[ The sun going dark for inexplicable reasons does not bode well. Bodes poorly. There also isn't a hell of a lot to do about it. It's there; it's happening. Seems not to be raining fire and frost upon the world, which is all they can ask for.
He ventures with some caution closer to the city borders. May as well be near, in case anyone in Cadens actually needs him. On his way back, he takes a merchant's wagon with him in exchange for a bag of silver marks. He does not tell the man he was heading that direction as it was. They may or may not encounter any danger; he barters for the coin, anyway, for the potential threat and for the barking hound that draws attention. Look, he isn't exactly taking advantage, but folk will always pay upfront, with fewer attempts to negotiate, in a time of need. The merchant is hardly wanting for money, judging by his wares and dress.
He delivers them safely at the gates with only a few sand scorpions in the way. It's for this reason he's middle of the darkened streets, lit only with a few torches and candles, with a couple of dead scorpions tied by their tails and slung over his shoulder. They're intact. He can sell the parts.
Despite the cover of night, Cadens bustles as always. In the midst of the crowd, he catches sight of a familiar figure—in part from the ring that shines like a beacon, something only the Summoned possess. Normally, he wouldn't bother stopping, but something about Dean's demeanour or where he's found, perhaps a strange noise even—whichever it is, Geralt peers with some curiosity around the corner. ]
dean.
He ventures with some caution closer to the city borders. May as well be near, in case anyone in Cadens actually needs him. On his way back, he takes a merchant's wagon with him in exchange for a bag of silver marks. He does not tell the man he was heading that direction as it was. They may or may not encounter any danger; he barters for the coin, anyway, for the potential threat and for the barking hound that draws attention. Look, he isn't exactly taking advantage, but folk will always pay upfront, with fewer attempts to negotiate, in a time of need. The merchant is hardly wanting for money, judging by his wares and dress.
He delivers them safely at the gates with only a few sand scorpions in the way. It's for this reason he's middle of the darkened streets, lit only with a few torches and candles, with a couple of dead scorpions tied by their tails and slung over his shoulder. They're intact. He can sell the parts.
Despite the cover of night, Cadens bustles as always. In the midst of the crowd, he catches sight of a familiar figure—in part from the ring that shines like a beacon, something only the Summoned possess. Normally, he wouldn't bother stopping, but something about Dean's demeanour or where he's found, perhaps a strange noise even—whichever it is, Geralt peers with some curiosity around the corner. ]