ABRAXAS MODS (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxaslogs2021-08-28 09:41 pm
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-08-28 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- !npc,
- alina starkov; the hanged man,
- amos burton; the lovers,
- cirilla of cintra; the devil,
- coraline finch; the tower,
- estinien wyrmblood; the hermit,
- geralt of rivia; the hanged man,
- gideon nav; strength,
- hector; the magician,
- himeka sui; the fool,
- jaskier; the sun,
- jon sims; the high priestess,
- jon snow; the emperor,
- kiryu kazuma; the tower,
- sam wilson; justice
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."