If Jaskier would have been easy for a witcher to trail because of his scent, it was amazing what a straight line boots were set on when that awful crash rang through the corridors. For all that Geralt couldn't see him, the bard had as good as hung a beacon over his head saying this way. A left turn and then a right turn, he could hear the frantic hush of the man's movements now, ahead. Then the snapping of a door.

"Jaskier!"

Geralt turned another corner into a small sitting area, the two-person settee on its back. He paused and looked around. There were a few doorways here... he walked a little further on to be sure that the smell of hyacinthe petered off-- and spun a tight turn at the sound of something large and delicate hitting the floor behind a closed door. There were two that seemed likely... one reeked of alcohol but the other still smelled of flowers.

The wooden door banged open with another sign, another blast of air. Geralt stood in the doorway and cast around, his eyes widely black in the night. A sitting room, probably for needlepoint or wine. There was no one inside, nothing broken. He stepped across the space and threw the curtains open and the sash outward to let in the salt air and the roar of the waves. The balcony ran almost the length of the house, from the room next door to the large central sitting area and even down, it seemed, to the strand below. Geralt retreated, back through the door. The one that stank of whiskey was next.

It occurred to him that he could use Axii on Jaskier and simply walk him to his doom with a smile on his face... he would hold out a hand for Geralt to break, perhaps not happily but willingly... maim, then, yes. But how would he understand what was being done to him? How would he learn his lesson?

This door Geralt simply sent inward with a single might kick.