[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Ancestral Farmstead[/center]
[center]Lvl 3 (8/30) -> Lvl 3 (9/30)[/center]
[center]Word Count: 588 words[/center]
[center]Stress Level: 15[/center]

Geralt hadn't expected Euden to come blazing in from the skies to carve a chunk out of the Brachydios' tail just before he went to swing. Geralt hadn't expected his own blow to remove the monster's tail outright. He [i]certainly[/i] hadn't expected the Cadet to attach himself to the monster and ride it like an unbroken stallion, getting knocked around but holding firm. [i]Man, what do they feed those guys over there?[/i] Geralt casually wondered as he attempted to bob and weave out of the way of the monster's erratic stomping.

He was unsuccessful, however, and a massive foot slammed into his body, flinging him back while both shattering his Quen shielding, and absolutely [i]smothering[/i] him with sticky, explosive goo. Geralt rolled once, twice, and a third time before halting his own momentum and shakily standing, scooping a handful of goo off his armor. "Ugh, that's just disgusting..." Remembering the Cadet's warning as well as what happened to Bowser, Geralt made removing this goo his focus. He had to contend with more farmhands attacking him now that he was pushed away from the giant saurian monster, though, and it was hardly ideal to try and clean himself off while dodging sickles, hoes and shovels. 

Still, he was used to this. Fighting humanoids was simple, compared to remembering all the different types of monsters he'd come across, where they were weakest, what concoctions and blade poisons were deadliest to them, and other such information that made his life easier. No, humanoids were simple: cut them apart and they'd die quick enough. He wasn't sure if these crystal-bearing things were any different, but he could always just find out. It wasn't like he was in any real danger, unless-

Yep, that was a pitchfork. 

Whoresons. Geralt stumbled backwards, the goo impacting his agility more than he expected it to, and the farming implement stuck into his armor, the angle catching it in the chain mail and sending both Witcher and strange, mutated farmhand falling to the ground, one atop the other. "You're a lot uglier up close," Geralt muttered while drawing his hunting dagger and plunging it into the farmhand's exposed neck, green energy pouring out as the thing folded in on itself, threatening to crush Geralt under its weight. 

Forcing himself out from underneath the creature, Geralt rubbed his arm against the crystal that formed, some more goo coming off of him. The distraction that the farmhand provided was more than he could afford, however, and after a moment of sparking, the goo exploded, sending Geralt back to the ground, coughing and a little bloody. 

Kid wasn't kidding, that shit hurt. His ears were ringing just a little, and Geralt was lucky enough that the other farmhands hadn't yet advanced on him, but he wasn't taking any chances. Grabbing his sword from the ground, Geralt stabbed it into the crystal, which shattered harmlessly at the attack. 

He was out of time, as the other farmhands descended upon him angrily, making eldritch noises and swinging their weapons. A parry here, a quick cut there, and he was already back near the Brachydios, albeit with more farmhands on his back. Damn. 

"Keep that thing busy and I'll keep these Whoresons off your backs!" He called out to the others. While they'd mostly been able to avoid interference from the strange enemies so far, Geralt's blunder could have exposed their backs, and that would have been unacceptable. He wasn't dead weight, and he wasn't gonna let the kids get hurt on his watch, either.