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To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
You think I hadn't asked already? She's tried. We did a little. I'm just... magic is not my thing.
Funny thought, though. We started with fire. Figured it'd be helpful if we ever got stuck in a pit with lizards to roast.
Funny thought, though. We started with fire. Figured it'd be helpful if we ever got stuck in a pit with lizards to roast.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, grandpa.
Look, the holes were for the sauna. Not anything weird.
Look, the holes were for the sauna. Not anything weird.
[Jaskier isn't sure what he's waiting for. The disbelief, really; that's about the only thing he can expect safely. It all sounds incredulous. Even thinking of it to himself sounds utterly insane.
But he remembers the whine of wind on the blade of that axe. How he was so sure, in those seconds, he was going to shit himself.
He very much almost had.
Yet, no. No, it isn't what he gets. I believe you.
He releases the breath he'd been holding.]
Yes. I think that might be best. I only -- I'm going to tell you some things I believe we need to discuss first, so please don't mention this to Ciri. Not yet.
[It sounds ominous, though he doesn't mean to, but honestly, it is all ominous. Having this amount of knowledge dropped on him seemingly out of nowhere, from a creature that dwells in his own world but slips between them -- to be fair, he'd never really thought of disbelieving her. Not once he saw what she could do.
Impossible things. And the story, in the end, was beautiful.
Jaskier manages to act as if nothing has changed on the trip home, with Nadine and Ciri and Geralt, and it is only late the night they return that Jaskier sends Geralt a note to meet him in the kitchen. He heats milk and drops chocolate into it, a low fire burning.
He takes a deep breath, turning once the Witcher enters. The corners of his lips lift.] Is now a good time?
[Obviously it is. Geralt's here. He's stalling.]
But he remembers the whine of wind on the blade of that axe. How he was so sure, in those seconds, he was going to shit himself.
He very much almost had.
Yet, no. No, it isn't what he gets. I believe you.
He releases the breath he'd been holding.]
Yes. I think that might be best. I only -- I'm going to tell you some things I believe we need to discuss first, so please don't mention this to Ciri. Not yet.
[It sounds ominous, though he doesn't mean to, but honestly, it is all ominous. Having this amount of knowledge dropped on him seemingly out of nowhere, from a creature that dwells in his own world but slips between them -- to be fair, he'd never really thought of disbelieving her. Not once he saw what she could do.
Impossible things. And the story, in the end, was beautiful.
Jaskier manages to act as if nothing has changed on the trip home, with Nadine and Ciri and Geralt, and it is only late the night they return that Jaskier sends Geralt a note to meet him in the kitchen. He heats milk and drops chocolate into it, a low fire burning.
He takes a deep breath, turning once the Witcher enters. The corners of his lips lift.] Is now a good time?
[Obviously it is. Geralt's here. He's stalling.]
Not just for the cold! I guess. It was somethin' I thought of making. Himeka, Wanda and I moved out of the main settlement. After... well, you know. Didn't feel like I could trust the people there.
So now we're livin' out in a big tree we grew. By a lake. Pretty view. I'll show you sometime, maybe.
I figured it needed some amenities. Like an underground sauna. Never had one myself.
So now we're livin' out in a big tree we grew. By a lake. Pretty view. I'll show you sometime, maybe.
I figured it needed some amenities. Like an underground sauna. Never had one myself.
I won't.
[ That's a promise. Jaskier must've learned something about Ciri—and if there's anyone he trusts to tell him the truth, it's his friend.
He returns home quickly. The night is late, the moon bright in the starry sky when he finds Jaskier in their kitchen. His brows are drawn into a frown: uncertain, worried, a dozen expressions merged together. Last time, Jaskier had been the last to experience the onslaught of visions. This time, he is the first. Perhaps the only. Geralt once believed Ciri may have been the cause. Now he understands it is the Singularity.
He still does not know what it means, though. ]
Tell me what you learned.
[Aw, is Geralt gettin' soft on him?
Nero huffs through his nose. But... yeah.]
As much as you can out of a tree. S'nice tree, you know. As far as trees go.
[He's not exactly got a lot of knowledge about trees.]
Better than someone else's farm. Though we totally stole their goat. He's a bastard, but a pretty good guard dog.
Nero huffs through his nose. But... yeah.]
As much as you can out of a tree. S'nice tree, you know. As far as trees go.
