Arkan.

“Maybe they’re not far.” He said in a whisper. “We could as them more direct questions. Why they to set up a Troll, or who they were aiming to kill.”

The Troll took a a second, scratching at its chin. Weight shifting to one foot.

“Erm.” It began. “South? No’s. .East? Hm. .East? Manses head East. Yes. Thump-Thump remember now.”

Arkan turned to Yetska. (c)

Well this took a turn. It now seemed their Rock Troll had been a hired goon for. .rock throwing.

Arkan placed his hands at his hips, bowing his head in a sigh. Before looking back up. “Does Thump-Thump know where Manses went? Where Manses go after telling Thump-Thump what to do?” (c)

“Thump-Thump protect Thump-Home! No more! No less! But Manses make it hard! Hard on Thump-Thump!”

“We —-“ He began, placing hands upon his chest, in a voice low and somewhat ape-ish. “Witcherses, we no fight. Just want to know why Thump-Thump attack?. . .protecting? Is Thump-Thump protecting?”

“BAH!” The troll said with a wave of his hand, a kick of dirt at his feet. (c)

The elbow brings him to life, his hand that stayed steady over the hilt of his blade shoot’s up. Arms now cross over his chest. “R —- right.”

Arkan stood straighter, taller, his blue eyes unwavering their gaze from the troll. (c)

Arkan bent at the knee, finding himself closer to the ground —- slower in his walk. His right hand hovered over the blade upon his hip. “I do.” He said plainly, almost to a whisper.

“On your move, Ma —-“ Arkan stopped himself. “Yetska.”

Be it —-
𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱.
𝖲𝖮𝖭 𝖮𝖥 𝖮𝖣𝖨𝖭.
𝖦𝖮𝖣 𝖮𝖥 𝖳𝖧𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱.

That was built into him.

“. .but if it turns into someone dying. .I won’t stand 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡.”

To try and bring that out of him. They had done their job, mostly. Defiance and over confidence were still something that lingered with him.

“I 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙.” He said calmly, as the caged dragon in his heart spat flams, only to be cooled over with the ice of his training. Restraint (c)

He slowed - - boots crunching too loudly in the vast quarry. He hated how sound carried here, as if every breath felt announced.

His jaw tightened once more at her request, but Arkan knew better than arguing. From the age of 10 he had a mouth - - and The Witchers were quick (c)

Sharpening his blade. The steel one.

| learning Witcher lore on the fly so I do not look dumb #yeehaw

“A troll.” He said. “Not a 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙 one. Territorial. Maybe displaced by quarry blasting - - or 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚.”

He shifted, angling himself to see the quarry wall, eyes tracking the vertical rise. “No 𝙎𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙖𝙧𝙙. .” He mumbled to himself.

“It would need to aim. It wanted the cart 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙙, not just for food. .” His jaw tightened as he thought it over in anticipation. (c)

Arkan followed her - - his clenched fist began to ease as the frustration in him cooled like frost to a window. He didn’t comment on the hunch, Yetska liked answers earned, not guessed.

“You’re right.” He began, “Too much 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚 behind it.” (c)

He turned to her, the minor braid that hung by his ear whipping with the move - - jaw 𝙩𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, as if argument seeped from his throat.

“Stone doesn’t get 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 and walk - - something else did this.”

Stone had 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 away long ago.

“If it rolled, there would be a trail. 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜. Something - -“ He motioned out with his left hand. “But the car was 𝙝𝙞𝙩 like it fell from the sky. Sudden impact.” (c)

Instead, he titled his head into her touch - - more acknowledgment than 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“That’s why this feels 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜.” Arkan took a step closer to the quarry’s edge. Peering down into its open 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩, his eyes traced the rock faces, the 𝙛𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨, the places where (c)

He exhaled through his nose, the steam of his blue eyes locking onto her - - he stare of a gaze pre-mutated. “I am using it.” He said as the dust 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙙 his tunic again, resisting the urge to brush it away a 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 time. (c)

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He is brash, over confident, but kind and loyal. But his loyalty clouds his judgement, and his decisions are costly to himself. He struggles with discipline but excels with a sword. His reactions during monster hunts borders on precognition. A secret he keeps to himself.

That he wasn’t some lost pup picked out of sympathy, that he belonged and that he even deserved to be at the school more than his other trainees.

The witchers who arrived late recognized something unusual within the boy, not just resilience within him, but a raw, almost violent will to refuse fate.

They took him north. As years went on, Arkan was fueled with an unending need to prove himself.

Nickname: Vader (wink wink)

Homeland: Korath Marches

Personality / Story: Arkan is driven more than anything. The only survivor of his village after a feral alghoul pack attacked, Arkan was barely 10 when The Witchers found him starved but unbroken underneath corpses.

Arkan of Korath
19 Years - 22 Years
Height and build: tall and lanky at 19, tall and built by 22.

Witcher School: School of The Wolf (19-21) returns to further training at School of The Cat (22).

Character Background.

art - Paolo Rivera.

| random 🙂‍↕️

“I still don’t 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 why we are here.”

He says offhandedly towards Yetska, raising his brushed the minor debris from his hand on his dark tunic.