#barnabas basil foulty

[northernolddragon]

The best majordomo Barnabas-Basil Foulty.

The ideal embodiment of the majordomo. With him Corvo Bianco will prosper, and amaze with the scope of his unpretentious master after his absence. And the walls and ears will not be saved if a very talkative guest appears. With him the wine will be intact, and the order in the estate will save the witcher from any thought about such an unusual way of life.

[finleycannotdraw]

sketchdump!!

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

*end of Blood and Wine*

BB: Mister Geralt, someone has came inside and they do not want to leave! I have tried everything!

Geralt: Who is it?

BB: She has not told me her name.

Geralt: wait... How does she smell like?

BB: What the fuck-?

[agoracactus]

Home Sweet Home

this is set after Geralt got his estate in Toussaint. absolutely love that place, everything is so pretty and vibrant there

and its just nice to know that after all his adventures he got a place to call home and some ppl to take care of him. enjoy!

Warning: lack of proofreading as it is very late now lol i just wanna get this out

Pairing: Geralt x F!reader

Word count: 830

§ Shortly after receiving Corvo Bianco §

You had a soothing bath after an extremely long day, and were comfortably lying in bed. You had your legs up against the wall, with a pillow under your head, feeling warm and sleepy.

Geralt walked out from behind the screen. He stopped, stared for a second, and decided he didn't want to know.

"Did the water get cold?" you watched him throwing the towel over the screen.

"No." he buttoned up his shirt.

"Can't believe the enchanted tub Yen gave us really worked." you said, while massaging your legs.

"Hmm." he sat down on his side of the bed.

"You should join me." you turned your head to look at him.

"...What?" "Put your legs up like this." "Why?" "Well, I heard that it helps with leg swelling." "My legs don't swell." "...Is that supposed to be a flex?" you raised your eyebrow, "C'mon! It wouldn't hurt to try! Plus, it would be too late when your legs do swell." you tugged on the bottom of his shirt, "Who knows, it might happen tomorrow? You are getting old."

He grunted, but complied.

"See? Not too bad right?" you grinned.

Another grunt.

"And apparently it works better with massages." you sat up, and started squeezing his calves, "It helps with blood flow, and gravity would help bring the waste back to your torso so your body can clean that dirty blood." "Hmm."

You stopped, "Are you upset about me calling you old?"

He sighed, "No." "Ok." you gave him a kiss on the cheek, and lay back down again with your legs up against the wall.

After a short silence- "Mr. Barnabas asked me what he should call me."

"...What has he been calling you then?" "Miss." you said with a dissatisfied tone. "What's wrong with miss?" "It doesn't sound right, sounds like I'm way too young. If Ciri could be called miss, calling me miss would be too weird." "...Alright."

"I doubt he would be ok with calling me by my first name- not to mention calling me Master..." you pressed your feet against the cool wall.

"Madam?" Geralt suggested.

"Meh, too old. Madam is what you call someone rich with no kids, having 2 cats and 3 dogs and a dead husband." you waved your hand, "And she either is the nicest person or the worst, no in between."

"Hmm." Geralt had both of his hands on his stomach, fingers laced together, "Lady?"

"Well lady doesn't sound too bad." you nodded, "Classy, elegant... It also sounds like you're having an affair with me and let me move in against your poor wife's will."

"...You'd rather be my mistress?"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" "No, I'm simply explaining to you, lady can be used for married couples as well." "Sounds like a proposal to me." "It is not." "So you don't wanna marry me?"

"..." He gave you a look. "Now you're just teasing me."

"Ahh, quick learner are we?" you grinned.

"I was one of the best in Kaer Morhen." he bragged.

"Well then you should also learn, that I'll be happier if you let me tease you."

He smiled, took your hand in his and gently pressed his lips upon your knuckles, "I'll keep that in mind, my lady."

§ After a long time §

You hopped off your horse, handing the rein to the stable boy.

"Thank you Gautbert." you said, staring pulling the knot on your cloak loose.

"My lady." Barnabas-Basil Foulty greeted you at the door, "How was the journey?" "It's ok, I'm just glad it only took a couple of days. It would seem that I can only sleep well in my own bed now." you jokingly said. "I'm glad that the trip went well. Master Garelt came home just now." Foulty opened the door for you.

"Already?" you quickly walked in.

Pushing open the bedroom door, you were met with the fresh scent of soap. The white hair witcher was standing by the feet of the bed, drying his hair with a towel.

"Hey you're home early!" you nearly jumped into his arms, before giving him a peck on the lips, "...I miss you." you nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"I miss you too." he held you tightly.

"...You smell nice!" you pulled away slightly to look at him more properly, even though you were only apart for two weeks.

"Wanted to look fresh for you." "Aww... And you cut yourself?" your thumb brushed over the side of his jaw. "I was in a rush." he shrugged. "Aren't you adorable." you kissed him again.

He pressed on the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, tongue grazing past yours. You happily gave in to his yearning.

"...Eager huh?" you broke away for air, eyes meeting his.

"I missed you a lot." he shrugged again, unapologetic.

You couldn't help but grin widely, "Well, we should see what we could do about that."

[sebdoesthings]

I love you Geralt of Rivia I love you Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy I love you Vernon Roche I love you Ves I love you Ciri I love you Shani I love you Dandelion I love you Zoltan Chivay I love you Milva I love you Angoulême I love you Cahir Mawr Dyffryn Aep Ceallach I love you Vesemir I love you Eskel I love you Lambert I love you Berengar I love you Coën I love you Jad Karadin I love you Cerys an Craite I love you Éibhear Hattori I love you Elihal I love you Letho of Gulet I love you Serrit I love you Auckes I love you Gaunter O'Dimm I love you Mislav I love you Florian Verrieres I love you Tomira I love you Johnny I love you Sarah I love you Meve I love you Reynard Odo I love you Barnabas-Basil Foulty I love you Marlene I love you Dettlaff I love you Villentrentenmerth I love you Jutta an Dimun I love you Iorveth I love you Cedric I love you Isengrim Faoiltiarna I love you Thirteen I love you Fenn I love you Silas I love you Millie I love you Gretka I love you Yoana I love you Roach I love you Babiyetza I love you Scorpion I love you

[ao3feed-witcher-podfic]

by Chantress

One morning at Corvo Bianco, a surprise bundle appears on Geralt's doorstep.

