Geralt of Rivia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fourletterwords) wrote2020-04-06 12:37 am
fourletterwords) wrote2020-04-06 12:37 am
Entry tags:
PSL - Injuries and A Pretty Bad Scene
The threshold of the cave is a massive, yawning opening dripping ice-cold water from long hanging protrusions off the ceiling. Some are ice, others stalactites, all of them are liable to fall and bring part of the ceiling down upon them if they're not careful. Outside, the storm rages--it alternates dumping rain and sleet, if the temperature keeps dropping it will start hailing soon. Geralt doesn't like this, doesn't like that he's had to bring Jaskier, that he'd had to leave Roach at the base of the path. There are wolves in these hills and, frankly, Roach can deal with a wolf, even several wolves--but Roach is a horse. She won't save Jaskier if she's running from a pack.
The posting for this hunt had been vague, but he'd been sure it was nothing more than a bear. Maybe a Hirikka starving in the cave. The farther in they got, the deeper they walked through freezing mud and hard, eroded stone, the more Geralt was certain that it was not a bear, and not a Hirikka. The smells that permeated the cavern were subtle, overwhelmed by the tang of rust and iron, of minerals and sulfur from the dripping water--when he caught copper, he didn't scent it as blood, not at first.
What caught Geralt's attention first was the sweet scent--like ladies' perfumes, a false sort of flower smell, concocted and put out into the air. Stale. Unless there were a bevvy of whores in this cavern, or some of Jaskier's courtly ladies, then this was a very dangerous place to be. There were no girlish giggles ahead, no sign of other footprints--Geralt glances back and his eyes catch sight of Jaskier stumbling carefully in the dark behind him, hand on the wall. They were still too close to the entrance to tell him to wait--and if they went much further, the danger would come from ahead.
Fuck.
"Stay behind me," Geralt tells him quietly and stops, rifles through his bag to pick out a pair of potions. He downs one then the other--grimaces as they burn through him, but glad for the boons even as his stomach rolls. He has a dry bundle of kindling dipped in wax, wrapped in fabric. For an emergency. This is an emergency. He lights it with a burst of Igni and suddenly the cave is cast in glittering gold and red light. His face, pale and ghoulish is lit before the bard. His abyssal eyes don't reflect the firelight back, not even as he holds the torch out to Jaskier.
"Don't touch the blossoms, don't run," Geralt tells him and, once he has taken the torch, draws his silver blade from his back. They would have to travel down quite a ways, but the stench of Venus blossom was unmistakable. It would be choking before they reached the back of the cave. Who knew how many bodies that smell was covering? At least there were only a few creatures that cultivated those fucking flowers...but unfortunately none of them were pleasant.
The posting for this hunt had been vague, but he'd been sure it was nothing more than a bear. Maybe a Hirikka starving in the cave. The farther in they got, the deeper they walked through freezing mud and hard, eroded stone, the more Geralt was certain that it was not a bear, and not a Hirikka. The smells that permeated the cavern were subtle, overwhelmed by the tang of rust and iron, of minerals and sulfur from the dripping water--when he caught copper, he didn't scent it as blood, not at first.
What caught Geralt's attention first was the sweet scent--like ladies' perfumes, a false sort of flower smell, concocted and put out into the air. Stale. Unless there were a bevvy of whores in this cavern, or some of Jaskier's courtly ladies, then this was a very dangerous place to be. There were no girlish giggles ahead, no sign of other footprints--Geralt glances back and his eyes catch sight of Jaskier stumbling carefully in the dark behind him, hand on the wall. They were still too close to the entrance to tell him to wait--and if they went much further, the danger would come from ahead.
Fuck.
"Stay behind me," Geralt tells him quietly and stops, rifles through his bag to pick out a pair of potions. He downs one then the other--grimaces as they burn through him, but glad for the boons even as his stomach rolls. He has a dry bundle of kindling dipped in wax, wrapped in fabric. For an emergency. This is an emergency. He lights it with a burst of Igni and suddenly the cave is cast in glittering gold and red light. His face, pale and ghoulish is lit before the bard. His abyssal eyes don't reflect the firelight back, not even as he holds the torch out to Jaskier.
"Don't touch the blossoms, don't run," Geralt tells him and, once he has taken the torch, draws his silver blade from his back. They would have to travel down quite a ways, but the stench of Venus blossom was unmistakable. It would be choking before they reached the back of the cave. Who knew how many bodies that smell was covering? At least there were only a few creatures that cultivated those fucking flowers...but unfortunately none of them were pleasant.