Poison (100%)
+3 Hex Weaving & Resist Magic
N/A
3
2.5
First outbreak of catriona devastated the Continent and kil ed thousands of people. I just barely avoided the plague and I think it’s only up to whatever divine bein’s may be out there. I knew ten or twenty folks who weren’t so lucky. Death by the plague’s probably the worst death short of bein’
eaten alive by some necrophage. After a while it came clear to folk that the surest way to keep everyone from dyin’ of the plague was to wipe out all them as were showin’ symptoms. Kill ‘em off and burn the bodies and you’ll stop the plague. Heh, wasn’t too popular among the folks who were already infected. But it’s not like the gentry give a damn.
One military surgeon from Gwendieth took this to heart and got a special crossbow, to kill off infected folk without riskin’ the plague himself. Folk say the ’Executioner of Gwendieth,’ as they’d call him, commissioned this crossbow at a staggerin’ draw weight—five hundred and fifty kilos! Put a bolt through a skull and out the other side. Heh, people’re split as to whether he did it to put people out of their misery easy or to make the job quicker. The Executioner started purgin’ Gwendieth one street at a time, with a quiver the size of a ploughin’ barrel and mask to keep out the plagued air and the stench of death.
Problem is, the plague’s pretty hard to suss out in the early stages. Hard to figure who’s freshly ill and who’s just starvin’. Coroners guess’d he kil ed at least a few healthy folk in purgin’ the city. Legend says the crossbow kil ed so many people over the course of those few months that it started to bind the pain and sorrow of all the people it kil ed to itself. Guess evil’s evil and magic don’t believe the ends justify the means. Folk say the Executioner of Gwendieth started hearin’ voices in his sleep and havin’ fitful nightmares of all sorts.
After two months the nightmares started turnin’ into delusions. He’d see faces in dark corners and hear screams in empty buildin’s. Three months later the plague was under control but the surgeon-turned-executioner was a wreck. He couldn’t stand the sight of the crossbow anymore.
Cal ed it the Red Death. Some folk say he left it in a cave in the deep wilderness and disappeared into the mountains, never to be seen again. Some say the commander of his unit found him in one of the derelict houses, crossbow at his feet an’ a bolt through his skull.
Fate (Education DC: 19)
Type
WA
DMG
Rel. Hands RNG
Effect
Conc. EN
Weight
Silver (6d6+4)
S/P
+3
2d6+1
10
2
N/A
Greater Focus (Water & Fire)
N/A
3
4
Stagger (75%)
Ages ago there was this dwarven swordsman named Vladov Varga. Vladov was a hard-headed but superstitious old sod from the Tir Tochairs.
After a life of fightin’ he’d settled down in Toussaint to start a simpler life as a vintner. Everythin’ went well. Vladov became fat and happy, an’ a reasonably good vintner. Married a buxom dwarven lass from the south, had a few kids and saw ‘em off into the world. But danger don’t leave folk like Vladov alone forever. Few years after seein’ his third kid off Vladov was strol in’ through the main square when an old woman caught his arm.
Woman told him that there was a shadow of death about him and he’d soon be meetin’ his end.
Sometime soon he’d meet a beautiful woman in the market square. They’d talk all friendly-like ‘til it was late and time for him to head home. But when he started home he’d find the woman fol owin’ him. She’d reveal herself to be a beast of the night and put the final nail in Vladov’s coffin, so to speak. ‘Course Vladov was superstitious as they come and believed the old hag immediately. Wasn’t gonna tell his wife about it, of course, but the old dwarf started avoidin’ the market square and headin’ home before twilight. For two months this old bastard snuck around town jumpin’ at shadows ‘til he’d final y had enough. Vladov decided he was tired of runnin’. He’d forge his own fate like he had when he was a younger man. So Vladov took all the silver his savin’s could buy and forged a beautiful sword. He named it Fate—carried it with him everywhere he went.
Eventual y the old dwarf met who the old woman’d warned him of: a beautiful human woman with raven black hair that fell to her waist and skin as pale as the moon on a clear night. She cal ed herself Essyl t, and they did have a fine conversation about all manner of things from smithin’ to bakin’. But as night fell and Vladov excused himself, Essyl t started fol owin’ him. In a dark street on the outskirts of town Essyl t showed her true form. Turns out Essyl t was a bruxa who’d been huntin’ in town, lookin’ for someone to feed off of after a long sleep. But Vladov was prepared to fight fate with Fate—he drew the shimmerin’ blade he’d made just for that moment.
