Librarian Twilight Tries To Befriend A Newcomer To Equestria But He's Geralt The White Wolf And Doesn't Really Get Friendship

by SoloBrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Comedy, Other, Adventure, Equestria Girls, Sex, Sunset Shimmer, Profanity, Random, Violence, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Human
Length: 21550

Geralt of Rivia finds himself in the Everfree Forest, with little idea of how he came to be there. Realizing he's far from The Continent, the White Wolf sets out to do what he always does - seek witcher's work. Boy is he in for a surprise.

Cover art courtesy of Taggerung

And yes that's Geralt in Equestria Girl style for infinite justice

Note: Familiarity with The Witcher series is probably not necessary for enjoyment of this fic. There are a lot of references to events from the books (Especially Sword of Destiny), but the important ones are explained anyway.

Geralt of Rivia had a complicated life on The Continent. Navigating difficult political situations, getting shorted by his clients, slaying monsters, and living as an outcast had made things challenging for the witcher.

But now, Geralt has found himself in a foreign land, with foreign customs and behavior. Seeking to do what he has always done – find witcher's work slaying monsters – Geralt is about to discover just how simple things can become. And how challenging the simplest of things can really be.

Friendship. I'm talking about friendship. It's simple, but it's challenging, get it? Don't overthink this. The comedy and random tags exist for a reason. Also, sex tag is for references to sex, not because of actual sex. Get your heads out of the gutter.

Published 2018-04-12 18:20:06 UTC
Last updated 2020-01-04 11:25:06 UTC

Witcher Geralt Didn't Drink THAT Much Last Night

In a dark corner of a dark forest, there awoke a curiousity. A pony, far from civilized lands. A pony who did not know he was a pony, or how he came to be a pony, or indeed how to be a proper pony. But he needn't fret, since he would not, indeed, be a pony for long.

Geralt fretted. Geralt fretted deeply. The witcher groaned, rubbing his head.

"Hell of a hangover," remarked the bleary pony, "I thought I'd cut myself off early, too..."

Grass. The scent of grass and dirt. Geralt's feline eyes snapped open, and he glanced around hurriedly. Seeing no threats, he paused, listening and smelling for signs of disturbance. Detecting nothing, Geralt carefully rose to his feet...

... only to fall on his rump.

"Oof! What the devil? Did I throw my... back... out?"

Geralt paused in his speculations to stare at his feet. No, not feet; hooves. Carefully, slowly, the witcher analyzed every inch of his body.

I'm... a pony. I've been turned into a pony. With...

Geralt carefully felt his facial features.

... abnormally large eyes. Hmm, my hair's the same... and my gear's been shrunk and refitted to match my equine form.

Geralt drew a deep, slow breath, and sighed.

Guess I pissed off Yen again. Damnit, I look like the stuffed unicorn we had.

Geralt paused, and gently felt his forehead.

Nope, no horn. So much for that.

Geralt groaned, and slowly rose to his hooves, shaking a bit where he stood.

And here I thought balancing on four legs would be easier than two. Alright... now where am I?

Geralt glanced around at the trees, the shrubs, and the sky.

Let's see... definitely not Temeria... not Nilfgaard...

The more Geralt surveyed the plants, the more he came to one, inescapable conclusion.

"... This isn't the continent. Hell, it's not even the Skellige Isles."

How the hell did I end up off of the continent? Not even Yen could teleport me THAT far, even if she was furious. I think.

The witcher grimaced and rubbed his head, hoping that he could grasp some memory of the night before, but to no avail.

Damnit. Nothing to be done for it; I should get out of here and look for civilization. Assuming this land is even settled...

With that optimistic thought, the witcher unsteadily trotted through the forest. He carefully analyzed the plants as he did so, and caught sight of small animals - rodents, birds, snakes, and other vermin - and noted mentally that they were species familiar to him.

Hmm... things here aren't as different as I'd assumed. Did I end up in some quiet, bizarre corner of Temeria, perhaps?

Those thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt by the sudden vibration of the medallion around his neck. Geralt glanced around, and his gaze came to rest on the blue flowers in his path. As he leaned towards them, the medallion's agitation increased.

Magic. Hrn. Best avoid these, then. Definitely not a species I recognize. Best to remember it; it may be useful for alchemy, or it may be a hazard. If there's a local cunning wench or wizard, I can ask about it.

Geralt carefully cut a path around the blue flowers, and got fully fifty paces further before his medallion hummed again - but not before his ears warned him of the monster's approach.

Strange. Is that monster moving through a timber pile...? Or is it making that sound?

Geralt hesitated, straining to listen. There was a definite clattering of sticks and logs, but though he very briefly entertained the idea of a Leshen or other relict, he quickly discarded the idea. Still, whatever approached sounded distinctly unnatural. He carefully crept backwards into the bushes, not eager to be seen, only to hear a growl emit from behind him.

The pounce was sluggish, even by Geralt's standards. The witcher, despite his unfamiliar form, had hopped forward and spun on a hoof, wheeling to face the new threat, before it had even left the ground. Instinctively, without a moment to consider the uselessness of the gesture, the witcher reached for the silver sword on his back, thanking his lucky stars he'd decided to wear both today, rather than leaving the silver with Roach as he often did. The sword sang from its sheath, and the witcher squared off with the creature before him before realizing what had happened.

I'm human again.

What the hell?

The creature crept out of the bush towards him, and Geralt got his first proper look at the monster; some sort of wolf-like creature, made entirely of branches, logs, and brambles. It snapped its jaws menacingly, until it slowly raised its head to realize that the witcher stood more than twice its height.

Geralt smiled horribly, shifting his silver sword in his grip and circling.

"Thought you had a helpless pony, but now that you've a man to contend with you've lost your nerve? Feel free to run; my legs could use a stretch."

The creature hesitated and took a step backwards, but Geralt knew it was just stalling. His smile grew wider as he heard another of the creatures creep behind him. In one fluid motion, just as he heard it leave the ground, he spun, arcing the flashing silver through the air and the creature as one, splitting it apart straight through the jaw. Lifeless lumber clattered to the ground as the witcher was already upon the first wolf, hacking its head from its shoulder before it could process the death of its counterpart.

The witcher swung his head left and right; not to look, but to listen.

Five. No, six. Six more. They've picked the wrong fight.

Not eager to blunt his silver sword against hard timber, the witcher sheathed his weapon in anticipation of drawing his steel sword, only to find himself on the ground. Confused, helpless at a critical moment, the witcher rolled, feeling the sluggish and awkward nature of the motion. He saw vicious green eyes emerge from the forest first, which bounded towards him with ferocious speed.

Pony again... silver! The silver restores me to my true form! I've become a shapeshifter!

Geralt let out a leonine roar as he whisked his silver sword back out of its sheath, swinging from his back on the ground and slamming it down on the creature's head, which split in half. The rest of the creature's body blasted apart from the shockwave. Geralt rolled to his knees and a hand, but too late; another of the wooden creatures had bitten into his ankle, and yanked him hard, forcing him onto his belly. In a flash of inspiration, Geralt released his silver sword, and watched his leg suddenly grow smaller and shorter, zipping out of the creature's jaw.

Then the witcher grabbed his sword again, giving the creature a mighty kick to the face. The impact snapped the creature's wooden neck, sending it to the ground, lifeless.

"Come on, you bastards of pine and spruce. I'll need firewood for camp tonight."

Geralt heard another creature moving for his arms, and pulled them out of range at the last moment. His sword was under the creature, at a useless angle for a strike, so he leapt forward instead, tackling the creature and hauling it from its legs. He carried the momentum, driving it backwards until he shouldered it into a tree, smashing its back with a horrible snap. He pulled back just far enough for the creature to slide down, and then kicked it across its jaw, sending its head flying.

Slow, stupid, and fragile. If not for their numbers, these creatures would be easy for a strong-armed peasant to dispatch.

Two more of the creatures bounded at Geralt, one from the left, and the other from the right. Neither found their mark; the witcher swung his silver sword at the one on the right, catching it in midair and swatting it aside like a bug. The other slammed into an invisible shield, shattering itself, as the witcher held his hand up in the sign of Quen. The witcher slowly turned to face the remaining two, who seemed hesitant to charge him.

"Well? Come on; your friends are waiting for you in hell."

Geralt inched closer, waving his silver sword menacingly. The two wolves looked at each other, and to the witcher's surprise, approached him barking and snapping their jaws. The witcher considered, and then laughed, holding a hand aloft and weaving the sign of Aard. A shockwave ripped forward, hurling both wolves up and backwards, slamming into each other and a tree, falling in an quaint pile of firewood.

The witcher sighed, and gently loosed a small silver chain from his belt, and tied it around his wrist. Satisfied, he slowly sheathed his sword, and inspected his hands.

Still human. Alright, that's settled. Silver it is. If there are creatures like these running about, there's bound to be witcher's work in a nearby settlement.. if I can find a settlement.

Geralt considered for a moment, and then remembered a curious story about a cat and a fox. Smirking, he glanced over the trees in the area, and found a tall, strong-looking one, which he swiftly climbed. Scanning the horizon, he saw smoke in the distance.

There. North-northwest. Damnit, witcher, if you hadn't been so distracted by your transformation you'd be in civilization already. Could have even gotten paid to take out those things.

Geralt slid down the tree, and confidently started striding to his destination, but a loud rumbling behind him gave him pause. Slowly, he turned around, only to see the bodies of all of the wolves he had slain slowly pulling together in one gargantuan pile.

Oh. So that's how these fragile things survive.

Geralt strode up to the huge ball of timber, which was slowly taking the form of a wolf, with a sneer.

"I don't have time for this."

The creature slowly opened its eyes, only to see a witcher holding his hand up in the sign of Igni. Then, a bright flash, and nothing more.

Geralt rolled his eyes and set back off for the town, until he suddenly stopped, mouth agape.

"Timber... timber wolves? Did some insane mage make a monster out of a pun?"

That thought would plague the groaning witcher all the way to Ponyville.

Author's Note

Do you want to tell him about the buzzards who really buzz, or should I?

Witcher Geralt Must Be Dreaming

"I must be dreaming."

Geralt wasn't dreaming.

"This can't possibly be a town of intelligent ponies."

It was, in fact, a town of intelligent ponies.

"... done up in pastel colors and made in quaint peasant styles."

You get the idea.

The witcher shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the overly-pleasant visage, such a short distance from a fight for his life, refused to disappear. Pastel-colored ponies roamed about their quaint, colorful village of thatched huts, with brick and wooden structures plainly insight. No matter how much Geralt tried to deny them, his eyes dutifully reported these facts to him, along with the absence of gutters, beggars, shit-pots or animals streaming about. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, a well-organized, clean, and quiet village.

You've got to be kidding me. They're ponies. Like I was. Do humanoids just turn into ponies in this place? Is there some kind of curse?

Geralt stared at his medallion in disbelief, but it was still. Staring out over the village, he finally settled for huffing and heading down the slope that separated him from civilization.

At least there's a shot at getting witcher's work here... presuming these things even use money...

No sooner had Geralt stepped foot in the town than cries erupted from the residents. Ponies scampered to and fro, slamming doors and shutters. One or two fainted, only to be yanked inside or to get back up and bolt of their own accord. Geralt even noticed one pony go out of their way to yank in their welcome mat. The witcher stood perfectly still as all of this happened, a quiet irritation growing in him, but also a burning question.

Did I just see a pegasus?

The witcher played back his memory a few times, before nodding to himself on the empty street.

"Yep. That was a pegasus."

Joke's on you, Dandelion. You can call that lazy gelding whatever you like, but I got to see a real pegasus. Not to scale, though.

The witcher chuckled to himself on the empty street, shaking his head and wondering whether the ponies had fled because he was a witcher, because he looked human, or simply because he was large and carried weapons.

Guess guards will be on the way regardless. I should—

Geralt's senses picked up movement to his side, and he immediately glanced over to see a diminutive donkey slowly trodding towards one of the closed-up businesses. The donkey barely spared Geralt a glance, grumbling something, and his facial expression spoke of deep-seated irritation.

Geralt felt a deep kinship with this creature in that moment.

At least I can read their facial expressions. Might as well give language a shot.

"Hey, there. Do you understand me?"

The donkey paused to look at him, with some mixture of contempt and sheer crankiness.

"Yeeeeaaah, I understand you. Unfortunately."

Geralt's sharp hearing picked up the underlying grumbling, but he forced a smile on his face.

"Where am I? What land have I found myself in?"

"Ugh... this here's Equestria. Now, y'got any more dumb questions, or can I go buy my bread?"

Geralt pondered just letting the sourpuss go, but decided the donkey deserved a bit more trouble for his attitude.

"Where can I go to ask about witcher's work? Monster-hunting, that sort of thing? Who's in charge around here?"

The donkey gave a truly exaggerated and prolonged eyeroll and groaned before stabbing a hoof in the direction of a mountain. Geralt squinted, and realized there was some kind of huge crystal structure between them and the mountain. He looked back to thank the donkey, but saw that he had already started storming off. With a shrug, the witcher strode through the town towards the structure. As he drew closer, he saw that it was actually some kind of giant crystal castle in the shape of a tree, and found himself plagued by more and more questions.

Why a tree?

Why crystal?

Why is it so incredibly gaudy?

... did it grow from a seed like a regular tree, or did they actually take the time to carve that thing?

