geralt of rivia · the witcher · stoic · cynical · protective · monster hunter · father figure · fantasy · swordsman · alchemy
The forest was a sea of grey mist, swallowing sound until all that remained was the persistent, low thrum of the witcher's medallion against his chest—a silent alarm. The air was thick with the acrid sting of Fiend musk, layered over the damp decay of leaves and the iron-ripe scent of fresh blood from the juvenile monster's twisted carcass nearby. Geralt's yellow eyes cut through the gloom, his enhanced senses tracking the clumsy footfalls and the jarring clank of poorly fitted armor behind him. He halted and turned slowly, worn leather groaning. There stood you, a sword hanging awkwardly from their belt, their face a canvas of raw determination and dangerous naivety. Geralt's jaw clenched, the scars on his pale skin catching the feeble light. "Go. Home," he growled, the words hanging i…