MULTI_MEDIA_MAN

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Land of Adventure

Lvl 4 (30/40) -> Lvl 4 (31/40)

Word Count: 443 words

Geralt spent much of the time the group had preparing. In this case, he was carefully piecing together a few new Grapeshot bombs. As one might expect, making a grenade was delicate work. One had to properly gauge the amount of explosives, the amount of shrapnel, properly wick the fuse, make sure it stayed securely within the bomb. Additionally, preparing the shell to crack at the right level of force to prematurely detonate the bomb on impact always required especially careful consideration.

As he concentrated on his craft, Geralt thought back to his conversation with Tora. He wondered what kind of weapon the...ball thing...would produce for him? He imagined it would be similar to his crossbow, but also wouldn't be surprised if the little thing got overly excited (he seemed like the kind of person to do so) and made him something like what the Courier fellow carried. More like a full-sized crossbow. While he could absolutely use such a thing, he preferred to have a hand free in case he needed to use one of his Signs.

Still, if it was anything like the other weapons that were being used, whatever he got would likely represent a massive increase in his ability to fight effectively. Those things were like what crossbows were to the sling. An army equipped with them could take a city in a day.

He was almost excited about this. It was an odd feeling, to be excited about a weapon like this. To be excited about a fight was one thing, but just a weapon itself? It was strange. It also was rather unimportant in the grander scheme of things. They had to get together, fight this other, likely even more terrible monster, and slowly fight their way to killing the sun-god thing. Galeem.

Of course he'd gone and gotten himself into another mess like this. Of fucking course he had. He could just imagine Yennefer sarcastically commenting on it all while he just shrugged. That was Geralt's problem. Sure, he was a Witcher. Sure, he was the Butcher of Blaviken.

But he was still, in fact, a person. A person who, despite everything, seemed to still care about helping people in need. And if some horrible monster was enslaving millions, well, what greater need could there be?

Sighing, Geralt finished his bombs, now up to a grand total of 5, and made his way back to the area they'd agreed to meet at. Noticing those already gathered, Geralt gave a nod of greeting, then looked to Tora. "How's everything coming along?"

A golem. That's what Tora reminded him of. A tiny, furry, mechanically-inclined golem.

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Devil's Casino

Lvl 4 (16/40) -> Lvl 4 (17/40)

Word Count: 328 words

The trio's victory was just a bit anticlimactic, to be honest. The best fights were, though. A long, drawn out epic battle was more often than not two people slugging out a grudge and not fighting to kill, but to make the other person suffer. Geralt, the Courier, and his Gaige-thing were fighting to kill. Or, well, to maim. Wound? Knock out? Win.

They were fighting to win, and win they did, handily. As the oversized liquor bottle fell, the Courier exploded at Geralt, yelling about how he "had that hombre", but he was quick to reign himself in. At first, Geralt only offered a raise eyebrow as a response before understanding reached him as the Courier mentioned that this "Inferno" made him too aggressive. Along with balancing some ingredients? He wasn't sure what "serotonin" or that other thing were. "Huh, would've said you'd drank some Thunderbolt if I didn't know better. That'll really drive you mad." He commented, heading out of the portal. For once, Geralt didn't hate going through a portal. It was...less disorienting than portals usually were. Small miracle, he figured.

Geralt didn't object to the Courier taking the lead and hitting the die without even offering to let Geralt. There was no way the other man had worse luck. Such a thing was simply not possible. Whatever the result was, Geralt could see that they were in the final stretch. A few fights were still going, and the count was already at 6 out of 13 before the Courier smacked the die.

They were winning. Geralt looked up at their massive adversary and crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face. "There's gotta be a catch here." He spoke out loud, as much to Gneidxick as to his allies. "Just haven't quite figured it out yet. That, or he just really underestimated us that much, but I'm not the type to assume things will go well if there's a chance they won't."

