Civilized people

Geralt awoke with the first rays of sunlight invading his closed eyelids. He groggily opened his eyes and felt his whole body stiff from the familiar discomfort of the hard ground and the freezing cold air. Getting up, he frantically rubbed his hands together and moved around to generate some warmth.

Looking at his surroundings, his gaze fell on Atram, who had already woken up and was sitting cross legged in a meditative position. He saw ki permeating his hands as he gathered energy around them. To what purpose? Only the man in question knew.

He observed in silence, not wanting to disturb his concentration.

Geralt's patience was rewarded as, moments later, he witnessed Atram's ki manifest in a visible arc between him and a nearby pebble. The energy gracefully made contact with the stone, causing it to rise a few centimeters above the ground. His eyes widened in awe as he witnessed Atram skillfully wield his ki, orchestrating the pebble's movement with finesse, compelling it to twirl and pirouette through the air, deftly catching it before it fell.

Atram blinked slowly, his breath ragged from the exertion. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he looked at his friend with a smile. "Morning," he said cheerfully.

Geralt nodded in response, still shivering from the chill in his bones. "Morning. It seems training is a never ending spiral for you, isn't it? You master one tool in your arsenal, only to have another take its place soon after," he stated teasingly.

Atram exhaled a laugh, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. "Indeed it is, my friend. These past months have taught me that I had become overly reliant on the magical items of my world. I plan to rectify that mistake," he replied with evident determination in his voice.

Geralt cocked his brow. "So, in addition to having amazing martial skills, you also used magical artifacts to further enhance yourself. That sounds...excessive."

Atram shrugged. "Would you not buy such items if you had the funds? Simply by being rich, someone could purchase artifacts that boasted incredible abilities. A rechargeable wand infused with spells of all kinds and tiers, boots of flight, a ring with storable space, and protective gear that gives you resistance to specific elements. The list goes on and on; if the enchanters have the necessary materials and skills, they can make it."

"That seems..."

"Unfair?"

"Yes."

"How so? Does having a silver sword make you a witcher?" Atram questioned, his tone tinged with skepticism. "Do you know how many times I've seen arrogant adventurers emboldened by such items perish on their first delve? Having strength and knowing how to utilize it are two different things."

 "If you say it like that, then you are right," Geralt acknowledged, his expression thoughtful. "It's the man who makes the tools, not the other way around."

Atram smiled, gratified by Geralt's comprehension. "Exactly. That's why I'm striving to explore new possibilities with ki—options I never considered before venturing into this less magically dependent world," he elaborated. "Unfortunately, it's challenging, if not impossible, to develop new techniques that aren't inherently tied to an individual's nature."

"I can imagine that," Geralt responded, bobbing his head in understanding. "During our last spar, I attempted to infuse my body with ki, mimicking your technique to protect myself, but it felt... wrong and unnatural. It was as if my very being was rejecting it," he admitted with a furrowed brow.

"Never, I repeat, 'NEVER' do that again," Atram emphasized, his tone firm and serious. "Your attunement lies with weapons; master that first before attempting to manipulate ki in such a manner. It's not something to be taken lightly and can have grave consequences if not executed correctly."

Geralt nodded solemnly, recognizing the gravity of his friend's words. "I understand and I won't," he replied earnestly.

He went over to his saddlebag and picked up a few strips of smoked bacon, passing some to his companion. Donning his cloak, he sat down and cast 'Produce Flame' to further warm his body. The vibrant speck of fire hovered around him like a halo, casting a warm glow on them.

"How come you never became a pure mage like your mother?" Geralt inquired curiously.

Atram gulped down a mouthful of meat before answering. "Although I inherited her aptitude for magic, I never had the patience for it. Hunching over a book all day, taking various tests, and memorizing incantations just wasn't for me. So I took a more practical approach to it and learned the bare minimums to get her off my back," he explained with a grin on his face.

Geralt gave a small chuckle. "Can you imagine the confusion one would have if they saw a veritable mountain of muscle casting spells in a mage's robes?"

"It would be quite the sight to behold," Atram mused, his mind wandering. "In fact, I know someone like that. Despite her race's lack of magical aptitude, there was a goliath woman named Nora who possessed a remarkable talent for transmutation magic," he recounted, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips as he remembered their clash and the pleasant 'aftermath' of their tussle.

"You shagged her, didn't you? Don't look at me like that! I can smell your arousal." Geralt commented with a mischievous grin on his face.

Atram's cheeks flushed slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. "Freak!" he exclaimed, his tone light and joking.

"That is like the pot calling the kettle black," Geralt replied, his voice rich with amusement, retaining the same witty grin.

"Are goliaths what their name suggests?" He inquired further as he pieced together the clues about Atram's paternal lineage. It had become a guessing game in Kaer Morhen to find out his ancestry, but with such a race not existing in this world, only Vesemir knew the truth.

