[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]The Maw- The Kitchen[/center]
[center]Lvl 7 (86/70) -> Lvl 8 (87/70) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 245 words[/center]

Geralt had, somehow, missed the two adversarial chef-mages approaching the group via the stairs. That "somehow" was actually incredibly obvious to anybody closely watching the Witcher, as his condition was rapidly deteriorating without adrenaline keeping him moving. That he hadn't noticed their attackers was to be expected, rather than a surprise. He could beat himself up about it later, though, as he tried to stalk towards the Tempura Chefs menacingly, brandishing his nail. 

Geralt managed to stagger their way as if drunk. Bella was in trouble. They'd just helped her, but she was in trouble. Blinking the stars out of his vision, Geralt raised his weapon and his hand, aiming for one of the Tempura Wizards. It took a moment to steady himself, but after that moment came and went Geralt threw his weapon with all his might. 

Given that it managed to "soar" about two feet before crashing to the ground, that wasn't much. As he released it, however, Geralt also began to fall, his knees buckling and his throwing arm curling to help absorb the impact along his forearm in addition to his knees. One didn't get to his age without learning how to take care of those damned things, after all. 

The stars in his vision were replaced by a slowly-encroaching darkness that consumed his sight, and as his consciousness faded, Geralt let out a soft "Hmmm" of contemplation. And a moment later, a thud marked his head plopping onto the ground.