abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

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WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

Welcome to The Free Cities! The portal exits outside the capital city of Cadens. The first impression of the city is its sheer size. It sprawls out across the landscape like a great hulking beast at rest. The wall that encircles it barely contains it, the buildings of Cadens practically bulging against its restraint.

The air here seems thicker somehow, tinged with a scent that’s acrid and smoky. Smog hangs high over the city, belched out by smokestacks that tower over the industrial district. The desert stretches out behind it, dotted with towers and dust clouds that disappear into the horizon. Multiple gates lead inside and each is staffed by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms that wave a steady stream of people through without appearing to pay much attention. People are coming and going almost all of the time, to and from the outposts and areas of activity around the city proper. It’s difficult to tell just what’s out there beyond the impression of tall metal structures and a great deal of labor. Wagons carrying travelers to Libertas and Aquila roll out from the Travel Post outside the city wall.

Anyone who can sense magic will notice a much lower concentration here. No one will be stopped or questioned at the gate, even if the soldiers seem to take note of the fugitives from Thorne.

The activity and sheer number of citizens can be overwhelming. It’s crowded and loud and feels constantly in motion with everyone talking and yelling over each other. It’s easy to get swept up in the ever-moving throng or find oneself ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley just to breathe.

Anyone who’s willing to make their way to the northern part of the city and Portham Hall will find Prime Minister Marlo Reiner available to receive them.

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[Alucard is ready to just leave the basket in the snow and retreat by the time Geralt makes himself known. But there he is, and Alucard's not quite sure what to make of all of this. To go from a cabin to a fortress when given one's memory back says a great deal.

But Geralt already said a great deal more at their last run in, and it makes sense. If hunted by humans, build a great fortress to prevent them from attacking, or at least to buy you plenty of time to deal with the problem.

He offers the basket out.]

I need coin to build the correct life support systems first. Between that and building, it'll take two or three months. [The unfortunately is implied through his dour tone.]

Thank you for interfering earlier. It was a prudent choice.

[ If only Alucard knew this fortress was there long before the humans attacked. That it was originally meant to keep out the monsters. The creatures.

But he supposes there's little difference sometimes.

He pauses. Then he takes the basket. A...gift is not what he thought he'd be getting after their last interaction. Alucard is—something. And now he has a vampire out in front of the Kaer Morhen yard. Who would've ever thought. ]

Like I said. I don't want any shit started around me. [ He waves a hand. ] You want to stay, stay. Just don't put in a new kitchen again.

[ It's no longer the cozy cabin it'd once been, but it's home. It's more home to him than that place had ever been, now that he remembers once more. Now that he understands how idyllic that entire scene had been. How much it was nothing he could ever have. ]

[The Horizon is easier, Alucard is finding. Some of it is for the freedom, the ability to shape and form things at will. To tear everything down and then begin anew, or to simply revert to the familiar. There's no external pressure, he can have the distance he wants and deal with the contradictory impulse for companionship on his terms and his terms alone.

For that, a huff escapes at the kitchen comment.]

I hope that this place has something more than a hearth, a few cast iron pieces, and a fire then.

Didn't seem to bother you when you were living out of it on my rug.

[ Just saying. Geralt treks across the snow to bring the basket inside. If Alucard wants to follow, he'll allow it. He's not expecting to be left alone here; he knows how people are, how they grow curious when places are locked up tight. So he's left it open, but without too much...shown. That he doesn't want to shown, at least.

The bones on the ground, the scarred and crumbling stone walls—those are things he doesn't give a damn about hiding. The whole of the Continent knows what happened to his kind. A fact of life. There are swords stored in the yard, just under a few wood pillars marked with gashes.

Only one thing seems to have stayed with him from the old cabin: a chestnut mare, stabled, with a slightly more accurate white marking on her face now. ]

No, it still bothered me. I just didn't have a need to do anything about it.

[There's a little bit of hesitation. In theory, Alucard has done what he needed to do and can leave. That would be the correct thing to do, and maybe the smartest thing to do. His Domain is a dying autumn, an excuse to be curled up inside under blankets and hidden away from the world.

This place feels more like a memorial. The way the snow settles so, painting blinding white to contrast with the rest of the castle. The skeletons which could be done away with, and yet are on display. Probably where they died, then where nature scattered all of them. He wouldn't go so far as to think of the place as having some sacredness imbued, but it's important.

