open log | march catch-all

[aquilus]

Who: Altaïr & you
When: March
Where: Free Cities & the Horizon
What: odd jobs, catching people, saving kitties & also merchants; flash floods & hospitality

Free Cities; Cadens & outside the city

[For once, Altaïr has a good reason to don a good and not earn stares; the dust that makes up the territory's landscape has been more than stirred up by the winds that will not settle down. He finds himself constantly expecting the rain that this weather surely must herald, but it never comes. Strange and somewhat unnerving, though it never shows on his face.

It doesn't stop him from finding a perch on a roof from time to time, staring out at the city hard, as if a reason for what's happening will reveal itself if only he looks hard enough. He'll offer a nod in greeting at anyone inclined to join him up here.]

Stay careful of the edge. Gusts come without warning. [And while he can summon something to cushion a surprise landing, others can't.] What do you make of this?

[Throughout the rest of the month, Altaïr picks up more odd jobs than usual, doing what needs done for those who can't or won't venture out in exchange for a bit of coin and personal influence. Perceptive and agile, he also finds himself dashing forward to catch people nearly swept off their feet by a quick rise in wind intensity — don't worry, he won't tell it as part of an embarrassing story later. He also searches for a lost cat or dog for an upset youngster because he's not actually without empathy. When not working, he makes more appearances at the Sarstina, having taken a room for a few weeks; one might even catch the rare sight of Altaïr drinking a beer.

Mid-month, he accepts a small contract that could make the difference between life and death; a merchant wagon train whose leader was brave or foolish enough to venture out into the storm and is now presumed lost. He's not foolish enough to go into this alone, however; someone's explained the "buddy system" to Altaïr and in this case, he agrees that tracking down the caravan is a job for partners.]

Are you ready? We can't waste any time.

Horizon;

[Altaïr feels as though he shouldn't be surprised that things are even more unmistakably odd in the Horizon; its very nature means that there is constant variation in the climates it contains, but not like this. Masyaf Castle is full of bright, bright sunshine, too bright; when he attempts to use his will to tone it down, the sky opens up and the downpour begins, to the point that a flash flood begins pouring down the base of the mountain toward whatever domains border his own.]

Watch out below!

[If any of the other Summoned are walking by, hopefully they hear him in time. He spends a few more hours trying to get ahold of the weather in it and failing. Other Summoned may notice the rapidly changing weather patterns or, when he finally gives up, they may spot him atop the fortress's walls. Torches are lit and the gates are open; wanderers are welcome to come in and rest their feet, enjoy a conjured meal. The training dummies and other equipment that hint at something more military-minded within the grounds are gone today.]

[ooc - feel free to also hit me with a wild card or prod me via PM/effervescible for a new idea or custom starter! I will match prose if you prefer that.]

Comments

cadens, THE ROOFS!!!

[theidlemaiden]

[ The sudden uptick in the winds around Cadens is enough cause for Hilda to declare that she simply won't be stepping foot outside if she needs to. Besides being slight and short of stature (both things a recipe for being blown away into the desert never to be seen again), her idea of a good time did not include sand in her eyes or her hair becoming a tangled mess atop her head.

Her protests have been heeded and she's firmly locked herself inside the loft that day watching as the sand blusters and wrecks havoc outside. There's a break in the gusts leaving just enough time for those residing in the Fodlan loft to pull in the more suspectable to breaking potted plants from their perch on the balcony. Unfortunately for Hilda, that person would be her because her so-called "roommates" were out.

Taking her chances she darts out, heaving up a lovely potted plant into her arms when suddenly she hears a voice from above. Startled, she nearly drops the plant letting out a strangled squawk. It's not the first time she's heard of Altaïr's penchant for rooftop travel. But it is the first time she's been startled by him on the roof. Their roof, that is. ]

Why are you always like this?! What are you doing there's supposed to be a storm coming!

[aquilus]

It's an excellent vantage point.

[Altaïr is dressed in some basic imitation of his typical robes from back home, if only because they offer some protection. He'd appreciate their familiarity more if he weren't occupied with their surroundings. (He may or may not be aware that with the wind blowing as it is, the flapping white linen makes him look not unlike a bird.)

He's not especially surprised that Hilda is surprised he's here, but he'd thought irritated resignation to be more likely than impotent outrage. He appreciates the unpredictability. He does not think Hilda would appreciate him voicing this aloud, however.]

