[ While Eskel keeps the basilisk sedated, Alix fetches the slimy toad of a man that's styled himself as the town 'baron' in his cockerel's colours of teal and red. All it takes is some sly words, ego stroking, and bearing with some very uncomfortable advances as he's seated on Alix's horse behind her to get him away from his guards. After all, who wants an audience when you're having a tumble?
But there's a method to the madness, and in the preening and compliments she plucks a particular pin from his lapel and pockets it, leaving him standing amongst the flowers with an idiot's grin plastered on his face in anticipation for the 'maiden fair's return. All in all she looks about ready to snap someone's neck by the time she returns to the trees.
[She turns up looking stormy-faced and he makes a note to ask what happened as soon as he's finished his part of the job. He slips the rope loose and then, stepping closer to her than maybe her current mood would prefer to tolerate, he throws a shining shield of quen over them both as the basilisk looses a series of ear-splitting shrieks and bursts out of the stand of trees, raging and ravenous.
Then it's just them standing amongst fallen branches beside the empty cage.]
[ She visibly flinches when the screams start, cries for help and the shrieks of the basilisk rising to a fever pitch, each blending with the other until it's a single wave of animal struggle and wordless pain. The pin in her breast pocket feels like an iron weight even as Alix fixes all her attention on the shimmering barrier Eskel cast over them both; disassociating herself from the pity that always, always rears at the last moment and tries to drag her down with it.
Don't listen. Don't look.
As the echoes of violence in the meadow fade and birdsong starts up again, she exhales - a centering exercise carried over from her youth. ]
I'll take it from here if you want to head to town early, maybe get a meal. [ Alix turns to him with a carefully blank expression, shoulders bobbing in a shrug. ] Need to collect something from the remains. I'll catch up.
[He doesn't look much happier, realizing he might have been made complicit in some kind of murder, though what he's been able to conjecture since their last meeting is that whoever was meant to meet that basilisk had violated the natural order in some way, cheated some bargain made with a higher power than Eskel is strictly comfortable considering.]
I should go with you. It might still be dangerous. If the basilisk is still alive, I'll have to put it down, this area is too populous to let it just go.
Fair point. [ The skies seem clear, but he's the expert here, so... ] Come on, then. Better move the mess before it attracts something else.
[ The basilisk hadn't been kind to the baron, as attested by the carnage that greets them when they draw close. The corpse is a red ruin of gashes and who knows what other trauma, a botched butchery swaddled in bloody silks surrounded by trampled grass and gouged soil.
Alix kneels next to it with the stolen pin in hand, grasping it up-side down with the opalescent gem pointed towards the ground like a gaudy dowsing pendulum. ]
These have been popping up recently - no idea where they're from, they're not one of ours. [ An offhanded remark, thinking out loud for his benefit while the gem shimmers in the sunlight, suspended above what used to be a head. ] Pretty little thing, isn't it? You'd never know it was a snare.
[ More importantly, it serves a function beyond fascinating every crow and light-fingered pickpocket for a mile around. As Alix holds the gem still over the ruined features of the corpse's gaping mouth, a thin wisp of something starts to wind lazily up towards it. There and not, difficult to look directly at. Like heat shimmer in the height of midsummer.
The irony of the baron's protection doubling as a prison isn't lost on her. ]
[Eskel glances at what she's doing, feeling the pulse of magic. It doesn't take much for him to imagine exactly what it does, even if his education on such things is limited.
But he does have things he's better educated on to attend to.]
Basilisk's not here. Probably headed for that sheep pasture over that way.
[He points, before casting a look at the carnage around them.]
Managed to wound it before it took his head off. Hopefully that makes my job a little easier. You go on back to town and find a table for us somewhere. I'm gonna want a drink, after all this.
[He sighs, fishing something out of the pocket of his jacket, a small glass vial full of some kind of grayish liquid. He pulls the cork with his teeth and gulps down the contents, shaking his head like a big dog as the noxious potion spreads through his body. Unclasping his crossbow from where it's strapped to his back, he sets off on some trail visible only to his witcher's keen senses.]
