A few days had passed, and Geralt found himself in Crows Perch. The townspeople exchanged hushed whispers as the witcher made his way through the narrow streets. Approaching the notice board in the town square, his piercing eyes scanned the seemingly trivial and useless notices posted by the townsfolk until one contract caught his attention. With purpose, he pushed open the creaking doors of the tavern, drawing all eyes in the room to him as if he were a creature from another world.
Navigating through the scrutinizing looks, Geralt chose the farthest table from the prying gazes of the patrons. Once seated, he retrieved the contract from his pocket and began to read it quietly to himself.
**Contract: Shrieker**
To whom it may concern:
Let it hereby be known that whoever kills the shrieker, the monster that's woven its nest near Crows Perch and has taken to killing both men and beasts, will be given a sizable reward. Take heed that she's a dreadful creature, and killing it will require a trained fighter, not a group of peasants with pitchforks.
~Chet of Crows Perch
As Geralt absorbed the details of the contract, a male patron approached, slamming his fist on the table in front of the witcher. "We don't want yer' kind here, mutant," the man spat. Geralt remained silent, his steely gaze meeting the man's. Unfazed by the lack of reaction, the man scoffed and retreated to his table.
After a few minutes, Geralt stood, leaving the tavern and making his way to find Chet. As he walked, he let his senses wander, absorbing fragments of conversations around him—ranging from trivial matters like a husband's drinking habits to the innocence of children's songs.
Suddenly, a conversation caught his attention. Two males discussing an inn in Lyria before the war.
Male 1: "Do you remember the inn that used to run in Lyria back before the war?"
Male 2: "The one where the owner's daughter was a freak?"
Male 1: "Yeah, she had the best body; no other whore could compete."
Male 2: "What are you, a freak lover?"
Male 1: "I most certainly am not! But if I were to see that purple-haired freak again, I'm not saying I wouldn't have my way with her all over again."
The second male noticed a smirk on his friend's face before his expression turned pale. Fueled by anger, Geralt stomped his way toward the two males, his presence commanding attention in the tavern.
Geralt's gaze bore into the two men, his expression stern and unyielding as he approached. The tavern's atmosphere seemed to shift, tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. The patrons, initially immersed in their own conversations, now turned their attention to the unfolding scene.
Coming to a halt in front of the two offenders, Geralt's voice cut through the murmurs of the tavern. "Your idea of entertainment has reached its limit," he declared, his tone low, carrying a dangerous edge.
The first man, who had spoken so callously, sneered at Geralt. "What's it to you, freak? You looking for trouble?"
Without uttering a word, Geralt's hand shot out, gripping the man's collar and pulling him closer. The second man took a step back, recognizing the gravity of the situation. Geralt's eyes gleamed with an intensity that demanded respect.
"Watch your words," Geralt warned, his voice a low growl.
With a forceful shove, Geralt released the man, who stumbled backward, his bravado shattered. The patrons watched in silence as Geralt turned away, redirecting his attention to the contract and the task at hand. The atmosphere, though tense, gradually settled back into a semblance of normalcy.
After locating Chet and gathering additional information about the shrieker, Geralt exited the tavern, his purpose crystal clear. The townspeople, once again engrossed in their own affairs, spared him only passing glances.
As he ventured toward the outskirts of Crows Perch, Geralt's thoughts lingered on the tavern encounter. The world was rife with monsters, both supernatural and human, yet his path remained unaltered—defending those unable to defend themselves.
With the moon casting its glow high in the night sky, Geralt pressed forward, guided by the contract and the duty to confront the very real monster that threatened the town. The echoes of his footsteps faded into the night as he vanished into the darkness, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the unknown
YOU ARE READING
Old Love
Macera"Iris!" Geralt screamed as he saw the purple-haired woman on horseback riding with a few men clad in armor. He whistled for his horse, quickly mounting and riding after them. I lost her once, I won't lose her again.