Words: 29, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eskel (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert (The Witcher), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Barnabas-Basil Foulty, Original Child Character(s)

Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Additional Tags: Fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Retirement at Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Podfic, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Audio Format: MP3

Listen on AO3

[marbienl13]

Oh BB 🤣.

Eskel's finally home! Jay!! 💜 Love how Geralt was preparing for him, and how he won the hearts of his workers by doing what he did.

I saw ur call for gereskel on Twitter. Ever given a thought as to what it would be like for Geralt to prep and prime corvo bianco to the point were he's finally comfortable enough to invite Eskel to spend the winters with him there. Like all the staff are whispering amongst eachother about who the lady of the house is gonna look like. Geralt getting a double wide bed, and planting herbs for "someone else". And how the staff just stares in awe when there Witcher just sinks into the arms of Eskel when he finally arrives?

Those on staff at Corvo Bianco had learned many things from their previous employer. Their opinions meant nothing, their work was hardly ever good enough, and gossip was an offense grievous enough to warrant immediate termination. When the witcher took over the estate, they had feared the worst. He certainly looked the part of the fearsome warrior with his scars and swords and suspiciously stained armor. But despite the eerie eyes and prematurely white hair, Geralt of Rivia had quickly proven himself to be a surprisingly mellow and even tempered employer. 

He gave the impression of a man severely out of his depth when it came to matters of the homestead; glad to pour his considerable wealth into restoration and upkeep, but hesitant to make any actual decisions or changes on his own. Barnabas-Basil was all too happy to assist, thrilled at the chance to finally restore the vineyard to its former glory. 

The witcher seemed pleased by the efforts. 

Gradually, he filled the main house with his own personal touches. Sets of armor and weapons, paintings (some of...questionable taste), maps of the Continent, and a surprisingly sizable library made the house feel lived in. The vines were planted, gardens tended, and their wine production began anew. The witcher began to spend more time on the property. He devoted himself to learning the trade, surprising himself and the Majordomo with his ability to detect even the most minute flaws in their product with his enhanced senses. With his suggestions, their wine became well known and sought after. Soon, the witcher barely needed to take contracts to keep coin flowing. 

And so, he began to live on the property full time, only accepting the most dire of monster hunting contracts and even then only locally. He preferred not to leave Toussaint, if he could help it. There was nothing left for him in the north, he’d say, just ghosts. He was happy to do odd jobs and exterminate the occasional pest for his neighbors, who grew fond of the witcher himself as well as his wine. 

His staff grew to like their new employer as well. He was attentive, curious, and never hesitant to get his own hands dirty. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see him up at dawn and learning to tend the vines with the field workers or spending time in the stables attending to his beloved mare. While he wasn’t overly chatty, he was pleasant and friendly with the staff and never mocked or belittled their efforts. With a witcher on the grounds, they no longer feared the creatures that lurked on the outskirts of the vineyard. They were well protected from all manner of beasts, monsters and thieves. The staff of Corvo Bianco grew to adore Geralt of Rivia and with that adoration came a new breed of newly allowed gossip. 

They worried for their employer’s heart. Never once did they see the man pursue romance, though many eligible locals had offered themselves as options. It made little sense. Geralt was successful, handsome, and in the prime of his youth (presumably. The staff really had no idea how old the man was, what with his witchering, but he certainly did not appear to be nearing old age any time soon) And yet, he was plainly lonely, often seen staring off into the distance, wistful and wanting. (Again, presumably)

When the first letter arrived, no one batted an eye. The witcher kept correspondence with lots of people, business partners and old friends alike. It was when the letters kept arriving, and Geralt had taken to pacing the courtyard waiting for the courier to arrive, that rumors began to spread. This was clearly more than a business transaction! More than a friendly word or two between long distance friends. They were love letters, surely! Master Geralt had a lover somewhere! 

Barnabas-Basil attempted to squash the rumors, chastising the staff for sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Master Geralt was good to them, kind and generous, and did not deserve to have his private affairs become entertainment. Suitably shamed, the rumors died down to almost nothing, until one final letter arrived and a change came over the witcher than even the Majordomo couldn’t deny. 

The morning following the arrival of the letter, Geralt had made a list of improvements and additions for the main house as well as the grounds. Of his own volition. Without any prompting at all. Quite suspicious. 

Among the projects on the list, there was a request for a larger garden. More exotic flowers and shrubs, a few new fruit trees for the orchard, and dozens more varieties of herbs. The new garden would be enormous and beautiful and certainly impressive to anyone. 

Next were the requests for ingredients and spices to stock the kitchens. Marlene, who cooked all of the witcher’s meals, puzzled over the list and wondered why in the world Geralt had ordered in such large amounts. He certainly did eat a lot, with his witcher’s metabolism and active lifestyle, but some of the items she knew for a fact were not to Geralt’s personal taste and yet he had still ordered a witcher’s worth of them.

When news that Geralt had ordered a much larger bed reached the staff’s ears, even the strictest dressing down from Barnabas-Basil could not stop the excited whispers. Flowers, food, a bed for two...So Master Geralt did have a lover! And from the looks of the changes around the vineyard, that lover was paying them a visit. A possibly permanent visit! And soon, if the witcher’s increasingly nervous checking of all his orders was any indication. 

The staff let their imaginations run wild in the meantime. What sort of someone did a witcher take for a lover? A royal he once saved from certain death in a faraway land? A simple merchant who was kind to him when he passed through? A powerful mage who was a legend in their own right? 

When the sound of galloping hooves announced the arrival of a guest a week later, many of the staff tripped over themselves in an attempt to get the first glimpse of Master Geralt’s mysterious love. The figure arrived alone, no procession or guards (there went the foreign royalty theory) and riding a huge dark stallion. A long black hooded cloak obscured their face. Despite the concealment, they struck quite the intimidating silhouette: tall, broad shoulders, with the muffled but unmistakable sound of clamoring of armor and weapons following in their wake (not a simple merchant or mage then, either).