[He's not exactly got a lot of knowledge about trees.]
Better than someone else's farm. Though we totally stole their goat. He's a bastard, but a pretty good guard dog.
[He's NEVER admitting this got him to laugh.]
Ooh, watch out, grandpa's got jokes! [And there's a middle finger being sent to him, somehow.] Shut it. Don't be jealous of my goat.
Ooh, watch out, grandpa's got jokes! [And there's a middle finger being sent to him, somehow.] Shut it. Don't be jealous of my goat.
[Oh, by Melitele's sweet, perky little tits, he had been hoping -- and what with all that'd been happening, quite distracted from being so -- he would not be in this position again. All the secrecy and the forbidden knowledge and the this and that. He was quite tired of it already. He had once lived for the world's mysteries, been fascinated with all the corners of the spheres (metaphorically speaking, of course; everyone knows spheres are round), and now Jaskier found himself wanting what,, he had learned, was called a "vacation."
As if living on the Continent was a day job. Er. Perhaps in some ways, it was.
He stirs the pot of heated chocolate and milk, breathing in its sweet scent.]
I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. [He pours the heated drink into two mugs, rather carefully, which rattle together as he lays them at the table.] Even if I feel like my fucking head will erupt from it all. I -- to start, do you even know of any shapeshifters who can stop time? Walk across spheres? Is that even possible?
[Possibly stupid question, considering where they are right now.] She wasn't a dopple, I'm quite sure of that. I've never met a dopple with a right hook that painful.
As if living on the Continent was a day job. Er. Perhaps in some ways, it was.
He stirs the pot of heated chocolate and milk, breathing in its sweet scent.]
I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. [He pours the heated drink into two mugs, rather carefully, which rattle together as he lays them at the table.] Even if I feel like my fucking head will erupt from it all. I -- to start, do you even know of any shapeshifters who can stop time? Walk across spheres? Is that even possible?
[Possibly stupid question, considering where they are right now.] She wasn't a dopple, I'm quite sure of that. I've never met a dopple with a right hook that painful.
[ Geralt uncorks a bottle of whisky with his teeth, pouring it straight into the mug Jaskier slides over. He hums. Shapeshifters? Not what he expected to hear. What the fuck would a shapeshifter that isn't a doppler be doing with Jaskier? ]
What makes you think she walked across spheres?
[ Stopping time is one thing. Walking across spheres is another talent completely. He doesn't know what Jaskier saw, but if there is something else other than Ciri that can open the doors between spheres or access the monolith's power, then...
(The Wild Hunt?)
He has to wonder. How much do these memories of their time on the Continent impact what happens here? In Abraxas. Between fluxes in time and gaps in memories, what does it mean? Why grant them these memories? ]
What makes you think she walked across spheres?
[ Stopping time is one thing. Walking across spheres is another talent completely. He doesn't know what Jaskier saw, but if there is something else other than Ciri that can open the doors between spheres or access the monolith's power, then...
(The Wild Hunt?)
He has to wonder. How much do these memories of their time on the Continent impact what happens here? In Abraxas. Between fluxes in time and gaps in memories, what does it mean? Why grant them these memories? ]
[Any other moment, Jaskier would've called him an uncouth monster for pouring liquor into hot chocolate. But he does steal the bottle and take a straight swig himself.]
Well, to be fair, she simply said she's done it, but after she changed her form three times, and stopped time, and saved my life, and made plants grow out of a sword, I simply decided not to question her about these things too hard, considering I thought she'd eat me.
And... because we're very aware of other esteemed beasts that can cross spheres, aren't we?
[He rubs his fingers together, drawing them away from his mug and into his lap. Not only themselves and Ciri, of course. Unicorns, if one were to believe the funny rumors. And the Wild Hunt.
The Wild Hunt.]
Anyway, she is not really the important part of the story. She is the storyteller. And oh, let me tell you. It was a hell of a doozy. [Yeah, fuck this. He's taking that whisky bottle again.] There's no point in asking if you know of the Seven, because that's why she came to me. She told me a story, and wanted a song made of it. Now, I'm not in the business of disappointing scary women who can kill me, so I did that. And... well, the Seven are... well, a lot.
