The Witcher

Bruce had little interactions with horses beyond passing through farms on the road. For the most part, he could move silently and steadily past them beyond their fences, keeping his gaze ahead and his path straight, such that the horses sensed the Troll wasn’t interested in them. He sympathized with the spooked horse– animals rarely reacted to him with major prejudice. Not like humans. Bruce idled in place, not making a move until Geralt soothed the stallion. Only when the Witcher took to the saddle and guided Roach towards the road did the Troll slowly lumber forward. Bruce took care to stay in the horse’s line of sight, with ample space between the two, and only returning eye contact with shoulders sloped and posture relaxed. 

“Heh, I don’t think a Troll travelin’ ‘long side of you is gonna help that reputation,” Bruce jested, giving a half-hearted grin. Instinctually, an ounce of worry built for a moment at the sight of the cockatrice head until the Troll reminded himself of the events that had occurred just moments prior. Somewhere on the amity scale between humans and other Trolls, Geralt fell. Despite the Witcher’s human appearance, however, Bruce found Geralt’s position slink closer towards the Troll part of the scale.

“Can’t say I’d be too much help with the monster problem,” Bruce admitted bashfully. “Unless we’re talkin’ other Trolls, somethin’ like a gryphon’ll see me more as a meal than an equal.” Granted, he had less problems on the road dealing with monsters compared to smaller humans, largely because said monsters decided that the massive, hulking brute wasn’t worth the effort. “But I can hold m’ own in a fight, if need be.”

A rather... uncharacteristic, but well-meant chuckle escapes Geralt for a bit after that last remark. “Relax. I ain’t asking you to hunt Gryphons or Basilisks with me. I was just suggesting, seeing as we’re two souls with no particular place to go, maybe it’d just be better if we stuck together. But if you truly believe that it’d be best if our roads split, then I shall not press it.” he was honestly rather indifferent on whether Bruce did accept his offer or not. A Witcher’s path was usually one traveled alone, after all. But...

For some reason, he had found himself to be a somewhat kindred spirit with this troll. Just someone who had received unwanted and undeserved scorn and jeer,  just wanting to make a living. Perhaps it was why he had offered to tag along with Bruce.

“Witch-thing? A Witch?” Heliinx quirked a brow, tilting her head just so. She gave a sniff and her looked grew even more perplexed. That was stranger; usually, witches were doe-man-things which this male most certatinly was not. Unless, Witcher was the masculine form of the title (odd, she thought it was warlock–).

Of course, all of this is pushed to the way side when given the chance to brag about herself though.

“ Speak-true! Man-thing has sense for once-once. I am Grey Seer, chosen of  the Horned Rat, highest-best god in all the pantheons!”

Oh, great. This ‘rat-kin’ was of a religious persuasion.

Not that Geralt had a real issue with those who followed a deific power or anything, but he had rarely put any faith in any gods himself, so he could not really relate to this rat-kin on that bit. But it did explain her rather immaculate robes and attire.

“Ah, it’s not yer fault,” the Troll said quickly, letting his pace slow to an easy, lumbering walk. So few had vouched for Bruce before; the Troll couldn’t bear letting Geralt believe the rejection to be his doing. “B’sides it didn’t turn out as bad as it could’ve,” Bruce added with a shrug. “I’ve had plenty worse times escapin’ by the skin of my teeth. At least most of ‘em kept it somewhat civil physically.” Likely because the mob knew they couldn’t fight a Troll and a Witcher. Alone, they could perhaps drive Bruce out with a large enough racket. But a skilled fighter like a Witcher wouldn’t be so easily daunted. 

Somehow, despite the persistent tug of disappointment in his chest, the addition of company lessened the aching blow. Troubling as it was, the incident didn’t leave quite such as sour taste in his mouth as Bruce had anticipated. Peculiar how the presence of one person could do that. 

“So where do ye reckon ye’re off too, now?” Bruce asked, curiously. 

“Still-” Geralt huffed to himself. “It surprises, and infuriates me, just how close-minded some people can be. My master Vesemir kept warning me about it, of course... that common-folk don’t always have the luxury of having as much insight as a Witcher, or even understand what a Witcher’s true purpose is... but I wish some people would.” again, there was but a mere hint of emotion behind those words, but even Bruce should be able to pick up on it.

