"Last wish ",
"Sword Destiny",
"Blood of the elves",
"Hour Contempt",
"Baptism by fire",
"Tower Swallows",
"Lady of the Lake",
"Something ends, something begins"
"Season of Storms"
Comp. games:
"Witcher",
The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings,
The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt,
Profession
Buttercup is the author of numerous ballads and poems. In many of his works, he tells about the adventures of Geralt, thanks to which the witcher is quite famous, in fact, being the most famous witcher of the North. More or less fully, readers become aware only of excerpts from the memoirs "Half a century of poetry" (Polish Pół wieku poezji), which Buttercup began to write after Geralt deserted from the Riva army. Apparently this memoir is one of the few survivors glacial period literary monuments of northerners.
Appearance, character and age
Buttercup is the complete opposite and a vivid contrast to the main character - he is talkative and very loving. Talented and inquisitive, but at the same time very frivolous, because of which he often gets into trouble, often getting Geralt involved in them, forced to pull his friend out of there, because Dandelion is helpless in battle, although sometimes he forgets about it, trying to help Geralt. However, he is not inferior to Geralt in the knowledge of life and often turns out to be wiser than the witcher. Despite his carelessness, Dandelion, as it turned out, was spying on almost all the kings of the north, however, despite Dijkstra's threats, he did not let him catch the witcher and, at the risk of punishment, helped to catch Geralt Rience, bypassing Dijkstra. .
There is virtually no description of Dandelion's appearance in the books - only a "fantasy cap" and an elven lute are mentioned. This is apparently due to the fact that the action of the books takes place over almost twenty years. Geralt even learns Dandelion's real name by accident - when he was identified by the Toussaint knights. Geralt does not change during this time - and Dandelion would have to change significantly. Therefore, it seems that Buttercup has no age. Dijkstra says this about Dandelion:
I know that you are about forty, you look thirty, you think that you are not much more than twenty, but you act like you are only ten.
original text(Polish)
Wiadomym jest mi, że masz lat blisko czterdzieści, wyglądasz na blisko trzydzieści, wyobrażasz sobie, że masz nieco ponad dwadzieścia, a postępujesz tak, jakbyś miał niecałe dziesię ć.
Geralt also said in the third chapter of The Tower of the Swallow:
After all, you, Buttercup, are not even forty ... you began to seriously rhyme and invent melodies at the age of nineteen, inspired by love for the Countess de Stel. And that means that your service to the mentioned Lady, my friend Buttercup, does not even reach twenty years.
Buttercup is known to have beautiful appearance, which sometimes causes him to be mistaken for an elf.
From the novel "Season of Thunder" we learn that Buttercup has blond hair. :
Geralt didn't know who it was. But he knew his companion too well - a dandy in a fantasy cap with a heron feather, blond hair falling over his shoulders, styled on tongs. Frant, who wore a wine-red doublet and a shirt with a lace jabot. With the indispensable lute and an impudent smirk on his lips.
There is a disturbing suggestion about the end of Buttercup's life:
Once an elf told me that I would say goodbye to this vale of tears on the scaffold with the help of a clever gallows master. True, I do not believe in this kind of cheap divination, but a few days ago I dreamed that I was being pulled up. I woke up covered in sweat, I could not swallow and there was not enough air. So I don't like it when someone talks about loops.
On the other hand, the Tower of the Swallow mentions the discovery of Dandelion's supposed remains in the distant future:
It so happened that a group of archaeologists from the University of Castell Graupiana, conducting excavations in Beauclair, discovered under a layer of charcoal, indicating a gigantic fire that once raged here, even more ancient layer dated to the 13th century. In the same layer, they dug up a cavern formed by the remains of walls and compacted with clay and lime, and in it, to the great amazement of scientists, there were two perfectly preserved skeletons: a woman and a man. Next to the skeletons - besides weapons and a few small artifacts - lay a long thirty-inch tube made of hardened leather. Embossed on the skin was a coat of arms with faded colors depicting lions and diamonds. Professor Schliemann, who led the expedition, is a major specialist in sphragistics dark ages, identified this emblem as a sign of Rivia, an ancient kingdom with an unidentified localization.
This suggests that Buttercup died a natural death, having lived a peaceful life with a loved one. However, in The Lady of the Lake, when Geralt takes Buttercup off the scaffold, where he is sent by his beloved Princess Anna-Henriette of Toussaint, after he was caught in bed with a young baroness, and in the process of an almost completed execution, a messenger with a pardon arrived, in honor of the world of Cintria, the witcher asks the bard a question about his tube with the manuscript, to which he replies that she remained in the castle of the princess, and he remembers the contents of the manuscripts, since he reread them many times.
Buttercup! Only now Geralt noticed what he should have noticed a long time ago. - And your priceless tuba? Your half century of poetry? The messenger didn't have them. Did they stay in Toussaint? - Remained, - indifferently assented the bard. - In Lasochka's wardrobe, under a bunch of dresses, panties and corsets. And let them stay there forever and ever. Amen. - Explain. - What is there to explain? In Toussaint I had enough time to carefully read everything I wrote. - And what? - I'll write again. Anew.
»,
The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings
The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt,
Profession
Buttercup is the author of numerous ballads and poems. In many of his works, he tells about the adventures of Geralt, thanks to which the witcher is quite famous, in fact, being the most famous witcher of the North. Readers become more or less fully aware of only excerpts from the memoirs "Half a Century of Poetry" (Polish. Poł wieku poezji), which Dandelion began writing after Geralt deserted from the Riva army. Obviously, these memoirs are one of the few northern literary monuments that survived the Ice Age.
Appearance, character and age
Buttercup is the complete opposite and a vivid contrast to the main character - he is talkative and very loving. Talented and inquisitive, but at the same time very frivolous, because of which he often gets into trouble, often getting Geralt involved in them, forced to pull his friend out of there, because Dandelion is helpless in battle, although sometimes he forgets about it. trying to help Geralt. Nevertheless, he is not inferior to Geralt in the knowledge of life and often turns out to be wiser than the witcher. Despite his carelessness, Buttercup, as it turned out, spied on almost all the kings of the north, but despite Dijkstra's threats, he did not let him catch the witcher and, risking punishment, helped to catch Geralt Rience bypassing Dijkstra. .
