𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖙'𝖌𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖓

"Exactly!" Kaveh exclaimed. "You see why I'm not eager to go back out there." At least this time he'd have a companion, but before he could feel relieved, he squawked at Geralt's warning. "Hey—!" He found his voice after a serious of offended sounds. "You're not exactly filling me with confidence, here!" Luckily for the witcher, Kaveh knew he wouldn't actually abandon him to the mercy of the desert, otherwise his grousing would've continued indefinitely.

Still, he summoned Mehrak with a snap of his fingers to make sure that he had a water canteen of his own...just to be safe.

Before dismissing his briefcase, Kaveh figured it wouldn't hurt to scout out their destination. "Show me the desert," he instructed. Mehrak chirped an affirmative and projected a holographic map of the desert beyond the village. Kaveh's steps slowed as he scrutinized it.

"You said we're heading to the Dune of Elusion, right?" Manipulating the map with precise gestures, he zoomed in on the road and the large temple to which it led. At least there was a road to follow, but the heat and blistering sun were still a threat, not to mention any desert-dwelling creatures or bandits they might encounter.

"You know, I remember Cyno saying that Eremites have been wandering dangerously close to the main roads recently," he mused. Best to warn Geralt beforehand of any dangers they may encounter. All teasing aside, his friend's earnest sentiments placated the architect's earlier offense. Kaveh grinned and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You have a funny way of showing it, as usual. I just hope we don't run into more trouble before the trouble we're actually looking for."

As sure as the sun would rise, Kaveh would put up a fuss. And just like those sunrises lost their splendor with the passage of time—or maybe just to one like the witcher who didn’t seek beauty in most everything he set his eyes on—the complaints that rolled off Kaveh’s tongue lost novelty, and thus any weight at all. It wasn’t so much about Geralt not listening as it was about Geralt not needing to listen; he’d heard this tune nothing short of a thousand times. 

So he disregarded the flustered, offended noises. He kept walking and only cast his companion another glance when that strange briefcase of his suddenly swooped into the air in his periphery.

A soft noise in his throat was confirmation Kaveh clearly hadn’t needed as he began perusing a map. Geralt scanned the display from his short distance away, eyes trailing the road Kaveh followed with a few flicks of his fingers. “Won’t be a problem,” he said after the artist’s warnings. “Just stay close and try not to look too robbable.”

Once upon a time, Geralt might have figured any trouble on the roads that wasn’t some sort of beast would keep a wide berth from a witcher. Time and time again had proved him wrong. Humans were never short on audacity.

“More like trouble will run into us,” Geralt shot back, moving off toward the edge of the path as they passed a traveler coming into the village. Then, with another glance to Mehrak, he couldn’t help dryly posing, “Remind me again why you have a sentient purse?”

He most certainly had "seen that." Even without heightened hearing, the one-sided shouts and insults had echoed to the highest reaches of the inn and proved that the ungratefulness of humans knew no bounds. Xiao did not advocate for humans to alter their mortal forms in such a way, but the resulting "witchers" did take it upon themselves to do what most humans could not. Taking extermination of monsters into their own hands, without even a Vision to aid them.

Foolish, certainly. But with an honorable cause.

A hum of agreement met the other's statement—not only due to thoughts of the witcher's kind's guilt in that category. Perched upon the balcony's railing, Xiao's steady gaze watched the other as he spoke. "Your kind defeats monsters. You protect ordinary mortals from what they cannot face on their own. There is no other word for it." Matter-of-fact. An obvious truth that Xiao would defend the same as he would defend the honor of his fallen brethren.

Normally he wasn't fond of conversation, but oddly, Xiao found this "human's" demeanor more tolerable than most. Idly he wondered if Verr wasn't at her post, or if she saw fit to not stop this particular stranger from wandering up to "his" balcony.

"I am the Conqueror of Demons. You may call me Adeptus Xiao, if you wish. If you're hunting something in Liyue, I have likely already killed it—or will surely do so before you." His attention swiveled to scan the area around the inn as if the witcher's quarry waited in plain sight. "I assume that's why your kind isn't often seen here."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, there was a niggling thought. A trifle, no doubt: not worth the few moments it took to entertain, but nonetheless…

The correctly presumed adeptus here in his company exercised the very demeanor a witcher was supposed to. Blunt. Straight-forward. Direct in every manner of the word. Emotionless. He had, in even the short conversation thus far, done nothing more than state exactly what was on his mind with little regard to what it might evoke from the listener. (Or no regard, Geralt would affirm.) The fact that his opinions on what the common populace called abominations were in a somewhat more positive light was mere luck in Geralt’s case.