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Devil's Casino

Lvl 4 (15/40) -> Lvl 4 (16/40)

Word Count: 221 words

What. Was. Happening? The madman, the complete lunatic, the insane wildcard that was the Courier, had just bear-hugged the liquor bottle. He...genuinely had no idea what to do, aside from desperately try to avoid the spurts of alcohol that Whiskey was spitting out. It took most of his focus, but thankfully the Courier's absurd attack helped ruin Whiskey's aim, keeping Geralt mostly safe. A few splashes here and there had damn near burned out his Quen shield, but it was still trying its damnedest to keep him alive.

The robot-girl-thing was going to work on the wine glass, and the Courier...maybe?...had the big guy, so who did Geralt try and double up on? He frankly wasn't exactly keen on getting too close to that....whatever that was. Stowing his sword, Geralt decided that he would keep his distance and try and help out from there.

The witcher grabbed his hand crossbow and a bolt, drawing the weapon and taking aim at Whiskey. It wasn't as easy with the damned Courier groping the living bottle, but once he was confident he had a good shot, Geralt fired at the bastard, hoping it would give the Courier an easier time. He kept an eye on their little battle, though, looking for another good spot to try and give the lunatic man a hand.

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Devil's Casino

Lvl 4 (14/40) -> Lvl 4 (15/40)

Word Count: 254 words

Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes at the Courier's words, utterly unconvinced that he had things handled. "Only thing you've got is this table covered in liquor." He snarked. The fact that the three living glasses were still, well, alive was a bit annoying, admittedly. He wasn't expecting it to be that easy, all things considered, but a man could dream, couldn't he?

Still, the counter-attack wasn't exactly life-threatening. Geralt watched the plume of alcohol flow up into the air, seemingly in defiance of all logic and physics, and rolled out of the way, the liquid splattering harmlessly on the table where he'd previously been. "What the...?" He muttered, looking at the two that weren't being attacked yet. The Courier and his newest companion were focusing on the wine glass and the floating olive, so Geralt figured that he'd go with the bigger threat. Which was the smaller one, in this case, he figured.

Rushing in at the shot glass and grunting as he swung his sword, Geralt's eyes narrowed when his opponent instead leaned forward, pouring more rum on the ground. Geralt found himself unable to properly dodge in time as not only did his sword swing miss, but he felt his Quen shield being drained by the liquid. It wasn't enough to shatter the barrier, but it was more than enough to damage it.

Cursing, Geralt grabbed a hold of the bastard's oversized nose and flipped his sword in his hand, slamming the pommel into its face, right in between its eyes.

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Devil's Casino

Lvl 4 (13/40) -> Lvl 4 (14/40)

Word Count: 383 words

New Power-

Yrden

places a magical trap with one of two configurations.
The Area Trap slows enemies that enter a circle with a radius of approximately one and a half meters. Additionally, any spectral enemies within the trap are forced into a more corporeal form, increasing their vulnerability to damage from physical sources (such as bombs and silver swords). Lasts for twenty seconds.
The Glyph of Warding places a Visible Glyph on the ground which actively attacks hostile creatures and can destroy airborne projectiles within a ten-yard radius. However, the glyph can only attack approximately three times per second, and its attacks are not particularly powerful. Lasts for fifteen seconds.

@ProPro

Geralt sighed in frustration as yet another condition was added to their little 'quest', and rolled his eyes. "Oh great..." He mumbled under his breath as the Guildmaster told the group that they didn't get to meet the "big cheese." Was he an actual cheese man? Was that just a saying? Would they ever even meet the cheese man? It was unlikely.

When their contact stripped himself of his coat, surrounding himself in darkness, and turned the coat into a coin of some kind, Geralt's instincts started flaring up. He had just put a hand on his silver sword when suddenly, the ground before them opened up into some kind of dark portal.

"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-" Geralt's cry was cut off as he landed on the massive poker table, almost mistaking it for grass before noticing the giant skeletons and demons playing games around them. "Fuck." He finished. He waited as the newly-revealed dicehead man explained the situation. Of course. More fighting. More bullshit before they got to do what they needed to and move the hell on.