There is virtually no description of Dandelion's appearance in the books - only a "fantasy cap" and an elven lute are mentioned. This is apparently due to the fact that the action of the books takes place over almost twenty years. Even Dandelion's real name Geralt learns by chance, when he was identified by the Toussaint knights. Geralt does not change during this time - and Dandelion would have to change significantly. Therefore, it seems that Buttercup has no age. Dijkstra says this about Dandelion:
I know that you are about forty, you look thirty, you think that you are not much more than twenty, but you act like you are only ten.
original text(Polish)
Wiadomym jest mi, że masz lat blisko czterdzieści, wyglądasz na blisko trzydzieści, wyobrażasz sobie, że masz nieco ponad dwadzieścia, a postępujesz tak, jakbyś miał niecałe dziesię ć.
Geralt also said in the third chapter of The Tower of the Swallow:
After all, you, Buttercup, are not even forty ... you began to seriously rhyme and invent melodies at the age of nineteen, inspired by love for the Countess de Stel. And that means that your service to the mentioned Lady, my friend Buttercup, does not even reach twenty years.
Buttercup is known to have a handsome appearance that sometimes causes him to be mistaken for an elf.
From the novel "Season of Thunder" we learn that Buttercup has blond hair. :
Geralt didn't know who it was. But he knew his companion too well - a dandy in a fantasy cap with a heron feather, blond hair falling over his shoulders, styled on tongs. Frant, who wore a wine-red doublet and a shirt with a lace jabot. With the indispensable lute and an impudent smirk on his lips.
There is a disturbing suggestion about the end of Buttercup's life:
Once an elf told me that I would say goodbye to this vale of tears on the scaffold with the help of a clever gallows master. True, I do not believe in this kind of cheap divination, but a few days ago I dreamed that I was being pulled up. I woke up covered in sweat, I could not swallow and there was not enough air. So I don't like it when someone talks about loops.
On the other hand, the Tower of the Swallow mentions the discovery of Dandelion's supposed remains in the distant future:
It so happened that a group of archaeologists from the University of Castell Graupiana, conducting excavations in Beauclair, discovered under a layer of charcoal, indicating a gigantic fire that once raged here, an even more ancient layer, dated to the 13th century. In the same layer, they dug up a cavern formed by the remains of walls and compacted with clay and lime, and in it, to the great amazement of scientists, there were two perfectly preserved skeletons: a woman and a man. Next to the skeletons - besides weapons and a few small artifacts - lay a long thirty-inch tube made of hardened leather. Embossed on the skin was a coat of arms with faded colors depicting lions and diamonds. Professor Schliemann, a major specialist in the sphragistics of the Dark Ages, who led the expedition, identified this coat of arms as a sign of Rivia, an ancient kingdom with an unknown localization.
This suggests that Buttercup died a natural death, having lived a peaceful life with a loved one. However, in The Lady of the Lake, when Geralt takes Buttercup off the scaffold, where he is sent by his beloved Princess Anna-Henriette of Toussaint, after he was caught in bed with a young baroness, and in the process of an almost completed execution, a messenger with a pardon arrived, in honor of the world of Cintria, the witcher asks the bard a question about his tube with the manuscript, to which he replies that she remained in the castle of the princess, and he remembers the contents of the manuscripts, since he reread them many times.
Buttercup! Only now Geralt noticed what he should have noticed a long time ago. - And your priceless tuba? Your half century of poetry? The messenger didn't have them. Did they stay in Toussaint? - Remained, - indifferently assented the bard. - In Lasochka's wardrobe, under a bunch of dresses, panties and corsets. And let them stay there forever and ever. Amen. - Explain. - What is there to explain? In Toussaint I had enough time to carefully read everything I wrote. - And what? - I'll write again. Anew.
Character outside the book
In film and series (Poland)
In the 2001 film and TV series The Witcher, Dandelion was played by Zbigniew Zamachowski. " Buttercup became one of the main characters, and from a slacker and a liar he turned into a hero overtaking on the initiative of the rest The character in the film was not well received by everyone, as was the film itself. The famous womanizer and bard Buttercup was presented as a cheerful fat man, but actor play Zamakhovsky brought the character closer to the "bookish" Buttercup Buttercup looks like a ragamuffin, but sings like Buttercup. .
In the computer game "The Witcher"
In popular culture
Buttercup is one of the main characters in the rock opera of the ESSE group - "Road of No Return" and the musical film based on it. According to the interpretation of the character in a rock opera, it was from his "Half a century of poetry" that descendants learned the story of The Witcher. Despite the declared profession-bard, Buttercup does not sing in the opera, but " joking is never inferior to its book image» .
On behalf of the bard Dandelion, the narration is conducted in Tam Greenhill's song "Buttercup's Unsung Ballad", dedicated to the events taking place in the story "A Little Sacrifice" from the book " The Sword of Destiny".
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Notes
Literature
- Monchakovskaya Olga Stanislavovna RF teacher The image of the minstrel Buttercup in the system of characters in the cycle of novels by A. Sapkovsky "The Witcher" // Modern Humanitarian Studies. - Moscow, 2004. - No. 1.
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An excerpt characterizing Buttercup (character)
Soldiers without a command began to shoot.- Oooh! Kutuzov mumbled with an expression of despair and looked around. “Bolkonsky,” he whispered in a voice trembling from the consciousness of his senile impotence. “Bolkonsky,” he whispered, pointing to the disorganized battalion and the enemy, “what is this?
But before he finished these words, Prince Andrei, feeling tears of shame and anger rising to his throat, was already jumping off his horse and running to the banner.
- Guys, go ahead! he shouted childishly.
"Here it is!" thought Prince Andrei, grabbing the staff of the banner and listening with pleasure to the whistle of bullets, obviously directed precisely against him. Several soldiers fell.
- Hooray! - shouted Prince Andrei, barely holding the heavy banner in his hands, and ran forward with undoubted confidence that the whole battalion would run after him.
