abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.]

[ At least that hasn't changed across spheres. Geralt had assumed him older for that reason, up until Alucard had stated otherwise. Even now, he isn't sure if Alucard is long-lived as well, or if he takes after his mother in that regard. A vampire with a mortal lifespan. Would be something, wouldn't it?

Though given Alucard seems willing to retreat into a crypt for years at a time, Geralt suspects he's long-lived as well. ]

Hundred years. Give or take. [ It's answered without hesitation—one of those pieces of himself that doesn't bother him to talk about. ] We age. Just slow.

The finer numbers always stopped mattering after a century or two.

[It only ever came up in dumb vampire fights over this, that, or the other thing and someone wanted to play the I'm older than you card. Alucard had only heard tell about the fights, and he didn't need his father's bored tone to tell him how exhausting the whole matter was.

But slow. Alucard nods, understanding.] We think that's how it works in my case.

[ That they do. And most of his memories are faded when it came to his childhood before...this. He knows the year he was born, but not the precise day or even the season.

Think. He tilts his head at that choice of words. Realization dawns on him. ] You're the first of your kind.

[ That's what it is, isn't it? Is that what Alucard means? Or rare enough, at least, that he can't confirm how his own aging works. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to Geralt. Not that he thought otherwise, either. More that he hadn't stopped to give it thought in the first place, the idea of precisely how rare a half-human, half-vampire must be. ]

Or at least the first in some time. Yes.

[He never had illusions that he was the only dhampir to exist. The word existed, after all. But there were no records. No notes. Everything about his needs, his limits, those were learned. If he'd need blood as a baby as well as milk. If he could even withstand the sun.

He takes some of the bread and finally puts it in his mouth. Not bad, all things considered. More honey next time, the sweetness is not as bright as it should be.]

It's one of the reasons I learned to cook. If I needed to take care of myself dietarily, it was best I know how.

[ Ironic. That Alucard is the first of his kind in some time and he's one of the last. Is it possible? In his own sphere, if there could exist a child like Alucard? Would he even know if there were? The Continent is vast.

Maybe it doesn't matter. If he hasn't heard of it, in all of his years, then it isn't something he needs to know of. ]

When did you learn you could turn into a wolf?

[ He's asking now solely for interest, as he's imagining Alucard as a boy stumbling his way through what he can do. Despite the loss of all the others, Geralt had at least had Vesemir. Someone who guided them. But there'd been an uncertainty with him, as well. Him and only him. What the additional trials would really mean for him. Not much, as it turned out, beyond the colour of his hair. Maybe a penchant for surviving a little more than he should. That part can't be quantified. ]

Oh, young. [On Alucard's face, there's a flicker of something softer. Fonder. He won't get into the particulars of aging yet, although it'll come up soon. Instead he closes his eyes, savoring the memory to himself. His mother's face of bafflement, confirming what she just saw. The grin on his father's face, knowing that another of his skills had been passed down. A tiny white wolf cub to contrast with the great, hulking black wolf that ran through the Carpathians.

He shakes his head, pulling himself out of that moment.] It was an accident, and then I learned how to do it on purpose. I must have looked to been two and a half? Three? [Looked.] Learning I could fly was the larger problem. I could float up, but not down, and the rooms had high ceilings. It happened during the daylight once and--

[Yeah. It was a disaster. One that gets the faintest of laughs.]

[ The fondness is not startling. He's gathered, from what little Alucard has said, that he had a happy childhood. It's more...it isn't something he understands. It isn't a feeling he can grasp. Perhaps it's why he found in Yennefer an understanding.

He gives a soft snort. Of course Alucard can fly. Floated as an boy, apparently. What was it like? To discover your abilities in a way that brings wonderment and curiosity? He doesn't want to say he feels envy, nor resentment. It isn't that. He's long moved past those feelings. But. He can't help but think, knowing that Visenna is a sorceress, if she had not chosen what she did—if he would've been with her as he discovered his own conduit moment. If she would've watched him learn magic of his own.

He pushes the thoughts out of his mind. ] Just don't float in here. I don't want you stuck to my ceilings.

Edited 2021-09-16 04:09 (UTC)

I assure you, I have complete control over that ability now.

[There's something approaching a dark humor in the response, the first Alucard's ever even attempted in Geralt's presence. But he abides by the request all the same, feet planted on the ground.

What is it about monster hunters and unhappy childhoods? The Belmont's went up in smoke. He's here observing this. Perhaps it is a part of the job. What makes one willing to do the work in the first place.

