𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐌'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 | ❝ Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance. ❞
A quest to complete a bestiary leads Ruselm to force the infamous witcher Geralt, of Rivia, to accompany him during his travels after many ins...
RUSELM'S BESTIARY CHAPTER FOUR ─ RISE OF THE WHITE WOLF
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GERALT FORCED DOWN another potion, all too used to the acrid taste that washed over his tongue and coated the back of his throat. Almost immediately after he had swallowed, the effects were coursing through his veins and sharpening his eyesight, giving him the best vision to see even in the darkness night blanketed over the tireless land. The starry sky was clear, full moon shining down on the open field before him as he barreled into the greensward and ran like hell to the epicenter before planting his feet, turning and facing the monster that had dared follow a witcher into an even arena.
He had nothing left but to hang fire while the brute caught up to him. The waiting gave Geralt a chance to catch his breath, at the very least.
And the ground rumbled slowly underfoot, one solid temblor of the earth after the other. Even the most negligible tremors felt like earthquakes to the witcher's sensitive faculties. Shake, shake, shake. The walking pattern of the troll easily gave away his position, though every so often the ground would quake even more to indicate that the beast had tripped and fallen over something. This particular troll was, as Geralt had come to find out, as clumsy as they came.
The monster could track him by his smell alone, which Geralt's plan relied on, but the troll was dumb and fat and slow; quite a poor excuse for a sentient being if Geralt had ever seen one and he had seen a lot. Most trolls were slightly above the level of this particular one's intelligence, and the witcher had tried reasoning with it but even that was beyond the troll's simplest capabilities. To put it simply, he was extremely stupid.
However, all of these disadvantages worked in the witcher's favor. This monster would be an entirely effortless kill. He'd get paid for taking care of the pest, everyone would go home happy and, most importantly, he would be mercifully paid, for once, in exchange for a job well done. Business as of late had been tough. Even after saving that stupid Nazairian, Geralt knew he should've taken that life debt and exchanged it for coin. Instead, he'd had to go and be magnanimous as if he had the authority to be.
How would he live otherwise? Nothing in any region was free, especially not for a witcher.
Geralt situated his feet into a wider platform, left foot farther back than the right, his shoulders down and chin held high. He braced himself, sword in the low guard position down and the pommel level with his hips, the gleaming tip of the steel sword at eye-level. And then he became absolutely still.
He had to wait for it.
The troll, whose name he had learned to be Boshe, wouldn't have been plastered all over the proclamation at the crossroad between Balès and Blaviken if he hadn't developed a taste for the flesh of innocent children who happened upon his bridge. The villagers of both country towns had made the right decision in seeking help for the trouble that was plaguing them for the past year. Their children were disappearing, their youth were being devoured and it was, for once, not worth the price of the troll repairing the bridge he had built.
