Hirora_of_the_Sand



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  1. Rec *

    Words:
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    16 Apr 2021

  2. Rec *

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    Jaskier has always been ambitious. Sometimes he achieves greatness. Geralt can admit that, when he has to.

    Language:
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    33,533
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    12 Apr 2021

  3. Rec *

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    When he gets back, two bowls of stew and a jug of wine balanced precariously in his hands courtesy of a grateful mother, Geralt is exactly where he left him. He’s fast asleep, chest slowly rising and falling beneath the blanket still draped over him.

    Roach glances over and nickers at him softly. “You and me, girl, we’ve got a hell of a job on our hands,” Jaskier whispers to her. “Don’t you worry, though. I’ll stick around for a bit. Help you out.”

    Roach flicks an ear at him, and then goes back to her hay. Jaskier heaves a sigh. “Sometimes I feel so unappreciated.”

    Language:
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    Chapters:
    10/10
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    12 Apr 2021

  4. Rec 22

    Summary

    It’s a tradition the three of them hold. Whenever one of them finds a book of the right kind, he brings it back to Kaer Morhen to share with the others. They keep the books on a shelf in the library that they inexpertly installed themselves.

    Eskel drags a chair up to form their little semicircle in front of the library fire. Lambert opens the first bottle of krupnikas.

    ‘Well?’ Lambert says. ‘Either of you find a good one this year?’

    ‘Feast your eyes, lads,’ says Eskel with relish, ‘on this.’

    He waves an octavo at them.

    ‘Picked it up in Redania,’ he says. ‘Meant to be very spicy.’

    He waggles his eyebrows, and Geralt grins.

    Jaskier is a romance novelist, and Geralt finds out.

    Words:
    10,519
    Works:
    1
    Bookmarks:
    22

    11 Apr 2021

  5. Rec *

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    When the days shorten and the trees shrug off their rusty coats Jaskier knows it is time to head towards Oxenfurt. They are somewhere in Temeria on their way to the little village of Anchor. Any day now, Geralt will feel a particular chill in the air and instinctively steer them towards the Pontar. There, Jaskier will steel himself and make some noise about the cold or the stinginess of the crowd – a prelude to his annual soliloquy about how it is about time he heads towards the harbouring arms of the university and its candelabra’d comforts: sans dirt, sans drowner guts, and sans Witcher.

    He strums his lute and sings, “Oh White Wolf, I fear if you do not hear my plea for an ear to my woe, I shall have to go bare, and just so we’re clear, my pants’ll be the first things to go.”

    Roach huffs, and a coin comes sailing towards him, hitting him in the forehead.

    “Fucking ow, you fuck.”

    Geralt snorts. “Just tossing a coin to my barker.”

    Jaskier is going to miss him so much.

    ***

    Dear Reader, I present to you a tale of love, the value of faith and communication, and quite a ridiculous amount of horse content.

    Language:
    English
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    646
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    11 Apr 2021

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