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

[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.