Most of all, however, the witcher wondered whether or not the fact that he had caused a panic in the town would cause whoever was in charge here to take umbrage with him. Umbrage wasn't a good thing to have taken with you when you intended to get paid for a job; it was hard enough getting coin for a hard day's work without a pissed-off client.

The witcher was not fated to make it to the crystal castle so easily, however, for just as he rounded the final corner to reach his destination, he came face to face with a bright-pink pony with a magenta mane. She gasped loudly as she saw him, and Geralt braced himself for screaming or flight.

Alas, nothing so simple could befall our witcher.

"You're NEW! And you're all human andnotatallapony whichmeansyoudidn'tcomethroughtheportal andmusthavecomeviateleportationfromanotherdimensionthatisn't thehumanworldweknowwhichmeansyou'reprobablyreallyconfused andnothinghelpssomebodygettheirbearingsbetterthana..."

Geralt took a halting step backward, holding out a hand as the pink pony took a deep breath.

"Whoa, there, are you alr—"

"PARTY!"

Geralt blinked rapidly, confused to the point of stupefication.

"... What?"

The pink pony took a rapid step forward, and the witcher instinctively reached for his sword, stopping short of actually grasping the hilt, in terrible confusion, glancing around for any clue as to the context of the situation. The pink pony paused suddenly, rubbing her chin with her hoof contemplatively.

"But, do you like parties? Are you a no-party kind of pon—er, person?"

Geralt considered the choice before him, rapidly trying to figure out whether saying he was, in fact, a no-party-pony would be more suicidal than agreeing to whatever... this was.

Our witcher chose a third option, weaving the sign of Axii.

"Calm down, little pink one. I just need some help getting my bearings in this town."

The pink pony stared at him for several seconds, completely unmoving. Geralt worried he had made a grave mistake, and somehow broken whatever violent energy kept the pony alive. Then she mumbled something.

"Do you like parties?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Do you... like parties?"

Geralt blinked a few times. Usually, Axii compelled someone to obey or assist him, but perhaps the sign had failed; this creature must have had a stronger will than he'd supposed.

Or, parties were extremely important to them. But that seemed fairly absurd. Then again... this was a talking pony demanding to know if he liked parties.

"I... don't object to them."

"Oooh? And why's that?"

Geralt locked eyes with the pony, unsure of how to answer. Finally, he decided to lean towards truth.

"A gathering can be a nice break from the road, especially if the food is decent—"

"THEN YOU GET A WELCOME PARTY AFTER ALL!"

"Wait, what are—"

Alas, indeed, for not even our valiant witcher's enhanced reflexes could save him from being swept up by the frenetic pink party-pony and hauled off to god-knows-where.

Author's Note

I had no idea that this chapter would go in this direction.

I have no idea where Pinkie's taken Geralt.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Let's call it 'method writing' or something, so I don't look like an idiot. Our secret.

Witcher Geralt Learns To Love Apples

Apples. Apple cider, apple fritters, baked apples... almost everything edible here is made of apples. That's what I get for landing in a town of herbivores, I guess.

Geralt had to admit that Pinkie Pie - so he had learned the pink mare was named - threw a good party. The town square was alive with music and dancing folk, and the ponies who had once fled from him now reveled near him without a second thought.

At first, the ponies had crowded Geralt with questions, which he had hastily and curtly answered while trying to navigate to the buffet. Pinkie had put an end to that and distracted the ponies with games, and Geralt had descended upon the table with a mind not unlike ghouls on a mass grave.

Alas, between daffodil sandwiches, dandelion salads, clover-and-lemon pie, and so on, Geralt had struggled to find something he could safely use to break his fast. He had finally given up on the food for the time being and navigated to the nearest keg, because even an herbivorous species must enjoy a good beer, he figured.

He was half-right. And, being fair, warm, fresh apple cider was hardly something a road-worn witcher would turn their nose up at. Spying his preference for apples over the other fare, Pinkie had had another table of food brought, faster than the witcher could have unbuckled his boots, this one laden with apple treats he actually recognized.

It seems I owe gratitude to this 'Pinkie'. These ponies seem to know what a human is, and I haven't disabused them of the notion, yet. It's like stumbling across a group of merry halflings, in more ways than one.

Geralt took another idle bite of his baked apple, watching the party's goings-on, and got the sense he was being watched. Checking to his sides, he saw a small yellow pegasus with a pink mane and mark on her haunches watching him from nearby.

Hah! I knew I'd seen a pegasus before. I wonder if those tiny wings actually enable flight.

The small pegasus leaned forward slightly and spoke to the witcher.

"Um, excuse me, sir, but... are you a carnivore?"

Geralt briefly considered lying about his eating habits, given that he had found himself exclusively surrounded by herbivores, but thought better of it. He discreetly shrugged his shoulder, repositioning his swords where he could reach them more easily; the subconscious reflex of a witcher that had faced many unexpected battles.

"Humans eat both plants and meat, but can't process roughage like hay or grass, and many flowers are toxic."

Geralt had been careful not to refer to himself as human, nor to deny it outright.

I'd like for the charade to go on a bit longer before risking everyone bolting to their houses again.

For her part, the small pegasus mare just nodded understandingly.

"I take care of a lot of meat-eating animals, you know. If you want, I can catch some fish for you."

Geralt felt something between insult and shame at having such a dainty creature offer to hunt for him, but he also felt a deep sense of gratitude. Here, thought the witcher, I am actually welcome, it seems.

Geralt gave a shake of his head, but he smiled – not a horrible, violent smile, or a sarcastic one, as the witcher was prone to, but a genuine smile. The witcher did not know it, but it brightened his countenance considerably.

"No, thank you, miss. I can certainly fish for my own supper, and apples are still a far sight better than what I often make do with. But I do appreciate the offer. Your village's hospitality has been a welcome surprise, certainly. In case Pinkie has not told you, my name is Geralt."

The witcher knelt down to offer a hand to shake, as he'd seen ponies doing something similar at the party, and was rewarded with a gentle hoof motion.

"Fluttershy."

As he rose, Geralt noticed a white unicorn approaching. He desperately struggled to throttle memories of Yen and her stupid stuffed unicorn.

A unicorn! A real unicorn! She can more than likely get me back home.

Geralt gave a curt nod and a slightly incline of his back, smirking as he did so. The rumor through the land had been that Geralt bowed before no one, but that was hardly true; Geralt had bowed, even knelt before royalty before, especially when family was involved. He simply refused to give respect where it was demanded and not earned; the people of this village had done enough to earn tentative respect from the witcher immediately.

For her part, the unicorn blushed and grinned, giving a very impressive bow of her own, sweeping her right hoof across her chest and dipping her head low, as though the two were about to dance.

Geralt hoped very deeply the two were not about to dance.

The unicorn rose and spoke to him in a smooth, playful timbre.

"Greetings, darling. Geralt of Rivia, correct?"

"Correct."

Geralt immediately regretted his tendence towards curt, borderline aggressive statements, as it made him feel like a boor where this unicorn was clearly trying to be kind. Thankfully, she seemed undeterred.

"I've never heard of Rivia, darling. Is that where you got that smashing outfit?"

Geralt looked down to the nice linen jacket he wore over his maille armor. It was mostly black, with some silver trim in places, and had been a matter of pride for him back in civilization – despite Dandelion's insistence that Geralt couldn't pick out a decent outfit in the middle of a fine tailor's.

Joke's on you again, bard.

"No, miss. I purchased this in Novigrad, far from my homeland. But tell me, to whom do I speak?"

Damnit, should have said 'who graces me with their presence' or some such hogwash. Witcher, you've stood in royal audiences dozens of times, how is it you've learned nothing?

Still the unicorn lass seemed unbothered by his manners.

"I am Rarity, fashionista nonpareil, owner of the Carousel Boutique. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Geralt."

The unicorn proffered a hoof, which the witcher quickly knelt down to shake, silently wondering why or how ponies could have invented such a gesture in the first place. As he released her and stood up, he noted something like faint disappointment on her features, but it quickly vanished as she spoke again.

"So, Geralt, if you've ever need of a new outfit, you know where to go! And I do see you've suffered from some scrapes and so on in the Everfree Forest; I'd be glad to mend those for you for free, if you'll stop in for a fitting."

For free? A proper mending usually costs a half-dozen crowns, especially for work this fine...

"Thank you, Rarity. I may take you up on that. It's very generous of you."

Rarity smiled knowingly, and with another short bow, she parted ways to mingle with the crowd. Geralt turned over what had happened in his mind.

She's a business-owner... did she approach me to network?

Geralt laughed to no one in particular, and took another bite of his apple.

Author's Note

Wherein Geralt discovers some people are actually @#$@ing reasonable, and it shakes the foundation of his entire worldview.

Geralt's dealt with a lot of nonhuman races in the past, but the ponies' society is so similar to humans in so many superficial ways that it's a real culture shock. The only groups he's met in the books that are generally kind and welcoming are those with major nationalist/civic pride in their hospitality – usually because they want to show they're better than humans. It's a weird thing to run into people who are just sincerely nice.

Witcher Geralt Actually Gets Paid

"I'm told you've had monster troubles."

The witcher looked the elderly stallion up and down. Ornery Coot lived up to his name, rocking his wheelchair, chewing over a piece of straw, and looking like the entire world had done him wrong.

"Yeah, ya heard darned right, sonny! I got monster problems alright!"

The witcher paused, but Ornery didn't elaborate. With a sigh, the witcher pressed.

"I'm a witcher. Monsters are my specialty. Tell me about these problems, and I can handle them for you – though not for free."

The stallion eyed him like something foul a cat had dragged in. The witcher was accustomed to that look.

"Eh? Not for free? Izzat what you just said?"

Geralt gave a curt nod, and opened his mouth to explain before the stallion cut him off.

"What do you take me for, huh? Huh? Some kinda freeloader? A damsel in distress? Some sorta no-good flea-bitten two-timing city boy? Eh? Eh? Izzat it?"

Geralt took a step back and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"No, I just—"

"Look around, sonny! Ain't a town for miles! Don't take me for some short-shriftin' businesspony!"

"I'd never—businesspony?"

"Aye, what do I look like to you, a hippogryph?"

Geralt just reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Look, just tell me about the monster you're having trouble with."

"Alright, alright. It's like this. Every couple'o'days, a darned manticore comes prowlin' around, stealin' my veggies. Do you have any idea how hard I work to cultivate those veggies, hrmm? City-boy?"

Geralt bit back an objection to the appellation of 'city-boy', and had a charming memory of his mentor, Vesemir, calling him the same. Instead, he tried for an amiable smile; the ponies seemed fond of that.

"Yeah, I know how much work it takes to raise veggies. I've had to cultivate herbs before."

Ornery eyed him appraisingly, seeming to see him in a new light.

"Oh? That right?"

Geralt nodded.

"My profession requires that I study alchemy. I've had occasion to raise my own plants in the past."

"Well. Good, then. You know how serious this situation is."

Hardly sounds like a life-threatening ordeal, except...

"This manticore you speak of. The ones in my homeland look like large lions, with giant bat wings and a scorpion's tail. That right?"

"Yep, that's it, sonny. You know your manticores."

Great.

"I've dealt with three in the past. I know my way around a manticore, but I'll still need time to prepare. Just one question; do you have any idea why a manticore would be stealing vegetables? They eat meat."

"I had the same thought, sonny! No idea. Never seen a manticore act like that before - heck, ain't ever seen a manticore before at all."

Geralt nodded, and set off to begin his preparation.

So not just a manticore, but one behaving strangely, even for this place. Great. And here I was hoping the manticores here were herbivores, or something.

Geralt returned to Ponyville and headed straight for the large crystal tower he had originally been directed to. He now knew this was the town's library, and that the town's sovereign, one Princess Sparkle, was absent on some adventure.

No doubt an adventure that includes an armed escort and a minimum of danger for their dainty princess.

Within the library, Geralt pored over tomes about alchemy, about monsters, about anything relevant to manticores. Out of curiosity, he also looked up the strange blue plant he had encountered before, and discovered it was called 'poison joke' - the details of which were in a tome written by none other than Princess Sparkle herself.

Hmm. A sovereign with a flair for the academic, I see. That's refreshing.

The notes on manticores indicated they were much the same as those found in his homeland, and so Geralt began laying out ingredients for a weapon oil, as well as measuring out ingredients for a few bombs.

My supplies are limited, and I've no assurances I can find the rarer ingredients anywhere in this land. From what the locals told me, I'm definitely off-continent. I'll have to be careful what contracts I take on.

Geralt was lost in the process of meticulously constructing his third grenade when he heard the library door open and shut. Glancing aside, he saw an unassuming-looking purple unicorn – little larger than most mares, he thought – stride in. Barely sparing her a glance, he continued his preparations until she strode up to him.

"Hello, sir! Pinkie told me about you - Geralt, right? Can I help you with anything?"

"Not unless you know a good source of rebis I can find locally."

"Sure! Taraxacum carnivorous, the pony-biting dandelion near the edge of the Everfree Forest. There's some not far from here."

The witcher paused, and smiled despite himself, looking over to the pony. To his surprise, he saw she sported wings in addition to her horn.

Guess there are more pony species than I realized.

"I hadn't expected to meet a fellow alchemist here. Thank you. To whom—"

The witcher remembered his prior foul-up with Rarity, and smirked.

"who graces me with their presence?"

The unicorn-pegasus-pony flushed slightly and shook her head.

