[ Ask him about the presence of monsters on the Continent some time. If you've ten or so hours to spare. ]
Yeah. [ Geralt raises an eyebrow. Exactly. ] Guess which part of it was new.
[ That and the splintered skull. He did rather leave the head the mage's library floor. Makes him wonder if it's still there. He supposes he'll never know now. Perhaps that's for the best. Leaving the Continent and its troubles behind. Most of its troubles.
Nero says adopted, and something flickers over his expression. A church, though. That's an unusual term for it. Where in the hell does religion come into slaying monsters? Maybe it's not unlike the occasional knight, bent on their morals. Something to do with honour and being chosen.
Hm. He's a hint quieter when he answers. ] Me, too. That fortress you saw. I trained there as a boy.
[ It isn't odd to hear, no. Geralt is not quite the same. He doesn't know if it's accurate to say he likes it. But he is good at it. There is satisfaction found in a job properly done, when he can collect his coin and ride onward and perhaps even leave a village a little...safer, at least, from one beast. Even though he knows the next storm will always be around the corner: war, plague, bandits. He's never fooled himself into believing he makes any difference in the grand scheme of things. And yet—
He picks up the myriapod, placing it back on the table before it can fall off. It's now missing a few more hands, but the other has a chunk out of her abdomen missing. ]
no subject
Yeah. [ Geralt raises an eyebrow. Exactly. ] Guess which part of it was new.
[ That and the splintered skull. He did rather leave the head the mage's library floor. Makes him wonder if it's still there. He supposes he'll never know now. Perhaps that's for the best. Leaving the Continent and its troubles behind. Most of its troubles.
Nero says adopted, and something flickers over his expression. A church, though. That's an unusual term for it. Where in the hell does religion come into slaying monsters? Maybe it's not unlike the occasional knight, bent on their morals. Something to do with honour and being chosen.
Hm. He's a hint quieter when he answers. ] Me, too. That fortress you saw. I trained there as a boy.
[ It isn't odd to hear, no. Geralt is not quite the same. He doesn't know if it's accurate to say he likes it. But he is good at it. There is satisfaction found in a job properly done, when he can collect his coin and ride onward and perhaps even leave a village a little...safer, at least, from one beast. Even though he knows the next storm will always be around the corner: war, plague, bandits. He's never fooled himself into believing he makes any difference in the grand scheme of things. And yet—
He picks up the myriapod, placing it back on the table before it can fall off. It's now missing a few more hands, but the other has a chunk out of her abdomen missing. ]
You never know. Could be a fine plumber.