That will fill you with horror
Chapter 4/5 of “You’d be wise to beware”
Prompts: Asphyxiation, Surgery, Allergic reaction, Short of breath, Loss of consciousness, Vomiting, Field medicine, Wicked wings, Vicious venom, Puncture wound
Fandom: The Witcher
Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier, Cahir
Rating: Mature
“Geralt!” Jaskier and Cahir shout almost simultaneously, shocked to see their friend go down. The huge, winged beast must have got him somehow. They both run toward him as fast as they can. Hopefully, it is nothing serious, nothing a Witcher potion and perhaps the one or other bandage cannot fix.
Cahir is first to reach him. Lying supine, Geralt looks ghastly pale underneath all the blood, but his eyes are open and he is breathing. Good. Cahir kneels down by his comrade’s side.
“Geralt, what’s wrong?" he asks, scanning his friend’s body for visible injuries that might have caused his collapse. However, with all the monster blood on him, it is difficult to tell if he is injured and bleeding himself. As far as he can see, there are no obvious tears in his shirt or pants, or gaping wounds.
“Got me with its tail, left shoulder,” Geralt grunts through gritted teeth.
“Venom?”
Geralt grunts again. It sounds like a yes. Fuck. Cahir has a closer look at the beast. It is huge. Definitely bigger than the wyvern he killed just a few days ago. At first glance it looks quite similar to the black ornithosaur. A wide open, menacing maw full of sharp white, conical teeth in a narrow, triangular head, the purplish forked tongue lolling onto the blood-covered stone. It also has a long, snake-like neck and enormous, bat-like wings. But the wings’ membrane as well as the beast’s scales are of a very light, slate blue colour, not so much different from the surrounding rocks. They reflect the sunlight so strongly, the creature's contours are blurry and it is hardly possible to look at it for longer than a few moments without feeling blinded. Cahir blinks. The tail, what does its tail look like? He forces himself to glance at the dead monster again, squinting and shading his eyes with one hand. The tail does not end in the wyvern-typical trident but bears one single, stiletto-like sting protruding from a bulbous structure. A venom bladder? Like in the tail of a scorpion? Cahir has never seen anything like it in the books about dragons and other draconids. Is it something new that has arrived to the continent via the monoliths? Damn it. Hopefully, it is not lethal, at least not for a Witcher.
“Which potions do you need?” he asks Geralt. Of course, it is better to ingest the elixirs before a fight, but many can also be used as healing potions in case of an injury.
"Golden Oriole," the Witcher pants, "and Lion's Mane. In the holster."
Cahir has not studied Witcher potions as much as monsters since he is not a real Witcher and would die if he took any of them, but from what he knows about the requested potions, they make sense. Lion's Mane works as a general pain killer while Golden Oriole is an elixir used by Witchers and mages to both prevent and treat poisoning from many sources, such as corpse-venom from a graveir, common snake and spider venoms, the venom of wyverns, basilisks and of numerous other monsters. He scans through the several potions vials strapped to Geralt's thigh. The flask with the Golden Oriole is easy to recognise by the potion's golden colour. Another one filled with a whitish liquid sports a lion's head on the stopper. Must be the Lion's Mane. Cahir takes both vials out of the black leather holster and, while Jaskier supports Geralt's head, holds them to the Witcher's pale lips, one after the other. Grimacing, Geralt downs the content of the Lion's Mane and half of the Golden Oriole. Then he lies back down with a groan.
"I'll have a look at your shoulder now," Cahir warns and carefully turns his friend over a little. "Jaskier, hold him like this."
While the bard keeps Geralt in position, Cahir draws a dagger from his belt and cuts open his friend's blood-soaked shirt at the back of the left shoulder. There is a small puncture wound in the muscle directly below the glenohumeral joint. The tissue around it is puffy and irritated, however, besides this, the injury looks pretty harmless. Too bad it obviously is not, otherwise Geralt would not have dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Cahir pours the rest of the Golden Oriole over the wound. There is a sizzling sound and a yellowish vapour rises from the injured spot. Geralt moans, biting his lips. After only a minute, the wound looks much improved, though. It does not even need a bandage as the ugly hole in the skin has closed up almost completely. Gently, Jaskier lets Geralt slide back onto the rocky ground, breathing a sigh of relief. The potions seem to help. Not only has the wound healed surprisingly fast and nicely, but Geralt does not appear to be in as much pain as before. His jaws and fists are not clenched in agony anymore like when they found him. Still, something must be wrong. The white-haired Witcher is becoming increasingly short of breath and does not make any move to stand up. Not good.
“What else do we do?” Jaskier asks worriedly and takes his friend’s hand in his. It feels awfully cold and clammy. Fuck. Geralt does not look good at all despite the potions.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt rasps softly, struggling for air. He closes his eyes. “Should have - listened to you.”
“What are you talking about? Geralt?” Jaskier’s shakes his friend’s shoulder when he fails to react to the bard's question. “Geralt!” With effort, the Witcher opens his eyes again.
“Seems they do exist. Your monsters,” he gasps. “The flying drake—”
That will fill you with horror. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47067388/chapters/118846387
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