#rivianxwolf

To say that Regis was unimpressed would be an incredible understatement, the withering look sent Geralt’s way enough to turn him to stone on the spot. “ Ah yes, that delightful story. Unfortunately, it does lose its impact with each retelling, and I shall have you know this is no fewer than the twelfth time you have told it. Add to that the fact that comparison to past injuries is naught but a fallacy employed by stubborn fools and you’ll forgive me for not heeding it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind--- ”

A firm hand took hold of Geralt’s shoulder, the other carefully but inexorably pulling Geralt’s hand away from the offending injury, chilly black eyes leaving no room for argument. The claw marks in his armor, rent through to his flesh and still bleeding sluggishly, saw Regis sucking in a breath, and for a moment it looked as though Regis would launch a tirade at him. Then, his shoulders sagged.

A hand brushed the corn as she approached the small village. The mercenary knew this was it. She had followed a ghost from the past for years, almost a century now. Where she had grown up - away from any family she had known - she had only heard faint whispers of Witchers. Where she grew up she felt a sense of peace, as poor as she was there. It wasn’t until her twenties, when the outside world came to the small island and the warrior had to rise up to learn about her past, about her destiny. She learned to kill that day. She learned what ancient blood ran through her veins. And she learned that all those she thought dead had survived, even her brother.

Kassandra grew up thinking that her stepfather had killed her brother. She had grown up thinking her mother stood by and let it happen. And so while searching and finding her mother and step-father, learning a few ancient trick, she started to listen for clues on her brother. She learned he was a witcher now. And she learned that it was highly likely that he remembered none of his early years and thus none of their family. And so she followed clues, which eventually all led to Khaer Morhen and a so called White Wolf. The irony was not lost on her as their grandfather, who handed down the legendary spear to her, she carried every day, was called ‘Wolf’ as well, even in the battle where he fell.

“No, no.”

She’s the archetype of witches in this way: stood with her hands on her hips, her expression contorted into a resentful glower, staring down her victim company until they, hopefully, give in to her will. It’s become a common look for Yennefer these days, one she wears well despite the ugliness it wreaks upon her features.

“ Fascinating. ” Regis turned over the remains of the archespore with his boot, apparently unconcerned about the sap smearing the leather. “ Do you ever stop to wonder why certain monsters can only be found in certain areas of the world? Do they adhere to certain environmental factors like this world’s native fauna, or is it something else? ”

As Menge fell to the ground, Triss herself faltered. She knew why. She knew exactly why. The moments in which Geralt spoke to Menge were...too many. Triss managed to reach out for the witcher and catch herself by clinging to his armor, otherwise she would fall to the floor. Her unsteadiness alone would tip him off to something befing majorly wrong.

Unfocussed Triss watched droplets of blood fall from her fingers onto his armor, rolling down and landing on the floor as her legs gave in and only her arms held her up enough as she clung to Geralt. 

Yennefer liked to consider herself fairly well-versed in Geralt’s scars. New ones frequently cropped up, but they were filed away into her memory with all the others. For her, they rarely warranted comment -- they were just silently added to the complete picture she held of the witcher in her memory.

But some were drastic enough that they needed discussion, particularly when they appeared on his face, in such a specific pattern. The fresh marks weren’t the blind scratching of a monster -- it was a deliberate symbol.

“Oh, my dear wolf,” she shook her head, her hand lifting and glowing with magic to inspect it. “If I’m going to have any idea of how to help you, you’re going to have to answer several questions.” As far as she could tell, simple magic wasn’t going to heal it over, she didn’t know if any of her magic would help it. But she’d at least try.

“You know, considering the proximity of your school I would think you’d be more prone to paying us Kaedweni visits, Geralt.” The Sorceress stands as the Witcher in question enters the room, a gentle smiling come to her face. Her hand is extended, a courtesy she is sure is not often afforded to those within the guild from which the wolf hails, but Ophelia was committed to treating everyone with kindness and grace and HUMANITY above all else. Despite the crude behavior of both guard and citizen alike she wanted nothing more than an environment of compassion.  The blonde waves the guards off, giving them a look at their protest. 

“Thank you for coming to meet with me... I know this probably seems totally bizzare to you, but I can assure you that I have legitimate reason to require your services, sir.” She pauses, “oh and they aren’t political, I have it on good authority that your guild steers clear of politics.”

Julian could say he was actually rather excited for this contract. The wraith was powerful, murderous and could, at times exit the space they were forcefully bound to. It would allow him to test some new versions of Yrden on it, which was why he had made his way to the castle it haunted way before sunset.  Once he was done preparing he moved to the western window to watch the sun descend. 

It was there a glint caught his eye. Someone was approaching the castle. With his newly improved eye-sight the young witcher could make out the brown mare easily and the white-haired man on her back. Geralt. It seemed the villagers gave the contract to two witchers. Then again some bard had once sung praises to him, so of course they would jump at that chance. It would guarantee this wraith to be gone, even if the young bear school witcher bit the dust.

Being new to this business, he actually welcomed the help. Julian didn’t even try to hide his presence, because his horse was waiting outside, Geralt wasn’t dumb. He was cautious enough to expect someone in here, so he made his way to the entrance hall. He moved to the top of the staircase and looked down, the typical long coat of the bear school caught in the wind, newly yellow eyes gleaming.