The adeptus wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—spare a second thought to the fragile feelings of mortals. He had a job to do. A never-ending contract to provide the same protection as a witcher, the same protection a desperate few cared to acknowledge or be grateful to receive. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else… should matter.

Maybe the original crazy scientists who thought creating witchers was a good idea should’ve taken a leaf out of the adepti handbook. —or was it actually impossible to utterly remove all traces of humanity from something once human?

But enough rumination wasted on the topic, Geralt seamlessly shook it from his mind by the time the adeptus named Xiao saw fit to make another one of his direct comments. The witcher merely snorted. And then he shook his head. “Not gonna complain about someone doing my job for me—especially someone who knows what he’s doing,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Ought to thank you, actually. Divine purpose or otherwise, what you do for these people isn’t something to thumb your nose at. Hope they understand how lucky they are to have the protection of the adepti.”

He stretched a soreness out of his shoulders, a long and labored exhale creeping between his lips. “Guess I won’t be needed around these parts for the foreseeable future, but if you ever need a break”—the answer was and always would be, Geralt knew, no—“count on me to step in and pick up a few scraps here and there.”

“Now, there's a familiar face.”

No other introduction—no simple hello—came before that, a brief moment of shared eye contact doing the favors for them, as far as Geralt was concerned. He had crossed the trodden down path to reach young Itsuki's side, and the chestnut mare in tow offered a crisp whinny that was a pleasant greeting in their approach. A smile rested easy on Geralt's lips as he dipped his head to the girl: as respectful as it was friendly.

“Been keeping things in order around here, looks like,” he observed, yet a fond stare did not drift from Itsuki's gaze for a more thorough check. “But I hope a few other folks have seen to lending you a hand.”

T-THAT VOICE... Ooohhh, she would know that voice anywhere! Catching herself just before she tumbled right over with the large bale of hay she was hefting upon her shoulder-- Itsuki would wisely set it down in front of her first before looking right over. Her wide eyes taking in her unexpected guest(s), almost as if she hadn't seen such a sight in like... forever. And, just as a grin would begin to light up those surprised features of hers, it would be the horsey's gentle, high-pitched neigh that would get her to leap right into action!

"BROOOOO!" Her greeting-- when compared to his own- was of course loud enough to draw the attention of all those nearby. An absolute burst of jubilee, as she throws her arms out and wraps them around his mid-section the best that she could. Not even having to mind the chainmail and tough leather that he still wore-- Actually, was that actually a new set ya got on there, bro~?

"Jus' doin' the best we can, as always, bro." She would offer with a lighthearted little salute, upon finally pulling back from that big hug she'd give him. For even if she was still looked up to by most as this village's leader, Itsuki would always see them all as a TEAM when it came to getting things done. To making the CHANGE that they wanted to see in such turbulent times as these. "Hehe, but thank ya kindleh~ Uhm glad our efforts show~" But she couldn't help but beam at that, very much appreciating the bro for checking up on her. There was even some sense of PROTECTIVENESS in those last few words, especially if she were to tell him otherwise then-- "An' they 'ave, bro! Aside from us, there's been a few dat come on by ta lend a hand or two-- Thooough..." She couldn't help but laugh at that, humorously even leaning in then to whisper the next part to him, "Leet's jus' say some of them ain't cut out fer the farmin' life-- if y'know whata mean~"

Gracefully, as one who had come to expect nothing less, he accepted the thin arms that swung readily around his waist—still to this day impressed by how strong she really was, appearances aside. The free hand not keeping a loose hold on Roach’s reins pulled Itsuki in closer, and Geralt didn’t budge until he felt the tiniest shift in the girl’s weight as she relinquished an embrace to peer up at him. Bright, characteristically cheerful. If he hadn’t already been donning a smile, he would—without a doubt—be now.

It was in that moment, given confirmation that she wasn’t carrying all this weight entirely on her own, that his sharp eyes roamed the surrounding village. He gauged the conditions, pleased to hear the news but nevertheless seeking to draw a few conclusions himself. (That is, ready to give an earful to any lazy adults who had the gall to watch one young girl clean up their messes.)

