“What a company I ended up with,” Geralt continued, shaking his head. “Brothers in arms! A team of heroes! What have I done to deserve it? A poetaster with a lute. A wild and lippy half-dryad, half-woman. A vampire, who’s about to notch up his fifth century. And a bloody Nilfgaardian who insists he isn’t a Nilfgaardian.” “And leading the party is the Witcher, who suffers from pangs of conscience, impotence and the inability to take decisions,” Regis finished calmly. “I suggest we travel incognito, to avoid arousing suspicion.” “Or raising a laugh,” Milva added.