[And he explains them, rather concisely, because he doesn't think they're that important, in the long run -- not to Geralt, who only cares about the specific things. But it is when he gets to the elf Eredin that he pauses, rubbing his face. How is he supposed to accept that sort of thing? That the Wild Hunt is led by just another man? Another man who was lost to love?] She told me these fucking sad bastards were trapped in this rather... depressing, dead sphere. A sphere of desolate wastes. And that, in time, as they withered, they did not die. And, apparently, found a bunch of bloody horses or something. Can you believe that? [He laughs, but it is small and short and not with humor.] A bunch of angry, betrayed elves. That's who the Wild Hunt is.
Well, to be fair, she simply said she's done it, but after she changed her form three times, and stopped time, and saved my life, and made plants grow out of a sword, I simply decided not to question her about these things too hard, considering I thought she'd eat me.
And... because we're very aware of other esteemed beasts that can cross spheres, aren't we?
[He rubs his fingers together, drawing them away from his mug and into his lap. Not only themselves and Ciri, of course. Unicorns, if one were to believe the funny rumors. And the Wild Hunt.
The Wild Hunt.]
Anyway, she is not really the important part of the story. She is the storyteller. And oh, let me tell you. It was a hell of a doozy. [Yeah, fuck this. He's taking that whisky bottle again.] There's no point in asking if you know of the Seven, because that's why she came to me. She told me a story, and wanted a song made of it. Now, I'm not in the business of disappointing scary women who can kill me, so I did that. And... well, the Seven are... well, a lot.
[And he explains them, rather concisely, because he doesn't think they're that important, in the long run -- not to Geralt, who only cares about the specific things. But it is when he gets to the elf Eredin that he pauses, rubbing his face. How is he supposed to accept that sort of thing? That the Wild Hunt is led by just another man? Another man who was lost to love?] She told me these fucking sad bastards were trapped in this rather... depressing, dead sphere. A sphere of desolate wastes. And that, in time, as they withered, they did not die. And, apparently, found a bunch of bloody horses or something. Can you believe that? [He laughs, but it is small and short and not with humor.] A bunch of angry, betrayed elves. That's who the Wild Hunt is.
Edited 2023-07-08 05:50 (UTC)
[ Geralt perches on a stool while he listens. The tale, he thinks, is indeed a lot. It is also not the important part. Rebel elves, grand heroes, these are things anyone should like their people to be painted as.
But the Wild Hunt. That is worth noting.
He rests his fingers on the lip of his mug. His expression is thoughtful, brows furrowed. After a moment, he takes a breath and exhales. ]
When Ciri opened the portal in Kaer Morhen, we fell into a deadened sphere. A wasteland full of dust. I watched Voleth Meir take up her skeletal steed and rejoin the Wraiths of Mörhogg.
[ She had wanted to return to her people. Who were...what. Once elves of the Continent? Is that what she is then? An elf turned wraith through the sands of time?
He leans forward. Jaskier may consider the story hard to believe, and in a sense, it is. But the pieces fit. Elves trapped, monoliths, doorways, Ciri. ]
Ciri tells me she's been running from the Wild Hunt for years. They've pursued her across realms each time she uses her magic to escape. If what you say is true, then they must want her as a key to return home. Reclaim the Continent.
But the Wild Hunt. That is worth noting.
He rests his fingers on the lip of his mug. His expression is thoughtful, brows furrowed. After a moment, he takes a breath and exhales. ]
When Ciri opened the portal in Kaer Morhen, we fell into a deadened sphere. A wasteland full of dust. I watched Voleth Meir take up her skeletal steed and rejoin the Wraiths of Mörhogg.
[ She had wanted to return to her people. Who were...what. Once elves of the Continent? Is that what she is then? An elf turned wraith through the sands of time?
He leans forward. Jaskier may consider the story hard to believe, and in a sense, it is. But the pieces fit. Elves trapped, monoliths, doorways, Ciri. ]
Ciri tells me she's been running from the Wild Hunt for years. They've pursued her across realms each time she uses her magic to escape. If what you say is true, then they must want her as a key to return home. Reclaim the Continent.
[Jaskier sits up, his eyes intent on Geralt. He knows very well they fell somewhere, and that the three of them would not speak on it, but not where. That... is that evidence that the shapeshifter's words were true?]
She called them another name. The Red Riders. I imagine your dead little sphere was a hellhole of red, wasn't it? It did not sound literal, after all, since they're aren't very red. I mean. Per the stories.