But he believed her. For now.

“You don’t say,” Geralt hummed, attention eventually drifting back as she dropped her voice. The little huff out of his nose was a laugh. “Don’t go easy on ’em. A little hard work never killed anybody. Some could use the lesson.” And he was confident Itsuki would do a good job teaching that lesson, if she hadn’t already.

When he felt a nudge from the impatient mare beside him, though, he hastened the pleasantries. “Wouldn’t happen to have room for another mouth to feed?” He jerked his head sideways. “Roach has a penchant for crankiness when she’s hungry. Won’t ask for free, of course.”

"Oh, ha-ha," Kaveh said with a roll of his eyes. "And people think witchers don't have a sense of humor. You could wear some color along with all that armor, you know. Personally, I think you'd look rather handsome in rich greens. Something like a nice olive or dark pine—oh, or even juniper!"

He took a moment to study the brilliant gold of Geralt's eyes that practically glowed beneath the desert sun. Definitely green, the artist nodded to himself. "It could even be like camouflage if you had contracts in the forest. Color isn't just for aesthetics—it can have practical applications, too!"

But Geralt eventually gave a serious response, to which Kaveh simply scoffed. The only reason the witcher would trek this far out into the desert was if there was a job to be done. Honestly he could hardly imagine what kind of monster was lurking in the sand that even the Guardian of Aaru Village couldn't handle.

"The last time I ventured into the desert I passed out from the heat," he admitted with a grimace. "I was out for hours; I didn't come to until it was nighttime and the air had cooled off. It's a miracle I didn't get sunburned to death!" Not that he regretted the actions that led to that consequence. Winning the Interdarshan Championship would've rung hollow if he hadn't gotten those desert foxes to safety first.

"I wouldn't call 'passing out' fun or a way to change things up." And yet, a silent moment passed where Kaveh squinted out at the distant dunes before heaving a dramatic sigh. "Fine, alright—but don't forget that you promised to help me collect some henna berries! I'm down to the last few drops of my favorite red paint, and I can't make more without them."

“Right. Add that to my shopping list,” Geralt made sure to mumble dismissively at the artist’s appraisal, otherwise pointedly ignoring the way his discerning eye scanned him for inspiration—or whatever the hell he hoped to call it. 

Otherwise, his hands busied themselves as the two of them strolled along the sand-strewn path, thumbing at a few of his belts and digging into various pouches to quietly check on his own supplies. He had half the mind to brew up a potion while they were in (what qualified as) civilization—testing the weight of a particular bottle and deeming it near-empty—but what he anticipated finding out there wasn’t concerning enough for the extra precaution.

The witcher had faced plenty of riftwolves. Typically in Inazuma—damn odd to find them here—but he’d manage. As well as he knew, regardless of how deceiving looks could be, Kaveh would too.

“Greater miracle’s the dehydration didn’t do you in beyond just collapsing.” Which brought Geralt to pause again in his stride, grasping for a flask at his hip to make extra certain there’d be enough water. And not for himself. “Careful this time. You faint, not gonna catch you,” he warned once satisfied with his current reserve.

When given confirmation that Kaveh would in fact join him on the journey (after a melodramatic sigh, naturally), he didn’t hide a contented smile. Geralt shook his head. “Now, don’t get too excited,” he teased lightly. “Planned on gathering the berries myself while I was out there; I didn’t forget.” The exceptionally vocal artist had a way of never letting anyone forget anything he wanted from them. “Glad to have the company, though.”

He gives a weak chuckle at the comment but he simply does not have it in him to argue nor agree with Geralt in a more substantial way right then. He's too tired to even think too intently on how close Geralt is cradling him, how gently so. How he allows him to rest his cheek against his chest, so near his neck, showing an amount of trust Regis isn't even sure he deserves... or perhaps simple recklessness he might scold him for later.

The rhythmical pattern of Roach's hooves rocks him into a half doze, a way to escape the painful throb in every inch of his body, an echo of the unsatisfied hunger that wrecked him, the fury that had burned in every cell of his being. But as he dozes he relaxes too much, starts to slip, jerking awake instinctively - but he's already caught and steadied in Geralt's embrace. His eyes close again and he exhales with relief.

He stirs back into fuller consciousness when he catches the familiar scents of his cemetery home; herbs, alchemical solutions, and his own scent that marks the territory as his to other vampires. Crows caw above them, calling out to him in worried greeting but he doesn't aswer them, mustering strength to speak to Geralt instead.

