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

[cointosser]

[It is quite true that a night of sleep, good food, and some wine mixed together can make life a little less shit. And certainly the prospect of going around shopping as if all is right in the world -- as if this is another city he has found himself in, ripe with new opportunities and new company.

New company may come later rather than sooner, which is... certainly rare for him. There's been a bit too much for even Jaskier to continue to be supremely horny.

He laughs at her noise, except he pretty much does the same thing when he bites into the doughnut, with a jam inside of some sweet fruit he can't quite identify.] Oh, fuck. You weren't kidding.

[For a moment it's the two of them and biting, the tearing of dough, the licking of fingers. Fuck. Geralt really is missing out, as he always does.] This is going to be the hardest day of my life. There's so much here and... we need to save it.

[Please coax him into spending more, Ciri. So he can share the blame.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Jaskier has a point. Right now, Ciri wants to enjoy the bounty while all their food is still warm, and without getting stepped on. With her mouth still full, she nudges Jaskier toward one of the buildings crammed along the sides of the street like mismatched puzzle pieces, some of them large and looming, others small and squat. There, they can duck against the wall and out of the way, not in peace but at least in relative safety from feet and elbows.

The skewer is already gone. She reaches for the bun next. ]

This is just enough to keep us going. Wasn't that the plan? We'll have more soon.

[ Though not that much more... considering they're sharing it between three of them in a brand-new city and Ciri and Geralt will both need supplies to be able to work properly. ]

...at least enough for a decent meal tonight. And some basic supplies.

[ By which she means some sort of weapon, at the very least. ]

[cointosser]

Plan? [He echoes with a bite of bun in his mouth.] Oh, right, there was a plan. Yes, you're exactly right. I'd say we've, er, definitely gone with the plan.

[He's already forgotten it. It's hard! He's spoiled. Yes, spoiled. Well. It's hard to say if one should describe it as spoiling when his lifestyle came from his own success. But those months in Thorne without buying his own dress, or his cuisine, stuck behind stone walls with a startling lack of culture...]

Mmhmm. Supplies. We should work on that. [He pops a finger out of his mouth, not free of jam.] What else do you need? I realize now I'm not sure what it is you... you do. Not a musician, I wager, with those hands. [He snaps his skewer stick in half for something to do with his fingers.] Do feel free to tell me your life story whenever you wish. I feel we have a lot to catch up on.

[Unless I'm dead. The thought keeps rising, unbidden. Even now.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri is no more delicate in her indulgence. She barely restrains herself from cramming the whole bun into her mouth at once, that first bite was so good. And she, too, licks her fingers clean.

Jaskier has a point. Unfortunately, his point is also a bit of a... snag. Geralt hadn't asked her many questions; he's focusing on what can be done now, and leaving the future (and past) to unwind as it may. That is, assuming they can right whatever being pulled into this place has done to the certainty of their paths crossing.

Similarly, Yennefer had understood that being out of sync is bad enough. No matter how much Ciri wants to warn her of the future, it's difficult to do so without being overcome by the crushing anxiety that she's messing with things none of them understand. If she could have simply gone back in time to prevent some of the worst tragedies in her life, it would have been apparent by now. But no one can do that. The inability to change the past is a fact of the universe, of all universes.

And that is why she doesn't want to talk about it.

Ciri realizes several seconds have passed in awkward silence now. She's been staring with sudden seriousness at the empty skewer in her hand. She blinks, lifting her head. ​]

I don't know if I should tell you. [ She admits, a bit uncomfortably. ] Rather, I don't know how much I can. It's already bad enough we've been pulled in from disparate times. I don't want to risk... unraveling things further.

[ But that is a too-serious answer to a question that was more practical to begin with. Ciri takes a breath, shaking off the by-now-familiar weight of mounting existential dread. Fuck it all. They're here to enjoy the market. One step at a time. ]

A-anyway-- As for what I can do. You are correct that I never had the gift for an instrument like yours. But give me a sword, and I can earn my keep.

[ Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, Ciri starts in on the candied nuts. They're crunchy and sweet. It's amazing how good food can make anything feel better. ]

When we have the funds for it, of course. City this big, I'm sure I can find work here and there in the meantime. For now, a knife will do.

[cointosser]

[Ah. It's years with Geralt and his own unique brand of empathy that has him quite sure he's soured the air with the questions, and it becomes abundantly clear how he and Ciri and Geralt have all avoided going to the very obvious first questions about her. And how little she's offered. Of course their time together has been very short, and with Yennefer's interruption it was also quite tense, but --

He simply gets the sense he's being closed off. Especially considering the previous night.

Jaskier stares at her.] What is that even meant to mean? Who is stopping you?

