[ Though Geralt says little about himself, Kaer Morhen speaks a bit more. There are stories built into its worn and scarred walls. The scorch marks on the floors, the gouges in the wood. The sound of rats scurrying echo faintly. It's not warm or comfortable or even especially inviting, but numerous repairs to the furniture and stone tell of how much the keep is cared for. It isn't neglect that's led it to its crumbling state. ]
We only return in winter. [ Geralt pours Claude a cup and passes it over. ] Haven't seen this place in summer since I was a boy.
[ Vesemir tends to it when they're gone. There was a time the old man left for the Path, as well, but these later years...he waits for them. To come home. Fewer and fewer each time.
The wolf trots over to Claude, enticed by the promise of more jerky. Geralt looks down, then pats it between the ears. Like the Witcher, its white fur carries a touch of silver. ]
no subject
We only return in winter. [ Geralt pours Claude a cup and passes it over. ] Haven't seen this place in summer since I was a boy.
[ Vesemir tends to it when they're gone. There was a time the old man left for the Path, as well, but these later years...he waits for them. To come home. Fewer and fewer each time.
The wolf trots over to Claude, enticed by the promise of more jerky. Geralt looks down, then pats it between the ears. Like the Witcher, its white fur carries a touch of silver. ]
Were you looking for me? Or just my wolf?