602 Scotti-Skelligan Celebration!

With the battle over Cerys ordered their boats to look for survivors and to take anything valuable floating in the water. After fishing out all the warriors from the destroyed longboats and anything light enough to float, she had her men throw over an anchor tied to an empty barrel... When asked about it she said it was to mark where the shipwrecked Nilfgaardian fleet was, in case they wished to paw through it for valuables at a later date.

After that, it was a jolly ride back to Kaer Trolde, many Skellige folk songs we sung as a few of the men started drinking before they were even on land. The Prospects didn't elect to join in due to their masks but Kuretz and a few participated in the singing. Reima had unfortunately pulled Solaire along to get destroyed with alcohol, almost carrying the sunbro with the Skelligan warriors to the longhouse were drinks were being liberally served.

What followed was an incredibly rowdy party with the two gods being challenged to fist fights and drinking contests. Geralt and Yen were nowhere to be seen after the first couple of rounds while Quelana made sure Priscilla didn't get into any trouble, being in-human was always a hazard. Undyne eventually decided to join in, throwing off her helmet and causing those nearby to look at her with wide eyes, not having expected her to be some kind of monster. Though, with how Reima's group didn't react, they decided to just go with the flow and served her a drink.

Dusk was happily telling stories of her old home Oolacile to an eagerly listening crowd of older men, they were happy to hear of new lands they'd never been to before and saddened by the fate it'd apparently suffered. Though her praising Reima afterwards for cleansing it made them see him in a different light, even when compared to the stories of him tearing apart the Nilfgaardian fleet.

In attention to this, Rhea was worse than even Dusk, after a drink or two beginning to drunkenly ramble about how the "Two Gods" had saved her from the "Underworld" by fighting off armies of skeletons and the God of the Death. The culture of Skellige always valued a good yarn, which in common tongue means "Story", the fantasy-like tales being spouted by Rhea really got their hackles up and their blood boiling. It was no surprise when by the end of the night she was the most popular person there, even more so than the Jarl.

Ciri spent most of the night reacquainting with old friends that she'd not seen in numerous years, having initially grown up in Skellige. In all honesty, she preferred being here than in Cintra, everything was done for "Posterity", so the future generation can flourish wish her being groomed as it's eventually queen. She used to long for the time she'd spent in Skellige, with Hjalmar and everyone else. The lack of etiquette and relaxed attitude of the culture appealed to someone like her greatly.

Hjalmar jabs her with his elbow, "What's wrong wit' ye Ciri? Somethin' on your mind?" he asks, taking another sip from his drink.

She shakes her head, "No, just reminiscing the time I'd spent here as a child." she says.

Hjalmar laughs and nods, "I'm wit' ya, us and the lads playin' around'n getting in trouble was fun... You, err... Happy, now?" he asks awkwardly, an old memory playing itself in his mind.

Ciri knows exactly what he means and smiles, "I, I am." he says, hesitating at her answer for a moment.

Hjalmar "That's good, I myself have found a lass who makes me want to fight for 'er, only recently proven to my father and hers that I'm worthy for her... Bringin' back a Frost Giants head'll do that!"

Ciri claps him on the shoulder and gratulates him for accomplishing such a feat, all the while being unsure how to respond to it. She was happy he'd found someone but felt awkward trying to broach the subject, feeling as if she were prying, despite them both being childhood friends. "Geralt told me that he'd helped you with the Giant, reckon you could've done it without a Witcher helping you?" she asks, changing the subject.

Hjalmar shakes his head, "No way, without Geralt I'd be nothin' but red paste on the rocks and stock for its cauldron. After fighting the thing I'd say leave the monster fightin' to the Witchers!"

A nearby man raises his drink and yells "To the Witchers!", which is echoed by the rest of the room like a wave through a stadium. Hjalmar and Ciri laugh, raising their drinks and mimicking them.

Hjalmar "So, who's the lucky chap who's caught your eye Ciri?" he asks, glancing at a few of the Prospects before landing on Solaire and Reima. "One o' them I bet." he says with a smug grin.

Ciri punches him on the arm, "None of your business." she states.

Hjalmar shrugs and nods, "Well, whichever one it is, I won't be talking on your behalf, I'd be lucky if they just kicked my arse." he says with a laugh.

Ciri "I'm stronger than you are, who'd need you to speak for them... Plus, Geralt will probably do it anyway." she mutters, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she thinks about it.

Hjalmar "What you talkin? You may be able to teleport around like a skittish bird but I'd still best ye'." he says, the alcohol getting the better of him.

Ciri shakes her head, "Just stick to fighting regular folk, you'll live longer that way."

Hjalmar nods, "Yeah, yeah. I've learned that lesson already." he says thinking about the Wild Hunt and taking another drink.

Please go to

to read the latest chapters for free