WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

[abraxasmods]

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.

Comments

Ciri | The Witcher | The Devil

[wiedzminka]

getting the lay of the land.

Cadens is a large city. Enormous, more like, with buildings of all shapes and sizes and styles crowding in on each other as much as the people. It will take time to familiarize herself with the whole place, but Ciri has been making a point of exploring a new area each day, working her way out from the rundown, though not unpleasant, little inn they've holed up in for the moment.

Each day, she finds a new direct and simply starts walking, winding her way through the city sometimes in the daytime and sometimes at night, though the streets are never really quiet. She mentally marks the locations of all the barracks, scattered throughout this city that seems to have as many soldiers as it does merchants, and alongside them houses of learning and historical record aplenty vying for space on the same blocks as smiths and drinking establishments and dance halls. Everything seems to be thrown together, the sort of semi-organized chaos that comes from so many hundreds of people from all manner of places and communities carving out niches for themselves while living in the same place.

a. [ Ciri has little trouble weaving through the crowds; she's quick on her feet, ducking around strangers, baskets and carts as needed without needing to slow down unless she wants to. She steps into shops and taverns on occasion, mostly to observe, though some days she has a little bit of coin to spare and sits down for a drink that may just be an excuse to sit and listen, keeping an ear out for opportunities and trying to get a better sense of what people are like in this place. Catch her eavesdropping or try to join her for a drink? Or maybe you've got an errand that needs running and have a few coins to spare yourself? ]

b. [ When she tires of avoiding people on the streets and sitting in crowded pubs, she climbs. The buildings are varied, made of different materials and to different heights, so it isn't difficult to find low-hanging eaves and slumped roofs that are easy to pull herself up onto. Smoke clouds the sky in some places, dark and unpleasant, hanging low over the chimneys even at night in the denser parts of the city. Further out toward the residential areas, things are clearer, and from the rooftops she can see the streets below and map them, judge the distance between the landmarks she's come to recognize that poke up over the horizon and the smog, certain spires or uniquely shaped buildings.

Maybe she's been caught climbing up onto a rooftop she's not welcome on, or maybe she's just jumped down too close to someone on the street. Maybe that someone is also just hanging out on the roof or even one of the higher towers, enjoying the breeze or the stars. It's a big place. There's ample opportunity for a chat. ]

market day.

The market is dense and packed with people as varied as the food and wares being hawked by voices clashing over one another in a familiar cacophony. The scent of food and drink carries on the breeze, interrupted occasionally by the less tempting smell of livestock or leather, other animal goods, spices and herbs. She doesn't have a lot of money, but she does have plenty of questions, stopping off at various booths to peruse their wares and ask what unfamiliar items are until she's shooed away as a nuisance when the stall owner realizes she has no intention of buying anything.

a. [ At some point, Ciri gives in to the seductive scent of baked goods nearby, drawn by the sweetness in the air. They seem to be fruit and cream-filled buns of some kind, and soft breads rolled in sugar and spices, all of smelling absolutely heavenly.

But considering the fact they're not even all that big, the price the seller is asking is, in her opinion, outrageous. ]

I could buy a whole loaf of bread for that much! [ Ciri protests, shocked at this injustice. ] Don't be such a greedy prick!

b. [ The market, dense as it is with people carrying all manner of goods and coin, seems to have plenty of one other familiar fixture, as well: pickpockets. Most of the ones Ciri spots on her tours of the city center are children or just barely grown, skinny little urchins with dirty noses and quick fingers. Occasionally, she catches sight of a more skilled thief relieving merchants of less-watched goods or rich folks of accoutrements they foolishly left hanging in plain sight on belts or bulging out of coat pockets.

With her purse safely tucked inside her shirt, she isn't really worried for her own coin; even if anyone attempted it, she's sure she's faster. And it's not her problem if other people aren't as careful with their belongings.

At least, not usually. It is a bit annoying when it happens right next to her, somehow.

Standing in a knot of people waiting for a large cart to cross the street, Ciri reaches out suddenly toward the person who happens to be standing right beside her. But instead of grabbing them, she actually reaches just behind, catching the wrist of the greasy-haired teenager boy who'd been attempting to make off with something. Whatever he'd taken, Ciri tugs it out of his hand, giving the bones in his wrist a squeeze when he resists, and eliciting a yelp and a curse before the boy scampers away, calling her very impolite things. ]

This yours?

