[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Eryth Sea[/center]
[center]Lvl 5 (59/50) -> Lvl 5 (60/50) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 463 words[/center]


Traveling through a multitude of teleportation devices was...unpleasant, to say the least. Geralt found himself near the back of the convoy, partially out of his own reluctance to force himself to endure more of the arcane movement, and partially to keep his stomach from releasing its contents as he slowly trudged along, miserable. Truly, teleportation, portals or no, was the worst method of transportation. If only they had some other way to cross these islands, like that monk's flying machine that he had purposefully crashed into the dragon to try and kill it. 

Sighing, Geralt finally stopped when the group reached their destination, taking a moment to collect himself. "Why does it [i]always[/i] have to be portals and teleportation?" He grumbled, hurrying after the others in time to hear that the group would need to meet back up in an hour so that they could hold a strategy meeting. Well, that suited him just fine, he could finally hide in a corner and meditate a bit. He was feeling exhausted by everything that had gone on, the amount of combat they fought, and the rapid recovery from what could have proved a nasty wound earlier. Even with the help of Blazermate and his own accelerated regeneration, he was feeling a bit worn out. 

While the others hustled and bustled about, Geralt found himself a nice little corner of the building and sat on his knees, toes pointed downward into the ground. His eyes closed and hands at his side, Geralt waited as the hour passed by rapidly, feeling no different than a few minutes. However, his muscles were much more relaxed, every trace of adrenaline was gone from his body, and he felt as thought he'd gotten a few hours' worth of sleeping in. Refreshed and ready to continue, he stood up as the meeting started and listened intently. 

Of all the places mentioned, he [i]refused[/i] to endure another desert. Just the short journey through that one world with Avallach was miserable, and he vaguely recalled Ciri having been saved by a Unicorn from the Korath desert back home. Not happening. 

Geralt looked around, finding the dog-like lady who was acting as receptionist, and sought her out. Surely she'd know if Yennefer or Ciri had come through here.

"Hello there. I had a question to ask before putting myself down to go anywhere. Have you seen a young woman with ashen hair, green eyes, and a curved scar under her left eye? I'm looking for my daughter. I'm also looking for my...well, wife, I suppose. Long, black hair, medium height, smells of lilac and gooseberries." The look on Geralt's face wasn't quite pleading, but there was a quiet sort of desperation borne of the untimely separation from his family he'd endured.