[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Lumbridge, Land of Adventure -> Ancestral Steppe[/center]
[center]Lvl 3 (4/30) -> Lvl 3 (6/30)[/center]
[center]Word Count: 796 words[/center]
[center]Stress Level: 15[/center]

Geralt simply followed along as the group finished their meals and exited the mess hall, leaving his plate and utensils behind for the guild's staff to take care of. He pitied them a bit for having to clean up after such a massive feast, but that was the life of servitude: some people hunted monsters for others' safety, some people cleaned their plates so that they could eat again later. 

He'd noticed that Linkle left with Euden, but didn't think much of it. Clearly she saw something she liked, and he had [i]no[/i] desire to get himself involved in that. 

Her return, and more specifically her new appearance, came as more of a shock. He'd heard what those spirits could do, but seeing someone so....drastically changed....it reminded him of the Trials of the Grasses. He did [i]not[/i] like that. Nobody deserved such a thing. [i]Nobody.[/i]

She didn't seem to be particularly distraught about the change, though. If anything, she seemed happy. How odd. He and the other Witchers had no choice in the matter. They were taken, as children no less, and forced through grueling training that made even the most elite Nilfgaardian warriors seem like children playing at knighthood. Then, if they survived, they were forced onto racks and pumped so full of mutagens and monster essences that it tore their bodies apart from the inside and forced them to adapt or die. 

Then there were the...[i]extra[/i]...experiments that he endured. He almost felt a pinprick of self-pity thinking about it again. He crushed it, however. It wasn't necessary. Especially not with another Quest at hand. Bowser wanted them.

"Your glorious majesty, we are ready to serve." Geralt answered sarcastically, falling in line nonetheless. He was a bit surprised at Bowser's care for his so-called 'minions', however. Usually big evil kings and lords were a bit less....proactive in caring for their soldiers and retainers. It was almost heartwarming for the giant spiky turtle-looking thing to ask them to come to be taken care of like children with bloody calluses. 

Feeling his forehead, Geralt was pleased that the gash he'd received was already mostly healed, with a scab in its place. He hadn't bled much in a while, too, so the scab was probably old. He'd be fine soon enough, perhaps even before they arrived to take down this 'Mr. F'. That was probably just wishful thinking, though.

As they approached, Geralt hoped for a moment to ask Linkle about what happened, but he didn't quite get the chance. The Cadet, however, sure took up plenty of his time, checking again and again to be sure they'd really, definitely never met. He recognized the style of weapon the man carried, sure, but his face didn't bring even an inkling of recognition. He'd only been in that world for a short while, anyway. Once the Leshen was taken care of, he was lucky enough to find his own way home, as well. 

Their method of transportation was similarly attention-grabbing, but....Ciri had mentioned something like that, hadn't she? Carriages drawing themselves, some even flying through the air? People modified in mysterious and strange ways, but they were treated the same as anybody else was. He supposed it made sense that something like that existed, even if it wasn't....quite as amazing as she'd made it seem. It was still something he'd likely never see after he left this place, this....strange combination of worlds. 

And it became even more strange as they reached the Ancestral Steppe and left their transport behind. The landscape changed, strange crystals grew everywhere, and the silence.....Geralt knew they were close just from that.

As they finally approached, Geralt's eyes narrowed as he saw their prey: the Brachydios. It reminded him of the things that lived in the Cadet's world. Gargantuan in size, powerful in build, and decidedly [i]not[/i] something he wanted to fight head-to-head. 

And then The Thing From the Stars pierced the veil of silence, its scream decidedly unpleasant to say the least. Something inside Geralt revolted, and he felt a measure of unease, along with an unpleasant but not unfamiliar emotion: [i]fear.[/i]

Thankfully, he wasn't alone. The Centurion, Agoston, and the Cadet both charged ahead, Geralt following behind the latter, cutting down one of the strange, altered humans that the man in front of him had shoved aside. Taking advantage of its companions' reaction, he weaved through them and came up on the Cadet. "Kid, I got something for that slinger thing of yours." Pulling out a grapeshot bomb, Geralt passed it to his ally before taking a ready stance. 

"Bowser! Something tells me this is your kind of fight!" He shouted to their self-declared leader. "Kid, how do we kill this thing?" He asked Cadet as well.