[ She asks the person beside her, offering whatever has been liberated from the thief. ]

Wildcard!

Got something else in mind? Hit me up on Ciri's plotting comment here and we can chat!

b. bonding times.

[gynvael]

[ Logically, Geralt knows he can't stop Cirilla from going off on her own. Nor should he. She's a grown woman. Apparently has been trained by him, on top of that. She can more than take care of herself. Some part of him just can't shake the girl from the Horizon, the girl he'd searched for in Cintra. The girl who has disappeared on him, time and again, for reasons that feel too much like a failure on his part.

He's well aware it makes no fucking sense. Which is why he isn't doing anything about it, about the fact that Ciri is out of his sight, other than taking a trip through the city to continue figuring out what's out there. It's vast—far bigger than even Novigrad. A week or so here isn't enough for him to have gathered all of its nook and crannies. Places not ever marked on a map. The bits of work he's picked up has given him reason to go from place to place, at least: given the number of merchants and people, hauling wares has been the easiest thing he's found that pays. There's an underground system, he thinks, that he's considering getting into when there are fewer prying eyes.

Unlike Ciri, though, Geralt's not climbing anything—he's liable to draw suspicion as it is just by walking the streets alongside everyone else—but he is along one of the high sloping roads that run behind some of the inns and shops one level below. High enough that it puts him on eye level with their roofs. And the figure atop.

He stops. Of course she's up here. Where else would she be? ] Nice view?

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri is perched on the edge of a slanted rooftop to an inn, avoiding the patched-up places toward the middle. Her arms are around one knee, heel propped up, while the other leg dangles. She looks over, momentarily surprised, green eyes widening. Then, smiles. ]

Eh. Bit smoky. Alley below smells like piss.

[ She unfurls, graceful as a cat, bringing her other leg up to crouch on the eave for a moment, eyes darting across the alley between them to the hilltop road across it. Ciri jumps onto the slope a few feet from Geralt, compensating for the slanted landing with apparent ease, and dusts off the seat of her trousers with her hands. ]

Were you looking for me?

[gynvael]

[ There's the smallest curl to his lips in return. It does smell like piss. It bothers him; he misses the pines and earth within the woods. The cool wind. At least the thrum of magic is less oppressing.

He pauses, glancing to the side of the street where he'd come from. He hadn't, explicitly, but he'd been hoping a bit to maybe bump into her. See how she's doing. ]

Thought I might find you nearby. [ Scoping the city, apparently. Like he's been. The thought leaves a strange curl in his chest, something that is both warm and uncertain all at once. The same feeling every time she brightens when she sees him.

He starts down the path, where it curves around a bookshop. Mapping the city in general is one goal; his other is more specific. ] And I've been looking for a worthwhile smith.

B

[cryptsleeper]

[There is a wolf on a particularly flat roof, which is an absolutely normal thing, thank you. The wolf is on the roof next to the inn where he's supposedly staying with his father's somewhat loyal necromancer, and the sign for the inn itself has proven that somehow, you can draw a ram badly.

Alucard's found that being a wolf at night every so often helps to center him, or at least keep the worst of all the residual anger that threatens to finally come to the surface at bay. Being a different shape, having a cooler breeze in his fur, the relative quiet of it all, he can't say why it makes a difference. Only that it does, and that right now it is paramount to his actual goal of finding a good crypt, building the right life support systems for himself, and then taking a very long and much needed nap to at least keep the world at bay for a bit. Too much has happened in too short a time. He oscillates between fury and depression. Sleeping for a bit buys time and distance from both.

He's noticed more than a few people use the roofs as highlines. He's usually a series of bats before they see him, but--

--ah, he recognizes her.

So the wolf stays quiet and alert, gold eyes briefly glancing in Ciri's direction.]

[wiedzminka]

[ She sees it: the wolf sitting on the rooftop up ahead, white fur gleaming silver in the moonlight. Ciri blinks, startled. She stops -- not suddenly, not frightened, merely cautious. Slowing down first, pausing in her steps.

