'll charge. I really hope you paid close attention to your surroundings.
Now about how to fight Bambi?
DON'T.
Avoid him like you will a Dragon or Higher Vampire. No Witcher fought him and lived to tell the tale.
The recommendations above are not listed so to give you a fighting chance but a surviving one.
Few advices that I can give you:
For once, mask your scent. Bambi has a keen sense of smell and he can never make a mistake when it comes to Witchers – He's been killing and eating us Wyverns for centuries after all.
If an engagement can't be avoided, no matter what, always keep your eyes on Bambi's feet and keep close attention to his movements if you are about to evade an attack. Be especially wary of his charge attack, he will fall back first, usually with a leap the sheer weight of can cause tremors that if caught you off-guard will make you lose your balance. The Willow potion is invaluable in that case, even more during the attack itself. Once Bambi begins to charge Willow is the only guarantee that you will stay on your feet, as each time he charges at high speed is like an earthquake.
Refrain from using the Quen Sign. It will only drain you, and won't help you survive an encounter with this monster; it'll break the magic shield effortlessly and kill you at the same time in one blow. Horns, claws, teeth, it doesn't matter, all he needs is to land a single hit, and then it's over. No fortification potion will change that, so refrain from using them as well. Nothing sort of a mage's barrier will manage to withstand his attacks, and not for long.
Make liberal use of the bombs in the list above. Despite all his 'unique features' Bambi is still a Fiend, and as such, he is afraid of loud noises. Red Haze may seem redundant to you since when 'the king' comes other monsters run away in fear, but it is in fact your best tool if you are to make a successful escape. There is specific place in the woods that the specters of fallen Wyvern novices gather in numbers. Once you enter there, hold long enough, these wraiths are challenging but you are more likely to survive an encounter with them. Keep your senses sharp, especially your hearing, and once Bambi is within range throw the madness-inducing bomb at him. His attention will go to the wraiths, giving you more than enough time to run away.
Bambi is not exactly weak to fire, but if you draw from a Place of Power charged with that element, or you are from a School which Trials granted you with more magic power (and more importantly, you are good at running and casting at the same time), aim at his face, it'll damage his eyes long enough to grant you a window to outmaneuver him and advance.
If you are going to outrun the aberrant Fiend, the Werewolf Decoction coupled with Willow is your best friend. He is persistent, but not enough so to be at your heel for a whole day, and, barring the 'burn the whole Murmuring Wood down' incident of the Nilfgaardian army, he never chased someone beyond his 'kingdom's' borders.
That's all the tips I can give you.
Avoid the Murmuring Wood at all costs and ignore any contracts associated with a Fiend in it.
The only acceptable reward one could ask for hunting Bambi down is a whole Province. Anything less is not worth certain death.
(...)
I hope his imperial new majesty Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, fills extra generous after finally sitting his ass on the Sun Throne. May he die in pain and treachery just like his father.
~ Signed by Elrik of Viroleda, former Witcher of the School of the Wyvern