[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Ancestral Farmstead[/center]
[center]Lvl 3 (9/30) -> Lvl 3 (11/30)[/center]
[center]Word Count: 796 words[/center]
[center]Stress Level: 25 (+10 from Sow the Seeds)[/center]

Geralt found himself occupied by a quartet of farmhands insistent upon his death. One wielded a shovel, two had hoes, and the fourth held a sickle in its hand. A quick thought gave Geralt his plan of attack. 

Dodging and deflecting blows until the one with the sickle swung at him, Geralt caught the thing's arm just before the wrist, taking advantage of the weapon's shorter haft which had forced his enemy closer. Silver burst from the creature's back, and Geralt shoved the crystallizing body at its allies before jumping at them and parrying a botched hoe swing. His blade nicked the tool's haft, sending a small vibration through Geralt, one which he ignored as he stepped into the farmhand's personal space and smashed its nose with the pommel of his sword. 

Stepping back, Geralt plunged his weapon into the crystal below him, removing his weapon from the destroyed 'corpse' just as a shovel swung through the air where he'd just been nary a moment ago. These enemies were inconvenient, that was for sure. He had to be sure to destroy their bodies, lest they become an even bigger issue than they were in life. 

Readying his sword once more, Geralt danced between attacks, one of the hoes clipping his lower leg but doing little more than leaving a bruise beneath his greaves. Geralt took the farmhand's temporary loss of balance as an opportunity to strike, scoring a deep gash into the strange, cursed-looking humanoid with his blade, one which bled noticeably. Remembering the strange pendant he received from the large fishman's spirit, Geralt nodded to himself. "Good to see it's got some use." He mumbled, stepping back and changing his priority to the enemy wielding the shovel. 

Said enemy jabbed their farming implement directly at Geralt's chest, and Geralt deflected the blow to the side when all of a sudden, a burst of crystals clattered into his face. Stepping back, Geralt coughed as he felt an unfamiliar feeling well up inside him: he was...sick? Poisoned? 

The damned pendant! Of [i]course[/i] these things were using poison just after he'd acquired something that made him more vulnerable to poison. Still, he didn't feel overly bothered, just...a little unwell. Like he'd taken a small cut during a fight, was all. He'd taken worse than this and come out feeling better. 

His momentary distraction cost him, however, and a hoe crashed into his chest, sending him stumbling back once more with a snarl on his face. He wasn't quite ready to cast a sign again, and Igni sure would have been useful right about now. However, Geralt did the next best thing: he drew his hunting knife and prepared to use it as a sort of parrying dagger. It wouldn't be perfect, but it was better than catching the haft of a hoe being swung with force on his arm. 

It proved unnecessary with the next attack that came his way, however, as Geralt pivoted to the side and brought his sword up, removing the farmhand's arm just below the elbow. The creature stumbled, looked at him confusedly, and collapsed in on itself, transforming into a crystal. At the same time, the farmhand he'd gashed fell to the floor, looking exhausted as it to transformed into a crystalline bomb. 

That left one. Geralt snarled as he charged the final farmhand, which raised its hose defensively and tried to shove the Witcher as he tackled them both to the ground. On top of his opponent this time, Geralt stabbed it in the chest with his hunting knife, pried the hoe out of its hands with his now free hand, and drew the blade of his sword along its throat, opening a lethal wound in the final farmhand. 

Removing his knife as he stood, Geralt stabbed the crystal below him with his sword, destroying it. He quickly set about destroying the other two, striking with his blade once more. 

Satisfied that he was finished with the farmhands, Geralt looked back on the fight before him, now consciously taking in the changed atmosphere. The sky had now changed to a more welcoming golden-yellowish hue, and the battlefield was clearing up rather well. The poison Geralt had been inflicted with had left him slightly weaker than he'd otherwise have been after what was still a good fight against the farmhands, but it was still the hit from the Brachydios that had wounded him the most, Quen Sign or no. 

Making his way back to their oversized enemy, Geralt watched as Linkle attacked the monster with some strange, blocky-looking bow while just....standing there. It took him a moment to notice the churned-up earth between her and the Brachydios. [i]Huh, clever girl. Using them against each other. Not a bad plan at all.[/i]