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Name: Archibald Gideon Prescott. Alias “Digital Centurion”

Species: Lightning Elpo

Job: Mercenary

Appearance: Archibald is robustly built, standing at 6’2” and weighing 210 pounds. He keeps his brown hair short enough to be essentially impossible to grab. Kind, pale blue eyes bely his nature as a seasoned mercenary with numerous kills under his belt. A chunk of his left nostril is missing, with a clear scar showing a blade wound running through it and his lip. His facial hair perpetually remains a five-o-clock shadow.

Fully kitted out, Archibald is an intimidating presence. Archibald

Without the exoskeleton and face mask, this is roughly what he looks like. The backpack is bigger to fit all the ammo and has extra packs strapped on for his other gear, as well.

Personality: Meeting this guy in a dark alley is every person’s worst nightmare, no matter which side of the law they’re on. Intimidating, ruthless, murderous, all adjectives used to describe ‘Digital Centurion’. On the job, Archibald focuses on getting the job done and getting it done properly. He has little patience for fools and braggarts. He’s utilitarian but not merciless. He doesn’t throw bodies at problems to solve them, he makes problems into bodies.

But as we all know, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Off the job, Archibald is much more laid back, but with a lightly hidden tension that shows he rarely if ever truly relaxes. He’s seen some shit, and he knows that he’s just one botched job away from a shallow grave.

Background: Born in the same year that the first Well opened, Archibald has never known the old world. Raised by a career soldier of a father, he moved around a lot from a young age, never staying in one home for more than a few years. As such, Archibald has little attachment to any one nation or culture.
His father raised him to be athletic, to treat his body with care, and to recognize the value of his life. He taught him the skills he would need to protect himself, and made him condition his body to be able to utilize those skills to the maximum.

Becoming a mercenary at the age of twenty, Archibald quickly made a name for himself as somebody with the skills and the attitude to get jobs done. Despite his reputation as a brutal mercenary, he has a history of avoiding what he considers to be lower-end “hitman” work. He has no problem killing people to get a job done or as a means to an end, but killing as an end itself rubs him the wrong way.

Talents:

Minor electricity manipulation- Has the ability to induce electrical charges in objects (enough to create a magnetic attraction like a weak neodymium magnet, but not enough to say, Static Shock a manhole cover and fly around). This can also work in reverse, if an object has electricity within it, he can drain the charge and leave it a husk. Can also emit a jolt of electricity with similar power to a taser, but rapid repeated use of this ability drain him physically. He can use this ability to fry unshielded electronics, but just zapping a keypad doesn’t always open that high-security door.

Firearm Proficiencies- Able to use with skill most modern firearms. Weapons made with Pendulum tech are a bit trickier, but given time (like with his own weapon) he can learn how to use them just as well as a regular old gun.

The Basics of CQC- Archibald has been taught in more than just the basics of close-quarters combat. In fisticuffs or armed with his knives, he’s a deadly combatant. He knows how to disarm opponents and finish them in quick order.

Medical talent- No good mercenary lasts long without being able to patch up minor wounds on the go. Proper application of bandages, tourniquets, and first aid procedures are no problem for this merc. Given time to stop and think, he can jury-rig a treatment for more serious wounds as well as diagnose them.

Gear- A veteran mercenary, Archibald has a serious kit of gear. He carries military-grade first aid equipment at all times. This kit has bandages, gloves, tourniquets, medical masks, emergency splints, neck braces, artery clamps, scissors, disinfectant, iodine, hand and foot cream, needle and thread, insect bite relief creams, epinephrine, adrenaline, burn relief kits, pain relief meds, you name it! If there’s a medical problem, Archibald can address it.

In addition to his medical gear, Archibald carries light sticks, road flares, night-vision goggles, a hunting knife, a folding knife, N95 masks, quick energy snack bars, flash grenades, a straight razor, a 25-foot length of rope, and fresh socks.

