While Geralt's attack was effective, it wasn't nearly so much as he'd hoped. This thing....it was like it didn't have muscles or tendons underneath that armor. That wasn't natural, but these beasts were hardly anything he'd dealt with before. Even in that world, he stuck to dealing with the Leshen, and then he was gone.
The Brachydios responded to his slash with a series of rampaging fists pounding into the earth as it charged towards him. A slow, predictable move like that was almost insulting. Timing his movement so that the monster didn't have enough time to adjust its trajectory at its speed, he dove through the air, immediately rolling as his body touched the ground. He was surprised to find that he was closer to being hit than he'd originally expected, but he managed to escape the attack unscatched, thankfully. It was unlikely he'd have been able to dodge had that been an outright punch, though.
Geralt, standing, nodded to himself as Euden called out his plan: keep the beast distracted so he could transform. Getting that dragon on their side, if even just for a moment, would turn the tides of their fight. He hadn't been paying attention to the other fight, but he did notice when that other, dangerous man from Lumbridge appeared, launched himself into the air off of his Chocobo, summoned some kind of strange huge lobster-crab hybrid abomination to jump off of, and then summoned an iron golem from thin air, as a stepping stone before unleashing a torrent of fire from some kind of explosive crossbow into its face.
What.
Shaking off the shock from what he just witnessed, Geralt took advantage of the opportunity that bought him. Quickly drawing the symbol for Quen, he smirked as the familiar protective field came into being around him. He then ran up towards the Brachydios again, making sure to quickly step back from its swinging tail before charging in to try to remove the appendage outright. That would surely get its attention.
Geralt grunted as a wave of fire exploded out from Bowser, turning his body to take the resulting shockwave over his side. "Ah, damn that hurt!" He called out, shaking his body as he moved towards the Brachydios. The flames hurt, sure, but they went by quickly enough that he'd likely only have a few light burns under his armor, which would heal quickly enough anyway.
He did get to watch Bowser be absolutely pummeled by the larger monster, losing at least one tooth and a decent amount of blood, while being covered in that explosive slime the cadet had warned them about. While it was humorous watching the overgrown turtle-beast-man wipe himself off with those weird crystal people, the explosion that immediately followed it hurt just to witness.
Ignoring Bowser's predicament for the moment, Geralt paid attention to what the Cadet was saying. Hit the legs, knock it down, weaken the arms and face. Coulda figured that one myself, but any advice is better than none I guess.
While the Cadet ran directly at their quarry to get its attention, Geralt danced around and through the crystallized farmhands, removing limbs and parrying weapons as he did. He had no desire to get impaled by a pitchfork again, thank you, and took extra care to avoid those.
The kid would buy him enough time to get around them without getting turned into paste, right? He was a professional, like that other guy, the Azure Star or whatever? Yeah, definitely. He'd be fine. Geralt could avoid the pitchfork dudes.
As he got closer, the Cadet managed to reach the monster and fire his grapeshot bomb directly into its face, which Geralt took as the opportunity to charge in and aim his sword for the back of its leg.
I also am done. Round about 1850 words or so. Might've been able to stretch it more for that sweet sweet EXP, but meh. It worked as it was, IMO. No point dragging it out.
Geralt awoke with a start as his body landed hard on the ground, letting out a pained groan as his eyes opened to the unwelcome sight of a swirling portal above him. “Wha?” He let out before pushing off the floor and looking around, his surroundings oddly familiar to him. “Wait, is this…”
“Kaer Morhen? Yes, Geralt, how observant of you to recognize your home for how many years?” The familiar voice of Yennefer answered sarcastically.
“Ugh. Hell of a wake-up, Yennefer. Couldn’t have put the portal over a bed? A pile of straw? Eskel, even?” Geralt joked.
“No, Geralt, given that Eskel hasn’t been seen around here since the Wild Hunt attacked and…” Yennefer trailed off, and Geralt detected a touch of sadness, maybe even remorse.
“You mean Vesemir.” He finished for her. “Speaking of, how’s Ciri doing? She around?” At the question, Yennefer’s spirits brightened noticeably.
“I believe you mean Her Majesty Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” Geralt rolled his eyes at her snark.