[ Aaaand he's gone. Great. Now she has to drag this sorry sod off into the bushes somewhere and hope a leg doesn't come off. It takes her longer than she'd prefer to lug the corpse far enough away into the weeds to divert hungry wildlife from the beaten track, but she manages it. By the end of the ordeal she's wiping her bloodstained gloves off on a clean(ish) scrap of cloth cut from the baron's overcoat while her stallion trots back along the dirt road towards the village, nose wrinkled in comically fastidious disgust.
Halfway there, however, she brings her horse to an abrupt halt.
Where did the baron's guards go? The trail of boot prints leads towards the village until this point, but veers off through the woods. Why would they--?
-headed for that sheep pasture over that way- ]
Shit. [ Alix immediately turns to follow, rising in the saddle stirrups as her horse breaks into a gallop, gritting curses the whole way. ] Shit!
[ Basilisk or no basilisk, those 'guards' were cutthroats down to the last man. An exhausted Witcher would be a tempting target. ]
[A silver basilisk is also a tempting target, there's a reason they're as rare as they are. On the black market, the hide alone can fetch a shocking sum, sold to make shoes for folk with more money than sense.
It doesn't take long before Eskel finds heavy hob-nailed boots beginning to converge on the blood trail he's following. Just ahead he hears the bellow of a wounded man and the braying of frightened or dying sheep and the hoarse shriek of the basilisk.]
Fuck--!
[He runs straight into a scene of chaos: several rough looking men comically attired in cheap livery circling the wounded basilisk. There's bits of wool and gore everywhere and the acrid reek of basilisk venom hits Eskel's nose. One of the men had sustained a direct hit, already stone dead on the bloody grass.
Instead of being grateful a professional's turned up, the other guards turn on Eskel. Cries of "oh no you don't, mutant" go up as they're forced to divide their attention between the wounded beast and the witcher.
Eskel would prefer not to kill them, and he tries his best to simply dissuade them, raising his hand to sketch the sign of axii. But whatever meagre well of magic flows through witchers is either emptied by his previous efforts, or the scene is simply too chaotic for him to focus and he can't manage to break even those doltish minds to placate them.
By the time Alix arrives, Eskel is engaged in hand to hand combat while the basilisk awkwardly tries to regain flight despite both its wounds and the fat ram in its claws.
There are no more graceful swordsmen on the entire Continent than witchers raised in the school of the wolf. Even as exhausted as he is, Eskel is quick and dexterous, especially for a man his size. But his attention keeps shifting to the basilisk and it's going to cost him.]
[ Both rider and warhorse burst from the trees in full stride, Alix with her spear poised, the tip seeking her first target like the tail of a scorpion. Whether it's the shock of an armed noblewoman suddenly being in their midst or not, she capitalizes in the lull of battle to skewer one of the men in his motley livery straight through the chest with a meaty 'thwack'.
She's going to regret not wearing armor later, but there's no time to be double guessing herself now. A businesslike flick of her arm translates down the length of her polearm and tosses the stricken guardsman to choke his last minutes into the grass, leaning hard on the contemptuous arrogance of an aristocrat to inflame the better judgement of his surviving comrades.
Hopefully Eskel can pick up on the plan: handle the beast first while she keeps the rabble busy. Divide and conquer is taught in Witcher schools too, yes? ]
Come on then, you sorry whoresons! [ Jeering, Alix leads her horse in a mocking, prancing semicircle behind the group of enraged men, splitting their attention away from both Eskel and the wounded draconid. ] Who's next to die?
[ If worst comes to worst she'll have only drawn off most of them, but between the deadly Witcher and deadlier basilisk, it's starting to look like she's the softest target. ]
[Eskel doesn't even pause to question what she's doing, to reproach her for her recklessness. His first duty is to bring down the basilisk before it hurts anyone apart from the targets Alix had intended it for. He'd brought it here, he had to clean up his mess. He staggers away from the tangle of humans and after the basilisk.
Bereft of his magic for the moment, it takes some effort to land the thing with just crossbow bolts and then to find an angle to clamber on top of the thing to bury his silver sword in the back of the vaguely avian head, separating the head from the neck.
By the time Alix catches back up with the witcher, he'll be sitting slumped against the side of the dead basilisk, catching his breath.]
