The Witcher Christmas Contest Announced
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Geralt could fool himself no longer winter had arrived in full regalia. And it was not the kind of winter that Dandelion had described in one of his ballads as '˜innocent, soft and pallid, like a virgin's cheek.' It was real, it was serious even mundane trips out to the privy were painful, the frost pinching exposed skin like Madame Dolores did at the Night House. Geralt was certainly no freezing weather enthusiast, but feeling cold all the time was hardly his chief concern. For winter, apart from its natural attributes, brought changes in human behavior, changes Geralt found disturbing. Ladies of the evening no longer roamed the streets, bandits in dark alleys weren't hitting as hard, even dwarves, for whom drinking to obliteration was a pastime, were walking out of taverns on their own two feet. Geralt knew what was in store the holidays were coming. The witchers would once again convene around the table in Kaer Morhen's great hall to recount their adventures of the year past. The meetings usually turned rowdy, with alcohol flowing abundantly, but things would not be the same with Triss present this year. The sorceress had an altogether different idea of what made a holiday feast needless to say, she did not see ale, wine and vodka served in succession as a three course meal. She had already advised the witchers to be inventive in their choice of menu for the repast under threat of waking up on the morrow turned into swine. Somewhere deep in his soul Geralt was glad there were still those who upheld the great and beautiful traditions he just regretted his personal friend was among them. Resigned to his fate, he mounted Roach and headed off toward the village. '˜Who knows,' he thought. '˜Maybe I'll find some road kill on the way.'