 As the visitor dismounted, the door of the main house flew open, revealing the witcher himself. His eyes focused immediately on the visitor and he nearly vaulted the stairs in his haste to meet them. 

“Was the hood really necessary?” Geralt said, a smile splitting his face, as he grabbed the cloaked figure and hugged them tightly. 

“Can’t be too careful these days. Especially with a face like mine.” came the deep but warm response as the visitor stepped back from Geralt and pushed the hood off. 

It was only their years of experience and deep respect for their employer that stopped a few of the watching staff from gasping audibly. Their visitor was another witcher, horribly scarred as if he had been attacked by a wild beast. Though his lips were disfigured, they nonetheless managed to produce a smile to match Geralt’s as the two embraced again. 

“It’s good to have you home at last, Eskel.” 

“It’s good to finally be home, Wolf.”

--

(“Of course a witcher would fall in love with another witcher,” Barnabas-Basil said later, counting his sizable betting wins as the news spread through the estate. 

“It’s only logical.”)

[marbienl13]

***Improving the cellar*** BB and Lambert talking about making some adjustments to make the lab in the cellar a safer place. To everyone’s surprise, the two have an easy friendship with gwent, wine and sanity checks on rebuilding/redecorating parts of Corvo Bianco. 

[squiddtastic]

a bunch of sketches of suggested witcher characters, for art practice

[ffrecommendation]

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert/Keira Metz Characters: Eskel (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert (The Witcher), Keira Metz, Barnabas-Basil Foulty, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Additional Tags: Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Anal Sex, Sexual Confusion, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Light Bondage, Rimming, Hearts of Stone (The Witcher 3 DLC), Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Bathing/Washing, Dirty Talk Summary:

Eskel was always so calm, endlessly steady. So damn reasonable about everything. Just once Geralt wanted to see him falter a little bit.

[benisalilbitch]

Can you rate Geralt‘s majordomo BB?

Thank you!! And lmao yes, I will rate my (Geralt's) wonderful majordomo (it's gonna be a bit short tho)

Barnabas-Basil Foulty

I will bang that fucker because he's taking good care of my estate and I really like him. 9/10

This boy is the absolute best. He guides Geralt's clueless ass around his wonderful estate and takes care of every single thing. Thank you for keeping my dumb slut alive and well. Very appreciated. I absolutely adore BB's vibe. You see those glasses? He's a trend setter and you bet your ass Geralt followed in because I also put on those glasses on him lmao, I love it.

Barnabas is a constant presence in my home and I wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't look me in the eye in the morning after I get busy with Olgierd's portrait and I appreciate his discretion and professionalism.

My boy is just the best manager I've ever had and I just know Geralt's dumb ass is in good hands with my favorite majordomo.

Send me The Witcher 3 characters and I'll rate them along with my thot thoughts.

[cuculine-nelipot]

a/n: A wee ficlet that sort of just happened over discord today. People were talking about BB and Geralt, I was thinking about Geralt deriving his sense of worth from his sex-appeal, and here we are.

It started small, this flirting. The new master of Corvo Bianco would touch his shoulder a moment too long, smile at him coyly from under long lashes, something sultry glimmering in his eyes. Not unlike when the fine Ladies who visited the estate sometimes behaved when they sampled a bit too much of the product, Barnabas-Basil Foulty could brush off unacknowledged, as was proper. Then it started becoming a bit more obvious. He’d walk around in just loose trousers, then braes, always flexing those, admittedly, rather fine muscles, leaning in close. The new Master had a penchant for double-speak unlike anything BB had heard before.

Master Geralt went away for awhile after that, hunting for a few weeks, no doubt to lick his wounded ego. BB didn’t think too much about it, better he nursed his wounded pride out in the wilderness than take it out on the staff. But when he come back, he was a rather lot more quiet and withdrawn than before. One evening, when he flushed from head to toe upon entering the library, BB realised that his boss had been tip-toeing around him. He bowed his head when they spoke, and did not once make eye contact. BB had an idea of what the problem is — reading people was a fundamental of his job, after all, and he told Sir Geralt that just because he refused his bed, that did not mean he respected him any less.

But this did not seem to appease the master of the estate as BB thought it would. Sir Geralt was… better, in some respects. He spoke a little more, at least, but he was still not quite himself. He no longer smile much, and when he did, it was a small, wan thing that did not reach his eyes.

read the rest here

[of-toussaint]

Notes from Corvo Bianco

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: M (implied/offscreen smut)

Words: 3k

Relationships: Regis/Dettlaff/Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

-----------------------

A length of parchment, affixed to the wall at the level of a tall man’s eye, and printed in the immaculate script of a practiced scribe:

Honored guests and beloved family, fondest welcome to Corvo Bianco.

- To preserve the floors, one must clean one’s boots of mud, blood, and other unsavory matters prior to entering the house.

- Should msr. Geralt be absent or rendered insensate, final word on all domestic matters falls to Barnabas-Basil Foulty.

- Persons undertaking to meddle with msr. Regis’ alchemical supplies have only themselves to blame for whatever ills befall them.

(a later addendum, in a smaller hand: “This is doubly true regarding Yennefer’s possessions.”)

Here the ink changes. The style of the handwriting seems older, the tone more clipped:

- Whatever foolishness one may be considering, Roach is off-limits. I’ve bandaged too many bites.

- The bard is not allowed in the wine cellar unsupervised.

(A final line in blocky letters, irritation near palpable, reads: “Lambert is not allowed in the wine cellar at all.”)

Or: The retired life of Geralt and his family, as told through notes, transcripts, and found correspondences.

(read chapter 1 below, or on ao3)

A crumpled ledger found on the cellar table, much smudged by ink and wine alike:

IV Birke 1277

3 barrels S. (1275) in trade to Castel Ravello:

- 1 barrel Est Est (1269)

- 2 barrels Erveluce (1268)

1 barrel S. (1276) lost to misadventure. This leaves current inventory at 2 barrels Est Est, 3 barrels Erveluce, 2 barrels Fiorano, 1 barrel Pomino, 4 barrels Sepremento, and 12 cases White Wolf for the personal consumption of the estate.  

