![]() ![]() Mutated by the Trial of the Grasses, trained in swordplay, and well versed in nearly every type of monster, they are more than equipped to handle being pitted against whatever goes bump in the night. The last thing they see is his face, veined from the potions he took, a branching mass of death.Īll of these fighters are Witchers, the ideal being for killing monsters. With a short sign, a wave of fire explodes forth, followed by him cleaving a path through them with his shining sword. ![]() Blood and feathers fly as he nimbly carves his way up the side of the beast before finally splitting its head in two.Ī half-orc thrusts his hand toward the pack of undead shambling toward him. At the sound of an otherworldly howl, he dodges out of the way, narrowly avoiding the cavernous maw of a werewolf.Ī tiefling whirls his gleaming sword about his head before bringing it down before him, hacking a griffin’s wing from its body. All is silent save for the gentle tapping of his medallion against his chest. And we, Witchers, are the ones who will bump back.Ī human stalks through the night, cat eyes shining in the darkened forest. There will always be things that go bump in the night. And in that darkness there will always be Evil, in that darkness there will always be fangs and claws, murder and blood. ![]() 14 Runestones (Optional rule at DM's discretion). ![]()
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