She balances on the outer eave of the neighboring building, ready to jump down if needed, but she doesn't reach for the knife at her belt yet (the only weapon she has for now). It's strange, an animal like this so far into the city, not a copse of trees in sight. Strange for it to sit and watch, rather than running away at the sight of her or advancing to scare her away. Those eyes, even at a distance, seem so... steady. Intelligent.

Tracking her movements.

White Wolf, she thinks, almost amused. It isn't Geralt. But the association is, naturally, there.

Ciri steps forward again. Her instinct says it may be some sort of werewolf or shifter. But maybe she's wrong. New world, after all. New city full of strange people. Maybe it's just a domesticated animal used to humans, belonging to someone nearby, climbed up some stairs that she can't see yet or something. It's certainly not a wild wolf, that she's sure of. ]

Hello, there.

Wonder how you got all the way up here?

[cryptsleeper]

[The wolf hears itself being addressed, and so it turns to hold Ciri's gaze in full. It is clearly processing her words, given the slight ear twitch. The tail moves just a little behind it.

His answer is simple. The wolf stretches with front paws moving forward, and those stay pressed in Ciri's direction for a beat or two. I climbed.

No words, of course, because it isn't as if wolves have human vocal chords to respond properly. He'll change in a moment, if need be, but now Alucard's curious about how much further this conversation might move in this form and this form alone.]

Market a

[productid4]

[Louis was also attracted to the bakery. The market is... a mixed experience. It's a terrible rollercoaster of normal or even interesting items with the horrifying. Not the slabs of meat on display--he got used to that in the Black Market--but... the leather. It had never even occurred to him to make clothes out of people's skin. (Beasts' skin. The humans here don't consider beasts people.) He'd nearly gotten sick, and a human caught him staring at the hide of a bear piled on a stall with its head stuffed, its glassy eyes staring at him when she said, 'Are you okay, sir?'

Louis is distinctive in this world. He will never be able to sink into the anonymity of a shared species. Any reaction he has will be remembered by anyone paying any attention. Which means he can't show any weakness.

He dismisses the woman's concern politely and spins around to walk into the nearest store that probably doesn't have anything horrifying in it--a bakery. He breathes in the familiar scent of baking bread--and the unfamiliar scent of cream mixed in. Cream and milk aren't common primary ingredients anywhere an herbivore would eat, but at least it's more normal than fucking skins just hanging out waiting to be sold.

He feigns calm as he examines the treats on display, trying to bring his heartbeat down. He buys a couple fruit tarts (no cream) to look like he belongs. People are staring at him--they always do, wherever he goes--when a woman comes in and starts making a scene about the prices.

He stifles a sigh of relief, turning his gaze towards the woman. Well, here's a chance to repair any ding his growing reputation suffered when he was observed staring at the leather.]

Here. [He places enough cash on the counter in front of the woman, smiling at the cashier.] My treat.

[And he withdraws, not even waiting for change or a thank you as he turns to leave. That'll probably do it, he thinks. A story of a deer paying for a stranger's treat is more likely to spread and overshadow a story of a deer staring at a leather stall uncomfortably.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri looks up at the man's voice, momentarily glimpsing a furry (not hair, furry) hand setting down some coin. The antlers catch her off guard. ]

What--?

[ Without even looking back down properly, catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Ciri slaps her hand on the counter over the coins as the stall-owner reaches for them. If the deer-man is trying to leave quietly, she doesn't seem intent to let him. ]

Oh, come now. You're encouraging this racket.

[ Turning back to the cashier, she gives the man a pointed look. ]

Two sweet buns for this amount. Or none at all, and I take my coin [ the strange deer's coin, in fact ] to the inn down the street instead.

[productid4]

[Now she's haggling with money someone gave her for free? Louis arches an eyebrow at her, then waves dismissively, walking out the door. This looks like it'll be a messy situation, and he doesn't want to be part of it. He's left a good impression on the locals, and that's all he needs to do.

But he's a deer, and it's easy to find him if she so chooses. In the evenings, he tends to linger in a particular bar with cheap drinks and a reputation for tight-lipped bartenders. The story goes that he rarely drinks with others, preferring his privacy, but he's been known to accept other people's company if he finds the conversation interesting enough.

