Name: Valker of Kerach.
Age: 54.
Gender: Male.
Birthplace: Unknown.
Profession: Witcher of the School of the Wyvern.
Appearance:
Like so many other witchers, either the result of his mutations or decades of experience in his tough line of work, Valker is an imposing presence. At first glance one would be quick to notice his above average height, measuring six feet from toe to tip, and while Valker is not as bulky or broad-shouldered as some, he is certainly not lanky either. His complexion is fair but his skin has been tanned somewhat by the many long days in the sun on the trail of some monster or other. Witchers work hard but they are not poor, and this is visible in his robust, healthy physique, unmarred by malnutrition or disease. The effect is immediately undone by the plethora of scars on his body, however. Claws, fangs, acid, flames and blades have all left their marks on Valker’s skin, and it is only through good fortune that his face has been spared, save for a few faint and old scratches left by an angry griffin in days long past.
The instantly recognizable cat eyes of the witcher caste peer out from beneath Valker’s stern and often furrowed brow with a healthy mixture of distrust and piercing perception. Nothing escapes his notice and many a man that considers himself tough has been known to avert their gaze from Valker’s own, unsettled by the keen edge of his slit pupils. His hair, kept short on top and shaved on the sides of his head, is a dark shade of ashen blond and the same goes for his eyebrows. Unlike most witchers, Valker wears a full beard, sideburns included, that wouldn’t look look out of place on a king of the legends of old. His straight nose, high cheekbones and flawless mouth, free of crooked teeth, invoke an air of aristocracy. Combined with the way he carries himself, his movements deliberate and sure and his head held high, Valker has an unfettered regality about him; for witchers fear nothing and bow to no man.
Personality: Witchers are generally considered to be a heartless bunch of hard bastards by the general populace and Valker does nothing to dispel that notion. His origin as a Child of Surprise has left him with faint, pleasant memories of a carefree infancy with a doting mother and candles and flowers carefully arranged throughout a warm, comfortable home, that were brutally and abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a witcher and a grueling childhood in his keep -- the keep of the School of the Wyvern. The hard years that followed and the horrors of the Trial of the Grasses, including the death of most of the friends he had made among the other boys, affected him deeply. When the mutations stripped him of most of his emotions and feelings (or so he believes), it almost came as a relief. When all was said and done there was nothing left for Valker to do but to accept his fate in life as a witcher and to devote himself to the Path, he did. To the letter. As it is generally understood that witchers don’t work for free, Valker has never deigned to lift a finger to help anyone, be they peasant or lord, without the promise of a reward. He has become proud of his abilities and achievements and considers it only fair that the blood and sweat of his toil is compensated with shiny, clinky coin. Crowns give him access to the simple pleasures of life, from good food and drink to a good book or a night with a shapely courtesan, and those are the only moments of respite Valker knows.
While he is nothing but a steady, unflappable professional on the surface, level-headed and cool in almost every situation, Valker has never truly come to terms with the fact that the responsibility of killing monsters had to fall to him. That the world is becoming ever smaller, the last blank spots of the map filled in, with well-trained and well-equipped armies being able to fulfil a witcher’s task more and more, makes him question the necessity of his own existence. It is likely that Valker is among the last group of boys ever trained and mutated by the School of the Wyvern. Often he wishes that they stopped one batch earlier. Buried deep behind the stone-faced mask of the enigmatic Valker lies a bitterness that would make even the most ancient devil grin with delight. The cold, hard truth is that Valker believes his life was stolen from him and that nothing, no amount of coin, fame, success or pleasure can set things right.
In personal interactions Valker is curt and to the point, even when dealing with people that are technically his superior. The mistrust and xenophobia expressed by most of the peasantry towards witchers is a mutual feeling as far as Valker is concerned and he avoids mingling with them unless they know something he doesn’t. He gets along much better with scholars, mages, merchants and lords; the educated of the world, in other words. Ignorance is something he has little patience for. Still, even when they are concerned, Valker plays his cards close to the chest and is almost universally described as taciturn and aloof. The friends he does have came into his life by happenstance, their friendships forged in the fire of danger and adventure, and none of them would say that they know the heart of the witcher known as Valker of Kerack truly well.
