AmethystButterfly



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    “Seriously, brother,” Teodora says, “you’re wanted for treason, what in Melitele’s name did you do?”

    “Nothing,” Jaskier tells her. “It’s just that my soulmate’s the warlord of the north.”

    She stares at him, open-mouthed. And then she begins to giggle. “Only you, Julek,” she says when she finally has some control back. “You did always like to be dramatic.”

    The four lives of Julian Alfred Pankratz: noble, sex slave, soulmate, bard.

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    20 May 2026

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    “Everyone’s from somewhere,” Ciri says. “I’m from Cintra, even though no one can know it, and Geralt’s from Rivia, and Yennefer’s from Vengerberg. So where are you from?”

    “Nowhere,” Jaskier says, and his tone has just enough of a snap to it, an edge she’s not heard before, that she decides to leave it be.

    It turns out that where Jaskier’s from, they’re not that happy to see him. Until they realise he could be worth something...

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    20 May 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 79

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    “Fix him,” Geralt growls, deep and powerful.

    Jaskier coughs and coughs. His throat hurts. His head hurts. His whole body hurts, and he’s still gasping. Geralt approaches him again. “Calm down, Jaskier,” he murmurs. “It will be alright.”

    That almost helps for a moment, before the witch speaks up. “I can’t,” she says.

    “What do you mean you can’t?”

    “I stopped the djinn from killing him, but what is gone is gone. Wishes cannot be overturned, not without another djinn.”

    Her words ring and throb in Jaskier’s head, echoing as if in a cave. His vocal cords are gone. His voice is gone. Forever.

    His voice is gone.

    *

    Jaskier never recovers his voice after the djinn.

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    17 May 2026

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    Filavandrel's gift was so much more than a simple lute. It seemed fitting, that Jaskier’s soul would be made of wood and strings and beautiful sounds.

    The problem is that now Rience has his lute and is threatening to burn it if they don't hand over Ciri. And Jaskier has never told anyone that his very life is tied to his beloved instrument.

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    16 May 2026

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    “Rumour has it, the White Wolf himself arrived this morning,” Essi says. “By portal, or there would have been a whole procession. Anyway, there were two witchers at the Academy, and they were asking about you.”

    “Me?”

    Essi holds out a sheet of paper without a word.

    It’s a bulletin board notice. Wanted Alive, it says. The Sandpiper. By order of the White Wolf, Warlord of the North. Below is an engraving of a wolf head, snarling and almost audibly growling.

    Language:
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    16 May 2026