When Roche had first come to Geralt at his vineyard in Toussant, asking the witcher for his assistance in convincing Iorveth to join his cause. He was certain he must have been in some kind of surrealistic dream, after all, Roche was a well-known hater of nohumans, Iorveth especially.
"Let me make sure I'm hearing this right." Geralt looked at the Blue Stripes commander. "You want to join forces with Iorveth, and his scoia'tael, to somehow thwart Emperor Emhyr." Geralt continued.
Roche stood in front of him with Ves at his side, as usual, except instead of his Blue Stripes uniform, he wore a simple pair of trousers, and a black gambeson. However, his head was still adorned with his usual black chaperon. He looked back at Geralt with an expression that said a multitude about how much he hated the position he was in. He, and Iorveth go back a long time, and every encounter they had, one of them wound up badly wounded. He had always figured he would finally kill that swiving elf someday, not be in need of his help.
"Believe me when I say, if I could think of any other way I'd do it. However, I don't have that luxury, we need the scoia'tael, and that means we need Iorveth." His tone was both insistent, and reluctant.
Geralt leaned back against the wall of his house, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What about your Blue Stripes, the best of the best in guerilla warfare?" Geralt didn't hide the sarcasm in his tone.
"After the fiasco with assisting Dijkstra to assassinate Radovid, most of my unit deserted, I've only a handful including Ves." Roche gestured to the blond woman standing next to him. "The Blue Stripes as they were, simply doesn't exist." He finished.
Geralt regarded him for a while, then shook his head.
"So what is it that is so important, that the enemy to all nonhumans, needs nonhumans to assist him with?" Geralt had to admit his curiosity was peaked.
Roche cast a glance around him, then looked back at Geralt.
"To assassinate Emhyr var Emreis." He spoke clearly, but held his voice low so as not to be overheard.
Geralt pushed off the wall, shaking his head.
"I don't know about that Roche, something like that could put Ciri in danger." Geralt stated.
For the last three years, she had been learning how to become the Empress of Nilfguard, when her father Emhyr stepped down. She could be present when such a thing happened, and that may put her life in danger. He wasn't that concerned with how she may feel about Emhyr's death, he had hardly been much of a father to her, for her to be that attached to him. Geralt had been more of a father to her, and he knew their relationship was strong. However, he couldn't rule out the possibility that an attempt at Emhyr's life could be an attempt on hers as well.
"If my contacts are right, Ciri will be safe, and sound in Vizema, nowhere near her father," Roche reassured his friend.
"Are you certain?" Geralt had to be sure.
Roche nodded his head.
"Fairly certain, I'll know more when I meet them in Novigrad. However, from all I've heard, Ciri will not be around." He continued to reassure Geralt.
Geralt cast a glance at the scenery around them, the sun was shining high in the sky, and he could feel its warmth soaking into his every pore. The last remnants of the rain shower from the night before was still left in the form of small puddles on the ground here, and there.
"And you think Iorveth will want to help you with this." Geralt still wasn't convinced.
"Why wouldn't he, Emhyr has managed fuck up his plans for a free state for nonhumans. Not to mention the torture he went through at the hands of Nilfguard." Roche explained his reasoning.
Geralt couldn't really argue that, Emhyr had betrayed Iorveth and the scoia'tael, many of them were assassinated, or tortured, and interrogated. The elf's face was proof of the pain he had endured, however, Geralt always thought that that pain was much easier to bear than that of knowing he had trusted humans, and they had betrayed him. Now just as Iorveth was about to assist in the creation of a free state, where nonhumans, and humans could live among one another without prejudice, Nilfgurd once again screwed up the works.
"There's only one problem." Geralt looked at Roche. "I have no idea where Iorveth is, the last time I saw him was when we left Loc Muinne, then Triss, and I went one way, and he went another, back to Vergan I believe. But after that went as it did, I doubt he's still there." Geralt gestured in the air, as if, he was gesturing towards the place he spoke of.
"The last intel I had on him, said he had taken the scoia'tael back to the forest near Flotsom." Roche was given this information quite a while ago, and hoped it was still accurate.
Geralt went back to leaning against the wall, this time bending his knee so he could place his foot against the wall behind him.
"Why me though, why do you need me to convince him?" He asked.
"Because he trusts you that's why, if anyone can convince him, I know you can." Roche's reasoning was very simple.
Geralt shook his head, he knew Roche was right, him, and Iorveth had developed a close friendship in the time they had spent on the prison barge to Vergen, and the long trek to Loc Muinne. What's more, Iorveth knew that Geralt would not ask him to do anything that would bring danger to him or his scoia'tael. Once again he pushed off the wall, and looked at both Roche, and Ves.
"I know I'm probably gonna' regret this, but I'm in." He stated.
Now, Geralt sat in Novigrad, at a table in the Rosemary, and Thyme, across from Roche, and Ves. Roche had picked the place because he knew that Geralt's long-time friend Dandelion would welcome them with open arms, and give them rooms to rest in. There was a band on the stage, playing a lively tune, and the place reeked of sweat, and booze. There was a drunk couple dancing on the floor so drunk they were oblivious to anyone else around, this was evident in how they were grabbing, and groping each other.
"Get a room for fook' sake." A rather large Skellege man at the table behind Geralt shouted out.
The male drunk dancer answered the Skelliger with a one finger salute, to which the Scelleger stood up abruptly from his table. He sauntered over to the couple with a stance that said he was offended, it seemed there just might be a brawl.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Dandelion stepped in between the two men, his arms outstretched, and his palms facing up. Geralt was sure he was going to have to get Dandelion's ass out of another mess. "I realize the importance of defending one's honor, and all, but can you please do so outside of my establishment?" Dandelion spoke in his usual animated tone.
Unfortunately, the drunk dancer was having none of it, he pushed Dandelion out of the way, and lunged for the Skelliger that was twice his size. The Skelliger sidestepped his move leaving the drunk dancer swinging into mid-air. He pitched forward, landing with a resounding crack face down on the floor, where he stayed.
Geralt watched as the Skelliger, and his friends drug the drunk dancer out through the entrance, with his female companion walking behind nagging her opinion about the whole situation. As they cleared the doorway, another man entered the tavern. He was a bald man with a monocle held in his left eye, wearing clothing that clearly showed they hadn't been washed in a very long time. He scanned the room with his light blue eyes, and the look of recognition crossed his pinched features when he saw Geralt, and the others. He crossed the room, and sat down on the bench next Geralt.