[He drinks, mouth cloying with chocolate.] This was twelve hundred years ago, Geralt. That is a long time to crave home again. To go mad with obsession.
[People hardly needed a century for such madness. Let alone centuries of it.
It does fit together. Elves banished from the Continent, from their people, without knowing what has become of them. Without truly knowing what the coming of humanity, of monsters, will do to the home they left.
They should have no idea, should they? That the Continent is nothing like it once was?] There's something else. The elves... well, the monoliths are dwarven creations -- for making fertile fucking soil! Can you believe that? But the elves were using them. They could be used to portal between each other, but not only that. Between spheres. And if Ciri's blood can force portals to form in the monoliths... I fear you're right. That's exactly what they want her for. Ithlinne's prophecy. It all fucking fits together, Geralt. And what is the Singularity if not another bloody monolith?
She called them another name. The Red Riders. I imagine your dead little sphere was a hellhole of red, wasn't it? It did not sound literal, after all, since they're aren't very red. I mean. Per the stories.
[He drinks, mouth cloying with chocolate.] This was twelve hundred years ago, Geralt. That is a long time to crave home again. To go mad with obsession.
[People hardly needed a century for such madness. Let alone centuries of it.
It does fit together. Elves banished from the Continent, from their people, without knowing what has become of them. Without truly knowing what the coming of humanity, of monsters, will do to the home they left.
They should have no idea, should they? That the Continent is nothing like it once was?] There's something else. The elves... well, the monoliths are dwarven creations -- for making fertile fucking soil! Can you believe that? But the elves were using them. They could be used to portal between each other, but not only that. Between spheres. And if Ciri's blood can force portals to form in the monoliths... I fear you're right. That's exactly what they want her for. Ithlinne's prophecy. It all fucking fits together, Geralt. And what is the Singularity if not another bloody monolith?
Edited 2023-07-08 06:37 (UTC)
[ Yes. It is a long fucking time. Too many centuries to grow twisted with bitterness, obsession, hatred. The Red Riders have gone by many names—but they've always been thought as an omen or a myth until recently. Geralt still does not understand everything, but.
He's beginning to understand enough.
They. And what of the elves of the Continent now? Nilfgaard? How the fuck does Nilfgaard fit into the picture? What do they know?
He sighs again. Puts aside the detail about the dwarves and the monoliths for now. He only has so much information he can sift through at a time. ] I know. I believe the Singularity's presence is protecting or shielding Ciri. The Wild Hunt can't seem to penetrate its immense power to locate her in Abraxas.
[ They may in the Free Cities, and he may harbour no lost love for Thorne, but when it comes down to it, his goal remains the same: to preserve the very structure that is the only thing keeping Ciri safe. ]
This world...it's the first time she's been able to stop running.
He's beginning to understand enough.
They. And what of the elves of the Continent now? Nilfgaard? How the fuck does Nilfgaard fit into the picture? What do they know?
He sighs again. Puts aside the detail about the dwarves and the monoliths for now. He only has so much information he can sift through at a time. ] I know. I believe the Singularity's presence is protecting or shielding Ciri. The Wild Hunt can't seem to penetrate its immense power to locate her in Abraxas.
[ They may in the Free Cities, and he may harbour no lost love for Thorne, but when it comes down to it, his goal remains the same: to preserve the very structure that is the only thing keeping Ciri safe. ]
This world...it's the first time she's been able to stop running.
I don't know much about it, of course, but it doesn't exactly feel dwarven. As much as it's told me, anyway.
[Which isn't much. And he certainly never spoke to any monolith on the Continent. It feels a bit more than coincidence they were pulled into another world using one. It's far too close. It only means the Continent is not the only one with such magicla technology.
For fuck's sake. He really is only a bard. And he still does not know why she chose him, except that is very talented at making those once hated, beloved.
He sets his mug back down, getting up to pace. There is one thing he did not get to yet through the story of the Seven -- the ending, with the storming of the Empress's keep. How it was possible.]
Of course, I think we should stay here. But I do believe you've always insisted that knowing one's enemy is important. [And feeling some misguided pity for the Red Riders, or for the elves, will not change his love for Ciri. He would do anything a bard could to protect her.
And if they should break a prophecy? All the better. That's rather exciting stuff.