Indeed, he ran only a few paces alone. One, another soldier set off, and the whole battalion shouted "Hurrah!" ran ahead and overtook him. The non-commissioned officer of the battalion, running up, took the banner that wavered from the weight in the hands of Prince Andrei, but was immediately killed. Prince Andrei again grabbed the banner and, dragging it by the shaft, fled with the battalion. In front of him, he saw our gunners, some of whom were fighting, others were throwing their cannons and running towards him; he also saw French infantry soldiers seizing artillery horses and turning the cannons. Prince Andrei with the battalion was already 20 paces from the guns. He heard the unceasing whistle of bullets above him, and the soldiers to the right and left of him ceaselessly groaned and fell. But he did not look at them; he peered only at what was happening in front of him - on the battery. He clearly saw already one figure of a red-haired artilleryman with a shako knocked to one side, pulling a bannik from one side, while french soldier pulled the banner towards him on the other side. Prince Andrei already saw the clearly bewildered and at the same time embittered expression on the faces of these two people, who apparently did not understand what they were doing.
"What are they doing? - thought Prince Andrei, looking at them: - why does not the red-haired artilleryman run when he has no weapons? Why doesn't the Frenchman prick him? Before he has time to run, the Frenchman will remember the gun and stab him.”
Indeed, another Frenchman, with a gun overweight, ran up to the fighters, and the fate of the red-haired artilleryman, who still did not understand what awaited him, and triumphantly pulled out a banner, was to be decided. But Prince Andrei did not see how it ended. As if from the full swing of a strong stick, one of the nearest soldiers, as it seemed to him, hit him in the head. It hurt a little, and most importantly, unpleasant, because this pain entertained him and prevented him from seeing what he was looking at.
"What is this? I'm falling? my legs give way, ”he thought, and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the fight between the French and the artillerymen ended, and wishing to know whether the red-haired artilleryman had been killed or not, whether the guns had been taken or saved. But he didn't take anything. Above him there was nothing but the sky—a high sky, not clear, but still immeasurably high, with gray clouds quietly creeping across it. “How quiet, calm and solemn, not at all the way I ran,” thought Prince Andrei, “not the way we ran, shouted and fought; not in the same way as the Frenchman and the artilleryman dragged each other's bannik with angry and frightened faces - not at all like the clouds crawling across this high, endless sky. How could I not have seen this lofty sky before? And how happy I am that I finally got to know him. Yes! everything is empty, everything is a lie, except for this endless sky. Nothing, nothing but him. But even that is not even there, there is nothing but silence, calmness. And thank God!…"
On the right flank at Bagration at 9 o'clock, the matter had not yet begun. Not wanting to agree to Dolgorukov's demand to start a business and wanting to deflect responsibility from himself, Prince Bagration suggested that Dolgorukov send the commander in chief to ask about it. Bagration knew that, at a distance of almost 10 miles, separating one flank from the other, if they did not kill the one who was sent (which was very likely), and if he even found the commander-in-chief, which was very difficult, the sent one would not have time to return earlier evenings.
Bagration glanced at his retinue with his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes, and involuntarily fading from excitement and hope child's face Rostov was the first to catch his eye. He sent it.
- And if I meet his majesty before the commander-in-chief, your excellency? - said Rostov, holding his hand to the visor.
“You can pass it on to His Majesty,” said Dolgorukov hastily interrupting Bagration.
Having changed from the chain, Rostov managed to sleep a few hours before morning and felt cheerful, bold, resolute, with that elasticity of movements, confidence in his happiness and in that mood in which everything seems easy, fun and possible.
All his desires were fulfilled this morning; a general battle was given, he participated in it; moreover, he was an orderly under the bravest general; moreover, he went on an assignment to Kutuzov, and perhaps to the sovereign himself. The morning was clear, the horse under it was kind. His heart was full of joy and happiness. Having received the order, he started his horse and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of Bagration's troops, who had not yet entered into action and stood motionless; then he drove into the space occupied by Uvarov's cavalry and here he already noticed movements and signs of preparations for the case; having passed Uvarov's cavalry, he already clearly heard the sounds of cannon and cannon fire in front of him. The shooting intensified.
In the fresh, morning air there were already heard, not as before at unequal intervals, two or three shots, and then one or two cannon shots, and on the slopes of the mountains, in front of Pracen, the rifts of rifle fire were heard, interrupted by such frequent shots from guns that sometimes several cannon shots no longer separated from each other, but merged into one common roar.
One could see how the smoke of the guns seemed to be running along the slopes, chasing each other, and how the smoke of the guns swirled, blurred and merged one with the other. One could see, by the gleam of bayonets between the smoke, moving masses of infantry and narrow bands of artillery with green boxes.
Rostov, on a hillock, stopped his horse for a moment to examine what was being done; but no matter how he strained his attention, he could neither understand nor make out anything of what was being done: some people were moving there in the smoke, some canvases of troops were moving in front and behind; but why? Who? Where? could not be understood. This sight and these sounds not only did not arouse in him any dull or timid feeling, but, on the contrary, gave him energy and determination.
“Well, more, give me more!” - he turned mentally to these sounds and again started galloping along the line, penetrating further and further into the area of \u200b\u200bthe troops that had already entered into action.
“I don’t know how it will be there, but everything will be fine!” thought Rostov.
Having passed some kind of Austrian troops, Rostov noticed that the next part of the line (it was the guard) had already entered into action.
"All the better! I'll take a closer look, he thought.
He went almost to the front line. Several riders galloped towards him. These were our Life Lancers, who were returning from the attack in disordered ranks. Rostov passed them, noticed involuntarily one of them in the blood and galloped on.
"I don't care about that!" he thought. Before he had gone a few hundred paces after that, to his left, across the length of the field, appeared a huge mass of cavalrymen on black horses, in shiny white uniforms, who trotted straight at him. Rostov set his horse at full gallop in order to get out of the way from these cavalrymen, and he would have left them if they were still walking at the same gait, but they kept gaining speed, so that some horses were already galloping. Rostov became more and more audible to their clatter and rattling of their weapons, and their horses, figures and even faces became more visible. These were our cavalry guards attacking the French cavalry advancing towards them.