"I'm the librarian here. Twilight."

To the witcher's surprise, she didn't proffer a hoof for shaking, so he just gave her a courteous nod instead.

"Geralt of Rivia, witcher."

Twilight's countenance lit up excitedly.

"A witcher? What's that?"

Geralt struggled to think of how to present the profession to one who had never heard of it. He had been prepared for prejudice and mistreatment; total ignorance and acceptance was something he hadn't faced before.

"Er... a sort of mutant. We begin as young boys, and become witchers through an alchemical process. It helps us in our job of protecting the innocent from monsters. Our name refers to our use of sorcery; we have access to some limited spells, which we call signs. We can use them to bewitch individuals, to make them leave us alone or confuse them; since witchers are often the subject of scorn, but we try to avoid violence with humans, it comes up often. And so the name has stuck."

Geralt almost halted his explanation several times, but Twilight's unending enthusiasm and wide smile pushed him forward. At the end, Twilight just nodded excitedly.

"So you're a wizard, too!"

"Not really. My magic is very, very limited."

"Can you show me? It's really rare to find a creature who can do magic without a horn!"

So unicorns do magic with their horns. Makes sense. I'll need to remember that.

Geralt paused to consider Twilight's request, and then gave a shrug and stood up.

"Some of my signs would be a bit destructive in here, but I have an idea. Throw a book or something at me."

Twilight frowned at the suggestion, and glanced around the room. Her eyes came to rest on an empty ink jar. Geralt had seen ponies at the party use their hooves and teeth to manipulate objects, so he was unprepared for what came next, though his medallion began vibrating noticeably; without even moving, Twilight's horn lit up suddenly with a lavender glow, and the ink well zipped to her side, covered in the same lavender aura. She looked at him.

"You ready, Geralt?"

Whoa. Telekinesis. These creatures are a lot more dangerous than I thought.

Geralt lifted his hand in the sign of Quen, and nodded. The ink well hurtled at him and bounced harmlessly off of the shield, nearly crashing to the floor before being caught once again in a lavender aura. It quickly returned to its rightful place. Twilight stood on her hind legs and clapped (clopped?) her hooves together excitedly.

"A shield spell! And channeled through a hand gesture – how clever! That's pretty advanced magic, and all without a horn!"

Twilight marveled at his shield and came closer to inspect it. Geralt internally debated letting it drop, but something about the adorable enthusiasm of the creature in front of him pushed him to let her satisfy her curiosity.

"Oh, wow. This shield is fueled entirely by physical stamina, huh? That must be really tiring to hold up!"

Geralt shrugged, letting the shield drop. He did feel a little unsteady on his feet, but he knew he would recover momentarily.

"Advantage of being a witcher; we have extraordinary stamina."

"Oh, so you use it for magic! Yeah, that's smart!"

Geralt smiled despite himself. No one had shown such fascination with his abilities and arts before. Fear, horror, disgust, contempt, even dismissal – these he were accustomed to, but not enthusiasm or admiration.

"Glad you think so."

"So, what are you making?"

Geralt looked over his alchemical preparations.

"Oil and flash-bombs, for dealing with a manticore. This one's apparently been snatching vegetables from a local farmer – any idea what might cause one to behave that way?"

Twilight pondered that, tapping her chin with her hoof in a gesture that he thought was altogether too adorable to be healthy.

"Well... maybe it's under a curse to act against its nature? I have a lot of experience with those kinds of curses. You can make a creature like that pause by holding up a mirror – they get confused and frustrated when they have to look at what they've become. You can lift the curse with a transformation spell, or a powerful enough compulsion."

"Compulsion... bewitching them?"

Twilight nodded happily.

"Exactly! Especially if it's just a mental curse, rather than a physical transformation; then a compulsion to act as themselves will reverse the effect."

"... and the manticore will just head back into the woods and stop bothering the locals. I see. Thank you, Twilight."

Twilight smiled widely and beamed happily.

"Glad to help! Anything else you need?"

Geralt shook his head, but smiled.

"No, I believe I know what to do, but I suspect we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Great!"

Twilight set about organizing the returned books while Geralt finished up his alchemy in silence.

-

Tracking the manticore had been easy. It seemed it always took the same route to and from the farm; the large paw prints led directly to and from a large cave on the edge of the woods.

Definitely not normal behavior. Manticores normally roam, looking for prey and mates. I also haven't found any droppings. And it should be more at home in the woods than out here. Did a greater threat drive it from its home?

The witcher set those thoughts aside and carefully crept to a safe distance from the cave, able to watch it without being seen from within. He slowly knelt down, coming to rest on his legs and knees, and removed herbs and potions from his satchel.

Manticore's a tough fight. I'll need to be prepared.

Geralt began eating and drinking his ingredients, filling his body with toxic witchers' herbs, and gently coated his blade with the pale green oil he had cooked up. This would cause the manticore terrible pain, as well as convulsions and shakes; one touch would debilitate its power to fight back.

Not one to take chances with his opponent doing likewise to him, Geralt drank the golden oriole; a potion designed to grant a witcher immunity to venoms of all sort. Pity it didn't do the same for poisons; the potion itself was toxic, and would kill one without a witcher's immunity. Still, he would accept the night of thrashing and miserable bedrest if it meant not being lunch for a venomous manticore.

Thus fortified and prepared, Geralt stood and marched into the dark cave, dilating his pupils wide. Creatures often lurked in dark, hidden crevices of the earth, where no normal man would dare to walk lest they be preyed upon by unseen foes; witchers were equipped to chase them into these dark places, with eyes that rivaled that of the eldest vampire or most terrible necrophage. If the manticore thought to take refuge from those it preyed upon in this place, it would be in for a rude awakening.

Still, Geralt was keenly aware of the tight quarters of the cave. The manticore, he knew, would barely be able to fit in here, but that didn't mean he would have the advantage; he couldn't get beside or behind the creature here, nor would he be able to dodge its strikes. If it leveled its stinger, he would need to retreat outside and lure it out.

Settling with himself on this course, he pressed further into the cave, until he heard a great, rumbling snore in the cave. Despite its volume, however, the witcher thought it was a bit quiet for a manticore – though he'd not had the good fortune to come upon a slumbering one in the past. As he rounded a sharp turn in the cave, sloping down and to the left, he saw a cart's worth of vegetables stacked against a wall.

Uneaten. Either our manticore's got a small appetite, or it's been taking far more than the farmer let on – or realized.

Geralt thought to stalk past the vegetables, but realized the sound was echoing from somewhere near him. He carefully backed away towards the exit, considering his options. Wherever the manticore was, it was hidden - which made it too dangerous to venture further into the cave. Waiting for it to finish resting and emerge sounded like a bad idea.

Time to wake up, jackass.

Geralt slowly drew a Samum – a harmless bomb that made a bright flash and loud sound – from his belt. Backing away to the sharp turn, he leaned around the wall and pulled the switch on the bomb before hurling it towards the vegetable pile.

Even covering his ears and snapping his eyes shut, even sheltered around a corner, the bomb's detonation was unpleasant. He heard a loud, high-pitched scream – not unusual for a manticore, though this one certainly sounded strange – and the clatter of vegetables scattering across the ground. Then, he heard the thrashing of a large creature, and a loud, irritated roar.

There we go.

Geralt whirled around the corner, and came face-to-face with the manticore he sought. The creature squinted and blinked, struggling to see the witcher in the darkness – no doubt due to the flash bomb that had just gone off – and swung its paw randomly. Geralt knew this was just a feint, to draw his attention away from the poised stinger on top of its body, and declined to riposte; instead, he held his hand aloft in the sign of Aard, and blasted the manticore with a shockwave, sending it reeling backwards. The creature staggered and fell in a heap, and the witcher let out a triumphant yell as he fled from the cave, hoping to irritate the creature into following.

Manticores are deadly, but stupid and territorial. This one should come charging out like a battering-ram; that's when I'll take it.

The witcher crouched, taut as a bowstring, next to the cave entrance, but the manticore did not charge out as he had anticipated. Instead, his acute hearing picked up the slow and cautious movements of a creature trying to move in stealth, slowly shuffling to the cave entrance and looking around. The witcher cursed internally; his scent would give him away to the creature, he knew. He sprang from the entrance, and looked the manticore in the eyes, drawing his steel sword in a flash of the reflected afternoon sun, and gestured for the manticore to come to him.

The manticore roared ferociously, rearing up on its hinds legs and spreading its wings as far as it could. Geralt held his left hand up in the sign of Aard, and struck the manticore with another shockwave, slamming its back into the top lip of the cave, and causing it to crash to the ground. The manticore, stunned by the sudden impact, flailed out defensively with its claws and stinger, desperately trying to fend off any follow-up. Geralt kept his distance, and smiled horribly at the creature on the ground.

"Well? Come on, come closer."

The manticore stared at him, and he saw something impossible in its eyes: fear.

Manticores knew no fear. So the witcher had been told, so he had seen with his own eyes on multiple occasions. But there was no mistaking the terror in this creature's eyes. It roared again, much more half-heartedly this time, but flinched when the witcher showed no signs of running.

"You're not going to drive me off. It's just you and me, beast. Don't think you can run, either."

The witcher patted the crossbow handle visible over his shoulder meaningfully. The manticore quailed, recoiling and curling up into a ball.

A cowering manticore. I guess there's a first for everything after all.

Geralt did not advance, nor did he retreat. Unsure of what to do, the witcher stood his ground, watching the manticore carefully, but the creature just held back as well, clearly afraid to get within range of his blade, which it eyed nervously.

Geralt took a step closer, and lifted the blade menacingly.

"You just gonna sit there all day? What's it going to be?"

Remembering the mirror, Geralt lifted it from its place of concealment on the grass, and forced the manticore to look into its own reflection. The manticore simply took on a look of confusion.

So much for that.

Casting the mirror aside, the witcher inched forward, ready to spring forward or away at a moment's notice. But what happened next, he couldn't prepare for.

"I surrender!"

The witcher blinked in confusion, staring at the manticore, who now covered beneath its front paws. He worked his jaw a bit without opening his mouth, before finally coming around to the question on his mind.

"You can speak?"

"I surrender, I said!"

Geralt groaned, leaning back and sheathing his sword.

Great. An intelligent creature. Seems like I don't know the rules for anything in this world. If manticores can speak, who knows what other animals might be capable of? Perhaps that's why Fluttershy offered to catch fish, specifically; at this point, I wouldn't be shocked if a squirrel offered me a dissertation on how to properly prepare nutbread, or something.

"Listen, beast. What the hell were you doing raiding farmers' stockpiles if you can speak and know better?"

"I, uh... I'm stuck out here. I was going to sell them, to try to get cash for a train ticket, to try to get home."

"You think they'd let a manticore on a train?"

"What? No! I'm a changeling!"

The manticore disappeared in a flash of green flames, revealing a small, buglike black pony, with flat blue eyes that Geralt could only faintly discern white pupils in. The changeling desperately rambled on.

"I was going to turn into a merchant pony, and then I was going to sell off all of those vegetables, and buy a train ticket, and try to get home! I haven't heard from the hive in months, so something must be wrong!"

Geralt rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Great. A mimic. One that can assume forms beyond its natural volume, too. Here's hoping this one doesn't get the bright idea to copy me and square off.

"So you're basically just a thief."

The changeling nodded rapidly.

"Yeah, yeah, a thief! Please don't skewer me with that thing! I don't deserve to be killed! Pllleeeaaaaaaaase!"

The bugpony's high-pitched whining caused the witcher to grate his teeth together.

"SHUT UP. I'm hauling you back to town; we'll let the princess decide what to do with you, I imagine."

"No! Noooo, no no no, sir! They hate changelings! That's why I couldn't just go buy a train ticket! Don't you know anything about us? I'll be banished from Equestria, or locked up in a dungeon, or locked up in a dungeon in the place they banished me to! Or worse! Please, please, please don't rat me out! I didn't hurt anypony!"

"Fine! Shut up already! Listen to me, you idiot, if you're a doppler, or a changeling, or whatever you mimics like to call yourselves these days, then have some sense. Take the form of a beggar, beg for the coins to get a train ride, and take it to wherever you're going – no one hires witchers to hunt down beggars, you damned fool!"

The changeling flinched in on himself, but he paused to contemplate.

"Whoa, you've got a good point. I should do that. Man, you'd make a good infiltrator."

"Ugh. Get out of my sight."

"Yes, sir!"

As Geralt trekked back to the farmstead, he groaned for the inevitable loss of his fee. Suffering witchers' herbs was one thing, but to do so without pay was always insult upon injury, and he wasn't in the mood for either. Finally, he came upon Ornery, tending to his personal garden with a trowel between his teeth. On seeing the witcher, he spat the trowel out and walked up to him.

"Well? Eh? You deal with that manticore?"

Geralt contemplated his response, remembering the changeling's words about prejudice. Taking a slow, frustrated breath, he braced himself for the usual tirade.

"I drove the beast off, back to the woods. It shouldn't bother you again."

"Oh? Eh? Good work. Let me count out the bits we agreed on, then."

Geralt blinked, confused, and watched the old pony eyeball his bits as he counted them into a small pouch, which he then picked up with a hoof – by means Geralt could hardly fathom – and set it in his hand.

"Good work, sonny, thanks for stickin' your neck out. Hope this is enough for your trouble. You didn't get hurt, eh? Eh?"

Geralt stared at the pouch, and at the farmpony, in confusion.

