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Geralt the Witcher spoke softly and caressed the velvet neck of his horse Roach, who was whimpering and tossing his mane restlessly. Perhaps Roach was spooked too.
Yet, neither of them were ever easily spooked.
It was not the beautiful, crimson sunset blooming atop the verdant mountain valley that had them unsettled. At any other time, Geralt would have marveled with awe at such a beautiful sight to behold.
Perhaps their worry was the ominous thunderstorm looming closer towards them. The weather was certainly turning nasty. The wind was no longer a gentle evening breeze. Those dense, dark clouds seemed to be floating swiftly towards them. He could already spot a deluge of rainfall in the distance, with sudden lightning strikes, followed by loud thunderclaps.
The top of this desolate hill was no place to welcome a lightning storm of this magnitude. He had to find shelter, and fast.
As he nudged Roach to a steady canter down the steep hill, picking a safe path towards the village lights he could see in the valley below, Geralt felt a momentary shiver. But the chill down his spine was not from the weather itself.
It was the wailing wind following him, that had him spooked, he understood now. The clinging gusts seemed to carry the painful whispers of those long departed soldiers, hanging and swaying from the lone tree on the hilltop. He could almost feel their plaintive cries in the wind, their desperate need for redemption, their whispered pleas to him - to listen, to remember and to avenge them.
Geralt was no stranger to wraiths and other specters from the netherworld, but even he didn't want to tarry at this forbidding place any longer. He had the ghosts of his own murky past to assuage, and he had no time, and no answers for these lost souls.
SOURCE: Screenshot (enhanced) from the PC game The Witcher 3, © CD Projekt RED.
Yet, neither of them were ever easily spooked.
It was not the beautiful, crimson sunset blooming atop the verdant mountain valley that had them unsettled. At any other time, Geralt would have marveled with awe at such a beautiful sight to behold.
Perhaps their worry was the ominous thunderstorm looming closer towards them. The weather was certainly turning nasty. The wind was no longer a gentle evening breeze. Those dense, dark clouds seemed to be floating swiftly towards them. He could already spot a deluge of rainfall in the distance, with sudden lightning strikes, followed by loud thunderclaps.
The top of this desolate hill was no place to welcome a lightning storm of this magnitude. He had to find shelter, and fast.
As he nudged Roach to a steady canter down the steep hill, picking a safe path towards the village lights he could see in the valley below, Geralt felt a momentary shiver. But the chill down his spine was not from the weather itself.
It was the wailing wind following him, that had him spooked, he understood now. The clinging gusts seemed to carry the painful whispers of those long departed soldiers, hanging and swaying from the lone tree on the hilltop. He could almost feel their plaintive cries in the wind, their desperate need for redemption, their whispered pleas to him - to listen, to remember and to avenge them.
Geralt was no stranger to wraiths and other specters from the netherworld, but even he didn't want to tarry at this forbidding place any longer. He had the ghosts of his own murky past to assuage, and he had no time, and no answers for these lost souls.
SOURCE: Screenshot (enhanced) from the PC game The Witcher 3, © CD Projekt RED.
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Comments4
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I love the colours, going from red to purple to blue. Makes me want to play the game! 