“Again, at least you monsters can show a modicum of appreciation when a Witcher chooses to spare and aid them.” he repeats, before he’d put his fingers to his mouth in a sharp, quick whistle. The distant neighing of a horse soon becomes audible, as a brown-furred stallion rushes up to its owner-- only to slightly screech to a halt and whinny in mild confusion at the sight of a troll.

“Whoa, whoa-- hey Roach, settle down.” Geralt is quick to move between Bruce and the horse, as he eases its nerves, and lets ‘Roach’ lean his head onto the Witcher’s in a light, affectionate headbutt. “It’s alright.” he’d assure his mount, before he’d grab onto the saddle and swing himself up. Fastened onto the saddlebag hung a crude trophy from a previous hunt; the decapitated head of a cockatrice.

{♚}—; Cosmos took a closer look at the wizards, peering into their eyes he could see that Geralt was right. Something wasn’t right here, and it was clear based on the strange look in their eyes that this simply wasn’t normal for them. 

“Yes, I believe so.” The Grandmaster held his hand out to the three wizards, to try and dispel whatever charm had been placed over them that still had a grip on them. He would need to figure out who could’ve done this, and deal with that as soon as he could. Though he noticed they went for Geralt first, which made him wonder even more who was responsible.

In seconds, a golden aura surrounded the wizards as the dragon used his own knowledge to remove the spell that had been placed over the three. 

“Hmm...” Geralt would nod a bit as he’d stand back, letting Cosmos do his work as he tried to dispel whatever had a grip on them. The ritual would commence, as the golden aura surrounded the wizards, and Geralt made a note to observe this as much as he could. As much as he despised magic... well, Yennefer was a witch, and his closest friend, so exposure to magic was a daily occurrence...

Much to his chagrin at times.

Still, the magic would soon take effect, as all the wizards woke up from their knocked-out state, and began to writhe around in the rope and began to cry out in pain, seemingly. Until suddenly, something ethereal emerged from their bodies, and let out horrific, feminine screeches of their own. The slightest flash of three pale, gaunt, woman-like specters were seen before Cosmos, before they were dispersed to the aether.

“Damnit. Should’ve known it was specters. Most of ‘em prefer to be their own beings, but others like to possess people and make them their puppets. Must’ve snuck through the portal that opened with me.” Geralt huffed a bit. Now he got a bit concerned. What else could’ve slipped through...?

“This isn’t some rickety old wood bridge– I know the stone mason personally and he wagered these stone bridges could last over seven decades!” boasted another voice from the back: a decidedly richer man judging by the more ornate patterns of his garments. “At this rate, we’d just be paying for him to stay here, and nothing done to the bridge!” The crowd fed on this information with more disgruntled muttering and random exclamations. 

Bruce’s gaze fell. He had only come to inspect the bridge. Perhaps it had been too optimistic of him to assume the the people needed bridge upkeep at this point. If the bridge had been build just one or two decades ago, Bruce would have had to wait ages for the thing to fall, or for a terribly drastic storm to bluster through. 

“We don’t need any Troll, and we don’t want any Troll!” “That’s the last time we’re payin’ a Witcher to hunt down something.” “Useless!” “You just want this thing to be our problem without dirtying your hands!” “We’re better off payin’ a huntsmen to take this thing!” “Such a cheat!”

Bruce had prepared himself to stand firm in the face of rejection. Of degrading insults. Yet a devastatingly great deal of the berating were directed not at the Troll, but the Witcher. One of the very few people who hadn’t raised his sword against Bruce; and one of the few people who could succeed in taking him down. 

“Quiet!” the Troll bellowed, the word carried out in a roar as he returned on all fours. “Ye’ve made yer point. I’ve no further want to stay here,” Bruce scowled before turning to lumber away from the crowd. 

The Witcher just frowns slightly as he hears all the accusations, all the insults, all the jeers thrown at his face. He was used to it. For better or for worse. He’d just mildly wince at that one accusation of wanting to make others dirty their hands for him. That was just not true; he was just trying to solve this a less bloody way. However, as he was about to defend himself--

 “Quiet!”

The roar even made Geralt wince a bit from how sudden it was, as he’d turn to Bruce now being back on all fours as he’d lumber away, clearly being aware that he was not wanted here. Geralt just huffs a bit. He was doing the right thing. It was better to retreat for now than cause more trouble. However, before he’d turn to leave with the troll, he’d look back at the crowd again.

