Geralt Monologue

Screams echoed throughout the courtyard. Shrieks of pain drowned under an ocean of slaughter. It was a massacre, he said. A grizzled man stood silent amidst the song of clashing swords. Enamelled in black armour, a crimson velvet cape draped across his back swished silently in the wind. Clutching his bloodstained golden gilded broadsword firmly in his hand, he was. Friends and foe alike could see the gallant knight standing gloriously over his fallen victims. Without any warning, a blood-curling scream pierced the knight, accompanied by a staggering blade held up weakly in the air. The feeble attempt was parried with simple yet deft swordsmanship, followed by a sweeping blow across the guts. On the verge of death’s door, the man spilt his life
This is a war! “Sir Geralt the Gallant, you are surrounded!” Sardonic laughter resonated in the air. “Surrender or face a hundred blades!” A sudden realization appeared on Geralt’s face. With no ally in sight, survival became a forlorn dream. He understood death, he was ready for its cold embrace, enabling him boundless courage in the face of battle. However, Death was now knocking, gleefully calling out his name. Despite that, Geralt the Gallant remained undaunted by the dozens of baleful glares and glint of the weapons eyeing his throat. To face the myriad of men seemed like a fool’s errand, and Geralt was no fool. What he needed was an escape and his eyes locked onto the stable door – an opportunity to fight another day. With a measured look, he counted three men between him and his destination beyond. Schwing.Shiing.Schwung. Blood splayed on the wall. “Parry this, you filthy mongrels! ,” Geralt screamed as he bolted. Kicking in the door, he heard the whistle of an arrow pass by. He spun around just in time to see an incurving, crescent barbed arrow en
Discerning he was free from danger, he let out a deep sigh of relief as tears of joy trickled down his flushed cheeks. The moon was out, it was full, but there seemed to be a scarcity of stars in the night sky. An unfamiliar atmosphere had engulfed him, it was chilling to the bone because all he saw was monstrous structures piled on one another like a forest of stone that stretched into the heavens. A multitude of strange, fetid and putrid smells filled his nostrils, the source of which seemed to be a green pigmented square barrel of sorts with what appeared to be white arrows displayed on the front. It was teemed with peculiar items he had never seen before – transparent flasks halfway filled with water, flat rectangular wood-like boxes with the word ‘Pizza Hut’ inscribed on them. He was not inclined to inspect them any further. Striding out the alleyway and through the silent streets, Geralt basked in the soothing stillness, that he was no longer bound by the burdens of war. A stark contrast to where he was beforehand, for which he is eternally grateful. With each step, he found everything foreign and fascinating. Geralt gawked as he stood before a grand and marvellous mural on a