JEST EARNS A CHUCKLE, opting not to respond with anything but a shake of the head. He recalls Zoltan's disbelief when he’d mentioned Iorveth had changed – less ready to rip their heads off and more likely to offer a hand, a smile, a joke – and he mentally tallies this moment as a small victory for him; the dwarf may not see it, but that doesn’t make it any less apparent to the Witcher. He outstretches a hand to take offered herbs, a nod his promise to not overuse or waste the precious resources that have likely been long collected by the Scoia'tael that are being so generously offered to a Dh'ione to ease his pain.
He could look for more when he next runs through the forest, if he remembers.
❛ Right;Chastising me for not taking better care of myself just screams ‘uncompassionate’.❜
ARGUE, HE DARES, WITH a single raised brow, fingers popping plant between lips – example number two that foxes do not carry shards of ice within their chests – and he is not fool enough to believe that a bleeding heart lays beneath layers of outer armor, that his hard edges and sharp tongue are just for show, but he is not blind to the kindness that Iorveth is capable of showing either. He’s prepared to debate it, if need be ( though it would be a little odd if he’s honest with himself; an argument of whether or not a man possesses a heart, beating red like everyone else ) though that isn’t the reason he's here. He's here because… Second herb – & only the absolute minimal amount needed – is pressed to wound, body falling back to rest properly against wall with light frown to grace features as free hand extends to take offered needle.
❛ OF COURSE NOT; I was going to ask you to do it. ❜ A jest, though it comes off as a tad distracted.
❛ I ran into a handful of your Scoia'tael by the river this morning who seemed pretty set on having my head. I didn’t think you were involved, but I thought you might like to know why some of your people are missing. ❜
Self defense; but he’d still understand if Iorveth was unappreciative.
HE’S QUIET FOR BUT a moment, before gaze snaps to nearby supply belt, item capturing attention for brevity ‘fore it’s kicked over to Scoia'tael commander, hands far too occupied at the moment to fish through it himself to hand necessary item over. ❛ I also have something of yours – the blue one, it’s, ❜ he shrugs, head rolling to one side with a sigh, ❛ I needed to find a strong dream to wake up your dragonslayer and stumbled upon one of yours on accident; if it was private, I’m sorry. ❜
The sentiment itself goes untouched, unreproached, unspoken of: he cares little for how the vox populi portray him, and entreats not those who opine and theorize about his so-namèd character. Even if the man doing so is one White Wolf, who had earned both his respect and his credence. Perhaps he should have wrought scarred vellum with a sneer, eschewed such frailty and condemned the colloquy as mere utilitarian categorical; or worse, perhaps there truly wassolicitude within him, whether he willed it there or not. Geralt had said it best himself: ’you shouldn’t have trusted a dh'oine’, ( he was absinthal in agreeance; none should DEIGN to trust a HUMAN: for when had so lofty a gesture ever been in their favour? When had HUMANS, in all their grandeur and their sanguine-soaked history, ever honoured their word? O, for when they spake, it was all in hollowsymphony ). Yet still the Fox rewarded the Witcher with that very same rightagainst better judgement, or by some divine stroke, he did not expect to find a knife lodged into his back at any given moment.
❝Funny, vatt'ghern; I expected as much, ❞ colloquy maintains its curtness, as languid arms cross over armoured breast. The temptation to offer a bleak remark, a gentle reminder that he is hardly adept when it comes to mending skin ( thus a subtle motion towards that infernal maculation ‘pon lip and cheek ) allays within a suspire’s span, and newfound revelation gives way to muted pique. Jaw clenches; nares fume; sundered binary twists. A muttered curse plagues the air before virulent timbre inherits its place, ❝TchI only regret that I couldn’t eviscerate the foolsmyself. ❞ Preferably before an audience, so to enamour the crowd with a macabre example regarding the consequences of betrayal and imprudence. ❝ They were probably tempted by some rich dh'oine, waving a few orens beneath their noses. ❞
Dread is fleeting, though nevertheless still existent for a time. How many were involved in this futile ploy? How many throats would he have to slit before the corrupt were purged? ( But nothing was as TORTUROUS as the prevailing premonition that the Scoia'tael’s loyalty could be bought, as if his elves were petty whores looking for a winsome boon ). The idea itself made his stomach churn.
Heavy heart skips a beat, however, when the Witcher speaks again, and he quells the desire to hastily unveil whatever azure shame is cloistered withal. He crouches aside the belt in unfurling curiosity: it is searched for and grasped thereafter with tender, albeit wavering, grace; and when it was thenceforth beheld by leather-bounded hand, after it had been gazed upon by solitary oculus, all that remained was the inclination to shatter it, crush it below his boot, and void its damning contents thus.
( Perchance it had been ardent in form: scent of Virgin’s hair when Midaëte breeze befell them, sound of her voice resonating 'gainst the vales alow; smile on Ciaran’s face when he won at poker, knowing full-well that his commander lost with purpose; Cedric’s gaudy laugh when stupor had not claimed him, before falter and folly cleft them ) Or had it been a night-terror? Saturated with haemal ichor: knife to the eye, knife to the eye, blinding pain, searing hatred. It hardly mattered which, now.
❝ All dreams are, I imagine. ❞ Fixation lingers atop this baleful blue; brows furrowed, lips pressed. ❝ What did you see, Gwynbleidd? Come to gloat, have you?❞
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
Coded by:MASAMUNESBLOG (also known as 'Cath'.)
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.