“Your minds are clearly made up. We’re taking our leave, but know this... if any of you try and take a lucky pot-shot at him while we’re leaving, then I’ll return one in kind. And I’m a very good shot.”

And with that warning/threat, the Witcher would turn and leave as well, until he was walking alongside the troll, letting out a begrudged sigh.

{♚}—; Once the other wizard was dealt with, he turned his attention to the third and final one. If something was wrong before, it was certainly more so now because now the wizard was outnumbered and yet he didn’t scurry away. Normally they would know that it wasn’t a good idea to do something like this, so instead of running. The wizard showed a lot of anger through a few choice words and acted more like how Spyro would have described Ripto if were to erupt in anger.

After that seemed the wizard decided to make one last attempt against them with the combined power of the three storm clouds. As that happened, Cosmos attempted to avoid being struck using rather quick movements and stop the lightning bolts from flying too far away. Raising his staff to stop the cloud from shooting lightning, he could deal with the rain as it began to pour down, but he had to stop the lightning.

He pushed back against the wizard’s power as he advanced towards him, sparks of energy and power emitted from his staff. Once Geralt slammed into the wizard to make him lose his focus, he used the opportunity to use the lightning against the wizard with his own storm cloud. Along with a bolt of electricity he used one one final burst of energy that would blast the wizard down to the ground. 

With that he would proceed to dissipate the cloud and cleared the skies, taking away the method of attack the wizard had been using. 

As soon as Cosmos and Geralt had dealt with the wizards, Geralt seemed to realize that something was... wrong with them. Seeing how Cosmos had been shocked earlier that they didn’t just flee away had him think that there was something wrong with them. So, he’d produce some rope from his waist as he’d tie the three wizards up while they were unconscious. He’d then manage to pry one of the wizard’s eyes open a bit, looking at it, seeing how it was sort of ‘glazed over’ with a malignant energy.

Bruce straightened a bit, but did not rise to his full height lest his size frighten the villagers. “Ah- m’ name’s Bruce,” the Troll bellowed, clearly enough for the crowd to hear him. He made an attempt to give a friendly grin, yet it was a few inches too wide with a few too many teeth. 

“Been travelin’ for quite awhile in search of any bridges that would need upkeepin’, and any sort of village that wouldn’t mind havin’ a Troll live nearby. Just lookin’ for a place to call home. Rest assured, I’m not after you, or yer livestock, or–”

“We asked you to rid us of the beast and you bring it to our doorstep?!” came a cry from the crowd, as more curious townspeople trickled out of the buildings. “And what if it’s deceived you, and returns to our village tonight to pick us off– one by one!” Bruce’s smile fell. A few murmured amongst themselves, and silent expressions of disapproval and apprehension swept through the crowd as each person tried to look past the other to get a good look at the ‘offending’ Witcher. 

“Whoa, easy now! It’s not like that,” Bruce urged. He rose to full height, only to give an open-handed gesture, feverishly attempting to dispel the growing tension. Unfortunately, that did listen to calm the suddenly startled crowd. “He knows I’m no threat to ye; I don’t eat people–”

“Typical of a monster to side with monsters!”

“If he had tried deceiving me, I’d be fighting him right this instant.” Geralt scowls right back at the offending crowd-member, a raised brow aimed in their direction. Well, this was going great. He had hoped that the more common people would be able to see past the more superficial issues, and look past Bruce’s monstrous nature. Seems like that was not the case.

Still, he promised he’d try.

“Just... listen.” that last part was spoken with an icy-cold tone, and spoken loud enough that every peasant in the crowd would hear. “Trolls are not a threat to people. They only become a threat if you disrespect and invade its lair, or you refuse to pay the toll for its bridge. And compared to any Redanian and Nilfgaardian architects, they’re pretty dirt-cheap. No animal or human lives involved.”

A few words in Geralt’s explanation catches Skarbrand’s attention, namely ‘mutation’ and this talk of branding magic directly into the skin. It didn’t appear this one was a caster of any kind, which was more respectable. Mutation through foodstuffs….it was the first he’d ever heard of it. Usually, when the dark gods “blessed” their followers with gifts, it was direct.

And often that follower died. But here Geralt was, healthy, alive and probably strong.

He’d seen plenty of steel and as far as he was concerned, the silver was just another kind of it. Such little things were no threat to Skarbrand, so the daemon doesn’t react much besides mild interest.

“ If all it takes is a small thing like that, and a small mortal like you, I doubt these monsters are formidable.”