Despite his conflicted feelings towards his own fate and the old witcher, Bram, responsible for invoking the Law of Surprise that saw him taken away from his parents, Valker harbors absolutely no ill-will to his other fellow witchers and sees them as brothers. He will always be proud to be a wyvern. It is only with them, playing cards and drinking the night away, that Valker truly lets his guard down and bares his heart. They are the only ones that understand their shared suffering (even though most of them were orphans without a future when the School took them in, unlike Valker, and do not resent their lot in life as witchers) and it is this unspoken bond that creates the most powerful personal attachments Valker knows. He would lay down his life for any of them in a heartbeat and always looks forward to wintering in the mountaintop retreat that functions as the School’s keep.
He has been intimate with plenty of women, from courtesans to village whores to peasants to the occasional lord’s daughter or two, but Valker has never come close to being romantically involved with any of them. The Path keeps him on the road and he doesn’t feel like the mountain keep where he spends the winter is a place fit for a woman. Those are superficial excuses, of course. The truth is that he has never opened his heart to the idea. He is a witcher, a mutant, merely a personal code of honor away from being a monster himself. What would a woman truly want with something like him? He is fun for a night, an exotic and mysterious warrior, a bastion of masculinity, that much he knows, but not lover material. It will take time and a very special woman to draw him out of that shell, if at all possible.
Speciality: Alchemy.
Skills:
Combat, Wyvern School techniques: Witchers are amongst the best swordsmen on the Continent and Valker is no exception. He is, however, not exceptional amongst witchers themselves and the most complex maneuvers, such as the lethal and elegant whirl or the powerful rending strike, are beyond him. He will still handily outplay most human foes and has enough power, poise and agility to tackle the various monsters of the world -- assuming he does not rely solely on his swordplay.
Alchemy: Instead, Valker’s forte is most definitely his prodigious skill with the various alchemical brews and creations that are unique to witchers. He can create potions of superior quality to do things as diverse as replenishing his vitality, enhancing the strength of his blows, accelerating the regeneration of his stamina, empowering the potency of his Signs, increasing his perception to truly superhuman levels, see in the dark and even turning his own blood so unpalatable and harmful to vampires and necrophages that it hurts them to merely be in Valker’s presence. Using the remains of slain monsters, he has brewed decoctions that give him a variety of their supernatural powers like hardening his skin against damage or siphoning vitality by wounding an enemy. Oils, used to coat his blades, make their wickedly sharp edges even more deadly against specific types of enemies -- as long as Valker takes the time to prepare. And last but not least are the bombs in his arsenal, useful for blinding foes, blanketing an area in fire, freezing it instead or releasing a cloud of noxious gas.
Signs: The five signs of Aard, Yrden, Quen, Igni and Axii are all present in Valker’s magical arsenal. He has not devoted his time to developing their potency and can thusly only use the simplest versions of these signs. Igni is not a stream of fire but just a wall of sparks, Quen is no defensive dome around him but merely a simple shield, and so on.
Equipment:
Silver sword: The primary tool of the trade of any witcher and often their second-most prized possession, Valker’s monster-killing blade is no different. It is a mastercrafted longsword with the trademark hand-and-a-half grip and outward-angling crossguard of witcher swords. The pommel is sculpted in the shape of a wyvern’s head, strongly resembling the medallion he wears around his neck, indicating its origin as being one of the School’s own swords, created in the cavernous forge beneath the keep. The blades are fitted with Devana runestones to increase the cutting edge and cause heavy bleeding in the monsters it strikes, allowing Valker to hamstring his prey and weaken them over the duration of the fight. It has no name.