The cavalry guards galloped, but still holding the horses. Rostov had already seen their faces and heard the command: "March, march!" uttered by an officer who released his blood horse at full swing. Rostov, fearing to be crushed or lured into an attack on the French, galloped along the front, which was the urine of his horse, and still did not have time to pass them.
The extreme cavalry guard, a huge, pockmarked man, frowned angrily when he saw Rostov in front of him, with whom he would inevitably collide. This cavalry guard would certainly have knocked down Rostov with his Bedouin (Rostov himself seemed so small and weak in comparison with these huge people and horses), if he had not guessed to wave a whip in the eyes of a cavalry guard horse. The black, heavy, five-inch horse shied away, laying its ears; but the pockmarked cavalry guard drove huge spurs into her flanks, and the horse, waving its tail and stretching out its neck, rushed even faster. As soon as the cavalry guards passed Rostov, he heard their cry: "Hurrah!" and looking around, he saw that their front ranks were mixed with strangers, probably French, cavalrymen in red epaulettes. It was impossible to see anything further, because immediately after that, cannons began to shoot from somewhere, and everything was covered with smoke.
At that moment, as the cavalry guards, having passed him, disappeared into the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or go where he needed to. It was that brilliant attack of the cavalry guards, which surprised the French themselves. Rostov was terrified to hear later that out of all this mass of huge handsome people, out of all these brilliant, on thousands of horses, rich young men, officers and cadets who galloped past him, only eighteen people remained after the attack.
“What should I envy, mine will not leave, and now, perhaps, I will see the sovereign!” thought Rostov and galloped on.
As he drew level with the guards infantry, he noticed that cannonballs were flying through and around her, not so much because he heard the sound of cannonballs, but because he saw anxiety on the faces of the soldiers and on the faces of the officers - an unnatural, militant solemnity.
Driving behind one of the lines of infantry guards regiments, he heard a voice calling him by name.
- Rostov!
- What? he replied, not recognizing Boris.
– What is it? hit the first line! Our regiment went on the attack! - said Boris, smiling with that happy smile that young people have when they have been in a fire for the first time.
Buttercup, or rather Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhof - best friend and constant companion of Geralt, Zoltana and Doppler Dudu.
He will not remember how they met, but for many years they have been almost inseparable. Buttercup has always been distinguished by his passion for exaggeration, the tact of a public jester and an conceit the size of a small kingdom. Buttercup is a troubadour, a womanizer and a poet. In the game The Witcher is the author of the book - Ballads.
In the first game in the Witcher series
Met Geralt for the first time when Shani invited him to a party in Vizima. The witcher who came to visit her immediately recognized an old friend, and if you also called Zoltan before that, then old friends will have something to chat about and discuss, because in the book series they have known each other for a long time and always talked together, and sometimes helped each other out - a friend from different troubles. Dandelion's second meeting with Geralt will take place already in Darkwater. The witcher, who was looking for a source named Alvin, will stumble upon a bard at the very entrance to the village. Buttercup will briefly talk about how he ended up here and that the witcher should not appear in Vizima in the near future, but it is better to wait until the anger of Princess Adda (who organized the assassination attempt on the witcher) subsides. While Geralt was thinking about his usual witcher work, Dandelion had fun and got drunk until the witcher asked him to perform a ballad for the ghost of Alina (noon). The ghost was eventually subdued. After that, the Order of the Flaming Rose descended on Darkwater, who decided to expel the nonhumans from this place, who had taken local residents and the bard himself with the source of Alvin. Depending on the player's choice this moment- Geralt can either side with the Order of the Flaming Rose or the Scoiataels. This will not affect the further rescue of Dandelion, the bard, along with Geralt, one way or another will go back to Vizima. When they get there, the bard Buttercup, the Redanians, will be taken under arrest, allegedly for espionage. Geralt will promise his friend to demand a pardon for him from King Foltest, in exchange for help in resolving problems in Vizima.
Dandelion will meet Geralt only in Flotsam. He, along with his friend Zoltan, will be accused of betraying Temeria, and then they will decide to hang him on the gallows. Fortunately, Geralt, who ended up in these parts, along with Roche, will help out the witcher's friends in trouble. And under the agreement of the witcher with the commandant Loredo, Dandelion and Zoltan will be granted freedom. In exchange, the witcher will have to kill Kayran and catch Iorvet (although the second is optional and depends again on the player's choice). In the tavern of Flotsam Dandelion will tell Geralt that he is spying on Temeria and that he ended up in these parts because he followed the local Scoyataels. After the disappearance of Triss Merigold in Flotsam, the player can go with the bard Buttercup to Kaedwen, where he will find him in a local brothel. He will help the witcher for some time until he leaves on his own business.
In the game The Witcher 3
Geralt meets Dandelion for the first time when the witcher literally saves his ass... More precisely, he saves the bard from imprisonment in which he fell at the behest of Caleb Menge, who arrested the bard on the temple island for aiding Cirilla Riannon and organizing the robbery. The Witcher, together with Zoltan, develop a plan according to which Dudu should replace the deceased Menge and instruct the guards to transport the bard to another prison (to Oxenfurt). Buttercup's brave comrades - organize an ambush on a prison convoy at the very moment when he will be transported from Novigrad to a new place. After that, Buttercup will be kidnapped by one of the witch hunters, wanting to ransom him. Geralt will follow in the footsteps of his kidnapped friend and look for him in one of the peasant huts that belonged to the dwarves. Further, the witcher, after the battle with the hunter, will be able to free Dandelion and he will already meet throughout all further side quests.
Appears in quests:
- "Poet in Opal"
- "Cabaret"
- "Deadly Sins"
Where to find Buttercup in The Witcher 3?
Buttercup can always be found in your own Novigrad brothel "Sage and Razmarin" or Cabaret "Chameleon" (this is the same institution).
If you go through the side quest "Deadly Sins" in which Buttercup, having learned about the attack of a maniac on Priscilla, will look after her. Then you can meet him in the Vilmeria Asylum.
After rescuing Buttercup, our old friend decided to settle down and settle down in the former sage and rosemary brothel inherited from the Elder Bastard. But first turning it into a wonderful institution.
