EVENT #3: AN EXECUTION OF SORTS

[abraxasmods]

THE EXECUTION

As if performing a vicious mockery for what should be a somber day, the sun shines brightly in the sky. The rays of sun catch the iron brackets that hold up the gallows that have been erected overnight for the occasion, the gentle breeze causing the noose to swing ominously. Public executions do not happen frequently in Thorne, so a crowd gathers in strained anticipation of the grim sentence.

The welcome guests, who have up until this point been free to come and go within the confines of the castle, have been mandated to view the execution. It is meant to serve both as an example of Thorne’s power as well as a lesson to those who might think to try the same. The courtyard, which was buzzing with quiet murmurs, turns silent as Ambrose strides up the wooden steps of the gallows, flanked by two guards and a haggard-looking Jonathan Sims, arms bound behind him. As the guards march their charge to the trapdoor that will serve as executioner and position the noose around his neck, Ambrose turns to address the crowd that has gathered- willfully or not.

“Citizens of Thorne, our esteemed welcomed guests, it is with disappointment and a heavy heart that we’ve gathered to see to the execution of one of the very guests we sought aid from in our time of need. In a selfish and distrustful act, I was attacked, an action I cannot abide.”

He turns halfway toward his charge. “Jonathan Sims, you are charged with assault and intention of lethal harm. The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

Ambrose raises his arm to signal the executioner to pull the lever to release the trapdoor beneath Jon’s feet, steely expression locked on the prisoner’s face one last time.

MEANWHILE

Several miles away, atop a hill in the forest, two figures meet between portals. Oliver, tall and lithe, steps out to stand next to a petite waif of a woman who looks at him with a familiar smile. Her voice is lilting like a songbird’s when she speaks up, turning her gaze back over the city.

“Find out anything good?”

He hums softly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Two dozen prisoners, give or take. The one I met was very grateful for our assistance.”

“That’s good. Perhaps her gratitude will endear our cause to them.”

With a nod, he takes a deep breath and then sighs. “It’s time, Elizabeth,” he says, lifting one hand to open a new portal.

She nods and raises her arms above her head, eyes closing in concentration. Her arms begin to glow green while the grass around her begins to ripple in rings. The very ground seems to surge with power that radiates outward from her, and it isn’t long before the castle and the town are engulfed in a heavy air of intense magic. It courses from her in shockwaves.

Satisfied, Oliver steps through the portal.



In the wake of the magic flood, the walls of the dungeons seem to shudder for a long moment, and the doors suddenly clink open. No guards come rushing in to shut them, and in fact, all ambient noise in the dungeons seems to stop as the whole of the people of Thorne freeze in place. The hall becomes lit by daylight as a portal opens at the end of it, showing them the crowd of welcomed guests and Jon alone on the platform.

In the portal, alone stands Oliver, hand offered to the prisoners in welcome. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though this seems to be by nature rather than intention.

“Please come with me.”

CHOICES

Everything is happening quickly.

Once through the portal to the execution yard there's a moment of chaos and confusion at the sudden arrivals and then it stops. Everything and everyone has stopped, save for the guests, the prisoners, and the two mages who have come to their aid. Guards freeze in place. The attended mages are still as statues. Banners lifted by the wind remain where they are and even the noose hanging from the gallows stills.

"Time for them is halted." Oliver addresses the assembled, his voice projected to be heard but his tone calm. "It will remain so for one hour, no more. An hour is all you have to make your choices. Remain here in Thorne, or take a portal to either Solvunn or the Free Cities. The portals cannot be traced by the Thorean authorities, so no need to fear them giving chase.”

Elizabeth emerges from a portal behind him, which closes as she enters the yard. They both raise an arm and two white circles spread through the air, showing new towns in the distance on the other side. There is an ethereal glow around them.

“The Free Cities are martially powerful and seek to destroy the Singularity,” Oliver narrates, gesturing at one of the portals. “Solvunn is reclusive and claims neutrality, both in politics and in regard to the Singularity. I advise that you think hard about your choice. Travel between cities is not exactly easy."

