[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia and Sabrewulf[/center][/h2]
[center]Land of Adventure[/center]
[center]Lvl1 (5/10) -> Lvl 1 (8/10)[/center]
[center]Word Count: 1,798 words[/center]
[center]This was a collab done with [@Lugubrious][/center]

The rap of Geralt’s fist echoed through musty, empty corridors and up dusty stairs. Despite the relative lightness of his contact, the door shook in a way that suggested neither bar nor bolt. If he so chose, Geralt could simply walk right in. A minute’s wait resulted in no response to his entreaty, an eventuality as disappointing as it was predictable. Yet, the smoke spiraling upward from the chimney suggested someone’s presence, perhaps to be found in the workshop the Witcher caught a faint glimpse of on the little castle’s second floor.

“This is a terrible idea…” Geralt muttered to himself as he reached out and pushed against the door, wondering why he always did these things. They almost never ended well. He was asking for a fight by doing this.

Moving cautiously, Geralt made his way through the interior. No winding labyrinth, it provided a straight path down the main hall, its handful of small side chambers all readily viewable thanks to their open -if not torn off- doors. A few, with purposes more in line with the wellbeing of whatever lowly viscounts might once have inhabited the place, had gone to ruin. In fact, the current tenant of the place seemed wholly dedicated to functional rather than formal affairs, judging by the neglect or outright damage of paintings, furniture, and the like. In one room, about halfway between the parlour and the curved staircase, Geralt found a supply of his sought-after wolfsbane among a collection of other herbs and gathered materials, few of which proved recognizable. He could not tarry long before his ascent, however, and with nerves at the ready Geralt soon reached the second floor.

There, an expansive alchemical laboratory awaited him. Full of devices, tomes, apparati, and random items, it was a dangerous mess, but nothing so much as the creature bent over a desk on the far side, next to a surgical rack. Wind flooding in from the open balcony wafted the Witcher’s scent his way, and after seizing up for an instant the [url=https://giantbomb1.cbsistatic.com/uploads/scale_small/18/187968/2567823-7527872459-qRB3B.jpg]werewolf[/url] turned his way with a snarl. His keen eyes recognized the intruder as a threat, but the beast did not attack, nor did he flee. Instead, he bared his teeth as a warning for Geralt to turn back.

Putting out a single arm in a halting gesture, Geralt stared down the werewolf. “Hold, not here to fight. Just wanted to talk, see if there’s a…peaceful solution to this. People have put out a contract for you. From what I heard, though, you’re not what they think you are.” The Witcher didn’t find himself intimidated by the beat-like creature in front of him, but he wasn’t entirely confident that this wouldn’t end in a fight, either. He just hoped that his counterpart was equally interested in a bloodless end to the drama.

A bitter look crossed the werewolf’s ugly, blue-furred face, albeit hard to identify thanks to his inhuman features. He relaxed his jaw a touch, then placed one clawed mitt against his throat. Someone as cunning as Geralt could put the simple gesture together: this monster’s physiology wasn’t built for speaking. Much plainer, however, was the wolf’s clear distaste for it. With formal human pants crammed on and braided locks of fur on his head, Sabrewulf evidenced a clear wish to be more human. As Geralt watched, his muscles twitched, and with a growl the beast reached for a bottle of murky yellow liquid on the desk and greedily swallowed it down. Then, a shoving motion, urging the Witcher to get lost.

Geralt sighed at the rejection. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for idle chit chat, not that such a thing was possible for him, apparently. Geralt assumed it was a ‘him’, that is. Shaking his head, Geralt tried reasoning with him. “They’ll only keep coming. Surely you know that? If I’m right, you won’t be gone with the week’s end, and that’ll only make them more curious. Maybe they’ll figure it out and leave you alone, but most folk...aren’t that type. They see a monster in front of them and they yell for the brave heroes to kill it, to save them.” 

A rattle escaped the wolf--or was it a sigh? Either way, his manner suggested he knew the reality of his condition all too well. Just how long had this man been like this…?

He seemed to deflate a bit. “If you really want me to leave, I’ll go and spin some tale. But if you’d prefer...I might be able to help. Curses are powerful magic, sure, but I’ve broken plenty of ‘em in my time. Wouldn’t be easy, given that you can’t talk, but...I’ve dealt with harder, I dare say.” He took a step back and crossed his arms across his chest, giving the werewolf his leave to respond as it saw fit.

The instant Geralt mentioned breaking a curse, Sabrewulf turned his full attention on him. Seizing a scrap of perchment, he dipped his claw in an inkvat and scrawled something before sprinting the Witcher’s way on all fours. With an earnest grunt the monster thrust the parchment in Geralt’s face. [i]What do you know?[/i] it read, in a barely-legible affront to the English language.

