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Caira walked alongside Geralt and his horse—Roach—as she led her own horse, Meg, along the road. They were set off to go kill this devil the townsman had paid their services for when the bard—Jaskier—from the ale house caught up with them. He scurried over to the two hunters as he struggled to hold his rucksack over his shoulder. "Need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the—uh—devil's horns." Jaskier spoke through his heaves, the short jog seemed to have exhausted him already.
"Go away." Geralt growled at the man.
"I won't be but silent back-up. Look, I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Not that you don't—" Jaskier quickly excused himself for not acknowledging Caira.
Caira shrugged. "I don't have any interesting adventures, it's not like I'm a rogue princess or something." Caira winked at him, internally laughing at her own sarcastic statement that was unknown to both the bard and the Witcher.
"Amongst other things, you smell of adventure! And, I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak." Jaskier explained to Geralt why he wanted to follow him, to discover true adventure and write songs about them. And Geralt's life seemed promising of adventures.
"It's onion." Geralt replied nonchalantly, hoping to kill his notion that Geralt's life was filled with heroism and fantastic experiences.
"Right, yeah... oooh! I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the-the Butcher of Blaviken!" Jaskier exclaimed, trying to seem like he'd make Geralt seem like some superhero to the peasants of the continent.
Geralt suddenly stopped in his tracks once he heard the nickname Caira had given to him back in Blaviken. Geralt turned to face Jaskier with an annoyed expression crossing his unmoving face. "Come here." Geralt ordered Jaskier. Jaskier, with a stupid and absent minded look, approached Geralt giddily.
Geralt instantly socked his fist into Jaskier's gut, causing the bard to groan and collapse to the ground from the blunt force. He wheezed from the wind being knocked out of him. Geralt turned back around to face the direction of his travel, all the while catching a disapproving head shake from Caira. Geralt seemed almost satisfied with his action, as he tried to hide his subtle smirk after nearly incapacitating Jaskier. "Come on, Caira." He spoke, lowly, then continued walking toward their adventure.
* * *
Caira and Geralt rode on their trotting horses as Jaskier walked quickly beside them, trying to keep up and fit in with the two. "I'd say you have got a bit of an image problem. Were I to join you on this feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title." Jaskier assured Geralt, after realizing he didn't particularly like being called a butcher.
"The title that I gave him?" Caira spoke up.
Geralt side eyed Caira. "It was you?" Jaskier inquired.
"I didn't realize how quickly titles spread." Caira shrugged.
"Like I said, I could shake the title from you. All the North would be too busy singing the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf or something. Who travelled alongside Caira of...where are you from?" Jaskier inquisitively turned his head to look at her.
"Nowhere."
"Caira of nowh—wait, what? Everyone is from someplace." Jaskier furrowed his brows.
"I claim no land as no land claims me. I am simply Caira. The bounty huntress." She pressed her lips into a firm line.
"No, no. That's too generic. Hmm... how about Caira, the Rogue One. What do you think?" Jaskier proposed.
"I don't think I have much say in the matter, if it's the name the sticks, so be it." Caira snickered down at him.
"So, Caira, the Rogue One and Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf!" Jaskier exclaimed.
"Butcher is right." Geralt spoke up, correcting Jaskier. He was trying to portray an image of himself that was untrue. One that was uncaring, cold blooded and murderous. Caira knew it was a lie, she saw how remorse flooded in his eyes as he killed Renfri. He had emotion, he felt guilty for the things that he did, but he must've had his reasons. Caira supposed it was to keep from getting close to any other person, and she respected that.
"Mind if I hop up? I'm not wearing the right footwear." Jaskier asked Geralt as he placed his hand on Geralt's horse.
"Don't touch Roach!" Geralt barked, causing Jaskier to flinch and retract his hand from the horse.
They finally arrived to the place where the townsman said the devil was hiding and stealing his grain, causing Geralt and Caira to dismount from their horses and tie them to a small tree to keep them from wandering off. Geralt walked ahead to a clearing with Jaskier following at his heels. Caira took an alternate route—stealth being her forte unlike Geralt—and walked amongst the tall plants which concealed her quite well. She crept around the clearing until she felt a strong hand grab her shoulder.
She screamed, indicating to Geralt that danger was lurking nearby. Whomever was behind her managed to knock her unconscious with a rock to the side of her head in order to stop her screams. The devil laid Caira's knocked out body on the ground to proceed to attack Geralt. The devil scurried away as Geralt rushed toward where he heard Caira scream. He discovered her unconscious body and quickly held out his sword, defensively. He kneeled down and reached the side of her head, feeling the blood gush from her temple. He groaned.
The devil launched a little piece of metal—almost like a small cannonball—at Geralt, hitting him square in the forehead. Geralt grabbed his now bloody forehead without flinching and looked around. "Geralt," Jaskier whispered over to his comrade with wide eyes as he peered upon a monster amongst the bushes with two long, devilish horns, "it is a devil."
Geralt eyed him curiously, dubious of his words. Suddenly, another small cannonball was launched at Jaskier, hitting him in the forehead as well. However, Jaskier, being less resistant to blunt forces, instantly passed out. Geralt suspiciously looked around, without daring to get distracted again by another knocked out body until he captured and killed the monster. Geralt stood up and began creeping toward the source of the projectiles. Suddenly, a sylvan appeared from the bushes and charged at Geralt shouting: "Leave me be!!"
He rammed his horns at Geralt and then the two began to brawl. "You talk." Geralt growled.
The sylvan charged at him once again, but Geralt grabbed ahold of his horns and launched him aside. Geralt pinned the beast on the ground, getting a good look at it—wondering what species it was. "What happened with you? Your mother fuck a goat?"
"I am Torque the Sylvan, a rare and intelligent creature!!" Torque shouted at him.
"You're a dick. With balls." Geralt smiled at his own comeback.
"Balls I got from humans, who left our food filled with iron meant to poison me!" The Sylvan reached out and ripped out a lock of the Witcher's hair. "Did your mother fuck a snowman?!"
Geralt punched the beast in the face, grunting. "You are intelligent, I'll give you that. So I won't kill you, but you can't stay here." Geralt grunted as he let go of the Sylvan.
"Neither can you." Torque spat. Suddenly another person appeared from behind Geralt and kicked him in the head, knocking him unconscious like the others.
