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 ELEVEN ─ ROACH Note: We're entirely back to my own work now! If we ever divulge or intertwine with Sapkowski again, I'll put a disclaimer at the beginning of the chapter again. Thank you guys so much for all of your support, I really appreciate it! We're currently at 1.9k reads and this blows my mind, honestly. Dedication: Ace
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THE WITCHER WAS astride his horse, contentedly leaning back in the saddle as Ruselm walked beside them, nose buried deep in a journal he hadn't stopped writing in since they'd left Blaviken behind as a mere speck on the horizon. The Nazairian hadn't spoken a word since their departure and Geralt hadn't prompted him to speak, though he was curious as to why the man had come looking for him in the first place. There were only two kinds of people who sought out witchers: those in need of a very specific skill set and those looking to maim, or kill.
Ruselm didn't look like the type to harm others, though.
Geralt settled on the idea that he must be, in his vast experience, one who falls into the first category. In need. That only left the question of which monster Geralt would be directed to next.
Despite this tidbit of knowledge he had worked out for himself, he wasn't very fond of people trying to track him down. Although, Geralt had lived long and seen many circumstances that could constitute such measures. With no small measure of reluctance, the witcher opened his mouth and said, "Ruselm."
Summoned by his name, Ruselm hummed quietly to show he was listening, white quill scratching eagerly across the page. Geralt wondered what he was writing.
"Why did you go to Blaviken?"
"I wanted to find you," Ruselm didn't even raise his eyes from the page. He stepped nimbly over a small rock. "Why did you go to Blaviken?"
Geralt didn't answer. "What did you want to find me for?"
Ruselm glanced up.
Finally.
There was a small measure of annoyance in his brown eyes. "To tell you about Thetdow," he bit off the answer quickly, looking back down to the words in his book. Geralt could smell the ink from his position on Roach. It was strong but soothing; the first scent he had noticed on Ruselm back in Sodden. "And to inform you that despite what those people say, they brought their monster upon themselves. It would be a waste of your time, witcher."
"Hmm."
It became silent once more.
Geralt had, in truth, some idea of what Ruselm was suggesting about Thetdow. He'd heard of villages which damned themselves because they acted so cruelly and evilly, with corruption, that their punishment was inevitable even with the help of a monster slayer. He'd even been the fool to waste his time at one or two of those villages in his earlier years where he found himself immersed in every person's problems and schemes—the corruption and greed of small towns was surprisingly overwhelming, how could any sane person live in that environment?