And there's a horse.

Alucard's eyes go to the horse, and fuck it. He follows, but most importantly:] Your associate's name is--?

[ Geralt turns to fix Alucard with a look that says what he thinks of that. Not that he'll deny it had its...use. The sink. Or whatever it was that Alucard had called it.

His eyes go to the mare. ] Roach.

[ Heavy wooden doors greet them at the entrance. It's smaller, the keep, both the yard and the keep itself. Not quite the expansive place Kaer Morhen actually is. But it's good enough. It isn't meant to replace home, anyway. He's alone here, when normally there'd at least be—

Anyway.

He pushes open both doors. Makes him wonder, though, if he's the only one who's redecorated. ] You still have your little forest?

[He's not going to pick a kitchen fight. Some topics are not worth it, and Alucard knows his is superior anyway. Moreover, horses.

Roach gets a polite nod of acknowledgement as he follows Geralt in. He's not had much interaction with horses save for the nightmares kept in his father's stables - a requirement for vampires, given how normal horses react. The name doesn't mean anything, it was a joke his mother came up with that stuck and stuck well.

Alucard's not quite sure what to anticipate in terms of interior decorating once they pass through the doors. His father's main hall was dominated by a staircase and deep red carpet with endless geometry. Imposing and just a little too strange. Offputting, a reminder of who the owner was and that one was trespassing.]

I've seen no reason to truly redecorate. It serves it's purpose.

[ Interior decorating consists of long tables, wood benches, a scattering of beer and cheese on each. Flames are lit, and an old gnarled trunk sits in the center where the silver medallions hang. It's clear this is not a place for one. That there are usually others here.

He perches on top of one of the tables, his feet on the bench beneath. Rebuilding had been needed, but it leaves him...uncertain, with those who had once seen his cabin. He doesn't want to talk about it. Why he'd torn it down.

Besides, it wasn't home. Not in any real way. This—this is closer. Comfortable. Familiar, in how his footsteps echo. ]

Cozy enough. [ He thinks of the girl skipping through the lonely autumn woods, and pushes it aside. He waves vaguely at the offerings on the table. If the vampire wants to help himself, he's welcome. None of the food here's real—something he's acutely aware of now where he hadn't been before—so Geralt doesn't care who eats it. ]

[Alucard's eye catches the what's on the table. Multiple cups and plates, chairs that ought to be filled. A home for many rather than just one, and the effect of the whole thing is--

--he's not sure yet. To hold a memory like this and reconstruct it says a lot, but the dhampir has no wish to presume or assume anyone's feelings, especially not after what little Geralt has shared with him. All he needs to understand is that there were once more people here, and the world has made it so there is not.

Alucard keeps moving. It's wrong, taking from the tables, even if he's permitted.] Or at least small enough to give the illusion. And keep heat in. [At least Dracula's castle had bullshit vampire heating magic.]

[ Beyond the hall, there's not much else. The upper floors are there, with a single bedroom, and a set of stairs leading down. Geralt hasn't explored it. He comes here rarely as it is, and mostly he spends his time outside: taking advantage of training in a quiet space, away from the prying eyes of the entire city. Until he gets a proper sword of his own, this'll have to do.

The last time he'd invited anyone inside, in fact, was the elf. Not the most amicable of guests. So.

He makes a dismissive noise. ] Nothing's stopping you from piling more furs on yourself.

[ It's maybe notable that Geralt doesn't wear the same: no furs, not even a cloak. The thin worn one he has is tossed over a table somewhere. If he feels the cold, it doesn't seem to bother him. ]

If I added more, I wouldn't be able to put my arms down.

[Alucard is perfectly serious as he intones a fact, tufts of soft grey peeking out from the collar and sleeves of his coat.]

Do you have genuine immunity from the cold?

[The question is honest. Curious. Perhaps too prying. And for that:] There's half a loaf of bread in the basket as well.

[ Geralt eyes Alucard for a moment. There's a brief gesture as the fires flare a little brighter, a little hotter. That's all he's getting, until insulation is invented on the Continent. ]

Just doesn't bother me. [ He truthfully doesn't know if it's an immunity or not. He's aware he doesn't feel it the same, but it's not as if he can't tell when it is cold. He feels the chill on his skin, the ice in the rivers. In the winters, he still seeks a good fire by the hearth. His body simply doesn't react the same as others when exposed.

