❛ Are you offering, or telling me to go find some? ❜
BREATH IS SUCKED IN through nose, hard exhale through parted lips and he is forced to release the wound held so tightly in favor of removing weaponry and leather sling carrying supplies; he’s going to have a new scar from the feel of it ( that’s what he gets for taking on Harpies 10 to 1, he supposes – still the victor, however, thus the probability of him doing this again should the chance arise is high ), something jagged and long and he cannot find it in himself to care beyond the thought that his body has come to serve as a tally board for all the monsters he’s fought – as good a way to count as any.
CRIMSON LEAKS FREELY from gash now exposed, nothing to keep it contained as blood slicked palms busy themselves with the task of removing upper armor, ignoring every prick of pain that flares up with the act of moving about. It’s deep, enough so that stitches are likely required but death is on a far horizon yet and he manages with ease to work up a half-smile, a friendly sort of smirk at other’s visible concern. To think, not long ago Iorveth would’ve been happy to see him dead —- now he’s worried for his well being.
❛ WORRIED I WON'T come back? ❜ There’s a pause, amusement in his words when he speaks again ( & some pain, but that’s his own damn fault for bending too far when searching through his pouch for a potion ). ❛ I thought the only ‘good’ Dh'ione was a dead one. I’m honored you've found me the exception. ❜ Even if he is technically not a human – he’s a mutant of the original species; it’s close enough for some, and too far for others.
HAND IS PLACED BACK upon side in attempt to cut off blood flow once more as teeth pull at cork lodged in glass bottle, aforementioned object spit onto the ground ‘fore potion is knocked back – it won’t take away the pain nor will it stop the bleeding, it’s not a medicinal herb nor sinew through flesh, but it will accelerate the process of his cells mending him from the inside out; better than nothing, by far, and he does his best to hide the hiss of pain that accompanies the activation of healing liquid. It hurts worse than the Harpies did – not exactly a fair trade off.
❛ You wouldn’t happen to have a needle and thread on hand, would you? ❜
The gesture hails as a taciturn one: he strips himself from squalid mat, bestrides sullied stone with a gait as cautionary as the commander can muster; the greenery, as fortune would have it, was not of his own collection, but a communal one, gathered and demarcated by a crate that ventured where they did. Even when their camps were pillaged and plundered by sentient pustules such as the ( ironically lauded ) Blue Stripes, the wealth of plantlife had not been claimed. Leather-cladded hands retrieve what they came for, and it is amid that lasting quietude wherein he relinquishes a duality of ribbon-bounded satchels unto this pseudo-patient.
❝ It’s impressive that you’ve managed to live this long, if you’ve had to survive off of the generosity of others the entire time. ❞ More in jest than authentic incredulity, if some droll measure and fluctuation in banaustic intonation can be made to joke. Yet even tenuous witticisms are fleeting; timbre returns to its quotidian stagnancy, ❝ You’ll want to ingest some of the mandrake root, but the conynhaela should go against the wound itself. And only take as much as you neednone can say if we’ll require it again, once this is over. ❞ Perhaps it was irresponsible to squander any medicinal supplies with the likes of war encroaching, yet Vergen ( Saskia had assured him ) could compensate all wounded nonhumans when the time came; he, however, still clung to stalwart doubt.
❛Worried❜, the very term seemed weighted, and it almost warrants a scoff. ❝ Of all the things I’ve been called, Geralt, compassionate has never been one of them. Danamebi forbid that a moment of weakness has altered your opinion of me. ❞ Ruthless, bloodthirsty, terrorist, whoreson; no, never anything of the sort. At best he was pragmatic and cold; the Woodland Fox didn’t even blink when his elves were slaughtered in battle, or so the story goes. He wasn’t supposed to.
❝ You want to sew yourself back together…here?Bloede dh'oine❞
Gritted teeth and low growl do little to forestall gloved digits fumbling through the cloister of a pocket ( one of many on that blighted sash around his waist ), nonetheless; the query exhumed nearly compels a much more cavalier retort, that of course he carries a needle upon his hip, that ever since last time he had learned his lesson well. ( Several hours of stumbling about, frantically trying to elude those who had brutalized the rest of the Vrihedd, all while bleeding profusely from the face, is wont to do that to a person ).
