[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Land of Adventure[/center]
[center]Lvl 4 (30/40) -> Lvl 4 (31/40) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 443 words[/center]

Geralt spent much of the time the group had preparing. In this case, he was carefully piecing together a few new Grapeshot bombs. As one might expect, making a grenade was delicate work. One had to properly gauge the amount of explosives, the amount of shrapnel, properly wick the fuse, make sure it stayed securely within the bomb. Additionally, preparing the shell to crack at the right level of force to prematurely detonate the bomb on impact always required especially careful consideration. 

As he concentrated on his craft, Geralt thought back to his conversation with Tora. He wondered what kind of weapon the...ball thing...would produce for him? He imagined it would be similar to his crossbow, but also wouldn't be surprised if the little thing got overly excited (he seemed like the kind of person to do so) and made him something like what the Courier fellow carried. More like a full-sized crossbow. While he could absolutely use such a thing, he preferred to have a hand free in case he needed to use one of his Signs. 

Still, if it was anything like the other weapons that were being used, whatever he got would likely represent a [i]massive[/i] increase in his ability to fight effectively. Those things were like what crossbows were to the sling. An army equipped with them could take a city in a day. 

He was almost [i]excited[/i] about this. It was an odd feeling, to be excited about a weapon like this. To be excited about a fight was one thing, but just a weapon itself? It was strange. It also was rather unimportant in the grander scheme of things. They had to get together, fight this other, likely even more terrible monster, and slowly fight their way to killing the sun-god thing. Galeem. 

Of course he'd gone and gotten himself into another mess like this. Of fucking [i]course[/i] he had. He could just imagine Yennefer sarcastically commenting on it all while he just shrugged. That was Geralt's problem. Sure, he was a Witcher. Sure, he was the Butcher of Blaviken. 

But he was still, in fact, a person. A person who, despite everything, seemed to still care about helping people in need. And if some horrible monster was enslaving millions, well, what greater need could there be? 

Sighing, Geralt finished his bombs, now up to a grand total of 5, and made his way back to the area they'd agreed to meet at. Noticing those already gathered, Geralt gave a nod of greeting, then looked to Tora. "How's everything coming along?"

A golem. That's what Tora reminded him of. A tiny, furry, mechanically-inclined golem.