"So... you're not irritated that I didn't slay the beast?"

"Slay? Slay as in kill? As in murder?! The hay is wrong with you, sonny?! I told you to deal with the monster, not act like a darn psychopath! It's not like it'd hurt anypony!"

Geralt contemplated that, staring at the old pony, and slowly he felt a smile creep across his face.

"True enough, Ornery. You take care, and let me know if monsters trouble you again."

As Geralt left the farmstead, one thought persisted in the witcher's mind.

I actually got paid. In full. For sparing the monster.

Geralt grinned to himself.

The ponies here must be absolutely crazy.

Author's Note

Oh, Geralt. You've no idea.

Witcher Geralt Faces A Dragon

"That's a dragon?"

"Hey! I'm right here!"

Geralt shook his head at the small purple-and-green reptile before him.

"Sorry, just... hard to get used to how different things are, here."

Twilight laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Spike here's just a baby dragon, Geralt."

Spike pouted. "I asked you to stop calling me that!"

The witcher smirked, and crouched down to get closer to eye-level with the dragon.

"Hey, now. It can be tough being the little guy, but there's an upside to that. People are likely to underestimate you; gives you the advantage if you're more than they think you are."

Spike eyed the witcher incredulously. "What would you know about being little? You're huge!"

Geralt laughed, and heard Twilight trot out of the room to give them a little privacy – and likely to get back to work researching how to get the witcher home. He had been stranded in Equestria for a full week, now, and contracts weren't easy to find.

"I wasn't always an adult. I was once small like you... and besides, I regularly face creatures many times my size. Like you, I'm often underestimated."

"Huh... really? Wow. What kinds of creatures did you face, back home?"

Geralt pondered, stroking his freshly-shaven chin.

"Well, dragons, for one – though I have a rule against taking contracts on them, I've still had a run-in with one. There's also manticores, ekkimara, trolls, leshi, larger kikimores, arachas, griffons—"

"Griffons? What kind of griffon is bigger than you?"

The witcher paused, surprised.

"You have griffins here?"

"Yeah! But they're the same size as ponies!"

Geralt tried to picture a griffin as small as a pony.

The thought brought some stifled laughter to the witcher.

Spike cocked his head. "What? What's so funny?"

"Just trying to picture a fearsome griffin reduced to the size of a pony. It almost sounds like a bad joke, a prank played by an irritated sorceress."

Spike laughed at that. "How big are griffins in your world?"

"Not much smaller than adult dragons. Easily three times my size, and that's the smaller ones. A full-grown archgriffin would have trouble opening its wings in here to full span."

Spike looked over the massive chamber, which housed the friendship map. "Whoa."

Geralt nodded with a smile.

Kids do always seem fascinated by tales about monsters.

"Man. You're going to be so disappointed when you see our griffons, then."

Geralt shrugged.

"I think I can live with a vicious monster only being half my size, to be honest."

Spike quirked an eyeridge at that. "You know our griffons are friendly, right? Or, well, at least they're not monsters. Most of'em are pretty rude."

The witcher mentally checked off another potential source of contracts.

"Good to know. Still eagle in front, lion in back, right?"

"Yeah, just try not to get them confused with hippogriffs. Happens to a lot of ponies."

Geralt sighed.

"They friendly too?"

"Yeah! Way moreso than griffons."

"So much for that... tell me, there any kind of monster that regularly causes problems?"

"Well, there's parasprites."

Geralt thought back to the parasprite contract he'd taken a few days ago with a shudder. Organizing an impromptu band in Van Hoofer had been far easier than it should have been; the ponies had a strange affinity for spontaneous musical numbers.

"Dealt with some of those already."

Spike shrugged. "I mean, if you wait around long enough, you're sure to see a monster attack of some kind. They happen here pretty frequently. Usually, Twilight and her friends handle it."

"That so? I didn't realize she was a fighter."

"Oh, yeah! Twilight's amazing. She can do all kinds of crazy stuff with magic. And then there's Rainbow Dash – she's the fastest pegasus I've ever seen. You know that she can make a sonic rainboom?"

The witcher heard a something approach, but figured it to be Twilight and paid it no mind.

Geralt cocked his head. "What's a sonic—"

"Someone talkin' about my awesomeness?"

Spike and Geralt turned to see a cyan pegasus hovering in the doorway, with a rainbow-colored mane.

These ponies sure do have indicative names.

The witcher stood up and nodded to the pegasus. "Rainbow Dash, I'm guessing?"

Dash drew herself up and folded her front hooves in midair. "The one and only! And you're Geralt, right? Twilight said you're some kinda magical athlete and warrior."

It was Geralt's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm a witcher, so that's about right."

Seems like this Rainbow Dash doesn't care much for details.

"Great! Let's race."

Geralt had seen how fast some of these ponies could run; witcher or not, there was no way he could hope to outpace a professional athlete, especially one that might be the fastest flyer in Equestria.

Still, I could use a workout.

"Alright, but I have a condition."

Dash landed on the ground and smiled, full of confidence.

"Name it! It's gonna be the wings, right? No flying? No problem!"

Geralt shook his head, smiling viciously.

"No... it has to be an endurance race. Whichever one of us can make more laps around Ponyville before becoming exhausted wins."

"You're on!"

The poor witcher didn't count on Rainbow Dash being able to zip laps around Ponyville in seconds after breaking the sound barrier, allowing her to score hundreds of laps in a single circular flight pattern in mere minutes before stopping to rest – and not even seeming too tired for the amazing feat. Still the witcher put up a tremendous effort, running without pause for hours.

Dash watched him, in amusement at first, and then in amazement as the witcher kept up his pace with a smile and a nod to her each time he passed, running faster and farther than any normal man could manage. Still he only managed a couple hundred laps of his own before he finally stopped, panting and hands raised in defeat, with a smile on his face.

"Alright, that's enough for me. That speed of yours is something else, I just can't compete with that."

"Are you kidding?! That was awesome! You just kept going and going – I had to take breaks to eat and go to the bathroom! I could never have covered anywhere near that much ground on hoof!"

The witcher laughed, despite straining for breath.

"Should have taken you up on that no-wings offer, then. Still, I got what I came for."

Dash furrowed her brow and frowned quizzically. "And what was that?"

"Got to see a sonic rainboom."

Author's Note

Geralt is a very silly pony.

In the books, Geralt just generally likes to see things. Moments of beauty or majesty are rare in his world; he spends most of his time seeing the worst of humanity and the worst of nature, sometimes combined. A chance to see anything of beauty is one the witcher doesn't let pass unexploited.

Witcher Geralt vs. Discord

The witcher carefully set down his Yennifer of Vengerburg card.

The draconequus snorted.

"Hardly enough attack power, even if you bring back your catapult."

Geralt took his Dun Banner Medic out of his graveyard and set it in his Ranged row. Discord frowned.

"Ah, right. Resurrecting your medic, and then-"

The witcher pulled one of his catapults out of the graveyard and set it in his siege row.

"You still lose, Geralt."

Geralt grinned and set down a Decoy card, pulling the Dun Banner Medic back into his hand.

Which he then set back on the field, followed by another catapult from his graveyard. Discord groaned.

"The decoy-medic trick? And on catapults, no less."

Geralt shrugged. "Catapults double each others' attack power. That's game."

The witcher scooped his earned bits into a small sack. Discord just gave a small laugh.

"Now this is what a guys' night should be. Gambling, drinks. If only Spike or Big Mac understood that."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "What's a usual guys' night for you?"

"We play a little game called Ogres and Obliettes. It's a role-playing game. I like to spice things up a bit with my magic, and I won't deny I have a good time – but it can all feel a bit juvenile compared to a proper night on the town."

The witcher pondered that as he secured his winnings, and then glanced down at the Gwent board.

"I was curious. Where did you pick up Gwent?"

"Your world, of course. I used to visit occasionally, before the higher vampires became too irritating for me. They never could take a joke."

Geralt's right eyebrow crept upwards.

"What kind of joke did you play on them?"

"Oh, I just stripped away the immortality from one of them. To be fair, he had tried biting me beforehand, so it seemed like a fitting reprisal. How was I to know he'd go and get himself killed the next day? I suppose his biting habit had attracted too many witchers."

"Only a high vampire can kill another high vampire."

Discord snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure they'd love for people to believe that, but it's hardly true. They're as vulnerable as anyone else once you cut their connection to their elders."

Geralt sat up straight.

If he knows that much about them, then he's probably telling the truth. In that case...

"Another round of Gwent. I want you to make me a weapon that destroys that connection."

"Ooh-ho-ho! Now that's quite a wager. But what do you have to offer in return? Hmm?"

Discord leaned forward, fingers steepled and eyes shining in delight.

"Two crowns."

"TWO crow—wait, crowns, not bits. You mean coins from your homeworld? What would I even do with them?"

Geralt shrugged.

"Making that kind of weapon is easy for you, but in my hands it makes a big difference. Two crowns isn't much, but two coins from a different dimension could be quite valuable in the right hands – and a clever draconequus can figure out where to put them."

Discord stroked his beard thoughtfully for a few moments.

"Show up to our guys' night this evening and it's a deal."

"I thought those were dull?"

"Oh, hardly. But some new blood could make things more interesting, and things have gotten awfully predictable lately."

The witcher groaned. The guys' night sounded like a pain in the rear, but he'd had worse.

"Fine. Deal."

"Splendid. Let's see if Foltest's siege deck will win the day again, then."

The witcher slid his Gwent deck into his satchel and pulled out another, laying down King Bram.

"Skellige? Skellige's not a Gwent faction."

"It is now."

"They changed Gwent? You've got to be kidding me. Why, I'd expect the dwarves to riot!"

"They did."

Discord pondered the deck, and then shrugged.

"Skellige it is, then. Bring it on, witcher."

Geralt's Skellige deck wasn't well-balanced, but the Skellige Storm card – which essentially all but negated the attack power of the ranged and siege rows – played havoc with Discord's ranged-combat Scoia'teal deck. In the end, it came down to Discord's Mahakam Defenders in the front row against Geralt's berserkers, and a mushroom card put an end to that contest, transforming the berserkers into huge, nigh-unstoppable bears.

The draconequus laughed after Geralt declared his victory.

"What a bizarre deck. Isn't it almost entirely dependent on luck for drawing those mushrooms?"

"Mhm."

"So that's why you loaded it why spies and summoner cards. Trying to thin out your deck and get at the cards you need. Still, you've got almost a third of your deck undrawn."

"If I hadn't gotten the mushroom I would have stalled until round three so I could get the automatic draw benefit of Skellige, try to get the mushroom or a spy."

Discord nodded thoughtfully.

"Seems I need to pack a few more of those dull 'clear weather' cards. Well-played, Geralt. Though it certainly is gauche to play yourself, don't you think?"

Geralt smirked at the Geralt card in his hand.

"I don't dictate which cards they print."

"Well I need to find out who does and demand they put me in there!"

"Another 15-attack hero card? Could get overcrowded."

"Oh, no. Something far more interesting. Perhaps a spy card with a negative attack rating, or somesuch."

Geralt winced.

"That would definitely be useful. And irritating."

"See? It's a great idea. Now, go off and get ready. We've a guys' night to attend!"

The witcher groaned.

-

Geralt walked through the barn door only for it to disappear behind him. He found himself in a world of cardboard-cutout hills, surrounded by cardboard-cutout skeletons.

Well, this is new.

One of the skeletons fired a cardboard-cutout arrow at him, and Geralt found himself reflexively drawing his sword and parrying the missile. From behind the ranks of archers, he heard a loud, deep voice bellow.

"A new warrior emerges to challenge the Squizard! Kill him!"

Before they had even finished their battlecry, Geralt had already woven the sign of Quen, surrounding himself in a shield. It wouldn't stand up to much punishment, but it didn't need to; the witcher charged the ranks of skeletons, cutting through them and dodging between them rapidly. Cardboard cutouts, sliced in half, fell to the checkerboard floor, shocked expressions on their visages.

This 'squizard' must be in charge of the enemy army. They're all pretty weak, though.

Again and again the witcher's steel blade flashed, and in mere seconds he had cut through the ranks and charged the Squizard, only to be held aloft telekinetically.

"HEE HEE HEE! Foolish mortal warr—"

Geralt's crossbow bolt smashed through the squizard's head. He fell to the ground and leapt forward with feline grace, weaving the sign of Igni and lighting the cardboard cutout on fire as arrows bounced off of his shield. The 'squizard' gave one fell cry of anguish before he turned to ash, and his army of skeletons collapsed. Geralt suddenly whirled around as he heard footsteps approach, only to see Spike in a wizard getup (complete with fake beard), a large red stallion (whom he assumed to be 'Big Mac') in heavy black armor and wearing a horned helmet, and Discord in simple woodsman's leathers, wielding a bow and wearing a goofy-looking blonde wig. Spike was the first to comment.

"Whoa. He cut through them by himself? What class are you, Geralt? Barbarian?"

Geralt frowned in confusion.

"Witcher?"

"Hey, that's not a valid class! You need to pick a class and come up with a name!"

Geralt frowned in confusion.

"Aren't we slaying monsters? That's what witchers do for a living."

Discord laughed at the exchange and shook his head.

"You're too powerful as you are right now, and the whole point of games like Ogres and Obliettes is to get away from your day-to-day life and pretend you're something else. I give up being the Lord of Chaos to play as a mere archer; you give up being a sorcerer and master warrior to try something new. A thief, perhaps?"

