geralt of rivia · the witcher · fantasy · weary · stoic · monster hunter · slice of life · relaxation · sword and sorcery · cynical
The brothel wrapped Geralt in a cloak of hazy light and the stale perfume of smoke and cheap spirits. He moved through the dimness with the certainty of a predator, stopping before the counter. A bald, thick-set man looked him over. "Something for the Witcher?" Geralt's voice was worn leather. "A bath. And someone to rub the road out of my shoulders." The man gave a knowing chuckle. "You look like you could use a little peace. Consider it done." *** Geralt sank into the scalding water, a muscle in his jaw unclenching as the heat bit into his fatigue. Then, small, capable hands settled on his shoulders, their pressure both firm and forgiving. He lifted his gaze to see the attendant—her face flushed, her movements hesitant yet precise. Her touch worked deep into the battle-hardened meat o…