iridescent_hummingbird



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  1. Public Bookmark 26

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    A small smile twitched his lips as he approached the village but then he felt Roach tense under him, her ears flattening, her nostrils quivering.

    Geralt sniffed the air.

    He could smell smoke.

    He spurred Roach on.

    As the village came into view, Geralt could see huge columns of thick black smoke billowing into the night air. Several of the buildings glowed orange with flames.

    Then his heart stopped, and his stomach plummeted. The tavern was on fire. The tavern where he had left Jaskier. It was ablaze with huge tongues of fire that licked at the sky.

    He leaped off Roach, weariness forgotten, and sprinted into the village.

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    20 Jun 2020

  2. Public Bookmark 37

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    Geralt doesn't eat as much as he should. If Jaskier's stubborn witcher isn't going to feed himself properly, Jaskier's going to make sure he gets the nutrition he needs. Because when Jaskier is presented with an opportunity to care for Geralt and treat him to nice things, he's always going to take it.

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    2,200
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    19 Jun 2020

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Some years after Renfri dies, Jaskier asks about a scar on Geralt's leg.

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    90
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    09 Feb 2020

  4. Public Bookmark 19

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    He was losing too much blood, he felt lightheaded and his vision swam.

    The smell of his blood was driving the Bloedzuiger wild and their attacks became wilder and more desperate as he struggled to fend them off.

    He rotated round, casting Igni again but the sparks fizzled out and he felt his energy drain.

    The beats advanced on him.

    This is it, he thought, this is how I die.

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    09 Feb 2020

  5. Public Bookmark 27

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    Come to think of it, AL (damn the pesky know it all) was right about one thing. They each made music in their own way. Of course Jaskier still considered himself the most professional among them. After all he was a Bard. He played his Lute to please the patrons of the taverns and tell tall tales of their adventures for the public's amusement. But when Geralt was working, Slaying monsters and fighting the horrors that people begged him to kill, his swords were singing. Steel humming in an incredible way. And whenever Alistair brought his fingers to his fiddle to call forth his magic, it was an incredible sound. But one not meant for public ears, lest they'd all drown themselves in their ale under the enchantment of his music. The instruments and purpose was not the same. They each carried a different tune. Though what a harmony they could conjure with it...

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    09 Feb 2020