And predictably, that's where he is that evening, sipping slowly on straight whiskey and trying not to think about the leather stalls.]

lay of the land (a) / wildcard???? ish

[falcony]

[ one of the best parts of cadens, sam finds, is that there is very little time to slow down. it reminds him of dc, back home. or his time spent in new york. with so many people and so many lives happening around him, he can let himself simply get swept up by it - by the pace, by the need to get things done. there are still things worrying him, yes. frayed edges that have not yet been smoothed out. people, he's still looking to account for. but he can only let that dictate his focus for so long when he also needs to secure rooms for himself and the others. when he's still talking to the prime minister, and her people. when there is food to get and jobs to be done to get that food and then, without really noticing it, days have gone by.

it's a way of life - the kind that sam doesn't mind, really. he likes keeping busy and he likes there being things to do with his hands and if it means that he turns around and suddenly hasn't had a moment to himself in days, well. why would that be a bad thing?

today, that had sort of been the plan. he'd helped who he is currently referring to as his land lady with fixing her roof, had run an errand or two around town. somehow, he had a couple of hours to kill before he needed to be back for dinner, and sam found himself in a tavern on his way back to where they'd set up. he is struck, again, by the feeling of being on a movie set, or maybe just at a freaking ren faire, but ordering an ale is ordering an ale, no matter where you do it, and sam is thankful for that.

it's after he gets his own drink that he notices ciri a bit of the ways down, sitting by herself. their only previous interaction had been brief, barely an exchange of names, and sam had been meaning to find her. just to chat, just to get to know her, considering his fondness for the girl geralt brought to play with his nephews is nowhere near the woman he has seen. he figures he owes her the respect of introductions, of getting to know her, and so he walks over. offers a friendly, easy smile. ]

Hey. This seat taken? [ and then, because so much has happened since then, sam offers a quick- ] I'm Sam. We met back at the castle, super briefly, but it's nice to make introductions not between bars.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri senses the eyes on her, head turning to watch his approach. She tips her chin at the chair across the small table as an acknowledgement, a silent go-ahead to indicate the seat is indeed free.

Her lips quirk up at his re-introduction, amused. Still, it's not unwelcome to see a friendly face even if it is only semi-familiar. Sam has a warm smile. ]

I remember. But I'd certainly agree that ale is a better accompaniment to a conversation than a cell.

[ Of course, being out of the dungeon has done Ciri good, even at a glance. For one, she's clean, and wearing clothes that actually fit her. They're simple and look like she's definitely not the first owner, but they are practical and easy to move in-- snug trousers tucked into boots, a loose blouse with sleeves rolled up, cinched with a wide, worn-looking belt where her knife and a couple of canvas pouches hang. Her hair is pinned up in back into a messy bun, loose strands swept over her face to mostly cover the scar. The way she holds herself is more open too, more confident. Turns out, people seem happier when they're not in jail. ]

Didn't expect to run into you again.

market day (a)

[inthemeadow]

[ The good thing about Cadens is that it isn't hard to find someone willing to pay you to help out when it comes to manual labor. The pay might not be good, but it's enough to put food on the table. And since Mal is good with his hands, strong and young enough not to tire out easily, he can go from one job to the next without needing a rest day.

He's excited for market day since he has enough money to spend on a treat, and baked goods are definitely a weakness of his and Alina's. He stops by the same booth Ciri is at to catch her complaint about pricing, holding back his amusement at her calling someone a prick to their face. He sees an opportunity and seizes it. ]

I've seen someone selling similar for half the price. [ He says to Ciri with a glance at the seller. It's a lie, but he sounds convincing. ] I'll show you the way to them if you want?

[ He waits for Ciri to accept his offer, gesturing for her to follow him. And just as they start to walk away, the seller pipes up with a lower price, desperate for a sale. He exchanges a smirk with Ciri. ]

Gullible prick. [ He mutters to her under his breath. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Whether it's true or not, Ciri agrees. Either she'll get to try it for cheaper, or this guy knows what he's doing and they can put the power of their combined potential business to use. ]

Is that so? Well, what are we waiting for, then?

[ They both turn to leave-- at which point the seller cracks. Way too easy.