We go to Sage and rosemary. We find Buttercup and Priscilla in a fiery conversation. The poet shares his thoughts on the Cabaret. But this implementation requires the help of Geralt.
First of all, Dandelion needs money, but he can’t even borrow from Geralt. Therefore, he decided to borrow from an old girlfriend Scholastica, but for this you need to crank out a scene with a robbery and rescue. Having previously borrowed props in the theater from Madame Irene. We arrive at the place and play a scene with the Purple Avenger.
Back to Sage and Rosemary. A team of workers has already arrived, but no one knows what style of cabaret to choose.
- Boudoir
- Theatrical (Buttercup likes this style)
- The choice of Priscilla (she will choose the theater).
Buttercup went to Polly, the choreography teacher, but as it turned out, her fiancé in no way sees Polly with a twisting ass in the brothel. The key to the door is in the bucket. We tactfully talk with the young man, hinting at his erudition, and he will agree to everything.
Next, Buttercup asks to take the posters from the artist Latrek. Arriving at the place, we understand that creditors are already prowling in his house. We give them cabbage soup and they immediately tell where Latrek is.
Latrek is trying to win back at the races, this is his last chance. We win the race or pay off the debt and Latrek will be pleased, he will bring the posters himself.
Buzzing unpleasantly, a fly flew under the ceiling, rushing from one corner to another, until, finally, it hit the web.
- ... well, in general, I didn’t see her anymore, - Buttercup sighed somehow doomedly, who had previously been following the flight of an insect, and put his bare legs on the edge of a large wooden bathtub with warm water. Geralt, who was sitting next to him in a small room that was something like a bathroom, turned to Dandelion, raising one eyebrow, and he sighed heavily. - I would like to see my dear Zlata again.
You said she ate your bald patch.
Geralt, you haven't seen her! Dandelion exclaimed. - All the disadvantages of her character were more than compensated for by her beauty. I am ready to sing it almost all my life ...
Well, if your life is suddenly cut short when you meet a new girl...
Oh, Geralt, you should not take the words of the poet literally.
The Witcher shrugged his shoulders and continued to sew up his shirt, while Buttercup, very close by, began to scrape off a layer of dirt invisible even to the vigilant witcher's eye from his already clean body. Geralt did not look; he himself did not know why he had collapsed into this room with Buttercup, if he could sit in peace in the hallway and meditate, but Dandelion, describing the next events from his varied life(girls - love to the grave - poetry - broken heart- girls - and so on in a circle), wished that the rude, "who knows nothing about true love(here Geralt grinned into his beard, slightly turning his face away) the witcher kept him company.
Therefore, now Geralt was forced to listen about another darling who broke Maestro Dandelion's fragile heart.
But Goldilocks...
She was blue-eyed magnificent forms and definitely drew on that very, only lady of the heart, - Geralt decided to continue. Buttercup lifted his head, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
No, Geralt, it was another Goldilocks.
Which one out of ten? - the witcher chuckled; A piece of wet pumice immediately whistled past his head, hit the wooden wall with a dull thud, and fell to the floor. Geralt picked it up and threw it back. There was a splash.
Thank you, Dandelion muttered and sighed as he plunged his face into the water.
For a while, an offended silence reigned in the small room on the part of the troubadour, while Geralt simply continued to sew up the holes in his shirt without any ulterior motive. From the next morning, he was to be on the road somewhere in Velen to find someone's ad, kill some monster, get his pennies for it and spend it all on gwent again. Insanely important witcher affairs. But he didn't want to linger any longer at Dandelion's; friendship is friendship, and Geralt did not like to embarrass people with his too frequent presence. Yes, and the eternal noise of Novigrad for a couple of days spent here is pretty tired.
Buttercup got out of the bath; spanking bare feet on the wooden floor, reached a towel hanging on a chair and, after drying off, turned around with it below the waist. When this same towel came into the field of vision of the witcher, whose gaze until now had been fixed on the cloth lying on his knees, Geralt finally raised his head. Buttercup, hands on hips, looked at him with a frown.
You know, witcher, you know absolutely nothing about love! And women! Dandelion exclaimed.
And in poetry,” Geralt prompted.
Yes! If only I could, I would make you write a line of a poem so that you understand how hard it is. Here Geralt raised his eyebrows, grinning, but Dandelion looked completely serious.
Well... if you fulfill at least one witcher's order, then I'll write you a poem.
Buttercup narrowed his eyes, thinking for a few seconds.
Deal.
And it is not known whether the wine he recently drank was the reason or just pride hit his head, but Dandelion, firmly confident in his decision, raised his head, grabbed the colorful clothes and left, and Geralt, not trying to convince him, looked doubtfully at the bath with water, still not completely cooled down, and put aside the sewn shirt.
When they left Novigrad, the sun was just rising in the east, and the stars were slowly fading out in the predawn sky. Geralt didn’t care about this - he was watching the road, which was blown away from the night rain, and Buttercup, riding behind him on a nameless horse, which Geralt jokingly (“Or seriously?” Dandelion asked himself) called Roach Jr., looked at the surroundings. its beauty with a still slightly sleepy look, in my mind already wondering what lines it would be more correct to describe.
The road was long, and the farther the walls of Novigrad became, the less confidence Dandelion had in his words. How can he, a poet and troubadour, who only knows how to play the strings of a lute and a girl's soul, be able to kill, for example, a drowned man or a naker? Talk to death, sing the best love ballad, move the monster to tears? Ah, if only. Buttercup looked at Geralt's two swords - steel and silver, sheathed, and realized that he didn't even have a knife with him. And therefore, there is no chance. Do not beat the monsters with a lute, by God.
Buttercup looked away from Geralt and continued to look at the sky, trying not to lose heart. Still, luck was always on his side. Almost always.
Silence hung heavily between them, broken by the clatter of horse hooves, the rustle of grasses, birdsong and the occasional wind whistling in their ears. Geralt was never known as a talkative interlocutor - Dandelion knew this, but he did not intend to endure it.
You know, I recently heard that you witchers eat absolutely disgusting things,” he said, unable to stand it, catching up with Geralt.
Yes, that cheap stew from the Novigrad tavern was really not very good.
You understand what I mean.