[ She's not in much better shape, but catching the odd slash to the arm or side doesn't stick as much when you don't feel the pain. Several of the dead scattered between the sprawled bulk of the basilisk and their starting point made the fatal mistake of relaxing after landing a strike, and caught a spearhead in the gut or neck for it. ...she's got something that looks suspiciously like a broken dagger lodged in her thigh, but that can be dealt with later. After all, the battle high still sings pure and sweet in her veins, elevating her usual dour outlook into something closer to morbid satisfaction.
Not a bad fight.
Alix spots the dead basilisk first, sliding off her horse (pristine coat now sadly dirtied by the melee) and crosses the remaining distance in a hurried jog, getting increasingly concerned about the state he's in the closer she gets. Gods above, how long was he fighting them off? Had she been that late? ]
Eskel? [ He might not like her much, but Alix still sets a hand on his shoulder anyway both as support and to get a gauge of his condition. ] You can't die yet. I still owe you that drink.
[He laughs, a rusty sound that rasps out from between his torn, scarred lips. He lifts his head to look at her and his already rough face has an added layer of horror in the black veins just beneath his weathered skin.]
Ah, hell, I'm fine. Potion's wearing off is all.
[His muscles are cramping and he feels tired and a little dizzy, but these are all very fleeting side effects of the heavy dose of Rook he'd taken to bolster his already tired, aching body.
He squints up at her.]
You make out alright? Not gonna lie, I sorta assumed they wouldn't be able to hurt you much.
[His working theory is that she's some manner of construct, though he's never met one so independent or refined in either its intellect or appearance.]
[ Since they have nowhere to be in particular and it looks like he'll be here a little while yet, Alix shifts over a companionable distance away and settles on the grass - taking the opportunity to remove the snapped blade from her leg and inspect it between two gloved fingers. ]
There's that Witcher confidence again.
[ The broken blade thumps into the grass as she flicks it off towards one of the bodies for a scavenger to find and leans back against the basilisk in imitation of his posture. Are you capable of pain is phrased more politely, but that's the gist of it. From anyone else she'd think the question innocuous; from the career monster hunter, it sounds more like dancing around a tangentially related subject.
Just a feeling. I know you're not human. You don't even seem really...alive. You're cold, you don't breathe. Which is good, since you're sittin' at the business end of the basilisk there. I did my best to take the head off without nicking the venom sacks but still, gotta be careful.
[He closes his eyes, mind seeming to slip away from his tired body as he thinks out loud.]
I don't know what you are, but it's something real strange, I reckon. Something I've never seen before.
[ For someone with a jumble of pieces that just don't fit together in any recognizable pattern, he's got most of the major things already figured out. It's a little alarming to have that kind of microscope turned on you. The break in conversation turns pensive for a while, Alix turning the nature of her affliction over in her head, Eskel resting, it's a comfortable quiet. ]
I'm not sure what I am either. [ The knight finally decides. It's not wholly surprising, but that doesn't stop her from being a little frustrated about it. ] 'Incredibly unlucky' is my usual go-to.
[His next thought is a curse. That would explain why she didn't fit neatly into any established category: curses were purpose-built things, transforming their victims in mysterious and unique ways.]
Unless you mean losing coin on every hand I bet on, then no. I remember what it was like before becoming... whatever I am.
[ It's an easy admission to make and one Alix gives freely, but she plainly doesn't see where he's going with the question. The puzzled look she gives him says as much, brows slightly furrowed. ]
Matter? I dunno. But it does possibly change my understanding.
[While victims of a curse-- like some werewolves or spotted wights-- can be dangerous, it's still a distinctly different approach from an ordinary monster. And Alix is very different from a person made monstrous by a curse: she seems in full possession of her senses and despite the skill with which she had just dispatched his attackers, she doesn't seem wantonly dangerous.]
[ JUST SAYING... it's fine working with a Witcher when they're on the same side, but she's understandably a bit leery of handing out dossiers like candy after seeing what he's capable of. Don't get her wrong. Alix likes Eskel well enough - it's the rest of his order getting hands on the same information that she's more concerned about. ]
Can't promise the answers will be good or that I can even answer in the first place, but you can try if you want. We have time.