Ciri offers her unexpected haggling partner a surreptitious smirk as she pauses, without quite turning back. ]

Mm. He did say half the price. I'd rather walk than get ripped off here.

[ The seller, annoyed, repeats the offer. But after a beat, decides to throw in an extra bun for slightly cheaper. More money overall, but also more food at a higher per-bun discount. ]

market day, b.

[frontlinetitties]

[Gideon ought to be excited. This is more overflowing, effervescing life than she could ever have conceived of, all crammed into one vast and bustling place. Buildings and stalls alike crowd in against each other like the bad, uneven teeth of a Ninth House hermit. There's noise and there's sights and there's smells, people jostling for space, pressed up against her so tight sometimes that she has to bodily push her way through the crush of human clutter around her. And it is exciting, in some ways. The stalls with their clothes in colours other than black and their jewellery made from something other than bone. The food on display, so varied and different as to be almost dizzying.

But there's a sizeable amount of sensory overload too; she's accustomed to chill and quiet halls, to cavernous spaces empty of anyone besides the odd tottering, arthritic nun, or the clack-clacking of bone on stone as the skeletons go about their mindless business. There's so much to take in that she frequently feels blinded by it, overwhelmed, unable to take in the finer details. Such as some dirty, snot-nosed dickhead attempting to slide his hand into her trouser pocket and pull out her rather paltry bag of coin. Doesn't quite comprehend what has happened until the little shit goes scampering off with a yelp and the ashen-haired woman in front of her is suddenly holding her own coin-purse out under her nose.]

Huh? What the fuck, that little shit!

[She exclaims, somewhat belatedly, the culprit already vanished into the push and thrum of the crowd.]

Thanks. I totally missed that.

[There's a note of something like exhaustion in her voice as she reaches to retrieve what had been taken from her.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri places the purse in her hand, looking up (significantly up, in fact) at the woman. She is someone who stands out; Ciri remembers her. ]

Seems you found your answer. About Thorne.

[ The cart finishes rumbling across the street and the crowd pours in again, thicker than before. Ciri leads the way across the path toward another part of the sprawling, enormous marketplace, but she has no particular destination in mind. Now, she's more interested in the former Thornean 'guest' she's so fortuitously bumped into.

Ciri eyes the sword on her back. The tension in her shoulders and jaw, the way her eyes flick over the packed streets. The heavy weariness in her voice. ]

This is no place for a conversation. [ Ciri decides suddenly, veering off the main street to start pushing their way into one of the smaller alleys leading out like tributaries. ]

Why don't we grab a drink? Somewhere cheap, mind you. Coin's hard to come by when I came here without a damn thing worth it.

lay of the land, b.

[sunshinehan]

[Majima walked around the corner not expecting what happened next. Bad timing mostly, as his hasty pace left his turn around the corner sudden and probably unobserved until it was too late. So that he was almost landed on while he headed into the alley.

He stopped just short of running into the sudden person recovering from the jump-landing, comically waving his arms out as he caught his balance. Another person might have just put their hands out in front to protect themselves but his society was big about not touching another person and Majima was as keen on this sentiment as the next despite how he sometimes came off as too casual. After he finished careening about, he settled back down on his heels and let out a sigh.

He opened his eye to finally realize he recognized the person in front of him. He glanced up at the building or whatever she'd just jump down from and back again.]

You normally like to drop in on people like that?

[He didn't look so much perturbed as simply amused.]

[wiedzminka]

[ It really is just a matter of bad timing. Ciri realizes her mistake too late, but instinctively jumps back a couple of feet as soon as she hits the floor, settling momentarily into a guarded crouch while she reassess the situation. As it turns out, it's just some idiot.

--or, actually. On second glance, she realizes it may or may not be some idiot after all, but it is someone she recognizes. Huh. What are the odds? ]

Gotta keep you on your toes.

[ She stands fully again, cocking one fist on her hip and observing him up and down. She herself looks much better now that she's not wearing those sorry sacks they called clothes in the dungeons; she's clean now, dressed in fitted trousers and tucked-in blouse, hair up in a loose bun and bangs windswept from running around. ]

Glad to see you made it out.