“Judging others just because you yourself are massive. How original.”

The sarcasm in that statement was literally seething from Geralt’s voice. If this thing wanted to be shown so badly just what a Witcher was capable of, he was lucky to have already faced giant foes, like the time he took down a literal giant in Skellige. Still, he just kept entertaining this ‘Skarbrand’.

“Aye, I’ve ‘eard I’m not quite the spittin’ image of most Trolls ‘round ‘ere,” Bruce admitted, but left it at that with a somewhat discomforted expression. He wore a considerably smoother skin than the rock trolls who more commonly occupied the bridges in the nearby regions. However, the areas along his back and shoulders were thick and rough as calloused flesh: less penetrable to arrows and claws from other Troll bent on a territorial dispute. If Bruce had been honest, the Troll hadn’t exactly known his father. He did know his mother, who had been captured by humans when Bruce was an older child– and she looked fairly similar to him, except with somewhat grayer and darker skin. 

As far as Bruce could tell, he and his family did have a striking difference from other Troll-kind. Still, perhaps it was just easier to simply admit to being a Troll of –perhaps– a different subspecies than to incur existential dread on himself. Or further rack himself about a past that Bruce hoped to leave behind. 

“Yeah, I’d much rather deal with a few at a time than a mob,” the Troll nodded. “I’ve better luck dealin’ with farmers more than higher-ups. Typically, they aren’t ‘lways quite as paranoid.” Most of the leading voices in previous mobs that had pursued Bruce had been governing officials of the villages. Perhaps wishing to profit off of his corpse. 

Bruce followed Geralt southward, until the bridge was no longer in view and the trees covered most of the landscape. Yet the unmistakable smell of kindling drifted with the wind, and Bruce could tell that they neared civilization once more. 

With their goal set and their destination locked, Geralt was naturally taking the lead of the two, as he would be leading Bruce towards the nearest buildings of the Farcorners, just outside of Novigrad. He’d stop up for a moment as he’d gaze back at the troll, just to make sure he was prepared for what was to happen. Naturally, there was no guaranteed failure or success about what they were going to do, so they’d just have to hope for the best.

Geralt nods once, before he walks ahead again, letting Bruce tag along. And as soon as they stepped into the district, the Witcher would spot the exact individual who had contracted him into discovering the ‘mysterious’ creature. And he seemed to recognize the Witcher as well, and was about to approach, but then saw the huge troll accompanying him and froze up. “M-Master Witcher! What in all tha’ is holy is THAT?!”

The Troll tilted his head and his brows furrowed, taken aback by the unsavory accounts and insults thrown in Geralt’s direction. Sure, Witchers had powers and a few distinct features such as brightly colored eyes, but Bruce had always lumped them together with humans more so than any other race. So few differences, after all- at least appearance-wise! And yet some humans would bicker and squeal at these trivial differences carried by their protectors? Against a people willing to risk life and limb against beasts not even Bruce dared challenge! After all, Trolls never stood at the full height of the food chain. Large as Bruce was, other monsters were larger and wouldn’t turn down a Troll dinner if they managed to dispatch him. 

“Well, Geralt– I appreciate it,” Bruce began, his expression softening. “Immensely. Choosin’ to risk reputation to save an ol’ Troll,” he said, sincerely. After what seemed like ages, the last drop of tension fell and he turned his head completely away from Geralt, stood back on his hind limbs, and gazed northward, “Reckon that way’s to the city?” Bruce asked, glancing back at the Witcher. “Still not entirely sure what the humans there’ll think.” But other Trolls has settled down in various places before, though most considerably smaller than Bruce. 

Bruce doubted that even the building where the customer employed Geralt possessed a high enough ceiling to accommodate the Troll’s size. Nonetheless, he hoped, at the very least that he could fit through the streets without toppling over vendor carts. Or causing a stampede of panicked humans. Oddly enough, most animals didn’t react quite as terribly in Bruce’s presence as humans. Massive as he was, the Troll’s steps fell shockingly quiet and most of his movements slow unless needed otherwise. At least the hypothetical stampede wouldn’t be comprised of animals. 

“Ye sure ‘bout this?” 

