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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[she blinks, and says nothing in response to the other woman's assertion, only feels a distant kind of embarrassment over being so easily discerned. Because it is kinda embarrassing, to want and yearn and fight for years for the kind of freedom she has now, to be among people and vibrancy, to be around life instead of the dead and the dying. Yet here she is, and sometimes she misses the chill empty corridors and dark, labyrinthine structures of Drearburh. Would feel cheered to see some old penitent who's bones creak loud as they walk. It leaves her filled with a tense and silent frustration, and so she only nods and follows the former prisoner of Thorne through the winding side-streets and back alleys. Feels some of her tension and the shitty headache that had been pulsing hot behind her eyes begin to bleed away the further they stray from the bustling crowds.

She'll get used to it. Eventually. Hopefully.

Once they've wound and shoved their way through a bustling square and the little tavern finally comes into sight, Gideon's relief blooms brighter. She's already imagining a dark and warmly cluttered interior, quieter than the streets outside.]

Right. Yeah. Little bastards.

[She says, as she follows the other woman toward the tavern's entrance and they push their way inside. Perhaps she ought to start keeping her coin purse shoved into her bandeau; she'd like to see anyone try snatching it from there without losing a hand in the process.]

What are you having?

[ Ciri actually laughs; she sounds so indignant about the attempted pickpocketing still. It gives Ciri the urge to keep reminding her and pushing the issue to get that reaction again, but she resists.

They settle into a small, two-person table near the back. Ciri's chair wobbles, one leg apparently too short or screwed in wrong, and she absently rocks back and forth while considering. ]

Haven't decided. Get me one of whatever you're drinking.

[ She doesn't want to say she wants something cheap, but asking for something too expensive might turn her companion off of being pleasant enough to buy drinks. This seems the safest bet to getting something decent without annoying her newfound drinking buddy. ]

You got a name?

[The laughter hits her like a splash of icy water to the face; abrupt and jarring. Uncertain of just what she's said that had sparked the other woman's amusement, Gideon feels momentarily wrongfooted and confused, unsure whether she ought to be affronted or not. Again comes the tug of frustrated embarrassment; she has spent so little time with people who aren't ancient old crones or Harrowhark that sometimes the behaviour of others leaves her dumbfounded. It's not how she'd imagined her big debut into wider society would go, which is a real pain in the ass.

She's still contemplating whether she ought to ask what the fuck is so funny or just let it slide when they reach the little table at the back, and the woman is talking again. Giving an answer, asking a question, and so let it slide becomes the default option. She's lost her chance for anything else.]

Gideon. And you?

[She asks, sinking down into the remaining, mismatched chair, her gold-coin eyes already scanning the room for someone to serve them. Having living people wait upon her still sits oddly against her bones, so accustomed is she to the soft clatter of skeletal servants, their empty orbital cavities long devoid of all human feeling. A wiry youth with a limp ponytail the colour of dead flowers sees her restless gaze, and begins to make his way over to her. He doesn't look old enough to be working a bar, but then what the hell would she know?

He's pleasant enough when he reaches them and asks for her order, which transpires to be a request for a semi-decent ale she'd experienced in another tavern a handful of days before. Fuck if she knows what constitutes a decent drink, her only alcoholic experience prior to arriving here consisting of pilfered sacrament wine, which tasted like watered down battery acid. The bar boy scurries off to fetch their drinks, and Gideon turns back to her companion, elbows resting upon the table's rough surface as her tight-wound shoulders infinitesimally loosen.]

Fuck me, but it's heaving out there. Who know you could pack so many people into one place?

Ciri.

[ She replies simply, lapsing into considering silence while Gideon manages to wave over one of the bar boys, ordering something with a sense of clumsy uncertainty that tugs at Ciri's interest in an amusing, oddly charming kind of way. She doesn't need to remind Gideon she wants the same. Both pints of ale are ordered, and the boy scurries away.

Ciri rests an elbow on the table, and her chin in the cupped palm of her hand, fingers mostly obscuring the scar on her cheek. Her eyebrow quirks. ]

You aren't used to cities, are you?

[Mostly obscured, but not entirely; Gideon perceives the curve of it between and around cupped fingers, and now that they're away from the press and shove of the crowd outside, Ciri comes into sharper focus for her. It looks like it might have been done by some kind of blade-- and that only sparks her interest. It lends the other woman - who otherwise might have been described as gracile - a world-hardened look that Gideon has to admit is kind of badass. There's an itch in her then, to ask about it. But is it a dick move to turn to someone you've barely met and say 'how'd you get that big-ass scar, then?' Is that the kind of conversation one makes in polite company? Fuck if she knows.

She's shaken loose from this line of thinking by Ciri's question, and shrugs in a way that she hopes comes off as relaxed and a touch aloof. It probably doesn't.]

That obvious, huh? But you're right. We had nothing like this back on the Ninth.