“Ah, yes, how could I have possibly made such a disrespectful mistake? Yennefer, I didn’t even give her father that much respect. And I practically raised the girl, I’m not going to call her ten different names.” He complained.
Yennefer rolled her eyes in response. “I’m just saying that you need a touch more…refinement…when it comes to the upper echelons of society. Sorceresses don’t get by on just snark.” She only got a blank look from Geralt.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Looking around the room for the first time since he’d awakened, Geralt frowned. “But why Kaer Morhen, anyway? We’ve avoided this place since Vesemir died.” The look Yennefer gave him was hardly a kind one.
“Because, Geralt, despite your…reasons….for not wanting to be here, Kaer Morhen is still easily defensible, it has quite a lot of open space, and I needed us to have…privacy.” That piqued Geralt’s interest.
“Oh? Whatever would we need privacy for?” He asked, stepping closer to his beloved.
“Something involving…a unicorn.” Yennefer replied, a smolder in her voice. “After you bathe.” Turning away suddenly and grabbing a towel, she tossed it harshly at the Witcher, wrinkling her face. “You smell absolutely horrendous. Whatever have you been doing while you were gone? Actually, on second thought…I don’t want to know. I’ll just assume you were fighting some dreadful sea beast.”
“That….is actually exactly what happened. Wait, how long was I gone?” Geralt asked, ignoring the comment about his stench. He knew he wasn’t exactly the most pleasant-smelling Witcher out there.
“I must admit, it’s quite nice to not have some…grand adventure pulling us away from enjoying ourselves.” Yennefer sighed.
“Have to agree. No wake, no Trial of the Grasses to prepare…no grand battle in the evening. We can actually relax for once.” Geralt agreed, sitting up in the bed.
“I noticed you’ve a few new scars. Must’ve been quite the place you ended up in.” Yennefer kissed his back, finger trailing along one of said new scars.
“I wound up in this place the locals called the ‘Land of Adventure.’ All sorts of folk were raring to go off and fight monsters and beasts for the local ‘guild’, they called it.” Geralt found himself recalling Lumbridge fondly, despite the short amount of time he’d spent there, looking forward to coming home. “They treated me like I was some sort of hero there. It was terrible, people would crowd me and ask me to sign paper for them, even bothered me when I was just trying to eat sometimes!”
“You were popular. How quaint. They must never have seen you angry.” Yennefer now had her arms around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Almost prefer folk scowling and crossing the street when they walk past.” Geralt mumbled. “It’d be less of a hassle to just ignore ‘em. Hard to get anything done when you’ve got a mob around you that you can’t fight past.”
Yennefer lifted her head off his shoulder and chuckled. “What a brute. You’d cut down your adoring fans?”
“Long as they left me alone afterwards.” Geralt sarcastically replied. “So…I was wondering how long I was gone before you interrupted me. Not that I minded.” Yennefer chuckled again.
“Oh I’m sure you didn’t mind. You’ve not been gone overly long, only about three weeks. Ciri’s taken to her duties as Empress…but she was upset. When she came out of that tower, you were gone. She thought she’d killed you, Geralt. Avallac’h actually told her that you still lived, gave her hope…and then he left, too, back to his home. She was distraught, but the knowledge that you’d survived kept her going these past weeks. Emhyr’s already abdicated. She’s officially the Empress of the Nilfgaardian Empire.”
Geralt shook his head and turned to Yennefer in shock. “I…didn’t think you were serious. I’m gone three weeks and she’s taken over Nilfgaard?” He sighed. “I guess it’s better her than Emhyr, though…”
“I’m going to miss her, too, Geralt.” Yennefer sounded sad as she tried to comfort Geralt, who sighed.
“I just wish I’d been there to see her off. Would’ve been nice…” Yennefer hugged Geralt around his chest.
“If you must, you can see her at any time, you know. She’s not too busy for her father figure.” Kissing the side of his head, Yennefer climbed out of the bed and began putting on her clothes. “I unfortunately do have some matters to attend to, however. Eskel was right about one thing when we were here: this place is in serious disrepair. I know you all decided not to stick around, but there is an abundance of information that I could study in this place. I simply couldn’t leave it behind.”