“Don’t mention it, Bruce.” Geralt huffs a bit as he seems to relax a bit as well, the last bit of tension leaving the Witcher as well. It was evident that even with how calm and collected he had seemed on the outside, he was on high alert all throughout their chit-chat, as if anticipating the conversation to go sour. Just an old Witcher reflex. But luckily, things were easing up now, and he allowed his arms to fall to his sides as he’d turn to look in the same way as Bruce, towards Novigrad.

“Quite so. You’ve got a good sense of direction.” he’d remark, as he’d give the troll a glance too. It was... still so odd. To see a troll like Bruce. Normally, trolls were stunted, hunch-backed monsters who were covered with rocks, gemstones and minerals, looking like walking pieces of cliff-face, and with faces of their own that truly, only a mother could love. But by comparison to the regular variants of trolls... Bruce was quite the anomaly. Smooth-looking skin, a strong-built and defined jawline, and broad shoulders to support his thick frame. And that tuft of hair along his head and neck, too, was out of the ordinary.

Truly, he had stumbled upon someone unique today. “... If I am being honest, compared to other trolls... I’d daresay that some of the more skeptical people would just take you for some kind of half-giant.” a dry, yet amused chuckle as he did enjoy his own attempt at humor. “But, luckily, we may not actually need to enter the city itself.”

“The person I accepted the task from, he was more of a commoner. Wouldn’t be spending a lot of time on the streets of Novigrad itself. I think it’s safer to say that he’d be somewhere around here...” he’d gesture in the opposite direction, towards the outskirts again. “Here, around the Farcorners. There’s lots of farmer and peasant buildings surrounding this area. I think we might be more in luck earning their favor. Of course, there will be official guards in the area too that we’d need to convince, but hey. Rather deal with one or two than half a dozen of them, am I right?”

{♚}—; “These wizards are responsible for many things, but it’s very uncharacteristic of them what they’re doing right now.” Cosmos was prepared to deal with this for Geralt, but saw the way the swords he used gleamed which was all he needed to see in order to realize his swords are potentially special. Though the Grandmaster knew something couldn’t be right with the wizards for them to actually try anything right in front of him.

With the druids he knew what to expect, sometimes they’d be troublemakers and would go scurrying away once any of the dragons drew too closely. Same could be said for the wizards, but not this time they seemed to be completely taken by something to cause them to do this.

Once they actually began to attack Cosmos was surprised to see them aiming for Geralt instead, but luckily he was prepared and able to defend himself from such an attack and showed he was actually quite skilled as he came right at the wizards and managed to strike at one of them which sent him to the ground in pain.

While there was a distraction he made small vines grow from the soil and try to pull at one of the other wizards to stop another from attacking any further, and turned his attention to the third. Once this was over, he’d have to figure out more about what happened here.

With his wizard dispatched, Geralt would focus in on the other two as they had already started preparing to cast more lightning bolts, but one of them let out a yelp as he was taken by the vines that Cosmos grew from the soil, as it’d coil around the bottom of its robes and wrap him up like a bag of green cloth, the wizard letting out a comical ‘Uh-oh!’ as he was then slammed back and forth on the ground like a whiffle-ball bat.

The stunt earned a look of surprise over Geralt’s shoulder, as he’d look over at Cosmos with intrigue, but nevertheless the dragon was given a short nod of appreciation before the third wizard had to be dealt with, who was cursing and throwing a tantrum, twirling around and shaking his small fists while screaming in a language incomprehensible to both Geralt and Cosmos.

Though, he soon gathered himself as he’d just sneer at both Witcher and dragon alike, as he’d raise his hands, and suddenly the thunderclouds of his two fallen companions were snatched from them as they’d float off to join with the third wizard’s own cloud, and as they merged they grew into a MUCH larger, rumbling storm-cloud! “... Oh great.” Geralt mutters before the cloud erupts into a cascade of lightning bolts, as in literal zig-zag shaped, yellow bolts of lightning firing off in all directions while the wizard cackles maniacally.

The lightning bolts would go off in all directions, blasting and zapping much of the environment and blasting holes in architecture, setting grass aflame, and just ruining the scenic surroundings, whilst also just raining down on Geralt and Cosmos. The Witcher would once more show off his prowess though, his fluent motions and dodge-rolls allowing him to maneuver through the lightning storm until he got up just behind the wizard, and then another Sign glowed upon his gloved palm; this time, the Sign of Aard, as he’d release a near-invisible blast of force from his hand, which would slam into the wizard and make him lose balance, being flung into the air.