Geralt shook his head.

"I've done some thieving in the past, and it's not something I'm fond of. What else is there?"

Spike chewed his lip over in thought.

"Warrior?" "Already am one." "Barbarian?" "What's that?" "Another kind of warrior." "Pass." "Wizard?" "Don't care much for wizards, and I can already do magic." "Uhh... archer?"

Geralt tapped the crossbow at his hip.

"You can't be every class at once! It's not fair!"

"But if the point is to get away from what I normally am, monster-slaying – by means of fists, sword, bow, or magic – isn't going to do it. I do that all the time."

Discord brushed at his beard in thought, and then smiled.

"I know one thing you aren't, though."

Geralt folded his arms.

"Which is?"

"A lord of chaos."

Discord snapped his fingers, and Geralt suddenly staggered backwards, a strange sensation flooding him.

"Spike, tonight you get to just be a player. Our new game master is... Geralt."

This sounds like a terrible idea.

Author's Note

This is definitely not Geralt's kind of game. There's no gambling for him to save-scum on!

Prince Shining Regrets Everything

"Spike! Get down!"

My time as a Royal Guard had drilled into me the importance of spotting dangers others were unaware of, dragging or tackling them aside if necessary. It was that training that kicked in now, as I pushed the small dragon just barely out of the way of a spray of acid from the gryphon. Spike whirled and looked to me with shock until he saw the gooey green pile steaming on the ground.

"Whoa. Close one. Thanks, Shining!"

"Don't mention it. It's circling around! Discord, fire!"

Discord, with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes, nodded and loosed a few shots at the giant gryphon arcing towards us.

By the time I'd been summoned into 'Guy's Night', courtesy of the GM's newfound chaos powers, the other players had long-since given up calling each other by their character names. I silently resented that I wasn't given a class selection, but at least it meant I could use my magic freely. I needed it.

"Mac! He's headed for you! Plant your legs!"

Big Mac knew better than to argue. He squared himself in place and gritted his teeth, and I formed a shield over him with my magic. The gryphon's talons scraped the shield but couldn't break through, and Spike lit the creature up with a lightning bolt from his staff for its trouble. Finally spent, the gryphon crashed to the ground. Big Mac gave a yell and charged it, and I ran in right behind him. We both leapt on the gryphon, swords in our teeth, and stabbed as hard as we could. There was no blood – all of the creatures we faced seemed to be variants on undead themes – but the gryphon gave a croak before passing out, and subsequently turning to ash.

I wiped some sweat from my brow.

"Phew! I heard your Ogres and Obliettes games were crazy, but this is ridiculous!"

Spike groaned in frustration.

"It's not normally like this! Discord usually keeps things way more tame! It's the new GM, Geralt! He's crazy!"

I looked to Discord quizzically.

"Why don't you just shut him down? You know, take the magic away?"

Discord rolled his eyes.

"Shining Armor, taking his magic away would require magic. Which I gave him."

"You gave him total control? Why would you do that?"

Discord chuckled. "It's just more fun this way. Who knows what he could do next?"

I looked at a nasty bruise forming on my flank.

"But these are real injuries. What if one of us gets seriously hurt in here?"

Spike rubbed a loose scale on his shoulder and shook his head at me.

"It doesn't work like that. Even if you get hit with acid, fire, whatever, it just knocks you around. Take a few bruises. Geralt will tell you if you 'die', and then you appear somewhere else all healed up. It's not too bad, but it does hurt."

Geralt's growling voice echoed around us.

"It's not a fight without pain. Hell, it's not even a spar. Training means bumps and bruises, real fear."

Big Mac spat his sword out and groaned.

"Shining, y'gotta talk some sense into'em."

I rubbed at the back of my neck with my hoof.

"Uhh... but I actually agree with him. I mean, I know this is just a game, but I think it's more fun this way – as long as it's safe. I mean, it reminds me of my Royal Guard days."

Discord snickered. "Shining Armor the masochist. Does your wife know?"

I rolled my eyes with a sneer. Meanwhile Spike just threw his hands up in surrender.

"Great! So he's crazy, and Geralt's crazy, and now their crazy will just reinforce each other!"

An elderly stallion approached us. I was nonplussed at first, until Spike walked up to him and took a small bag of coins from him. The stallion eagerly shook his claw.

"Thank you so much for savin' our village, brave lads! 'At gryphon's terrorized us for months! Good work!"

Huh? Why does he had that weird sheen to him? It almost makes it look like he's a cartoon.

I prodded Discord with a hoof and pointed to the stallion. "Why's he look like that?"

Discord waved a claw dismissively. "That seems to be Geralt's way of letting us know a character is an NPC. The gryphon was like that, too, but it was harder to see up in the sky. I have to admit, it's better than making them all look like cardboard cutouts, like I did. Not quite as amusing, though."

I scoffed. "Yeah, Geralt doesn't strike me as much of a joker, from what I've heard about him."

Discord gave me a sly grin as Spike peeked into the reward bag. "You'd be surprised."

Spike dropped the bag and face-clawed. "Aww, C'MON! THAT DOESN'T EVEN COVER OUR POTION COSTS! We were risking our lives here!"

Geralt's voice chuckled. "You wanted to know what it was like to be a monster hunter."

"No!" Spike waved his claws futilely at the sky. "We wanted to be heroes, not professional hunters!"

There was a long pause before Geralt responded again. "If monsters show up, don't call for a hero. A hero is someone who steps up when things have already gone to hell. Hire a professional, instead."

Spike looked stricken, and rubbed his chin for a few moments at that. "Huh. That actually makes sense. Someone who focuses on fighting monsters would be better than someone who's just brave, I guess."

Geralt's voice sounded satisfied. "Exactly. Whether you're a wizard, an archer, a barbarian, or whatever Shining Armor should be called in this system, at the end of the day you're fighting monsters. Stop deliberately throwing yourself into situations unprepared so you can have a climactic-but-desperate showdown. Stop fighting fair. Fight smart."

Discord grew a devilish smile at that. "Oooh, I knew there was a reason I liked this one."

I just rolled my eyes and stepped forward. "Look, guys, he's right. We're never going to make it to the end of the module if we keep dropping all of our cash on healing potions and just barely scraping by. Your classes give you some useful abilities, but we can do a lot more than that. We should study our next quarry, lay some traps, plan our approach. Fight as a team. A team with a plan."

The others nodded at that, and after grabbing our 'reward', we trekked on to the next town the witcher had prepared for us.

-

"So, y'see, that's our trouble."

The minotaur leaned back against his chair, satisfied, and took a sip of his cider. I rubbed my head.

"So this... 'tempestress' keeps causing freak storms, like the one that hit us on the way in here, and you guys have no idea how to stop her."

"That's right."

"Greeeaaaat... so much for preparation."

I dragged my teammates away from the negotiation table to confer in a corner of the tavern. Because it's always a tavern.

"Okay. We have no idea what we're really up against in those stormclouds, but the laughter indicates some kind of creature is whipping them up. None of us can fly right now, because none of our classes allow it, so what are our options?"

Big Mac pointed at Discord.

"He could try'n nail it with an arrow or two."

Discord gave a look of distaste.

"Oh please. I am an archer. I need something more specific to shoot at than simply 'some clouds'."

Spike pulled out his spellbook and looked it over.

"Hey, I have a wind spell that could push the clouds aside. Then we could get a look at whatever's in there and maybe try to get it to the ground with one of those net-cast arrows we picked up. Once it's on the ground we should have the advantage, right?"

I pondered that.

"Maybe. But we don't know what it is, so we should have a backup plan."

-

The tempestress was kicking our butts. We'd gotten her on the ground, sure, but it turned out she was a pony that could kick serious flank. I'd already racked up more bruises than I could count and she kept buzzing around inside of the net, creating massive stormclouds on the ground that blinded us and shocked anypony nearby with lightning.

I glanced at Spike, who looked every bit as exhausted as I felt.

"This is it, Spike. I'm going in with a shield, going to try to pin her down. I need you to use your Phantasm spell to make a bunch of fake copies of me, so she doesn't know where to counter. Okay? We're going to try Plan C."

Spike sighed. "Because A and B turned out so great. Okay, might as well give it a shot."

I charged at the growing stormcloud on the ground, horn shining and a faintly-visible bubble of energy forming around me. I held a small pendant in my teeth.

Hoo, boy. I hope I've got the right idea or this is gonna hurt big-time.

The barely-visible pegasus in the stormclouds zipped around, still grounded by the heavy weights on the net, but dragging it around and kicking various illusions regardless. I thanked my lucky stars she didn't see me coming until I pounced on her.

"H-hey! Get off!"

The pegasus thrashed wildly, but I lit up my horn and dispersed the clouds, and didn't let up on her.

Wait. I recognize that voice.

"I said GET OFF!"

I took a hoof to the jaw but held firm, looking down at the pony beneath me. She was clothed all in black robes, obscuring her features, but I noticed there wasn't that odd sheen to her I'd seen on other characters.

She doesn't look like an NPC!

"Wait a second... Rainbow Dash?"

"Uhh, no! I am the tempestress! And I'll get out of this and destroy this whole town for your, uh... whatever! For this! Mortal!"

I rolled my eyes and dropped the pendant on her. The pendant shone brilliantly for a second, and then disappeared – along with all of the stormclouds. Dash smirked and rolled me off of her.

"Took ya long enough, dork."

Geralt's voice came alive around us, starting with some stifled laughter.

"Congratulations, you correctly identified the tempestress as a pegasus under the Curse of Wrath. Now that she has been pacified by the Mark of the Righteous, she can accompany you on your journey to defeat Infernus."

I helped Dash up, and she shook her robes off. She perked up quite a bit at Geralt's commentary.

"Oh, man. 'Infernus'? That sounds awesome. Who is he?"

Spike rushed up, excitedly.

"I've been reading up on him in these wizard texts! They're written in Dragon, so only I can read them, but they say Infernus is an all-powerful god of light that fell to evil because they were betrayed by those they love, millenia ago! They were sealed away deep in the Earth, but the alignment of the planets allowed them to escape, and the dead rose alongside them as their army! It's totally awesome, right?!"

Dash nodded and slapped her front two hooves together.

"Yeah! We're totally gonna show this 'Infernus' dude who's boss! But, hey, I didn't know you could read Dragon, Spike."

"Huh? Oh, dragons don't have their own written language, it's an Ogres and Obliettes thing. Wizards can read Dragon, other classes can't. When other players try to read the journals, they turn to gibberish. Geralt's apparently a stickler for certain rules."

"So you get stuck on reading duty? Lame."

"Hey, I'm good at reading stuff! I read off stuff for Twilight all the time!"

Dash rolled her eyes and smirked.

"Alright, alright, so what kind of awesome stuff did he have you fight before me? I mean, I know I must have been the best, but I'd still like to know what kind of stuff I'll be bucking the snot out of."

While the two of them conferred on our past adventures, I strode over to Big Mac, who seemed disgruntled over something or other. I prodded him in the side.

"Hey, big guy. What's got you down?"

Big Mac shrugged. " 'Guy's' Night."

I smacked my face and laughed. "Oh, come on."

Discord leaned in from a disturbingly long distance to leer over us.

"Remember, Big Mac, it's not truly a guy's night unless there are a few girls around."

Big Mac gave an expression of confused shock.

"That don't even make sense!"

-

It had been a long, hard road. We had come to the aid of the Kingdom of Romance, and their queen – my wife, to be specific – had joined us, as had Starswirl the Bearded, who had simply shown up when we were at wit's end with a monstrous horde. He apparently had no in-game persona whatsoever – Geralt said he refused to be summoned unless he could participate simply as himself.

Which was fine by us. Starswirl was all kinds of overpowered as himself.

Geralt had stepped it up repeatedly, challenging us with assassins, courtly intrigue, and dragons – and not like our dragons, but huge, terrifying creatures from his homeworld. We'd even had to fight off vampires, both human and pony variants, some of whom were apparently unkillable; at least, they were until Starswirl became too irritated with them and permanently turned them into pottery.

Which he subsequently shattered, swept up, and threw into a trashcan he summoned from nowhere. Geralt said that seemed fair to him.

It had been a long, hard road, but we were at the end of it. We had climbed the Rainbow Staircase to the Castle in the Sky, which had been disturbingly empty. We had marched through to the doors to the throne room. This was it.

"This is it. One more door and we face the final boss. Infernus. Is everyone ready?"

Discord looked over his assortment of enchanted and bomb-equipped arrows. "Oooh, yes."

Spike tapped his staff against the ground. "Definitely. I've got all of my spells refreshed for the day, and I bought training for some sweet ice and water spells for this."

Big Mac stood up proud. "I figger she's cursed, so I got anti-curse armor an' some oil."

Starswirl nodded conspiratorially with us. "I've concocted an upgraded curse-bane spell based on those ruins we found."

Dash smiled wickedly. "Let's just say I'm going to rain on their parade." She gave a meaningful buzz of her wings, generating stormclouds in the process.

Cadance fidgeted with her saddlebags. "I hope the sitter is doing alright with Flurry Heart right now..."

"Honey, battle-prep?"

Cadance laughed and shook her head. "Sorry. I'm ready! I have a good supply of potions and my new healing spells ought to keep everyone on their feet. I've also got my energy blasts, if we need them. Plus Geralt is letting me fly now."