[The expression on his face suggests that he doesn't particularly make a distinction between the two. As one might not if one had been in the care and training of the order since the age of four or five, if the life of a witcher is all one has ever known.]
If I think of somethin', I'll ask. But I imagine there's only so much you can tell me anyway? That seems to be part of the enchantment, if I remember from before.
[He heaves himself to his feet and begins the unpleasant business of pulling apart the basilisk corpse for useful elements. Some are for his own purposes, like the venom glands, claws and teeth (used in the potions which enhance his already superhuman abilities), while other parts he intends to sell to mages the next time he gets to a decent city. He thrusts his bloody fingers into his mouth and whistles, an enormous black charger barreling out of a nearby stand of alder trees to have its saddlebags burdened with his macabre takings.]
Do you reckon there's anybody to pay me for the head off this thing? Is that... unethical? I brought it here, after all. And it still had time to kill two people before I brought it down again.
[ Alix wisely elects to relocate elsewhere before her torn wardrobe gets into a bloodier condition than it already is. ]
The terms and involved parties are off limits no matter how it's phrased. Get too close and the geas locks you up - like the words are still there, but you can't force it out.
[ Three guesses how she knows that. While he deals with dismantling his kill and getting the interesting bits ready for transport, Alix crosses over to one of the thug corpses, seemingly frozen in the final act of propping himself up, held upright by the spear lodged though his side and back out again with the blade buried in the sod. Retrieving it requires planting a foot on the corpse (with apologies to the recently departed) and some creative heaving for the weapon to come free, but come free it does.
Where did she put that cleaning rag? ]
Mourn the sheep if you want something to feel bad about. This lot gambled, lost, and paid the price, so what's unethical about it? [ Alix arguably isn't the best person to ask about ethical graverobbing with her questionably grey morality tbh... ] They could've found their end in a mercenary camp or a highway raid gone wrong just as easily anyway, so I fail to see the difference.
[ Not exactly an ideal outcome that's she's all that pleased about, but it's out of their hands and in the past now. Dwelling on it changes nothing. ]
Sure, but the basilisk could have hurt someone else. Just lucky it went for the sheep and not the village.
[He shakes his head.]
Hopefully everybody just thinks the damn thing escaped and not that I released it on purpose to cause problems and collect a reward. My reputation is hard enough to maintain as it is.
[Still, he takes the head of the basilisk and hangs it from a hook on his saddle that seems specific to the purpose. Someone will pay him something for it, hopefully.]
Doubt anyone will think that unless you were fool enough to show it off like a prize pony, Eskel. Give the worrying a rest.
[ Already mounted with her spear clean and holstered, Alix interrupts her admiring of his horse just long enough to shoot an amused glance his way. For such an intimidating individual, it's interesting to see endearing traits peek through the stoic professionalism from time to time. Less like a caricature built on rumor and suspicion and more like the person he is underneath. ]
Well then. If you're done being a fusspot, I still want that drink. You coming?
[He swings himself up on the back of the black charger, he refrains from mentioning that the cart with the shrieking basilisk driven by a scar-faced mutant wasn't exactly easy to miss. He steers the horse to follow her, leaving behind the remains of the basilisk for the local peasants to regard as a morbid curiosity.]
[ She spurs her horse into a brisk trot without further prompting, leading them at an angle across the woods and back to the main thoroughfare on a winding, purling path for some distance before they enter the village proper. It's not quite a squat hamlet that barely ekes out a living, but not quite a mercantile hub either, plainly hosting passing trade on a regular basis. With the petty lord dead and his authority gone with him there's still a handful of people with the political heft to negotiate for Eskel's grisly cargo. ]
Headsman's down by the tailor on the corner if you want to see what he's willing to pay you. [ Both Witcher and basilisk head have drawn the attention of the townsfolk by now. They mill about uncertainly and whisper amongst themselves, scurrying past like mice. ] I'll see what tables are open at the Hart's Head by the south gate.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But there's a method to the madness, and in the preening and compliments she plucks a particular pin from his lapel and pockets it, leaving him standing amongst the flowers with an idiot's grin plastered on his face in anticipation for the 'maiden fair's return.
All in all she looks about ready to snap someone's neck by the time she returns to the trees.
Her skin still feels like it's crawling. ]
It's time. Get it aloft and hope it's hungry.