Geralt stood, more than a little displeased. “I hope you don’t mean anything to do with the Trial of the Grasses.” Yennefer, for her part, scoffed.
“We destroyed those notes, Geralt, and even I’d not put a child through what you went through. I sometimes wish you didn’t have so low an opinion of me.” His face softened, and he stepped forward to embrace her.
“Yennefer, I love you. But you’re not the kindest person at times. I know I’m no saint myself, but I need to be sure no more Witchers are ever made. It’s evil.” It was a bit surprised when Yennefer embraced him back, to be sure, but Geralt smiled against her neck before they separated. “I trust you, though. If you say that’s not what it’s for, then I’ll believe you.”
“Thank you, Geralt. It’s actually your potions. I’ve been thinking of ways to dilute them, make them suitable for human consumption. As it is, your…Swallow, was it? Is a lethal poison to anybody but a Witcher. But if we could manage to make them less concentrated….”
It had been a week since Geralt had awakened at Kaer Morhen, a week of research, collecting alchemical ingredients, and debauchery, before Yennefer asked Geralt if he’d like to leave to see Ciri. “Of course I want to see her, Yennefer. But she’s the Empress, we can’t just stroll into the palace and demand an audience.”
“Whyever not, Geralt? We’re practically her parents, and I happen to be a well-known and respected Sorceress. Any guard would be a fool to stand in our way.” Geralt shook his head.
“Rather not cause a diplomatic incident, Yennefer.” On seeing his face, the Sorceress smirked.
“Geralt, have you been putting off seeing your beloved Cirilla because you don’t want to get dressed up again? You look just…positively dashing in formal wear, you know.” Yennefer ran a hand down his chest, removing it just a little too high for his liking.
“It’s not that, if she has important things to do, we shouldn’t be bothering her.” Yennefer wasn’t buying it.
“Nonsense, Geralt, I doubt we’d ever be a bother to the girl. How many monsters and people did you fight through to rescue her? She was ecstatic to see you when she woke up!” The Witcher could only sigh in response.
“I don’t want to wake up.” He admitted.
“What?” Yennefer stepped back, aghast.
“I don’t want to wake up and go back to that place. This past week has been wonderful, but my signs don’t work. Only Igni and Quen. Only the ones I had when I went back to sleep in that weird world. My senses are still a little dulled. That’s not to mention the other little things you got wrong.” Yennefer’s features flickered for a moment, only to seemingly settle on an even more beautiful version of herself.
“I’ve no idea what you mean. I’m a Sorceress, Geralt, I’ve never lied to you about the…help I’ve given myself in the appearance department. We can’t all be blessed to age as slowly as you do.” She joked, stepping back in to caress his face. “If you’d rather stay here, it’s no problem. We can see Ciri another time.”
Geralt stood his ground, however. “I’m sorry, whoever…whatever you are. I need to wake up. I need to find them. Wherever they really are, not in this dream.”
Yennefer sighed, and the gentle caress on his face turned to a burning pain as Geralt’s flesh bubbled. Stumbling backwards, Geralt used his Igni sign, causing Yennefer to disappear as the flames carried on through her. As she disappeared, so did the pain in Geralt’s face, along with the bedroom and the castle surrounding them.
Geralt found himself stranded in a void of pitch blackness.
’Embrace the Dream, Geralt of Rivia. You can have whatever it is you wish, as long as you submit. Give up your fight, and you will have your greatest desires.’ A voice called out to Geralt from everywhere at once, surrounding him yet not overwhelming his senses.
“I want to go home. Not to be toyed with by some monster with psychic powers.” Geralt challenged the omnipresent voice.
’Monster? I’m hurt. I merely brought these disparate lands together for the sake of peace. You all fought so desperately, so savagely. Then we came. We returned you to your original forms, where you could remain free from pain, free from suffering.’
“Not buying it. Tyrants usually claim they’re doing the best for their people.” Geralt crossed his arms, glaring out into the nothingness before him.
’You’ll die.’
“Fought death every day for 90 years, beast. Still around.”
’There’s no guarantee you’ll be happy.’
“I won’t be happy here.”
You’ve no intent to surrender.’ It wasn’t a question.
“Never.”
Pain radiated through his body. “NEVER!” Geralt shouted, body curling in on itself. After a moment, the pain was gone.
