Game in Marvel

The white-haired man hesitated for a moment before introducing himself.

"Geralt. Of Rivia." He glanced back at his companion. "And this is Vesemir."

"Clint Barton," Clint said. "Nice horses."

"Natasha Romanoff," Natasha said curtly, her eyes still scanning the treeline for any remaining threats.

"Romanoff? What kind of name or title is that?" Vesemir mumbled. He also noticed that these men seemed to have titles, which meant they weren't low-level mercenaries. If the silver sword wasn't proof enough, then their names having titles meant they weren't born poor or, at least, had land in their names.

Vesemir didn't know that their names had titles because that was how everyone was named in their world. Poor people in old times didn't have titles for many reasons—primarily because it wasn't required, there was no proper education, and a single name would hardly be common since living beyond the age of 30 was already a huge matter, as death was common.

"Tony Stark. Engineer, genius, and occasional adventurer."

"Engineer?" Geralt asked, as he didn't understand or know that term at all. Tony instantly got glared at by everyone present. 'This guy is going to be the death of us.'

"Uh... a scientist. I am Liam Woodsworth. The leader of this group," Liam replied with a glee. Geralt could easily sense that this man seemed a bit overzealous. But what really surprised him was when the man introduced himself as the leader. He could easily tell that he was the youngest of the group, and he even missed a hand.

So how was he their leader? Geralt had too many questions, but as usual, he didn't ask. He wasn't here to uncover the mysteries of the world but to focus on his mission: find Yennefer and Ciri.

Geralt's expression didn't betray much, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"You're not locals."

"What gave it away? The outfits or the lack of fear when a pack of these filth showed up?"

"You don't smell like Temeria," Geralt replied flatly. "Or any place that I have visited before. Doesn't matter. You're clearly capable, and this road isn't safe. Where are you headed?"

"We're... still figuring that out," Liam replied. He might be a fan of The Witcher 3, but it didn't mean he would know all the ins and outs of everything, and definitely not the map.

"Well, if you're heading toward any nearby town, stick close. Roads like these attract worse things than ghouls," Geralt said, finding it strange again that these people didn't have an aim. Then why were these people out of their homes? Didn't they know the whole place was dangerous?

Especially during wartime. Who were these people? Initially, Geralt thought these men were witchers or sorcerers since they saw the dead bodies of ghouls, but when he closely looked at them, he could tell they were normal human beings.

But something was very off about them: their mannerisms, their way of talking, their swords. They didn't even know the name of the place they wanted to go. But his instincts were also telling him that these people meant no harm. Especially their leader seemed a bit too enthusiastic for his liking. Though Liam didn't say much, his eyes said it all.

Another reason Geralt was even talking with them was because none of them showed any hostility as any normal person would toward a cat-eyed bastard like him. So it was already a green flag in his books.

"Where are you heading?" Natasha asked.

"We are following a trail of someone," Geralt replied. Since these people weren't going to reveal many secrets, he wouldn't either.

"Oh... We are new here. Can you please lead us to the nearest place? As you can see, we don't even have horses," Liam said. Geralt hesitated a bit before nodding that they could follow them.

The other team members were a bit confused, as they didn't see any reason to follow him, but Liam was their leader here, and they were his glorified guards.

The group followed Geralt and Vesemir down the winding dirt path. The whole place reeked of blood, and what really took the trophy was several men hanging from the trees by their necks. One could see that it had been some days since these people had been hung, as the smell was far from pleasant.

"We need to buy horses. Or I'm bringing my toys out," Tony declared.

"Tony, you don't want to be a bone in the throat. If you do something very unusual, they'll probably burn you. And I'm sure the Church will be the first to come for your head," Barton reminded. "Wait, there are churches here, right?"

"Yeah, and they're notorious too," Liam answered.

"The war has been brutal in these lands." Vesemir didn't understand what Tony meant by toys, but he joined the conversation regardless. His friend wasn't much of a talker anyway. Steve was curious about the war and asked, and Vesemir replied how this place, Temeria, was invaded by Nilfgaard, and also the reason why there were so many ghouls, as they fed on dead beings.

But their discussion was cut short once they neared the riverbank. The peaceful sound of flowing water was interrupted by the shrill, panicked cries of a merchant. Ahead, a small wooden cart lay tipped on its side, its single remaining horse struggling desperately to free itself from the harness.

A massive griffin loomed over the scene, its razor-sharp talons tearing into the lifeless body of the other horse. The merchant cowered behind the cart, clutching a short blade that trembled in his hands.

"Helping?" Vesemir asked, as unlike himself, Geralt was more empathetic when it came to life.

"Stay here," Geralt said firmly, drawing his steel sword. His medallion buzzed faintly against his chest. But just as he was about to step into the fray, Liam reached out and gripped his shoulder.

"Wait."

Geralt turned his head sharply, his expression one of irritation and mild confusion. 

"What are you doing? That thing won't wait for an invitation."