Vladov was old and couldn’t match Essyl t’s speed, but that blade held her at bay, shinin’ in the moonlight, hissin’ through the air like the fires of the forge and the water he’d quenched the blade in. Essyl t cut and slashed the old dwarf but couldn’t get close enough to have her feast.
Eventual y the sun rose and Essyl t fled, her ‘meal’ havin’ proved himself too much hassle. Vladov returned home and explained everythin’ to his wife, who I’m sure gave him quite an earful. Vladov’d made his own fate and survived the old witch’s curse.
263
Moon Blade (Education DC: 18)
Type
WA
DMG
Rel. Hands RNG
Effect
Conc. EN
Weight
S/P
+1
3d6
10
2
N/A
Silver (7d6+4)
Greater Focus
N/A
3
4
Goetia ain’t a common occurence. Heh, turns out most people are smart enough to realize meddlin’ with devils is a bad idea. But now and again somebody forgets that and gives it a go. Ages ago, this Temerian mage named Trystan of El ander decided he’d had it with bein’ a cut-rate magician and wanted the world to recognize him for the powerful mage he was. Heh, apparently the best way he could think to do that was summonin’ a devil to make a deal. The mage I dal y with now and again says most folks who summon devils either desperately need the help or are sure they can outwit the beast. Probably Trystan thought he was one of the ‘smart’ ones. Summoned the devil in the middle of his study in El ander and demand-ed that it give him its power.
Folk say Trystan had done research in outdated textbooks from before Goetia was il egal across the North. Thought that burnin’ garlic and osha root would weaken the devil and force it to bargain with him. Couldn’t’a been farther from the truth, as he learned pretty damn quick.
Devil kil ed Trystan without a second thought and possessed his body. Set off right away and started wreakin’ havoc in northern Temeria from the coast to the Mahakams. Now, a mage ain’t too hard to kill if ya know what you’re doin’ or have a good group of lads with ya. Problem, they soon found, was when ya kill a devil’s host it flies into some other unfortunate whoreson and disappears for a while. Lies low, then starts its mayhem all over again. Heh, got to where folk were scared to talk to anyone anymore. Never knew who might be possessed by the devil.
Eventual y word went out: folk needed a witcher and they needed one bad. Olek of Ban Gleán was their boy, a Wolf School witcher who’d been on the road from Kaer Morhen down to Cintra. When he heard word of the devil in the north he just nodded his head and went to meet with the Duke of El ander. Didn’t demand much either, just a new silver blade and a pound of coin. My guess is he asked for more but that’s what he got, heh. The Duke had the smiths of El ander craft a blade of shimmerin’ silver and had it anointed by the few remainin’ priestesses o
f Lilvani, Goddess of the Moon. Duke was a religious man, and what’s better to fight devils, I guess? With his new sword, Olek lay in wait in Hagge until he spotted the devil, possessin’ a farmer, about to set fire to the granary. Olek confronted the devil but the hell-spawned bastard just laughed. Said the witcher wouldn’t cut down an innocent to kill him. But that ain’t the case—a witcher kil s monsters, even if it means takin’ a few innocent lives along the way. Olek cut down the farmer on the spot, forcin’ the devil outta hidin’.
From there, it was all one big battle o’ whirlin’ blades and claws and fangs. Final y the witcher landed a clean shot on the devil, hewin’
the whorseon in half with one huge swing. Folk say Lilvani guided the witcher’s hand through the Moon Blade, but who knows? Never been too religious myself.
Maugrim (Education DC: 22)
Type
WA
DMG
Rel. Hands RNG
Effect
Conc. EN
Weight
Silver (6d6+4)
S/P
+0
2d6
10
2
N/A
Greater Focus (Earth & Water)
Balanced
N/A
3
6
Freeze (75%)
Years and years ago, right after Gemmera ‘joined’ the Nilfgaardian Empire, folk outside its capital started goin’ missing. Not a lot—five or six folk every month or so. They sent six guards out at night to keep watch, but not one of ’em came back. Scouts found signs of a struggle, blood, and worst of all, a broken sword covered in gore. Gemmerians are tough folks—they’re not gonna let somethin’ like that scare ‘em. So twelve strappin’ Gemmerian soldiers decked out in chain and plate and carryin’ torrwr headed up into the mountains, fol owin’ the faint trail of blood.
