The Gods We Design ~Witcher Fanfiction~ ON HOLD

Chapter 2- When Fate Collides for the First Time

...The Demon Wolf of the North, a nightmare tale, warning travelers to be wary of the white-haired female Witcher, with eyes like a starless night and skin as pale as death, with blood streaked scars...

By the time evening had come around, the other men arrived.

First, came Eskel and Lambert, the two having traveled together that season. Along with them was Newt and Larken, who refused to admit their fondness for one-another, but always could be found together, sharing more than a few tender moments.

The four of them arrived together, having met up along the Path to Kaer Morhen. They greeted Rizeve with familial hugs, showing off the bond between the witchers that was stronger than blood. Eskel and Lambert brought alchemic supplies, promising to show Rizeve their new bomb idea.

Newt and Larken brought dried meat from many different kills, and had snagged a large pheasant on the way up the trail they planned to cook for dinner.

After the couples-not-couples arrived, the more lone wolves came about.

Late evening, just as the moon was rising, Mankree arrived, an Eldermoose slung over his massive horse. He greeted Rizeve with a fond kiss on the cheek, and followed her lithe figure to the dining hall, where food and drink was found.

Mankree greeted the others more solemnly, having been alone for so long, it would take some getting used to on his part, being around his family once again. He had always been closest to Rizeve, loving her like a sister.

As the moon struck its highest point, the snow began to fall, fat flakes coating the cold, stiff ground. The Gwent cards rolled out, and the witchers, after some convincing, got Vesemir to play. Shots of Cintran ale went down easily, adding in bringing laughter from the normally sullen witchers sitting at the table.

As the first gwent round finished, West arrived, covered in soft white flakes, melting slowly into his armor. As the youngest witcher, he was everyone's favorite. He arrived with a small smile on his face, presenting soft fur blankets as his "homecoming" token. The group was majorly thankful, as the keep could get quite cold in the depths of the winter season.

"Welcome back, brother!" Newt called, slightly drunk, "we finally have everyone here! Now the real fun can begin!" he hauled out a bottle of white lightning, from gods know where.

"Not quite." Vesemir called out, reminding them they still had one missing.

"Ah, the mysterious Geralt decided to show his face this year?" Mankree asked with a laugh.

"That old Farts' still around?" West asked, laughter in his voice as he poured himself a glass of white lightning, only to have it snached from him as Rizeve grabbed it.

"Hey! I'm not 12 anymore!"

"You're still too young." Rizeve quipped, knocking back a shot, not planning to make it through the night sober.

"You'd do well to respect Geralt," Lambert said, "he may be old, but he's one of the best of us. Barring Vesemir, of course."

The witchers all knew better than to assume anyone could best Vesemir, as he was a Master Witcher. But, by the stories told to them by Lambert and Eskel, it seemed like Geralt might be Vesemir's equal, Geralt being the Witcher who underwent the most mutations, and with arguably the most skill... Until Rizeve came along.

"When is he supposed to arrive, father?" Rizeve, definitely tipsy now, asked. She hadn't called Vesemir father since her early childhood. And even then, only when woken by nightmares. And maybe she whispered out 'Father' when she awoke from horrid night terrors brought on by the return to Kaer Morhen, as the first weeks were always the hardest. But Rizeve would die before she would admit that.