In the darkness of the cold, stormy night stand two figures; Geralt, and someone in a cloak, his would-be assassin. The wind howls like hungry wolves, and the rain rages down like angry bulls. No matter how hard the rain pours, it avoids the assassin, almost as though it were meeting a sphere of glass. Geralt, however, was weak. Rain he could have repelled at his weakest not two months ago now rendered him a shivering shadow of himself. ‘Focus,‘ he thinks to himself, ‘the rain is just a distraction, don’t let it own you.‘
The assassin is the first to take action, drawing an ornate sword made of silver. Even in the darkness of this storm, Geralt can see the blade shine with a brilliant light he has never encountered before. Thinking quickly, Geralt shoots a bolt of energy at the assassin before he can get close enough to use that sword. With an audible pop it lets loose, flying to its target, carving a path through the rain in the imperceptible time it takes it to travel such a distance. When it reaches the edge of the ‘sphere’ surrounding the assassin, there’s a sound of metal meeting metal, and the bolt turns away from the assassin and up into the sky. No good, whatever is protecting the assassin from the rain also reflected the energy bolt. Geralt clicks his tongue as he sees its faint trail of light fade to nothing in the darkness, struggling to formulate a plan as the assassin makes his approach.