bialy_wilk | { pfsb } The Isle of Mists

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{ pfsb } The Isle of Mists

He'd had to force himself to slow down, to take their time as they traveled. First to Novigrad, to speak with Zoltan and Roche; then to board a ship to Skellige, where Ermion agreed to assist without hesitation and where Queen Cerys offered the aid of her finest knight – her brother, Hjalmar. He gets a message to Triss, does his best to do the same for Keira and Letho, somewhere in the wilderness.

Geralt sends them all to Kaer Morhen, and knows it won't be enough.

Lan Wangji is a quiet, reserved traveling companion. Geralt feels a pang at separating him from his husband, but it's not enough to make him want to send the cultivator back. Selfishly, he wants the man here, in case Ciri is in trouble. In case he needs to send her with her friend while he himself holds the path behind them.

They rise early, travel all the day, and camp at dark. On the ship to Skellige, Geralt meditates, his only other option to prowl the decks like the wolf of his name. And once they've reached the islands and found their allies, Cerys gives them a small sailing dinghy and sets them on their way.

Geralt steers them to the very edge of the archipelago, past looming, jagged rocks and endless tracts of gray, wavering sea, until they reach a place where the mists curl ethereal fingers along the edge of Lan Wangji's robes. The witcher heaves the little boat to, then reaches for the bottle he's stored in the qiankun bag Lan Wangji had gifted him what feels like a lifetime ago. "This had better work," he mutters, and uncorks the glass bottle to free the firefly spirit which Avallac'h had conjured. It flutters into the air, then describes a slightly wobbling path into the gray, hazy depths of the mists which stretch before them.

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He lets out a small sigh. Everything is driving him to find Ciri as quickly as possible, and he is certain Geralt even more so, but if these men are innocent of any harm to her and suffering tribulations of their own, the right path calls for them to give aid.

And in doing so they may get closer to Ciri's trail.

"Aye," admits the speaker, "but I'd not count on either coming too easy."

Lan Wangji gives the door a flat look. Of course it would not be easy.

Geralt heaves a sigh. "How many are there?"

There are three: Ivo, Gaspard, and Ferenc. He presses the voice for details on where they can find the three. One's on a high peak, looking for ships, another planned to explore some caves to the east, and the last had gone to try and find a boat.

The witcher glances at Lan Wangji. "All right," he mutters. "See if we can't find all threee."

It seems to him that the three who were willing to brave the unknown dangers of the island to save their friends and themselves would have been far wiser to do so together rather than in isolation from each other. Lan Wangji's opinion of these men is not especially high.

Still, he nods to Geralt, confirming his own willing assistance. Neither of them is a fool, after all.

Geralt gives the door a last glare. If they break the damn thing down, they might hurt someone inside – maybe even Ciri, if she's there.

(He tries not to think about why she wouldn't have called out, if she were.)

"We'll look for Ivo first," he says, and tips his head toward the trail. "Head down to the shoreline. Let's see if we can find whatever rock he's climbed to try and spot a ship."

"One wonders how the ship would be expected to spot him in turn," Lan Wangji mutters, moving past Geralt toward the narrow, rocky trail that leads down to the shore.

"My guess is he didn't think that far ahead."

He stalks after Lan Wangji along the steep, winding trail, and grimaces as a hoarse call hits his ears and a rancid stench wafts into his nostrils. "Harpies," he mutters. "Keep an eye out."

"Mn." That bodes poorly for the missing man, unless he is very lucky or a skilled fighter. Given what he has seen of the yaoguai of this world so far, he is not optimistic on the other's behalf.

At least he and Geralt have complementary fighting styles.

They're halfway down the slope when the harpies catch sight of them and attack, screeching. Geralt unsheathes the silver sword and nods to Lan Wangji.

"Drive them down," he instructs, and leaps to meet one of the hideous things as it arrows for his face, claws outstretched.

His guqin flashes into place in front of him and Lan Wangji strikes the first chord in almost the same motion, targeting the harpies' wings. After the first few strikes, he leaps into the air, gaining height himself so that there is no risk of accidentally hitting the witcher.

The battle is short and ferocious. Lan Wangji's chords strike the harpies' wings, crumpling them in the air and sending the things plummeting down to where the witcher is waiting, silver sword gleaming in the mist.

