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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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.

The lighthouse is old and derelict and unlit, but at least it isn't infested with wraiths or harpies. The witcher leads the way up the path to it, grimly focused. There's no one on the bottom floor; he tips his head to the ladder and starts climbing.

Midway up, he pauses. "Do you hear... snoring?"

He nods, eyes narrow. The snore breaks, followed by some muttered words, then another loud snore.

"He does not seem affrighted," he observes, dry as dust.

Geralt sighs, and keeps climbing.

The second dwarf is slouched against the inner wall of the lighthouse, snoring loudly and muttering in his sleep. The witcher crouches in front of him. "Hey," he orders. "Wake up."

"Shoo..." mumbles the dwarf. "Back t'bed, Nibbles."

He truly, truly does not wish to know who or what 'Nibbles' is.

"Wake up," he repeats, firm and clear. The dwarf jerks awake with a start.

"What's happening? Who are you?" he demands, looking at Geralt.

"I'm Geralt."

At least the dwarf is awake, now. "Your friends asked me to find you, Ivo, and Ferenc."

The dwarf looks solemn. "I'm afeared they're dead," he murmurs. "Some horrors swarmed Ivo. Saw it with my own eyes. And Ferenc... I heard him. A blood-curdling cry, then the roar of a beast."

"Ivo lives," Lan Wangji assures him. "We will seek Ferenc."

"Let's get back to the hut," Geralt tells him. "We'll protect you along the way."

The dwarf brightens and pushes to his feet. "Shame about Ferenc," he observes. "But what can ye do? Come on. But I should warn you, I suffer from narcolepsy... ooh – "

He sways on his feet and Geralt sighs. "I know what it means. Don't worry, we'll keep you awake."

The dwarf yawns, jaw-crackingly wide, and moves toward the ladder. "Off we go, then."

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