Lucy Dear- Lucy Dear is an automatic rifle made from Pendulum technology that fires a high-velocity, armor-piercing intermediate rifle cartridge capable of penetrating most lightweight body armors without fail. Heavier ceramic armors tend to hold up to the first few rounds before shattering under the strain of repeated fire. Lucy Dear has an advanced recoil management system that gives her minimal kick, although long-term firing will obviously result in recoil that is still difficult to manage. Lucy Dear is also equipped with a zero-zoom holographic sight. The rifle is also integrally suppressed, with a firing volume of about 120 decibels, the approximate noise level of a thunderclap or a chainsaw. A typical rifle will have a firing volume of about 165 decibels, for reference.

In addition to all of the above, Lucy Dear is fitted via a semi-ridged belt-feeder to a backpack containing 750 rounds of ammunition. Assuming no complications, the entire stock of ammunition can be fed to Lucy Dear without the need for reloading, making Archibald a constant threat so long as he has ammo. The primary downside to this is the size and weight of the backpack, which weighs about 40 pounds fully loaded.

Handgun- Archibald also carries a double-stack .45 handgun with a whopping 15-round magazine. He carries four reserve magazines for a total of 75 rounds.

Body Armor- Archibald wears high-grade body armor capable of stopping most conventional rifle rounds. Anti-materiel rounds will not be stopped by this armor. On his shoulders, arms, and over his groin he wears lightweight armor capable of stopping most handgun rounds.

Helmet- Archibald wears a ballistic helmet as well, which can prevent, deflect, or reduce the impact of shots to his head. While he obviously would prefer not to be shot in the head at all, some protection is better than none.

Other:
Ooooooh.

Definitely interested. How influential is the Interest? Would we be starting with the raid, basically, and dealing with the fallout? Or is that spoilerinos?
Geralt of Rivia

Eryth Sea-> Edge of the Blue

Lvl 5 (63/50) -> Lvl 5 (64/50)

Word Count: 233 words


Geralt sighed and shook his head when the Cadet told him to back off. That...didn't quite go as expected. He actually felt a little bad about the obvious effect his words had on Sakura, and he frowned sadly before moving away from her and boarding the ship, lost in though. He'd overheard the captain praising his ship, and he smirked a bit. The man reminded him of a Skelliger, boasting about his adventures and the fierce enemies he'd fought. It made him nostalgic for the archipelago.

The Witcher took a moment to get his balance as the ship suddenly began moving, ropes pulling themselves and the wood itself seeming to breathe. "What in the...?" He murmured, looking around, only to witness Sakura going over the edge. "Dammit!" Geralt cursed, running to the edge of the boat, and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw her surface and look up. Shaking his head with a laugh, he looked about for a rope and tossed a length of it over the edge for the girl. "Can't say I expected that..." He complained as he easily hauled her up, enhanced muscles straining minimally to pull the girl up the side of the ship.

"Always something weirder with every new world I end up in..." He muttered. Dragons, living ships, floating islands, a world that replenished itself every week? He couldn't imagine what would be next.
Geralt of Rivia

Eryth Sea-> Edge of the Blue

Lvl 5 (60/50) -> Lvl 5 (63/50)

Word Count: 1291 words


Yennefer was here. She was safe. Letting out a breath through his nose, Geralt nodded. It felt like he'd been hit with an emotional sledgehammer. "Thank you." He said, turning towards the residential area he'd been pointed to before pausing. He almost scoffed thinking about how Isabelle said that Yen wasn't a fighter, but he supposed she did carry herself that way. Sorceresses were a prideful bunch, after all.

They were about to leave. He had a job to do. But he'd joined with this group to find Yennefer and Ciri in the first place! If he ran off now, there was no telling if she'd wait around forever. She'd likely have her own search going for Ciri, if not himself as well. Shaking his head, Geralt stalked up the stairway he'd been directed to. He could spare a minute. And if it came down to it, Yennefer could probably track him down with portals and the plans the group was making. She could chase him for once, couldn't she?

Looking around, Geralt found that the apartments were helpfully labelled with small plaques stating who lived where. Upon reaching one that said "Yennefer of Vengerberg", the Witcher knocked.