THE HORIZON

[wiedzminka]

Ciri has the distinct feeling that she is searching for someone.

She doesn't know who or why, but the sensation is impossible to shake. It pushes her forward, keeps her walking on, roaming the strange landscape surrounding the Singularity at its center.

With her sword on her back and sturdy boots, she knows she can go anywhere. She can run and she can fight, and she is comfortable with the roaming, the searching, its familiarity an ingrained part of her (even if she does get a little lonely, sometimes). Her clothes are fitted for movement and combat, practical but expensively-made in what some may consider a mix of clothing fit for men and women: soft, durable buckskin breeches and a linen blouse accented with small, embroidered birds and leaves along the sleeves and collar, worn with a leather cuirass and silver-accented belt from which hang her knife and a few pouches for necessities.

At her throat, visible above the loose-laced top of her blouse, is a circular, silver medallion. Upon it is engraved the sign of her arcanum.

Sometimes on horseback and sometimes on foot, Ciri passes through the small but varied world with sharp eyes and sure step. She peers into various domains, stopping in to check whether they are empty or occupied, whether the occupants hold any interest for her.


(( ooc: It's Ciri's first time into the Horizon, so she's temporarily lost her memories! Feel free to bump into her for a little bit, but just a note that threads will probably be fairly short as she won't want to linger in one place too long. PM me to plot something out if you'd like your character to find a memloss Ciri wandering through their Domain! Prose or brackets are both fine; I'll match you. ))

[aquaveiled]

Going in and out of horizon has become a regular occurrence, in no small part because while incarcerated there wasn't much else to do to idle away the time in the cells. She's been spending less time there recently, however, given how much she now has available on the outside, yet she still makes a point to tend to her creations as well as explore a bit.

It hadn't occurred her to her that Horizon may be means of regular communication with those who went separate ways until Estinien mentioned his own run-ins. Though she hasn't actively sought out many since then, she takes the opportunity as soon as it arises.

Having just set up her bubbly dome not far outside of her friend's domain, she pauses before entering when she spots a familiar shape against the backdrop of the mountains. Himeka waves--fully herself in Horizon, again, including her horns and tail, wonderfully free of any prison garb.

"Ciri!" For all intents and purposes, she sounds quite happy to see the other woman. They are fellow adventurers, after all.

[gynvael]

(( sliding in immediately after this ))

In retrospect, it would be too damn easy if all went as planned. Geralt lands in the Horizon as expected; Ciri does not. She is simply not here. He waits, at first, uncertain if she has trouble accessing it. But if she had, she'd have gotten his attention inside the room, out there. That he hasn't been shaken out of his concentration means she's entered. She's just stepped in somewhere else entirely.

Shit.

He swallows down an instinctive curl in his stomach. It isn't anywhere near the same as when he lost he last (when he lost her in Cintra). She's around, somewhere, and nothing inside this place can truly harm her. Still, the uneasy prickling along his spine will not leave him. He doesn't just remember Cintra; he remembers losing the girl inside this place, too. Losing her and forgetting her, piece by piece, a sinking loss that had only grown. But at least now, in this moment, he knows exactly who it is he's looking for.

He hops on Roach, sets off down the path to try and catch her scent or a trail. There is one thing he knows of the Horizon from his previous visit, and it's that few here go on horseback. So when he spots a second set of hooves that don't belong to Roach, he follows it, as well as the boot prints that occasionally appear nearby. It leads him a bit in circles: first a remnant of a hum of magic he recognizes must be from Hemera (Himeka's) crystal dome, then toward a wagon's tracks that must be from Jaskier.

Eventually, he spots the flash of ashen hair, a familiar silhouette. And alongside her, the bard, with his decorated wagon. Geralt rides up next to her. (Thank fuck.) At least she's with Jaskier.

"Ciri." He's a stranger, he realizes. (Will a part of her still recognize him?) "I've been looking for you."

[cointosser]

Jaskier doesn't really search for anyone this time.

Now that he's had his... experiences, with some of the others, and now that he finds himself living shoulder to shoulder with two others, he craves a rare moment of escape. And, even rarer -- a moment to himself to admit that he misses the Continent. And it is not about the fame he held there, or the voices which carried his name and songs for years.

