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]

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?

[wiedzminka]

The wagon is impossible to miss. Ciri sees it from atop her mare from what seems at first away, bright colors glinting and glimmering, the strangest creatures perched atop. She turns almost without even deciding to, her hands deciding for her and pulling the reins in the direction of the strange party.

They meet sooner than she expects. A rider trots out and slows beside her, calling, of all things, her name. And spouting some nonsense, to boot.

"Who is Geralt?"

Ciri shifts her grip on the reins, keeping apace so he can clearly see the furrowed frown she meets the questions with.

"And, for that matter, how is it I do not know your name, but you know mine?"

[cointosser]

Jaskier is an impulsive creature, and he cannot stop himself before he mutters, "Oh, for fuck's sake." Both of Moglad's paws go over his mouth in faux-shock, as if he's never heard his master curse before. (He has. But he likes Moglad being over the top, which comes naturally to the... lad.)

"Ah. Who is Geralt? For sure, it's a question many a philosopher has had linger in their mind."

Once they've heard his songs, of course, and who hasn't, on the Continent? Surely philosophers slave over his lyrics, trying to judge the amount which is literal and the amount which remains flowery, beautiful metaphor.

He clears his throat.

"Er. Look, this is a very strange place, so I feel my explanation should be quite short and to the point. You're in the Horizon, you've lost your memories -- I'm afraid it's some sort of price to pay for your first entrance here -- and Geralt is your --" He pauses, tripping over the explanation for what, exactly, Geralt is. He's not sure. They haven't... really told him.

But he can guess.

"A father, of sorts. But my guess is he's the one who helped you come here." He takes off his wide-brimmed, feathered hat, giving Ciri a polite bow as he stands. "And I'm yours and Geralt's most noble and loyal friend -- and his only one, in Geralt's case -- Jaskier."

[wiedzminka]

A father. Of sorts.

Ciri looks puzzled at his explanation, taken aback by the idea of having lost her memories. It isn't something she would have just come up with on her own, after all; to her, memories are fleeting things that have never bothered her, and their absence would have had no way of being discovered without this intervention.

The sense of something missing only grows. An uncomfortable, nagging feeling.

"...Jaskier." She says it like she's tasting the word for the first time, considering how it sits on her tongue. Ciri cocks her head in his direction, lips quirking. The nagging feeling is pushed aside once more.

"I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but I'm mostly just confused. Still... I do not think you're lying."

And if he were, she's got a sword. Don't lie to a lady with a sword.

"I'll ride with you for a time. Who are your funny friends?" She's looking straight at Moglad.

[cointosser]

He pauses. It's not the worst name, is it? Or is it simply the attempt to remember it? Jaskier takes his seat again and gives her all the time she needs. It must be quite different, having others willing to explain. His first time, no one had... no one had understood. A bunch of foolish, pure souls, wandering about aimlessly.

"Pah! I wouldn't lie about something like that. It absolutely makes no sense, for one."

Jaskier has never lied to a lady with a sword. He's learned some very important lessons through his years.

"Please do! Come on up." He moves to the side to offer her a hand, should she want it. He imagines it would be a trifling issue for the horse to follow them behind. Things in the Horizon that one makes simply work that way. Conveniently.

His funny --? Oh! "Ah. This, my good lady, is Moglad." The moogle gives a wave of a paw, spinning in the air as his wings flap, and bows to her. Please to meet you, kupo! "My apprentice. You have forgotten, for the moment, my work as a bard." Moglad is more than ready to demonstrate just what he is capable of, summoning his lute with a glow of the pom bouncing on his head, plucking the strings prettily. Just like Jaskier, he's learned the perfect art of being a show-off.

"And this," he gestures to bird on the top of the wagon, "Er, doesn't have a name. Lovely, isn't she? Or, er, he. I'm not sure. I'm new to birds. A gift from someone I met here." He pauses, letting Moglad float above the horses as he performs for them, filling the silence between the steps of his horses. "I suppose that wasn't the most informative explanation. I don't understand this place much myself. But this happened to me, too. No memories." He tips his head, a lovely beaten path with flowers on either side building itself as they move along. "I think of it a bit like a living dream. It is what you make of it. I prefer mine to be pleasant and filled with good music. And good company."

That last is far from a lie, when he spent all of his time in the Horizon searching for company. (A wolf traveling alongside him to ensure he was never alone.)

[wiedzminka]

He knows her name, but she's sure she's never heard his. And yet... it feels familiar. The sensation is something like déjà vu, settling weirdly in her chest. When she takes his hand, it's warm; she squeezes back reflexively, letting him pull her into the wagon right off the back of her horse. The mare fades into the background, Ciri's attention no longer on her, letting her follow the wagon if she wishes or disappear into the fog.