Geralt awoke with a start as his body landed on the ground, and a gust of breath was forced out of his lungs. A reluctant look at the ceiling revealed the unpleasant, but somewhat familiar, sight of his room in Lumbridge.
He sat up. “Dammit. Wonder what that was about.” He didn’t say he wondered if that really was just a dream, or something…more.
He didn’t want to think about that. Just find a way home. Eventually.
Geralt simply followed along as the group finished their meals and exited the mess hall, leaving his plate and utensils behind for the guild's staff to take care of. He pitied them a bit for having to clean up after such a massive feast, but that was the life of servitude: some people hunted monsters for others' safety, some people cleaned their plates so that they could eat again later.
He'd noticed that Linkle left with Euden, but didn't think much of it. Clearly she saw something she liked, and he had no desire to get himself involved in that.
Her return, and more specifically her new appearance, came as more of a shock. He'd heard what those spirits could do, but seeing someone so....drastically changed....it reminded him of the Trials of the Grasses. He did not like that. Nobody deserved such a thing. Nobody.
She didn't seem to be particularly distraught about the change, though. If anything, she seemed happy. How odd. He and the other Witchers had no choice in the matter. They were taken, as children no less, and forced through grueling training that made even the most elite Nilfgaardian warriors seem like children playing at knighthood. Then, if they survived, they were forced onto racks and pumped so full of mutagens and monster essences that it tore their bodies apart from the inside and forced them to adapt or die.
Then there were the...extra...experiments that he endured. He almost felt a pinprick of self-pity thinking about it again. He crushed it, however. It wasn't necessary. Especially not with another Quest at hand. Bowser wanted them.
"Your glorious majesty, we are ready to serve." Geralt answered sarcastically, falling in line nonetheless. He was a bit surprised at Bowser's care for his so-called 'minions', however. Usually big evil kings and lords were a bit less....proactive in caring for their soldiers and retainers. It was almost heartwarming for the giant spiky turtle-looking thing to ask them to come to be taken care of like children with bloody calluses.
Feeling his forehead, Geralt was pleased that the gash he'd received was already mostly healed, with a scab in its place. He hadn't bled much in a while, too, so the scab was probably old. He'd be fine soon enough, perhaps even before they arrived to take down this 'Mr. F'. That was probably just wishful thinking, though.
As they approached, Geralt hoped for a moment to ask Linkle about what happened, but he didn't quite get the chance. The Cadet, however, sure took up plenty of his time, checking again and again to be sure they'd really, definitely never met. He recognized the style of weapon the man carried, sure, but his face didn't bring even an inkling of recognition. He'd only been in that world for a short while, anyway. Once the Leshen was taken care of, he was lucky enough to find his own way home, as well.
Their method of transportation was similarly attention-grabbing, but....Ciri had mentioned something like that, hadn't she? Carriages drawing themselves, some even flying through the air? People modified in mysterious and strange ways, but they were treated the same as anybody else was. He supposed it made sense that something like that existed, even if it wasn't....quite as amazing as she'd made it seem. It was still something he'd likely never see after he left this place, this....strange combination of worlds.
And it became even more strange as they reached the Ancestral Steppe and left their transport behind. The landscape changed, strange crystals grew everywhere, and the silence.....Geralt knew they were close just from that.
As they finally approached, Geralt's eyes narrowed as he saw their prey: the Brachydios. It reminded him of the things that lived in the Cadet's world. Gargantuan in size, powerful in build, and decidedly not something he wanted to fight head-to-head.
And then The Thing From the Stars pierced the veil of silence, its scream decidedly unpleasant to say the least. Something inside Geralt revolted, and he felt a measure of unease, along with an unpleasant but not unfamiliar emotion: fear.
Thankfully, he wasn't alone. The Centurion, Agoston, and the Cadet both charged ahead, Geralt following behind the latter, cutting down one of the strange, altered humans that the man in front of him had shoved aside. Taking advantage of its companions' reaction, he weaved through them and came up on the Cadet. "Kid, I got something for that slinger thing of yours." Pulling out a grapeshot bomb, Geralt passed it to his ally before taking a ready stance.