1 barrel S. (1275) in trade to Belgaard:

- 2 barrels Fiorano (1271)  

- 4 addl. cases White Wolf (1275), with the compliments of the heads of household 

Vintner’s note: reminder to propose a more extensive exchange with Belgaard for next year. Already, this spring has the promise of mildness about it. Outlook for the growing season is exceptional.

From the journal of Barnabas-Basil Foulty, majordomo:  

XVI Birke 1277

Madama Yennefer returned for the summer this morning, to the relief of the veteran staff and the curiosity of our most junior workers. With the renewed success of the vineyard, we have many who were hired only this spring, and have never had the pleasure of our lady’s company—tomorrow I must arrange introductions, when she has had time to settle herself. Her arrival is timely. The pleasant weather appears to be here to stay, and if last year is any indication, she will no doubt wish to oversee the annual airing and continued refitting of the house personally. While the renovations to be completed this year are far less extensive than during her previous stay, I have no question that her expectations will be high, as always, and her preferences exacting. 

With the dawn messeres Geralt and Jaskier rode out to greet her. The staff were not the only ones pleased by her return; the cause of the sunny expressions worn by our resident witcher and bard upon riding through the gate was unmistakable. At the stables they assisted her in unpacking those few bags with which she travelled (the majority of her belongings having wintered here with us, though apparently those accompanying her still being too numerous to move by portal). Her mare this year is a new mount, and skittish of unfamiliar hands. No matter. Our principal stablehand, Jean-Pierre, is very skilled at handling even the most reluctant of horses, and saw to the mare with ease. She is to be stabled alongside Roach, which should go some way to instilling confidence in her. 

Upon approaching the house, the front door flew open to disburse messere Regis, appearing overjoyed if, it must be said, a trifle ruffled. Of late he has been immersed in his studies. In fact, prior to this morning I had not seen him in some days—days during which I assume he has remained sequestered in his laboratory, down in the cellars. His current project is a source of some speculation amongst the staff, but I have stressed to them that wisdom would dictate respect for the privacy of any alchemist of his proficiency, even were he to be possessed of merely human talents. In any event, the enthusiasm with which he and our lady embraced each other suggests that we may see more of him during the days ahead.  

Ah, the changing of the seasons. Truly, there is nothing which can compare to summer in Toussaint. 

Excerpt from a letter, discovered at the bottom of a bag destined for the postmaster:

“... and Mary, I couldn’t even begin to guess what they get up to in there! I’ve worked some odd places, but by the gods, I’ve never seen the like to this menagerie. A witcher running the place is strange enough, though this one’s not so bad, really. A quiet man, and thoughtful; nothing like the tales you hear up home. But to be working for one! At a winery! Sweet Melitele, that’d be enough to set a man’s head spinning on its own. But that isn’t the end of it, is it? That minstrel young Joanna likes so much, you know the one—goes by Dandelion? He’s here, at all hours, and if he has another place he calls home I’ve never seen him leave for it. He’s got another name in private, too; heard them up at the house call him by it. Tell Joanna her bard’s called Jaskier when he’s at home, see if it doesn’t please her something fierce.  

But there’s more still. Hold your prayer beads close for this next bit, because I certainly felt the need for a smack of religion when I learned the whole of it. There are a couple of other fellows that share house with the witcher and the bard, and we got it out of Georges who’s been here for a while now that those men—well, there’s no easy saying it. They aren’t human. Vampires, Mary. Now I know what you’ll say to me. You’ll tell me I’ve been too heavy into my cups, like. But I swear it’s the truth. I an’ the other boys from up north, of course, we were right afear’d at first when we learned of it. Georges just laughed at us. Said the witcher knew what he was about and that we’d settle ourselves, soon enough, when we met ‘em. I didn’t believe him at first, but—it's funny. He was right.  

The older one (though I dunno how you judge these things, with vampires, he certainly looks the older but who’s to say) is an alchemist... and a doctor, seems to be, some kind of scholar. I only met him up close the once, when I cut my hand carving out a new post for the fence. He heard the commotion out in the yard and came bustling out with his bag. Tutted like a mother hen and cleaned the wound with something that stung like the devil, but he were—well. He were very kind, Mary, could’ve seen I was terrified of ‘im a league off but he just talked, softly, all the while. I can’t say naught but that I hope to high heaven I always meet him in so good a mood. The other one I’ve never met outright. Only seen him from a distance. He’s taller, dark and brooding as anything (just our Martha’s type, you know the ones), and the local lads keep their distance from him more than t’other. They won’t share what that’s about; some bad business from a few years back, or so I gather. They say it’s all water under the bridge now, but of course you know how some things do linger. Anyway. He doesn’t come down into the vineyard much, but they say he’s always polite, when you do have call to talk to ‘im. I’m content to believe that from a distance, thank you very much. 

And that isn’t even touching on the lady. She only got here a few weeks back, but already it’s like the place never existed without her. Don’t you fuss at me, now. Nothing for you to be jealous over—this one’s a sorceress, and I’m as rightly scared witless of her as she is grand, which is plenty. She’s more than proper spoken for, in any case, if the rumors have any truth to them. But then, it’s not my place to pry into what folk do in their private affairs.  

Well, I’ll end the letter here, a’fore I talk your ear off. Thinking of you and the girls always. I’ve never been paid half so well as at this place—it's true what they said, at least, about the witcher making sure the Duquessa looks after us Nordlings as well as the locals. I’m saving every crown. Goddess willing, I’ll be able to send for you by Feainn.  

- Your Roderick.” 

Scrap from the notebook of an itinerant merchant:  

… passing through again at the beginning of Blathe 

10 lengths of silk for the trim (the Nilfgaardian; instructions were very particular) in white, and to write back straight away by raven if the tailor needs anything further 

2 dozen lute strings, catgut 

10 stone of salt, suitable for preserving 

Acquisition of a delivery in Metinna, to be brought on return. Have been advised that parcel is fragile distillation equipment, and is to be handled with care. 

