Fire rises past his knees, and his trained eyes are quick to find the source -- rivers of spilled wine that snake past the men’s feet, ignited by a candle that was also tossed to the floor. Yes, they were men, plural, as across from Geralt stood a titan of elf and metal; Eredin Bréacc Glas. Of the many faces Geralt would not want to see, the one that pretended to be death itself was the very last of them, and the swords drawn in their hands were confirmation of what he already knew -- this was not a friendly conversation.
But what the wolf couldn’t figure out was where he was and how he got there. Was this a dream? Did he have amnesia again? Oh, how he hoped it was the former, as the later might literally get him killed should Yennifer find out.
“ We should really stop meeting like this, Eredin.” @sparrowglas