He finally flips open the lid on the basket, though it didn't need to be said. He could smell both fish and bread. ]

Joining? [ It's more a question than an invitation. He won't say no, but he won't stop him if Alucard decides he only meant come by with...he isn't sure what this is. (People don't give him gifts out of gratitude for keeping them from committing a murder; it's taking awhile to grasp.) ]

[He'll take it. There's no movement to remove the coat though, and the dhampir does draw a little closer to the fire by a whole three steps. Like somehow this is still intruding, even if it is known not to be the case.

The fish was smoked with hickory and cedar, the blend something like a woody perfume on the fish but infinitely more appetizing than the concept should be. A long fillet sits in the basket, with two soft red towels smushed between it and the bread to ensure a lack of cross contamination. The bread itself is a thin crust, made with any number of seeds and honey. A good, dark loaf, but not a rye.]

I'm fairly sure my mother would give me a look of I raised you better than that to partake of a gift I'm giving.

[ It does smell nice, which Geralt is not surprised by given the stew Alucard had presented him even without his memories intact. There's a small pause as he looks at Alucard when the subject of his mother comes up. Of mothers in general. He's realized, knowing Alucard's age, that the death of his parents can't have been long ago. Not when he speaks of being raised by them as though they've been part of his life awhile.

He places some of the fish and bread on a plate. Slides it over. ]

Mine didn't. [ Raise him like that, he means. Or raise him at all. He was raised here, in this hall, in those locked barracks that would've normally been on the other side. Where food was both scrapped over and shared in equal parts. Just depended on the day and the mood. ]

There's a reason I brought out bread and salt before, even without any other memory in tact. [That much is easy enough to discuss when it comes to his mother. She believed in hospitality, she always joked about how she had told Dracula off for failing to do the same.

He takes the plate, sliding it closer so it is on the side of the table he's closest too.]

Yours seems more communal. [A statement and observation. Not a judgement.]

[ It's funny. Sitting here with a vampire, discussing hospitality. Especially after the last time they spoke—Geralt figured he wouldn't see Alucard again. Which would've suited him fine. They aren't...friends.

Maybe it isn't the most inconvenient thing, that the vampire seems inclined to still approach him. For whatever reason. ]

Handful of boys and one man. Hard to be any other way.

[ He digs into the fish, trying to ignore that is isn't technically real. Awareness of this plane of existence is. Odd. Something he's still getting used to: how it feels real and knowing it isn't. He hasn't even contemplated too deeply the implications of their bodies being...suspended. Unchanged. ]

[Alucard's decided to stop questioning the gravitational pull for now. He's labeled it flares of morality, the need to keep impulses in check that he deems Hector deeply hypocritical for trying to enforce. And--

--well, maybe walking through all of those burning, impaled corpses and being capable of rolling with it all has something to do with it as well. What that value is yet, Alucard doesn't know.]

You mentioned briefly. [In the undertone, Whatever happened, you have my empathy. An important difference from the word sympathy.

Thin fingers pick out some of the softer parts of the bread, careful not to spill crumbs everywhere.] I'd say at least it was spacious, but I'd be offended if someone said the same of my home.

[ He studies Alucard for a moment. The faint undertone goes unacknowledged, though he hears it. Just isn't sure what to do with it. It isn't right to say he hadn't meant to let that card fall; he had. Had his reasons for doing so. It's just now, after the fact, he isn't certain what he'd really intended for it to do, saying it out loud.

Maybe nothing. It isn't a secret, anyway. Never was. ]

Not untrue. [ That it's spacious, he means. He feels every echo. He can't remember it being any other way. He was never here, when it thrived. Would it have mattered? Would it have changed anything about how he feels now?

He tilts his head. Can't be the little cabin that Alucard made in his forest, that he's referring to. ] Your real home.

[The space also implies it was meant for so many more. Alucard won't brush against that at all. He remembers going through the Belmont ruins and the shift it brought in Trevor. This isn't the same thing, but it is terribly close.

He nods once in the affirmative.] My father's castle. A feat of engineering and magic together, spires standing impossibly into the air with no support underneath them at all. Capable of moving through magical engines. [Until someone broke it.] And all for three people.

