[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Spiral Mountain, Land of Adventure[/center]
[center]Lvl 5 (8/50) -> Lvl 5 (19/50) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 546 words[/center]

When Geralt came out from behind the ice barrier, he was met with a mixed bag of a surprise. The last of the snipers were dead. That was good because he avoided being turned into a trophy. That was bad because it demonstrated, yet again, the clear gap in power between himself and his allies. Sure, he made it to the tower. Sure, he was able to help wear Link down. Sure, he could have even take one or two them out had he been given the chance. 

But that was the thing; he [i]hadn't[/i] been given the chance. Even with Link, that kid had a treasure trove of amazing abilities up his sleeve to keep himself alive and put down his enemies. He wouldn't have stood a chance solo. Maybe in a straight swordfight, but that was still up in the air. Kid really had it in him. 

Still, wasn't worth getting worked up over. There'd be plenty of opportunities to get more power. Speaking of which, the Witcher fished inside his bag for the spirit he'd grabbed from that giant fish-monster. Frowning, he looked harder, only to recall something he'd been taught: Spirits vanished after a while. Cursing to himself, Geralt continued fishing through his bag. He found those weird sticker things, and sighed. He didn't have the luxury of messing around anymore. He needed to make sure he could handle whatever was thrown at them next. Grabbing the stickers, he slapped the sword one on his sword, and the regular one on his arm, affixing it carefully to his armor. The effect was barely noticeable, no more than a [i]feeling[/i] that he was a little better at what he did. He felt that he could fight a little more effectively. It would have to do. 

He also remembered the helmet. It couldn't hurt much, could it? He was fit enough that the weight would barely be noticeable, especially on top of how much he already had on him. Plus, it didn't seem like it would impact his ability to look around much. Still, his combat style revolved around being as maneuverable as possible, and the giant crest on the top of it would definitely mess with his movements here and there. And he wouldn't risk just breaking it off here and now, not with the risk of damaging the helmet. Maybe he'd ask the others if they wanted it. 

That left the few remaining Spirits he still had, from the fight last night. The weird...mutated people. Wielding his favorite weapons: [i]farming implements[/i]. 

Linkle had also helpfully reminded him, and maybe some of the others, about how to use the Spirits, in explaining things to Link. He certainly wasn't going to put [i]these[/i] things inside him. Monster decoctions were one thing, carefully distilled essences they were, but an entire mutated person? No. Not happening. 

So he crushed them in his hand. It was better than letting them disappear. He could sell their gear if he didn't need it, or give it to one of their allies. 

And now, it was nearly time to go. Everybody was preparing for the next stage of this wonderful adventure. A small part of him was almost starting to [i]enjoy[/i] this, too. Ugh. Typical.