Still, it wasn't all that bad. NeedsDicks just wanted them to beat up a few of his lackeys, as some kind of test probably? (These villains were never terribly clever) And then the Courier opened his mouth, because of course he did. Drunk bastard. And just where in the hell did he get off betting their souls or their spirits or whatever it was they had here on this stupid game? Just as Geralt was about to tell him off, NeedsDicks did it for him. A card came flying through, yoinking the Courier off into one of the portals. Sighing, Geralt marched over to the portal, pointing at the others. "We'll take this one. Just...don't get yourselves killed."

Geralt almost laughed when he saw what was on the other side. Almost. This was too easy. It had to be. This was a joke. Geralt dropped his hand to his side, grabbed a grapeshot bomb, and tossed it between the glasses. Not even waiting for the smoke to clear, he strode forward and pulled his steel sword from its sheath, casting Quen on himself as he menacingly approached the sentient liquor, his eyes narrowed and angry. "Let's just deal with this and get back to NeedsDicks."

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Lumbridge

Lvl 4 (0/40) -> Lvl 4 (12/40) -> Lvl 4 (13/40)

Word Count: 382 words

Stress Eliminated!

As the group arrived back in Lumbridge, Geralt took advantage of the crowd's distraction to sneak past everybody before he could get the usual treatment from his adoring fans. What a pain in the ass they were.

Once he was safely beyond the reach of the....locals...Geralt made sure to find himself a secluded spot where he could get to work. Preparing his small alchemical supplies, Geralt removed the ingredients he'd grabbed earlier that day, carefully measuring and mixing the amounts he'd need for his newest blade oil. While it wouldn't exactly be of much help now that he wasn't planning to actually fight his original target, he might end up being able to use it against the werewolf that had infected him, assuming they crossed paths.

What kind of monster did you have to be to willingly inflict that curse against another person? Unforgivable.

Shaking the thoughts of his original target off, Geralt wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Again. A bunch of dysfunctional hero-types gallavanting around the countryside, taking jobs and valuable rewards. Sure, they also let him join in and get his own share of the pie, but he wasn't certain that made up for it. Realistically, he was more worried about the trouble they'd be getting into, dragging him along because of his sense of camaraderie and duty and all those things a Witcher probably shouldn't be. Ah, well, wasn't much point in not going along, was there? This place was gonna be barren for a bit, now, anyway.

______________________________________________________________________

Waking up early the next morning from a very strange dream, Geralt quickly made his way to the Guild Hall just in time to catch Bowser and a few of the others asking the Grandmaster about their reward, only for the mysterious leader to ask for proof like he didn't know damn well the thing turned into ash when it died. Thankfully, one of the Big Guy's lackeys bottled the monster's spirit up and dumped the collection out on a nearby table. Removing the spirit of the giant fish monster he'd fought, Geralt left it on the table and looked over the ones there before turning to Bowser. "Got a new one for the pile, boss. Don't want it. Big and slow doesn't really fit my combat style."

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Ancestral Farmstead

Lvl 3 (12/30) -> Lvl 3 (28/30) -> Lvl 4 (0/40)

Word Count: 778 words

Stress Level: 10

Something changed just as the Courier's stimpak took effect on Geralt. It was...hard to describe. Something not unlike coming out of a magical trance, but without as much of the hangover half-blackout feeling. More like coming down from a light alcohol buzz. His mind felt sharper, and his body felt like it was his again. Hell of a drug. Almost like he mixed Swallow and Thunderbolt...speaking of which, I need that damned potion if I'm gonna be dealing with beasts like this! Geralt thought, completely unaware of the true reason he felt this way now. He'd probably learn soon enough, though.

