![]() ![]() ![]() Meant to ward off the evil they carried, if not the Witchers themselves. ![]() Common superstition, Jaskier had seen it time and again travelling with Geralt – peasants and nobility alike would spit when they mentioned Witchers. “But there is a Witcher here.” He spat on the floor. He had blonde hair and brown eyes and a crooked jaw. ![]() “Though, as you’ll see, he’s not with me now.” It would hardly change their minds if they were here to beat him for the slight of befriending someone that they considered less than human, but he could hope. There were several reasons angry-looking men would ask after his relationship with Geralt, and none of them were terribly pleasant. He had short-cropped black hair and luminous green eyes. “You,” one of them said, before Jaskier could even open his mouth. He had no other ideas as to why they’d want him. He hadn’t even slept with anyone in this town yet, so they couldn’t possibly be here to defend someone’s honor. And when he looked back, they were coming straight for him. A look at the disinterested barkeep confirmed that they were either local or at least familiar. Jaskier was just settling into his dinner, lute finally abandoned to his side, when two men men came barging into the tavern with a racket. ![]()
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