[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]No-Man's Land, Land of Adventure[/center]
[center]Lvl 4 (33/40) -> Lvl 4 (34/40) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 567 words[/center]
[center][@Archmage MC][/center]

Geralt found himself entranced by the flow of combat. Dodge, parry, strike, strike, strike, parry, dodge, dodge, parry, strike! The Primids were hardly a match for him, but they were catching on to that fact. More came at once than previously, and as the fight drew on, Geralt found himself relying heavily on the assistance of his new allies. As they fought to keep the enemies off the Brother Grimm, Geralt slowly focused more on maintaining the line they were holding than wanton slaughter. Rushing off to cut down more of these things wouldn't do any good if they destroyed their vehicle, or worse, surrounded the Witcher. He could fight, and he could even fight well while outnumbered, but it wasn't exactly a habit for the mutant. 

As the veritable army the Bowsers controlled vanished, Geralt found himself glad he'd decided to focus his efforts with the group. Considering that he was now outnumbered a dozen to one by the damn things, even with the others focusing on a chunk of the horde, he was still looking at an uphill battle. "Never easy, of course." The Witcher grunted. 

And then it got worse. A pair of armights flew over the Primids, and Geralt audibly cursed, renewing his Quen shield and readying his sword in both hands. "Come on, you piece of filth!" He challenged the monsters, stepping forward and cutting down one of the Primids before backstepping to avoid a cross-bladed slash from one of the flying monsters. A Primid took the opportunity to lunge with its sword, forcing Geralt to throw himself to the side, lifting his sword through its arms and leaving it to dissolve into a Spirit. 

Returning his attention to the bigger threat, Geralt groaned as the Armight began a series of slashes with its arms, each parry jarring his bones as he diverted the force behind the attacks. Baring his teeth, Geralt dove in towards the monster, stabbing it through the mouth and turning it into a Spirit. 

It was at that point that things went wrong. Geralt's Quen shield burst, and a pair of blades skittered off of his armor harmlessly. 

And then a spurt of blood exploded out of his leg as the second Armight stabbed along his thigh, thankfully not impaling the limb, but still drawing quite a bit of the fluid. 

Cursing again, Geralt stabbed one of the Primids that had attacked him before falling back, calling out to the others. "They're getting through. Might need a little hel-"

And of course, because things always go from bad to worse, Geralt found his sentence cut off as a Trowlon scooped him up onto its body and started rising into the air. Keeping himself from panicking, Geralt stabbed his sword downwards into the creature, eliciting a cry from it as it shook itself, trying to remove its passenger. As he was being shaken about, Geralt struck the thing on its...head?...dazing it for a moment. Pulling his sword free, Geralt punched the creature's head-looking part again, resulting in the two of them slowly descending as consciousness faded from the creature. Indents in its head gave the reason for that. 

The Witcher fell from the attacker unceremoniously as they were about twenty feet up and it faded from existence, leaving behind its Spirit. 

"Whoresons." Geralt spat as he shakily rose, looking around. "Hey, Blazermate...could I get a hand?" He asked hesitantly.