#anyway give jaskier a dagger 2k20

[vvitchering]

"I'm getting bored of these games, witcher. Either tell me who hired you, or I'll slit your dirty mutant throat and hunt them down myself."

The blade presses uncomfortably against Geralt's neck and he heaves a weary sigh. Creatures he understands. They kill for food, for territory, for mates, things that make sense. Humans kill for pleasure or sport as easily as they breathe. The one currently holding the knife to Geralt's neck has the blood of countless innocents still wet on his hands.

Geralt shifts in his shackles. There's something about them that's sapping his strength more than expected, leaving him effectively bound and unable to reach his weapons. Not entirely surprising, given the trade of his captor. He deals in flesh, selling nonhumans as slaves or pets to the highest bidder. It's not often Geralt takes contracts on human targets, but he made an exception in this case. He is a monster hunter, after all, and not all monsters are fanged or furred.

His captor suddenly withdraws the blade from his neck and uses the tip to lift the kneeling witcher's face up to meet his gaze. There's a slimy yet considering sort of look in his eyes as he studies Geralt.

"Bet you'd fetch a pretty sum on the market yourself with a face like that. We'd have to get you nice and docile first, which could take time, but you'll find I've got patience in droves." he says with a smirk.

"No thanks, I don't tend to play nice with others." Geralt says, and then doubles over as the man lands a swift kick in his stomach with his steel-toed boot. Frustration burns in his head as he coughs. The shackles being able to hold him this long wasn't part of the plan. The man laughs cruelly and grabs a fistful of Geralt's hair to yank him up again, making the witcher hiss in pain.

"Oh yes, you'll be a tough one to break, but very much worth the effort, I think."

Neither of them are expecting the crossbow bolt that buries itself in the bastard’s neck only a second later. He sputters, eyes wide and disbelieving, before he falls at Geralt’s knees with a thud. He produces a satisfying series of wet gurgles before going silent. Geralt heaves another sigh. So much for the plan.

“I told you to wait for my signal.”

There’s a much lighter thud behind Geralt, a lithe body leaping down from the tree behind him, and suddenly there are warm hands on his, fiddling with the shackles restraining him. 

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe you were in control of any aspect of that performance.” Jaskier says, voice tight. “He was going to beat you. And worse.”

“Been beaten before. Had worse, too.”

“No more. Not if I can help it.”   

Jaskier’s training has certainly paid off more than Geralt ever could have hoped. The bard, while he talks a lot about being a lover rather than a fighter, had taken to weapon training like a fire on dry kindling. His reflexes and dexterity from years of being a talented musician made him a natural with knives and daggers. All he had needed was some guidance and basic instruction. 

Geralt hears Jaskier make a triumphant noise and then a tiny click and the shackles fall off his wrists with a clatter. His skin is raw and red where they gripped him. It’s concerning that a device that can hold even a witcher at bay exists, but that’s a problem for another time. It won’t be long until the rest of the encampment catches on to the murder of their leader and there are still the other captives to free. 

Jaskier offers his hand to Geralt and helps him to his feet. The bard has long since traded in his stylish but flimsy court-wear for more practical traveling clothes better suited to time spent hanging around a witcher. He’s amassed several pieces of light leather armor during their travels as well. With his lute strapped securely to his back in its protective case and twin daggers sheathed at his side, he looks every bit the warrior bard companion of a witcher that he’s become. 

Geralt cracks his neck and shakes out his limbs. 

“Find the prisoners and release them. I’ll handle the slavers.” he tells Jaskier as he reaches for the steel sword on his back. 

Jaskier already has one of his prized daggers in hand. He tosses it casually and catches it with a flourish and grins at Geralt, all confidence and tightly coiled energy.  

“Let’s go to work.”