Jaskier licks his lips, walking past Geralt. He pauses, then paces again.] There's one other thing. It's... it was the crux of this entire rebellion. Once the Seven discovered they could cross over to other spheres, they... they brought a monster's heart with them. [He stops, and he looks at Geralt, and there is a deep sadness there. The horrid part, he thinks, of what he learned. The worst. This echoing chamber that still holds the cries of children, stained with their splashes of blood and failures. Torn down and replaced with a gilded gold temple.
Jaskier wonders if he should even bring it up, but Geralt himself would say it was his past. Long past. A trial he survived.] They needed a monster to destroy a monster. So they... they made one.
[He sits back down.] From the Trial of the Grasses. And the monster's heart. This elf was the first of his kind. Of your kind.
[Which isn't much. And he certainly never spoke to any monolith on the Continent. It feels a bit more than coincidence they were pulled into another world using one. It's far too close. It only means the Continent is not the only one with such magicla technology.
For fuck's sake. He really is only a bard. And he still does not know why she chose him, except that is very talented at making those once hated, beloved.
He sets his mug back down, getting up to pace. There is one thing he did not get to yet through the story of the Seven -- the ending, with the storming of the Empress's keep. How it was possible.]
Of course, I think we should stay here. But I do believe you've always insisted that knowing one's enemy is important. [And feeling some misguided pity for the Red Riders, or for the elves, will not change his love for Ciri. He would do anything a bard could to protect her.
And if they should break a prophecy? All the better. That's rather exciting stuff.
Jaskier licks his lips, walking past Geralt. He pauses, then paces again.] There's one other thing. It's... it was the crux of this entire rebellion. Once the Seven discovered they could cross over to other spheres, they... they brought a monster's heart with them. [He stops, and he looks at Geralt, and there is a deep sadness there. The horrid part, he thinks, of what he learned. The worst. This echoing chamber that still holds the cries of children, stained with their splashes of blood and failures. Torn down and replaced with a gilded gold temple.
Jaskier wonders if he should even bring it up, but Geralt himself would say it was his past. Long past. A trial he survived.] They needed a monster to destroy a monster. So they... they made one.
[He sits back down.] From the Trial of the Grasses. And the monster's heart. This elf was the first of his kind. Of your kind.
[ The only one who could truly say is Istredd. Perhaps this might be worth bringing to the mage—though not quite yet. Geralt prefers to avoid decisions made in haste.
He nods. No disagreements. He appreciates the information, no matter how uncertain—how nebulous the source. He shifts, meaning to ask Jaskier if he's all right. If there's any other aspect to the memory that isn't to do with a past long forgotten. If Jaskier was in the midst of some bloody conflict...
He remembers Rience. The fire mage.
Then Jaskier continues. Geralt looks up sharply. ] What?
[ He frowns. No. Is that possible? It isn't impossible. The mages must've based their research and findings on something. A lost ritual. An old science. From the elves? ]
The Trials have never been successful on a grown man. [ That's why they chose children for the process. ] Are you saying...?
[ He hesitates. He's not sure what to think. Some memories do not leave. They only grow dull over the years. And sometimes, they return, vividly, brightly. The ritual forced on him down in that place only months ago—
It's stirred the dust back up. He's tried to put it aside. To simply not talk about it. But he knows Jaskier is close enough to him that he must've noticed his disrupted sleep in those weeks following. A little less so now. ]
He nods. No disagreements. He appreciates the information, no matter how uncertain—how nebulous the source. He shifts, meaning to ask Jaskier if he's all right. If there's any other aspect to the memory that isn't to do with a past long forgotten. If Jaskier was in the midst of some bloody conflict...
He remembers Rience. The fire mage.
Then Jaskier continues. Geralt looks up sharply. ] What?
[ He frowns. No. Is that possible? It isn't impossible. The mages must've based their research and findings on something. A lost ritual. An old science. From the elves? ]
The Trials have never been successful on a grown man. [ That's why they chose children for the process. ] Are you saying...?
[ He hesitates. He's not sure what to think. Some memories do not leave. They only grow dull over the years. And sometimes, they return, vividly, brightly. The ritual forced on him down in that place only months ago—
It's stirred the dust back up. He's tried to put it aside. To simply not talk about it. But he knows Jaskier is close enough to him that he must've noticed his disrupted sleep in those weeks following. A little less so now. ]
I don't know if I would call what they did to him successful. [His voice is soft and low; he did not need to know the Lark to know what losing a man she loves would feel like. To watching him sacrifice himself for the good of all.