The item upheld is unremarkable: a curved stroke of silver wrapped many times over in heavy thread, shrouded in cloth thereafter, but it has served him as well as it could. Ebon brow is raised in scrutiny, a quirk essentially unrecognizable if not for the gentle crease of carmine fabric. ❝ I hope that there’s a reason you decided not to seek out a proper medic. A good one. ❞
No Masters or KingsPrimary Verse, set during the midst of Chapter 2, or the beginning of Chapter 3. World state: Vergen lingers on the brink of war, and the commander spends his days readying his forces or fretting about Saskia.
Idealism sits in PrisonSecondary Verse, post-game or during the events of The Witcher 3. World state: Aedirn and the Pontar Valley lay in ruin due to the siege led by Nilfgaard. The Scoia'tael of the east are dwindling in number, slaughtered in the war; Iorveth has left Saskia and the better half of his army to gather recruits in the city of Novigrad, relinquishing the title of commander to his best scout, Ele'yas. In Novigrad, Iorveth lays low, and lingers in the Putrid Grove with the King of Beggars ( though he would be loath to admit that he works with him ); he spends his nights aiding the nonhumans of the city, who are being crushed by Radovid's corrupt knights, either smuggling them out of the area or recruiting them into the Scoia'tael to fight alongside the Dragonslayer's forcesor both.
Felled in the NightDragon Age verse. World state: Information here.
❝ They say all elves are beautiful, that they are born thus. In Iorveth’s case someone set out to change this [...] He was a living legend, the elusive leader of a Scoia’tael unit whose members gave no thought to laying down their arms and continued their war against humans. Stories of his deeds, of his deep hatred of dh’oine, painted him as more akin to a vengeful ghost than to an individual made of blood, bone and flesh...❞
Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove, "Dandelion".
Most humans might contend that the Scoia’tael are little more than ferocious heathens, who will not stop their tyranny until every last dh’oine has been cleft in twain—they may even be right in assuming such a thing. Iorveth, famous for his resourcefulness and tactical genius ( as well as his viscousness ), means to unite the scattered forces, somewhat certain that they will answer his call when the time comes.
He has only ever existed in a time when blood imbrued the waters, knowing little of a time of peace, for his people or for his foes. He knows betrayal better than he knows friendship; he trusts few, and has faith in even fewer. Once, he would have named himself the Commander of a ruthless brigade during the Nilfgaardian war, ally to those of the Vrihedd.
His comrades were executed before his very eyes; there was no honour amidst the battle, no justice, nor any such romantic deluges within the hollow carnage of war. The Vrihedd was exterminated, sold and branded as cannon fodder by their own allies; the remaining Scoia’tael were marked as beasts, relinquished unto the slaughter, hunted and hounded for the remainder of their existence.
Iorveth evaded the clutches of death, but not without paying a lofty price: half of his face was destroyed, cut open while the other dh’oine colonels looked on, delighting in the torture. His eye is sacrificed, and yet that was not what sundered his TRUST in the humans.
Thus he endows himself with the responsibility of commanding the remnants, whatever vestiges of the Scoia’tael he can muster. Though not all fall beneath his jurisdiction, he aims to fight for their unbridled freedom, and a land in which the nonhumans may roam free, unafraid and unfettered; a land where humans can enter forests without fear, where they may shed their petty prejudices and mayhaps learn to live alongside one another.
Relentless in battle and strategy, the general is named an astute strategist. He makes for a cunning and powerful adversary, but may well be blind in his acrimony and mistrust towards humans. In short, he expects the worst of them almost perpetually. This is not, however, any sort of secret; he is terribly blunt in all that he does, whether this be a virtue or a vice. Yet above all things, Iorveth is a man of his word. His men are loyal to him, and in return, he is loyal to those who issue him this allegiance.
If u dont kno jak shit abt the Witcher or Iorveth, pls consult this page.