It seemed to me that you, Dandelion, should be able to distinguish truth from fiction,” said Geralt. - Don't worry, the remains of the monsters go to the elixirs - and only then into the stomach.
Buttercup grimaced, imagining the taste of an elixir made from some rot.
Morning came slowly.
After several hours of uninterrupted driving, they reached Javornik; Geralt jumped off the horse, leading it beside him, and Buttercup, leaving Roach Jr. near the high fence, rushed forward to the notice board, stopping beside it and examining the illiterately written announcements with a look of extreme interest on his face. Finally Dandelion tore off one of them and handed it to Geralt.
Lady in Distress, Witcher! This is a case for a true hero,” he said. The witcher picked up a worn, yellow paper. - That is for me.
Geralt turned the sheet over and read an announcement saying that a terrible monster had dragged away a girl named Rosochka, and signed by a certain Scepan, who promised the finder of the cow and a dozen coins. “Well, you can buy one card in a deck,” Geralt thought in his mind and folded the paper.
Well? In black on white, more precisely, in yellow, it is written: “The monster has taken it away,” which means that the work is just for the witcher, ”said Dandelion,“ and since we have an agreement, then prepare pen and ink, you will sing of my glorious feat.
The main thing is not posthumously,” Geralt commented, but Dandelion did not listen: he was already begging from a hunched-over elderly woman, where Scepan lives. The woman pointed to one of the houses.
Schepan turned out to be an adult, stocky man with thin, thinning hair of an incomprehensible color and a lush dark mustache with crumbs of a recent breakfast stuck there. Having learned that the witcher had come to visit him on the basis of an advertisement and some other obscure guy with a guitar (balalaika? lute?), Schepan, scratching his bald head first, and then his belly, decided to let them inside.
The little rose, my daughter, is gone, my dear witcher,” he said, clasping his hands, and went up to the table. - Beer?
Geralt shook his head, and Scepan continued:
So ... it means that I wake up one morning ... no, first at night. Yes, at night. And outside the windows, it seems, the monster is standing with scary muzzle, yes, he looks right out the window ... Well, I almost crap ... - The man hesitated and made a short pause. - Frightened, in general.
Mm-hmm,” Geralt said pointedly, looking at the poor dwelling. Here and there hanging from the ceiling various herbs, bunches of garlic and dried fish. The smell was appropriate. Buttercup wrinkled his nose.
The monster suddenly barked at me in an inhuman voice, saying, "Sleep, dad!" The man slammed his fist on the table. Haven't seen her for a week now. Also, our cat, Barsik, disappeared. He was so fat, bastard, black and white ...
The door to the dwelling opened, fat woman with two buckets clean water, and remained standing at the entrance, looking in bewilderment at the witcher and his companion. Finally the buckets were on the floor, and the woman put her hands on her hips.
You dragged someone to us, fool?
So this is a witcher, my dear, according to my advertisement.
Well, get out of here! - immediately flared up Grasia. - No witchers, cursed monsters, so that there are no in my house!
But Rosochka ... - Schepan hastened to insert the word, but the woman moved away from the door and pointed to the exit.
Get out, I said, otherwise I'll call the whole village! Some problems then from you witchers, but the kids disappear!
Shrugging his shoulders, Geralt left the house, and Dandelion, finally taking off his hat and bowing slightly to the woman, hurried after him. The door slammed shut, and the sounds of an altercation could be heard from within.
So, who do you think is the culprit? - Dandelion asked and, deciding to show off his knowledge, continued: - Werewolf? Drowned? Griffin? Rotten?
Not at all shocked by other people's knowledge, Geralt squatted down, looking at the path leading to the house. With his fingers he picked up a few small white hairs.
Cat fur...
- ... Barsik? Dandelion continued listing possible criminals in a mysterious tone. The very idea that the cat had dragged the girl away seemed unexpectedly funny to him, and he burst out laughing, putting his fist to his mouth. Geralt silently rose to his feet and slowly walked forward without taking his eyes off the road. Dandelion rushed after him.
How Geralt determined that it was the fur of that very cat remained a mystery to Dandelion, after all, witcher things for a simple layman were something mystical, standing beyond the ordinary warehouse of things. The witcher confidently walked forward, stopped at the exit of the village and, narrowing his eyes, looked to the left.
No, Geralt, that won't do, - Dandelion said. Geralt turned to him, looking inquiringly. This is my job, right? So I have to do it. Now we saddle the horses and ride ...
Buttercup, raising his eyes to the sky and taking his chin in his fingers, depicted a heavy mental activity on the face. Geralt tilted his head and smiled slightly.
There! Dandelion pointed his finger in the direction to which the witcher had come before. - To the next village.
After a couple of hours on the way, the heat and stuffiness that stood in the air turned out to be unbearable, so Geralt, turning onto a barely noticeable path and driving to a small edge, dismounted, and Dandelion followed his example. Nearby was a pond with clear, cool water; the witcher, taking Roach by the bridle, led the animal to him.
Buttercup remained standing on the path. His horse decided to show independence and went to the pond. The witcher began to unfasten his armor, dropping it onto the grassy bank.
Aren't you afraid that some drowners will jump out? Dandelion asked. Geralt turned to him and clutched a medallion in the form of a grinning wolf's head.
They would have jumped out. He turned away, returning to his work.
Buttercup pulled off his hat, and then, after a little thought, took off the rest of his outer clothing, remaining in one snow-white shirt, which still smelled a little of citrus and cloves - such a scent allowed clothes to stay fresh a little longer than usual, but judging by the heat , and he will soon disappear. Buttercup sighed wearily and sat down on the grass, bending his knees and placing his hands on them.
Sometimes he caught himself thinking that Geralt liked. It was not just friendly sympathy, but also not something similar to his feelings for the beautiful. female gender, - something else, strange, but pleasantly spreading warmth in the chest. For many, Geralt was a simple hunter and an uncomplicated, silent and rude fighter, but for Dandelion he was a man of unprecedented depth who came to the rescue in time. And, perhaps, in the almost quarter of a century that has passed since their first meeting, Geralt has become little more than a close friend to him.