Geralt’s face screwed up a bit at the question. Deciding to be honest, he shook his head. “Each curse is different. No way will work twice, it all depends on what originally made you this way. If I can figure that out, though...well, I’ve done it before. You’d be the third werewolf I can recall breaking the curse on.” His voice tinged with optimism, Geralt nodded confidently. 

A dubious noise issued from the wolf, who made his way back to his desk and quickly wrote something else out. [i]Disease, lycanthropy,[/i] it read. Geralt could also read Sabrewulf’s blood pumping faster, the excitement of a twinge of hope egging on his heart.

Geralt’s head cocked at that. “Wait, disease? Not a curse? Damn, can’t be thinking of home at a time like this, different worlds must have different rules. Alright, can you tell me how long you’ve been this way? Or how you contracted it in the first place? I can still work from there, alchemy’s another strong suit of mine. Might be I could cook up some potion or some other treatment for you.” 

He started looking around the lab, taking note of what he’d seen downstairs and what he was looking at now. Was this werewolf using wolfsbane to treat himself? If so, it was a clever, if risky, attempt at a treatment. Not that its regeneration would be slowed by anything other than direct blood exposure to the plant.

To answer Geralt’s questions, Sabrewulf first held up his claws, flashing ten, then ten, then ten again, then again and again and again. His reply might not have been the most accurate, but the implication was there: a long time. Were he able to speak, he’d be able to recite what he heard from the mechanical CEO of Ultratech: his was the longest-running and worst-suffering lycanthropic existences on record. After a brief pause, he addressed Geralt’s second question by viciously biting the air and then grasping his throat. The move left some ambiguity, but the Witcher could infer that he’d been bitten by a werewolf himself.

Geralt nodded, his brows furrowing in thought. “So...another werewolf made you this way. I wonder how it came to become a werewolf, or how far it goes back. Where I’m from, werewolves come from curses, powerful magic based in ritual and belief. By tracking the origin of that curse and destroying it, or performing some ritual, you can break the curse. Happens with other creatures, too, but those aren’t important...or...hmm. An old myth about vampires says that if you kill the master vampire, the one who turned the others, you can free the people in their thrall. Wonder if it’d work for you. Do you know who bit you?” Geralt was starting to get on a roll, chin in his hand as he thought up potential solutions.

Looking helpless and frustrated, Sabrewulf gave a loose shrug. Abruptly he left Geralt and padded over to a board of pinned-up papers and pointed out a sketch of another [url=https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/darkstalkers/images/d/dd/Darkstalkers_Resurrection_Jon_Talbain_01.png/revision/latest?cb=20121122174731]werewolf[/url]. It also wore pants, and sported long, flowing fur. Clearly, Sabrewulf had enough time to think of just about everything related to his condition.

Geralt gave the sketch a close look, but all he saw was a werewolf wearing different pants. Sure, if given some time he could really memorize the look, but...well, a werewolf wearing pants was a pretty unique descriptor already. Geralt was sure he’d be able to tell the difference between the two if he really needed to. Nodding, Geralt looked at the werewolf in front of him. “Do you have any idea of where he might be? I could go looking for him, maybe even...deal with him for you. Unless you’d prefer to do that yourself, that is.” He figured he’d at least offer the choice. 

Though his features masked his expression, it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to tell that Sabrewulf was giving Geralt a strange look. Why in the world would someone just waltz along and try to be such a hero? The man seemed to be going out of his way to help Sabrewulf, even if he harbored no clue as to how to actually remedy his condition. While a cooperative spirit who wouldn’t try to kill him provided a breath of fresh air, it was apparent that Geralt couldn’t ultimately aid in Sabrewulf’s goal. The beast gave a resigned murmur and scratched out on a piece of paper ‘Thank you but not help. Do what you like’, going as far as to work in capital letters.

Geralt sighed. It wasn’t uncommon that people didn’t want his help, or thought that he couldn’t help them. In this case, though...the werewolf might actually have been right. This was a different kind of situation than he was used to dealing with. Sure, maybe with time and research he could figure out some way to suppress the lycanthropy, but he didn’t quite have the luxury of sticking around to cure somebody who’d already given up hope. He had to find his way home.

“I’d like to take that sketch of yours. See if I can’t track him down myself and get some answers.” Geralt figured that it was the least he could do, see if he ran into the other werewolf during his travels. 

Sabrewulf obliged him, then returned to his work. There would be no balm for him this day, but meeting with someone who displayed a genuine want to help made him feel ever so slightly better. What to do next, however, lay with Geralt.