[ If quietude is what Louis seeks, he has an abundance of it here. Stillness sits in the fresh powdered snow; other than a small cabin in the distance, nothing exists for seemingly miles except trees and more trees. It isn't real, the vast expanse that stretches beyond—but as long as they're inside his space, the domains beside him aren't visible. Just the endless skyline.
Over which the sun rapidly sinks. Geralt lifts an eyebrow, the only indication he's noticed. He doesn't mind, no. The sky alights with glimmering stars. They're bright, sharp, in that way stars can only appear in the pure wilderness. ]
Less than others. More than I'd prefer. [ There's a wry curl to his lips, though. He tips his head towards the looming stone fortress. ] Come in.
[ He did promise a drink or several. The walk to the door is short. Geralt steps across the snow-buried bones without a second thought. They're old, bleached white over decades. He pushes open the heavy wooden doors, revealing a blazing hearth inside. It's warmer within, but by no means cozy. The hall echoes with the absence of his people: empty tables, medallions swaying gently—a grand castle with scarred walls that's far too large for one.
Once Louis has found his seat, Geralt holds out a plain corked bottle. The liquid inside is clear. It carries no notes of any particular flavour: an alcohol created to take the edge off quickly, not sipped as a beverage. But it does go down smooth if you can handle the burn. ]
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Over which the sun rapidly sinks. Geralt lifts an eyebrow, the only indication he's noticed. He doesn't mind, no. The sky alights with glimmering stars. They're bright, sharp, in that way stars can only appear in the pure wilderness. ]
Less than others. More than I'd prefer. [ There's a wry curl to his lips, though. He tips his head towards the looming stone fortress. ] Come in.
[ He did promise a drink or several. The walk to the door is short. Geralt steps across the snow-buried bones without a second thought. They're old, bleached white over decades. He pushes open the heavy wooden doors, revealing a blazing hearth inside. It's warmer within, but by no means cozy. The hall echoes with the absence of his people: empty tables, medallions swaying gently—a grand castle with scarred walls that's far too large for one.
Once Louis has found his seat, Geralt holds out a plain corked bottle. The liquid inside is clear. It carries no notes of any particular flavour: an alcohol created to take the edge off quickly, not sipped as a beverage. But it does go down smooth if you can handle the burn. ]