A voice he'd been waiting so long to hear responded. "Isabelle, dear, is that you? Rather odd to be calling on me at this time, you ought to be-" Swinging the door open, Geralt was greeted with the beloved sight of his "wife", and a fond smile crossed his features. "Geralt? Oh, thank goodness." A quick look up and down, and she grabbed his arm, carefully yet forcefully pulling the Witcher inside and slamming her door, pulling Geralt into an embrace. "No blood this time. I'm almost impressed," She teased, "but I've a feeling you have bad news."

Nodding, Geralt put an inch of distance between the two, not willing to break the hug, but needing to make some space so he could deliver his unfortunate news. "There's...a lot going on. I've found myself tangled up in yet another misadventure." Yennefer could only sigh.

"You have developed quite the unpleasant habit of doing so lately, that is true. Might I ask what you've done this time?" She wasn't pouting, Sorceresses didn't pout, but there was a displeased look on her face all the same.

"To put it shortly, Galeem, a malevolent entity of untold power has ripped us from our world and thrown us here, in some...sick playground, with beings from hundreds if not thousands of other worlds. And I was hoping I'd finished this particular brand of nonsense." He let out a quick huff. "I've joined with a group of...adventurers...trying to set things right."

"You're playing hero again," Yennefer accused, and Geralt frowned.

"Yen, after everything we went through, I'm not...I can't just overgrown firefly undo all the work we did! Eredin was dead, Ciri was...Ciri went into the White Frost..." Geralt blanched.

"You're...there was another Conjuction of the Spheres after you killed Eredin. Do you think this was the result?" Yennfer seemed to understand what he was thinking, but Geralt shook his head, without confidence.

"No. I know Ciri. She would have stopped it. Galeem must have stopped her. Or waited until just the right moment to rip us free of our world and drop us here." As he spoke, the Witcher's confidence in what he was saying rallied. "If we stop him...we can undo what he's done. Magic that powerful would be tied into his very existence. Killing him-"

"Might very well destroy this world we've found ourselves in and kill us all, Geralt." Yennefer chided, a pensive look on this face. "But it might not. It might merely leave us here, in this...amalgamation of worlds. There's no telling what would happen, Geralt. But you're right. I refuse to live under the heel of yet another tyrant." Geralt smiled at the remark, kissing her rather chastely.

"I wish I could stay, but we're leaving. I'll be going with the Blue team, if you need to find me-or us." Geralt broke the embrace, feeling a little empty for having done so.

"Go save the world, hero..." Yennefer teased, knowing it would get under his skin.

"I'm not a hero, Yen. I'm a professional." Geralt grunted.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say dear." She replied with a roll of the eyes. "I'll be here. I'll see if I can't find out more about this place from the others. My memories are...rather foggy." Giving a resolute nod, Yennefer took a slow breath. "I'll see you later, Geralt."

"I love you, Yennefer."

"I know, Geralt. I know." She didn't need to say the words back. Especially not that Geralt had opened the door and was already making his way off to handle yet another mess that shouldn't be his problem. That man is such a bother sometimes...but I do love him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Isabelle caught up to the group as Geralt was rejoining, he gave the dog-woman a nod. "Isabelle. I found Yennefer. Thank you." His piece said, the Witcher nodded at the others. "We're headed to the Edge of the Blue, as they called it. This is the rest of the team."

Quickly making introductions, Geralt went off with the others, frowning at the necessity of using teleportation of all things to continue their journey. At least he'd been able to meditate before this, get himself centered better. It only helped somewhat, and his stomach was practically in his mouth by the time they stepped out of the Devil's Casino.

While the locals explained what they'd have to do, Geralt remained silent. Bloated bodies sounds like necrophages. Might be under some kind of trance or spell to make them docile...hmm. Thoughts about how to handle the situation raced through his mind. They needed the favor of the locals to get help, or...sacrifices, more likely, from what these people were saying. While he might be able to use Axii to get somebody along, he wouldn't be able to keep the sign active against ten different people, not without killing himself for even trying. The mental strain alone would be deadly, not even counting the sheer amount of energy he'd need to maintain such a thing.

