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Michal stepped out of the corridor that led down to the lair, peering into the larger cavern. He glanced over and raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Eryk for confirmation.
The Cat signed a few quick gestures. Stone, free, 20, time.
Michal nodded and glanced at the newly moving Witchers. “Need me to head up and ask for medical? Or should we wait until everybody’s awake?”
That made everyone pause for a moment, as they thought about what was happening.
It did seem rather probable that they’d be taking ten Witchers and a probably-angry not-Witcher out of this cavern at some time in the not-so-distant future.
Well. Okay then.
Byrtel waved one hand. “I’ll head up and see what they think we should do, give ‘em an update. All this underground is giving me a headache.”
And with that he was gone, eagerly trotting out the entrance and toward the surface. Definitely wasn’t interested in staying down in the tunnels.
Michal nodded. “I’ll go let the other two know, and stay down by the monster for warning. Looks like the light that signals letting someone free starts with the monster.”
Eryk nodded and watched him head back down the passage to the creature’s lair.
It was a nice view.
Nolyn leaned their shoulders together and joined him.
He heard Jöel snickering softly at them and turned to stick out his tongue, because he was completely mature thank you very much. Which meant he knew exactly when it was alright to act childish.
He tugged Nolyn with him as he began to pace through the cavern again, looking at the various figures. “You’re a little better at styles of clothes than I am. I’m trying to figure out what order they’re going to be in. What order they got petrified in.”
Nolyn made a thoughtful sound and followed.
“Oldest clothes, I’m thinking there,” Eryk gestured to the massive figure of the Bear that Bran was still standing near, “and him,” he pointed to someone who looked like they were dressed right out of an ancient tapestry, “and this one, but it’s hard to tell. He’s not a Witcher, or at least he isn’t wearing any armor, and his clothes are from somewhere else.”
“South,” Nolyn replied, tilting his head a little. “Not old Nilfgaardian. But similar.” Nolyn frowned slightly. “Maybe near mountains,” he murmured.
Eryk nodded. Then he paced over to another figure wearing what looked like Cat armor that was particularly old. “Him too,” he said quietly, looking at the tightly angry features of the Witcher, and then glancing at Nolyn. “Also reminder to *not* be close to him when he starts moving, I think it won’t be pretty.”
Nolyn nodded, understanding, and wandered over to another Witcher, not too far away. He had the tightly twisted braids and the bandoliers of potions that marked most Manticores. “The clothing is almost Zerrikanian so it’s hard to tell, but I think he’s the next youngest.”
“These two have similar eras of dress,” the newest Witcher who Eryk suddenly realized he hadn’t asked to meet yet, offered from one side.
He smiled faintly at whatever Eryk’s face and scent were doing. “Raven,” he offered. “Of the Griffins.”
Eryk grinned, seeing the amusement returned in Witcher-yellow eyes. A Griffin named Raven was almost as funny as a king named Griffin.
Then he realized that Nolyn’s scent was doing something a little funny. Like a crab walk dance between awe and embarrassment.
He slid his arm around Nolyn’s waist, hoping to comfort him a little as the his lover cleared his throat. “I’ve… heard a lot about you, Master Raven,” he said, voice only sounding a little shaky to Eryk because he knew him so well.
Ah. Stories of past Witchers, same as with Schrödinger, he thought, as the new Griffin gently admonished Nolyn to just call him Raven.
Wait.
Eryk frowned, glancing around the room.
Some of these Witchers were old. And before the Wolflands had been around, lots of Witchers died or vanished on the path.
Were all of these Witchers going to be someone with some sort of impressive stories about them?
They couldn’t all be that interesting.
Michal’s alert whistle sounded again. The Witchers all carefully backed away from the statues, waiting as the misty light illuminated another frozen fighter.
He stumbled as he came free of being stone, and turned in a slow, wary circle, looking suspiciously at all of the Witchers and statues in a cavern lit by a single candle-
Okay, thinking about it like that it was suspicious as hell.
“Ari,” Schrödinger breathed, and the new Witcher turned, easy and graceful, and lovely, sword still in his hands.
“Kerou,” he blurted, sounding excited. He tossed something to the other Cat, who caught it easily, bare handed.
A silver dagger.
Holy shit. Paranoia was healthy, and apparently it was a whole lot worse in the past.
The two no-longer-stone Cats were hugging and talking over the top of each other in a really weird bastard child of Skelliger and Toussainti, which was making him a little dizzy to listen to.
But the general feeling seemed to be “missed you, same, excitement”.
Eryk hoped that everyone meeting wasn’t like this.
The multi-language chatter they were doing was going to make him queasy in a minute.
Nolyn slid an arm around his waist and crooned gently against his hair, soothing him.
He sighed, softly, tension leaving his muscles a little.
And then he caught Raven’s speculative smile.
He flushed a little and stuck his tongue out at the older Witcher, settling against Nolyn more firmly.
He didn’t care what the world had been like in the past.
This was how the world was now and he wasn’t going to stop cuddling his Griffin for anybody.