JUST AN ASSORTMENT OF ESKEL MOMENTS TO NOT FORGET WHAT HE IS TRULY LIKE
“Come into the light, laddie,” growled the man called Eskel. “Don’t lurk in the dark.”
Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn’t human. Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” repeated Eskel.
She didn’t move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach’s horseshoes grow fainter. Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped.
“Don’t loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.”
Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back her hood.
“A plague on it,” he muttered. “A girl. That’s all we need.”
She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.
“Since you’re here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he said. “What do they call you?”
“Ciri,” Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around. Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other’s arms and wound their shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.
“All right.” Eskel took a torch from its bracket. “Come on. I’m closing the inner gates to stop the heat escaping.”
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Eskel stood next to Geralt, resembling the Wolf like a brother apart from the colour of his hair and the long scar, which disfigured his cheek.
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It was Eskel’s behaviour ,which was most unlikely; he got up, approached the enchantress, bent down low, took her hand and kissed it respectfully. She swiftly withdrew her hand. Not so as to demonstrate her anger and annoyance but to break the pleasant, piercing vibration triggered by the witcher’s touch. Eskel emanated powerfully. More powerfully than Geralt.
“Triss,” he said, rubbing the hide-ous scar on his cheek with embarrassment, “help us. We ask you. Help us, Triss.”
The enchantress looked him in the eye and pursed her lips. “With what? What am I to help you with, Eskel?”
Eskel rubbed his cheek again, looked at Geralt. The white-haired witcher bowed his head, hiding his eyes behind his hand. Vesemir cleared his throat loudly.
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But Eskel, dear Eskel, kept his head and once more behaved as was fitting.
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“And how,” muttered Lambert, brazenly eyeing Triss’s breasts which strained against the fabric of her dress. Eskel cleared his throat and looked daggers at the young witcher.
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“We’re amazed by the ease with which you pledge to keep this secret,” said Eskel calmly. “Forgive me, Triss, I do not mean to offend you, but what has happened to your legendary loyalty to the Council and Chapter?”
Please, a moment of silence for our fallen lovely boy, who will forever remain in our hearts as the good boy he was and not the asshole Netflix turned him into.
If you haven’t read the books or even played the games, please know that what you saw was NOT Eskel, he is much much better.