When they've cleared the path, he cleans the blade and sheathes it once more, then nods to Lan Wangji. "Nice work."

“Thank you, qianbei,” he murmurs, as the tips of his ears flush a faint pink. “You, also.”

He nods again, then picks up his pace once more, heading along the path as it winds down toward a tide-washed shoreline. Tall rock formations bristle along the sand, black and imposing in the fog.

Geralt glances at them. "Seems like a likely spot."

"Mn. It does," he agrees. "Perhaps--"

"Here! Up here!" The stranger's frantic cry echoes from the rocks, making it difficult to trace it back to the source, at least at first. "Look out!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji spots something flying in his direction, and spins out of the way of the ball of muck that spatters against the ground behind him.

"Water hags," Geralt growls. The silver sword is in his hand in the blink of an eye. "Good time to practice Igni."

There are two of the things. He pirouettes out of the way of another flung ball of mud, then shoves one of the hags back with Aard, getting it off balance so he can leap in for a few strikes. "Watch out for their tongues."

"For their--"

One of the hags unfolds a tongue far longer than should fit into any creatures mouth, like a snake striking. He dodges the disgusting thing, then shoves Igni at it with perhaps a little more force than warranted while Bichen flashes in his other hand.

He feels the heat of Lan Wangji's Igni bloom at his side. The other hag lashes at him with her tongue; her grabs it in one gauntleted fist and slices through it with the sword, then cleaves her head off with a heavy backswing.

The hag recoils from the flame, and as she does Lan Wangji lets it dissipate as he lunges forward with a precise strike. Bichen splits her head in two through her mouth, and she collapses to the ground.

He turns to Geralt, sees that the other is dealt with, and offers an apologetic small bow. "Too much. I did not singe you, did I?"

The witcher shakes his head. "It was a good trial run," he says, gruff, and looks up at one of the stone pillars where a dwarf is excitedly waving his arms. "Men! Hah! Am I ever pleased to see you!" he calls.

"We talked to your friends," Geralt tells him. "Come down."

"Right! I'm comin'." The dwarf bustles over to the edge of the rock and begins seeking a handhold. "You lucky devil, you," he compliments himself. Apparently in a chatty mood, he keeps talking as he begins the climb down. "You know, I've one regret. That – ah, ah, ahhh – !"

One slip of a foot, and his shriek follows him as he plummets to the ground.

The dwarf does not appear to be paying attention to what he is doing, Lan Wangji notices, as he takes a step or two to the side to watch him descend. He sees him slip and throws himself forward, using Bichen to yank himself into a speed that would otherwise be impossible.

It is not enough to catch the dwarf completely, but it is, barely, enough. Bichen spears through the back of the dwarf's tunic as he plummets, and then Lan Wangji's hand is on his arm in a hard grip as he slews him sideways into a hard tumble to the ground.

The dwarf groans as he rolls and staggers to his feet, but he's alive. Geralt jogs over, casting an unimpressed glance at him. "You're lucky Lan Wangji was here," he says. "I wouldn't have been able to catch you."

"Ah," groans the dwarf – Ivo. "Aha. Yes, thank you, master. Saw me life flash before me eyes, I did."

"Let's not make a habit of it," Geralt says, dry. "Come on. We've got two more of your mates to find."

"Be more careful," he says, with a level look. "Can you make your way back safely on your own, or do you wish to come with us?"

"'Tisn't far," the dwarf says. "I'll head back, tell the boys you found me."

Geralt looks as skeptical as he feels, but he keeps his doubts to himself. "Fine," he says. "Right up the path. Don't stop for anything. And avoid any of the thick patches of fog."

He turns to Geralt as Ivo heads back, moving quickly. Hopefully nothing has moved in to replace the harpies.

"To the height next?" he suggests, as he tries to visualize where the two remaining dwarves are likely to be in relation to each other.

He nods, and turns to look along the shoreline. "Looks like a watchtower over there," he says, and points. "That'd be my guess for where he'd go."

"If not the highest place on this island, it might let us spot what is," he agrees. "If the mist allows. Still, it is a place to begin."

Bichen flashes back into its sheath, and Lan Wangji falls in beside Geralt once more.

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