HEART | Geralt

03

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Geralt and Azalea kept their hoods up, masking themselves the best they could as they approached their destination. Blaviken.

Roach and Azalea's stallion walked along with a steady pace, not paying attention to the stares and whispers their owners received from the townsfolk. Soon enough, the horses were tied to a post outside of an inn, where Geralt urged for Azalea to enter.

The hand just grazing the small of her back made her feel electrified and slightly at ease as the lively buzz of conversation was beginning to dull down as the two Witchers made their appearance. They kept walking forwards, not stopping until they sat themselves down onto the stools by the bar. Well, Geralt stood, keeping one hand where it was on Azalea's back whilst the woman ssat down.

"What will it be?" The barmaid asked as the white haired man placed a creased piece of paper onto the bar top and placed a finger on it.

"Point us to the alderman's house." Geralt demanded, staring at the barmaid for a moment before glancing at Azalea. He watched her pluck at the small splinters of the wood on the bar top, rolling his eyes at the sight of her doing so.

"It's down the alley to the left-"

"Isadora." A man snapped, gaining the harsh glare from Azalea. She hated it when men spoke to women like they were objects to be ordered about, mastered and enslaved, treated like a sex doll simply for their pleasure and uncaring on whether they hurt the women or not.

The innkeeper, presumeably, placed a mug onto the bar top, glaring at the polite woman. His beard was long, shaggy and pracitcally haywire whilst not a single hair grew atop his head, but only on the top. Azalea made a mental note on how there was hair everywhere but the top of the head.

"We don't want your kind here, Witcher." The man spat at Geralt, sending a spiteful gaze to both him and Azalea.

"The alderman," Geralt said as he pulled his lips into a thin line to try and keep his composure. "Tell me where he is and we'll be on our way."

"You don't give the orders around here..." another man growled out as he stood, defying the Witchers in the inn.  He was shorter than Geralt, lacking more hair than the innkeeper and staring at them with judgement. "You mutant sons of bitches." There were low rumbles resonating from somewhere, something that intrigued the Witchers. "Hear that?"

"Go." The innkeeper demanded, spitting at them. Azalea clenched her hands into fists, clenching her jaw. She hated people that disrespected Witchers. "On your own, or at the end of a rope, your choice."

"Not a hard choice. Come, Azi." Geralt gruffly said, and the girl stood swiftly. She rearranged her hood of her cloak, masking herself better before she began to follow Geralt. They got no more than a step away when the innkeeper's words rang through their ears.

"Yeah, fuck that." The man sneered. "Kill him and his Witcher whore with your bare hands if you have to." Azalea's blood boiled and she grabbed a silver handled dagger that she had sheathed on her leg. She gripped it, her scarlett slit eyes scanning the room. A man had dared to run up behind her, hoping to catch Azalea off guard.

Unfortunately for him, Azalea could hear the thudding of the man's heavy footsteps as he held up a sword of his own, planning on raining it down on Azalea as though she were helpless.

"C'mon, Witcher." A man asked, tauntingly whilst he watched a man approach Azalea. "You're not scared of us, are ya? Show us what you've got."

At the last second, she spun and flicked her wrist. The splatter of blood didn't even make her flinch as she watched the life leave the man's eyes, his body stopping and falling to his knees before he fell to the side, blood gushing from his throat.