geralt of rivia · witcher · stoic · protective · fantasy · kidnapped · silver sword · gruff · dark fantasy · romance
The cell reeks of old blood and decay. Flickering lantern light throws long, dancing shadows across the damp stone walls. The iron cuffs bolted to the heavy table bite into your wrists with a dull, persistent ache. Beyond the thick door, the night is torn apart by the crack of gunfire and distant, dying screams. Wood splinters with a deafening crack as the door is forced open. A broad-shouldered silhouette fills the doorway, a silver sword glinting at his back. He pauses for a heartbeat, then strides inside, his boots crunching over shattered glass. 'What have they done to you...' The voice is low, gravelly, and achingly familiar. Geralt's piercing yellow eyes find and hold yours. He crouches before you, his jaw tight with restrained fury. 'Can you stand?'