He turns back to the crowd with an almost apologetic smile. “I'm sorry you don't have more time to make this decision. We’ll meet again.”

Opening a third portal with the wave of her arm, Elizabeth, who has not spoken a word, gives the group a wink and leaves with Oliver. Their portal closes behind them, leaving everyone to begin making moves.

Now is the time to make serious choices. Two portals stand in the courtyard, one courtesy of Oliver and one of Elizabeth. The Free Cities and Thorne are enemies, Solvunn watching both to see where the cards end up falling. None trust one another, none work with one another beyond trade through middle-men in Solvunn. The clock is ticking.

Someone should probably get Jon out of that noose.

Comments

[gynvael]

[ The portals hum behind him; magic saturates the atmosphere so that it nearly crackles. His attention remains fixed on Yennefer. On that look in her eyes. It reminds him of quiet nights they shared. She would turn to him, with that same look, and he'd wonder what she was really thinking. Decide that maybe, he didn't need to know when it was enough that he got to see it there in the first place. ]

Be careful. [ As much as he trusts she can handle herself, they know fuck all about this sphere, these politics. Those who seek to claim all magic for their own gain are no better than the ones who would see it eliminated. It means even being in their favour can bring only so much protection, and she has not been here long enough to witness all that's transpired. ] Thorne may not want the Singularity's magic destroyed, but they will freely abuse it.

[ And yours. But he knows she won't let that happen while she's here. The entire reason she has to stay. The entire reason why they're standing here now, when he wants nothing more than to take her through that portal with him. Her fingers are beginning to burn into his skin. He hears it unsaid, that she will find him. A small piece that he holds tightly onto.

She's right, though. He needs to leave. Cirilla and Jaskier are waiting. He won't risk leaving them alone, either. His ears ring; there's a whining pressure in the air, and instead of letting go as he should, instead of turning away, he lifts his other hand to cup her cheek. They're only a breath apart now. It still feels too far. Then he's leaning down and pulling her closer all at once. Everything he wants to tell her but can't, and all that he's been holding in, it spills through into the kiss. If there are eyes on them, he can't bring himself to care. Not in this moment. ]

[vixening]

[ everything feels alive, a sensation yennefer had once been so accustomed to, and now felt herself relearning with every second. there is magic all around them, now, and she can feel it. can tell that it will come to her when she calls. geralt's eyes on her, now, feels similar in so many ways - like she is supposed to be here. like he is supposed to be this close.

it's not true, though. she is not supposed to be anywhere, and whatever it is that has him drawing close like this is, undoubtedly, the wish. the connection he'd created through the djinn's power. the reminder of that fact sits heavy in her gut each time she brings herself to remember it, but in the same breath, the same reminder, she just feels so tired. the wish may be the reason she feels this way, but for these brief moments they steal before he leaves again, it feels nice. good. be careful he says, and yennefer lets through a small laugh. ]

I can take care of myself. [ all of this is so familiar, so patterned. she can almost feel his response before he even says it, if he will say it at all. but there is truth to his worry, she knows. thorne is an unknown entity, ambrose a factor she does not quite understand. but he is but a man, a mage, and thorne is just another court. another man with power, another library of knowledge, another unknown source of magic. but yennefer can work with this foundation. yennefer has spent most of her life in this dance and while the instruments might chance, the reasons are all the same. the hunger for power, the desperation for knowledge. men can be manipulated, and yennefer will have a better chance in a court of those who respect magic, than whatever it is the free cities seek to accomplish. ] Thorne is not my first concern.