"I don't feel as though I'm missing anything, except you clearly know me. And... my father? Oh, I do not like this."

She sighs, settling next to him on the wagon seat and scowling as she unbuckles the sword strap across her chest to let the sheathe slide into her other hand, where she can prop it up out of the way. This way, she can both lean back and not smack Jaskier in the face with the pommel.

Moglad is, at least, a nice distraction from the uncomfortable feeling of suddenly realizing her existence is not-- well. Maybe it's too dramatic to think it isn't real. After all, she's real. And this world is real, even if it is all she can remember.

Ciri looks up to the little creature with the hat, extending a hand toward him where he floats.

"It's lovely to meet you, Moglad. Does your master float and fiddle at the same time too?"

She shoots Jaskier a look, lips quirking at her own joke.

His explanation, while not exactly helpful, is comforting mostly in that he's experienced the same. And, apparently, found himself again despite it.

"How did you remember what you'd lost?"

[cointosser]

"It's unsettling at first, but you'll grow accustomed." Or she won't, but he imagines, when she wakes out of this place, it won't matter in the long run. It's only important they keep her safe -- as well as he can -- and acquaint her to her bond, whatever it may be, to the Singularity.

Unfortunately, the thought always brings to mind Ronan's conversation with him, implying the monolith has its own mind, its desires.

Though appreciative of her care, he still ducks a little as he snaps the reins, the horses moving the wagon forward with a creak, a pep in their step. Moglad flourishes under the attention, especially, Jaskier suspects, because it comes from a pretty woman. "Kupo! I imagine he wishes so, my lady!" Moglad laughs, patting her offered hand with a paw as if he means to raise it to his mouth to kiss.

Jaskier shoots the moogle a look. "I pluck, thank you. I do not fiddle." He gives a huff, and Moglad just so happens to float alongside Ciri as they ride, his pom bouncing as his paw returns to his lute. "They returned whence they came when I awoke. I think of it as a tucking away of memories, Ciri, more than a loss."

[wiedzminka]

Moglad is charming, if a little silly. Ciri allows him to kiss the back of her hand with a little giggle, amused (poor Moglad, she has no intention of falling for a tiny flying creature, but his efforts are flattering).

She leans a little more toward Jaskier after she's reclaimed her hand, shoulder bumping against his. It hasn't been too bad, riding on her own, seeing the world -- but it's nice to be with someone too. Has she been lonely? It's difficult to tell, when she can't really remember being any other way.

"Mm. That is a relief... But still. I do not like the idea I've forgotten someone so important. It's not like I chose to do it, but I feel a little guilty. It seems such a terribly sad thing."

[cointosser]

He must be careful. Moglad was getting a bit too charming. Then again, it was to his benefit that the moogle looked like a tiny flying bear.

Moglad's misguided attempts to impress Ciri, having full convinced he had her attention, means he begins playing his lute as they ride on, swaying in time to his own notes. They are getting to be better now that he's learned how to alter the instrument to fit his tiny paws.

At least he has the good graces to not add lyrics to them.

"Understandable. It's quite unsettling." He pauses. He, too, had forgotten someone so important. Important in a different way, yet... a part of his friend had found its way to him, too. Despite his head being empty. "Well, worry not. Geralt won't take it personally. He was the same way as us. We all went through it." He pauses, unsure whether he should say it. Whether it's his to say or not is less important of whether it may make things... awkward.

Still, he thinks it's flattering, personally.

"But a part of him yet remembered you. I'm sure a part of you remembers him as well. That, once you find him, your heart will remind you that you belong."

[wiedzminka]

"He did?"

Ciri smiles at this thought, feeling... warmed. For some reason, it makes her happy to hear, happier than it should considering that, to her mind, she's never even met the man. Can't envision a face or a voice. And yet, without even being able to fill the gap where a loved one should've been in her mind, her heart can sense it. What it means to belong.

"I think you must be right, Jaskier. I think I was searching for exactly that feeling."

And she's even starting to grasp it, bit by bit. She is at ease riding in this wagon with this bard and his little flying apprentice. The need to keep searching is there, but less pervasive, less urgent. She can rest here, for a bit, and they can search together.

[cointosser]

"Why, of course." Though he finds merit in not mentioning it was a somewhat unsettling shadow child without a face. But it was still an attempt. Geralt working with what he had to work with.

Jaskier still remembers the warmth with which Geralt would look at her. How it felt to place a crown of daisies on her head as she laughed. The shadow and Ciri and not the same person, but that same feeling being with them remains.

He smiles at her as they move along. She really is... something else. She is not Geralt, but certainly she is good. He believes that, at least. "We all want to belong. Luckily, you already do."