When I played the first area in the \Witcher 3, White Orchard, I met Mislav, a hunter who had a gay relationship with the lords son, Florian.

When they were caught, Florian hung himself and the estate went into disarray. I then heard someone in the inn say the Nilfgaardian garrison used to be the lords estate before it all went to ruin.

I decided to write the hunters story.

All the locations I used can be visited in the game, including Florians grave and the little camp Mislav makes in his memorial (it's in the woods besides Cackler bridge)

Anyway please enjoy.

It had been different, once.

The flag of Lord Verrieres has once swayed in the breeze on top of the fort. The fire had once blazed in the hearth. Servants had scurried back and forth across the bridge, bringing newly forged weapons from Novigrad, wine from Toussaint, carts full of fruit from the orchards nearby. It had been bustling and busy. It had been a home once.

Mislav stood across the stream and looked at the ruined fort, shaking his head slowly.

In what seemed like such a short time, it was now a crumbling ruin, the bridge destroyed, the walls and structure almost completely gone, and Nilfgaardian flags fluttering in the breeze. All memories of the Verrieres family, now gone.

It used to be a magnificent structure, seamlessly woven into the cliff top among tumbling flowers and trees.

Now, you could barely make out its shape through the overgrown brush and crumbling bricks. Not to mention the 36 Nilfgaardians stationed around it. The war had changed everything. White Orchard has once been a prosperous villiage, the orchards supplied fruit to all the local cities and towns. The people had been different too. Mislav was always welcomed with a smile when he brought his catches into town. Not any more.

Mislav turned and began his slow, silent walk home.

Years earlier

His father had taught him to hunt, and he had been just a boy when an illness killed him in his sleep, leaving Mislav and his mother to fend for themselves. They had packed up and moved to White Orchard.

"Somewhere more affordable, warmer. We can have a garden, and watch the flowers grow in Spring!" his mother had said.

His mother had always tried to look on the bright side of life.

Within 4 years, Mislav was the best hunter in White Orchard, and despite only being a teenager, he was highly regarded by the men in the village and often asked his opinions on how to catch different game.

As he came of age, his mother eagerly tried to set him up with local villiage girls, but Mislav wasn't interested.

"Claer is lovely. Her hair is dark chestnut, like yours! Imagine the babies you would make!" she would coo excitedly.

But Mislav would never respond. He knew deep in his secret heart he would never be able to love a woman. But he would never tell anyone. He told himself that he would marry a woman the following Summer, and try to father some children, purely for his mothers sake.

Then, one day, a harsh winter came, and despite a full larder and enough meat to last them until Spring, his mother got sick.

The cold seeped into her bones and no matter how much meat broth she drank, her frame was thin and frial, her breathing laboured. She passed away one evening with Mislav holding her hand.

With his mother gone, he saw no reason to take a wife. He didn't want to hurt anyone by living a lie. It wouldn't be fair to him, or the woman he chose. As the years wore on, naturally there was gossip here and there. People thought he might be a eunuch. Others thought he had a wife in another village. Nobody asked him, and nobody pried. He was left alone, as he was a valued hunter in the community. Nobody knew his secret.

Late at night, when he was in his bed, Mislav would think about the Sawmillers son, Carsten. He had scars on his hands from his saw. He had such firm, strong hands. He would wonder if he had rippling back muscles to match his thick arms. He would wonder if he had red pubic hair to match the firey crop on his head. He would imagine himself with Carsten, and he would groan and spill his seed on the hay covered floor of his cottage. Then, when his eyes opened and he came back down to earth, he would panic and break out in a sweat, violently washing. He was a freak! Why couldn't he be NORMAL!

Then he would go back to bed, curse himself and roughly turn over, hating the thoughts in his head, hating himself. He wondered if he should see a pellar, or try the church, to rid him of these thoughts. But he was too afraid.