[Now that he's lived through several dressing downs of people from worlds far different than his own, Jaskier can also recognize scholars are hardly the sort to be called normal, either, especially when there are still entire swathes of populations that are completely illiterate.
However, he understands Istredd's point. He's attempting to understand, and with much more sympathy than most.
It's soft of him. Especially when Jaskier's style of living has changed very little. He is still a bard. He still travels the Path with Geralt. He still sings, and performs, and lets his name be known. He just also, occasionally, sits in the sun as a gryphon and embraces no longer being so human.
A thing he will miss desperately if he is ever to lose his chaos. It feels such an inescapable part of him now.
Jaskier takes a seat close to Istredd, leaning his body into the mage's as they grow comfortable. If this is a date, he sees no point in being coy about anything other than their conversation.
Jaskier laughs.] I can't believe it's never come up. [Not that he relies on Geralt to ever tell stories; it's only he thought Istredd and Geralt had gotten so cozy over time, and Istredd is not afraid of asking questions.] When I was eighteen, I'd heard the stories about, you know...
[He lowers his voice.] The Butcher of Blaviken. So you can imagine my surprise when, during a performance by yours truly in his earliest years, the Witcher himself walked in and took a seat. When I was young, I was precocious. I had wanted nothing more than the right story to attach myself to. What could be more fascinating than a disgraced man, a hated beast, a murderer? I had wanted to see what was true behind the story myself. And the man I found was... well, he was not someone to be reduced to a simple murderer. Geralt was fascinating. And a bastard. A complete bastard. But... he also saved my life that same day. I knew there was more to him than a butcher.
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However, he understands Istredd's point. He's attempting to understand, and with much more sympathy than most.
It's soft of him. Especially when Jaskier's style of living has changed very little. He is still a bard. He still travels the Path with Geralt. He still sings, and performs, and lets his name be known. He just also, occasionally, sits in the sun as a gryphon and embraces no longer being so human.
A thing he will miss desperately if he is ever to lose his chaos. It feels such an inescapable part of him now.
Jaskier takes a seat close to Istredd, leaning his body into the mage's as they grow comfortable. If this is a date, he sees no point in being coy about anything other than their conversation.
Jaskier laughs.] I can't believe it's never come up. [Not that he relies on Geralt to ever tell stories; it's only he thought Istredd and Geralt had gotten so cozy over time, and Istredd is not afraid of asking questions.] When I was eighteen, I'd heard the stories about, you know...
[He lowers his voice.] The Butcher of Blaviken. So you can imagine my surprise when, during a performance by yours truly in his earliest years, the Witcher himself walked in and took a seat. When I was young, I was precocious. I had wanted nothing more than the right story to attach myself to. What could be more fascinating than a disgraced man, a hated beast, a murderer? I had wanted to see what was true behind the story myself. And the man I found was... well, he was not someone to be reduced to a simple murderer. Geralt was fascinating. And a bastard. A complete bastard. But... he also saved my life that same day. I knew there was more to him than a butcher.