"Main entrance..." he offers quietly, gesturing his hand towards the door to the crypt. It'll open for them now, no need to go the more difficult path inside.

There is a part of him that doesn't want to go back in, though. A part that clings to Geralt a little as they dismount, and not only to catch his balance against the witcher when his legs tremble under him. Don't let me go, it pleads, silently, secretly.

Geralt would, in that moment, claim he hated nothing more than how much longer the ride seemed. As if the path between that horrible shithole of a place and the cemetery somehow a much more pleasant destination stretched since he’d last taken these roads: elongating, warping, a fever dream spawned from what could only be described as desperation. 

Nothing could be worse than what Regis went through. Nothing. But that didn’t mean the witcher wasn’t fighting his own onslaught of wariness to the world around them as they went—to anything that posed even more of a threat to his dear friend who had already faced far too much.

He wonders what would’ve happened if he didn’t so blindly trust him. If perhaps Geralt could have been more diligent, more aware of what was in store. But hindsight. Hindsight something something— None of that actually is worth a damn right now, is it?

When they finally make it—after what feels like centuries, arguably—Geralt is by no means set on letting Regis go. He follows his quiet, strained instruction as obediently as any young recruit before a commander, but with it harboring a warmth and compassion forbidden to someone like him. An arm wraps strong and resolute around the weakened vampire, pulling him close at the same time as Regis clings for support.

And only when he brings him inside—only then—does he feel he’s finally breathed for the first time since embarking on this little “errand” of theirs.

Carefully, still, Geralt supports Regis’s weight as they dive into the shadows, a small gesture of his fingers setting candles alight. “Rest first. Potion-brewing later, right?” But it’s more of a statement than any proposal. Geralt’s already guiding him over to the narrow cot.

THE WITCHER 3: Wild Hunt (2015)  

"Humans have long had questionable judgement—nowadays more than ever, it seems." Ancient golds peered steadily into those of a similar shade, noting the other's slit irises that gave away his true, more-than-human nature. But the adeptus didn't need to see his eyes to know he was more than he appeared.

The oath bound to his being wasn't fooled by appearances. Xiao could sense it when someone strayed even a single step beyond the realm of "human," but that same honor-bound part of him understood what may drive an ordinary mortal to surpass that barrier.

"They pass judgement on what they do not understand, even when it aims to help them. The baseless opinions of mortals do not invalidate your efforts on their behalf any more than their praise would validate it." Arms crossed firmly over his chest, Xiao was unwavering in wisdom gained over millennia, and in the conclusion drawn from it:

"Your profession is noble. Only fools would think otherwise."

“So you saw that, huh?”

“That” referring to the less-than-cordial exchange the witcher had just endured mere minutes earlier at the base of the Wangshu Inn. Truth be told, he had almost forgotten it himself—an encounter that came and went with little regard; hell, Geralt was exceptionally used to that sort of thing. The lasting impressions were birthed from the people who gave him a smile (or even just half of one).

Standing out on the balcony now, he’d barely even heard the other’s approach initially. Proof on its own that the visitor was far from human himself, further evidenced by appearance and the slightest jitter in the medallion around the weary witcher’s neck. He remained silent while he spoke, met the mirrored gold in the stranger’s gaze for a precious little beat before staring back out at the plains again.

“I’ve met more than just humans with questionable judgment,” Geralt offered, not for the sake of leaping to humanity’s defense, but as a basic, factual statement. “Reckon it’s pretty universal at this point.” Because he knew—and just as much knew it couldn’t be changed—the stubbornness came very equally from both sides.

And it took a fool of a similar nature to not notice that little sting of disdain in his company’s tone.

His fingers slid beneath the leather belt slung across his shoulder to deposit his swords neatly beside him, propped against the rails. Geralt turned to face the other. “Appreciate it.” Marked by a dip of his chin, a show of respect. “‘Noble’’s not a word I’ve ever heard for it, but there’s a first time for everything. Like meeting an adeptus, for example.”

When I first started playing Witcher 3, I thought that you had to unequip armor every time you got it repaired. I would have Geralt stand there in his skivvies in front of the armorer in White Orchard, and it would feel very awkward and also very logical.

[previous armorer and blacksmith bonus panels on other posts - this is starting to become some sort of series]