{♚}—; It was true that the Dragon Realms was one that was doing excellently, there wasn’t currently any huge threats to the land and there was mostly only smaller scale trouble that would occur sometimes but it was nothing too bad anyway.

Cosmos wouldn’t mind showing him more of what there was to see here, but once they made it to the exit of the mountain passage there was a great view before them but also some trouble.

A trio of those green wizards decided to show themselves, looking like they were wanting to stir up some trouble. Quite the mistake, he thought that they would know better than to try something like this to him directly.

“They’re wizards, but not quite the friendly sort however as you could probably tell.” Cosmos informed him, but stepped forward first as his horns began to spark slightly with his own electrical abilities which was just one of many things he could use. 

The Grandmaster had to wonder what made them bold enough to think it would be a good idea to make a move such as this? 

Geralt just frowns and keeps his eyes on the wizards as Cosmos explains who they are, as he has now fully pulled out one of his two swords; as he’d pull it forward to flourish it, Cosmos might notice that it gleamed and shimmered with pure silver lining the edges of it, and the blade itself seemed to be made of silver as well.

But if his focus was still on the wizards... he’d see that something was not right with them. As if a haze was over their usually bright yellow eyes, a dark ‘shroud’ covering them up slightly, their lightning magic crackling from their palms and the clouds above their heads. They seemed fearless, possessed by some overwhelming intent. Normally the sight of the Grandmaster would’ve sent them scurrying in panic, but not now.

The wizards cackled as they launched their attacks, lobbing lightning balls at them... but none of them were aimed at Cosmos. They all seemed to be honing in on the Witcher! Geralt huffs as he raises his other hand, as something begins glowing within the palm of his hand. The Sign of Quen glowing brightly as suddenly, an orange, half-dome barrier forms all around him as the lightning blasts off of it harmlessly, and as soon as he drops it, Geralt just lowers his stance and rushes into combat.

{♚}—; If Geralt was interested, then he could take him there at some point and once that happened he’d see one of the other lands were in fact very different from each other in a variety of ways. With Cosmos he was actually knowledgeable in a lot of things related to magic, considering he was the leader of this part of the realms but he hadn’t yet shared that information with him but he intended to shortly.

His description of this Toussaint area made him think of Artisans, an extravagant land where many talents were seen. It was known for it’s large meadows and castles of the area. “There is a homeworld around here that sounds similarly to what you are describing and it’s a land where artistry and many different talents are recognized.”

Cosmos intended Geralt to see the small trick he performed, it was something small and he could do far more than that but that was only to show him something. “Of course, many here specialize in certain things but I know quite a lot of different things about magical capabilities.”

“Sounds like a deal to me, Cosmos. I’m quite intrigued now, actually.” and he was indeed. A whole world where a society of dragons was not only founded, but still functioning to this day? He had never realized that he’d see the day to see one. But, now that he was here... well, he sure was taking in as much as he could. “It is all quite impressive, I’ll admit.”

Soon enough, they’d emerge on the other side of the tunnel through the mountain, as they were once more met with grassy meadows and mountaintops in the distance, and a bit more sunlight this time, making it all shimmer with a mystical radiance. Geralt actually had to stop himself to take in the scenery for a while. His eyes gazing all over the fields before him, before he seemed to spot something.

So the townsfolk had paid the Witcher to kill Bruce– at least, that was what the Troll had gathered from the Witcher’s clarification. That somewhat shifted Bruce’s enthusiasm to settle in the same place where some would pay to have him killed. But what other places was there for him? The world shrunk with every town marked off the map due to some angry mob, occupied bridge, or both. The choices left for him dwindled, and Bruce could feel it. 

Yet, Bruce couldn’t simply waltz into the city and announce that he’d taken up residence at the southeastern bridge. It couldn’t be that straightforward; an armed guard would fill his hide with so many arrows, he’d resemble a porcupine before he made it through the city gates. The Troll reflected, though, on the Witcher’s words; a voice of representation. Did the Witcher dare offer to vouch for him? For a Troll he hadn’t met for more than a few tense moments?

“If it makes ye feel any better,” Bruce added, sympathetically. “I never really heard ‘bout the rest of that ‘bout Witchers– only that yer kind kills monsters, and are quite good at it.” Worryingly so. From a monster’s perspective, of course. Was that how humans viewed the Witchers? Hadn’t they been made to be humanity’s protectors? And yet humans vilified them as well. It was an odd day, indeed, that Bruce found himself in kindred spirits with a Witcher. 

