#when their instructors get to EFG on the register there is a long suffering sigh

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Okay, completely unironically though, do you have any thoughts about which Witcher is most likely to ACCIDENTALLY almost set half of Kaer Morhen on fire?

Eskel.

Ah-ha! You thought I'd say Lambert, didn't you, Anon? But Lambert would have set things on fire deliberately. I feel like teenaged Eskel was very much an accidental arsonists. And here's why.

We all know that Eskel is gifted with magic. Or rather, we have extrapolated from his tingly magic hands and a lil' bit of game lore that he is the best at Signs. His control, his power. All unmatched. Now, imagine a young, idiotic teenager learning that he can conjure actual fire with his hands.

The instructors always start them with quen, helitrope... maybe yrden. You know, the Signs that protect and bind. They can't hurt themselves with those. But Eskel's impatient and competitive with Geralt. He watches one of the instructors cast igni, memorises the pattern, and then practices. And practices. And practices.

Eventually, he gets it. A little shimmering flame in the palm of his hand. He must show Geralt. Eskel strides into their shared dormitory, chest puffed, chin up. "Lemme show you what I can do, peasants."

Geralt, Gweld, Frank, Gardis. They all gather around. Eskel casts igni.

Awe. Shock. Jealousy. Begrudging respect. Some of the boys try it, but they haven't got the right finger shape or the right focus. They make Eskel do it over and over again. The flame gets slightly bigger each time as he gets cockier.

Unfortunately, Frank skipped out on dusting duty, and when Gweld flops down on his bed and snatches a dusty copy of the bestiary to sulk with, the resulting cloud of dry skin, adolescent dandruff and miscellaneous human debris tickles Eskel's nose and he sneezes.

Half way through casting igni.

It's like feckin' dragon fire. A huge cone of flame. The boys hit the deck, hands over their heads, but it's too late. The curtains are on fire. Geralt shrieks, grabs a decanter of something, but before Gweld can bellow not to throw his fuckin' alchemy project on an open flame, Geralt's turns their small, moderately chaotic fire into an actual blaze. The beds are toast. The tapestries poof into ash.

There's shrieking. Screaming. Frank has no eyebrows. Gweld throws more furniture at it in hopes of keeping the fire in one place rather than have it spread around the room. (What the fuck, Gweld?)

The noise draws the attention of the instructors who appear and manage to contain the fire with a liberal application of water and quen. Eskel and Geralt, sooty, hair singed, stand in front of Grandmaster Barmin, who pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Why is it always you two?"

Geralt opens his mouth for a smartass reply. Eskel stamps on his foot and the sass turns to a yelp. They get potty duty for a week, so their dormitory ends up smelling of burned wood and the shit of a hundred men. The mages give Eskel the side eye, but Rennes, Vesemir and Barmin stay their hand. He went through enough with Geralt. And you don't fuck around with Chaos under their damned roof. The dragon of Kaer Morhen gets to continue training without interference. Oh, how Eskel hates that fuckin' nickname.