"Bowser! Something tells me this is your kind of fight!" He shouted to their self-declared leader. "Kid, how do we kill this thing?" He asked Cadet as well.
Geralt turned to the man who'd addressed him, giving a nod in greeting. "Geralt of Rivia. As for the swords, they're for different kinds of foes. One is steel, made for men and beasts. The second is silver, and it's used for rituals and fighting magical creatures and monsters. It can suppress the natural regeneration some of them have pretty well, actually." Geralt gave the man, Magnumus Agoston, a look over. Heavily armored and clearly built like a warrior. Not the most outlandish character he'd come across by far. If anything, he'd probably fit in among the soldiers of Nilfgaard, though that was hardly a compliment.
As he ate, Geralt noticed some of the others receiving their rewards, as well as some kind of...objects appearing out of a series of boxes they were fiddling with. Not wanting to interrupt his meal or pry, Geralt simply kept eating his Baurun ribs and fruit salad. That is, until Tora nearly bumped into him. Turning around to look at the....thing....as it spoke, Geralt found himself a bit overwhelmed with questions. What was it? What did it eat? How did it get around on such stubby legs? Were those ear things arms?
And it was walking away and Geralt had no idea what it said beyond "Whoa!" So much for that conversation....
Oh, now it was looking at him and talking to a...little girl with huge gauntlets on her arms? This place was weird. Were they talking about him? It was possible they'd heard the rumors about him or were just curious about his swords like that Agoston fellow was.
Not that it particularly mattered to him. They weren't bothering him, so he wouldn't bother them. He wondered if Ciri would have made friends with some of them. Probably. That girl was much friendlier than he was, somehow. Certainly wasn't anything he or Yennefer taught her....
Geralt found himself in content silence as the group carried on with their questing, collecting plenty of vegetables for Mina while Euden and Linkle did the same, light conversations sprinkling the time they spent. It didn't take much effort on their part, either, though it did take some time to collect everything properly and not mutilate their ingredients.
They were met by a group of would-be-rescuers as they made their way back to Lumbridge, and Geralt was almost touched by the kind act. Until he remembered that that damned pink-hair girl had put the poor guys in that situation by letting them go without her for whatever reason she deemed important enough. He didn't make a fuss over it, but he certainly wasn't going to be thanking her for her well-meaning afterthought, either. Damn kids don't understand how serious this stuff gets sometimes. Those boys'd be fish food if we had gotten there any later.
Linkle's reservations about butchering their Chocobos hardly surprised the Witcher, and he felt himself almost feeling the same. This new Roach had done him well in the short time they'd worked together, and he wasn't one to throw away a good horse....or giant bird-thing, in this case.
They found good news at Mina's, as well, with the dragon boy asking if they could go without the Chocobo meat, to which Mina agreed. The rest of Linkle's group returned over the course of the afternoon, bringing with them the missing ingredients. Mina was delighted to have everything together for the evening's meal. Geralt found himself looking forward to it a bit more than usual, considering that his company would be a bit more than sycophants frothing at the mouth for a moment with the 'amazing' Witcher. Almost rather have them call me a monster, frankly.
His good mood was hardly spoiled by the brief dark thought, however, and he found himself listening attentively to the Guild Master as he explained that their group had earned the right to take on the F-rank quest with some...interesting phrases sprinkled in here and there. He didn't bother to even try to imagine what they meant.
He also didn't bother to worry about the lone remaining quest, a simple fight with a man named 'Ryu.' What an odd name, although he supposed he'd never met another 'Geralt' either, so perhaps he shouldn't judge. Still, Linkle seemed to be content to give him a tussle, although the man held two spirits, meaning somebody else would have to fight him as well.
Still, all things considered, it was a good day. He'd killed some monsters, made some maybe-friends, and was about to sit down to a wonderful meal.
You have acquired: Bleed Amulet An enchanted trinket. Its aura curdles the blood of its wearer and loosens the blood of his foes, making it 20% harder to bleed whoever equips it but 20% easier to bleed his enemies. However, the alterations to the user's blood confer 20% decreased resistance to Blight--that is, harmful poisons and toxins
Geralt watched Linkle go about her business, as he cleaned the blood from his sword. It was a bit odd, honestly: she was touting the healing powers of milk, and throwing about giant hearts that magically appeared out of nowhere into the wounded boy.