At the Witcher’s inquiry, Bruce let an abashed –and fairly toothy– grin spread across his lips. “Ah, I wish could. On many an occasion, I’ve ‘ad my trust in ‘em used against me. Not all humans’re out to live peacefully alongside Trolls. Even a friendly one.” Bruce wondered briefly if some of the humans had attacked him not wholly out of greed but because they believed he’d turn on them eventually. That he would somehow transform into a monster that ravaged their livestock and gobbled down their children. Like some mindless monster. 

“I can’t imagine it’d look too good for you to march into the city alongside a monster you were paid to… investigate,” the Troll said, carefully. “Though it would be a nice change of pace, to have someone vouch for me,” he added, after a moment of thought. “The name’s Bruce, by the way. What’s yer’s?”

Geralt was quick to reassure the troll as he spoke up after Bruce spoke of what he had heard about Witchers; “Just because we are good at it, does not mean that it has to be the only solution to a monster problem. If it’s something that can’t be reasoned with -- like a Fiend, Wraith, Nekker or likewise -- then they have to be dealt with by the sword, sure. But for monsters that can and want to reason with you -- Trolls like you, Godlings, I’ve even managed to reason with a Succubus or two -- then there are other ways to deal with problems. Common people might have issues with your kind, but if they are given the word of a Witcher that they won’t cause problem, then usually that word is respected.”

“Though-- Granted, that doesn’t shine the prettiest light on us when we do choose to side with monsters.” he’d add on at the end, And at that time, he’d also hear out Bruce talking about how it wouldn’t look good for him to march into town alongside a monster. Or hell, even just walking in trying to put forth a good word for said monster. But he’d scoff at it. “Like I’d care what others would think of me. I’ve already had my fair share of people throwing stones at me. Literally and figuratively.”

He’d proceed to mockingly repeat some of the... less than kind words he’s received; “Things like, ‘Oh you’re just cold-hearted bastards, every single one of you’, ‘My tavern is not open for slit-eyed freaks like you’, ‘You fight like a monster, who’s to say you won’t turn into one’. I’ve been given every type of scorn and jeer you could imagine. So has other Witchers. We do what we can to keep the balance, and yet we’re hated by both sides, to greater or lesser degrees. Honestly...” he’d give a dry chuckle.

 “At least with some monsters like you, I’m given some sort of appreciation for co-operating with you.” that sentence literally dripped with a sort of... repressed disappointment. Geralt never truly showed ‘emotions’, and if he did it was subtle. But that line was delivered with no small amount of genuine feeling to it.

“ Mortals play at it, but only a rare few glean the true meaning of bloodshed.” Skarbrand regards Geralt, suspecting he might be such a man.

“ Witcher.” The daemon growls out the word. The man was a witch then? Perhaps his earlier observation had been made too quickly. “ I am a daemon. I am the Slaughter God’s will made manifest. And you–”

There’s a distinct mocking edge to the daemon’s tone as he grins down at Geralt.

“ You are a magic-user. A witch? Pathetic.”

An eye-roll at Skarbrand’s guess, but he does not bring it further than that. “Not exactly. I don’t use magic, except for the Signs branded onto my skin. But even those are minimal at best. They’re not weapons. Merely tools to aid.”

“A Witcher like me undergoes a lot of mutation and altering of our bodies. A ritual known as the Trial of the Grasses, imbibing a concoction made from various herbs and other substances that’ll drastically alter our bodies and blood. And if you aren’t resilient enough, it could kill you.” he just kept looking dead in the eyes of Skarbrand, showing little to no fear.

{♚}—; As Cosmos walked him through a structure running through a mountain he’d see the interior was very decorative and could come off as extravagantly royal. Given the marble walls and floors, with some crystal lining the wall as well with other elaborate designs.

“In a way, yes many would look entirely different. Here, you see decorative mountain peaks a lot of magical elements. But other lands work in a variety of ways, and also appear to be very different from this one.” Magic Crafters was frosty and cold on many days, while other homeworlds were different.

Such as the deserts of Peace Keepers was usually warm or Dream Weavers appeared to be just as it’s name suggests, a land that appears to be another heavy on magical properties with it’s flouting islands and other elements that can be found there, perhaps he’ll explain and show this to Geralt as well.