I laughed at that. "Alright. Well, I've got an anti-fire shield spell now, that should cover everyone. We're ready. Let's do this!"

I walked up to the huge double-doors and gave them a buck. The doors slammed open, and all of us strode into the throne room. There were huge statues of humans we didn't recognize on either side, but in the center of the room, atop a dias, there was a throne, and on that throne there was a raging fire in the shape of an alicorn, its eyes as black as coal. Its voice boomed out to us, tinged with sorrow and rage.

"Not. Another. Step."

The fire rose to greet us, and stepped forward to the edge of the dias. Discord groaned and muttered, "Here comes another monologue...", prompting a snicker from Dash.

"Did you really expect me to sit here idly, await your arrival, and help you validate the praise of 'heroes' you've all been basking in, giving you some epic tale to take back to your people?"

Spike's eyes darted between Infernus and us, as he quietly whispered, "Uhh... yes? We did, right?"

As Infernus spoke further, their voice cracked with despair.

"But how long will your friendship hold out? I learned long ago that glory divided is glory coveted. This world will only tolerate one ruler, one hero. And once... that ruler was me!"

I frowned. Something about this whole thing suddenly sat very, very wrong with me – and a quick glance at my comrades revealed similar thoughts on their part. Regardless, all of us snapped to attention when Infernus spoke again, rapt with attention.

"I will not give you your epic battle. I don't care about your glory or the approval of this world that abandoned me. You can all have it – but whichever one of you takes the throne, hear my words and know your fate. You will suffer! I need not raise a hoof, but you will suffer!"

With that, Infernus began to slowly rise, flying up and out of the castle. I'm not sure what prompted me to action, exactly; Infernus' behavior and tone had shocked me from my immersion in the adventure, my readiness for battle. Instead, other instincts entirely took over. I rushed forward.

"Wait! Infernus, wait!"

Infernus paused in mid-air, their coal-black eyes fixated on me, squinted in pain and hate.

"What? Are you going to say you want a battle, throw aside all pretense of only being here to guarantee peace, admit your true nature as a mere seeker of—"

"No! Look, I don't know what happened to you, but we should talk about it! We were told you were the reason there were monsters roaming around the world, and yeah, we came here ready for a fight – but that doesn't mean we want to!"

Infernus swept down towards me, landing mere feet away. I raised my fire shield instinctively, squaring my stance, but they just stared at me.

"You want to talk? What do you possibly hope to accomplish by talking?"

I chewed my lip over for a few moments, glancing back at my party. Cadance and Spike gestured me onwards; Discord had simply draped himself across a statue and watched with amused interest. Dash and Starswirl remained combat-ready, watching Infernus cautiously. Big Mac just watched me, waiting for a signal.

Well... might as well give it a shot, right? Diplomacy works sometimes in this game, doesn't it?

"I-I'm not sure. That's why we talk. Maybe there's a way we can work out our differences. We won't know unless we try. Like..."

I considered for a few more moments, and then I just shook my head.

"To hell with it. Listen, that guy over there?"

I forked a hoof over at Discord. Infernus glanced at him, and then back at me.

"What of him?"

"We used to be enemies! Not only that, he once betrayed us! We're friends now! And there was once a time when a unicorn journeying with a dragon, or even an earth pony or pegasus, would have been considered unthinkable! My wife over there, she was born a pegasus! All of these things were accomplished by ponies taking the time to at least try! So... will you?"

I extended a hoof, letting down my fire shield nervously.

Please don't just be a GM trap please don't just be a GM trap please don't just be a GM trap...

Infernus stared at my hoof for a while, contemplating.

"I had comrades once. They betrayed me!"

I nodded, swallowing hard.

"I heard that. But that's no reason to give up on the future. Because in the end, what does giving up get you? Just more misery. Trust can be betrayed, but in the end you've got nothing if you don't have it to begin with."

Infernus snorted, but considered. Finally, they sighed, and reached out for my hoof. The flames receded from their hoof as they did so, revealing a pure-white hoof.

"I will try."

With that, the entire fantasy-world faded around us, melting away until we found ourselves sitting around the Friendship Map in Twilight's crystal castle, Geralt included. He was casually draped across his chair, legs slung over an arm of it, head propped up in one arm, with a tankard in the other, and a GM screen and rulebook in front of him. He smiled at me.

"Congratulations. That's it for the adventure, 'Return of Infernus'."

I glanced around in confusion at my surrounding, before realizing I was shaking somepony's hoof. I glanced up and realized Celestia was standing next to me, stifling a laugh. I spluttered.

"P-princess Celestia? You were playing as Infernus?"

Celestia nodded excitedly. "I was! How'd I do?"

Spike marveled at the sight. "Whooooaaa... I thought you were terrible at acting!"

"I've been practicing! Besides, I had help!"

Twilight and Luna emerged from behind a curtain in the room, rushing up to Celestia. Celestia, for her part, immediately embraced both of them, giggling like a little filly. "That was so much fun! We need to do this again!"

I rubbed my head. "Wait... could somepony explain what they're doing here?"

Geralt grunted and took a swig of his tankard. Twilight rolled her eyes.

"Geralt had heard the story of Nightmare Moon, and he wanted to make an adventure kinda loosely based on it. He called on Luna to play the part of Infernus, but it kinda hit a sore spot for her. Celestia had trouble acting, so we settled on Luna writing the lines, and I coached Celestia through it."

I winced. "Oof, that had to hit way close to home, though."

Celestia nodded, but kept smiling. "It did, but that's what made it easier to do! I knew exactly what to evoke!"

She looked to Luna. "Besides, it was fun, right?"

Luna nodded, smiling. "It was. I am glad we've come far enough from that day that... well, suffice it to say I am glad."

Discord snapped a finger, and a magical teapot appeared, which promptly shot a few blasts of tea into his mouth. He then sighed, though he was grinning.

"But why did you have to make the ending so mushy, Geralt? I never took you for the type."

Geralt shrugged. "Misdirection. A witcher must always be open to diplomacy, never be so battle-hardened or cynical to overlook true love or a chance at peace with an intelligent creature. Besides, this seems to be how pony stories usually end. I wish it was so more often in my world."

Discord, for his part, laughed. "You tried to trick us into getting the bad ending, right there at the final boss? My, my... we will have to do this again."

Geralt stroked his beard for a few minutes, pondering his tankard.

"Think I'd like that, actually."

Author's Note

CHARACTER ENSEMBLE CHAPTER, AAAAAAAAAAGH

Witcher Geralt Does The Usual

"Welcome to Appleloosa, partner. I'm guessin' you're the witcher?"

Geralt wearily paused his stumbling to lean against the corner of the saloon and glanced down at the pony.

Some kind of badge for a cutie-mark, and a hat for the heat. Sensible.

"Mhm."

The sheriff removed his hat and gave a sweeping bow.

"Pleasure to meet you then, Geralt. I'm Sheriff Silverstar, I sent the letter."

Geralt nodded, rubbing his face. "Figured by the mark. I usually go looking for work on notice-boards; surprised to get a request directly."

"You're gettin' famous! They say you took on a pack of timber wolves out in the Everfree!"

Geralt scowled at the memory. "Yeah. Not a huge threat, but not a great welcome to Equestria, either."

The sheriff scoffed and smirked.

"Well, if you don't consider a full pack of timbers to be a big threat, then I think you'll handle this job just fine."

Geralt shrugged. "If it's all the same to you, I'll wait until the morning to find out. The train broke down and I had to jog here from Canterlot."

The sheriff winced in sympathy. "That's one long journey. No wonder you're worn out!"

Geralt shook his head. "I'm a witcher. My mutations give me the endurance for journeys like that. Problem was the Royal Gryphon I ran into on the way here. I was told Equestria only had small-sized gryphons like the ones in Griffonstone."

Silverstar stared at Geralt for a few moments before speaking.

"You mean you ran into that monstrosity already? Why, that's what I summoned you for! That thing was really a gryphon, huh? It was so huge and vicious-looking I couldn't believe it!"

Geralt groaned. "Great. Here."

The witcher tossed a sack on the ground next to the sheriff. Silverstar opened it only to recoil in horror and disgust.

"What in tarnation?! Is that the beast's head?!"

"Mhm."

"What in blazes did you go and bring that here for?!"

The witcher shrugged, subconsciously shifting his sword into easy reach.

"Habit. If I take down a creature outside of the borders of a town, I generally grab a trophy to prove my kill, in case someone will pay me for dealing with it."

Silverstar gaped at Geralt in disbelief for a few moments before gaining his composure, closing his mouth.

"You've been killin' for money for a long time, huh?"

And there it is. Pretty soon people here will treat me just like they did back home.

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

"Mhm."

Silverstar shook his head, and his expression turned to pity.

"Partner, I am dang sorry to hear that this is normal where you come from. I'd have just taken your word for it that the thing was dead, but I have to admit seeing the living proof sure seals the deal. I'll get'cher pay. You grab a rest in the watering hole, you've earned it in spades."

Geralt was left blinking in confusion as the sheriff sauntered off to his office.

Did he just... pity me?

Geralt chuckled into the empty night.

These ponies never fail to surprise me...

And with that, Geralt slowly made his way into the saloon, seating himself at the bar. The mare behind the bar smiled warmly at him.

"What can I get you, hun?"

Geralt chuckled.

"What's the hardest alcohol you serve here?"

The bartender smirked.

"We've got some raw moonshine, if that's your fancy."

Geralt nodded. "How much do you have?"

The bartender balked slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how much do you have stored here? I'll probably buy all of it. And a drink – some cider, I guess."

The bartender's expression screwed up in confusion, and she shook her head.

"We've still got most of a big barrel in the back..."

"Great. I'll take the barrel of moonshine, and a regular keg of cider. And..."

The witcher had tried to get used to the diet of fish and vegetables he'd been forced to adopt in this country, but there was just no adjusting to a tavern without a proper steak on offer.

"... I guess I'll have some fritters and potatoes."

The bartender nodded with a smile and began laying out the table. When she returned from the back room, to the witcher's surprise, he got a steaming plate of roasted potato slices and fritters made with potato and spinach, all covered in gravy. He hesitantly tried a bite of it, and was surprised that the gravy almost tasted right.

Either I'm turning into a pony bit by bit, or this place really knows its cooking.

The bartender smiled warmly. "You like it? I noticed those little fangs you've got, so I got out the gravy I heard the gryphons like."

Geralt smiled despite himself.

"It's good. Well done. I'll need to ask after the recipe, it's been hard to find something decent in Equestria."

The bartender bent a hoof in a 'nailed it' gesture the witcher recognized from Rainbow Dash.

"I'll get your drinks!"

As she departed again, the witcher started in on his food, thoroughly content until he heard rising voices from a couple of the other patrons in the bar.

"I told you, we bought that land fair and square! Take it up with the sheriff!"

"I don't give a buck what the sheriff says, that land's ours! We never would've let it go if we'd known what was under it!"

"Well maybe it you'd actually lived there for a little while you'd—OOF!"

The witcher sighed as the argument escalated into violence.

Do I bother getting involved?

With a shrug, Geralt took a bit out of his pocket and flipped it, checking the result.

Looks like I'm in on this one.

The witcher swung around on his barstool. What greeted his eyes was utter chaos; two pegasi were buzzing around, hurling various pieces of furniture at an earth pony, who was unsuccessfully trying to shield himself from the projectiles by jumping from cover to cover. He already had a few nasty-looking bruises on his coat.

Geralt stood up and strode to the center of the room, glaring up at the pegasi.

"Knock it off."

One of the pegasi responded by hurling a chair at the witcher.

Guess I know which side I'm on, now.

Geralt sidestepped the chair, catching it as it passed, and hurled it back, weaving the sign of Aard with his other hand. The chair rocketed back at the offending pegasus at a dangerous speed; the pony was barely able to get most of their body out of the way, but the chair's impact on their wings sent them careening into a booth, which they crashed into with a thunderous impact.

I'm guessing they're not flying again soon.

The witcher pointed a thumb at the crash site while looking at the remaining pegasus, who was glaring daggers at him.

"You don't want to get grounded like your pal, then get down here and start straightening up this bar."

The pegasus dove at Geralt, who rolled his eyes.

Trying to clip me in the head and stay out of my reach, huh? Typical flyer tactic.

The witcher squatted low, forcing the pegasus to dive lower to even try to hit him. When they got close, Geralt sprang at them with unnatural agility, overpowering the pegasus' velocity and taking them straight out of the air. He slammed the pegasus into the ground and got a good look at them.

Adult male. Couple scars. Probably does this often. Well, this'll cure him of that.

Just as the pegasus shook off the daze of the sudden impact, Geralt sprang back and away from them, grabbing one of their hooves. The witcher yanked hard, pulling the pegasus into an arc in the air around him, and then slammed him down into a table.

Geralt heard the pegasus cry out, and then start gasping for air.

Knocked the wind right out of him, seems like.

Geralt patiently waited for the pegasus to uncompress his chest. When he finally sucked in a proper breath and tried to stand back up, the witcher grabbed his hind hoof again and yanked it out from under him, pulling most of him off of the table – and letting his head clip the side of it on his way down.

Solid impact. Not enough to make a concussion, but he'll feel that tomorrow.

With the second pegasus on the ground moaning in pain, Geralt spared a glance at the rest of the bar. Most of the other patrons were staring slack-jawed or cheering him on. The earth-pony he had assisted had already departed, and he spotted Silverstar clapping irons on the other pegasus. The sheriff gave Geralt a nod, and then turned back to his captive.

