Start note: Just wanted to mention that the title for this comes from the famous quote (popularized by Mark Twain) about the three types of falsehoods: Lies, damned lies, and statistics
At least two of the mercenaries seemed not fully convinced of Jaskier's assertions, the leader and another with red hair who had been taking care of the horses. "How do we know you're not just having us on?" asked the leader nervously. "Trying to scare us off our campsite?"
"I didn't even know you were here," said Jaskier mournfully. "I never would have approached if I had, for that I am sorry. I've endangered you, even after forsaking civilization in the hopes that no more innocent blood may spill on my account. Oh, I never should have fucked that Wizard!" Geralt pricked up his ears. The biggest hole in Jaskier's story so far was why someone would go to the trouble of cursing a random bard into a killing machine, but him fucking the wrong person was a solid motivation. Also something that was distinctly a possibility, at all times, for Jaskier to have done.
"Er, what wizard?" asked the redhead.
"Barentholemew the Evil and Incompetent," said Jaskier bitterly, spitting it out like it was the worst profanity he could muster. "I foolishly let him tempt me into a night of passion, only to find he was a maniac, bent on causing indiscriminate bloodshed." Yes, that does sound like Jaskier, thought Geralt. Falling into bed with someone only to find they were married, or a wanted bandit, or a fucking succubus. Jaskier continued, growing even more upset, "I couldn't let it happen, he meant to strip the continent of its best defense! To capture the witchers, and let his own dark creations have bloody rein."
Geralt thought uncomfortably about the many times the bard had leapt to his defense, against foes more fearsome than he could possibly overcome. More than that, the name sounded familiar, and the mercenaries obviously agreed. "It can't be," whispered the Leader.
"How else could he know his name, though?" asked Second. "It was a private contract."
"Maybe it was a different sorcerer?" replied Red
"But why would he curse you?" asked the Leader, his voice now pitched to carry across to Jaskier.
"I argued with his plan. I asked him to spare the heroes of the continent, to stop his madness, turn his back on his dark designs," said Jaskier, and Geralt had to guess that this, at least, was a lie. It sounded entirely too noble. Although Jaskier had been known to make impassioned pleas to awaken the better nature of humanity. Sometimes it even worked. People usually had to be pretty drunk, though. The mercenaries, on the other hand, were hanging on to every word sober, not least of all because this was their employer they were hearing about.
"He attacked me," sobbed Jaskier, as the mercenaries leaned forward, clearly enthralled by this tale of betrayal and black magic. "He made to throw me to the fiends he had created, and was set upon by his own creatures. With his dying breath, he cursed me to become just like them, a plague on the good people of the land. I am doomed to slay and slaughter until I can find peace by the sword of those I would defend."
Well, shit, thought Geralt. That was exactly the kind of curse an asshole sorcerer trying to be poetic was wont to cast. Worse, it would be unbearable for someone like Jaskier. For all his faults, he seemed genuinely to delight in spreading cheer, and making the world a better place for those who could not speak for themselves.