Transcript of a conversation overheard between a stablehand and a vineyard worker:

Ida: … don’t tell me you’re fresh out of gossip. You pretend at being above it, but I know you better’n you think. (her accent is rough, the rugged tones of the Temerian peasantry. In her mid-twenties; she is clearly the older of the pair) 

Ettore: Minx. Ugh, but there is nothing of interest to discuss. Everyone here is so well-behaved of late, it’s been dreadfully dull. (his voice carries the sonorous roll that marks him as Toussaintois) 

I: This place? Well-behaved? That’ll be the day. If it isn’t the contractors it’s the staff, and if it isn’t the staff it’s them up at the house. Come on, I’ve all this laundry to hang. (her tone is a teasing whine, flirtatious) Entertain me, Eto. 

E: (with a wink) Since you asked so nicely. Speaking of our honored patrons... did you know I overheard messere witcher and his little bard talking the other day?  

I: Did you, now? 

E: Indeed. They were most wrapped up in the details of some ghastly monster slaying. It caused the bard no small measure of excitement, or so I surmised from the tone of his exclamations.  

I: That’s barely interesting. He’s always off about some new ballad or other.  

E: You speak truly, but what is far more fascinating is what other uses he then saw fit to set his mouth to. These I overheard as well, through the walls of the stables. 

I: (squeals) Ooohh, you’re dreadful! What then? 

E: Naturally, once I realized what was in progress, I withdrew to grant them a bit of privacy. Although if privacy is what one is after, one could perhaps do better than behind the stables.  

I: You’re not wrong. I’m sure the bard’s mouth wins him applause from all corners. (her voice lowers, conspiratorial) He’s been very generous with it, too, from what I can tell. Gets up to all sorts of things, in all sorts of places. 

E: (delighted) Oh, I’m certain. Him and that witcher. What do you know? 

I: Him and them all. Just the other day, Malka went down into the cellars after a bottle of red for the kitchens. Well, she hadn’t been down there more’n ten seconds before she turned right around and walked out again, red as the wine she went in there for. She wouldn’t speak on it, but the bard came stumbling out not long after, followed by that witch. 

E: (laughing) No! 

I: I tell you! Rearranging her skirts and looking just as smug as you please, and him with the smile of a man whose brain is still somewhere down in his trousers. 

E: They’re all as bad as each other. Would you like to hear what I witnessed, but a few evenings past? 

I: You know I would. 

E: Ah. Well, I was returning from seeing to the horses for the night, and as it happened the evening was very clear. These early summer sunsets, you know—a vision worthy of la Duquessa’s own artists. I still had a few scraps and some wine leftover from my lunch, and it seemed a fine idea to take in the view from the hill behind the estate.

I: (her eyes soften) You should’ve come and got me, you ninny. I’d’ve liked to see it with you. 

E: I will bear it in mind for next time, bellisima. On this occasion, though, I’m glad I was alone. I doubt we should have avoided causing an interruption, were we together.  

I: Out with it. What’d you see? 

E: A-hem. Well. As I say, I made my way up the hill and had only just seated myself upon the bench, when what should I hear but... giggling.  

I: (incredulous) What, some maid get lost on the path down from the tourney grounds? 

E: Nothing of the kind, I assure you. In the fading light I cast my eyes about, but in vain—until I thought to look along the rooftop. Suddenly—I don’t know how I missed it at the first—I see those two... odd gentlemen up there. Seated upon the roof! 

I: (gasping, her voice dropping to a hush) The... you know... 

E: The very same. Up on the roof, side by side as though it were the most comfortable perch in the world. The younger with his arm around the older, and the older leaning his head upon his shoulder as though a schoolgirl with her paramour. They were not without companions, either. A great many ravens were scattered about nearby, of the kind that always seem so plentiful of late.  

I: They like them, I think. The birds, that is. Anyway. What’d you do? 

E: Bellisima, I am possessed of good sense. I remained silent. Fortunately for me, they were rather invested in each other to spare much notice for one stablehand in the wrong place at the wrong moment.  

I: (chuckling) Invested, were they? That what you call it in Toussaint? 

E: There are more colorful descriptors, I assure you, and they would be apt. I have never seen a man in such a precarious position so utterly determined to undo the fastenings of his companion’s overshirt. I’m sure the performance was praiseworthy, but I found myself unwilling to stay for the second act. 

I: You did say you had sense in your head. First I’ve seen of it, though. 

E: I should provide you with further opportunities to observe it, then. Since your laundry now hangs to dry, would you care to accompany me up the hill? I am reasonably certain the view will be free of gentlemen, in any state of undress.  

I: (grinning) Sure about that, are you? What if I object? 

E: Adorata. Your wish is, as ever, my command. 

Majordomo’s journal:

XXVII Birke 1277

Progress on the year’s renovations has progressed quickly. To my astonishment (and, I must admit, delight; the man is in a far more pleasant mood when his hands are occupied), this is due in no small part to the carpentry expertise of messere Dettlaff. He both takes and gives direction well, and is untiring in his dedication to the work. Thanks to his efforts and under the steady eye of madama Yennefer, the additions to the kitchens will be finished by the turn of the savaed. 

And nothing could have been better timed. Though the preparations for the Belleteyn festival this year are lighter than they might be, they are vital nevertheless, and Marlene has directed the kitchens into a flurry of activity. The majority of the staff will partake of the reveries in Beauclair, to be certain, but our patrons d’estate have plans to remain at home. Messere Jaskier privately confided in me that we will, in fact, have guests. Our humble home is expecting no less than royalty. To celebrate madama Yennefer’s birthday, the lady Cirilla is expected to make a surprise visit, in company of the queen of the Skellige Isles. 

Talking of renovations, there is a point I must remember to raise, as a matter of pride of household. Having passed recently into the main bedchamber on an errand to retrieve messere Geralt’s armor for cleaning, I was immediately overwhelmed past the threshold with what I can only describe as a mild seasickness. While from the outside, the dimensions of the room appear unchanged, it seems that our lady has recently seen fit to alter the interior dimensions to her own specification under the power of her arts. Put simply, the room is now far more spacious within than without. 

Naturally, I have no objection to this—if the other inhabitants of that bedchamber have no quarrel with this intervention, then far be it from me to create one. However, I did notice that the dimensions of the furniture within the room remain unchanged. Notably, I could not help but be aware that a bed built for, at most, two adults now provides routine respite to five. (How regularly messeres Regis and Dettlaff actually sleep, I am unsure, although I hesitate to raise the question as on this point ignorance may go hand-in-hand with decorum). I must make inquiries—discreetly, naturally—as to whether the appointments in the room are still to the satisfaction of its inhabitants. If not, suitable replacements must be ordered at once.  

