"That ought to be enough. It's not like there will be anybody who reads it to that can't just ask me if they think I left anything out." He shrugs. When was the last time any of the three other surviving witchers had even touched their bestiaries? Still, it felt right to make the effort, to clutch at some sense of procedure and tradition. He was such a good Witcher, Eskel of Kaer Morhen.

Until he wasn't.

"You got anything you need to say off the record, so to speak?" He asks, and there's something wry and glittering in his eyes. Not cruel, just amused and curious.