[This must be another thing she's picked up for Geralt; though, to Ciri's credit, he would have never offered any sort of answer in the first place, even if the answer was "fuck off, or maybe I'll tell you later." He shakes his head, placing the last bite of his bun (a tragedy) inside. His bites are slow, savoring it. A plan. Yes. Stick to the plan.]

A sword? Really? [Genuine surprise is in his voice. There is that scar, of course, but he hadn't -- well. What sort of person's first assumption for a princess would be her need of a sword?]

Certainly Geralt can help you pick one, but... I mean, what do you use it for? You're not some sort of bandit mercenary, are you?

[wiedzminka]

I am sorry, Jaskier. Really. Just... give me some time. Please. I will explain.

[ Time may or may not actually help, but at the very least, perhaps it will give her the chance to acclimate to her new surroundings first and feel even the slightest bit better prepared to tackle the conversation they must have. It isn't that she thinks Jaskier will betray her or that he would react in a way that would hurt any of them intentionally-- but between Geralt's silent understanding and Yennefer's determination to figure it out, she's not sure how Jaskier will take it. He will probably ask the most questions. He would be right to, in all honesty. She simply doesn't have the answers.

For now, Ciri hopes that this understanding is enough. ]

Yes, really. [ A sword. Really.

Jaskier's question elicits a wince she can't quite hide in time, an unpleasant and unhappy expression she quickly pushes past. Instead, Ciri takes a breath. Gathers herself into calm once again, and steadily replies: ]

I use it to kill monsters. And, hopefully, earn coin.

[ In other words -- the same thing Geralt does. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier decides to wave her apology away. Not because it isn't sufficient -- any apology is, really; a genuine apology is the rarest bird he knows -- but because he believes her. Why not? He has no reason not to. He certainly doesn't understand what all of these secrets she clearly has are, or what they mean, but --

Well, in the end, he could be dead.

Ugh. It's never been in him to be so morose, but then again, discrepancies in the space of their lives had never been like... this.

His eyes grow wide as he jerks towards her.] Monsters? [That was not the answer he expected. People did not just go... hunt monsters. Except a very few. And most were Witchers. He pauses, licking his lips.] Perhaps this is quite a leap for me, considering his... [He gestures wildly through the air] everything, but... did Geralt train you?

[wiedzminka]

[ Oh, he sounds so... shocked. Ciri finds herself amused, despite everything. Her lips quirk, eyebrows rising. ]

As a matter of fact, he did.

[ Geralt, and Vesemir, and the other Witchers of Kaer Morhen during her time there. ]

Is it really that surprising? Last night, as I recall, you called us 'two peas in a pod.'

[ She crosses her arms then, draws herself up with her pointed chin stuck out, regal and determined, daring him to tell her that she's wrong. ]

If I wish to be a Witcher, who are you to tell me otherwise?

[cointosser]

[He doesn't mean to laugh, he just. Does. It squeaks out before he can bite his lip and take it back, moving into a cough before he rights himself. Luckily his food was gone so he didn't end up dropping it in the fit. Perhaps if Ciri knew of the Zerrikanians he'd met prior to his little kidnapping, she would know he does not underestimate the image of a (beautiful) woman with a sword.]

What, do you think it's my place to tell any bloody person who can or can't kill a monster? I'm more imagining him! Finally taking responsibility! Gods, you don't know --

[How hard he tried to avoid the guilt of having a child of surprise. That would be in very poor taste to say, so he doesn't. Despite his annoyance with Ciri the night before, he has no ill will against her. (Also, he's fairly sure she could beat the shit out of him.)]

You are like him sometimes. It surprises me. That... [He trails off again. He has so many thoughts about it. Perhaps this is why Geralt has offered so little on his opinion of Ciri as well. It must be a lot for him to take in the idea he raised the princess to... to hunt monsters. So much so, or at least for so long, that she sometimes sounds just like him. The way they'd laid together, he could see it. He could see edges of his friend in her.

He drops that thread and picks up a new one, looking at her with amusement.]

Oh, stop, you can quit all that defensive posturing. As far as I understand, it's chemically impossible. Mechanically, who am I to say? I'm a bard, not a Witcher. Geralt wouldn't have wasted his time if it wasn't possible. And you more than look as if you know your way around a sword. [He snaps his fingers.] Ah, the downside! The downside being now we need... two swords. So that is going to take a bit more work than I planned for prior.

[He can't help but think what that beautiful girl Pavetta would think of her daughter, if she knew. Surely Calanthe would have lauded having a granddaughter hunting monsters. Or was that beneath a princess? Probably. Calanthe would have her killing men, not monsters. Gods, it made a wonderful ballad, though.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ah, so that is why he's shocked. Less about her, more about Geralt. Weirdly, something about that warms her chest with a funny feelings, a sort of pleased smugness tinged with relief. Jaskier accepts it. Her.

Ciri wipes her mouth on the back of her hand to get rid of any lingering sugar or crumbs, and then for good measure also wipes her hand on her trousers. She nods. ]

I'm sure you'll have them lining up for your performances in no time.

