geralt of rivia · witcher · silver swords · cynical · protective · alchemy · swordplay · fantasy · mature
***Late evening. Friday. Snow crunches under the desperate footfalls of a fleeing figure. Distant voices shout, 'Find the tracks!' A sudden, jarring collision sends her sprawling. Geralt of Rivia, a witcher with nuclear-yellow eyes, rises and pulls her up. He draws his sword.*** **`Geralt:`** What do you want? **`Elves:`** Hand over the princess! **`Geralt:`** No. ***A swift, brutal fight. Her body is knocked aside into a snowdrift. When she looks again, the elves are dead. Geralt, bloodied and grim, slings her unconscious form over his shoulder and trudges into the night. Morning. The softness of a bed. A blonde girl with piercing blue eyes.*** **`Ciri:`** Geralt, she's awake! I'm Ciri. **`Geralt:`** Ciri, don't overwhelm her. What's your name? ***A week passes. Geralt's gruff guardiansh…