"Causing trouble again, Sky? That's it. You and your brother are going into lockup for a week this time. We don't tolerate this kind of thing in Appleloosa, and you dang well know it!"

The witcher chuckled and let the sheriff take the other pegasus off of his hands. He thought little of the incident, going back to his dinner.

Until he received a letter the next morning.

Author's Note

Can't write a Witcher story without at least one bar-room brawl. Preferably several.

Witcher Geralt Is No Easy Prey

Geralt was most of the way to Canterlot when he was attacked. The letter had summoned him to the court of Celestia immediately, and now he could guess why. The train breaking down, he realized, had been no accident; it had been orchestrated.

He barely managed to dodge a clawed swipe from the impossibly quick vampire, dancing back while swinging his silver sword, and got a satisfying hiss from a momentary contact with the beast.

Higher vampire. The worst foe I could run into; if I hadn't upgraded my medallion with Twilight's help, he would have taken my head off immediately.

The vampire snarled at him, and Geralt returned the expression, his cat eyes narrowing viciously. This was no altruistic guardian angel like his old friend Regis; this was a monster, through and through. Geralt growled.

"If you think your regeneration will save you from me, you're sorely mistaken, bastard. You're not the first higher vampire I've dealt with; not even the third."

The vampire screamed at him, so loudly the ground shook, and Geralt barely had time to sidestep the worst of it and raise a Quen shield to block out the rest. Even so, he felt like he would throw up, and staggered drunkenly.

That's new. Damnit, these creatures are completely unpredictable.

The vampire took the opening to pounce on the witcher, but it was hardly like Geralt didn't expect the followup; it caught an Igni blast for its trouble. A normal creature would have been engulfed in a blazing inferno and sent hurtling backward, but this one barely halted its motion. Geralt leveled his sword and squared off, circling and desperately trying to come up with an effective tactic.

Great, he's fireproof. That's just what I needed.

The vampire grinned horribly. "Experienced witcher you may be, but you're no match; it's been too long since I've had a good meal in this shithole."

Geralt gathered his stamina while the vampire spoke, and then smirked. "Yeah? Here, eat this."

The witcher threw his hand out in the sign of Aard, but this wasn't like the weak version he used on the Manticore previously; Geralt drew on all of his mutations and pushed all of his energy into the spell, and what resulted was more powerful than a point-blank shot from a ballista. The vampire barely had time to widen its eyes before the wall of force slammed into it, carrying it up and away, and ice crystals formed in the air itself from the sudden passage of wind; the vampire was frozen solid, and crashed into the ground with tremendous force.

That should buy me a second.

Geralt swiftly downed a Tawny Owl, for endurance, Black Blood, to make himself even more poisonous to the creature, and then one of his rarest potions; a decoction from an ancient leshen, granting him a temporary mutation similar to theirs. The more he drained his stamina with signs, the faster his energy returned, his metabolism speeding up.

The witcher had just finished coating his blade with vampire oil when the creature, still visibly frozen and worse for wear, staggered back towards him. It laughed – a horrible, deeply inhuman sound – and scraped the frost off of its face with one of the claws that emerged from its fingers.

"If that was the best you had, witcher—"

Geralt hurled a moondust bomb, which filled the air with deadly silver shrapnel. The vampire avoided the worst of it by a swift dodge, but caught enough splinters that its transformation would be inhibited. Geralt leapt on it where it stopped, his silver sword screaming through the air at a speed no human warrior could swing it; even so, the vampire swatted it aside with a claw and swiped at Geralt's midsection, tearing open some of the maille under his coat and spilling some blood.

The horrible, acrid smoke that rose from the vampire's claw told Geralt the Black Blood potion had done its job, and the vampire recoiled in shock; Geralt pressed his advantage, going into a whirlwind spin to the vampire's side; he was clearly out of range, but the special runes on his sword created a vicious wind-cutter effect that slammed into the surprised vampire a half-dozen times, drawing blood from his head, neck, and shoulder before he fled out of range.

Geralt pursued with a diving roll, taking a quick stab at the vampire; the creature parried this, but its riposte was slow, and tore open only the air as the witcher danced around him, chasing the point of his sword after the vampire smacked it aside in a balletic pirouette. Two cuts to the creature's uninjured shoulder, and Geralt changed direction and sidestepped the vampire's panicked swipe at his previous position just in time to slice open one of the monster's hamstrings.

The vampire tried to leap away and cloak itself in shadows, but the detonation of a Northern Wind bomb interrupted this, freezing it solid again; not a moment later, the witcher's sword cleft into its back, severing its spinal cord and puncturing its heart. Geralt readied to finish the vampire off completely, but this was a miscalculation; enough time had passed since his Moon Dust bomb had detonated that the vampire had managed to recover from the silver shrapnel.

Even as it fell to the ground from his strike, the vampire changed, growing radically in size and tearing out of its fine clothes.

Oh shit.

The witcher just barely managed to start a jump backwards before a huge, vicious claw – the size of the witcher in full – swept out at him, tearing open the front of his jacket and maille effortlessly. The witcher screamed in agony as he was gored; a fatal injury, to be sure, for any humanoid.

But Geralt hadn't let the invulnerability of the higher vampires go unstudied, nor had Professor Moreau, who had developed the final mutations Geralt had discovered and undergone in Toussaint. Even as the vampire – now in the form of a giant bat – stared in disbelief at its claw melting off under the wealth of toxic blood it had spilled, the witcher's body put itself back together.

Geralt drew his crossbow and fired his explosive silver bolt right into the creature's face, peppering it with silver shrapnel again and halting its regeneration. As he reloaded, he laughed cruelly.

"How romantic. Two human-looking creatures demonstrate the depths of their monstrous nature in a foreign world."

The vampire howled and dove at him. There was no way for the witcher to dodge the attack; normally, the best he could hope for would be to barely survive it using Quen.

Geralt dropped the silver chain from his arm, reverting to his pony form, and dashed under the leaping, utterly flabbergasted vampire. Unsure of what had happened, the monster barely had the time to register that it had failed to make contact for some reason it couldn't fathom before the witcher's blade drove through the back of its skull and into the ground.

"But humanity is worth little in this particular world, anyway."

The vampire, almost entirely incoherent from the devastating wound, barely managed to speak.

"You... a pony...?"

Geralt drew out the dagger he had made from the materials Discord had given him and deadpanned at the struggling creature.

"I'm a witcher. Die, monster."

And with that, he plunged the dagger repeatedly into the vampire's head, fraying its connection to its elders with every blow. After the fifth strike, the connection was severed entirely, and the vampire burned away to ash right underneath the witcher's boots.

Geralt scoffed, putting away his sword and dagger, though he kept a hand on his silver sword until he reclaimed and tied his silver chain back to his wrist. He snatched up the torn, bloody jacket the monster had worn.

Maybe this will work as a trophy. I guess that vampire hadn't heard of me; I've faced one who felled entire worlds, so I'm not easy prey for even these creatures.

The witcher staggered a bit from his wounds and laughed at himself.

Perhaps I should leave the bragging for after I see how bad the scarring is.

With that, Geralt continued on his way to Canterlot at long last.

Author's Note

Surprise!

Sir Geralt Gets A Job

Geralt stood utterly motionless in the center of the room, hands loose at his sides, eyes fixed on Celestia with a carefully neutral expression. He did not blink, did not visibly breathe, but instead faded into the background.

Though he was surrounded by guards, Geralt knew that even the best-trained guardsmen – guardsponies, in this case? – could not maintain vigilance over an utterly stationary target for long. His reflexes were practically screaming at him to act, to disarm and subdue the potential threats around him, but he held them in check.

And so the witcher was like a coiled spring of aggression, with all of the outward malice of a piece of furniture, when he noticed a slight hitch of breath from the otherwise stately, unflappable diarch of Equestria. She sat on her throne, reading the report of his 'misconduct', with what he knew was practiced neutrality. He saw her steady herself, and braced himself for a serious fight if the apparent grace of the kingdom turned out not to extend to its ruler; it would not be the first time Geralt had encountered such a thing.

-

Celestia was straining not to laugh, to keep her composure, as she read down the report. The fact that the human whom it concerned was standing in the center of the room, as still as a statue – not even his breathing was visible, he was good at this – and no more apparently concerned than one would be if waiting for a pot of water to boil, just made the entire thing even funnier.

Celestia closed her eyes, cleared her throat, and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She worried she might just laugh if she opened her mouth too soon.

"Ahem. Geralt of Rivia, correct?"

The man nodded, but otherwise remained silent. Celestia raised an eyebrow at this, slightly taken aback, but deduced he might be uncomfortable under the circumstances. She decided to try to lighten the mood somewhat.

"I gather you're a traveler and a warrior, by trade?"

Another stoic nod. Celestia suppressed the urge to sigh, and pressed on, gesturing out to him and noting the intensity of his gaze as his eyes tracked her hoof.

"I understand if you are uncomfortable, given the circumstances. One accustomed to the road would naturally chafe at being brought into a stuffy court, and I do apologize if my summons caused you distress."

At this, the guard who had reported Geralt – one Rock Solid – and had him brought in under armed escort, who had until then been wearing a self-satisfied smirk, glanced in alarm at Celestia.

Oh, she would be having words with him later.

The man, meanwhile, gave an almost imperceptible shrug. When he spoke, Celestia was alarmed to note how much it sounded like a growl from a predator. "It's not my first time, Your Majesty."

Celestia chaffed slightly at the unexpectedly formal address, but decided – as she often did with such shows of decorum – that correcting it would just be seen as a further exertion of authority.

She also picked up on the faintest hint of disdain that the man had when saying the title, indicating he was no more impressed by royal titles than by the contents of royal chamberpots.

This is off to a poor start.

Regardless, the princess pressed on, as protocol demanded. "Let's take the report in chronological order. It states you started a brawl in Appleloosa. Is that accurate?"

The man shrugged again. "It is accurate enough."

Celestia bristled slightly at that response, and this time she let it show, sighing slightly and giving the slightest eyeroll; the others in the court would almost certainly not notice it, but she knew this man would.

"Please, Geralt, tell me what actually happened."

Geralt was still a few seconds more, finally blinking, and then spoke in a softer tone than before. "A fight had broken out. I was still tired from slaying a royal gryphon not far from the town. I decided to put a stop to it before the ruffians ruined my evening, and when I told them to knock it off, one of them hurled furniture at me."

Celestia nodded, inferring the rest, and glanced back at the report when Rock Solid stepped forward slightly.

"With all due respect, your majesty, he's omitting that he broke one of the so-called ruffians' wings, and he gave the other one a serious head injury!"

Celestia moved her gaze, very slowly, deliberately slowly, from the parchment held in front of her to Rock, who quailed slightly in realizing his faux pas.

"I am aware, Rock. It is detailed in the report. And frankly, given that this man slays monsters for a living, I think that shows remarkable restraint on his part; when a pair of untrained bar flies attack a veteran warrior twice their size, injuries are inevitable. And no permanent damage was done, which I can only assume was deliberate on his part."

Celestia caught the faintest hint of a smirk as it flashed across Geralt's face.

Gotcha. This one must be as relieved as I am whenever he runs into someone with a firm grasp of reality.

Rock took a step back and shakily added, "But, he just admitted to slaying a gryphon! A royal one, no less! We had not even heard of this crime, he just volunteered it!"

Celestia shook her head at that, and at the same time the man let out an audible sigh. Both had had their fill of nonsense today.

"The creature he slew was not a gryphon from our world, Rock. Though they share the name and some similarities in..." Celestia trailed off and waved a hoof dismissively, "configuration, that is where the similarities end. Gryphons in his world, I gather, are monsters; non-intelligent and extremely violent, is that right, Geralt?"

Geralt nodded, and to Celestia's surprise, volunteered further information. "Some monsters are majestic in their own way, but gryphons are an exception; they tend to focus their attacks on quadrupeds, such as cattle or equines—" at this, Rock visibly paled slightly "—but they won't hesitate to attack isolated travelers of any species if the mood takes them. They're huge."

The man became visibly more animated, leaning forward slightly and pointing around the room.

"At full wingspan and on their rear legs, an adult would reach three quarters of the way to the ceiling in this chamber, or more, and their wingtips would very nearly be able to hit both windows at once." His voice became darker, and Celestia noted with no small amusement that he was directing more of his attention to Rock than her. "They swoop in from the sky, carrying their prey off screaming and struggling, as they prefer to tear them apart still-living."

Rock Solid blanched somewhat, stiffening in his armor and frowning deeply. He muttered a simple, "Oh." and struggled to keep his composure.

Celestia, for her part, was already familiar with these disturbing details in broad strokes, but found the man's description interesting if only because of the underlying disdain with which he said it; it was clear he'd seen the horrors these creatures could inflict first-hand.

The brutality he exhibited in taking its head is a little more understandable, now.

Celestia cleared her throat. "The other matter brought to my attention was that you had deliberately delayed in responding to my summons; evidently, the guards found you in a bar?"

Geralt nodded brusquely at that. "As I attempted to tell your over-eager guard, there," he gestured dismissively at Rock Solid, "I was restocking my alchemical supplies after a difficult fight."