[There's no particular sadness in the tone here, but because as far as Alucard is concerned, he's just stating facts. He can't have an emotional investment in facts.]

[ Alucard, like him, says little, but like Geralt—although Geralt will never, or maybe can't ever, acknowledge this—a lot can be read into what he does say. There are two things he recognizes: that Alucard hasn't chosen to rebuild this home in his space, even now that he remembers it; and that Alucard speaks of what seems to be his childhood home not with fondness or regret, but with simple detachment.

Telling. ]

No magic here. [ Just stone, old and worn. And the magic that created him. He considers. ] Did you leave?

[ Whether he means after the death of his parents, or simply before then, Geralt leaves it up to Alucard to interpret. ]

--That's an actual surprise.

[Surely there would be some, or perhaps he is assuming too much. The Belmonts weren't magic users, but they researched it and tried to make use of it. Thinking that other hunters in other worlds might do the same seemed a reasonable idea.

Did I leave?

A heavier question than intended. Alucard's fingernails extend slightly, more claw like, still picking through the bread. Shredding now for a need of something to do.]

No. Otherwise it'd become a tomb to be robbed, and their work and research would be forgotten or else used in all the worst ways. [A gravekeeper, in the end.] My original plan had been to return to my crypt.

[The plan he's trying to enact now. There was a reason he had been so sure of it when last they spoke, at the very least.]

[ There's a brief pause. ] There were no mages left in these walls by my time.

[ The last had been the ones during the Trials. And he can admit that he feels nothing about their loss. Not satisfaction, not regret. Just an absence. He wonders if he should. It's the reason there can't be more of his kind, but—

He isn't certain that's a downside. It's hard to know how to feel about it: that place that sits between the ache of understanding only a handful of them remain and his complete lack of desire to inflict the ugly process on any more stolen children.

A quiet huff escapes him. He gets the temptation, even if he still believes Alucard hiding away is only asking for more trouble here. Retreating has its own appeal.

But at least Alucard has enough sense and respect for him to do as he will away from Geralt's doorstep. In the end, that's all he ever asks for. ]

Ours were lost in the fires. [ The research, he means. Most of it. What remains can't be used. ] For the best.

[Alucard doesn't dare to venture an opinion if a lack of mages is a positive or a negative - there is too much information he doesn't have to make that possible. But he does presume a connection between Geralt's nature and their presence, and--

--fire.

What comes out of Alucard's mouth isn't the laugh of incredulous are you fucking kidding me? nor is it a despairing noise of disappointment with the same question attached. It tries to cover both extremes though. Somehow, impossibly, it is always magic and always fire, worlds and worlds away. It should be impossible, and yet.]

My mother's clinic was lost in the exact circumstance. [The next part slips out. Not intended, but since more cards are on the table--] As was she.

[ The pieces slot together easy enough. When something is too dangerous, too different, then burn it down. He doesn't know the exact circumstances—but he can imagine a human woman who fell in love with a vampire, raised a half-vampire child, is not a woman warmly welcomed by the world. ]

You were right. [ He shrugs a shoulder. The bread is placed carefully back on his plate, a few idle crumbs on the table. ] I have had a long time to learn to live with them. They just don't live long enough in turn to learn the same.

[ It is what it is. He's been taught better than to let it drive what he does. That's how they all ended up here in the first place, with this hollow keep and blood soaking the snow. He stays out of their way, except to take his contracts, his money. And even with Jaskier's music filling the taverns these days, even when people greet him with the White Wolf more than they curse at him, the wariness remains. It has followed him across worlds, and so far, he hasn't yet seen a reason to let it go. Not when his welcome here, at Thorne, had been as it was.

Funny, to want to return home, to know he has unfinished business there he needs to get to, and still understand that he's struggling to return to a world that doesn't want him. ]

Vampires are long lived, well into centuries. There are certain clues one picks up on. [He has no idea how vampires work for Geralt, so the little bit of preface feels appropriate.

There is a pause though, and Alucard's fingers finally go still. He's gotten better about not needing movement all the time to calm his thoughts, but it is a struggle at time. Geralt is offered a sidelong glance, quietly judging if this is the correct question.]

May I ask how long?

[It is a basic fact after all, just a personal one.]

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