[b]Hello![/b] I'm Veration, and this is the first of the many lore posts I will be making that will cover the lore of Witchers I, II and III. This is part of a series of game lore posts that others including my good friends [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Profile/254/1049112]Ghost[/url] and [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Profile/254/9615763]Cyber[/url] have been making to spread game knowledge throughout #Gaming, wonderful posts of [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/211697919?showBanned=0&path=0]Warhammer 40K[/url] as well as [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Topics?tg=%23CyberScrolls]TES[/url]. This series will be updated every other day, read in order, and be written from the point of view of the character Dandelion (hopefully the prose makes the exposition more bearable.) I hope you all enjoy! :) ~~~ Fate first dictated that Geralt's path should cross my own one lovely summer day at a fete in Gulet, in the Kingdom of Aedirn. This was not, of course, the first time I had heard of him - no, by that time everyone knew of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, Slayer of Fearsome Beasts, Lifter of Noisome Curses, and Defender from Manifold Evils. Everyone had also heard tell of the infamous Geralt, the Butcher of Blaviken, who in broad daylight had slaughtered half a dozen people in that sleepy Arc Coast town, seemingly for no reason at all. Some, such as myself, knew that both Geralts were one and the same, and though at the time I did not dare ask for details, I was as astute a judge of character as I am now, and so perceived as soon as I met him that this Geralt was no murderer of innocents. Barely had our conversation begun when we realized we were destined to be fast friends and decided to journey onward together as companions. This, of course, suited us both wonderfully. The Witcher was weary of having no one but his horse to talk to on his path, and so nearly jumped out of his jerkin with joy at the prospect of a gifted gabber like myself with whom to wile away the long hours on the road. As for me, the lovely maid upon whom I had recently bestowed my favors turned out to have three burly and rather easily upset brothers - so, as you might imagine, dear reader, the prospect of a skilled swordsman such as Geralt as my companion thrilled me to the core. The Witcher and I thus set out towards our first adventure together as newfound friends and comrades. This adventure was to take place at the very edge of the known world, in the charming Valley of the Flowers at the foot of the Blue Mountains. There, a group of locals hired Geralt to hunt a devil that was tormenting their small settlement. I won't bore you by delving into the details of this contract, but suffice it to say that the Witcher proved he was not the kind of monster exterminator who slaughters first and asks questions later. This "deovel," as the locals called it in their charming dialect, turned out to be a thinking creature, a sylvan in fact. Geralt did not kill it but instead strove to drive it off peacefully. Before he could complete his task, however, a band of eleven guerrillas surrounded us - and Geralt's first reflex was to negotiate for my life, to save me, an artist he had met but a few weeks prior, before thinking to save himself. Having proven himself a man of great discernment and magnanimity, from that time forward Geralt had my trust and no ill word about him would ever leave my lips. Geralt and the sorceress Yennefer, his greatest love, first met during our greatest adventure - one that began with a series of events so unlikely, so unbelievable, that you will no doubt accuse me of overindulging in poetic license, or perhaps strong drink. Yet it is the unadorned truth that on one particularly fine morning the Witcher and I cast our lines into the river hoping for a breakfast or fish, but instead we pulled out a magic amphora with a genie imprisoned inside. Once freed, the ungrateful being did not only fail to grant us three wishes, but in an instant flew at my throat! The result was a severe injury that came close to permanently depriving me, and the world, of the instrument of my trade - my voice. Geralt went in search of help and, catching word of a sorceress staying in the nearby town of Rinde, set off to see her without delay. That is where he first met Yennefer, and though the beginning of their relationship did not seem to portend great passion, anyone familiar with matters of the heart and the fairer sex would at once recognize that something would come to pass between these two. Yennefer at first treated Geralt just as another useful instrument, flirting with him and agreeing to restore my voice, only to then cast a spell on Geralt that put him in a strange trance, during which he publicly flogged several people and then fainted and was hauled off to the dungeons. The sorceress, it turned out, had plans to use us both to help capture the genie, seeking to tame this being and bind it's great magical power to her will. Why mages think it is wise to enslave creatures of near-limitless power and equally irascible temperaments, I will never understand. But that is neither here nor there, for I have promised you, dear reader, a tale of love between Geralt and Yennefer, and so you shall have one. As you know, many are the loves that start with a quarrel, and this one soon fit that pattern perfectly. When things began to spin out of control and the sorceress's life was endangered, Geralt ran to her rescue. Of course, before the danger passed, Geralt and Yennefer managed to get into a vicious fight and the genie destroyed a quarter of the city, but all ended well. Geralt used one of his wishes to win Yennefer's heart and save the rest of the city from the furious genie's vengeance, putting a permanent deal on the affection between the two and binding their fates together, forever and always. Yet while love is one matter, a man's need to be independent is an entirely different one. One year into their relationship, Geralt flew the proverbial coop, disappearing from Yennefer's house in Vengerberg with only a letter and a bouquet of violets on the table by way of explanation. I hardly need to say this type of farewell so enraged Yennefer that for the next four years any mention of the man would set her teeth to grinding. The Witcher might be a grizzled veteran when it comes to monster fighting, but in his relations with women he has always behaved like an immature school boy. By this I do not mean his impulse to flee when he felt a woman was growing overly possessive or trying to change his habits by force - this he shared with all his brothers of the male sex. In such a situation flight is a natural reaction, but maturity and common curtesy demand that the act of parting be conducted in a way so as to break the news as delicately as possible. It also eliminates every chance of ever spending pleasures able and tender in her company again in the future. I hope, dear reader, you will not find it vulgar of me to say that I have had to break a few hearts in many travels, and have learned from these experiences both delightful and tragic that it never pays to burn one's bridges prematurely. ~~~ Thank you all for reading my first post of many, I hope you liked it. As a note, I'm looking for an editor; please PM me if you want to fill that role. You all have a good day!