[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: May
Where: Cadens; Horizon
What: Catch-all for May
Warnings: basic witcher canon stuff, adding as we go



(( starters below. discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot. ))

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[soothsighs]

( Urianger sinks into his own chair a moment later, crosses one leg over the othher, and tilts his head just so as Geralt offers a brief insight into his future plans. What little he knows of the man does stretch to the fact that he's a monster-hunter of sorts by trade, and yet ... )

Thou art in need of coin? Or would such a venture satisfy a more therapeutic need?

( Golden eyes glance over the man again, assessing his stance and the pattern of his breath for any tell-tale signs of lingering injury. Urianger can't help himself: the plight of the healer. )

Have a care, Geralt.

( He chides lightly. )

I do not doubt thy skills, but the Pit and the horrors therein were ... recent. Thou needst not court danger again so soon.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt gives a faint hum. Aside from the scar that runs up his forearm, he's fully recovered. Perhaps that's startling, given the state he was in when they last saw each other—but Witchers repair quick, and the Cities have good doctors. A rarity for him. Normally, he treats himself or lets the local village healer try their best. ]

Coin's nice.

[ But no. It isn't about the money. He can get by fine on very little, and Jaskier has plenty to spare.

His head tilts: there's a sense he has made up his mind. He knows where Urianger is coming from, but Geralt is aware he has a different idea of what constitutes danger compared to most. ]

Horrors tend to find me. [ No point in hiding away. ] But I have people to return home to.

[ So he's no interest in overextending, either. Maybe Urianger glimpsed who those people were. He'd stayed close to Ciri throughout those weeks. ]

[soothsighs]

( An unreadable smile touches Urianger's lips at that — sincere, if not a little strained around the edges. It's true that he had noticed Geralt's habit of sticking close by a young woman with with light hair: he can relate, what with his time spent on the First with Ryne. Urianger misses her more than he could possibly say. )

Good. That is well.

( A nod, as he laces his fingers together over his lap. )

I confess, I—

( He pauses a moment, as though he hadn't quite planned on speaking again, before turning his gaze away to drift into the middle distance as he continues on. )

It has proven difficult for me to wholly return to mine own companions. Thorne's gala was a pleasant distraction, and yet I feel ... changed, since the Pit.

( "Afraid of myself" is the phrase he's looking for, not changed, but he's loath to admit as much aloud just yet. )

[gynvael]

[ The confession catches him off-guard. He blinks. They went through some shit. Can't expect to return the same. Geralt knows he wasn't after the Trials; perhaps the only reason he's come out of this experience not too different is because there isn't much more of him to transform. He's been here before. Maybe too many times.

But for someone who's never been through such a thing—

It takes a while. More than anyone could predict.

Still, he can sense there's more on Urianger's mind than what's been said. So he prompts: ] Changed?

[soothsighs]

( Urianger hesitates again, ever reluctant to unburden himself ohis troubles lest he need to use them for some manner of secrecy — but then this is Geralt, isn't it? A man who isn't in the same faction as him, let alone privy to the various guilts he's been carrying with him from Hydaelyn. Perhaps a man with a fresh perspective is precisely what he needs. )

Aye.

( A nod. )

The ritual, it— ( Urianger draws in a breath, then backtracks a little. ) Long have I worked in the shadows to assist my companions — to make necessary decisions that would be too terrible for them to bear — and for that I have needed to cultivate a great deal of self-control.

( There's a pause, then: )

Of mental fortitude.

( Urianger's posture alters slightly, straightening and sharpening, like that of a man falling back on subtle habits that manifest physically. This is the version of himself he wants to be — that he needs to be, for the safety of his friends. )

Yet in the pit, I was powerless to stop the effect of the ritual from taking hold. My mind was not my own — something I cannot allow to ever happen again.

[gynvael]

[ By the end, Geralt had not been conscious much. His memories of that time are blurry, patchy. He recalls the ritual, the rumbling shrines. Ciri, screaming, cracking the stones. Attacking Steve when Ciri vanished. Only after Ciri's desperate attempt to cure him had he started to become aware again.

He knows something happened to those like Castiel and Urianger. A different sort of fever that gripped them.

Leaning forward, he rests his arms on his knees. ] Witchers are trained since boyhood to resist magical influences. Even so, I've been caught unawares. Had my defences penetrated by someone more powerful. [ He pauses. ] If you spend your days afraid of the next time your control is stripped from you, you will never gain it back.

[ A hard lesson to learn. There have been a dozen things taken out of his hands, a dozen things he was never able to choose for himself. But he knows what he can control, what he's capable of, where his strengths lie. And he knows there's no greater prison than the waiting. For another loss, for another tragedy, for another terrible fate to befall. Eventually, the fear threatens to consume you whole. ]