Hero of Ferelden (Male Human Noble, Warrior with Sword/Shield) vs Geralt of Rivia

The Sorcerer took a step back. Geralt tensed, ready to pounce and deliver a blow. But Vilgefortz did not raise his hand, he stretched it a little to one side. Suddenly, in his hand, materialized a thick staff, about six feet long.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘what bothers you in a reasonable assessment of a situation. I know it is complicated and difficult to predict the future, your right. This is your arrogance, Geralt. I’ll undo your arrogance. I’ll undo it with this wand here.’

The witcher narrowed his eyes, lifting his blade slightly.

‘I tremble with anticipation.’

Some weeks later, cured thanks to the efforts of the Dryads and the water of Brokilon forest, Geralt reflected on the mistakes made during the fight. He came to the conclusion that he had not made any. The only error he committed was before the fight. He should have fled before the fighting began.

The Sorcerer was fast, the wand in his hand flashed like lightning. Greater was the astonishment of Geralt, when the wand rang against his sword. But there was no time to wonder. Vilgefortz attacked, the witcher had to dodge and squirm in evasion. He was afraid of parrying with his sword. The wand was made of iron and magic.

Four times he found himself in a position to counter attack and strike. Four times he struck a blow. In the head, neck, arm and in the thigh. Each of the blows would be fatal. But each was parried.

No man would be able to parry those blows. Geralt started to understand little by little. But it was too late.

He saw the blow that the sorcerer struck him. The impact threw him against the wall. He pushed with his back, failed to make a jump, to make a feint, the stroke had deprived him of breath. He received a second hit in the shoulder, flew back again, hitting his head against the pillar, against the chest of a caryatid. Vilgefortz turned away in a deft leap, he waved his stick and punched him in the stomach, below the ribs. Hard. Geralt doubled over and was struck on the side of the head. His knees weakened below him suddenly and he fell. And that was the end of the fight. In essence.

Clumsily he tried to shield himself with his sword. The blade pierced the wall and the pilaster, he erupted in a groan vibrant and clear. He protected his head with his right hand, the staff fell and broke his forearm. The pain blinded him completely.

‘I could ruin your brain through your ears.’ Vilgefortz said from far away. ‘But this is a lesson. You made a mistake, witcher. You have confused the surface of a pond as the sky with stars at night. Oh, did you vomit? Good. Brain injury. Do you bleed from the nose? Great. So, I’ll see you. Someday. Maybe.’

He saw nothing and heard nothing. Sinking, sinking into something warm. He thought that Vilgefortz had gone. He was surprised, then, when his leg felt the vengeance of the iron wand, shattering his femur.

Any following blows, even if they occurred, he could not remember.

‘The Druid Circle in Kovir,’ the wizard took a moment ‘found me in the gutter in Lan Exeter. They took me in and educated me. As a druid, of course. You know what a druid is? They are tramps, that walk through the world and kneel before the sacred oaks.’

The witcher stayed silent.

‘And then,’ continued Vilgefortz ‘during some druidic rituals my talents surfaced. Talents that clearly and without a doubt allowed them to determine my origins. I was conceived, of course, by accident, by two people, of whom at least one of them was a sorcerer.’

Geralt was silent.

‘The druid who discovered my humble abilities, of course, had fortuitously met a sorcerer.’ Vilgefortz calmly went on. ‘And he generously offered me an education and development and the prospect of joining the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.’

‘And you,’ said the witcher hollowly ‘accepted the offer.’

‘No.’ Vilgefortz voice became increasingly cold and unpleasant. ‘I rejected it in a less than polite, even rude way. I unloaded all of my rage on him. I wanted him to feel guilty, him and all his magical brotherhood. Guilty, for the gutter in Lan Exeter, guilty for one or two rogue sorcerers. The sorcerer, it was clear, neither understood nor was he bothered by what I said then. He shrugged and walked away, thus marking himself like all of his brethren, insensitive, arrogant, bastards worthy of the highest contempt.’

Geralt remained silent.

‘I was sick of the druids already.’ continued Vilgefortz sincerely. ‘So I left the sacred oak trees and went out into the world. I did many things. So I am ashamed of still to this day. I finally became a soldier for hire. My life unfolded as you can imagine, as a stereotype. A victorious soldier, a beaten soldier, a marauder, robber, rapist, murderer, and finally a fleeing fugitive to the end of the world from the noose. I ran away to the end of the world.