When the witcher pulled off his shirt, revealing his scarred back, Buttercup couldn't look away and again caught himself thinking about this thought, which for some reason did not bring shame, rather, seemed something familiar and correct. Perhaps this feeling was like a love too long, which you can’t sing about in ballads.
The witcher, squatting down, scooped up water in his palms and splashed it on his face, then rose to his feet and stepped knee-deep into the pleasantly cold water.
Buttercup took out his lute to relax a little. Light sounds of a melody unknown to anyone but him rang out in a small clearing, dissolving in the stuffy summer air.
Geralt turned around.
Buttercup dismounted at the entrance to the village of Zalipye and with a confident look went ahead: to ask the inhabitants about Rosochka. Geralt followed him into the village, standing in the shadows and watching Dandelion slowly begin to lose inspiration with each new conversation, at the end of which the villagers shrugged their shoulders and went home. Noticing a fat black-and-white cat at the entrance to one of the huts, Geralt smiled out of the corner of his lips.
Do you know anyone named Rose here? Dandelion asked. A man standing in the middle of the street in nothing but shorts and a shirt hiccupped and stared blankly at him, not understanding what he was talking about. Buttercup decided not to give up: - Didn't a beautiful maiden come here a week ago?
What's the blonde? - the man was surprised. Buttercup grimaced: he smelled sharply of strong alcohol. - You are ... that! There! he waved.
Thanking him, Dandelion first of all went to the witcher, smiling broadly.
Well, Geralt, look how a professional works! he exclaimed, rushing forefinger up, and went to the hut, where, presumably, Rosochka lived. Geralt followed him and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned against the wooden fence enclosing a small garden next to the entrance and began to wait.
Buttercup went up to the door and knocked; the cat, seeing the witcher, hissed, got up and ran away in an unknown direction. A few seconds later, the door was opened by a young girl, who was no more than twenty, with a huge light scythe to the waist. Wiping her wet hands on her hem, she looked at Buttercup in bewilderment.
Are you Rose? - he asked, beaming like a polished basin. The girl nodded. - This is the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, and his wonderful companion, poet and troubadour, Liu ...
What-o-o? Witcher? Rosa interrupted, and opened her eyes wide in surprise, looking at the man standing in front of her. He adjusted his hat.
Not me. He,” Dandelion smiled, pointing with his hand at Geralt, who was standing nearby, but the girl was no longer listening, turned away and shouted into the house:
Kitten, here comes the witcher! - and a second later a “kitten” appeared in the doorway - a tall, broad-shouldered man with tattoos all over his body, a sparkling bald head and a face remotely similar to the muzzle of a troll. Geralt raised one eyebrow. Buttercup took a small step back.
Witcher? I'll show you now: the witcher! the man roared, and drove his fist into Buttercup's eye. - Witchers are not tolerated here!
After a couple of seconds, the world for Dandelion was bogged down in darkness, and the body, deprived of an unexpected blow of consciousness, fell backwards, but Geralt managed to catch it and, by inertia, pulled out a weapon with his free hand.
When Buttercup woke up, the sun was already setting below the horizon, and in the west a thin strip of sky was reddening, bordering on a dark blue abyss. Geralt with eyes closed sat next to him, hands on his knees, breathing slowly, measuredly, as if in a trance.
Geralt? Dandelion called softly, assuming a sitting position; the witcher immediately started up and turned his gaze to him. - What's happened? Where are we?
Tomorrow we will be in Novigrad.
And what about Rose?
Alive and well. She fled to her "kitten", which her father mistook for a monster, - Geralt answered.
No wonder… with such manners,” Buttercup muttered displeasedly, touching his left eye, took a sitting position and moved closer to the fire.
I recognized you and apologized for a long time, but you were passed out,” Geralt continued. Buttercup sighed in disappointment, but then it dawned on him:
But I found Rosochka, which means I completed the task.
Geralt silently got to his feet and walked over to Roach, starting to rummage through a small bag.
Will you be salo from a drowning man? he asked, pulling out a bundle. Buttercup opened his mouth in surprise, recalling the morning conversation and not finding what to say, but the witcher sat down beside him and opened the bundle. - Relax, it's just bread.
A bad sense of humor is not alien to the witcher, - Dandelion muttered with displeasure, breaking off a small piece from the offered loaf of bread and putting it in his mouth. - What about the promised poem?
I have no idea what to write about.
Well let's talk about the battle. What was your most memorable battle?
Well... once I fought a rigger right in a cesspool. Then it stank so much that I had to wash off for a week, - Geralt said the first thing that came to mind.
Not too poetic. Let's talk about love. And you don't have to give up.
Hmm... - The Witcher thought hard. There was silence around for a while. A bonfire crackled pleasantly nearby. Somewhere in the distance, a bird screamed - Dandilion shuddered, and Geralt turned his head sharply at the sound, listening, but almost immediately everything calmed down, once again drowning in silence.
Hmm... - repeated Geralt, without thinking of anything. Buttercup sighed heavily and took out his lute, making himself comfortable by the fire.
Learn from the master,” he said, not without a drop of pride, and, clearing his throat, touched the strings with his fingers and began to sing to the beat of the music:
And who is this unfortunate one among us? asked Geralt, looking at Dandelion plucking the strings of the lute, silently humming the motive of a newly invented song.
The protagonist preferred to remain an anonymous witcher, Dandelion answered, not distracting from his work. Closing his eyes, Geralt chuckled and turned away.
Well, okay.
Above their heads, a dark, cool night opened up like a myriad of stars. The smoke from the fire rose up; Buttercup watched him disappear into the darkness with his eyes, and stopped playing his lute, putting it aside.
The witcher, with his face bent to the fire, sat with his eyes closed, and looked completely ordinary person- tired, with small scars and wrinkles on his face, a soft gray beard that adds ten years to his age. But then the eyes opened, unnaturally yellow, almost red from the light of the fire, with vertical catlike pupils, and Geralt ceased to be ordinary.
Buttercup moved closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, and caught the bitter smell of crushed swallow grass, bread and smoke. Geralt turned his face towards him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question, to which there was no answer.
Your bruise won’t go away for a long time,” said Geralt, breaking the silence, and touched the bluish spot under Dandelion’s left eye with his thumb. He frowned in disappointment.
