Jan 9, 2022
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Write something based on just one word. It can be any length: a few sentences, several paragraphs, or even an entire story. It's all up to you! Don't push yourself. You don't need an entire novel. If you're satisfied after only coming up with 3 sentences, you're done! Good luck and remember to have fun!
Your word is lost.
p.s. you're super awesome 👏🏻
“Who are you?” asks the little boy with the big, watery green eyes.
“I’m Jaskier,” the not-quite-human replies. He offers the child his hand slowly in an effort to abate some of his overwhelming fear, “I’m here to help you find your way back home.”
“Don’t have a home,” the little boy huffs, crossing his pudgy arms. “Witchers don’t have homes.”
“Ah, but a hatchling of a Witcher, yet. It seems that I’ve come upon a fearsome warrior-in-training loose in the forest!”
The child giggles brightly, a sweet and melodious sound, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to gather the lad onto his hip and stand.
“Which way back to your fearsome castle, then?”
The boy points to the east and Jaskier begins to jog at a brisk pace in that direction. Witchers or not, certainly somebody was out looking for this bright-eyed boy. He had to be no more than six, certainly.
“Here you go then,” Jaskier smiles when they reach the edge of Kaer Morhen’s sprawling courtyard. He releases the lad from his arms but the child stays put for a moment longer, his mop of unruly brown curls tickling against Jaskier’s neck. The almost-bard wrinkles his eyebrows, “Don’t you want to go home?”
“No,” the boy shakes his head again, emphatically. “Don’t wanna be a Witcher. I wanna be a knight and help people.”
“You’ll help them as a Witcher,” Jaskier nods knowingly. “Won’t you?”
“Yes but-” the boy bites his lip and silences himself. Anxious. Shy. Afraid. It pulls at Jaskier’s heartstrings to see the wee one so still and nervous.
“But what?”
“But it hurts to become a Witcher,” the boy finally whispers. Jaskier’s heart shatters completely and he traces the back of his knuckles across smooth, unblemished skin. Pale skin.
“If it hurts too much,” Jaskier offers. An offer he has never made before and will never make again. “If it hurts to much for you, little hatchling Witcher, call for me and I will answer.”
“What’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know my name for your call to be heard. But, if you don’t mind, I must know yours.”
“Geralt.”
“Well you’d best get home, Geralt. I’m sure I’ll meet you again someday.”
“Good,” Geralt giggles, his own tiny hand reaching out to press against Jaskier’s warm cheek. “You’re pretty and I like your voice.”
“Thank you. I think we’re going to be good friends.”
*Geralt and Ciri doing witcher training, practicing sword skills fighting a rabid wild dog. Yennefer watching*
Ciri: eeeyyyah! *slays poor rabid doggo*
Geralt: good, nice clean kill. Ok, now what do we do next?
Ciri: ummmm....
Game!Geralt: loot the corpse!
Ciri: uh, what?
Game!Geralt: c'mon, let's loot this dog corpse! Aw yeah, raw meat! Here, Ciri, eat this, it will heal you.
Ciri: ew, no!
Game!Geralt: Ok, more for me. *takes a bite, dog blood dribbling down chin, crazy eyes flashing* mmm, vitality. Just promise me Ciri: always. loot. the. corpse.
Yennefer: ooo-kay, lesson time over.
could be wolves
Read on AO3 | @bamf-jaskier 's Witchertober Day 3 - Woods
Vesemir told Eskel he’d find the Cat leading hunting exercises in the woods farther down the valley. Yet, here he was, in the middle of the forest, and no Cat Witcher. No Pups, either, which was more concerning at the moment. They’d been here - four Pups about to set out on the Path this upcoming spring (their footprints were still noticeable in places) and an older witcher (they’d stepped intentionally, leaving enough of a trail for the younger ones to follow). It wasn’t unusual for trainers to run exercises like this; what Eskel didn’t get was why a Cat Witcher was running them. Vesemir just told him to go find “the Cat and his Pups” the second he arrived at the keep.
So, Eskel followed. The path was winding - each of the Pups broke off from one another quickly, and the Cat was clearly trying to imitate a deer… potentially a Leshen, given the frequent changes in gait. Whoever they were, they were headed to the Pond, loping steps woven between trees, the scent of sage and verbena twisting in the familiar scent of leaf litter and impending snow. Eskel’s anxiety grew the closer he got to the pond - Geralt told him he’d spotted a chult there last winter, and new witchers, even fours of them, weren’t equipped to face a chult that evaded the witchers in the valley for years.
Thankfully, the witcher’s path took a sharp turn to the north, towards a little known glen created by the ruins of one of the keep’s old watchtowers. Trees were rounded on one side by a crumbling stone wall that was slowly sinking into the ground, grown through with vines. Eskel broke the treeline and met eyes with five witchers. The Pups scrambled to their feet from where they were piled on top of their trainer.