As usual, Axii wasn't the best course of action. Damn sign was almost more trouble than it was worth, sometimes, it seemed.

But something Sakura said ticked him off. "It rarely is, in my experience." His voice was a bit more gruff, the Witcher purposefully playing up his age and experience, trying to emulate Vesemir. "I can't tell you how much money I've declined doing the 'right thing', kid. Or how many people I've killed who didn't need to die, just because they refused to listen. I don't know what your experiences have been, but where I'm from...this is a bloody line of work. People die every day, by the dozens and sometimes hundreds. Sacrifices have to be made, sometimes directly, sometimes...just as the cost of trying." Shaking his head, he continued.

"But we never stopped trying to find a better way. We've got plenty of people among us, maybe between here and there we'll figure out a better way. Maybe we won't. But don't push away help just because it makes your stomach turn. We're fighting for our lives, and for this world, aren't we? People are gonna die no matter what we do. It's our job to make the best use of those sacrifices, or their deaths would just be for nothing." Thinking of Vesemir, and Djikstra, and all the other friends he'd lost along the way, Geralt frowned. "They'd hate you for not at least trying." Well, Djikstra certainly hated him whatever he decided to do, now. Power-hungry bastard.
Geralt of Rivia

Eryth Sea

Lvl 5 (59/50) -> Lvl 5 (60/50)

Word Count: 463 words


Traveling through a multitude of teleportation devices was...unpleasant, to say the least. Geralt found himself near the back of the convoy, partially out of his own reluctance to force himself to endure more of the arcane movement, and partially to keep his stomach from releasing its contents as he slowly trudged along, miserable. Truly, teleportation, portals or no, was the worst method of transportation. If only they had some other way to cross these islands, like that monk's flying machine that he had purposefully crashed into the dragon to try and kill it.

Sighing, Geralt finally stopped when the group reached their destination, taking a moment to collect himself. "Why does it always have to be portals and teleportation?" He grumbled, hurrying after the others in time to hear that the group would need to meet back up in an hour so that they could hold a strategy meeting. Well, that suited him just fine, he could finally hide in a corner and meditate a bit. He was feeling exhausted by everything that had gone on, the amount of combat they fought, and the rapid recovery from what could have proved a nasty wound earlier. Even with the help of Blazermate and his own accelerated regeneration, he was feeling a bit worn out.

While the others hustled and bustled about, Geralt found himself a nice little corner of the building and sat on his knees, toes pointed downward into the ground. His eyes closed and hands at his side, Geralt waited as the hour passed by rapidly, feeling no different than a few minutes. However, his muscles were much more relaxed, every trace of adrenaline was gone from his body, and he felt as thought he'd gotten a few hours' worth of sleeping in. Refreshed and ready to continue, he stood up as the meeting started and listened intently.

Of all the places mentioned, he refused to endure another desert. Just the short journey through that one world with Avallach was miserable, and he vaguely recalled Ciri having been saved by a Unicorn from the Korath desert back home. Not happening.

Geralt looked around, finding the dog-like lady who was acting as receptionist, and sought her out. Surely she'd know if Yennefer or Ciri had come through here.

"Hello there. I had a question to ask before putting myself down to go anywhere. Have you seen a young woman with ashen hair, green eyes, and a curved scar under her left eye? I'm looking for my daughter. I'm also looking for my...well, wife, I suppose. Long, black hair, medium height, smells of lilac and gooseberries." The look on Geralt's face wasn't quite pleading, but there was a quiet sort of desperation borne of the untimely separation from his family he'd endured.
Chrom of Ylisse (Fire Emblem Awakening, Fighter)

Yennefer of Vengerberg (Geralt's Kindred Spirit)

I don't actually plan to play Yennefer at this time, but I'd like to have her somewhere Geralt knows she's safe, as a way to reassure him.
Geralt of Rivia

Eryth Sea

Lvl 5 (57/50) -> Lvl 5 (59/50)

Word Count: 791 words


Carefully deposited onto the island by Sectonia, Geralt wrinkled his nose in frustration. How could he let himself lose control like that?! With the immediate threat of the battle over, his thoughts turned inward. The stress of this place has to be getting to me. Even Vesemir got frustrated sometimes, but this is something else. It's not like me to...

