For the June prompt "Yikes"
From "You'd be wise to beware" - Chapter 3: Or the flying drake ...
Published: 2023-05-13; Completed: 2023-05-31; Words: 12,856; Chapters: 6/6
“Yikes," Geralt says, grimacing. "You look worse than I did after I cut my way through that selkimore from the inside some years ago. Everything alright, brother, besides the yuck?”
Cahir nods, spitting on the ground and wiping his face on his sleeve. Which does not really help as there is hardly a yuck-free thread on him. From head to toe he is covered in yellow haemolymph and centipede entrails.
“Remind me to never slice anything’s guts open while I’m standing right in front of them,” he mutters darkly, spitting once again. Is it just the nasty smell of the arthropod blood that makes him want to vomit or did he swallow any of it by accident? In contrast to the saliva it is not poisonous, at least not as far as he knows, but it is thoroughly disgusting.
“On the path getting yourself showered in blood and gore is unavoidable sometimes, the lesser of two evils,” Geralt says with a grin. “You did good, little brother. If you weren’t so totally loathsome at the moment, I'd give you a hug. Good it's only temporary.”
“Melitele’s tits! And I thought I had seen it all!” Jaskier exclaims, having left his hide-out and walked up to his victorious comrades as soon as the monsters seemed dead. “That is - that is truly eww, worse than the sewers, so much, much worse. Good that Yennefer can’t see you like this. Or, heavens forbid, smell you." He grimaces, rolling his eyes at Cahir. "But you’re lucky, my non-Nilfgaardian friend," the bard continues with a wink. "I never travel without a piece of soap and a few nice scents. I’d be willing to share if we can finally have that lakeside picnic now. By the way," he adds, beaming at them, "you Witchers did an amazing job. As I knew you would. Definitely worthy of a ballad. And a little feast."
“Not so fast, Jaskier. There are still a few baby arthropods that need to be taken care of." Geralt looks at his sword meaningfully. The unfortunate little creature skewered to it has stopped squeaking and struggling. Jaskier goes pale. He knows they cannot leave any of them alive, but he does feel bad for the funny little buggers.
"Don't watch, Jask," Geralt says. "And you, Cahir, go wash. I can do it.”
So, while Geralt hunts down the remaining baby monsters and takes terminally care of them, Cahir has a very necessary bath in the lake. The water is crystal clear and refreshingly cool despite the heat of summer. Shoals of small fish flit away and disappear between the reeds when he dives in head first from a rock to get the worst of the disgusting centipede gore off his face and hair. He does not dare swim too far though as the lake looks really deep in the middle and you never know what creatures might lurk at the bottom. The legendary pike with a spike from Jaskier's ballad, for example. The bard is not wrong with the song. It is wise to beware in Posada. If myriapods and giant centipedes can interbreed here, you never know what other beasts can do. And better safe than sorry. So he returns to the shore quickly and starts to clean himself and his clothes as best as possible with the help of Jaskier’s soap. Then he picks up the small glass vial Jaskier conjured up from his belt pouch for him. Normally he is not one to indulge in the use of fragrances, but today an exception is not only in order, but very much needed, Cahir decides. He sniffs at the content of the vial. Apple, cinnamon and lemon blossoms. Could have been a lot worse from what Geralt has told him about Jaskier and his extravagancies. Actually, the scent is quite nice and does help to drive away the lingering, nauseatingly icky memory of the arthropod stench.
Feeling a lot better and decidedly cleaner, albeit very wet without both a towel or dry clothes, Cahir turns around, away from the lake, his hair, shirt and pants dripping with water. Well, it will not take long until the sun has dried everything again. There are still several hours of sunshine ahead. He gazes around. After having watered the horses and set up the picnic table in the shade of an old, expanding tree not far away by the lakeside, Jaskier is sitting against the trunk, a piece of bread in one hand and a sausage in the other, just about to regale himself with his late lunch. Geralt is still searching for monster spawn between the rocks. Have some of the baby monsters run away and hidden in the numerous crevices and cracks there? Perhaps Geralt needs some assistance with the little pests?
Cahir is just about to walk toward his Witcher friend, when he suddenly hears a strange whooshing in the air. He looks up. And freezes in his tracks. A dark shape is swooping down from the sky, huge, fast and deadly, instantaneously filling him with horror. A Wyvern? A Dragon? Whatever it is, it is stretching out its terrible talons to sink them straight into Geralt's back.
Before Cahir can cry out to warn his friend, though, the Witcher swivels around and slashes at the creature's scaly belly. With his enhanced Witcher perception, he must have sensed the approaching flying monster in time, thank the gods. The beast screeches and veers, then it attacks again. Cahir grabs his sword and darts along the lakeshore to help his comrade. However, it is not necessary. With an elegant, sweeping movement, Geralt slices through the winged creatures long, slender neck. The blow does not sever it entirely, the beast is too big for that, but it is lethal enough. Showering the Witcher with dark red blood, the draconid crashes onto the rocks and breathes its last gurgling breaths.
Geralt stands still for a moment. Then, with a groan, he crumples to the ground ...