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Then it's just them standing amongst fallen branches beside the empty cage.]
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The pin in her breast pocket feels like an iron weight even as Alix fixes all her attention on the shimmering barrier Eskel cast over them both; disassociating herself from the pity that always, always rears at the last moment and tries to drag her down with it.
Don't listen. Don't look.
As the echoes of violence in the meadow fade and birdsong starts up again, she exhales - a centering exercise carried over from her youth. ]
I'll take it from here if you want to head to town early, maybe get a meal. [ Alix turns to him with a carefully blank expression, shoulders bobbing in a shrug. ] Need to collect something from the remains. I'll catch up.
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I should go with you. It might still be dangerous. If the basilisk is still alive, I'll have to put it down, this area is too populous to let it just go.
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[ The basilisk hadn't been kind to the baron, as attested by the carnage that greets them when they draw close. The corpse is a red ruin of gashes and who knows what other trauma, a botched butchery swaddled in bloody silks surrounded by trampled grass and gouged soil.
Alix kneels next to it with the stolen pin in hand, grasping it up-side down with the opalescent gem pointed towards the ground like a gaudy dowsing pendulum. ]
These have been popping up recently - no idea where they're from, they're not one of ours. [ An offhanded remark, thinking out loud for his benefit while the gem shimmers in the sunlight, suspended above what used to be a head. ] Pretty little thing, isn't it? You'd never know it was a snare.
[ More importantly, it serves a function beyond fascinating every crow and light-fingered pickpocket for a mile around.
As Alix holds the gem still over the ruined features of the corpse's gaping mouth, a thin wisp of something starts to wind lazily up towards it. There and not, difficult to look directly at. Like heat shimmer in the height of midsummer.
The irony of the baron's protection doubling as a prison isn't lost on her. ]
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But he does have things he's better educated on to attend to.]
Basilisk's not here. Probably headed for that sheep pasture over that way.
[He points, before casting a look at the carnage around them.]
Managed to wound it before it took his head off. Hopefully that makes my job a little easier. You go on back to town and find a table for us somewhere. I'm gonna want a drink, after all this.
[He sighs, fishing something out of the pocket of his jacket, a small glass vial full of some kind of grayish liquid. He pulls the cork with his teeth and gulps down the contents, shaking his head like a big dog as the noxious potion spreads through his body. Unclasping his crossbow from where it's strapped to his back, he sets off on some trail visible only to his witcher's keen senses.]
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[ Aaaand he's gone.
Great. Now she has to drag this sorry sod off into the bushes somewhere and hope a leg doesn't come off.
It takes her longer than she'd prefer to lug the corpse far enough away into the weeds to divert hungry wildlife from the beaten track, but she manages it. By the end of the ordeal she's wiping her bloodstained gloves off on a clean(ish) scrap of cloth cut from the baron's overcoat while her stallion trots back along the dirt road towards the village, nose wrinkled in comically fastidious disgust.
Halfway there, however, she brings her horse to an abrupt halt.
Where did the baron's guards go?
The trail of boot prints leads towards the village until this point, but veers off through the woods. Why would they--?
-headed for that sheep pasture over that way- ]
Shit. [ Alix immediately turns to follow, rising in the saddle stirrups as her horse breaks into a gallop, gritting curses the whole way. ] Shit!
[ Basilisk or no basilisk, those 'guards' were cutthroats down to the last man. An exhausted Witcher would be a tempting target. ]
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It doesn't take long before Eskel finds heavy hob-nailed boots beginning to converge on the blood trail he's following. Just ahead he hears the bellow of a wounded man and the braying of frightened or dying sheep and the hoarse shriek of the basilisk.]
Fuck--!
[He runs straight into a scene of chaos: several rough looking men comically attired in cheap livery circling the wounded basilisk. There's bits of wool and gore everywhere and the acrid reek of basilisk venom hits Eskel's nose. One of the men had sustained a direct hit, already stone dead on the bloody grass.
Instead of being grateful a professional's turned up, the other guards turn on Eskel. Cries of "oh no you don't, mutant" go up as they're forced to divide their attention between the wounded beast and the witcher.