Ah. Exactly. It wasn't like him. Absorbing that Enderman spirit had done more to him than he'd expected. He was used to pushing his emotions down, not letting them get the better of him. But when they were so overwhelmingly powerful, and caused by something not entirely himself? The damn had burst. Every errant glance, every time he had to teleport himself, everything that had happened seemed to add to the flood of indignation that had spilled forth from him.

Getting this spirit out of him suddenly became priority number one. He was no good to anybody like this. He'd have to be more careful in considering the possible downsides to absorbing spirits in the future. Considering that he'd left the Pelagic Champion to fade away, it might have just been the urgency of facing one of Galeem's champions that made him make such a poorly-thought out decision.

Hah! Who was he kidding, that kind of brash, devil-may-care attitude was pure Geralt, through and through. One didn't break curses without making a few suppositions, after all. Still, this was one such decision that reminded him that he always had to be vigilant, even when he was sure he was fine. The dangers of a Witcher's life, they were.

Peach's question was met with a frustrated and demanding, "Please do." He tried not to let exactly what, or in this case who, he was frustrated with show in the statement, however. The last thing he needed was his companions questioning his sanity after that debacle.

Once the spirit was removed from Geralt, and he was back to his regular proportions and state of being, he gave Peach a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Princess. I'd not recommend anybody do that again. The downsides are much, much worse than the upsides are." His piece said, the Witcher turned and walked over to the Dispenser Dell had set up. He remembered vaguely being told that the machine could produce ammunition and regenerate wounds. The machine made a few bolts for his crossbow, bringing him back to his original 30 and filling his case. Additionally, he noticed that his blaster was charged again, from the display Tora had helpfully put on it to show Geralt how close he was to empty, so to speak. It turned out he was much closer than he'd expected, though given the sheer magnitude of the previous fights, it was little wonder.

He also noticed that his aches were dulling even more rapidly than usual, which was further proof of this machine's miraculous properties. Smirking, Geralt looked to the man responsible for creating it. Knowing he was a "summon", a temporary entity manifested through the power of a spirit, made him pause. Normally he might have even complimented the man for making something so useful, like Hattori in Novigrad. With things as they were, however, he mostly ignored the Engineer, instead returning to the group and grabbing a "hot dog". Which was pig. In a tube shape. Yeah, that made sense.

Ignoring the strange shape and name of his food, Geralt ate slowly, savoring the flavor. It was rich in flavor, fatty and greasy. Perfect food for a Witcher. It would give him plenty of energy, and didn't taste like a horse's arse.

Geralt mostly ignored the three newcomers who started chumming it up with Fox and the group's leaders, both actual and self-proclaimed. They seemed to know each other, and he wasn't terribly in the mood for making new friends.

Which made the next newcomer even more ironic. A young girl, likely a teenager, with the body of a seasoned warrior. That earned a raised eyebrow, but the Witcher thought better of commenting. Women could be touchy about that sort of thing. She seemed to want to make friends with everybody, and was generally upbeat and jovial. Oh joyous times, yet another hero, The Witcher silently bemoaned. Still, if she was like the others, he'd grow to tolerate her. Standing up, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Peach and Bowser. "The girl in the...weird clothes is in charge, but the big guy is gonna get pissed at me for saying that, so suck up to him a little or something so he stops yelling for a minute. Bastard's too loud."

His piece spoken again, Geralt sat down and returned to his food.
Geralt of Rivia

The End

Lvl 5 (35/50) -> Lvl 5 (57/50)

Word Count: 873 words


Geralt managed to avoid most of the damage from being slammed by the dragon's tail, between what remained from Quen and his own efforts to evade the appendage, but he couldn't prevent himself from being knocked along the ground, and through a small layer of acid, before rolling to a stop and groaning. "Devils, that hurt." Struggling to get himself up, the Witcher carefully shook a bit of the caustic liquid off of himself before pausing to take a few deep breaths. He wouldn't go down from just that, but there came a point where that much muscle might as well have been a tree swung by a rock troll right into him. Forcing himself to stand, Geralt frowned when he realized that he was much further away from the fight than he'd have hoped, though his distance did allow him to get a good look at all that happened.