There is home there. Familiarity. There are paths he's walked for decades, inns he has watched change over time. Even a small collection of huts or two who have managed to blossom into villages.

In the quiet of the Horizon, he can find a shard of it. Though when he returns, it is anything but quiet. The caravan is thrilled to see him, but Jaskier decides the faceless musicians who once followed him all across the Horizon unnerve him now, both with their meaning and their, you know, general lack of faces. They disappear into nothing, as if they were never there. Only two occupants remain, and they are all the more real to him because they are not his.

On the single, richly decorated wagon that remains of Jaskier's caravan, a large golden bird sits on the roof, bright crystals displayed through its feathers. Beside it sits a moogle bard, his pom dancing with the wind.

Both the bird and moogle watch as Jaskier crafts things he knew from home -- a single mountain from the Dragon Mountains, that tavern in Posada where he first met the White Wolf, one of his favorite classrooms from the academy in Oxenfurt. He enjoys them, for a spell, but in time is dissatisfied with them. They're solid, yet they are retain an ethereal air. Eventually Jaskier lets them crumble to dust, hopping onto his caravan and traveling again.

The goldfinch takes off every now and then, and after throwing out rabbits for it to chase and devour, it returns with a keening sound: something is found.

Something important, then. The wagon turns, going the way the bird directs, until he realizes it's a person. Not simply a person --

"Ciri!" Jaskier whips the reins of his horses, decorated with embroidered suns all over their fabric collars, until it slows beside her. "What the bollocks are you doing here? Where's Geralt?"

Because if Jaskier was not the one to lead her in, of course it was him. But, what? He'd led her here alone?

[productid4]

There's a forest with trees that are wrong. They look like antlers jutting from the earth, and a dark, sticky, blood-like substance bubbles from where each one pierces the ground. But the dirt is rich and loamy, ripe for planting. It's like a world that teeters right between death and birth, one that requires one to have the other.

The person who peers through the trees when Ciri approaches looks wrong too. Far from human, looking more like a watercolor silhouette of a humanoid deer than anything. The spotty watercolor pattern that ripples over him spots with the death arcana on different parts of his body, but really, could his arcana been anything else?

"You seem lost," he says, voice even and politely interested.

market b

[solmate]

[ It's not that Alina hadn't been a sneaky child, pilfering sweets when she and Mal made their way out to the festivals where Keramzin orphans were forbidden. In fact, maybe it's that which makes her acutely aware of the way her bag lightens just slightly as a couple coins are lifted from it by the opportunist. ]

Oi—!

[ She spins, exclaiming, but before she can act, a familiar face is saving her hard-earned money, the result of both her and Mal's work. (She had wanted to find some of his favorite fruit as a surprise.)

Ah! Her face brightens with a smile of recognition. Despite the living conditions only being marginally better than the dungeons of Thorne, Alina's shines with a healthier glow. She is no longer as desperately gaunt and tired as she was in their cell. Of course, another difference is the unseasonable scarf she wears loosely to cover her hair and neck.

She gratefully accepts the coins back from Ciri, lowering her voice as she beckons her to the edge of the crowd. In quiet tones, she happily greets her. ]

Geralt said you were here but it's wonderful to see you in person.

[wiedzminka]

Lucky I was here, huh?

[ Ciri teases with a grin as she hands the coins back. Then, she's sliding between the crowd to follow Alina out of the thick of it, so they can duck against the side of a building to talk without having to shout or elbow people aside.

Ciri herself looks markedly improved too, even if she hadn't been trapped in the dungeon nearly as long as Alina. Now, she's bathed, for one. Hair brushed, pinned up in the back in a loose knot, dressed in clothes that fit her. She stands taller, moves confidently, now that she's got sturdy boots and a knife at her belt. (No sword yet; that is being worked on.)

Once moderately sheltered, they stop, and Ciri reaches toward Alina with arms out for a hug. She squeezes her friend close for a few moments, then pulls back to arms' length to look her up and down. ]

Yes, he mentioned you were staying nearby, with Sam. I meant to look in on you, but it seems chance has saved me the trouble.

[ She laughs, stepped back out of Alina's space and letting her hands fall away. Her smile is warm, relieved. ]

I'm glad to see you're looking well.