"Have you ever killed a succubus? A Striga? Werewolf? She-wolf?" The girl asked as she walked beside the Witcher. The girls questions were the only talk heard in town, everyone else trying to do their jobs. It was an odd group walking through the town, though one the peasants didn't seem too fazed about. A Witcher, his horse, a girl and a dead Kikimora.
People were quiet as the worker, the poverty of the town quite obvious, the smell, the workers wearing dirty cotton clothes and stained worn down aprons. One man, dirty hands pulling a small wooden cart behind him with bags, held in place by one single string down the middle. The Witcher and the girl passed two men examining a fur coat, no doubt obtained from killing a wolf. There were people passing around chickens, presumably buying them, one man walking past with one trapped in a hand held cage, nowhere for the poor creature to escape to.
"That's not a thing." Geralt replied. Her knowledge of monsters was certainly above average, but he wasn't about to let any new rumours start of monsters that didn't exist, and she was just flat out wrong. He prided himself on his knowledge, no thanks to Vesemir drilling it into him, and that knowledge saved his life many times.
The conversation kept going, more on the girls side, their talking attracting the eyes of nearby peasants who briefly paused their jobs to gawk at the group walking down the muddy path. "So you've killed the rest?" The girl asked cheerily as she looked up at him, walking beside him without a care in the world, arms swinging by her side. "I think that makes you a hero." She complimented. Geralt's face almost turned sour at the comment, confusion etched deep into his sculpted features at the comment, why on earth would anybody think that. His head slightly turned to the girl, but he didn't make eye contact, just enough of a gesture to show that he was indeed listening.
"My mother says you're the offspring of foul sorcery, a diabolic creation, a filthy degenerate born of Hell." She rattled off as though she was reading from a list, a proud smile still on her face, of course these were her mother's words, not hers. The corner of Geralt's mouth almost twitched into a smile before it fell again, it amused him how much people could fear the Witcher's, people always feared what they didn't understand, and those who thought that they understood the Witcher's, we're always, always, misunderstanding. No one could understand the process in which turns them into a monster, the trauma or the horror that young boys were put through, the trial of the grasses which only three to four out of ten boys would survive. Those who survived gained enhanced reflexes, strengths and other mutations. All their pain, suffering, loss and much much more had now been whittled down into a world wide fact of them being cold hearted creatures with no emotions, albeit somewhat true, but still painful to hear.
"Have you ever been to Hell?" The girl asked. "I've never even left Blaviken." She mumbled as she looked down at her feet. "Because my mother's never left Blaviken, and if it's good enough for Libushe, then it's good enough for Marilka...that's my name." She continued on as she walked with him, voice almost cut off by a goat bleating beside them. "Marilka. Like milk. What's your name?" She asked, the excitement now settled down in her voice. Geralt smiled slightly at the girls comparison and then turned his attention back to the path. "Geralt." He replied. "Like garroter?" She asked.
Geralt's small amused smile was accompanied with the sound of falling water as they passed a massive water wheel in the town, closed off behind a stone wall. "Nice." She complimented softly. "Where are you from, Geralt?" Geralt's lips parted slightly, almost wishing she'd be quiet. "Rivia." He stated, turning to look at the girl who was looking up at him. The girl looked around slightly, the cogs turning the gears to get memory. "I don't know where that is, but I could learn, if you'd let me." She said hopefully, clearly not all too happy about having been in Blaviken her entire life. Geralt pressed his lips together slightly, his head shaking slightly from side to side. "No." He stated sternly, voice a bit more commanding than his previous one worded replies.
"Because I'm a girl and girls can't be Witcher's?" She asked disdainfully. "Which I think is probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard." She grumbled out as she threw her arms out to the side. She grinned slightly before looking up to Geralt who simply hummed in amusement. "I want more." She said quietly, her eyes fixed on the Witcher with almost the same level of vulnerability as Renfri's earlier, her voice pleading. Geralt's smile fell slightly, if his eyes could have softened, they would have.
The reality of the conversation now sunk in, not everyone was as lucky as Geralt, or the alderman, people worked and slaved and they got almost nothing in return, Geralt's life of adventure and earning coin, a sense of purpose differed greatly to this girl's dream of a life she could never have, of being stuck in one village her entire life."I have to be more, because I don't know what to do in Blaviken for the rest of my life, except go to the boring old market." She told him, frustration seeping out into her words, one arm thrown to the side. Geralt, who had slightly slowed down to listen to the young girl now sped back up, walking a little further ahead of her. "And kill rats." He reminded gently making the girl smile again. "And dogs." She joked back as she followed behind him.
A joke it was,but another grim reminder of what normal folk had to do to survive, if you looked deep enough into the meaning.