Days passed with no word from ‘em. Then outta nowhere one soldier, beaten and bloodied, staggered back into the city. On meetin’ with the King the soldier named the culprit—none other than Eira Frostsinger, previously court mage of the king. When the Nilfgaardians had marched into the capital and claimed Gemmera as part of their empire she’d fled into the mountains. Now she was demandin’ that the king throw out the Nilfgaardians or she’d rain hell down on ‘em. Not only was she a powerful old witch but she’d made some sorta beast, like a werewolf but much nastier.
Cal ed it Maugrim. The soldier said it could tear a man’s arm off like the leg off a roast chicken.
‘Course the King cal ed the Witcher School of the Viper, and in three days Gerring of Kharkiv arrived in the capital an’ set his price with the King. Then Gerring headed up into the mountains to confront Maugrim and Eira Frostsinger. Heh, there was a fight all right, but it wasn’t what Gerring had been expectin’! He’d fought werewolves before. Maugrim was different. Clear three meters tall, ripplin’ with muscle and fast as lightnin’.
Gerring found himself outmatched. He blinded Maugrim with a bomb from his bandolier before retreatin’ back into a small cavern. Deep inside, Gerring found an abandoned dwarven mine and set to work on his weapons. Vipers fight best with twinned swords, but Gerring’s steel hadn’t phased this beast. He labored in the ancient forges and foundry, and by the next night he had a second silver sword to match his Serpentine sword.
That night Gerring used all of his trainin’. He snuck outta the cave like the viper he was and found Eira’s cave, where he found the witch asleep an’
Maugrim off on a hunt. Quick as a whip he put his blade through the witch’s throat, kil in’ her instantly. But then came the beast—nowhere near so easy. Gerring returned with the heads of Eira Frostsinger and Maugrim the next mornin’, but stories of the legendary fight between Gerring and Maugrim are different every time I hear ‘em.
264
Relic Armor Sets
Raven’s Armor (Education DC: 14)
Stopping Power
AE
Effect
Coverage
ENC
Weight
+15 Health Points
12
3
Poison Resistance
Torso, Arms &
Bleeding Resistance
Legs
0
12
+3 Courage
Witchers get a hell of a deal—taken from their folks, experimented on for years, an’ taught to be kil ers and what do they get? Spat on by grubby vil agers, mostly, an’ buried where they fall. But every once in a while ya get a celebrity among ‘em. Geralt of Rivia’s one’a the best-known folk across the damn Continent, but Raven was one of the first, and he made for plenty of good stories.
Raven was a Gryphon witcher from the heights of the Dragon Mountains. Came down into the North to hunt monsters and lift curses every spring and summer. Raven started gainin’ fame after liftin’ a lycanthropy curse off the Duke of Maribor. After that, folk started spreadin’ tales of the Black Gryphon, Raven of the High Mountains. Story after story’d pop up, and they’d always be grand—slayin’ vicious cyclopses, goin’ toe to toe with manticores, that sorta thing. Crownin’ moment came in Mahakam, where Raven got a summons from the head of Clan Hoog.
Ya see, for years there’d been trouble in the highest peaks of the Mahakams, namely a huge ploughin’ draconid cal ed the ‘Black Drake.’
Mahakaman defenders’d been sent up against the thing, dwarven heroes of old, bands of mercenaries, the full barrage. But this Black Drake just wouldn’t die. Eventual y, folk just decided to leave ‘im an’ steer clear of those high peaks. ‘Course, just a few months on, a huge ploughin’ meteorite fell—right up in those heights. Heh, lemme tell ya my friend, dwarves’ll do a lot for rare ore and that includes hirin’ a witcher.
