Siren's Call

A Blank Mind

                Geralt's sword swung in a wide arc, cleaving easily through the body of the slavering ghoul lunging at him. Pivoting, he slashed viciously at one behind him. Turn, stab, block, stab, sweep. Ghoul after ghoul fell at his feet. He felt a fierce joy in movement, reveling in his own rage. Mind so filled with adrenaline and the feeling of fighting for his life there was no room for anything else. Eventually he stood surrounded by a pile of bodies and a still woods. There was no sound except for his own breathing. For a moment he stood motionless as well, catching his breath and basking in the high that came with combat.

Then he moved forward, casually nudging a ghoul aside with one boot. He scooped up the head of a ghoul and headed back to where he'd left Roach. By the time he'd made it back to her the adrenaline and potion he'd taken had mostly worn off. He felt tired, a bone-deep weariness. He took the time to do a quick inventory of any injuries. Fortunately it didn't look like any of the ghouls had bitten him, that could have been tiresome to get sorted out. He easily swung back up onto Roach, the ghoul head between his legs. He was going to need some more potion ingredients, perhaps he could ask for some instead of money, he needed some leather to repair one of his stirrups, maybe a few more little things-I know what you have to do Geralt, just be quick. He grimaced, trying to shove the memory of Jaskier pleading for a speedy death back to the back of his mind. It went, only to be replaced by another, tear-filled blue eyes staring into his "Geralt please, I'm sorry, don't make me leave you".

That was in the past, Jaskier was better off now anyway. Maybe the town he'd just cleared the ghouls out for would know of another contract he could pick up. His aching muscles protested going after another job so quickly but he ignored them. The snarling monster of rage and guilt in his chest cried out for more action, more anger, more anything that would make the memories of his own decisions go away. He just needed more monsters to kill, more of the sweet blankness of mind that came with fighting them off.

He came riding back into town, strode into the mayor's office, plonked the ghoul head down, and held out his hand.

"My payment?"

The mayor stared at the ghoul head, then slowly dragged his eyes back up to the witcher. "Ah...how...how do I know that all the ghouls are dead?"

He moved closer to the mayor, looming over him, and the thing in his chest screamed for blood, to draw his sword and put it against the fat man's neck, to smash his face into the desk, to make him regret ever doubting him. He fought it back, at the least he didn't want another reason for people to call him "butcher".

Still, the mayor must have seen something of his struggle in his face because he opened a drawer of his desk with shaking hands and put a sizeable sack of coins out on the desk-top. "I just...ah...wanted to m-make s-sure you were sure...I'm....ah...sure you would never knowingly cheat someone...but...ah-"

"Shut up." Geralt snarled, interrupting him and grabbing the sack off his desk. The man's weakness irritated him. If he was going to challenge a witcher he should at least have the balls to back it up. He was just a small-town bully, used to being able to push his weight around. Still, he might have information Geralt needed.

"Know of any other contracts around here?"

"Well..ah..." the mayor stammered, one finger going to loosen his collar.

Geralt's lip curled, the man was sweating like a dog and the scent of his fear clouded the entire room.

"Well?" he growled.

At this pivotal moment a woman who had apparently been listening in popped into the room. "There's a contract for a kikimora out in Wickap, 10 miles down the road to the east." She held out a small bundle. "Here, some food for the journey, and I thank you for getting rid of the ghouls, they'd killed too many of us."

Surprised, Geralt reflexively reached out and took the bundle, turning his attention to the woman as he did so. She was middle-aged, with an intelligent, kind face. The anger he'd felt towards the mayor left him and he felt vaguely guilty about unnecessarily bullying what was undoubtedly her husband.

At that moment the mayor stood up, "Miriam there's really no need for interf-"

Geralt and Miriam simultaneously turned to stare at him, and he quietly sat back down. Geralt turned back to Miriam and made a small motion of his head that could almost be considered a bow. "Thank you for the information."

Turning, he strode back outside to Roach. As he rode off he could hear what sounded like the beginnings of an argument breaking out behind him. The remnants of the potion he'd taken allowed him to hear the mayor attempting to remonstrate his wife for interfering "again" in this matter. She was having none of it. Geralt's lips twitched, that would explain the strange combination of enthusiastic promise of reward on the poster he'd picked up, and the mayor's lackluster approach to the whole problem.

As he rode Roach on the road to the east, he cataloged everything he'd need for fighting a kikimora. His potions were very low and he should really try to save them, but surely he could handle one kikimora without outside aid. He needed more action, needed to not think for just a few more minutes.