Perhaps an idea best raised to the one who altered the room in the first place. That my lady will have firm opinions on the matter, I’ve no doubt whatsoever. 

A note in precise, tidy script, found in the interior pocket of a set of armor prior to cleaning:  

“Yes, your last letter reached us well in advance. Stop worrying. I know it’s been almost a year since I’ve been to visit, but you can hardly expect I’ve forgotten the route. I’m glad you’ve been able to keep it a surprise. I’m as keen to see you all as you are to see me. Cerys keeps saying she’s going to ply you with mead and challenge you to a duel as soon as we arrive, so best prepare for anything.  

Tell Jaskier I expect a serenade upon our arrival. We’ll be with you soon. Until then, good health.  

All my love.  

Ciri.” 

[ainti-pretty]

Witcher 3 characters as the Major Arcana:

note: these are all based off my interpretations and how i view each card, if you want me to elaborate PLEASE send in an ask, ik some of these might be spicy takes

0 The Fool: Hjalmar an Craite

I The Magician: Philippa Eilhart

II The High Priestess: Yennefer of Vengerberg

III The Empress: Triss Merigold

IV The Emperor: Emhyr var Emreis

V The Hierophant: Avallac’h

VI The Lovers: Olgierd and Iris von Everec 

VII The Chariot: Ciri

VIII Strength: Regis

IX The Hermit: Lambert

X Wheel of Fortune: Eskel

XI Justice: Cerys An Craite

XII The Hanged One: Vesemir

XIII Death: Geralt of Rivia

XIV Temperance: Barnabas-Basil Foulty

XV The Devil: Dandelion

XVI The Tower: Gaunter O’Dimm

XVII The Star: Priscilla

XVIII The Moon: Keira Metz

XIX The Sun: Roach

XX Judgement: Dettlaff 

XXI The World: Corvo Bianco 

[sebdoesthings]

To Pluck Wild Mountain Thyme (Geralt/Regis) - Full Chapter 1

Link to AO3

Chapters: 1/115 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Barnabas-Basil Foulty, Marlene de Trastamara, more characters will show up later in the fic Additional Tags: Betaed, Mutual Pining, Yearning, Domestic Fluff, domestic home life in general, they're basically married, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Toussaint (The Witcher), other familiar locations in later chapters, Explicit smut in later chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, despite the size of the fic this is not a slow burn, based on games and books, spoilers are a given,

Summary:

The familiar sight of him as he clutched the strap of his satchel warmed something inside Geralt, something that had gone cold over the last few months. A grin spread across his lips as Regis descended into the courtyard.

Regis has left to find and help Dettlaff after the Night of Long Fangs, and Geralt has gone into semi-retirement at Corvo Bianco. But despite the new peace, the Witcher finds something is missing. Only when Regis unexpectedly returns one day does Geralt realise there is much they have yet to discover about each other and what connects them. After all, a love story does not end when those famous three words are said – it only just begins.

Full First Chapter (Continued under Read More)

He’d started missing him shortly after his departure. Once the shock from his stay in prison had subsided, Geralt had turned to learning the ways of a vintner. He resided at Corvo Bianco permanently now, only leaving for more than a day when the Toussaint locals came to him with requests of slaying a monster.

Missing him was a sneaking feeling, one that manifested first in simple memories of their time together – sometimes of working towards finding the Beast of Beauclair, and sometimes older, from when they’d travelled with their little hansa. But after weeks turned into months, Geralt found himself thinking of Regis more and more.

Sometimes he’d spend the day in his laboratory down in the cellar, replenishing his supplies of oils and potions, and he’d think of Regis and his love for alchemy. How he could go on and on about the effects of different ingredients, or what prompted certain chemical reactions.

Whenever one of his workers got hurt, Geralt wished for Regis’ calm and professional demeanour, his abundance of knowledge and steady hands to mend whatever wounds had been inflicted.

Geralt developed a habit of picking up some bottles of mandrake cordial during his visits to Beauclair. He told himself he’d keep them for when Regis would inevitably materialise on his doorstep, smile his tight-lipped smile and greet him as if he’d been gone for mere hours. But Regis didn’t come, and Geralt drank the bottles himself, sitting on the porch of Corvo Bianco as summer turned into autumn and the harvest began. The booze he’d bought from a fancy shop never tasted as good as what Regis distilled with the cobbled-together equipment he could find.

Winter was when the feeling really became apparent. He thought long and hard on whether to travel to Kaer Morhen, but ultimately decided against it. Something told him to stay where he was. Just in case… In case of what? Even in his own mind Geralt tried to pass it off as logic and not what his gut told him. The keep wouldn’t be the same now anyway, without Vesemir. Maybe Eskel and Lambert would be there, but what would they do for three long months besides playing drinking games? He couldn’t imagine mustering up the motivation to work on restoring Kaer Morhen. They hadn’t done it with Vesemir still alive, and now it seemed all too pointless.

So Geralt stayed. He watched all the seasonal workers who’d helped bring in the harvest and process the grapes leave to spend winter doing whatever odd jobs they could find, or maybe, and with the generous salary Geralt paid them it was quite possible, spend the colder months with their families.

Only those who were in charge of upkeep and other year-round duties remained, and they were few by comparison. Geralt had grown accustomed to the bustle in the courtyard, the people walking up and down the alleys, the smiles and nods they gave him in passing. He’d grown fond of having people who respected him, who saw him first and foremost as a man, not a witcher or mutant. He even enjoyed the occasional chat, getting to know his staff’s families, their history, thoughts and desires.

Now he watched Barnabas-Basil sweep the empty cobbled courtyard, gathering up the fallen leaves to throw them on the compost heap. It felt empty and cold and alone, and Geralt found himself longing for the open, warm gaze of a certain barber-surgeon.

One of those days, a dreadfully dreary and rainy one, Geralt set out for Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery. He wore his swords – a rarity these days – as he sat on the wagon he’d strapped Roach to. It was covered with a tarp to keep the empty loading area dry. Bristling in a sharp gust of wind, he tugged his coat tighter around himself.