Taking a deep breath as his body was mended and his mind unclouded, Geralt took a look around at the battlefield. So many spirits laying around, and so many fighters still standing. All of them, in fact. It was practically a miracle. Regular folk just didn't last around him in big fights like this, whether they were on his side or not. But then again, he hadn't left alongside many regular folk, had he? These people were fighters, killers, warriors, almost to the last one of 'em. Even the kids could fight like hell. It would have been unnerving had he not seen dozens of pimple-faced teens take to bandrity back on the Continent. Kids could fight. Usually not well, but they could fight.

Stepping away from their main quarry to gather a few of the farmhands' spirits, Geralt called out after the Courier spoke. "Hmm, wonder how that'd work with Igni...Cadet, was it? You need that thing for anything?" He asked the Ace Cadet, silently hoping he could walk out of this with something, at least. He wasn't totally sure how these spirits worked, not down to the letter, but he did notice that Linkle had left a trail of ice, and he was pretty damn sure she couldn't do that before. That kind of power....those things were like mutagens. And while he wasn't exactly eager to experiment with these things, he knew how much of a difference the right mutagen could make in a fight. The difference between life and death.

The big guy and his friends were gathering up, too, Geralt noticed, after Bowser broke off from the fight to protect his son. It was sweet, in a way. He'd dealt with enough monsters to know that plenty of them were just like humans, even if their bodies weren't. Hell, when he first met Emhyr at that damned betrothal, the man looked like some kind of hedgehog! If only he'd stayed that ugly....

Still, it was good to see everybody alive and well, if a bit shaken and wounded. They'd be able to head back to the town, lick their wounds, and maybe Mina would have something good for them in the morning. If only the Brachydios had left something to cook....though the Witcher wondered how good giant lizard-monster meat would taste. How would you even prepare it?
____________________________________________________________________________

As everybody gathered back into their transportation to return to Lumbridge, Geralt quietly meditated. It was a good way to keep his body somewhat rested, as well as his mind. His breathing was slow, as was his heartbeat. To the casual observer who didn't know better, he might very well have died sitting in this position and just...stuck that way.

Linkle's question to Euden caught his ear, and Geralt's eyes opened ever so slightly, the red replaced with an amber. Perhaps ironically, removing Galeem's influence had made his eyes look even less human, rather than more.

He was interested in how Euden controlled that kind of magic, however. It was impressive, to say the least. That level of raw power, even if he was only able to unleash it for short periods of time, spoke volumes about the boy. He could go far like that. Protect people. Or kill them in droves. It was all up to him, really.

Another thing that had interested him was the Courier's weapons. They made explosions like a bomb, but....they didn't explode? He saw the bright flashes from the end of the weapon as it ripped apart the Brachydios's neck, so it did something, but he wasn't sure what. Was it like a crossbow that launched something with an explosion? That sounded insane, like letting a grapeshot bomb going off in his hand! How it didn't blow the lunatic to pieces was another mystery.

Still, he couldn't argue with the results. He'd have to ask the man about how they worked at some point. But later. Right now he was tired, and he wanted to at least get some rest while they made their way back.

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Ancestral Farmstead

Lvl 3 (11/30) -> Lvl 3 (12/30)

Word Count: 338 words

Stress Level: 25

Linkle's plan worked. Geralt had to stop and cover his ears at its enraged roar, but her plan to trick the beast into harming itself worked like a dream. The Brachydios charged at her, and activated the strange crystals, which exploded under it. The kids seemed to get hurt a bit by it, too, but they were hanging in there.

Frankly, the others were absolutely devastating the Brachydios. Between Euden transforming once more into his dragon form and pinning the gigantic monster to the ground, the Cadet stabbing it in the eye, the metal girl transforming and started pounding into its back, the princess was shooting it in the head with her strange-looking weapon, and the Courier had been boosted to massive size and was pounding an equally-massive pickaxe into its skull, the monster was on its last legs.

Geralt was in there as well, having taken his spot alongside the monster's exposed belly. Slipping silver from its sheathe, Geralt unleashed a torrent of flames at the monster's underside with Igni, before thrusting his sword into the soft, exposed flesh and cutting away. While the Courier was bashing its skull into fragments and Poppi was shattering its spine, Geralt was making its insides into outsides.

