Try, Please Try For Me

The Certainty Of A Witcher

To give the first man credit, he moves surprisingly fast. As soon as Geralt raises his sword, the bulky looking man to his left swings at him with his own. He even manages to dodge a couple of times before Geralt runs him through.

They always choose violence, don't they?

No matter. One down, six to go.

He pulls his sword from the man's crumpled body with a wet slicing sound, then whirls to parry the attacks of his companions.

People have tried to kill Geralt before, that's a pretty normal thing for a witcher, generally speaking. Geralt stopped counting somewhere around the tenth time. This time however, he needs to look out for himself as well as Jaskier.

Their leader backs up, surveying from a safe distance. He carries no weapon-- which means he's either a complete coward or that's a really bad sign. Four of the six remaining men flank Geralt from all sides, identifying him as the greater threat and sending only one person after Jaskier.

As Geralt fights off the four men, he hears a slick sound from behind him accompanied with a horrified scream. He doesn't need to turn to know that the man had been stupid and underestimated his bard. That's five.

His moment of amusement is short lived when the smell of fire fills the air and Geralt sees exactly why the leader had stepped to the side. He's standing in the center of a magic circle, a pair of ifrits on either side.

Fuck. The bastard is a mage. Shit.

Geralt blocks a mace that's swung at his head, and his eyes snap towards Roach where his silver sword is strapped to her saddle. He needs to get it before the ifrits burn half the forest to the ground.

Geralt thrusts his sword into the chest of the man nearest to him. He leaves it impaled, then casts aard, sending the other three stumbling back and makes a grab for the silver sword. He unsheaths it and swings at the oncoming ifrit just in time to see Jaskier kick one of the men that had fallen and stab him in the gut. Three.

A burst of fire explodes next to Geralt and he's knocked over. Roach whinnies, running off in the opposite direction and Geralt rolls to the side then slams his hand down in the dirt and casts Yrden. He leaps out of the way, luring the first ifrit into his trap and it lets out a shrill cry as it struggles against Geralt's magic.

Yrden won't hold the thing for long but it'll buy him some time.

The two other men advance on Jaskier and every piece of Geralt screams for him to throw himself in front of the bard and fight them off-- but he can't. He needs to get the mage away from Jaskier. He just has to hope that he can handle himself against two opponents for long enough.

The mage shoots a magic projectile at Geralt. It hisses by his upper arm, and Geralt slams him back with aard then swings at the second ifrit. The thing shrieks and recoils at the touch of silver.

"You want me?" Geralt roars, casting aard again. "Come and fight me yourself."

The mage laughs as Geralt charges towards him and blocks his oncoming attack with magic, then sends a crackling bolt back at him.

"I think I prefer the odds from over here, thanks."

Geralt dodges the attack and just barely has enough time to fight back the ifrit before the mage throws another.

He throws up quen, feeling winded. He can't fight a mage properly without any potions-- not for an extended period. He's already tiring too quickly from all the signs.

He hears the clang of weapons nearby and a pained cry, but he's unable to tell who it came from. Gods, please don't let it be Jaskier.

The mage blasts more fire at Geralt, and quen absorbs the blow. Geralt runs towards him, silver sword swinging as quen dissolves. The other man dodges and pain erupts across Geralt's leg.