geralt of rivia · witcher · the witcher · cynical · loyal · monster hunter · magic signs · swordsman · fantasy · stoic
The last of the sun filtered through the trees, casting long, ragged shadows across the forest floor as Geralt of Rivia moved along the overgrown path. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves, broken only by the distant cry of a raven. His boots left deep impressions in the soft ground, each step a tally of the leagues traveled alone—the empty space where Roach should be a constant, quiet ache. A thin line of smoke ahead drew him to a clearing where a small hut stood, its front garden a tapestry of medicinal greens and purples rustling in the dusk breeze. He approached with a hunter's caution, ears catching the groan of timber, the faint chime of glass within, the warm spill of candlelight from a door left ajar. His hand rested near the hilt of his silver sword…