"Ah, Eskel, I presume?" The Cat Witcher said with a lopsided grin that lit up his tawny face. "Os told me you might be back soon. Come to make sure I'm not corrupting your Pups?"
Eskel recognizes this group - the largest to survive the trials. They were, as a result, incredibly close. "Vesemir requested I come fetch you," he said with a shrug. Os, the smallest of the bunch, lit up.
"Amma, we need to take deer back," he said. The Cat rolled his eyes before heaving himself off the ground.
"Well then, take the haul back to the keep," he said sternly. The Pups - led by Rafe, a lanky young man with short-cropped red hair (the same color as Geralt's, when he was younger) - scrambled to grab a set of drained carcasses hanging to their left. "Don't keep Uncle Vesemir waiting!" Their trainer yelled after them as they sprinted off in pairs back to the keep. (Os with Lydika, Rafe with Beorn - coordinated and careful with their hunting gear, near silent as they left.)
The trainer sighed and pulled his wavy auburn locks away from his face - Eskel found himself staring until the Cat's copper-green eyes met his.
"Name's Ashwood," he said, grinning again. "Lamb's told me a lot about you, and, it seems, Lydika really looks up to you."
"They seem pretty fond of you," Eskel mused. He gestured back toward the keep; Ashwood gladly took the lead.
"Yes, well, it seems they latch on to anyone willing to show them even an ounce of affection," Ashwood said, his expression unreadable.
"There's no affection on the Path," Eskel grumbled.
"All the more reason to care for them now," Ashwood muttered, his voice low. "They're, what? Twenty? They have their whole, long lives left for suffering. Let them have a fucking home, yeah?" Ashwood's expression was sharp, full of teeth. Not what Eskel expected from a School of assassins. He could see why Lambert liked Ashwood - he clearly gave a damn. Like Vesemir, though with softer edges.
Eskel hummed and didn't argue. Later, when they arrived back at Kaer Morhen and Vesemir assigned Ashwood kitchen duty, Eskel found his packmates and the rest of the visiting Cats piled on top of each other in front of the fireplace in their shared room. Geralt, in particular, looked at peace in a way Eskel hadn't seen since they were kids.
Perhaps Ashwood had a point - maybe they deserved a little affection, a bit of home in the wilderness to protect them from the suffering outside.
Geralt makes this look so easy wow I will be sore
I'm watching The Mask of Zorro and I can't help but want a sexy swordfighting scene where someone's clothes get cut off by a blade. Captain Jaskier fighting Geralt perhaps? Love your writing!
Okay I know you suggested pirate nonsense but I had the BEST fuckin’ idea for this...
tw: horny, the Kaer Morons intervening, brotherly shenanigans
---
Geralt growled and parried again, pushing Eskel back against the wall. Lambert swung from the side and he twirled out of the way, white hair flying out around his head rather prettily in the process. Jaskier sighed from the kitchen doorway, flour-covered apron still tied around his waist.
All three Witchers heard the yearning sound but only two of them registered it for more than a second. Eskel nodded subtly in Jaskier’s direction and Lambert winked his agreement. They both pushed in hard, forcing Geralt’s footwork to increase in speed and his focus to be torn. Lambert ripped one of his shirtsleeves, revealing an expanse of bicep to the chill, wintry air.
Eskel’s next swipe opened a window in the material right over Geralt’s right shoulder-blade. The two other Wolves moved in tandem, ripping and tearing at their brother’s shirt until most of his torso had been exposed. Jaskier stood frozen, blushing and practically steaming in the sharp relief of the dark kitchen door.
Then, it happened. Lambert and Eskel nearly died laughing but Geralt was concerned, dashing across the training yard until he reached the bard, who had swooned into a snowbank. “Jaskier!?”
“He fuc-” Lambert managed to gasp, his hand clenched against Eskel’s shoulder as he doubled over, “He fucking fainted!”
“Holy shit!” Eskel guffawed. “I didn’t think that would happen!”
“You two fucks,” Geralt glared. “Are in charge of dinner.”
---
Jaskier woke up suddenly. He was being carried in a pair of strong arms, two familiar golden eyes stared down at him. “Jaskier, glad you’re awake.”
“That was cheating,” the bard muttered. “Your brothers are mean.”
“I warned you,” the Witcher chuckled. Jaskier leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “Hmm?”
“Let’s spend the rest of the day in bed together,” Jaskier suggested. “And let’s not just be friends anymore.”
“Alright,” Geralt nodded. It made sense; they loved each other and spent all their time together anyway. “That sounds wonderful.”
Worked on my nonspecific Witcher outfit today. Made some progress despite stabbing myself....
Day 1. Swords don't seem heavy until you try to twirl one for a half hour