Steel sword: For humans, who are often just as monstrous as the beasts that Valker hunts. It is a blade once forged for him by a grateful elven blacksmith and, while suitable for a witcher’s hand and needs (featuring a long hilt, a flat crossguard and a straight blade), has elements of their graceful craftsmanship in it. Because humans invariably fear fire, the blade is fitted with Dazhbog runestones.
Medallion: The title of most-prized possession of any witcher goes to their medallion. More than just a mark of their guild and School, these items are enchanted to detect magic and will vibrate when doing so. Valker’s medallion is shaped like a wyvern’s head with its maw open wide, looking ready to devour something whole.
Armor: Functioning as both travel attire and armor, Valker relies on this outfit for almost everything. It consists of a gambeson padded with chainmail beneath a set of knee-length, dark blue robes (almost black, really) that are split down the middle from the waist down, armored vambraces, leather greaves and steel-toed boots. It is neither too heavy nor too light, being classified as medium armor, balancing protection against mobility in equal measure. He wears a high-collared poncho, clasped at his throat, over his shoulders to further protect him against the elements, but that can be removed and stowed in his bags in warm weather. He has a bandolier of pouches around his torso with straps on his back to hold up the scabbards of his blades and a belt around his waist with even more pouches on it. An alchemist needs to carry his materials, after all.
Potions: All listed potions are of superior quality:
Decoctions:
Oils: All listed oils are of superior quality:
Bombs: All listed bombs are of superior quality:
Misc:
Age: 54.
Gender: Male.
Birthplace: Unknown.
Profession: Witcher of the School of the Wyvern.
Appearance:
Like so many other witchers, either the result of his mutations or decades of experience in his tough line of work, Valker is an imposing presence. At first glance one would be quick to notice his above average height, measuring six feet from toe to tip, and while Valker is not as bulky or broad-shouldered as some, he is certainly not lanky either. His complexion is fair but his skin has been tanned somewhat by the many long days in the sun on the trail of some monster or other. Witchers work hard but they are not poor, and this is visible in his robust, healthy physique, unmarred by malnutrition or disease. The effect is immediately undone by the plethora of scars on his body, however. Claws, fangs, acid, flames and blades have all left their marks on Valker’s skin, and it is only through good fortune that his face has been spared, save for a few faint and old scratches left by an angry griffin in days long past.
The instantly recognizable cat eyes of the witcher caste peer out from beneath Valker’s stern and often furrowed brow with a healthy mixture of distrust and piercing perception. Nothing escapes his notice and many a man that considers himself tough has been known to avert their gaze from Valker’s own, unsettled by the keen edge of his slit pupils. His hair, kept short on top and shaved on the sides of his head, is a dark shade of ashen blond and the same goes for his eyebrows. Unlike most witchers, Valker wears a full beard, sideburns included, that wouldn’t look look out of place on a king of the legends of old. His straight nose, high cheekbones and flawless mouth, free of crooked teeth, invoke an air of aristocracy. Combined with the way he carries himself, his movements deliberate and sure and his head held high, Valker has an unfettered regality about him; for witchers fear nothing and bow to no man.
Personality: Witchers are generally considered to be a heartless bunch of hard bastards by the general populace and Valker does nothing to dispel that notion. His origin as a Child of Surprise has left him with faint, pleasant memories of a carefree infancy with a doting mother and candles and flowers carefully arranged throughout a warm, comfortable home, that were brutally and abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a witcher and a grueling childhood in his keep -- the keep of the School of the Wyvern. The hard years that followed and the horrors of the Trial of the Grasses, including the death of most of the friends he had made among the other boys, affected him deeply. When the mutations stripped him of most of his emotions and feelings (or so he believes), it almost came as a relief. When all was said and done there was nothing left for Valker to do but to accept his fate in life as a witcher and to devote himself to the Path, he did. To the letter. As it is generally understood that witchers don’t work for free, Valker has never deigned to lift a finger to help anyone, be they peasant or lord, without the promise of a reward. He has become proud of his abilities and achievements and considers it only fair that the blood and sweat of his toil is compensated with shiny, clinky coin. Crowns give him access to the simple pleasures of life, from good food and drink to a good book or a night with a shapely courtesan, and those are the only moments of respite Valker knows.
