'Good' is too high an expectation for the quality of my story telling. But a story for a story, as I said, so I’ll try to the best of my ability.
[He has fought so many monsters over the years that there are hundreds of tales he could tell. To select one worthy of being told is a difficult process; after a while, they all kind of just melded together for Geralt, but he eventually decides upon the Striga of Wyzim.]
One of my best known tales is that of the Striga of Wyzim – not through choice, mind you; a bard companion of mine included it in his works without my knowing and has been continuing with this tradition since discovering I’ll only threaten to smack him around the ear for it. But I digress. The story.
I should first explain what a striga is: it is, simply put, the result of a powerful curse being put on a woman. It turns them into a beast that relishes all the things one can expect from beasts: killing, feasting, and the dark. The appearance of one is not unlike a bear, though considerably more hideous, and with considerably longer teeth and claws. The striga in this instance was the daughter of a king, who conceived her through an immoral union.
[He decides to spare Julian the exact details of how the daughter came to be.]
I was tasked with breaking the curse by spending the night with the striga. Or rather, I was given the job after years of death and people turning tail at the sight of the thing. I would also be permitted to kill the girl, should I find myself unable to break the curse, with the stipulation that I was to let myself be considered a failure and banished from the city for this.
I set out with the intention of turning that hideous creature into a young girl, who would have been fourteen at the time, for that is how long she resisted all attempts to free her of either her life or the curse. I made my preparations. As these things go, a man - most likely the man responsible for the curse - stepped out of the dark while I was readying and tried to stop me. First with coin, and then with an attempt against my life, so I kept him in close quarters through use of rope until the striga appeared and had him make a distraction of himself.
[He pauses briefly, considering how to go about describing the fight.]
The beast put up a good fight. I put up a better one, in no little part due to my still having the ability of higher thought. Ultimately, I compelled it into retreating with a roar. Not quite as simple as a roar, I’ll admit, but to any spectator, that is all it would have been. The beast ran and I descended into the crypt to wait out the rest of the night inside the sarcophagus in which the child had spent her days.
Morning arrived, and there was the young girl, unconscious upon the floor of the crypt. A little dirty and slim, but otherwise like any other fourteen year old girl. I checked her for remnants of the curse, and I discovered one when she lashed me in the neck with her talons.
[He gestures to the long, jagged lines on the side of his neck. One is given the impression of very deep wounds.]
My method of ceasing further attacks on my person was to bite her on the neck, which seemed only fair after she had torn into mine. Her growls subsided into whimpers, and then, silence. I fell silent shortly after and woke up some time later with a very sore neck.
no subject
[He has fought so many monsters over the years that there are hundreds of tales he could tell. To select one worthy of being told is a difficult process; after a while, they all kind of just melded together for Geralt, but he eventually decides upon the Striga of Wyzim.]
One of my best known tales is that of the Striga of Wyzim – not through choice, mind you; a bard companion of mine included it in his works without my knowing and has been continuing with this tradition since discovering I’ll only threaten to smack him around the ear for it. But I digress. The story.
I should first explain what a striga is: it is, simply put, the result of a powerful curse being put on a woman. It turns them into a beast that relishes all the things one can expect from beasts: killing, feasting, and the dark. The appearance of one is not unlike a bear, though considerably more hideous, and with considerably longer teeth and claws. The striga in this instance was the daughter of a king, who conceived her through an immoral union.
[He decides to spare Julian the exact details of how the daughter came to be.]
I was tasked with breaking the curse by spending the night with the striga. Or rather, I was given the job after years of death and people turning tail at the sight of the thing. I would also be permitted to kill the girl, should I find myself unable to break the curse, with the stipulation that I was to let myself be considered a failure and banished from the city for this.
I set out with the intention of turning that hideous creature into a young girl, who would have been fourteen at the time, for that is how long she resisted all attempts to free her of either her life or the curse. I made my preparations. As these things go, a man - most likely the man responsible for the curse - stepped out of the dark while I was readying and tried to stop me. First with coin, and then with an attempt against my life, so I kept him in close quarters through use of rope until the striga appeared and had him make a distraction of himself.
[He pauses briefly, considering how to go about describing the fight.]
The beast put up a good fight. I put up a better one, in no little part due to my still having the ability of higher thought. Ultimately, I compelled it into retreating with a roar. Not quite as simple as a roar, I’ll admit, but to any spectator, that is all it would have been. The beast ran and I descended into the crypt to wait out the rest of the night inside the sarcophagus in which the child had spent her days.
Morning arrived, and there was the young girl, unconscious upon the floor of the crypt. A little dirty and slim, but otherwise like any other fourteen year old girl. I checked her for remnants of the curse, and I discovered one when she lashed me in the neck with her talons.
[He gestures to the long, jagged lines on the side of his neck. One is given the impression of very deep wounds.]
My method of ceasing further attacks on my person was to bite her on the neck, which seemed only fair after she had torn into mine. Her growls subsided into whimpers, and then, silence. I fell silent shortly after and woke up some time later with a very sore neck.