“The magic we work with here isn’t limited to any one type, there is many things we specialize in some can be very different from the last.” Cosmos explained as he noticed a decorative vase and other items sitting on a nearby table he was passing by which he made it and the whole table vanish from that spot and then to the other side of the room in a matter of seconds to give Geralt a small example.

“So I’ll basically have to find out by going there myself. Good. I could use a bit of variety in scenery. The lands I’m from are pretty... same-same.” Geralt describes as best as he could. “It’s all lush and green, sure, but riding all across it back and forth makes it seem dull after a while. Then there’s the islands of Skellige, where it’s almost cold and snowy every single day.”

“Then there’s Toussaint to the south. Literally looks like it was plucked out of a children’s fable. Lots of fairytale-esque spires and castles, and the wineries there produce some of the land’s best wine... damn, could actually go for a bottle now.” he’d catch himself in his rambling a bit, but he was at least easing up a lot more now. He’d spot the magic trick that Cosmos pulled off by teleporting the table and its content, seeing it reappear across the room.

“If it’s ‘bout that one goat farmer, I only started gettin’ cheeky with him once he threatened to ‘ave a go at me,” Bruce quickly added as anxiety ran his mouth faster than he could control it. But the Troll drew silent, listening to the Witcher’s words and ignoring his own self-preservation urging him to flee and pray that he could miraculously escape the stranger’s tracking skills. Bruce kept a close gaze on the Witcher’s sword, even as the stranger’s hands raised aloft far above the hilt. And only after awhile of listening to the white-haired stranger did the Troll let his gaze slip from the Witcher to the ground as a subtle tell. 

Had the Witcher been so learnt about Troll-folk that he knew the cause of Bruce’s journey? To find a bridge and a home?

Bruce fought every fiber in his body to resist taking another step back. Previous run-ins with poachers and bandits and everyone with honey-sweet words and friendly smiles with sharp knives drawn behind their backs– such incidents raised his guard. Pleasant strangers who insisted they weren’t afraid of him, no. Who let him sit by their fires. And then ambushed him in his sleep. 

Yet with as much land as he had covered and as many unsavory characters as he had met, Bruce hadn’t met a Witcher before. Not personally. That fact that he’d only heard of them lent to the Troll’s slipping reluctance and the steady give of the Troll’s guard. Bruce swallowed dryly. “Been lookin’ for a bridge to repair. And a town that’d be at least mildly acceptin’ of havin’ a Troll ‘round,” he relented. “If the humans nearby didn’t pay for you to kill me, I s’ppose that’s a decent sign…” Bruce hadn’t met any of the townsfolk yet, so he couldn’t be certain. But perhaps if a Witcher vouched for him…

Geralt did not mind the slip of the troll’s mouth as he could hear the anxiety dripping off his voice, which only further told him the true feelings of this troll that he stood before now; he was scared. Again, for good reason, standing before a Witcher as he did. But Geralt just stood his ground, refusing to move an inch forward or back, just looking up at the troll until finally, his gaze fell to the ground and the tension in the air lessened, if only by a bit.

So eventually, Geralt’s hands would lower a bit as they’d cross over his chest, looking up at Bruce as he tried to get a read on him, a much more thorough one at least. Seeing his slowly relenting guard and his almost sullen expression as he looked upon the ground, he could tell he was still nervous, and afraid. But at least he was willing to talk things out.

“Well, you might be in luck here. Novigrad’s not exactly known for having a great stonemason guild of any type, they usually hire other stonemasons and architects from far off, usually Nilfgaardian ones.” Geralt informs him, just to let him know that there might be a chance for his business here. And when Bruce made the remark of the townsfolk not paying him to have the troll killed, he just shook his head. “You misunderstand me. Even if they had paid me to dispose of you... I wouldn’t have.”

“You might’ve heard of us Witchers, no? How we’re just nothing but cold-blooded killers of monsters and beasts, swaying to nothing except for a handful of coins? It is true, I was trained and made to cull monsters like yourself in this world... but I’m no mindless murderer. The way I see it-” he’d begin to mildly gesticulate with his hands as he explained his views. “Is that while humans are on one side of life, and monsters, at least the sensible ones such as you, are on the other... us Witchers are made to be here, right in the middle. Our task is not just to simply slaughter monsters for no reason other than a fistful of coins, but also to keep up a balance between the two. We’re both a force of protection for the humans, but also a voice of representation for those monsters capable of reasoning and understanding.”