[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.
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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.