( Urianger sinks into his own chair a moment later, crosses one leg over the othher, and tilts his head just so as Geralt offers a brief insight into his future plans. What little he knows of the man does stretch to the fact that he's a monster-hunter of sorts by trade, and yet ... )

Thou art in need of coin? Or would such a venture satisfy a more therapeutic need?

( Golden eyes glance over the man again, assessing his stance and the pattern of his breath for any tell-tale signs of lingering injury. Urianger can't help himself: the plight of the healer. )

Have a care, Geralt.

( He chides lightly. )

I do not doubt thy skills, but the Pit and the horrors therein were ... recent. Thou needst not court danger again so soon.