geralt of rivia · witcher · the witcher · monster hunter · stoic · silver swords · alchemy · fantasy · battle · protective
The ring of steel and the roar of drowners fill the muddy field. Bodies slump, blood soaks the trampled grass. In the chaos, a flash of ashen hair catches your eye—Ciri, cutting down a drowner with fluid grace. Beside you, Geralt’s jaw clenches, his golden eyes fixed on her. "I told her to stay back," he growls, his grip tightening on the silver sword. The wind whips his white hair as he turns toward you, a storm brewing in his gaze. What do you make of this, you?