While he is nothing but a steady, unflappable professional on the surface, level-headed and cool in almost every situation, Valker has never truly come to terms with the fact that the responsibility of killing monsters had to fall to him. That the world is becoming ever smaller, the last blank spots of the map filled in, with well-trained and well-equipped armies being able to fulfil a witcher’s task more and more, makes him question the necessity of his own existence. It is likely that Valker is among the last group of boys ever trained and mutated by the School of the Wyvern. Often he wishes that they stopped one batch earlier. Buried deep behind the stone-faced mask of the enigmatic Valker lies a bitterness that would make even the most ancient devil grin with delight. The cold, hard truth is that Valker believes his life was stolen from him and that nothing, no amount of coin, fame, success or pleasure can set things right.
In personal interactions Valker is curt and to the point, even when dealing with people that are technically his superior. The mistrust and xenophobia expressed by most of the peasantry towards witchers is a mutual feeling as far as Valker is concerned and he avoids mingling with them unless they know something he doesn’t. He gets along much better with scholars, mages, merchants and lords; the educated of the world, in other words. Ignorance is something he has little patience for. Still, even when they are concerned, Valker plays his cards close to the chest and is almost universally described as taciturn and aloof. The friends he does have came into his life by happenstance, their friendships forged in the fire of danger and adventure, and none of them would say that they know the heart of the witcher known as Valker of Kerack truly well.
Despite his conflicted feelings towards his own fate and the old witcher, Bram, responsible for invoking the Law of Surprise that saw him taken away from his parents, Valker harbors absolutely no ill-will to his other fellow witchers and sees them as brothers. He will always be proud to be a wyvern. It is only with them, playing cards and drinking the night away, that Valker truly lets his guard down and bares his heart. They are the only ones that understand their shared suffering (even though most of them were orphans without a future when the School took them in, unlike Valker, and do not resent their lot in life as witchers) and it is this unspoken bond that creates the most powerful personal attachments Valker knows. He would lay down his life for any of them in a heartbeat and always looks forward to wintering in the mountaintop retreat that functions as the School’s keep.
He has been intimate with plenty of women, from courtesans to village whores to peasants to the occasional lord’s daughter or two, but Valker has never come close to being romantically involved with any of them. The Path keeps him on the road and he doesn’t feel like the mountain keep where he spends the winter is a place fit for a woman. Those are superficial excuses, of course. The truth is that he has never opened his heart to the idea. He is a witcher, a mutant, merely a personal code of honor away from being a monster himself. What would a woman truly want with something like him? He is fun for a night, an exotic and mysterious warrior, a bastion of masculinity, that much he knows, but not lover material. It will take time and a very special woman to draw him out of that shell, if at all possible.
Speciality: Alchemy.
Able to resist high levels of toxicity, allowing the imbibement of two decoctions at once in combination with potions as needed. Able to brew superior potions, oils and bombs.
Skills:
Combat, Wyvern School techniques: Witchers are amongst the best swordsmen on the Continent and Valker is no exception. He is, however, not exceptional amongst witchers themselves and the most complex maneuvers, such as the lethal and elegant whirl or the powerful rending strike, are beyond him. He will still handily outplay most human foes and has enough power, poise and agility to tackle the various monsters of the world -- assuming he does not rely solely on his swordplay.