Eskel would prefer not to kill them, and he tries his best to simply dissuade them, raising his hand to sketch the sign of axii. But whatever meagre well of magic flows through witchers is either emptied by his previous efforts, or the scene is simply too chaotic for him to focus and he can't manage to break even those doltish minds to placate them.
By the time Alix arrives, Eskel is engaged in hand to hand combat while the basilisk awkwardly tries to regain flight despite both its wounds and the fat ram in its claws.
There are no more graceful swordsmen on the entire Continent than witchers raised in the school of the wolf. Even as exhausted as he is, Eskel is quick and dexterous, especially for a man his size. But his attention keeps shifting to the basilisk and it's going to cost him.]
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She's going to regret not wearing armor later, but there's no time to be double guessing herself now. A businesslike flick of her arm translates down the length of her polearm and tosses the stricken guardsman to choke his last minutes into the grass, leaning hard on the contemptuous arrogance of an aristocrat to inflame the better judgement of his surviving comrades.
Hopefully Eskel can pick up on the plan: handle the beast first while she keeps the rabble busy. Divide and conquer is taught in Witcher schools too, yes? ]
Come on then, you sorry whoresons! [ Jeering, Alix leads her horse in a mocking, prancing semicircle behind the group of enraged men, splitting their attention away from both Eskel and the wounded draconid. ] Who's next to die?
[ If worst comes to worst she'll have only drawn off most of them, but between the deadly Witcher and deadlier basilisk, it's starting to look like she's the softest target. ]
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Bereft of his magic for the moment, it takes some effort to land the thing with just crossbow bolts and then to find an angle to clamber on top of the thing to bury his silver sword in the back of the vaguely avian head, separating the head from the neck.
By the time Alix catches back up with the witcher, he'll be sitting slumped against the side of the dead basilisk, catching his breath.]
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...she's got something that looks suspiciously like a broken dagger lodged in her thigh, but that can be dealt with later. After all, the battle high still sings pure and sweet in her veins, elevating her usual dour outlook into something closer to morbid satisfaction.
Not a bad fight.
Alix spots the dead basilisk first, sliding off her horse (pristine coat now sadly dirtied by the melee) and crosses the remaining distance in a hurried jog, getting increasingly concerned about the state he's in the closer she gets. Gods above, how long was he fighting them off? Had she been that late? ]
Eskel? [ He might not like her much, but Alix still sets a hand on his shoulder anyway both as support and to get a gauge of his condition. ] You can't die yet. I still owe you that drink.
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Ah, hell, I'm fine. Potion's wearing off is all.
[His muscles are cramping and he feels tired and a little dizzy, but these are all very fleeting side effects of the heavy dose of Rook he'd taken to bolster his already tired, aching body.
He squints up at her.]
You make out alright? Not gonna lie, I sorta assumed they wouldn't be able to hurt you much.
[His working theory is that she's some manner of construct, though he's never met one so independent or refined in either its intellect or appearance.]
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There's that Witcher confidence again.
[ The broken blade thumps into the grass as she flicks it off towards one of the bodies for a scavenger to find and leans back against the basilisk in imitation of his posture.
Are you capable of pain is phrased more politely, but that's the gist of it. From anyone else she'd think the question innocuous; from the career monster hunter, it sounds more like dancing around a tangentially related subject.
Eskel gets a knowing sidelong look. ]
And why would you think that?
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[He closes his eyes, mind seeming to slip away from his tired body as he thinks out loud.]
I don't know what you are, but it's something real strange, I reckon. Something I've never seen before.
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Ah, well... never claimed to be a good liar.
[ For someone with a jumble of pieces that just don't fit together in any recognizable pattern, he's got most of the major things already figured out. It's a little alarming to have that kind of microscope turned on you.
The break in conversation turns pensive for a while, Alix turning the nature of her affliction over in her head, Eskel resting, it's a comfortable quiet. ]
I'm not sure what I am either. [ The knight finally decides. It's not wholly surprising, but that doesn't stop her from being a little frustrated about it. ] 'Incredibly unlucky' is my usual go-to.
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[His next thought is a curse. That would explain why she didn't fit neatly into any established category: curses were purpose-built things, transforming their victims in mysterious and unique ways.]