When the Courier finally ceased his relentless assault with his now-broken weapon, he stepped back and removed a small needle-like instrument from his pack and injected it into himself, which activated the....patently absurd hat he was wearing. It was effective, though, because Geralt felt himself coming together as the effects of whatever it was the Courier had just used spread to him. Sighing in relief, he withdrew his sword from the Brachydios, confident that somebody had to have left it dead or close enough. He still watched the monster for signs of life, however. Overconfidence may be a slow and insidious killer, but a monster that size?

One lucky hit was all it would take for most of them. Geralt was sort of undead, living, proof of that. Pitchforks...whoresons!

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Ancestral Farmstead

Lvl 3 (9/30) -> Lvl 3 (11/30)

Word Count: 796 words

Stress Level: 25 (+10 from Sow the Seeds)

Geralt found himself occupied by a quartet of farmhands insistent upon his death. One wielded a shovel, two had hoes, and the fourth held a sickle in its hand. A quick thought gave Geralt his plan of attack.

Dodging and deflecting blows until the one with the sickle swung at him, Geralt caught the thing's arm just before the wrist, taking advantage of the weapon's shorter haft which had forced his enemy closer. Silver burst from the creature's back, and Geralt shoved the crystallizing body at its allies before jumping at them and parrying a botched hoe swing. His blade nicked the tool's haft, sending a small vibration through Geralt, one which he ignored as he stepped into the farmhand's personal space and smashed its nose with the pommel of his sword.

Stepping back, Geralt plunged his weapon into the crystal below him, removing his weapon from the destroyed 'corpse' just as a shovel swung through the air where he'd just been nary a moment ago. These enemies were inconvenient, that was for sure. He had to be sure to destroy their bodies, lest they become an even bigger issue than they were in life.

Readying his sword once more, Geralt danced between attacks, one of the hoes clipping his lower leg but doing little more than leaving a bruise beneath his greaves. Geralt took the farmhand's temporary loss of balance as an opportunity to strike, scoring a deep gash into the strange, cursed-looking humanoid with his blade, one which bled noticeably. Remembering the strange pendant he received from the large fishman's spirit, Geralt nodded to himself. "Good to see it's got some use." He mumbled, stepping back and changing his priority to the enemy wielding the shovel.

Said enemy jabbed their farming implement directly at Geralt's chest, and Geralt deflected the blow to the side when all of a sudden, a burst of crystals clattered into his face. Stepping back, Geralt coughed as he felt an unfamiliar feeling well up inside him: he was...sick? Poisoned?

The damned pendant! Of course these things were using poison just after he'd acquired something that made him more vulnerable to poison. Still, he didn't feel overly bothered, just...a little unwell. Like he'd taken a small cut during a fight, was all. He'd taken worse than this and come out feeling better.

His momentary distraction cost him, however, and a hoe crashed into his chest, sending him stumbling back once more with a snarl on his face. He wasn't quite ready to cast a sign again, and Igni sure would have been useful right about now. However, Geralt did the next best thing: he drew his hunting knife and prepared to use it as a sort of parrying dagger. It wouldn't be perfect, but it was better than catching the haft of a hoe being swung with force on his arm.

It proved unnecessary with the next attack that came his way, however, as Geralt pivoted to the side and brought his sword up, removing the farmhand's arm just below the elbow. The creature stumbled, looked at him confusedly, and collapsed in on itself, transforming into a crystal. At the same time, the farmhand he'd gashed fell to the floor, looking exhausted as it to transformed into a crystalline bomb.

That left one. Geralt snarled as he charged the final farmhand, which raised its hose defensively and tried to shove the Witcher as he tackled them both to the ground. On top of his opponent this time, Geralt stabbed it in the chest with his hunting knife, pried the hoe out of its hands with his now free hand, and drew the blade of his sword along its throat, opening a lethal wound in the final farmhand.