Love is truly the worst of weapons.]
They were successful in that he was what they needed. And he did destroy the empire's monster. But he... I'm afraid he turned into one himself quickly after. [The silence after says enough: that he was put down like a monster himself, too.] But it all sounded the same. They even called it the Trial of the Grasses. Made him imbibe a potion that led to the -- well. [He wrings his hands together.] You know.
It was different enough that he was not, apparently, infertile while it took place. He impregnated the Lark. I don't know what Seanchaí was trying to imply, but this child they had, a mixture of monster and elf, led to some sort of... bloodline, a lineage. Something, I believe, that must be important to the elves. I don't know if it is the same one that leads to hen ichaer, but... I don't know. If you don't want to wish more, it's all right. I'd understand.
Love is truly the worst of weapons.]
They were successful in that he was what they needed. And he did destroy the empire's monster. But he... I'm afraid he turned into one himself quickly after. [The silence after says enough: that he was put down like a monster himself, too.] But it all sounded the same. They even called it the Trial of the Grasses. Made him imbibe a potion that led to the -- well. [He wrings his hands together.] You know.
It was different enough that he was not, apparently, infertile while it took place. He impregnated the Lark. I don't know what Seanchaí was trying to imply, but this child they had, a mixture of monster and elf, led to some sort of... bloodline, a lineage. Something, I believe, that must be important to the elves. I don't know if it is the same one that leads to hen ichaer, but... I don't know. If you don't want to wish more, it's all right. I'd understand.
Edited 2023-07-10 02:33 (UTC)
Yeah, yeah.
[He can handle Eli. He may be a total son of a bitch, even as goats go, but he and Nero have an understanding. The understanding is that Nero will absolutely throw him in the lake if he has to.
There's a pause. Nero doesn't think hard about it. Doesn't think about how few people he's been able to depend on in his life. And how little time he's really known Geralt in comparison.
Still. He does feel... something. About him.]
Thanks. It's the same, you know. If you need backup.
[He can handle Eli. He may be a total son of a bitch, even as goats go, but he and Nero have an understanding. The understanding is that Nero will absolutely throw him in the lake if he has to.
There's a pause. Nero doesn't think hard about it. Doesn't think about how few people he's been able to depend on in his life. And how little time he's really known Geralt in comparison.
Still. He does feel... something. About him.]
Thanks. It's the same, you know. If you need backup.
[ A silence settles over him. ]
Elder blood. Yes. [ It fits. Doesn't it? ] When Ciri was at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir attempted to replicate the Trials with her blood. The missing ingredient to create more of our kind. I put a stop to it, but...
[ He does not think Vesemir was incorrect in his theory. Only in his actions. In trying to revive what should be laid to rest for good. He doesn't blame Vesemir for being lost in his grief. There's a deep pain in the knowledge that the only way to make more Witchers is to inflict the sort of suffering he wouldn't wish on anyone.
He glances back up, reaching for the whisky. There's probably more liquor than chocolate in his drink by now. He adds another splash. His head fucking hurts. ]
It follows the elf would not have been sterile to start. That facet was introduced by the mages who later created us.
[ For a purpose. Because monsters should not be left to breed amongst their own nor introduce their mutated genes into the population at large. That was the thought. The choices taken away from him run beyond what he was made to become. ]
Elder blood. Yes. [ It fits. Doesn't it? ] When Ciri was at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir attempted to replicate the Trials with her blood. The missing ingredient to create more of our kind. I put a stop to it, but...
[ He does not think Vesemir was incorrect in his theory. Only in his actions. In trying to revive what should be laid to rest for good. He doesn't blame Vesemir for being lost in his grief. There's a deep pain in the knowledge that the only way to make more Witchers is to inflict the sort of suffering he wouldn't wish on anyone.
He glances back up, reaching for the whisky. There's probably more liquor than chocolate in his drink by now. He adds another splash. His head fucking hurts. ]
It follows the elf would not have been sterile to start. That facet was introduced by the mages who later created us.
[ For a purpose. Because monsters should not be left to breed amongst their own nor introduce their mutated genes into the population at large. That was the thought. The choices taken away from him run beyond what he was made to become. ]
Edited 2023-07-10 05:47 (UTC)
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