[center][h2]Geralt of Rivia [/h2]
Snowdin
Lvl 15 Geralt (200/140) -> (201/140) 170% OL Charged (Lvl 1)
Word count: 526 words [/center]



As Pelican-1 touched down within the Frozen highlands, Geralt made his way out of the ship after a few of the others. His padding would help keep the chill off his skin, but the metal armor he wore over it wouldn’t do him many favors in this environment. A few of the others had their ways of keeping warm, but for Geralt at least, Edward’s flaming weapon enchantment would keep hypothermia at bay. He’d manage the discomfort for a while, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pick up a scarf or an overcoat of some sort. Sandalphon was already working on that, so after her briefing on their objectives, Geralt piped up.

“I can try to get some information from the locals. Local tavern ought to at least have an idea on how to avoid Baldur if he wanders around this frozen hell. Then we just do the exact opposite of what they say to do.” It was a fairly simple plan, but if it proved insufficient there was plenty more he could do. “As for the mistletoe, it’s fairly distinct. Small, teardrop-shaped green leaves with tiny white berries. It’s parasitic, growing typically on trees in areas with good amounts of sunlight. On the Continent, it was fairly commonly grown by herbalists for use in medicine and poisons, even dyes. Don’t be surprised if you get a funny look asking after it.” 

His part done on informing the group about their proverbial silver dagger, Geralt gestured his head over to the town. “Gonna ask around about Baldur. See if anybody is willing to help a poor, weary traveler avoid the dangerous madman wandering these parts.” He smirked as he turned away from the group, slowly making his way towards Grillby’s and leaving plenty of time for a second to join him. He had no illusions that the locals would see him as dangerous as he was, carrying four swords and wearing half a suit of plate mail. Still, any warrior worth his salt ought to know a fight worth avoiding, and one against an immortal man who slew all he fought was that if any was. He could wear one of the outfits he’d gotten, but they all looked even less pleasant to wear in this weather, so he’d risk it.

Opening the door to the pub, Geralt stepped inside to looks from the locals. He paid them little mind, making his way to the barman, a dapperly-dressed humanoid made entirely of fire. He’d seen plenty of strange things in the World of Light, but…a person literally made [i]entirely out of fire[/i] was not one of them. “Morning.” He greeted simply, taking an empty seat. “Just a coffee, please. Though, could use a word of advice if you have one to spare.” He set down twice as much gold as was needed for the drink before continuing. “Heard there’s some madman wanders round these parts, fighting and killing folk that get in his way. What would be the best way to avoid running into him, aside from just staying indoors the whole time? Got places to see, and can’t afford to wait too long.”