[Jaskier knows exactly what he's walking into. Somehow, he simply knows, and has used the few scant moments as his horse's hooves dig into desert sand to prepare himself for it. Not because he has seen Ciri's temper like this, nor her in combat, but he can guess. She's Geralt's. Geralt trained her, and he has no reason to not believe it when even Geralt himself does.
He's seen what the Witcher can do. What he's done to men (men who, of course, had it coming.) And Jaskier grew up on tales of Blaviken. The carnage mens' bodies can leave behind.
The screams hit him before the scene itself does. In the feverish light of the desert sun, the splash of blood across the sand is vibrant. The screams, loud, even though there are no trees or structures to echo them from. Even the creek is barely a babble, a sort of metronome tone to Red's screeches as he dives from the skies, his talons catching the face of the closest man to Ciri, reacting to his compatriot's attack by grabbing the knife at his side.
All at once, there is a scrambling. Men yelling, reaching for swords and daggers. One takes a look at the severed arm and begins running. Red, arching in the sky with another cry, peels back down towards Ciri to defend her back. He catches another man on the ear, ripping it clean off.
He should be horrified. Probably. Yet it is not the first time a man has died in front of Jaskier attempting to steal his things. Because, undoubtedly, that's what they've done. Picked through Geralt's camp, stolen his things. His sword. They cannot be what bested Geralt. He would not leave his swords.
It's been mere seconds that pass. Two men on the ground, still. One clutching the stump of hanging flesh on the side of his head. One runs. Two more have retrieved their swords, facing Ciri, their faces a snarl.
He doesn't want to help. (Does he even need to?) But as he stares at them and Red cries out, the ground around them begins to sink. And out of the sinking, the dipping of the sand, rises thick, coiling, thorned vines, lashing around their ankles, their thighs.
It is not the killing he fears. Not seeing the bloodshed. Not even that somehow he is in the middle of it.
It's the very idea that if he allows anything to happen to Ciri, Geralt is going to fucking kill him.]
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He's seen what the Witcher can do. What he's done to men (men who, of course, had it coming.) And Jaskier grew up on tales of Blaviken. The carnage mens' bodies can leave behind.
The screams hit him before the scene itself does. In the feverish light of the desert sun, the splash of blood across the sand is vibrant. The screams, loud, even though there are no trees or structures to echo them from. Even the creek is barely a babble, a sort of metronome tone to Red's screeches as he dives from the skies, his talons catching the face of the closest man to Ciri, reacting to his compatriot's attack by grabbing the knife at his side.
All at once, there is a scrambling. Men yelling, reaching for swords and daggers. One takes a look at the severed arm and begins running. Red, arching in the sky with another cry, peels back down towards Ciri to defend her back. He catches another man on the ear, ripping it clean off.
He should be horrified. Probably. Yet it is not the first time a man has died in front of Jaskier attempting to steal his things. Because, undoubtedly, that's what they've done. Picked through Geralt's camp, stolen his things. His sword. They cannot be what bested Geralt. He would not leave his swords.
It's been mere seconds that pass. Two men on the ground, still. One clutching the stump of hanging flesh on the side of his head. One runs. Two more have retrieved their swords, facing Ciri, their faces a snarl.
He doesn't want to help. (Does he even need to?) But as he stares at them and Red cries out, the ground around them begins to sink. And out of the sinking, the dipping of the sand, rises thick, coiling, thorned vines, lashing around their ankles, their thighs.
It is not the killing he fears. Not seeing the bloodshed. Not even that somehow he is in the middle of it.
It's the very idea that if he allows anything to happen to Ciri, Geralt is going to fucking kill him.]