There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, and the people he did encounter were either too miserable to speak in the cold rain or didn’t recognise him, so no more than a handful of words passed Geralt’s lips on the way. As he neared the overgrown cemetery, the cart dragged deep furrows into the soaked dirt path. At the entrance to the crypt that housed Regis’ former dwelling, Geralt jumped from the wagon and stepped through the entrance.

A repressed, soundless sigh came across his lips and he brushed off his hood, always ready to be attacked by a ghoul or kikimore, as had been the case on his first visit. Geralt’s lips quirked into a brief smile at the memory.

No sounds of monsters met his ears and the medallion lay still against his chest, so Geralt took the first steps downwards. His boots produced soft splashing sounds on the wet stone, echoing from the walls, but he made no effort at silencing them.

As he’d expected, the crypt was flooded after days of ceaseless rain. The water stood several inches high at the lowest level, but Geralt didn’t mind much as he sloshed through it. The air was humid, which was the reason he’d come here.

Without admitting why he did it, Geralt sniffed the air, but there was no residue of wormwood and thyme anymore, just the smell of damp stone and leather.

As he climbed the steps, Geralt gathered a few empty, mismatched crates from Regis’ abandoned living area, which he proceeded to fill with books from the vampire’s library.

He was careful handling the books and other texts, as he assumed some of them to be quite old and therefore valuable – if not in price, then in a sentimental sense. Not for the first time did Geralt wonder why Regis had left them all behind. Maybe he hadn’t expected to be gone for so long… but then what was taking him? What if Regis didn’t even plan on returning to Toussaint? What if he planned on making a fresh start somewhere else? Something inside Geralt struggled to accept this possibility, so he pushed it aside in favour of glancing at the book titles in passing before stowing them away.

One of them in particular caught his attention: Biography of the Vampire Regis, From the Quill of Dandelion. Geralt flipped it open carefully, skimming a few passages. They brought back memories from a time he remembered fondly, but which had ended tragically. A sad smile flitted across Geralt’s lips, and he made a mental note of coming back to that specific tome later to read it in full.

It took all the crates lying around, plus some trips with lose books clutched in Geralt’s arms to transfer the whole library to the wagon. Geralt had only come back to do a last once-over of the place when he noticed a thin, beat-up booklet shoved under the mattress in Regis’ living quarters. Frowning, Geralt bent down and picked it up. It bore no title on the cover, and the edges of the leather binding were roughed up from use. Sitting down on the chair at the end of the bed, he flipped it open.

My Last Thought Before I Succumb To Sleep

If there is no death, does life exist?

Hate is a very interesting feeling. I have noticed that people improve themselves with it to great effect.

The book thudded shut as Geralt realised he was reading Regis’ journal – his most private thoughts. He stared at the blank cover for a long while, fighting the urge to open it again and read everything it held. The ache to talk to Regis was heavy in his chest then, and for the first time he realised he missed his friend. Geralt didn’t usually allow himself to miss people. His profession meant he was constantly on the move, constantly drifting past people. Even though he’d made many a friend during his travels, he didn’t see any of them on a regular basis, sometimes going months or even years between visits. But he missed Regis. Very much so.

Geralt’s bones felt heavy as he rose from the chair and tucked the book inside the light armour he wore underneath his coat. It felt like it was calling to him, like something familiar, something that just felt like Regis, and therefore Geralt wanted so desperately to hold on to it. But he decided he would rather hold on to the book than the words Regis hadn’t meant for anyone to see.

Toussaint was far enough south that it rarely snowed there. But that only added to Geralt’s foul mood. If there had been snow to cover the landscape it might not have looked so foreign to him as it did this winter. He’d never considered himself to be one for seasonal depression, but now that he had nothing to do and no one to talk to except B.B. and Marlene, he found himself affected by it after all.

To combat his boredom and loneliness, he took to writing letters. First to Dandelion and Zoltan in Novigrad, then to Triss, who’d settled in Kovir. He attached a letter to Yennefer as well, whose location was unknown to him, but he knew the sorceresses were close and Triss would pass it on to her. He also wrote to Eskel, Lambert and Ciri, hoping the letters would reach them wherever they were on the Path. Another letter he addressed to Dudu, or Whoreson Junior, as he was more well known in Novigrad. Olgierd von Everec received one, and so did Vernon Roche. He’d have liked to contact Iorveth as well, but he had no notion of where the elf currently was, and somehow he doubted it was a place letters were delivered to anyway.

After many more recipients came a time when Geralt didn’t know who else to contact, so he began meticulously refreshing his already fresh knowledge of anything Kaer Morhen had taught him. He read all the books in Corvo Bianco, among them the ones from Regis’ library – including the biography Dandelion had written about him, which made him chuckle.

It came a time when he wondered if retired life wasn’t for him after all, but just then the first field workers came back in and Geralt’s loneliness started to wane. One day in mid spring he went out to the far corners of the vineyard, where a worker of his had reported Archespore sightings. Geralt wasn’t surprised – the plants were most vicious now after wintering underground.

It didn’t take much to get rid of them, and he was back by late afternoon, when the sun was just touching the horizon, casting golden light across the landscape. It was then, as Geralt wiped the last traces of Archespore acid from his armour by the stables, that he heard B.B. call out to him.

“Master Geralt, sir,” he announced. “You’ve a visitor.”

Geralt looked up and tossed the soiled rag into the bucket of sickly green water. B.B. stepped aside, but Geralt had already spotted the visitor. Elevated on top of the stairs leading to the main building of Corvo Bianco, illuminated by the golden sunlight, stood Regis.

The familiar sight of him as he clutched the strap of his satchel warmed something inside Geralt, something that had gone cold over the last few months. A grin spread across his lips as Regis descended into the courtyard. His hair was darker than Geralt remembered, but he was still wearing his usual dark gambeson and earthy green tunic with the intricate, delicate pattern that clashed with its frayed hems.

“Greetings, Geralt,” he said as they met in the middle.

Geralt huffed and shook his head at Regis’ nonchalant approach, and instead of answering with words he slung his arms around the vampire, holding on tightly. He could hear chuckling before strong arms wrapped around him, betraying Regis’ portrayal of himself as a defenceless barber-surgeon.

