[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Carcass Isle[/center]
[center]Lvl 7 (131/70) -> +10 Collab Lvl 7 (142/70) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 421 words[/center]

The fact that the entirety of Blue Team was about a literal second from arbitrary time-based death was...unsettling. Not quite existentially horrifying, but it wasn't a pleasant sensation to realize that they'd not only taken the longest of the three groups, but that they'd worried everybody so deeply. Geralt wasn't sure if these suckers were growing on him, or if it was the influence of the Harbor Demon that he'd fused with, but he gave a short bow of his head and apologized. "That creature was...frustratingly clever. Did not of its fighting for itself, but made it fight waves of constructs made from the water itself. If we weren't fighting for our lives, they would have seemed more beautiful." But, they were fighting for their lives, so the damned things were just annoying. 

As the Seekers sought their rest while Blazermate and Kamek patched up the groups' wounds, Geralt tried to do a small bit of meditation, separating from the group just a bit. However, he found that doing so was nigh impossible. Even trying to settle into a proper state of mind was eluding him. Whether that was from lingering adrenaline, or it was some characteristic of this godforsaken place, he couldn't tell, but after a few minutes of futility, Geralt stood up and started stretching instead. 

He'd missed a few conversations that the others were having, but other than Bowser explaining the situation with Master Hand (thus causing him to miss out on some info about Bowser's past), he hadn't even noticed enough to know what kind of conversations he'd missed. In the end it wasn't of exceptional importance to Geralt, who was admittedly being a bit asocial right now, trying to keep himself sharp for the upcoming fight. The Spirits that were being fused with by people hadn't quite interested him, though he had no idea what the Spirits of the other enemies could do, he wasn't one to simply take chances without knowing what he could. The Spirits he'd bonded with were all enemies he'd at least observed directly in combat and had a decent idea of their capabilities. It wouldn't do to fuse with a Spirit and find himself any larger or less nimble. He'd already had to adjust his combat style a bit as it was, as useful as the Breaching Bastion was. 

So, while the others conversed and fused with Spirits, Geralt practiced the blade. The blade maintenance, that was, carefully checking his weapons over to make sure they were in proper working order.