Guess Raven thought the beast was dangerous, ‘cause he had the forge masters in Mahakam craft him a new suit of armor. Sleek, black armor, dwarf-forged and finished by gnomes. Musta been gorgeous. ‘Special y given legend says it caught the eye of none other than Tyen’Sail, the famed elvish songsmith. He’d been travelin’ Mahakam lookin’ for inspiration and stumbled upon the smiths finishin’ Raven’s armor. Tyen’Sail asked the witcher fer a chance to work on the armor. It’d take some time, he said, but he’d weave legends into the suit—enchantments of bravery, power, and whatnot. Raven agreed, and Tyen’Sail worked for twelve damn days straight, etchin’ the suit, singin’ ancient songs of power and victory all the while.
With the armor done, the battle was at hand. Raven went up the mountain to face the Black Drake. Tyen’Sail wrote a song about it—ya should real y hear it some time. Ploughin’ magnificent if I do say so myself! ‘Course, Raven won the battle in his gleamin’ armor and brought home the Drake’s head. Col ected his coin and went on his way like nothin’ different’d happened. Life of a witcher never changes, I guess.
265
Mountain Folk Armor (Education DC: 16)
Stopping Power
AE
Effect
Coverage
ENC
Weight
Piercing Resistance
24
3
Bludgeoning Resistance
Head, Torso,
Slashing Resistance
Arms & Legs
0
15
Poison Resistance
When the human ‘exiles’ landed on the Continent, they lashed out at all the other races, drivin’ folk up into the mountains and takin’ over the plains and forests. Guess humans just don’t take well to anyone that don’t look like ‘em. Worked out okay for most of the elder races, since we kinda look like humans. Vran and werebbubbs didn’t have such an easy time. Hard for humans to share beer with lizard-folk and little hairy fel as with beaver faces. Some werebbubbs integrated into human societies after all the fightin’, but most of ‘em were forced up into the Mahakams and the Kestrels.
In the Kestrels they had it the worst. Yeah, they set up cities and mines and rebuilt what they lost. But pretty
soon humans came lookin’
for ore, and the werebbubbs didn’t have the same defenses we dwarves do. The humans tried to negotiate for the mines in the Kestrels—with heavily armored escorts, dependin’ on who ya talk to. When that failed they laid siege to the mountains. The werebbubbs knew they weren’t gonna win, but the elves hadn’t deigned to care about the humans yet, and us dwarves were holed up in the mountains just like the werebbubbs. One werebbubb named Thj n ral ied his people against the human armies as they came up the slopes. Doubt Thj n thought they could win either, but damn if he was gonna let the humans through unbloodied.
Outnumbered ten to one, Thj n donned his ancestral armor and took his axe in hand. Both sides met on the field in the middle of a rain storm, from what the tales say. For a while the werebbubb used the mud and rain to keep the humans slidin’ as they came up the hill, but it wouldn’t last. Heh, every human Thj n kil ed, two more took their place. Eventual y Thj n fell back into the mines as the lines buckled. Battle was lost, but he could still spite the humans. He started swingin’ like a madman, breakin’ the support pil ars in the mines. Thj n musta known what’d happen—I wonder what his last thoughts were before the caves col apsed in on him. Heh, probably about home. Humans eventual y dug out the mine but it took ‘em months. They found Thj n’s body—dead of course, but still wearin’ his leather and meteorite armor. Turns out it held up pretty well against the cave-in, and some folk even say his strength lives on in that suit.
Draug Armor (Education DC: 18)
Stopping Power
AE
Effect
Coverage
ENC Weight
+25 Health Points
+2 Resist Magic
36
3
Fire Resistance
Head, Torso,
Bleeding Resistance
Arms & Legs
-3
37
Poison Resistance
+2 Spell Casting
Heh, the truth o’ the mythic tales an’ heroic legends folk tell around campfires and in taverns aren’t nearly as excitin’ as most people think. What can I say, sometimes a story’s got potential, but not quite enough umph. A swordsman takin’ on a troll the size of an outhouse’s a good story. Slayin’ a troll the size of a tavern with eyes of fire and fists like batterin’ rams? That’s a tale worth a few ales. ‘Course not every tale’s false. Once in a while the stars align and things play out so epic they don’t need any polishin’ or exaggeratin’. Story of Seltkirk of Gulet and Vandergrift the Visitor? That’s one o’ those.
The Witcher Pen & Paper RPG Page 57