They parted after longer than Geralt usually embraced people for, still not completely letting go, holding on to each other’s shoulders.

“How long have you been here for?” Geralt asked as he walked Regis back to the house.

“A few hours,” Regis said, his gaze sweeping over Corvo Bianco. He seemed pleased with the state it was in, well maintained and populated by healthy workers. “I passed the border to Toussaint in the morning, but found my residence at Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery emptied of most of my remaining belongings. Very carefully so, too, if I might add. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, my friend?”

The look Regis gave him as he walked through the door Geralt held open betrayed the entirely rhetorical nature of his question. Huffed laughter rose from Geralt’s throat, and it felt foreign, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time.

“Yeah. Transferred your books and equipment here after some rainy winter days,” Geralt supplied and motioned for Regis to sit across from him at the table. “Thought the humidity might ruin them. They’re in the guest room.”

“I see. Thank you for your concern, Geralt.” Regis sat down and watched as Marlene emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cheese, olives in a little dish and a carafe of wine, of which she poured them each a glass. “Why, thank you, my dear.”

Marlene chuckled and waved a hand in Regis’ direction, then looked at Geralt. “You have such a charming friend, Geralt,” she said before drawing back into the kitchen.

“I guess that means I don’t have to introduce you to my staff,” Geralt said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Your majordomo was so kind as to let me wait for your return here after I explained myself to be a friend of yours. Miss Marlene insisted I have a bite to eat – by which she meant a full course meal, as I quickly came to understand. We had some very fascinating conversations, among them your noble deed of lifting the curse that had been inflicted upon her.”

“Not much noble about tasting that brew she concocted as a wight. Some of the vilest stuff I’ve ever tasted,” Geralt explained, making a vague gesture with his hand before tucking it back into the crook of his other arm.

“You took the time to come up with a plan to help her and followed through with it. Not many would have done the same, even fewer let her stay at their estate,” Regis said as if complimenting Geralt came as naturally to him as turning into a puff of smoke.

“Mhh, needed a decent cook anyway. Wasn’t all selfless.”

“I see you are still determined not to let any of your good qualities be acknowledged.” A mischievous twinkle shone in Regis’ eyes. “But enough of that. I will make an effort to relocate my belongings to the cemetery as soon as possible. Thank you for storing them. I admit, it was foolish to leave them all unprotected when I left, but I was desperate to go after Dettlaff as soon as possible.”

There was a long pause as Geralt sipped his wine and debated his next words. “You can leave them here, if you want.”

“That is very kind of you, Geralt, but I’m afraid must have access to them at a moment’s notice whenever the need arises.”

“No, I mean… not just the books. You could stay here. Don’t have to go back to that crypt,” Geralt mumbled awkwardly. Initially, he wasn’t sure why he even offered, but when the feeling of loneliness he’d experienced in winter flashed in his mind, he knew he yearned for some company. “The guest room upstairs is empty, and I’m sure Marlene would appreciate having another mouth to feed, let alone have the company of someone more talkative than me in the house.”

Regis’ dark eyes scanned Geralt’s face and he took a moment to deliberate. “I wouldn’t want to impose my presence on you—”

“Not imposing if I’m offering. Besides, the workers in the fields constantly get hurt. Having a surgeon around would be pretty handy.”

“I see,” Regis hummed. “Then allow me to think on it. I shall get back to you in the next few days.”

Geralt nodded. It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for, but it was the one he’d expected. Grabbing the carafe, he refilled Regis’ wine glass. “Now elaborate on the Dettlaff situation. Did you find him?”

“Unfortunately not. As I assumed, he doesn’t wish to be found, so there is nothing I can do,” Regis said, taking a sip of wine. He traced the immaculate surface of the glass with his pointed nails, producing soft clinking sounds in the silence. “I followed his steps far south, past Vicovaro even, but he must have sensed me and shut himself off. I tried to spread the message that I was looking for him and would be glad to speak with him. If he wishes for it, a meeting will happen eventually.”

“He probably just needs time,” Geralt mused. “You two are close, I’m sure he’ll contact you when he’s ready.”

“I do sincerely hope so.” Regis put down his glass and looked at Geralt as if he was contemplating something. “I must apologise. What happened before we parted, that you were imprisoned, it was my fault.”

Geralt peered at him over the rim of his glass, frowning. “Sounds awfully like what I said to you back in the warehouse. And I’ll say it in your own words so you might understand: no one twisted my arm to let Dettlaff go,” he said, putting down the glass and looking Regis in the eyes. “If I got a chance to choose again, I’d do the same.”

“Geralt, I made a vow to you that day. I vowed that no harm would come to Syanna and I have failed you. And her, too.” Regis’ voice was heavy and gravelly with regret.

“Yeah, you did. You fucked up. We all fuck up sometimes, no use dwelling on it.”

Regis looked exasperated at that. “This isn’t some minor mistake. Granted I held no love for Syanna, but she was still a person who died because of my carelessness. I failed to protect her—”

“Dammit Regis, do you think I’ve never failed to protect people? People I cared or didn’t care about? You were there for some of them!” Geralt’s voice was hard and angry, his eyes burning into Regis’. “Protecting people… I failed at that so many times I lost count. So, if you’re gonna spend tonight beating yourself up about your mistakes, then you’ll have to beat me up for mine too.”

Regis considered Geralt silently for a long while. There were so many things in his eyes Geralt didn’t have words for. Eventually, Regis lowered his gaze to the table. “Thank you, Geralt. Thank you,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

[pinkatron]

Geralt settles things with the witchers

Once food was eaten and everyone relaxed, Regis nudged Geralt and Geralt grinned back.

“Ok, now onto the meat of the situation.” Regis said standing. “Master Foulty, could you please be so kind as to bring us a deck of suits?”

The witchers looked at one another, curiously tilting their heads.

“I find having something to do while intense discussions take place often allows the mind to remain neutral and open.” Regis smiled, as Barnabas-Basil went to gather the cards.

“What are we playing?” Letho walked up.

“Have you heard of a game called D'yaebl Schijtlijster?” Regis asked as Barnabas gave him the cards.