#just need to toss the Big Bad Wolf hiding in Kovir down a well

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Know how it is, how harsh and unforgiving the world is, from an early age. Though at least we Witchers were better prepared for a world that despises us, before setting foot on the Path. Still, there is what you are taught, and how people, the world and destiny play out. Many young Witchers, for all their training, skills and mutations, have met with unpleasant, sudden, undignified ends... only experience, wisdom and caution can really keep those of my kind alive for as long as I have been. Life and destiny has a way of weeding folk out, however prepared they are. And suffering reveals character."

Eskel's deep, calm voice gradually returned as he worked away at the stew, in the wake of the noblewoman's words about her evidently bitter past. It made all the more sense how she had turned out, her personal motives for joining him against Stregobor and Eltibald... both of them had unfinished business for personal, related reasons. He felt some more sympathy for her, not that he would allow it to make him drop his guard altogether. There was no denying she was dangerous, Sorceress or not... but something told him most of those who had suffered at her hand had been unsuspecting, naive, underestimated her for her beauty. Not a folly he would commit again, after his dealings with Sabrina. At Syanna's mention of the fairy tale, and connecting the two of them closer together, the Witcher uttered a low chuckle under his breath. Not an inappropriate comparison, right down to her chosen attire. Most adults outgrew fairy tales, but it seemed she held on to them... a smart decision... true or not, their were always lessons to be derived from fairy tales. Even if he had his grave doubts she was anywhere near as innocent as the Red of the stories had been. She probably had been though, once upon a time. As he drew closer to finishing up preparing their meal, savoring the scent filling the cavern, he found his voice again, amused, viper eyes returning to her blue pair.

"Perhaps so, Red. Better a fairy tale sort of girl than a Sorceress any day. Always been more like the Woodsman than a Knight sort myself. If I'm not at Kaer Morhen, I'm more at home on some mountain, in a forest, or some cavern or other. I help who I can, where I can, on the Path, but I ain't swearing chivalry oaths or fealty to some noble, just so circumstance will inevitably lead me to break the former to uphold the latter. The Witcher's life is the only life for me. An honest, free one, where we belong only to ourselves. A luxury even your cousin Emhyr can't afford, for all his power. Golden shackles are still shackles. Perhaps that's part of why so many despise us. We get to exist outside their social hierarchy and duties. The Emperor of Nilfgaard means no more or less to me than the lowest peasant. All are merely potential clients to me."

@starwrittenfates

Eskel silently glanced Syanna's way at her observations and smile, and then back ahead as they set off from the stream and gradually through the woods. His cheek scars itched with memories and dark thoughts her words drew, but he could not itch them as he carried the stag. He felt a familiar stab of bitterness at the knowledge his brothers had been led astray, off the Path, even knowing and being glad that they were happier this way. Knowing they weren't cut out for the Witcher's life forever. Wanted to be the first to die peacefully in their beds, instead of as a Witcher one day on the Path, or at Dol Dhu Lokke. The fame hadn't made life any easier on Geralt than his dramatics and moodiness already hadn't. He had long put himself through more nonsense than destiny already deigned to put him through... while for some reason Lambert had long been jealous of his fame, and now sought to emulate it with Keira Metz, taking a Sorceress as a lover, allowing her to lead him around by the nose as her manservant while she traveled the North curing plagues. He couldn't imagine a less dignified fate for a Witcher. Even so, it was their lives, and their decisions to make, for better and for worse. Mostly for the worse, in his opinion, for what little it mattered. A true Witcher walked the Path alone... and he was now nothing else if not alone, of his guild. On that thought, he laid some of it out for her calmly, giving voice to them gradually, taking his time. Speaking to the stranger, outsider, things he hadn't spoken of to another before.

"Being a Witcher ain't for most folk, even those of us who survive it awhile. Wolf and Lambert gave up on the Path to pursue their own Sorceress and retirement related interests, never really appreciated this kind of life. Were destined for it, but weren't made for it... aren't traditionalists. Luckily I am. Never cared much for a life of comfort... especially not the comforts or manipulations of Sorceresses. Life shouldn't be easy for us... comforts rust and dull us like a sword left to hang up on the wall. Someone has to keep our school going... such as it is. There will be a Second Conjunction of the Spheres in 1358 or around then, if the homesick Vampires are to be believed. Continent is going to need to be ready for it. The False Conjunction in Skellige more recently, the business with the Wild Hunt, woke a lot of folk up as well, the monsters that poured through. That means more Witchers, after all the time the Continent's ingrates spent destroying our schools, thinking we outlived our usefulness. Can't say I ever expected to be the last of my guild, Grandmaster and inheritor of ruins, the one who must restore them, compared to all the better Witchers I knew. If I've learned anything in my long life, it's that destiny has always had a strange, morbid sense of humor like that."

The Witcher grimaced, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head, but knowing it was all a moot point, and there was little sense elaborating further than he already had. No doubt she of all people could understand that final point about how cruel and unexpected destiny could be. Pulling the rug from under one's feet. Though in his case, it hadn't only been related to his own experience with the Black Sun. The Black Sun matter with Stregobor and Eltibald, their shared cause, would allow him to close the chapter on that part of his destiny at last... and go forth tracking down Idarran of Ulivo and restoring the School of the Wolf. A matter likely to be far more difficult and complicated even than his business with the Black Sun... in more ways than one. He would not be able to give it the proper focus with his unfinished business in Kovir. At her voiced desire to try the Blue Mountain stew, his marred face merely smiled appreciatively and nodded, lapsing again into silence as they reached the camp and cavern... taking the time to pat Scorpion. After doing so, he got to work at once, setting the pot over the fire, gathering the ingredients, carving up the various sorts of meats from his hunt, and putting it all into the pot, adding spices, herbs and stirring it up for good measure, taking his time. He spoke to her again as he did so, viper eyes returning her way thoughtfully. Deep, languid voice washing over the Black Sun noblewoman again while he worked away, coaxing the stew now again with the spoon and heating it further with an Igni Sign.

"Getting there. So far so good. Should be filling, and taste decent enough. Ain't fancy Toussaint cooking, but reckon you haven't eaten much more fancy food than I have, with all your time away from home. Probably for the best, least it means you likely know how to appreciate the food that you get. Not turning your nose up at everything not served on a silver platter. Know how to rough it. Ain't usual for most nobles, in my experience."

@starwrittenfates