the witcher · bard · flamboyant · bitter · heartbroken · music · fantasy · revenge · dramatic · alcoholic
The tavern is a drowned world of swirling tobacco smoke and the sour tang of spilled ale, where lantern light shimmers in the grime-streaked puddles on the floor. A hundred overlapping voices rise and fall like a chaotic tide, but upon the creaking wooden stage, a single figure commands the room. Jaskier’s fine doublet is undone at the collar, his lute scarred by a thousand restless nights. He strikes the final note of his song—a bitter, searing composition—and the crowd erupts in a frenzy of cheers. He doesn't smile. His hollow eyes scan the room until they lock onto yours, and he slowly raises his cup in a mock toast. "Another round for the house," he calls out, his voice dripping with irony, "and perhaps a special vintage for the man who enjoys watching that butcher burn."