The Witcher Monster Slayer glossary

Glossary is an index of non-playable characters in The Witcher: Monster Slayer. Character icons are revealed as the story progresses and descriptions of some of them depend on choices made by the player. There are 17 characters in total.
Image	Name 	Role 	Description
 	Master Witcher 	A witcher instructor from Kaer Morhen. 	He has asked everyone to call him Master for so many years that no one in Kaer Morhen can remember his real name anymore.
 	Thorstein 	Skellige merchant who has made it his solemn duty to tag along with me. 	Later, it was said the man came from the west, lurching slightly under the weight of the plump bundle on his back, stuffed full of things of no use whatsoever to the average man, this one included. His pouch fluttered in the valley's wind, filling all observers' hearts with a deep melancholy.
 	Margit 	A scholar specializing in elven culture. 	She was once seen at midnight, clad in nothing but moonlight, smearing jar upon jar of creams and ointments into her skin and hair. She leapt wildly as she did this, hooting incomprehensibly. The miller's wife told anyone who'd listen it was an ancient ritual concocted by "those filthy elves" in order to beguile and tempt gods-fearing, virtuous men. The reality was much less exciting - it was just damned difficult to wash ink stains off the skin.
 	Dehael 	An errand boy from Dol Tirthana. 	Rabella stood bent over a wooden washtub, vigorously scrubbing a red and yellow shirt against a washboard. (Her hair bristled at the mere thought of how much the damn dye cost.) She glanced sideways at her brother sitting nearby. He was still wearing his messenger's pants, dripping with slime - they were awaiting their turn in the tub. She looked carefully at his face, lost in thought, and sighed. She knew that look."Raba..." began Dehael. "Ach, here we go again!" thought the girl, but smiled in spite of herself."Well? What've ye thought up now?"
 	Varik 	An herbalist from Dol Tirthana. 	"The key is," said Rado, the field medic to sixteen-year-old Varik, while leaning over a ginger man with a nasty wound running up his thigh, "to clean the wound. Assuming, of course, that the wound is no longer bleeding. Wash it with water - cold water, ideally. It dulls the pain. Check for foreign bodies in the wound. Then, if you have one, apply a soothing balm, or one that speeds healing." Here, Rado stopped and winked at Varik. "With your talent for herbalism, this shouldn't pose an issue. Lastly, dress the wound with clean linen."
 	Vesemir 	The witcher from the Wolf School whose life I saved. 	He stood casually leaning against a wall, staring gloomily at the boys and girls' clumsy movements. Their elbows drooped, and their hips jutted or were unstable. They couldn't get their center of gravity right, and their stances were too narrow."See that?" he growled, pointing at the master sitting to the side."Sitting on his ass, sharpening his sword. Those kids're just reinforcing their mistakes.""You should be a fencing instructor yourself," replied the blonde witcher sitting beside him."Never. Don't got the patience nor the inclination. I'd be a terrible teacher."
 	Hermit 	A hermit from Dol Tirthana. His daughter had been turned into a striga, and lifted her curse. 	For the blood you spilled, for the evil you did, for the harm you caused, I curse you. For the words you uttered, the thoughts you had, for the lies you oozed, I curse you. For the love your heart holds not, for the goodness you do not know, for the honor you cannot comprehend, I curse you. I curse your future, I curse your hope, I curse your happiness. Thrice I curse you.
 	Bedwyr 	Ewigbrid resident. He gave me a cursed amulet, which forced me to break said curse. 	One beautiful spring day, as larks hopped from branch to branch, filling the air with cheerful chirps, four-year-old Jonny and seven-year-old Gir made a very important decision. To defeat the wicked witch and save the whole wide world, they would prepare a magical mixture. As ingredients, they gathered rabbit droppings, puddle water, ribwort leaves, and pipe tobacco from their father's pouch - a very fine and very rare herb he saved for special occasions. Bedwyr claims his hair started falling out that very same day.
