Thread: DudeMeister and Aida Rose

Hans felt the quarrel pierce his calf, slowing his run to a pathetic crawl. Gritting in pain the fell to the ground once he tripped over the root of a venerable oak tree, his keen hearing detecting multiple footsteps approaching him at a brisk pace from about sixty yards away. The Witcher had a century of experience in him, there would normally be no way that only six bounty hunters could get the drop on him in Temeria. But these were no normal cutthroats and Hans was not the Witcher he used to be. His form was lean yet defined, honed by the many years of training and the diet used to make boys into lethal monster killers. He wore a brigandine vest that was composed of thin steel lames covered in black leather, a dark green tunic worn beneath the typical armor of the Cat School. His hair was a dark auburn that was paired with a coarse beard that adorned his face which bore the scars that one would expect in his line of work. A diagonal wound was slashed across his face, the consequence of a training accident before he endured the Trial of Grasses that mutated him into what he was and addled his brain before he even set out on the path. Despite his flaws, his sharp facial features were handsome and gave him a distinguished and almost noble look. His right hand gripped a longsword of well forged Mahakam steel as he tried to crawl away, already stained with the blood of two of their comrades. It would've been suicide to let them surround him in the ambush, but what he didn't know was that one of their men was a skilled arbalist. As well as the slashes he took in the initial fray, he felt four bolts in him. Not counting the one in his leg, two were in his back and one pierced his side before he ran. Knowing full well he'd die of his wounds, he reached into his satchel and drew out a potion. Normally poison to one not inured to it's toxicity, it would heal some of his internal damage. Perhaps not long enough for him to survive the encounter, but sufficient to take a few of these bastards with him. He consumed the elixir and grunted as he felt his heart pump in shock. The steps grew louder when the men closed in on him. Former members of the Redanian Secret Service, the reign of Radovid the fifth ensured their dismissal. Their skills in intelligence gathering and assassination proved to be useful in the bounty hunting trade, so it wasn't long before they were able to track down Hans, one of the last members of the infamous Cat School. His killing of several members of the Temerian nobility and his famous assassination of a diplomat from Toussaint lead to the appetizing bounty posted by both regions. Even in his compromised physical and mental state, Hans was able to elude capture for three years, until this death squad came after him. After slaying men and monsters for a century, the Witcher would meet his end at their hands. This whoreson's supposed to be a Witcher isn't he? one of them said, moving closer to inspect the kill as he drew a dagger to finish him He killed Vink and Xavier already. The fucker is dangerous. Cut off his head already so we can collect our bounty the arbalist said as he placed another bolt in his crossbow. Easiest money we ever made eh lads? Maybe they don't make Witchers the way they used to, AHHH! the man's leg was shortened at the ankle before Hans claimed his head in a single powerful slash once he fell to the ground. Hans's face was pale, veins drawn over his face as it fought the consumption of the elixir. He already felt the irony taste of blood in his mouth as his body struggled to get up. One man attempted to draw his sword in alarm before the Witcher's edge sheared deep into his forearm, rendering it useless. Digging his blade out, he pirouetted out of the way of a spear thrust before he grabbed the weapon's haft and attempted to close in. Another bolt claimed him in his right shoulder blade once he withdrew his sword's point from the spearman's neck. His pulse was beating like a violent drum in his temples as he let out a rueful laugh, his golden eyes dilated from a combination of the adrenalin and the toxicity of the potion. He wasn't as agile as he was even three years ago, but a Witcher hopped up on Swallow and bloodlust was a terrifying thing. Abandoning his crossbow, the man drew a shortsword and managed to block the Witcher's diagonal slash with a buckler. A hard heel drove itself into the man's knee as Hans closed in to finish him. In his fury however he didn't think that the bastard would still have fight in him. The shortsword's tip buried itself in the Hans' side. Hans gripped the blade with his left hand, feeling the cold steel through the gauntlet as he prevented the man from withdrawing his sword to escape him. A whirlwind of steel that slashed through precise points on his assailant's body ended the whoreson's life, but it was at this moment he felt something hard hit his skull. Another man had thumped him with a mace, adding another scar to Han's face as it sent him into the trunk of a tree. He raised his arms defensively to block the next strike, but he felt the spiked head fracture his forearm as the remaining men came in to end his life. Whatever efforts Hans could make were spent in this last blaze of glory. No Witcher ever died comfortably in his bed. Hans knew this as well as any other. He however did not think he'd leave this world like this his reputation mired and at the hands of greedy killers. Nevertheless he would accept his fate as his eyes already grew dimmer.