And, hell, did a lot happen. Donnie decided that his flying machine wasn't going to be useful anymore, apparently, with all the damage it had taken. At the same time, Jak dropped from above the dragon and unleashed his massive dark energy attack. He heard a few massive explosions around the same time, from that over-sized gun the Courier was using, and there were still a few people clinging to the dragon while the biggest explosion occurred. Geralt winced when he noticed that, but the cat things managed to rescue Link and Euden. That much damage, though? This was done. Geralt put his pistol away and nodded, unconcerned.

Until he noticed the dragon was still moving, missiles detonating against its hide, as it slammed a massive clawed hand onto Tora, crushing him beneath it. Geralt tried to move, but the dragon whipped its tail around, forcing him to dodge lest he be pulverized by the oversized appendage. A second hammer blow crushed Tora utterly, leaving him stuck in the ground, immobilized. The dragon took a deep breath, and a ball of acid descended upon Tora, disintegrating the metal golem utterly, killing him. Geralt shut his eyes, unable to watch, anger coursing through him at his inability to save another person, sentient golem or no.

Until he heard Tora's panicked shouts and witnessed Blazermate's quick thinking in healing their ally. A shuddering breath of relief escaped Geralt's lungs, only for his mood to be replaced by

RAGE


Maybe somebody looked at him accidentally. Maybe he was reminded of one too many people he couldn't save. All Geralt knew was that he was unusually angry. The stress of being torn away from everything he fought and bled for? The realization that he didn't know if he'd even see Ciri and Yennefer again?

You'd have to ask somebody capable of conscious thought, because Geralt wasn't at that moment.

He was a swinging, screaming bladestorm of fury, tearing limbs from Endermen and chasing their retreating forms flawlessly. Whenever his current target teleported, Geralt was right behind them, silver sword flashing. He'd completely abandoned the group's target, instead chasing the damned little distractions that had kept them from protecting Tora. Was it foolish? Absolutely. Was it counter-productive? Probably.

But the part of Geralt's brain in charge wasn't thinking about the tactical benefits of eliminating the small fry before dealing with the larger threat, of splitting their forces up erratically. All it wanted was destruction. And destruction it had: the Witcher had ultimately done little more than distract a few of the Enderman Linkle and the Bowsers hadn't yet destroyed and angering a few others. If anything, he might have even been a liability with how much attention he was probably drawing.

As his sword exploded out the back of yet another Enderman, Geralt forced himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, lest he get caught back up in the aggression he so often suppressed. It was a moment or two before he realized what he'd done, and his stomach felt like it was missing. Adrenaline was still flooding through his veins, but he had to clamp down on that before he lost control again.

Wiping the blood from his sword, Geralt turned back to the fight, only to realize that it had ended without him.

He caught the last of Bowser's destruction of the Ender Dragon, of the wave of force the creature's explosion gave off, which only briefly irritated him. It wasn't enough to make even him, as off as he was, stumble.

A few more deep breaths had Geralt stowing his weapon, walking back towards the others, before his stomach dropped again as the strange otherworld they were in starting dissolving and gravity took control of the island they were on once more.

"Whoreson." He sighed. Of course there was some catch to this. Never just a simple victory. Looking at the others, Geralt frowned. "Something about that water feels...off." He couldn't place it, but he didn't want to get wet. Thankfully, as the party fell, Sectonia was kind enough to grab a hold of one of Geralt's elongated arms, not deigning to look at the Witcher. Better for them both that way, Geralt was sure there was some Enderman blood staining his armor and clothing.
Geralt of Rivia

The End

Lvl 5 (33/50) -> Lvl 5 (35/50)

Word Count: 400 words- OVERDRIVE


Geralt smirked as an absolutely staggering amount of damage was dealt to the dragon by the combined attacks of the group. They'd even managed to leave a bit of permanent damage on its head, scales peeled away and flesh cauterized by Fox's blaster fire. Geralt slightly adjusted his aim to focus their fire, but it wasn't long before the scene changed. Poppi, one of the metal golems, had her leg torn off by the Ender Dragon's struggles as she pummeled the creature. Her companion chased after her, the Witcher deciding to let the strange round engineer handle that situation.

