Inkpot Gods ↠ The Witcher

I. Meeting

Geralt was different. It was something Thalia had observed ever since he had returned from Blaviken. Although it may not be obvious to the generic eye due to his regular stoic disposition, it was obvious to the woman that had all but grown up by his side. Even the bustling tavern they were seated in couldn't lighten his mood but she couldn't blame him for that—it was far from a high-class establishment and the mood within was dull, some guy standing by the fireplace and singing a tune that nobody seemed to enjoy.

Glancing at Geralt from the corner of her eye, Thalia debated trying to talk to him further about the incident with Renfri he had briefly debriefed her about but after a second she simply returned to taking a swig of her ale. She'd never been very good when it came to emotions but neither were any of the Witchers.

The tavern was never quiet, even when the bard ceased the signing of the awful song he was playing the place erupted with a flurry of insults and 'boos'. Although it didn't show on her deadpan face, the way that other patrons within the tavern suddenly began to throw their food at him was the highlight of her week.

"Finally, some decent entertainment," Thalia muttered with her lips barely touching the rim of her mug, only receiving a simple grunt in response.

Like always, it didn't take long for her peacefulness to be completely and utterly shattered when a voice spoke up out of nowhere, able to see the tell-tale azure colour of the bard's pants.

"I love the way you just... sit in the corner and brood," the bard, who she didn't care to know the name of, greeted them.

"We're here to drink alone," Geralt spoke, leaving no room for interpretation.

"Go away," Thalia added, refusing to even glance at him.

It wasn't too often that strangers approached the two Witchers unless it was regarding a new monster for them both to slay, but even so it was usually insults whenever some commoner talked to them; that or they were about to die.

However, despite their clear disinterest the bard seemingly refused to give up on his advances. "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you." The bard stepped around the table with a drink in hand so he was in front of them and they could no longer completely ignore his presence. "Come on, you don't want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting."

"What the fuck?" Thalia stated, finally looking up at the bothersome man.

Even if he did have the most striking pair of blue eyes she'd ever seen, that wouldn't be enough to get her to be even remotely civil with him. The man looked simultaneously like every man she'd ever seen and nobody else in the entire Continent.

"You must have some review for me—"

"Don't sit down," Thalia warned to which he ignored her.

"—Three words or less."

"They don't exist," Geralt responded, being a lot more welcoming than Thalia was which said a lot because he still looked like he was about to murder the bard at any moment.

A look of confusion engulfed the stranger's face. "What don't exist?"

"The creatures in your song."

"And how would you know?"

It appeared to take the bard much longer to figure out that the both of them were Witcher's compared to the rest of the common populace, clearly having not looked at either of them close enough. Even though Thalia's hair was nowhere near as white as Geralt's was, they both shared the same eyes of every Witcher—amber with pupils drawn into slits.

"Oh, fun. White hair, well one of you. Two big loners and two very very scary looking swords."

The leather of Geralt's armour creaked as he reached over the table to his pouch of coins, gathering it in his bulky hands.

"I know who you are."

"You're a genius," Thalia sarcastically muttered though her eyes were trained on her fellow Witcher.

The woman quickly downed what was left of her alcoholic beverage before she followed his movements and stood up, making her way around the table and walking at his side through the tavern. Unfortunately that wasn't enough to stop the curious stranger who didn't hesitate to follow them.

"You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia," he announced to everyone in the tavern who didn't hide their stares. "Called it! No idea who she is though," he mumbled the last part with a shrug.

The two Witchers completely ignored him though Thalia was suddenly thankful that she hadn't become famous overnight due to the events that unfolded in Blaviken. Perhaps she should stop hanging around Geralt.

"A job I've got for ya. I beg you."

The masculine voice stopped them in their tracks, those words all they ever needed to hear to take a second look at somebody. After all, their entire purpose was to hunt down and annihilate monsters, keep everyone else safe apart from themselves due to their enhanced capabilities that no regular human could ever have.

Once he knew he would be heard out the man, who looked far younger than she initially thought, elaborated. "A devil—he's been stealing all of our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat."

Thalia didn't know why she had thought for even a second that she'd be able to simply relax in a tavern considering it never happened that way, but she was never one to turn down coin; she couldn't help but feel resentful of that fact.

"One fifty," Geralt haggled shamelessly.

His counterpart was tempted to boost it to two hundred but seeing the state of the tavern and the dirt on the guy's clothes she decided that at least somebody should get the reprieve she had always been denied.

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They had barely even started on their journey to the location of said 'devil' when their comfortable silence was interrupted by none other than the same bard that had practically harassed them back in the tavern.

"Ah. Need a hand? I've got two, one for each of the uh devil's horns," he suggested as if he didn't look like one gust of wind could simply blow him off the edge of the mountain.

"Go away," Geralt stated with his voice as gruff as always.

"I won't be but silent back-up."

"You'll just end up a corpse," Thalia stated to try and simply scare him off.

Yet apparently the bard was far more courageous than she gave him credit for. "I heard your note and yes, you're right maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir and madam, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is it onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak."

"It's onion," Geralt interrupted the incessant ramblings of the bard.

"Perhaps a little leek as well," Thalia bounced off Geralt's response.

"Right, yeah yeah. Oh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, and whatever your name is," he stated, looking at Thalia. Upon noticing that she wasn't planning on giving him her name he chose to continue to save himself some embarrassment. "The Butcher of Blaviken."

Geralt suddenly halted and Thalia did the same upon noticing, giving him a glance that said more than words ever could. She didn't care what he did just as long as he didn't end up murdering someone and getting another target on his back.

"Come here."

"Yeah?"

A punch was swung directly towards the bard's stomach causing him to hunch over in sheer agony and stumble backwards before inevitably falling to the ground, trying to act as if it wasn't as bad as it seemed (it absolutely was).

"Come on Roach," Geralt grunted, pulling along his horse.

Thalia didn't even spare the bard a second glance before walking alongside Geralt, gently guiding her black mare along the surprisingly even road in the hopes that the persist man would finally give up and leave them alone.