But Alucard doesn't press the issue. He falls into silence, eyes roaming the room in order to take in the little details.]

Good to know.

[ He lets the silence fall. What's he doing here with a vampire who isn't a vampire? In truth, he isn't certain. Lately, it's beginning to feel like he isn't sure what he's doing at all. He's grasping, at something, a purpose he has found in Cirilla but which he doesn't know he can do. If he can keep her as safe as he's promised.

For awhile, he just finishes off the fish Alucard has brought. A gift, formulated from thin air, which they're both pretending is real because this plane is what it is and thinking about it too much gives him a damn headache. He can see Alucard watching, drawing conclusions, and Geralt decides not to dig deep. People have thought what they will of him for a long time now. ]

If you're looking for more than what's here, there isn't. [ It's just this. Hollow, more than anything. ]

Was there more?

[Not here, obviously. The real one. Alucard has to assume that it is the case, but he wants to be sure.]

How many centuries did it take to amass?

[ Geralt glances up. The question is both simple and yet not all at once. ] There was. There is. Real thing's larger.

[ Much larger. Vast. And just as empty. He's crafted only what he needs to: a balance of the things that he can't get rid of without feeling as if he's compromising what makes it home (the bones, the medallions, the rundown walls) and what he simply doesn't want people to know (the rooms of his brothers, the lab, the armory. There is no underground level that he's created, as far as he's aware.)

As for how many centuries -- ]

Many. [ He doesn't know, precisely. There are no records pertaining to any of this. ] I wasn't here for it.

[For a few moments, Alucard is quiet. Calculating. Part of this is not his history or truth to speak. But it doesn't matter either, since the Belmont isn't around.]

I think it always comes to this.

[Loneliness. Isolation. Pulling away from society.]

My father earned his reputation. Preferred his solitude as well. A single family took the purpose of trying to destroy him over the centuries. Their house fell to accusations of witchcraft and fire as well.

[Too many repeated themes, so far as Alucard's concerned.] Their last heir would be right at home here.

[ Mm. Perhaps it does. No, he knows it does. In the end, he isn't certain it matters. It's simply a fact of living, of the world, and Geralt has never been one to have thoughts of changing that. He's learned to navigate it instead. ]

People like to turn their attentions to what they don't understand. [ He doesn't quite shrug, but his tone makes it so he may as well have. ] It lets them pretend they've done something worthwhile, so they can ignore that they can't help their failing crops and starving children.

[ Is that all there is to it? Maybe. Sometimes. These are ruminations Geralt prefers not to spend too much time on. It feels wasted. He can understand them and still have nothing with which to change them. At this point, he no longer cares to, either. ]

And some people live in hope that bringing education and understanding will change all of that.

[Almost to himself, the dhampir sighs.] My parent's perpetual debate. [Why it was Dracula fell in love with a mortal woman, even. But he doesn't dare to say that part out loud. That is still too personal.

But this explains a few things, doesn't it? Like sometimes attracts like, and here Alucard can feel some familiarity in the isolation. Geralt's circumstances are more like Trevor's of course, but that didn't stop the Belmont from being a lonely thing either.

Fuck, but this is depressing. He misses the cabin.]

[ He acknowledges that with a hum. Everyone's perpetual debate. One that he has no interest in pursuing. ]

I can guess who fell on which side.

[ He's right, isn't he? Alucard has never spoken any of it out loud, but between Hector's blunt assessment of Alucard's father after his wife's death, Alucard's fondness and willingness to speak of his mother compared to his avoidance of anything to do with his father, the corpses that burned in the tunnels—he can guess.

Though he can't say what conclusions he can draw from it even so. It isn't his business. ]

Edited 2021-09-19 22:28 (UTC)

Neither were subtle or undramatic people, although my mother always protested the accusation. [There's a soft huff, too fond.] But when one shows up, stabs the front door of a castle, and demands to learn medical science and then berates one of the most powerful vampires for a lack of hospitality--

[They were both forces of nature. Together, they were better than they ever were apart.

Alucard seems to deflate as he trails off. He can't know that Hector's shared even a portion of what happened, but he is aware of the direction this stands to go in if he keeps talking. Maybe Geralt's not the worst person to admit patricide to, given the circumstances and the Witcher's profession, but he's never quite said what happened out loud before. He's never had to. Trevor and Sypha were there. Hector could infer. Sumi and Taka were...they only worried about the castle and fighting vampires.

Their images conjure an actual shudder, and Alucard find himself pulling his coat around him tighter, burrowing into the furs.]

WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)