Alchemy: Instead, Valker’s forte is most definitely his prodigious skill with the various alchemical brews and creations that are unique to witchers. He can create potions of superior quality to do things as diverse as replenishing his vitality, enhancing the strength of his blows, accelerating the regeneration of his stamina, empowering the potency of his Signs, increasing his perception to truly superhuman levels, see in the dark and even turning his own blood so unpalatable and harmful to vampires and necrophages that it hurts them to merely be in Valker’s presence. Using the remains of slain monsters, he has brewed decoctions that give him a variety of their supernatural powers like hardening his skin against damage or siphoning vitality by wounding an enemy. Oils, used to coat his blades, make their wickedly sharp edges even more deadly against specific types of enemies -- as long as Valker takes the time to prepare. And last but not least are the bombs in his arsenal, useful for blinding foes, blanketing an area in fire, freezing it instead or releasing a cloud of noxious gas.
Signs: The five signs of Aard, Yrden, Quen, Igni and Axii are all present in Valker’s magical arsenal. He has not devoted his time to developing their potency and can thusly only use the simplest versions of these signs. Igni is not a stream of fire but just a wall of sparks, Quen is no defensive dome around him but merely a simple shield, and so on.
Equipment:
Silver sword: The primary tool of the trade of any witcher and often their second-most prized possession, Valker’s monster-killing blade is no different. It is a mastercrafted longsword with the trademark hand-and-a-half grip and outward-angling crossguard of witcher swords. The pommel is sculpted in the shape of a wyvern’s head, strongly resembling the medallion he wears around his neck, indicating its origin as being one of the School’s own swords, created in the cavernous forge beneath the keep. The blades are fitted with Devana runestones to increase the cutting edge and cause heavy bleeding in the monsters it strikes, allowing Valker to hamstring his prey and weaken them over the duration of the fight. It has no name.
Steel sword: For humans, who are often just as monstrous as the beasts that Valker hunts. It is a blade once forged for him by a grateful elven blacksmith and, while suitable for a witcher’s hand and needs (featuring a long hilt, a flat crossguard and a straight blade), has elements of their graceful craftsmanship in it. Because humans invariably fear fire, the blade is fitted with Dazhbog runestones.
Medallion: The title of most-prized possession of any witcher goes to their medallion. More than just a mark of their guild and School, these items are enchanted to detect magic and will vibrate when doing so. Valker’s medallion is shaped like a wyvern’s head with its maw open wide, looking ready to devour something whole.
Armor: Functioning as both travel attire and armor, Valker relies on this outfit for almost everything. It consists of a gambeson padded with chainmail beneath a set of knee-length, dark blue robes (almost black, really) that are split down the middle from the waist down, armored vambraces, leather greaves and steel-toed boots. It is neither too heavy nor too light, being classified as medium armor, balancing protection against mobility in equal measure. He wears a high-collared poncho, clasped at his throat, over his shoulders to further protect him against the elements, but that can be removed and stowed in his bags in warm weather. He has a bandolier of pouches around his torso with straps on his back to hold up the scabbards of his blades and a belt around his waist with even more pouches on it. An alchemist needs to carry his materials, after all.
Potions: All listed potions are of superior quality:
- Swallow
- Thunderbolt
- Cat
Decoctions:
- Ekimmara decoction
- Griffin decoction
- Doppler decoction
Oils: All listed oils are of superior quality:
- Necrophage oil
- Vampire oil
- Hanged man’s venom
Bombs: All listed bombs are of superior quality:
- Northern Wind
- Dragon’s Dream
- Grapeshot
Misc:
- Valker plays gwent. Quite well, too.
- He reads a lot of books, be they practical in nature (such as on alchemy) or just as a diversion, including fiction. He is often annoyed by the romanticized depictions of combat, however.
- Total rubbish at both singing and dancing. Probably because he’s never practiced either.
- He is aware of Master Dandelion’s ballads about Geralt of Rivia and his various lovers but doesn’t believe a word of them.
- Valker does not actually hail from Kerach. Like so many other witchers, he only added the suffix to his name because it makes him appear more trustworthy, and Kerach is sufficiently out of the way from his usual stomping grounds that nobody questions him about it.
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