The dragon escaped Bowser's grip shortly after, striking a hefty blow on him before taking to the skies and lashing her tail out at those who had taken refuge on high. Cursing, Geralt warped away from the tower he was atop, careful to avoid dropping himself inside a pool of acid, but otherwise uncaring of exactly where he ended up. He had to remain vigilant lest he step into the caustic solution, but he quickly made his way around to witness the result of Bowser's next attack. As clever as it might have been in concept, the results were markedly less spectacular: a horde of Endermen attacking the large turtle-king.

Sighing, the Witcher moved towards Bowser, careful to avoid the acid on the ground. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get to the group without warping, and was forced to stay back from the action and formulate a new plan in part due to his aversion to doing so when it wasn't strictly necessary. He didn't want to fire into the melee lest he hit his allies, which was even more of a concern with the habit of the Endermen to teleport around seemingly at random.

What a pain in the ass, Geralt mused. Linkle, at least, had joined the combat and was whittling their numbers down. He didn't think she'd have any trouble with it, so Geralt decided to focus back on their main target: the damned dragon.

The sound of a trio of explosions, quickly followed by the elf-eared boy shouting to stay away, helped guide Geralt's eye to the enemy, and he aimed carefully with his blaster, taking a few more shots at the dragon, this time not focusing on any specific body part, and just hoping to land some hits due to the distance between them.
Geralt of Rivia

The End

Lvl 5 (31/50) -> Lvl 5 (33/50)

Word Count: 471 words- OVERDRIVE


Geralt let up on his attacks as Bowser took a moment to heal himself, choosing to move a bit closer to the group's self-proclaimed leader. He didn't really understand how taking a humanoid rabbit and squeezing it was fixing his eye problems, but the Witcher didn't question it. Things were strange in this place, after all. Satisfied that Bowser would be alright, Geralt started to move just as the dragon lashed out with its tail.

For once, luck was on Geralt's side, and Bowser materialized a massive shield to protect the two from harm, though it was completely and utterly shattered by the impact. "Damn! Thanks, boss." Geralt called as he rushed back in to the fray, wincing as he saw the Courier's own metal golem take a lethal blow for its master. Rather than being left a heap of broken metal, however, as soon as the dragon was gone, a group of cat-like creatures were carrying it on a makeshift stretcher. Confused beyond belief, Geralt chose to ignore this. It worked. That was good enough for a Witcher.

Deciding to stick close to Bowser even as he took a few nasty hits from the blasts of acid, dodging whenever some of the substance came too close for comfort. The acid was starting to spread, on the ground, however, and after a particularly bad hit that he wasn't quite able to fully dodge, Geralt's Quen shield shattered, energy exploding out from him and blasting whatever acid might have remained on him away. "Oh damnit!" He cursed. He could probably survive a few burns, but his armor getting damaged would be an absolute nightmare.

The dragon refused to let up, spinning in the air and unleashing another gust of wind that Geralt had to hide behind Bowser to not be bowled over by. As he tried to maintain his balance, the oversized turtle monster made a dash for one of the towers, climbing the surface and jumping to grab at the dragon's tail.

As Bowser took his course of action, so too did Geralt. Looking up at the closest tower, Geralt willed himself up, ignoring the crawling feeling that he got when Sectonia flew over and offered a lift. His spine was tingling and he wanted to just...leave the fight and not come back. Trying to shake the feeling off as he took in his new surroundings atop the pillar, Geralt stowed his sword and grabbed his blaster once more. He managed to hear Blazermate calling out that the thing's head was its weak spot, which...made sense? Most things didn't like getting hit in the head. Still, better to have a specific target than just to make assumptions. Quickly re-casting the Sign of Quen just in case, Geralt opened fire once more on the dragon, this time aiming for its head specifically.
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