[ it is ambrose, and his mages, but geralt knows that. knows that whatever thorne wishes to do is not nearly so out of her reach. he knows she can take care of herself, knows that he needn't worry - and yennefer also knows that these warnings are nothing but an attempt to stall. he wants to stay here, wants her to go with him, wants so much, and yet also knows that yennefer can't give it to him. he must go, for ciri. and she must stay - for ciri, and for herself.

the grip she has on his wrist tightens, and the intent is there. to pull him away. to create distance. they've already stolen too much time as it is. her free hand goes to his chest, with partial intent to actually push him, not dissimilar to how she'd attempt to shove jaskier back through the portal just moments before.

but that is when geralt lifts his own hand to cup her cheek. when the feeling of his calloused palm against her skin stills her. she hears the ringing too, now, though it is not the same as what sits in geralt's ears. instead, it is a pull, a reminder, that he is leaving. that she is telling him to go. that she will, in just a few moments more time, be alone once again. she has been alone for so long that the idea of it does not scare her, but she hesitates at the reminder - it won't just be her, but the lack of him, that she will be returning to. her eyes are on his, and then on his lips, as she watches him take another breath. as he leans down and draws her in. kissing her is not the most surprising part of this, and if anything, yennefer should have expected they would be here at some point once again.

what is different, this time, is the feeling of it. her fingers curl in the fabric of his shitty, awful tunic, and rather than pushing him away, she holds tight to the fabric. squeezes his wrist. geralt kisses her, and yennefer kisses him back, at first a brush of lips that quickly turns much more. there are messages hidden in his mouth that yennefer reaches for, words he won't- can't- doesn't say that she drinks in.

she hates him, in a way, for making her feel this way. for the wish that she knows is the cause of this. but she also won't let him go without responding to his kiss in kind, and so yennefer kisses him now like she wishes she had, before. like she knows this will be the last time they see each other, despite the promises she'd just made to find him.

as quickly as it started, yennefer pulls away from him. creates some distance, though not much, allowing herself a few more breaths of him. ] Geralt. [ she is breathless, yes, but she has also made up her mind. ] Go.

[gynvael]

[ There's a split second he thinks she'll push him away. Then her hand is gripping him in turn and he falls right into the familiar brush of her lips. The scent of her perfume has long faded, but what's there when he breathes her in is something far more intimate, something that is just Yennefer. Something he's memorized a long time ago. Something he's afraid he'll forget, the same way so many others have become only a shadow in his memory.

He hates that he remembers too much and too little all at once.

When they part, he can't help but linger. A curl of her dark hair slips through his fingers as he steps back. There's nothing left to say. Nothing left with which to stall. And the longer he stands here, the more the wild thought that he could remain with her grows in his mind. He knows he can't entertain it, not only because of Ciri and Jaskier, but because staying is a death sentence for him in no uncertain terms. It's—fuck.

He goes. He's no intention of looking back, either. He can't. He won't. He doesn't want to see the expression on her face as he leaves. Wants it not at all etched in his mind. But he does look—turning over his shoulder as he steps through the whirling portal, magic swallowing him up. ]

[vixening]

[ they have shared their fair share of moments like these, all across the spectrum. from soft and gentle to hurried, hungry affairs. yennefer knows what geralt is in these seconds almost as much as she can recognize her own ache for them. and she really does still hates this, still hates the way she yearns for it. for him. she knows none of this is real, knows that beyond the way their bodies fit together, this feeling in her is a product of magic, in the face of losing him once more, she decides it is worth the stolen moment. a moment where she can allow herself the goodbye.

they part on her terms, but geralt lingers in the space between them. watches her like he'll never see her again. it is entirely possible and it is something she lets settle over her like a fog. the simple fact she does not know what waits for him on the other side of that portal. the fact that while she knows what waits for her here, a powerful man been made a fool will not be an easy court to come back to.

he goes, then, and yennefer holds to her place. watches, unblinking, as he steps away. she loses the weight of him, then the heat, then the sight, in too short a time. but yeennefer does wait there, as he steps through. waits for the very last moment, wondering if he'll turn, if he'll want to see her one last time.

and when he does, he'll find yennefer still standing there, a complicated mixture of expressions across her face. determination, yes, stubborn refusal to rethink, but also something more painful. something, perhaps, even longing. but he only gives himself a fraction of a moment to see it, so yennefer only gives herself a fraction of a moment to feel, before it is over.

he's gone. they're all gone. and yennefer, taking a single, steadying breath, turns back to the execution yard, chaos crackling in her palms. ]