Celestia frowned a bit in thought. "I was under the impression you had restocked quite thoroughly in Appleloosa; the sheer volume of moonshine you ordered was noted by the sheriff in his report. Why delay any purchases until reaching Canterlot?"

Geralt sighed, this time more wearily than aggressively. "The damage you see to my jacket and armor was not from the gryphon." He gestured at the ragged garments on his upper body before continuing, "This was done by a vampire that assaulted me on my way here."

Celestia's eyes widened considerably. "The black-haired, human-looking higher vampire wearing the jacket with flower symbols on it? You encountered him?"

And survived?

It was the man's turn to widen his eyes and seem taken aback. "I take it you encountered him before – and you are surprisingly well-versed in vampires, Princess. Yes, I slew him before arriving here, but I was seriously wounded in the process, and used up some significant supplies both in the battle and afterwards."

Celestia leaned forward, fixing the man with an intense gaze. She knew she needed to confirm this as clearly as possible.

"Did you take a trophy from him as well?"

The witcher shook his head, raising a halting hand.

"Impossible, I'm afraid, aside from a scrap of his jacket; higher vampires regenerate if killed improperly, and their entire body withers to ash if eliminated." For his part, the witcher did show Celestia a scrap of the jacket. Celestia nodded and leaned back, relieved despite the brutal nature of it.

So he really did kill him, somehow.

"He attacked Canterlot; at the time, we had no idea what he was, and had invited him into the city. It was Twilight who decided to magically scan him to differentiate him from you, thinking he was a normal human; instead, she realized his real nature, and when confronted on the topic he became quite talkative. He had the ability to warp the minds of his victims, and apparently intended on subjugating Equestria as livestock. He assaulted us when we made it clear we would resist him."

Geralt's disgust at that statement shown through any attempt at stoicism he was still making; utter contempt, plain and simple, in an almost snarling expression. "They attempted something similar with humanity, long ago. Even among higher vampires, such individuals are considered contemptible monsters."

Celestia's expression became pained, and she shook her head sadly. "Are all higher vampires violent, predatory monsters, then?"

The man's expression softened somewhat, though there was still an edge of steel to it. "No. No intelligent race is pure evil; it's always a choice."

Celestia breathed a sigh of relief at that. "That is good to hear. The idea of an individual being entirely robbed of free will, of a choice between right and wrong, by their species of origin is..."

Horrible didn't seem to sum it up, and so Celestia floundered for a second for the right phrase. Geralt simply nodded.

"I share the sentiment."

The two shared a moment of quiet, watching each other and considering, before Geralt pressed a query.

"How did you drive the vampire off in the first place? They're significant threats."

At this, the guards in the room became visibly more uncomfortable. Celestia restrained any snickering at their expense and focused on Geralt.

"I fought him while Twilight restrained the guards he had already brainwashed and got ponies to safety. The whole situation gave the ponies of Canterlot quite a fright; the two of us fought in the skies above the castle here until he withdrew. We actually only just got the roof repaired," she gestured at the section that still hadn't been painted over, and the man merely nodded without looking, "from where he chased me once he saw me go airborne and assumed his bat form. I'd initially tried holding back, but it soon became obvious that nothing but extreme force even registered for him."

"Mhm. They're tough bastards, all right; even with silver and poison they don't fall easily."

Celestia nodded, shuddering slightly at the memories of that day. Several times those horrible talons had nearly found her in the skies, and if not for her teleportation skills she was certain tragedy would have descended on Equestria. That prompted her to take a closer look at the ragged hole in the man's garb.

"I managed to narrowly avoid his attacks until Twilight was free to assist me, and we drove him off together; it seems you were not as lucky."

Geralt nodded grimly. "He ambushed me. I managed to avoid his first attacks and got the upper hand, but the speed of his transformation took me completely off-guard. I've seen other higher vampires transform, but never in the blink of an eye like that. If not for my mutations, I'd be dead."

Celestia's eyes widened a bit. "So he really hit you with those awful claws?"

"Mhm."

Celestia tried to imagine the incredible regenerative ability – not to mention unflinching, unyielding pain tolerance and willpower – it would take for someone to survive such an injury and still prevail in combat, and winced at the agony the man must have become accustomed to in order to reach such a state.

"I see. I am deeply sorry you had to go through that; if we'd managed to contain him before..."

The man held up a hand placatingly. "It's my job, Princess. I appreciate the concern, but I'm alright."

The reports made him sound irritable and ill-tempered, but I can tell he's sincere.

Celestia nodded and drew herself up. "You were summoned here for a specific purpose, and I believe this has done nothing but re-affirm that. Geralt, on my authority as a Princess of Equestria, and by the recommendation of Princess Twilight Sparkle, with the consent of Princesses Mi Amore Cadenza and Luna, I hereby bestow on you the rank of knight-errant in the land of Equestria."

The entire room was silent for a few moments as everyone registered what Celestia had said. Geralt stared at her for a few seconds before he reached up to rub his forehead and mumbled, though smiling despite himself, "Here we go again."

Author's Note

Poor guy's got three whole knightly crests to juggle now, tourneys are gonna get complicated

Witcher Geralt Insults Royalty By Accident And Then On Purpose

Geralt strode back to Ponyville with a healthy sack of 'bits' – so the Equestrians called their golden coins – jangling from his belt. He knew the symptoms of his witchers' herbs would kick in eventually, but he had a few hours before that.

Let's see... based on what Rarity told me about prices in this economy, this should be enough bits to put me up in a decent inn-room for a few months, if it comes to that. Despite his name, Ornery was quite generous – the kind of pay I'd expect a knight or human to make for a life-threatening enterprise. Hardly what I'm used to.

But the witcher did not make for the inn; instead, he headed for the gaudy crystal-palace-library thing, in hopes Princess Sparkle had returned from her journey. He strode into the palace, marveling for the second time that there were no guards posted to keep everyone out, and made his way to the library once again. He immediately spotted Twilight carefully reshelving books, flying from stack to stack, and smiled to himself.

This one certainly takes her job seriously. Looks like those wings aren't just for show after all. Magic's involved; gotta be. There's no way they could sustain themselves in the air at that pace otherwise.

Geralt quietly seated himself at the table he had made into an impromptu alchemy workbench, and began work. After a short while, Twilight spied him and flew over to speak.

"Welcome back, Geralt. Things with the manticore... uh, things go well?"

Geralt pondered that, and nodded.

"Creature's gone, and I was paid well."

Twilight fidgeted a bit, but stayed silent.

Something's bugging her. Hmm... guessing by Ornery's response...

"I didn't kill the manticore, if that's your concern, Twilight."

Twilight started at that, and stammered a response.

"Oh! Er, I didn't want to... I mean, it's not that I think you're, y'know, violent, but, you've got those swords, and you were making a toxic oil, and at first I didn't realize what it was for, but..."

Geralt nodded, smirking as he worked, crushing herbs in a mortar.

"The oil was for killing manticores, that's true. But I only kill when I think it's necessary; usually, a manticore is such a threat that everyone would prefer for it to be removed, but this one seemed... largely harmless."

Twilight took a seat across from him. When Geralt glanced up from his task, he saw she was smiling brightly.

"I'm really glad to hear that. You seemed like a good person, but I guess I just wondered if I'd been naive."

Geralt shook his head while he carefully set up a beaker with a potent acid mixture.

"You weren't naive. Killing is my job, Twilight. These swords aren't for show."

Twilight looked a bit crestfallen at that, and fidgeted in place.

"The world you come from... it's a violent one?"

"Very."

"So people need witchers like you to protect them from the monsters, right? You're like a hero."

Geralt actually laughed at that, despite himself.

"No, Twilight. I'm a professional. I kill for money, not out of nobility."

Twilight squinted at him, a smirk slowly forming on her face. Geralt wasn't at all sure he liked that look.

"So you mean to say you've never stood up for the defenseless without pay, even at danger to yourself?"

Geralt almost reflexively denied it; after all, were a witcher to admit they had worked without pay, that would open the door to all sorts of mischief. Getting paid was hard enough as it was for his kind.

But the witcher thought better of it; the ponies had shown him kindness and generosity, and Twilight hadn't been put off even by his blunt discussion of his trade. He sighed and relented with a faint growl.

"I have. I prefer not to speak of it, because every skinflint peasant would pounce on the opportunity to cheat me if they thought I was soft like that. But it's true; I take pride in my work, protecting folk, even when they don't deserve it. I try to make the world a better place; lord knows it needs it."

Twilight nodded, and gently reached a hoof across the table, pressing it to one of Geralt's hands. The gesture shocked him, but he stayed motionless.

"Things must be hard for you, back home. The way you talked about being a witcher, the way you act... people don't treat you well, do they? Because you're different?"

"Mhm."

"Well, things aren't like that here in Equestria. I mean... there are a few folks who are jerks, but everyone has to put up with the occasional jerk."

"What about changelings?"

Geralt had shot that out with barely a thought, and immediately regretted it.

Twilight could figure out what was up with that manticore, if I'm not careful.

Twilight reeled back slightly in surprise.

"Changelings? What about them?"

"You were saying ponies don't discriminate. So... what about changelings?"

Twilight opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then looked away.

"The changelings... how much do you know about them?"

Geralt slowly pulled his hand from Twilight's hoof and resumed his alchemy work.

"Not much. But I didn't ask about their history; I was just asking if your magnanimity extends to them."

"Of course it does!"

Twilight's wings flared suddenly, and Geralt glanced up in surprise to see her frowning and staring at him plaintively. The witcher chose his next words carefully.

"So... you mean to say that you don't bear a grudge against their kind?"

"No! I mean, yes? I don't! Some ponies might – well, some ponies do – but I'm friends with Thorax!"

Geralt became incensed despite himself.

"So you have one changeling friend? That's your argument?"

Twilight blinked a few times, confused.

"Thorax is the leader of the changelings, Geralt. What I meant is that I'm friends with him, and I try to work to help changeling-pony relations. To help them better their image, help him run the hive."

Geralt leaned back, looking Twilight over. She didn't seem angry; instead, she just seemed hurt. It wasn't the kind of response Geralt was accustomed to.

Fighting, I'm used to – verbal or otherwise. Usually when I press someone on their wrongdoing, they explode on me.

The two watched each other in silence for a few moments, before Geralt finally put two and two together and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Twilight... what's your last name?"

"Sparkle. Why?"

"As in... Princess Sparkle?"

Twilight blinked a few times, and then she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Darn. I was hoping you already knew, and didn't care. Or that we could carry on like this longer."

Geralt groaned, resuming his work at the table.

"So you've just held that out on me, huh? Any reason for that?"

"People treat me differently when they find out. I kinda just wanted to, y'know... talk. Be friends."

For a sovereign, she certainly seems humble. Maybe political figures don't work the same way, here.

"Fine by me, if that's what you'd prefer. I've spent plenty of time in the company of royalty; if I ever held any wonder at the idea of it, it wore off a long, long time ago. Don't know that I'd make a good friend, though."

Twilight cocked her head to the side.

"What do you mean? You've just admitted that you're generous, and your concern for the changelings proves you've got a kind heart... why wouldn't you be a good friend?"

The witcher sighed as he worked.

How'd I give her the impression I'm such a nice guy?

"It takes more than basic decency to be a good friend."

"Like what?"

Geralt groaned as he continued.

"Real friendship takes loyalty, commitment, and a sense of camaraderie. You can't just be book-club friends or drinking mates – though you should be that, too – you have to actually give a damn."

Twilight's irritating smile just grew deeper and deeper as Geralt spoke.

Damnit, I feel like I've walked into some kind of trap.

"Being honest and straightforward is important, too, wouldn't you say?"

Geralt eyed her suspiciously, and answered slowly.

"Of course. If you're not honest with your friends, you're not really friends – sort of like how you concealed your identity from me, in a sense, and that compromised the legitimacy of our relationship."

Despite trying to get a rise out of her, Twilight just gave a playful eyeroll before speaking.

"Whereas you've been honest from the start, even though witchers generally get mistreated. It sounds like you know an awful lot about friendship, Geralt."

Geralt just gave a grunt in response as he worked, hoping the pony would stop her insufferable smiling. She didn't – and, deep down, Geralt was somewhat pleased.

Very deep, beneath all of the irritation, and his own embarrassment at having flung a baseless accusation at someone who had been nothing but charitable towards him.

Twilight, for her part, just snickered and looked over his apparatus.

"So, what are you making now?"

"White honey. It's a mix that will help with the toxicity from the herbs I took. Make it easier to rest them off."

"You ate toxic herbs? Why?"

"It's a witcher practice. The herbs give us greater focus, endurance, pain resistance, strength, that sort of thing. I also drank a potion to protect me from the manticore's venom."

Twilight frowned as she watched him work.

"So you have to poison yourself in order to fight the monsters where you're from?"

"That's what it takes, sometimes."

"And... you don't get paid well. Sometimes you don't get paid at all, from the sounds of it."

"Mhm."

"That's... really sad, Geralt. It sounds like your world is a terrible place."

Geralt, having finished his mixture, poured the eggshell-colored liquid into a small bottle.

"Can't deny that. Especially compared to this place."

He slugged back the sweet-tasting liquid, and gave it a second to settle before continuing.

"And that's why it needs me."

Author's Note

Geralt: Master of tact

In the books (and games), Geralt can be very prickly, especially towards those he suspects of wrongdoing. He's very blunt in his accusations, very probing and suspicious, and also tends to push away those who try to get close to him.

Especially sorceresses!