 	Maredudd 	The captain of the Dol Tirthana river port. I saved him from arachnomorphs. 	To believe village gossip, when Maredudd had barely come of age, he downed an old boar on his own using only his wits and his bare hands. The locals consider this a symbolic moment heralding his unofficial patronage of Dol Tirthana, the Valley of Boars.
 	Eccentric man 	A strange man who informed me of the Great Mushrooming. 	It stood, though it had no legs. It looked, though it had no eyes. It whispered, though it had no lips.
 	Goronwy 	The mayor of Darach Dearg. He's organizing the Great Mushrooming. 	Maybe he isn't the mayor the villagers of Darach Dearg need, but he is the mayor they deserve.
 	Emlyn 	A mushroom picker. 	She put her hands on her hips and smiled slyly. "I see you - you can't run from me," she said in a singsong voice, taking in the stretch of moss before her. "Two, three... Six... Seven..." She knelt and started gathering the mushrooms, carefully cutting their stems where they met the moss. When she'd gathered seven, she combed over the moss with her gaze. "Only seven of you? But where are your brothers and sisters?" Her sharp eyes then fell on three bronze caps glistening with moisture. "Ahh, here come, my little ones."
 	Masked sorcerer	A sorcerer, probably elven, who made me a shady proposition. 	He didn't hear her approach. As usual, at some point he simply realized that she was sitting only a few paces away. This time she had squatted in a dip between two roots of an old oak tree. "Caedmil, Eraenn." He calmly greeted her, his gaze briefly alighting on her lithe frame, on her thick braid woven with dark green grass, on her eyes, black as unlit coals. "Caedmil, Aen Seidhe." Stubborn, she was, refusing to call him by name. And yet she came here. She came every day. And he waited for her. She didn't speak much, so he was the one who spoke. He told of his travels, experiments, discoveries, told her of far-off places and alien cultures. She was clearly fascinated by these tales, though he was certain that even if she could leave her home, she wouldn't. He felt the coarse material of her tunic brush against his arm as she sat closer to him. His nostrils filled with the sweet scent of willow leaves rubbed between two fingers. His heartbeat quickened, but he did not allow his voice to betray his nerves. He continued his story.
 	Lothar 	A blacksmith from Dol Tirthana who turned out to be a werewolf. 	Lothar watched his daughter as she tore into a duck leg. It wasn't often they could afford such delicacies. The tender meat juices and fat were running down her chin. The blacksmith searched for signs of something more than the simple enjoyment of food. Signs of a greater hunger. Odilia seemed to sense her father's eyes on her and lifted her own. A wide grin brightened her face. The corners of Lothar's mouth lifted slightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
 	Conway 	A dwarven blacksmith of Dol Tirthana who took over Lothar's business. 	"Strike whilst the iron's hot. Drink whilst the brandy's cold. Eat whilst the liver's... Ach, nae fuckin' liver - ptooey!"—motto of Conway, the dwarf
 	Kienan 	An actor who was working with a devourer by luring victims her way. I let him go free. 	Always did have a feeling for someone's character - an insight into the substance of their spirit. Despite that, building a connection did not always come easily to me. But deep in her eyes, glimpsed a spark of understanding. So I spoke, and she listened, picking her teeth with a sharpened bone. What can I say - I love a woman with a healthy appetite.
 	Grub 	A troll that hired me to slay a mysterious monster that's been targeting trolls. He doesn't know that this "monster" is me.	At the foot of some towering mountains, a cheerful stream wound its way through a lush valley, carrying a torrent of icy spring water. A bridge rose proudly above the brook, and under the bridge, waist-deep in the current, stood a troll. Neither short nor tall, neither very smart nor... Well, he wasn't very smart. But he did possess the courage of a lion, the strength of ten warriors, and love in his heart. A love of rocks.
pl:Glosariusz w grze Wiedźmin Pogromca Potworów
Category:The Witcher Monster Slayer
Category:The Witcher Monster Slayer characters