What was more odd, though, was the fact that it seemed to work. Gran looked like a new man after drinking the milk he'd been given. It wasn't instantaneous, but only a few moments ago he'd looked far worse. He was curious about that. I'll have to ask about that later. If it works that well on regular folk, it'd be like Swallow for me. Probably cheaper, too.
Following after Linkle as she gathered some of the fish-monster spirits, Geralt frowned. He still hadn't quite gotten used to all this 'Spirit' business: sometimes when he killed things he could just cut off what he needed, and sometimes it appeared as one of those little spirit things. Something to do with the worlds mashing together, he figured: different creatures from different worlds broke down differently. Some monsters seemed to dissolve almost immediately back on the Continent, after all. Back there it seemed more consistent, but perhaps to the casual observer the line between monster and animal seemed more arbitrary.
He didn't suppose it mattered much. Gathering a few of those spirits, especially the one from the large monster he'd fought, Geralt headed to the edge of the lake to find his Chocobo, whistling for the bird. It only took a short while before the oversized fowl came to him, 'kweh'ing all the way. "C'mon, Roach, let's go." Geralt muttered as he tried to wrangle the bird around the lake to the others.
As the group traveled back, Geralt paid attention to Linkle's conversation with the boy that had transformed into a dragon. Yet another instance of supremely powerful magic just....in casual use, by a boy barely old enough to be called a man, no less! These worlds were dangerous, and Geralt wasn't even sure they realized it. He wondered how many other horribly powerful people were out there, going about their day doing things maybe a dozen people could accomplish where he'd come from.
Breaking from his thoughts for a moment when Din addressed him, Geralt nodded. "I know a bit about them. Powerful beasts, not the kind I like to mess with if I have the choice. They've got thick fur that can stop duller blades, a horn that could break bones without a second thought, and they're quicker than their size would make you think. Don't look forward much to dealing with 'em, frankly..."
Or was it the opposite? Was it merely the strongest or most able taken from each world, brought into this strange place? It couldn't be, plenty of the folk in Lumbridge were simple farmers and traders, lacking this kind of magic or raw power.
It had to just be Geralt's luck at play, yet again. Shapeshifters, the Wild Hunt, other Witchers, the people he came across were not the standard fare.
And then there was that guy who lost his shoe.
"Hey. Shoe....guy. Boat guy? Yeah, boat guy. What in the hell were you even doing out there?" Something stupid, surely. Wouldn't be the first time.
Wiping a bit of blood off of his face, Geralt sighed as he realized that he, and Linkle, would have to get that kid out of the middle of all those damn fish-things. Why these kids were so damn gung-ho about jumping into the middle of a horde of monsters was beyond him. Linkle basically told him that her entire fighting style revolved around surrounding herself with as many enemies as possible and just firing blindly into the crowd. What nonsense. Maybe wherever she came from, some people could get away with giving the absolute minimum care for their own well-being, but on the Continent, heroics got you killed. Much like they'd get this dumb kid killed if he didn't get there immediately.
Stowing his crossbow and pulling out his silver sword once more, Geralt charged into the battle, impaling a Pelagic on his sword before it even realized he was there, pulling his blade out of its spine and stabbing at another of the monsters, which had only managed to turn in response to its comrade's death before the blade pierced its throat. The third Pelagic fared better, stabbing its spear at Geralt and forcing him to hop back a step to avoid the weapon.
Reaching out with his hand to grab the haft of the spear just below its tip, Geralt yanked it towards himself while stepping forward, catching the beast off guard and causing it to stumble a step towards him. Silver met scales once more as his sword pierced the monster's lightly-colored chest, a small part of the tip showing through its back. Geralt pushed the corpse to the side, drawing his blade from its body almost like it was a scabbard.
More had turned to him by now, leaving them open to Linkle's bolts, and between the two of them, Geralt had enough room to see Gran clearly, bloodied and beaten as he was. It also gave him a perfect view for Linkle's explosive burst of power, arrows and bombs and what seemed to be some kind of magic.