Buttercup knew that his and Geralt's paths constantly diverge in completely different sides, only occasionally converging, letting you exclaim: “Geralt!”, Seeing the witcher in the taverns of Novigrad or Oxenfurt or on the way from one village to another, where Buttercup managed to get into some kind of regular scrape; but then Geralt invariably left. Every time is like the last.
Buttercup knew that all this would not last long. Tomorrow afternoon he will again be in Novigrad, and Geralt will disappear into the forests, glades, murmuring streams and the smell of herbs, elixirs, ointments and oils for swords. The image of the witcher will drown in someone else's blood and the sound of singing steel and silver. Dandelion, on the other hand, will sit in the upper room of the tavern and write new lines of future songs with a pen. And everything will remain as it was before.
After so many years, absolutely nothing has changed.
Taking a deep breath of fresh, cold air, reeking of the approaching rain, Buttercup leaned forward.
Their lips touched in a rough, unaccustomed kiss, vaguely reminiscent of that first - and so far the last - time, in ancient times, in waist-deep grass and the suffocating aroma of weeds and flowers.
Buttercup placed one hand on the witcher's unshaven cheek, snuggling closer, kissing deeper and hotter like he'd never kissed before. My heart beat to a crazy rhythm, and the smell of bitter herbs, the smell of Geralt, hit my nose, and all this made my head spin, it felt like something strange, knocking out of habitual life something abnormal.
Breaking the kiss, Geralt touched the edge of Dandelion's mouth with his lips and pulled away, watching with a slight, harmless grin as he touched his reddened lips with his fingers.
This is… strange,” Dandelion issued his verdict after a short silence. Geralt just shrugged his shoulders - he had nothing to say, and, probably, for the first time Dandelion mentally thanked him for this silence, although he himself understood that any words would be superfluous here. Here you can’t say about love, you won’t say “we will forget it” or “nothing happened”.
Therefore, Geralt remained silent.
After clearing his throat and smoothing his hair, Dandelion looked away, pausing for only a moment before turning to Geralt again, and finally turning, touched the witcher on the shoulder, once again drawing him into a hot kiss. Geralt gently laid Dandelion on his shoulder blades and leaned over him, leaning on his elbows.
Buttercup hugged him by the neck, pulling him closer to him, ran his fingers through his white hair, tied in a tight ponytail, and wished that this night would not end.
Geralt kissed Dandelion and didn't think about anything.
The smoke from the bonfire stretched higher and higher as a thin thread, towards the stars burning on the black-and-blue celestial canvas, as if trying to reach them, but dissolved in the air, blowing around the world with the wind.
Early in the morning they were already on their way to Novigrad. Geralt, as usual, rode in silence in front, sometimes looking around for some kind of danger, and Dandelion told him incessantly about how he had recently managed to meet Zoltan in Oxenfurt, where he and a dwarf had fallen into a tavern and lost all the money in cards. The story ended with Zoltan, in his underpants, running away from several ghouls. How it came to this - Geralt, unfortunately, let it pass by his ears, but even without this he was not sure that the whole story - pure truth. Buttercup loved to embellish. And he ran away in pants, most likely he. From another crowd of Goldilocks, Agnieszek, Vespule and other representatives of the fair sex.
Buttercup fell silent, but then, after a little thought, he brightened up again:
Listen, Geralt, give me a rhyme for the word "burden," he asked.
- ... igosha? said Geralt uncertainly after a short silence.
I wish I hadn't asked, Dandelion sighed doomedly.
Dismounting, Geralt slowly walked through the village that stood near Novigrad at the Gates of Glory, and Dandelion, who had already returned the horse, walked lightly beside him, whistling something and looking at the pink sky with small, translucent clouds. There was a smell of dampness and river water, the lively sounds of the awakening city and village were heard.
Here I will leave you, - said Geralt, when they reached the bridge leading to Novigrad. Buttercup looked him in the face.
Thank you for a wonderful day, Geralt. If there is a need, look for me in Oxenfurt. I'm afraid I won't be in Novigrad for long. - Buttercup looked to the side and noticed a woman who was walking with a pot of milk in her hands. She met his gaze and froze. Buttercup turned back to Geralt and smiled uncertainly: - Or maybe I'll leave right now. Come on!
Buttercup walked quickly across the bridge, pretending not to notice anyone, but the woman started after him, shouting, “Oh, you scoundrel! Where have you been, you bastard! With what such a whore I saw you again! ”, Hearing in response:“ Well, Zlatonka, you know that you are the only one with me!
Well, Plotvichka, we are left alone again. Geralt stroked the horse's muzzle, which snorted and nuzzled into his palm.
A few weeks later, sitting in the Kingfisher tavern, Geralt tipped his third mug of beer inside and stared at the stage where the bards were slowly gathering. The black-haired girl began to play the lute.
Life in the tavern boiled at first - everyone tried to find a place for themselves and get comfortable - but then abruptly subsided; Geralt got to his feet, pushing his chair back with a creak, and headed for the exit, but froze when female voice began to sing, laying words to a vaguely familiar melody.
"I don't know how to live, I don't know my way"
I whisper, in response to me: "Don't scream!"
And no one will warm me - so be it,
Swords will sing louder in battles.
I have one - for monsters, for monsters - the other,
Both will sing about death.
They say, where I am, it smells stuffy of misfortune,
And where not - only one grace ...
Troubadour, don't you sing that monsters are waiting for fate,
That will die in a few years.
There in the forest, maybe it's not a wolf howling loudly,
And a crazy person.
"Life is sweet like honey" - sing in my ear,
Wearing a wreath of flowers.
What word would you call it?
Who condemned his wife to suffering?
So you, troubadour, listen to the songs of swords,
Listen to the strings of lifeless bodies
Yes, remember that in the world of people-executioners
Double the ballads you sang.
The roads will part, the paths will disappear,
There will be a song in its old way:
I'm destined to go on ahead,
And you, my troubadour, back.
Coals freeze in the night, a thread of smoke stretches,
The past day slips into darkness.
Better sing, troubadour, how beautiful it is to love!
Maybe I can at least understand.