[Both Drearburh and Canaan House were just different sorts of tombs, both crumbling slowly into dust and close to uninhabited save for the painfully old and the terminally strange. This place? She could barely even conceive of it, not even when sitting here in the thick of it.]

You seem pretty at home, though.

[ ...the ninth? The ninth what?

Ciri cocks her head slightly, quizzical, but Gideon does not seem to realize this is a baffling thing to say. Still, it's clear enough what she means. Whatever the ninth is, it's where she's from. Before the Singularity, before being dragged into this world, into a city she's seemingly entirely unprepared for. ]

I've traveled. Seen lots of things, lots of places. This is among the most crowded, to be fair-- but I am familiar with cities and the wilderness in equal measure.

[ The second of which she misses far more.

Their drinks arrive promptly, despite the rundown look of the place; the serving boy is polite and quiet, eyeing the both of them with Gideon's biceps and Ciri's scar and knife with cautious fascination. Ciri waves him away almost before he can finish asking if they need anything else, grabs her ale, and takes a long drink.

She is restless. Tired of odd jobs and elbowing her way through crowds. Her hands itch for the feel of a blade in her grip, for something to fight that is not a nebulous, uncertain enemy made of foreign mages and interkingdom politicking.

She distracts herself like this, instead. ]

What did you have? Where you are from, the ninth of whatever it is that you mean?

[She's travelled. Ciri says it so nice and easy, and Gideon feels a hot spark of comingled jealousy and fascination. She'd always dreamed of tasting that for herself, being sent out to far-flung fronts with the Cohort, seeing the kinds of things she could only distantly dream of whilst mouldering away in Drearburh's dank depths. And okay, so in most of these dreams the sights she beheld consisted of bloody battles and un-necromantically curvaceous babes, but somewhere in amongst all that there'd been the genuine desire for something bigger, something more than the slow march toward death followed by the enslavement of her bones that the Ninth House promised. She barely notices when the serving boy comes back with their ale, gives him only a distracted word of thanks as she takes her drink in hand.

She'd rather be asking Ciri questions, like what kind of things, and were any of the things awesome swordfights, by any chance?, and is that how you got that scar? But the other woman is quicker on the draw, and Gideon lets out a low breath that indicates nothing in the Ninth was ever worth seeing.]

Well, let me see. We had bones. Annnnd, also bones. As well as bones we had....yep. More bones. There were also a bunch of decaying old nuns who were so close to being bones themselves that sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. And not much else, honestly. Imagine just about the worst, most dreary, awful place you can possibly think of, but also kinda horrifying at the same time, and you get the Ninth House. Which is basically just one big tomb cracked vertically into the planet's core, I don't think it was ever really meant to sustain life. And it only just about manages it, honestly.

[She leans back in her chair then, and takes a deep swig of her drink. Lifts a hand to swipe away the foam that smears her top lip.]

I'm sure the things and places you've seen are much more interesting. Less...boney.

Edited 2021-10-06 18:07 (UTC)

[ Ciri's brows rise as Gideon continues her 'explanation' -- if it can be called that. Bones, bones and more bones? Nuns? Ciri imagines Kaer Morhen, the half-buried monster ribcages protruding from the snow, the skeletons strewn beneath them, as built in as the cobblestones. The place is drenched in death. And Gideon seems to be describing something on an even grander scale.

Her mind conjures up the suppressed image of that sphere she'd accidentally found herself once, long ago, of the mountains and mountains of bones, the oppressive desolation that had made her feel sick to her core. She shoves it away, managing not to wince, and thinks she might be able to form a better picture in her head of what Gideon is describing than many people could. Or should. ]

It's no wonder, then, that you find Cadens to be... a lot.

[ Ciri takes a drink, letting the ale linger on her tongue. It's cold. That's nice. Better than she expected. ]

You're right that my sphere is not like yours. There are big mountains and green forests and cities where people jostle for space. I think Cadens is much bigger than any of the cities back home-- but it's not so unfamiliar to me.

So what does one do on a dead planet full of bones... with a sword?

[ Ciri nods at the large, sheathed blade she'd noticed on Gideon earlier. It's unlikely the woman came to Cadens and decided to get one of those on a whim. Her arms are well muscled, and she carries the sword on her back like she knows how to move with it. ]

Don't tell me there are bone monsters on top of all that.

[She has to wonder at the word sphere-- maybe she means planet? It makes sense, after all, for someone who's lived worlds away from her to have a different understanding of the universe - different terminology - to the kind she uses. And that is hardly the most interesting thing the other woman says to her, besides. Big mountains, green forests-- she's seen so much in her short time in this place that is wildly different and strange from the pitiable handful of experiences she'd previously had beneath her belt, but there are still vast swathes of things she's yet to see or understand. She's still imagining green forests when Ciri mentions swords, and just like that she's focused again-- the magic word, as it were.

Elbows resting on the rough-hewn table, Gideon cracks a grin.]