"They are indeed," Atram answered, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "Goliaths are the descendants of giants. Out of all the intelligent mortal races, their strength has no equal, and their physical fortitude is second only to that of the dwarves. They have towering physiques and naturally athletic bodies that are extremely resistant to cold in general." He paused and pointed his thumbs towards him. "You're actually looking at a half-goliath right now."

"So that's what the name was!" Geralt exclaimed, a spark of realization lighting up his eyes. "And that explains why you're almost butt naked all the time, despite the freezing temperatures," he declared, content with his findings.

Atram offered him a slow, sarcastic clap. "Congratulations! Can we move on? Unlike me, your bonny ass will require a warm bed for the night."

Geralt, not wanting to spend another night in the hellish cold, hummed in agreement and began to gather his belongings.

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The duo made good progress throughout the day. With the roads nearly deserted at this time of year, they covered a considerable distance without any interruptions. As the sun began its descent, they chanced upon a cozy inn nestled near the bridge spanning the Gwennlech River. Appreciating the chance to rest and indulge in a hot meal, they decided to spend the night there.

Securing their horses to the makeshift post outside, they entered the inn. Inside, it exuded quaint charm, with a crackling fire emanating warmth from the hearth and the inviting aroma of hearty stew wafting from the kitchen. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of medieval battles, and the furniture was crafted from sturdy oak wood. As they settled in, they noticed a group of travelers gathered around a table, engrossed in a lively game of colorful cards portraying humanoids and monsters of all kinds.

Another group of travelers sat in a corner, their clothes appropriate for a journey through rugged terrain. Beneath their sturdy gambesons, Atram discerned the gleam of steel and the rugged texture of armor, suggesting they were armed and prepared for any potential dangers along their journey.

When the establishment's carousers saw them enter, everything fell silent, and all eyes turned towards them. Atram and his companion strode confidently towards the bar, ignoring the curious glances and whispered comments that followed in their wake. The innkeeper, a grizzled old man with a thick beard and a scattered array of missing teeth, eyed them warily as they approached. "What'll it be?" he grumbled in a gravelly voice.

"Greetings, good man, I'd like a room for two and a plate of whatever is brewing inside the kitchen," Geralt said as pleasantly as he could and placed a couple of orens on the counter.

The old man stared daggers at Geralt for a moment before Atram's 'persuasive' appearance at his side seemed to calm him down.

"Very well, we have a room available, and the kitchen is still serving stew," the innkeeper said begrudgingly, scooping the coins in his hand. Geralt nodded his thanks and followed Atram to one of the tables.

On their way there, Atram overheard one of the men playing cards. "Bleeding mutants, the plague upon them! Mingling with us good folk."

He simply scoffed at the absurdity of the man's words. Witchers contracting a disease? That'll be the day pigs fly.

They found a quiet corner to sit in, and Geralt loosened his cloak, hanging it over the fire to dry.

Atram leaned at the table and spoke, "Not only are they xenophobic, they are uneducated too!"

Geralt shrugged his shoulders. "Usually these two go together. They are prejudiced because they don't know any better."

"Still, don't they realize that without witchers, they would be overrun by monsters?" Atram continued, with frustration evident in his voice.

Geralt nodded in agreement, taking a sip from his flask. "But they don't see it that way. To them, we're just freaks with strange powers."

"And you work for them? I admire your patience."

Geralt tapped his index finger on the wooden table. "It's the same story wherever you go. You'll learn to tolerate it over time," he said, meeting Atram's gaze with a sense of conviction. "But I don't work for them; I simply tolerate their existence. I hunt a monster, dispel a curse, collect my reward, and move on."

Atram clicked his tongue in annoyance, the corner of his cheek twitching upward to meet his eye. "Still, It'll take a long time, if ever, for me to accept such a thing. I didn't bleed my body to the bone every day for years, just for an ignorant nobody to slant my person." 

Geralt chose to remain silent. Although he sympathized with Atram's frustration, he knew that most people just didn't understand or didn't want to. They preferred to remain ignorant of the world's dangers, and only when the monsters scratched their claws at their doors did they turn to the so-called 'mutants'. That was a fact Atram would have to accept, whether he liked it or not.

Not long after, a young woman barely out of adolescence approached them, balancing two plates in her hands. She boasted a charmingly freckled face and striking blue eyes that shimmered like crystallized diamonds in the light. Apart from that, she donned a modest white dress with an apron draped over it, her chestnut hair fashioned into a messy bun.

"Greetings, master witchers," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I am the innkeeper's daughter, Elsa." She added, shaking as she placed the plates of warm stew on their table. "I-if you need anything else, don't hesitate to call for me." With that, she scurried off to attend to other customers.

Atram glanced at Geralt, the reddish tint in his eyes darkening into a deep shade of crimson. "Did you notice her arms?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I did," Geralt responded, his tone matching Atram's intensity as he clutched his medallion.