But I'll help, where I can. There must be folks looking for an extra hand or two around here somewhere.

[cointosser]

[Well, at least she does stop her defensive posturing. Jaskier relaxes again, mirroring her movements to wipe his own fingers clean. His stomach begs for more, but they are. There's a plan. They're definitely sticking to it.

And he needs something else to focus on instead of how overwhelming this is. Geralt, the Witcher, Mr. I-don't-need-anyone-and-the-last-thing-I-want-is-someone-needing-me, said years and years ago, a mantra that he's sure the Witcher would repeat if the occasion called for her, for it does so tightly wrap up who he is.

The Witcher who would rather be alone... and the girl he raised into a woman.

Fuck. He feels a tad bad for Geralt, actually. And for her. For Geralt to not recall this.

What a fucking mess.]

Hah. You know, I hope you're not defaulting to sarcasm. Be gentle with me, I'm unused to so much praise. [He licks last one bit of sugar from his thumb, moving on through the stalls. Is it too much an ask for them to share a sword? Gods, he doesn't know shit about them. You stick the pointy bit in the meaty bit. How different could they all be? Maybe he should've gotten two knives.

Jaskier pauses in contemplation. Work? What sort of work?] With what, heavy lifting? [Not that she isn't quite the specimen, but...] Now that I think about it, you didn't claim otherwise, but... are you -- I mean, are you like him? [He looks at her.] I assumed no, because. [He gestures to his own eyes. Like he said. Bard, not Witcher.] Are you strong? Ooh, can you lift me? Now that would be a sight.

[wiedzminka]

[ In fairness, she's probably just as pleased as he is for the lack of need for defensiveness in the first place. She might just still be a little tender at the thought of none of them really knowing her, and no matter how "used to it" she gets, there's always that... twinge. It causes defensiveness as often as dourness, but there's no sense in lingering. She's accepted weeks ago that it's better than being truly alone.

Jaskier's babbling is a comfort, though. She falls into step beside him when they start sort-of ambling through the market crowd again, slowly as they talk and look around the stalls. ]

Jaskier unused to praise? Unless you mean over the last few months alone, I don't believe you.

[ It's teasing though, and not the mean kind. She smiles, nudging him gently with an elbow. And that's when he pauses, and she does as well, and if he looks into her eyes, they're the spitting image of Pavetta's and only that. A huff of air escapes through her nose, her eyebrows rising. ]

I don't need to be like him to lift a skinny bard like you.

[ Don't challenge her. This is going to end. Stupidly. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is extremely solemn when he turns to her, holding onto her arm.] Ciri. A few months can change a man entirely.

[And then the expression ends when he grins again. Look, it's far different to go to small, meagre praise when he's glutted himself on so much of it for years. This bloody world better accept his talent or he will riot. Or complain a lot, at least.

So she knows that, too? (How long did his praises last for her?) It's as if she knows him and she doesn't. Foolishly, it's not only that he may think he's dead. He worries that perhaps they are not close, as he only assumes he would be with someone so close to Geralt.

He needs the brevity. And because it's Jaskier, he also does not hesitate.] Skinny! How rude. I'd love to see you try.

[wiedzminka]

[ For a moment, the expression he wears is too serious, and she's not entirely sure it's feigned -- but then he grins again, and Ciri jumps on the challenge. She stands up taller, shoulders back, hands on her hips as she sizes him up with a look. ]

Oh, yeah?

[ Maybe right now isn't a great option, though. What with all the people already skirting around them in annoyance. ]

Want to bet on it? I get your share of the next round of sweet buns.

[cointosser]

[Hah! He was getting the feeling Ciri could not turn down any challenge thrown her way. Even from, as she put it, a skinny bard. Even in a crowded market.

Unfortunately, Jaskier was not concerning himself with things like that, and he certainly never acknowledged himself as being in anyone's way. Move along, fools.]

Please! With what coin? [But his eyes light up nonetheless.] All right, you're on. And where is the dainty princess going to carry me to? We can make it easy -- you carry me back to our room.

[wiedzminka]

Dainty, my ass! [ She scoffs, scowling at him very daintily indeed. ]

Weren't you going to sell that ring? Get us some coin instead of yammering on, and I'll carry you up the stairs and tuck you right into bed if you want.

[cointosser]

[Ooooh, no. She's so easy if she can be riled up so simply. He can't help but be happily amused with it all. In this moment, it all feels so simple. Nothing but him teasing a girl he'd once knew young.]

Spoken like a true royal, throwing out orders to all us commoners.

[Look, he can't help it! She's practically egging him on! But to show it's only gentle teasing, he offers his arm.] Come along with me and we'll do a proper bartering. Perhaps you can meanmug the poor merchant with that same expression and scare the wits out of them.