Chapter Text
Blood on the sword. Stench of rotting meat in the air, mixed with the humidity of the swamp water that soaks their breeches, clinging to the insides of their boots, threatening to fill with algae and dead reeds and slimy foliage.
Had the water not been so dark, one could probably see the aged and poisoned blood— if you could call it that— slipping into the water from the various limbs Kowa’s silver sword had separated from the main body of the drowners. Nasty creatures, they were, but more annoying than anything. Easy to be rid of, if they had to rank them among the list of other creatures they had fought in their time.
Easy coin, at least. Even if it took the sacrifice of their clothes getting drenched in muck.
Kowa runs the blade of their sword underneath the surface of the water for a few measly seconds, just enough to watch the dark blood drip off and leave the silver blade shining anew before sheathing it once more, properly upon their back whilst their steel sword hangs along their waist, in their belt.
A sigh, with an attempt to not smell the decay in the air. Kowa isn’t prone to gagging— they’d lost that silly trait many, many years ago, and now there’s rarely anything that their constitution wasn’t strong enough to handle— but they feel it would be right to gag in this situation, probably. Any human would, at least.
Speaking of humans—
The tall demon reaches a cyan hand forward into the swamp water, gripping a lopped off arm of the drowner before they turn and begin making their way back towards the shore, towards their horse and eventually back to the inn. They would need the arm as proof of their victory in taking down the village’s terrorizers, lest the coin the demon was promised for the feat make it not to their wallet.
They always needed proof. Humans never took them on their word. Kowa had learned their lesson decades ago.
Too much fear on the table to even consider trusting them in any capacity, despite the obvious lack of violence Kowa had shown towards any human. Being a Witcher had its inconveniences, but Kowa knew their physical demonic appearance paid them no benefit either. They supposed humans were smart for not trusting something that looked akin to the very things they paid Kowa to defeat.
Still… Kowa continued to find themselves hopeful, despite the consistent disappointment. Perhaps their colleagues back in Kaer Morhen were right to resign themselves to paths that didn’t involve humans, but to think that would make Kowa’s leave of the place moot. The purple demon didn’t agree with many of traditional Witcher beliefs and practices, especially the ones that graded humans no better than the soil at the bottom of their boots because certainly humanity couldn’t be as bad as they were all raised to believe, and to refuse to help them would make Witcher’s no better than the monsters they fought. Kowa couldn’t bring themselves to agree, and when faced with the ultimatum of staying in safety and sanctuary with their kin, or leaving to live amongst humans— it was an easy choice.
However, every human that Kowa had fought for, saved, happened upon, or simply glanced at in their many years of travel— the distinct smell of fear always followed, and Kowa was consistently tested against their own beliefs.
Coin and a shaky thank you was enough, Kowa had eventually accepted. They were doing right by the world, getting rid of the monsters that threatened the humans one by one, and ultimately making everything a safer place for the men, women, and children that cowered from them whenever Kowa drew near.
It was good enough. They would not shake in their beliefs that they tore away from their home for. They would not be proven wrong and forced back into the tyranny that was a Witcher’s beliefs, the beliefs that condemned all but themselves, as if they were any better than any other creature that roamed the earth.
The innkeeper’s whole body shakes as they put a bag of coins into Kowa’s outstretched hand, scared eyes seeing the size of Kowa’s claws, dried blood and swamp mud underneath.
The unmistakable and heavy stench of fear nearly had Kowa leaving without payment altogether, but to do that would be foolish. They’d gone to the trouble to slay those drowners, and a deal was a deal. So instead, they leave without asking to stay in a vacant room. Sleeping outside somewhere would have to do… again.
They carry a heavy feeling with themselves as doors and windows shut while Kowa makes their way down the muddy street towards where they wrapped the reins of their horse against a gate. Not a single person greets them, or thanks them, or bids them goodbye, though Kowa knows they’re all too keen to be rid of them. At least there’s no insults this time.
Kowa gets atop their horse, pats her a few times and quirks a smile when their companion whinnies and huffs impatiently. Lancelot had never once cowered from them, and Kowa was grateful for the horse’s company beyond anything else.
“Perhaps the next town will be kinder to us, and I can purchase you a proper bath and hay in their stables.” Kowa says hopefully as they begin to leave, knowing full well they probably wouldn’t be able to, as most stables refused to service the demon no matter how much coin Kowa offered. Still, they repeated it every time the two moved on, determined to fulfill even that.
The demon ignores the heavy feeling in their chest, the one that tempts them back towards the direction of the mountain. The one that tells them everything would be so much easier if they returned, if only they could endure the vows of their kind.
“This is good enough,” They say aloud, only to themselves. Lancelot huffs again, hooves trotting through sloppy dirt.