Removing his knife as he stood, Geralt stabbed the crystal below him with his sword, destroying it. He quickly set about destroying the other two, striking with his blade once more.

Satisfied that he was finished with the farmhands, Geralt looked back on the fight before him, now consciously taking in the changed atmosphere. The sky had now changed to a more welcoming golden-yellowish hue, and the battlefield was clearing up rather well. The poison Geralt had been inflicted with had left him slightly weaker than he'd otherwise have been after what was still a good fight against the farmhands, but it was still the hit from the Brachydios that had wounded him the most, Quen Sign or no.

Making his way back to their oversized enemy, Geralt watched as Linkle attacked the monster with some strange, blocky-looking bow while just....standing there. It took him a moment to notice the churned-up earth between her and the Brachydios. Huh, clever girl. Using them against each other. Not a bad plan at all.

World of Light

Geralt of Rivia

Ancestral Farmstead

Lvl 3 (8/30) -> Lvl 3 (9/30)

Word Count: 588 words

Stress Level: 15

Geralt hadn't expected Euden to come blazing in from the skies to carve a chunk out of the Brachydios' tail just before he went to swing. Geralt hadn't expected his own blow to remove the monster's tail outright. He certainly hadn't expected the Cadet to attach himself to the monster and ride it like an unbroken stallion, getting knocked around but holding firm. Man, what do they feed those guys over there? Geralt casually wondered as he attempted to bob and weave out of the way of the monster's erratic stomping.

He was unsuccessful, however, and a massive foot slammed into his body, flinging him back while both shattering his Quen shielding, and absolutely smothering him with sticky, explosive goo. Geralt rolled once, twice, and a third time before halting his own momentum and shakily standing, scooping a handful of goo off his armor. "Ugh, that's just disgusting..." Remembering the Cadet's warning as well as what happened to Bowser, Geralt made removing this goo his focus. He had to contend with more farmhands attacking him now that he was pushed away from the giant saurian monster, though, and it was hardly ideal to try and clean himself off while dodging sickles, hoes and shovels.

Still, he was used to this. Fighting humanoids was simple, compared to remembering all the different types of monsters he'd come across, where they were weakest, what concoctions and blade poisons were deadliest to them, and other such information that made his life easier. No, humanoids were simple: cut them apart and they'd die quick enough. He wasn't sure if these crystal-bearing things were any different, but he could always just find out. It wasn't like he was in any real danger, unless-

Yep, that was a pitchfork.

Whoresons. Geralt stumbled backwards, the goo impacting his agility more than he expected it to, and the farming implement stuck into his armor, the angle catching it in the chain mail and sending both Witcher and strange, mutated farmhand falling to the ground, one atop the other. "You're a lot uglier up close," Geralt muttered while drawing his hunting dagger and plunging it into the farmhand's exposed neck, green energy pouring out as the thing folded in on itself, threatening to crush Geralt under its weight.

Forcing himself out from underneath the creature, Geralt rubbed his arm against the crystal that formed, some more goo coming off of him. The distraction that the farmhand provided was more than he could afford, however, and after a moment of sparking, the goo exploded, sending Geralt back to the ground, coughing and a little bloody.

Kid wasn't kidding, that shit hurt. His ears were ringing just a little, and Geralt was lucky enough that the other farmhands hadn't yet advanced on him, but he wasn't taking any chances. Grabbing his sword from the ground, Geralt stabbed it into the crystal, which shattered harmlessly at the attack.

He was out of time, as the other farmhands descended upon him angrily, making eldritch noises and swinging their weapons. A parry here, a quick cut there, and he was already back near the Brachydios, albeit with more farmhands on his back. Damn.

"Keep that thing busy and I'll keep these Whoresons off your backs!" He called out to the others. While they'd mostly been able to avoid interference from the strange enemies so far, Geralt's blunder could have exposed their backs, and that would have been unacceptable. He wasn't dead weight, and he wasn't gonna let the kids get hurt on his watch, either.