Okay, if that was what she was capable of, maybe it wasn't such a terrible idea for her to handle larger groups of enemies. "Hey, kid! Get over here before they overrun you!" He called out, to both of them, really.
Taking advantage of the moment where the large fish-man was stunned by Linkle’s bomb arrow, Geralt raised his empty hand and made a symbol with his finger, causing a shimmering field of energy to surround his body. Now protected once more by Quen, he moved forward and aimed a stab for one of the fleshy sacs on its neck, hoping that it would be a softer target.
The tip of his sword slipped into the bulbous nodule, piercing it to draw blood but losing speed quickly as it traversed thick, fatty flesh. It reached just far enough to penetrate to the other side before the guardian started to move. With a gurgle it wrenched its body sideways and pulled its shield around to bash Geralt’s sword arm.
Geralt managed to react to the attack quickly enough to avoid having his arm broken by the shield, but he was hit in the hand by the bash, knocking him off-balance and damaging his own passive Quen shield. The hit wasn’t enough to shatter it, but even a glancing blow would do the rest after that.
Deciding to make a bit of distance instead of risk further attack, Geralt used what momentum he could take advantage of and rolled towards the beast’s side, raising his sword in between them as he stood. His foe saw him on the defensive and bulled forward. Using its size to its advantage to force Geralt to retreat, it advanced a short distance before taking a wild swing with its bladed cestus. The blow cleaved through the air, leaving a white swipe-mark in its wake.
“Damn!” Geralt cursed as he turned his sword arm, barely managing to catch the oversized cestus on the flat of his silver sword, a loud ‘TWANG’ sounding out across the battlefield. Knowing that he couldn’t let himself be overwhelmed by momentum, Geralt took a risky tactic: while their blades crashed into one another, he quickly reached into his grenade pouch and pulled out a small grapeshot grenade. He took a quick step back and to the side while tossing the grenade between the legs of his foe.
The guardian’s dull red eyes flickered towards the object as it rolled between its tentacles, but only for a moment while it raised its shield to crack the Witcher across the skull. Before it could his grenade went off with a rattling bang, piercing its tentacles with beads of metal. Blood flew as the pelagic groaned, stumbling backward as it tried to make sense of what happened.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t get the chance. As the guardian got its bearrings, a voice rang out from above the fight. “Look out below!” It was the blue-suited, spiky-haired man Geralt had come to save! Perched on the metal claw attached to the house, Phoenix stomped hard on the raft hanging in the air. A few good kicks got the boat dislodged, falling straight on top of the guardian - and Geralt.
The boat came down on the unprepared pelagic with a tremendous clatter, not just stunning the beast but knocking it to the ground. Spittle flew from its mouth as it disappeared beneath the debris.
Geralt didn’t expect the call from above, causing him to be caught off guard by the falling boat. He was lucky enough not to be completely crushed under it, however, thanks to his enhanced reflexes and above average strength allowing him to leap out of the way. His leg did take a glancing blow from the falling object, however, resulting in Geralt hearing the familiar cracking sound of his Quen shield failing. Shaking his head as he stood up, he called to the man above him. “Good idea...could work on the timing.” He gave the boat a good look, hoping to see a crack or a hole that he could stab his sword through without exposing himself to a counterattack.
More than a few openings existed for him to explore. Tentacles writhed under the debris as the guardian’s eyes lolled, but after a few moments it began to stir. Gathering its strength, it threw off the wreckage, but the lawyer’s tactic had taken a toll. Frothing at the mouth, the pelagic flailed about to force Geralt to back away before raising its shield again. Phoenix, the lesser threat, went ignored. After a moment it threw a straight lunge punch.
Geralt saw the frothing, desperate flailing for what it was, and tried to find the closest distance he could remain at without being at risk of taking a shield or cestus blow, and waited for the right moment. As soon as the fish freak threw a punch, Geralt twisted his body to the side of the monster, lifted his blade, and stabbed for its throat, hoping to deal an even more serious blow than his previous attacks.
The Witcher’s perceptiveness and reflexes allowed him to slink past the lunge and counterattack. His blade slipped right in, piercing the pelagic’s scales like a rapier would chain mail. Geralt’s expertise well informed him that piercing, rather than ineffective cutting, constituted the best form of attack; the guardian gurgled as it swung its arm back, desperately aiming for Geralt’s head even as blood gushed from its throat.
