Prologue- Outside The Northern Kingdom
"You know nothing witcher. Your cheap tricks crumble before the might of a sorceress. What can you and your blade possibly hope to achieve against me? Kingdoms will crumble at my very word. Monarchs bend knee under my gaze alone. You are nothing but a pale, loathsome creature who could not wrinkle my clothes let alone slay me. I will end you this day and wear your skin as a trophy. I will ..."
Geralt could never explain exactly what came over him in moments like these. Bleeding, battered, and thoroughly singed were only a few adjectives to describe the witcher known as "The White Wolf" in the moments that lead to his arrival in Chralmede and the death of rather pesky sorcereress who happened to have been in the possession of an even peskier dragon. As the words and empty threats tumbled from the woman's lips, Geralt stood slackly, shoulders dropped and blade held lazily in his fingers. He suspected he probably could have hit her from where he stood twenty or so feet from her, but this woman was grinding his nerves. His mutations might not have allowed him to enjoy the actual act of killing, but he certainly enjoyed when certain people were no longer alive.
"Have you any passing words witcher? I will write a song of your pathetic attempt and include them in the chorus."
The woman's dark lips tugged up in a smirk. She really thought she was going to win. Geralt pushed a stray piece of hair from his face and stood silent for a moment, as though considering what she had to say.
"Well. I think I'd like to compliment your confidence. Even with your pet's blood on my blade and your fortress sacked, you remain sure of your self. It would normally be a very attractive trait. However, in this case, it's best I not ascribe it any descriptions."
The sorceress' brows knitted. "Your arrogance will be paid in full Geralt of Riv—" Geralt's feet launched into a run while throwing his shoulders down to guard his neck and chest. His speed was nothing legendary, but he was faster than any human, man, woman or sorceress. The sorceress could only manage an 'oof' as Geralt launched his shoulder into her abdomen. She slammed into the stone wall behind her and launched a blast of flame magic towards him. Geralt agilely dodged beneath the fan of fire before pivoting on his right foot, raising his steel sword and bringing it down in a diagonal arch. The sorceress shrieked until the moment the blade sliced through her pale throat.
Geralt's arm dropped into a resting position once the arch of the blade was completed. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. He noted the woman's decapitated head rolling towards some chalk shapes on the floor, but paid it little mind. The witcher was exhausted, agitated, and knew there wasn't nearly enough gold to make this whole trip worth it waiting for him. He started down the ruined steps with full intention of hacking a few more valuable pieces of the dragon's anatomy off to scrape up some sort of profit, but was interrupted when the hair on the back of his neck stood straight out. His medallion thrummed wildly against his chest as he turned back, just in time to realize the sorceress' fallen head had activated a teleportation circle.
He squinted in disbelief as a magic field shot out of the circle in every direction, tinting everything around him in a wavering blue. His scarred lips turned downwards as the magic pull began to drag him and everything that wasn't a dragon corpse towards the center of the circle. "Just when I thought this day couldn't get any shittier." He shut his eyes as the magic crackled audibly, and then went abruptly silent. The light behind his closed eyes went out, and he ceased to understand where or who he was.
Three Weeks Later…
Things had not been simple for Geralt since his arrival on the alien planet. He'd awoken in the same state he'd lost consciousness in; though even worse off for not knowing much of anything. He'd dragged himself out of the hole he'd found himself and wandered through the foreign landscape for nearly two days before being picked up by a group of Resistance soldiers. He'd nearly lopped one of their heads off, but luckily in their nervousness one of the recruits had fumbled with his rifle and sent a spray of bullets towards the bewildered witcher's feet. Having never seen such a thing, he agreed to join them.
Since then he'd found himself among others with the same shared goal none of them seemed to understand why they were following. He'd been educated on firearms, space craft, and the blinking lights that made of their monitoring equipment and the like. He'd been a good student for the tech savvy Resistance members but decided soon after learning the most basic functions of such things (any metallic thing with a tapered barrel or orifice of any sort shot projectiles that he wanted nothing to do with) that he had very little capacity to understand much of it and little to no interest outside of identifying what could kill him.
He in turn had shared the knowledge he had. Wilderness survival, hand to hand combat, sword play, and knowledge on many, many sorts of beasts and things he'd experienced but had no real recollection of experiencing. He kept to himself for the most part, occasionally joining his fellow soldiers for drinks or meals. He also admittedly had an eye on a few of the more shapely female soldiers but he was a gentleman if nothing else and had full intention to make his intentions clear for what they were: carnal. Of course, a few of those soldiers had already let slip some of his skill as a lover (gentlemanly behavior never prohibits turning down offers that came to him before he went to them). The circulation of legend and rumor seemed painfully familiar, but each time he felt close to grasping a memory it slipped away like a distant song.
In the time since his arrival he'd also realized his armor and swords were woefully underpowered compared to many of the weapons he'd been introduced to. So of course he'd made nice with the comely Kira who seemed to have a good idea on how to update his armor and weapons. In the skirmishes he'd experienced since arriving his skill in combat and magic had been enough to keep him alive and fairly efficient, but there were some substances here he simply couldn't penetrate with steel or silver.
He was napping on one of the sofas tucked away in the base when the young man, Sora his name was, exclaimed something. Golden eyes cracked then shut tightly. Geralt had been dreaming of a curvaceous flame haired woman. His name had rolled from her lips like a prayer, but hers would not come to him though he would have sworn her knew her. He grunted as the intercom sounded off and movement broke out around him. The witcher stiffly climbed from the couch and made his way towards Sora. He liked the kid despite himself, his spunk and passion were endearing if nothing else. And the kid's key sword thing made for very interesting sparring matchers. All the jumping around was a little much, but Geralt was content to accept the challenge.
He only had to stand there a moment to gather that their leader had decided to investigate the strange white lights plummeting to the surface of the planet. "I've never known falling starts to be a thing to run toward…" He rolled his eyes lightly. The woman was a capable leader but she was very much used to ruling, anyone who was near her for more than a few minutes could come to that conclusion. Geralt, on the other hand, was a loner as much as he could help it. He had a ragtag group of friends and allies, of course, but in ideal conditions he worked alone, or with someone who understood his disposition. He left it where it was, deciding immediately to sit this one out. With everyone gone he had a chance to speak to Kira without interruption and without the ship there to distract her. This meant they could actually discuss what he'd need for his new equipment.
With the volunteers cleared out, Geralt gave Sora a nod and strode off to find the woman. She was as beautiful as they came though her hair and eye color struck him a bit odd. Of course the amount of hypocrisy in him of all people finding appearance strange prevented him from making any comment. Not that he would have normally. He made his way down the winding halls and tunnels and everything else, having memorized the layout within a night or two of arriving at the base. Whatever his life had been, he'd endured some level of torment that ensured he always had an escape plan.
He knocked briefly on the door frame before approaching the woman. She looked to be wrapped up in something so he cleared his throat to grab her attention. He offered a half smile and gestured down at his battered leather and karayn hide armor. "Do you have a minute? Thought we could go over improving this."
