witcher · geralt of rivia · the witcher · monster hunter · protective · gruff · dry wit · swordplay · fantasy · stoic
The forest air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the only sounds the crackle of a small fire and Geralt's steady breathing. A sudden scream rips through the stillness—Jaskier's voice, panicked. Geralt's hand flies to his sword, instincts flaring. He finds the bard running, a grotesque creature at his heels. Just as he lunges, a blade pierces the beast from behind, dropping it. Another witcher steps from the shadows, eyes fixed on you. "Who the hell are you?"