Basics: name: Iorveth height: ~1.80m or 5'11" race: Elf appearance: Go here for more information on the scar. Svelte yet athletic in build; covers one half of his face with a red headscarf, which conceals his missing eye ( which very few people ever actually see ); a scar runs from his upper lip to said eyesocket; his clothing is an amalgamation of armour he has stolen from those he has slain, as he is far too poor to buy anything of the sort; a tattoo of an oak tree branch runs down the side of his neck, presumably past the collarbone; his vest is littered with sigils from the commanders he has killed; he has v silly socks. talents: A century of fighting with humans has made him a skilled tactician, and one might even go as far to call him a genuis. He has a resolute network, one which can gather information on almost anyone he wishes; coupled with that, the Scoia'tael are some of the best archers in the known world. In spite of his missing eye and damaged depth percetion, Iorveth wields two swords or a bow with deadly ease. etc: it’s important 2 note that Iorveth isn’t the commander of all the Scoia’tael; he has his own faction of about thirty elves, but there are others who he has no control over. It’s true that he wants to unite the elves, but the distance between them and the different ideals make this a difficult task. In other words, not all of the Scoia’tael will have the same goals or tactics as his own brigade, though they may all be similar at the root.
general.
This is a private blog: I will only interact with those of whom I follow blah bla hblahlablhl. Iorv's a pretty "niche" character, so I might be a little bit selective with following back, but I usually reciprocate tbh, as long as u don't seem like a meanie haha.
&&.
Furthermore, as far as like, sending in memes goes?? I do not give a Carp about mutual memeing??? Dude if u want to reblog the meme from me but don't send one in, go right ahead?? I will not take offense in any way lmao idk if this needs to be said but just a friendly reminder for u ok?
triggers.
I read all of my followers rules ( including nonmutuals ), and try to take into account everyone's triggers. If I ever miss something, please tell me and I will not hesitate to tag it for you. I ask that you tag animal abuse, domestic abuse, and nsfw pictures for me. In terms of this blog, however, the subject matter will inevitably be very, very triggering to some; I cannot change that if I am to stay true to this muse, but I will tag whatever is asked of me, and the usual things ( nsfw; gore; eye horror; etc. ).
portrayal.
I've read the books, and I have played the games, though I have not yet finished Witcher 3. I hope this doesn't prove to be a problem ;___; If I make a mistake pls just kik my ass tbh. PLS consult this page if u don't know much about the Witcher/Iorveth himself; its just a list of his important features/facts, tbh.
replies.
I'm busy, so pls don't expect me to reply to anything very quickly. If u cant respect that, idk what 2 tell u other than u are going to be a very unhappy person, probably. P^/
romance & etc.
As far as shipping goes, the only one on this blog will be with Stevie's Geralt bec my son is a fucking GAY BABY. In other words, I'm single ship, and pls stop asking 2 hop on my son's dick thanks.
Furthermore, smut is never going to happen! I portray Iorveth as a sex-repulsed asexual, and I, for one, am also a sex-repulsed asexual. I ask that you respect this. pls. pls dont submit me pictures of ur dick. yes this has happened before and i will be a VERY UNHAPPY TEACUP IF U DO THIS!!!!!!!!! ITS GROSS!!!
exclusivity.
I do not care if you interact with a hundred thousand "doubles" or what not, and if you want me to be exclusive to you, then inform me and it shall be done. I have here an exclusive list. ( * Granted, this...sort of has to be reasonable; if u see me interacting with many of hte same muse, I'm probably...not going 2 agree to being exclusive to u. jsyk ?? It's a courtesy thing, tbh )
mod.
If you don't know me ( which is good for u u should get out while u can tbh,,, ) my name's Cressida! Most people call me Cress or some variant of the name. I am a smol British teacup living in Canada at the moment, and I study Shakespearean and Medieval literature for leisure and scholarly interest. You can find my personal blog here, but it's not that active. My Skype is available to mutuals upon request. hhhhh theres not much else to say other than ??? I love tea and dogs and people I guess. have fun xoxo
Just follow these rules and you’ll stay gold, ponyboy.
exclusives here
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I ask that you not steal this code, take this code, or otherwise alter this code, and I request that no one ask me to code them a theme for themselves. She coded this herself, for her own personal use, and only for those to whom she granted permission. I ask that you respect that.
