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So I gather that the royal bastard—a girl—was not comely, and she died immediately. No one was in a hurry to tie the umbilical cord. Nor did Adda, to her good fortune, survive the birth.
Well yeah, thats what happens when you fuck your sister and get her pregnant. i'll never understand the whole royal "keep it in the family, pure bloodline" bullshit. But i can see where it would be fortunate that Adda died in childbirth. Tragic, but can you imagine having to face society after that?
became known what lay in the sarcophagus. And what scrambled out of it at night.
Fuckin wut
The infant had grown in the coffin—and how!—grown to have incredible teeth! In a word, she became a striga.
So a stillborn baby. Grew. Into a striga. Ive googled so many things in just the little bit ive been reading.
Adda gave birth to a striga because she slept with her brother. That is the truth, and no spell will help. Now the striga devours people—as strigas do—
“Your Majesty, you know our code of practice forbids us to speak of our work.”
The frst rule of fight club: dont talk about fight club
“I would like to hear a description of the… the princess.” Velerad leapt up from his chair. “The princess looks like a striga!” he yelled. “Like the most strigish striga I have heard of! Her Royal Highness, the cursed royal bastard, is
four cubits high, shaped like a barrel of beer, has a maw which stretches from ear to ear and is full of dagger-like teeth, has red eyes and a red mop of hair! Her paws, with claws like a wild cat’s, hang down to the ground! I’m surprised we’ve yet to send her likeness to friendly courts! The princess, plague choke her, is already fourteen. Time to think of giving her hand to a prince in marriage!”
The most strigish striga ive ever heard of! Shaped like a barrel of beer
hahahahaha
“The description, although vivid, is reasonably accurate, and that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, witcher?
Im fuckin dead
“This is a serious matter, your Majesty. The risk is great. That is why you must listen: the princess should always wear a sapphire around her neck, or better, an inclusion, on a silver chain. Day and night.” “What is an inclusion?” “A sapphire with a pocket of air trapped within the stone.
Aside from that, every now and then you should burn juniper, broom and aspen in the fireplace of her chamber.”
She had lost her former strength; she could only writhe beneath him, howling, spitting out blood—his blood—which was pouring over her mouth. His blood was draining away quickly. There was no time. The witcher cursed and bit her hard on the neck, just below the ear. He dug his teeth in and clenched them until her inhuman howling became a thin, despairing scream and then a choking sob—the cry of a hurt fourteen-year-old girl.
You know what, whatever works Geralt
Practically every pre-human race and every primordial nomadic human tribe honored a goddess of harvest and fertility, a guardian of farmers and gardeners, a patroness of love and marriage. Many of these religions merged into the cult of Melitele.
Melitele’s cult, he deduced, was a typical woman’s cult.
Melitele was, after all, the patroness of fertility and birth; she was the guardian of midwives.
“Geralt, you’re sick.” “Injured, you mean.” “I know what I mean.
Ok sasspot
I’ll confide in you, if you like. I’ll fill your evenings with tales of ever more astounding events from the past few years. Get a keg of beer so my throat doesn’t dry up and we can start today. But I fear I’ll bore you because you won’t find any nooses or vortexes there. Just a witcher’s ordinary tales.”
Sign me up for the ordinary tales
it would be the first proof I’ve ever heard of that a lack of faith has any kind of power at all.”
“Greetings,” he said, raising his hand in a friendly gesture.
Greetings
“I forgot,” snorted the monster, “that you’re not timid. What shall I call you?” “Geralt. And your name, dear host?” “Nivellen. But they call me Degen or Fanger around here. And they use me to frighten children.”
I’ve heard about witchers—they abduct tiny children whom they feed with magic herbs. The ones who survive become witchers themselves, sorcerers with inhuman powers. They’re taught to kill, and all human feelings and reactions are trained out of them. They’re turned into monsters in order to kill other monsters. I’ve heard it said it’s high time someone started hunting witchers, as there are fewer and fewer monsters and more and more witchers.
Well that answers my question
“How much of the rumors about you witchers is true?” “Practically nothing.” “And what’s a lie?” “That there are fewer and fewer monsters.”
I love garalt
“There’s a grain of truth in every fairy tale,” said the witcher quietly. “Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven’t arrived at anything except that—” “That what, Geralt?” “It has to be true love.”
What a short, twisted retelling of beauty and the beast wtf
“Don’t dare threaten me with your spells, priestess! Our soldiers—” “If any one of your soldiers touches one of Melitele’s priestesses, they will hang, before dusk, from the acacias along the road to town. And they know that very well. As do you, Tailles, so stop acting like a fool. I delivered you, you shitty brat, and I pity your mother, but don’t tempt fate.
You shitty brat, i pity your mother
“Shut up, you brat,” interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily.
Hahahahahah thanks Geralt
“Sir Falwick,” said Geralt, not ceasing to smile. “If he draws his sword, I’ll take it from him and beat the snotty-nosed little brat’s arse with the flat of his blade. And then I’ll batter the door down with him.”
Well someone has to
“The displeasure’s mine.”
Oh, i might use that
“Where are you going to stay? With me perhaps? There’s an empty room in the attic. Why get fleeced by the innkeepers, those thieves. We’ll have a chat and you can tell me what’s happening in the big, wide world.” “Willingly. But what will Libushe have to say about it? It was quite obvious last time that she’s not very keen on me.” “Women don’t have a say in my house. But, just between us, don’t do what you did during supper last time in front of her again.” “You mean when I threw my fork at that rat?” “No. I mean when you hit it, even in the dark.” “I thought it would be amusing.” “It was. But
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HAHAHAHAHAH
“Don’t twist my words, Castellan. I’m asking why the queen needs a witcher in disguise as a bear passant, with hair loose at that, at the banquet.” Haxo also looked around, and even leaned over the gallery balustrade. “Something bad’s happening, Geralt,” he muttered. “In the castle. Something’s frightening people.” “What?” “What usually frightens people? A monster. They say it’s small, hunchbacked, bristling like an Urcheon. It creeps around the castle at night, rattles chains. Moans and groans in the chambers.” “Have you seen it?” “No,” Haxo spat, “and I don’t want to.” “You’re talking
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Waiting for a hunchback to jump out and groan, WITHOUT A WEAPON???
preposterous
“They told me not to tell you anything, but you asked. So I told you. And you tell me I’m talking nonsense. How charming.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Castellan. I was simply surprised…” “Stop being surprised.” Haxo turned away,
Oh. Yikes. Witcher hit a nerve.
“Your job isn’t to be surprised. And I strongly advise you, witcher, that if the queen orders you to strip naked, paint your arse blue and hang yourself upside down in the entrance hall like a chandelier, you do it without surprise or hesitation. Otherwise you might meet with a fair amount of unpleasantness. Have you got that?” “I’ve got it. Let’s go, Haxo.
Hahahaha what
I’ve got a job for you.” “So I gathered. I’m rarely invited to feasts for the pleasure of my company.” “You’re probably not very interesting company, then.
HAHAHA poor geralt