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[ It's an easy admission to make and one Alix gives freely, but she plainly doesn't see where he's going with the question. The puzzled look she gives him says as much, brows slightly furrowed. ]
Does it matter?
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[While victims of a curse-- like some werewolves or spotted wights-- can be dangerous, it's still a distinctly different approach from an ordinary monster. And Alix is very different from a person made monstrous by a curse: she seems in full possession of her senses and despite the skill with which she had just dispatched his attackers, she doesn't seem wantonly dangerous.]
I ask mostly out of curiosity.
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[ JUST SAYING... it's fine working with a Witcher when they're on the same side, but she's understandably a bit leery of handing out dossiers like candy after seeing what he's capable of.
Don't get her wrong. Alix likes Eskel well enough - it's the rest of his order getting hands on the same information that she's more concerned about. ]
Can't promise the answers will be good or that I can even answer in the first place, but you can try if you want. We have time.
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If I think of somethin', I'll ask. But I imagine there's only so much you can tell me anyway? That seems to be part of the enchantment, if I remember from before.
[He heaves himself to his feet and begins the unpleasant business of pulling apart the basilisk corpse for useful elements. Some are for his own purposes, like the venom glands, claws and teeth (used in the potions which enhance his already superhuman abilities), while other parts he intends to sell to mages the next time he gets to a decent city. He thrusts his bloody fingers into his mouth and whistles, an enormous black charger barreling out of a nearby stand of alder trees to have its saddlebags burdened with his macabre takings.]
Do you reckon there's anybody to pay me for the head off this thing? Is that... unethical? I brought it here, after all. And it still had time to kill two people before I brought it down again.
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[ Alix wisely elects to relocate elsewhere before her torn wardrobe gets into a bloodier condition than it already is. ]
The terms and involved parties are off limits no matter how it's phrased. Get too close and the geas locks you up - like the words are still there, but you can't force it out.
[ Three guesses how she knows that.
While he deals with dismantling his kill and getting the interesting bits ready for transport, Alix crosses over to one of the thug corpses, seemingly frozen in the final act of propping himself up, held upright by the spear lodged though his side and back out again with the blade buried in the sod. Retrieving it requires planting a foot on the corpse (with apologies to the recently departed) and some creative heaving for the weapon to come free, but come free it does.
Where did she put that cleaning rag? ]
Mourn the sheep if you want something to feel bad about. This lot gambled, lost, and paid the price, so what's unethical about it? [ Alix arguably isn't the best person to ask about ethical graverobbing with her questionably grey morality tbh... ] They could've found their end in a mercenary camp or a highway raid gone wrong just as easily anyway, so I fail to see the difference.
[ Not exactly an ideal outcome that's she's all that pleased about, but it's out of their hands and in the past now. Dwelling on it changes nothing. ]
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[He shakes his head.]
Hopefully everybody just thinks the damn thing escaped and not that I released it on purpose to cause problems and collect a reward. My reputation is hard enough to maintain as it is.
[Still, he takes the head of the basilisk and hangs it from a hook on his saddle that seems specific to the purpose. Someone will pay him something for it, hopefully.]
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[ Already mounted with her spear clean and holstered, Alix interrupts her admiring of his horse just long enough to shoot an amused glance his way. For such an intimidating individual, it's interesting to see endearing traits peek through the stoic professionalism from time to time. Less like a caricature built on rumor and suspicion and more like the person he is underneath. ]
Well then. If you're done being a fusspot, I still want that drink. You coming?
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Lead the way?
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[ She spurs her horse into a brisk trot without further prompting, leading them at an angle across the woods and back to the main thoroughfare on a winding, purling path for some distance before they enter the village proper. It's not quite a squat hamlet that barely ekes out a living, but not quite a mercantile hub either, plainly hosting passing trade on a regular basis.
With the petty lord dead and his authority gone with him there's still a handful of people with the political heft to negotiate for Eskel's grisly cargo. ]
Headsman's down by the tailor on the corner if you want to see what he's willing to pay you. [ Both Witcher and basilisk head have drawn the attention of the townsfolk by now. They mill about uncertainly and whisper amongst themselves, scurrying past like mice. ] I'll see what tables are open at the Hart's Head by the south gate.
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