Bone monsters galore. It takes a necro to raise one obviously, but I've fought more skeletal constructs than you could shake a stick at. One particularly giant fucker which--

[Which she and Harrow had defeated in the end, even if the cost of that victory had been the biggest she could give. She shakes her head-- it's already happened, it's done, and she'd do it again in a heartbeat if she had to.]

--let's just say I've smashed through a whole lot of bones. But what about you? You look like you know your way around a fight.

[ A necro? A necromancer, surely -- Ciri can glean context clues. But she does look a little surprised, blinking at Gideon with a sort of fascination like she isn't even sure where to start asking questions. Few things surprise her these days, but boneworld full of necromancers and bone monsters and people among all that, clinging to survival, that's something that's kind of charming and frightening at once.

Then again, she's already met someone who comes from a sphere where humans haven't even gotten to it yet, which is stranger even than humans fighting through bone monsters on a tomb planet. It takes all sorts.

Ciri shrugs. She suspects why Gideon says this (same reason she's been able to make some coin standing around scowling and acting as guard for various goods around the marketplace), and it never fails to rankle, just a little bit. She resists the urge to smooth her hair over the scar and instead just takes another drink. ]

I do. Smashed through a whole lot of flesh and blood monsters, but no bone-exclusive ones so far.

I heard there are plenty of beasts out in the desert. Just need a proper blade first.

[She almost sees it there-- a twinge of something, the snapped-bowstring of some kind of tension, but discerning the subtle emotions of others isn't something she's had any particular practice with. Not unless one counts Harrow's black and mystic moods - of which she's something of an expert - but neither Harrow nor the other inhabitants of Drearburh are exactly your standard kind of people. So the moment - if it had been there at all - bleeds out into nothing, unremarked upon, and Gideon takes a swig of her own drink in kind. The glass is sweating in her palm, feels cool and somehow good, which only acts to heighten her diamond-focused interest as Ciri begins to talk about smashing her way through flesh and blood monsters, which is both kind of hot and crying out for innuendo. Innuendo that sits lewdly at the tip of her tongue--

--until Ciri mentions the beasts in the desert. Gideon sits up a little straighter in her rickety chair, and quite visibly, her eyes brighten.]

What sort of beasts?

[She says, as if she knows anything about any sort of beast at all that isn't made out of bones.]

[ Oh, good. If Gideon thinks that monsters and monster-hunting are topics of interest, they'll have plenty to talk about.

Ciri is glad she doesn't press about the scar. Instead, she carries on with her change of subject more easily and with some enthusiasm, gesturing vaguely with her free hand as she takes another gulp. The ale is cold, and she appreciates that; she's noticed taverns in Cadens usually manage to keep it cold even in this desert heat, which is impressive, whether it's machinery or magic or both. ]

Giant scorpions. Haven't seen 'em yet, but I'm assured they're big enough to warrant the moniker. Wolves and wildcats too, I think. Not sure how far out or how much trouble they cause, though.

The ones I'm most interested in are beasts I've never heard of before. But I've been asking around. Picked up some books, too. Some armored bastards called 'chaigon' and big mean birds that go after travelers.

Edited 2021-10-19 08:02 (UTC)

[Yeeaaah fuck knows why she even asked. Giant scorpions and wildcats? She hasn't got a clue, but the words giant and wild nestled within their names give her hope that they're something interesting, something that will give her a good run for her money. Wolves she's heard of before-- if only from that stoic warrior of a guy she'd run into in one of Caden's taverns, and he hadn't exactly given her a thorough explanation (they're white though, probably?).

But whatever. Ciri throws armoured into the mix, and it's enough to set her imagination buzzing, to have her muscles aching for a fight. Her face remains quick and alive with interest, and she leans in across the table, drink momentarily abandoned as her palms press flat to the wood. The molten gold of her eyes is hot on Ciri's face.]

Can't say I've heard of any of them, but giant, armoured, and wild sounds like my kinda party. And I'm kind of sick of all the inactivity, you know? There's only so much drudge work you can do before your brain starts turning to jelly.

Yes. I know precisely what you mean. Soon as I get my hands on a proper blade, I'll be taking contracts. Come with me if you want -- but you gotta help find work too, or we're not splitting evenly.

[ Ciri's not sure how Gideon can handle herself against monsters, but she looks competent enough, and she carries herself like someone who's had a sword strapped to her for years; Ciri recognizes the look. And Gideon's got a point. She's bored. Itching for something actually useful to do. Work she's competent at.

She grabs her mug of ale again, swallows down a large chunk of it and lets the bottom hit the table with a satisfying thud. ]

Let me know where I can find you, Gideon. I plan to do some scouting in the desert. Welcome to tag along and see a scorpion or two if you want. Put that slab of metal you call a sword to good use.

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WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

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wtf i never got the notif for this >:( sorry!!

I've been losing a lot of notifs lately, too! ;;

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