Abandoning his attack in favor of not dying, Geralt desperately pulled his sword and himself down and away from the monster, the blow barely managing to not crack his skull, instead slicing hair, a bit of scalp, and air as Geralt scrambled backwards, eyes narrowed at his foe. “I’m too old for this,” he commented wryly as blood dribbled down the side of his face.
Displeased at the way things were currently going, Geralt sheathed his sword and drew his hand crossbow once more, racking a bolt and building some distance between the two.
Though having displayed an extremely limited intelligence so far, the pelagic guardian hefted its shield the moment Geralt produced a ranged weapon, but the sagging of its fishy flesh suggested that its strength was leaving it. A raised shield plus the armor on its belly meant that no vital points could be shot, but the champion could scarcely pursue Geralt now.
From above, Phoenix watched the fight, clinging frightfully to the metal beam supporting him. Sure, he’d been in many dangerous situations before, and he was punched in the face at least a few times during his career, but giant monster fish with spears were a whole different league. While he was more than fine hanging around up and out of harm’s way, Phoenix figured he should at least try to help. It was his fault this white-haired guy was fighting, after all.
“Hey! Uhhh, fishsticks!” Phoenix shouted down at the guardian, and chucked one of his shoes at the thing’s head. “Pick on someone your own… hue?”
In its prime the guardian might have shrugged the shoe off, but it was wounded and alert when Phoenix’s makeshift projectile hit. The pelagic sputtered and turned partways toward him, lifting its shield higher out of dumb instinct.
Geralt had to stop himself from laughing at the dumb luck that he had. From nearly getting scalped and a boat dropped on him, to a dude in some posh-looking clothes actually being helpful in a fight. He took aim at the distracted monster, allowing himself a moment to get a truly good shot, before firing a bolt at the fleshy orb on the back of its neck.
The bolt hit home, lodging up to the feathers in the pelagic’s glinting, blood-speckled flesh. With a final, low rumble, the creature sunk to the ground, deteriorating on the spot. It decomposed to a certain point and stopped dead, a sodden corpse.
“I-Is it safe to come down?” Phoenix asked, staring at the deflated corpse below. Maybe it was better to stay up anyways...
Geralt ignored the decomposing monster and the man above him, instead turning to the fighting going on around him and getting ready to keep going.
Party:@MULTI_MEDIA_MAN’s Geralt of Rivia, @Truthhurts22’s Phoenix Wright Encounter Reward: +4 EXP Loadbearing Bonus: Geralt of Rivia Loadbearing Reward: +2 EXP
Linkle came in, crossbows firing rapidly. A spear flew to his side as one of the fish was gunned down by the aforementioned heroine. One of the boys launched himself into the air, transformed into a dragon before shouting a warning. The spear of another fish monster glided off his ethereal shield, cracking the protection as he spun with the momentum, lashing out and digging his sword deep into the monster's neck, where the scales weren't quite as hard.
And then the gust of wind came. It was like Yennefer was here again, the sheer force behind it. The beasts they were fighting, almost to a one, were blown off of the bridge and platforms, back into the water. The one he'd just wounded landed in the water, tainting the lake with its blood. Linkle grabbed onto the dragon boy's companion, hugging tightly onto his back. Din was so far off that the winds didn't quite reach her, and the man they were trying to rescue floundered about, still trying to escape the creatures that were so dead set on slaughtering him.
Geralt, meanwhile, braced himself and lowered his stance, allowing the wind to pass over his side as a way to minimize his profile. It was an important trick when dealing with aerial monsters that could kill with a flap of their wings. He couldn't activate Quen again just yet, either.
His problems only multiplied when he heard the massive CRACK, and he sighed sharply when he saw the tougher, heavily-armored Guardian rise from the lake. Of course things couldn't be simple. He was Geralt of Rivia. Everything was complicated for him. Investigating a missing pot lead him to a murder mystery. A. MISSING. POT!
Pointing his sword at the newly-arisen enemy as he approached, Geralt shouted a challenge as he shifted to a combat stance. "Whoreson! How'd you like this silver?!"
Yankee
TruthHurts
princess
Plank Sinatra