And if it is coming, it has been some time coming.

[Which is odd, at least in his weather-related experience. Winds often herald storms, but these winds have been blowing for quite some time without actual rain.]

[theidlemaiden]

[ If she were in a better mood she might have had it in her to act a little more sassy only because it would fit the theme of finding him sitting on their rooftop unannounced. But with the sudden departure of her friend, she wasn't much in the mood for jokes. Instead she simply looks exhausted and somewhat resigned to the fact that this is just how he is and by extension what she'll have to deal with now that they're friends.

She shifts the potted plant a little in her arms to better distribute the weight, squinting out towards the city below. ]

I didn't know you could read the winds. What do you think is happening?

[aquilus]

I'm not certain. I'd put it down to an anomaly if the locals weren't so surprised by their duration.

[He's only been here for a year and a half or so, after all. Strange weather can come with less frequently than that. Except even those born here are unnerved by the seemingly endless winds.

He glances down at Hilda, his face visible if shadowed by his hood.]

If rain and lightning arrived, I'd think nothing of it, but no one has reported a storm. Whatever's happening, it shouldn't be happening everywhere if it's natural.

[theidlemaiden]

[ Maybe if she had lived here - or anywhere - that had strong winds and massive swathes of desert outside her doors, she'd react less dramatically than she is now. ...Then again, maybe not - but the point is that even this feels a little extreme for Cadens.

She stares up at him a beat longer before letting out a sigh. ]

Well, hopefully it just doesn't get worse. What happened in Ikkor was weird enough.

[ 'Weird' is of course an understatement. 'Mildly horrifying' is a far better way to describe someone being ripped in half from the inside. Nightmare inducing things aside, Hilda stares up at him as if considering something before she seemingly decides to ask it. ]

Is it really easier to walk around on rooftops than on solid ground?

[aquilus]

[If he could read Hilda's mind, he'd heartily agree with her, even if 'weird' wouldn't be the word he'd choose. Ikorr had been bothersome on more than one level. In an ideal world, they wouldn't be set on edge for whatever might be coming their way.]

Yes. It's easier to travel. And easier to go unseen.

[Right up until the moment he wants to be seen, of course. Though he hadn't given it much thought when he'd stopped here; he expects Hilda will always see him.]

Too few people bother to look up.

[theidlemaiden]

[ The little furrow between her brow says as much that she very much doubts that 'easier' is the word she'd use here. Maybe 'faster' was the better word to use here. ]

Okay but what if you fall?

[ Also speaking of looking up, this craning her neck thing is really starting to get to her. As is the weight of the potted plant. ]

Hold that thought.

[ It's not long before she returns empty-handed but with her mask and goggles (that are of course somehow a shiny, dull pink and bronze) hanging around her neck just in case a rogue sandstorm takes them by surprise. There's a moment of contemplation with her hands on her hips before - ]

Can you help me up? My neck is starting to hurt.

horizon

[funbreaker]

[ Thancred couldn't shake his curiosity when word started spreading between the Summoned about how even the Horizon wasn't spared the storm. That's more proof that this is a Singularity problem, and yet he'd like to see for himself. In theory anything that is damaged or ruined in the Horizon can easily be rebuilt with little more than a thought, but he wants to check in.

The first thing he notices is that even though he appears at a cozy campfire near the seaside, a recreation of a spot where he'd often settled in La Noscea, it's as hot and humid as if he were in a jungle.

La Noscea is never humid quite like this, the brisk island climate generally creating the perfect temperature.

However, he doesn't have much time to investigate before water starts to flood into the campsite, almost bowling him over, though he grips onto a tree trunk to maintain his balance. The water goes about halfway up his shins, and with a grumble and some effort he trudges in the direction it flows from.

The topography of the Horizon and how domains are knit together never really has to make sense, and so eventually the trees narrow out until he's staring up at a towering fortress. It reminds him of Claude and Sylvain's domain, but the silhouette is not quite the same.

And then he sees a figure, much higher up on one of the ramparts. Against all reason (because again, the Horizon has no rules), he can hear the stranger shout a warning.

Naturally, he yells back, cupping his hands around his mouth even as the water continues to flow downhill and buffet against him. ]

You might have said that earlier!

howdy neighbor

[aquilus]

[Altaïr winces internally until he sees that Thancred is reasonably unharmed, just wet, hindered in his gait and justifiably annoyed. Externally, it doesn't matter what his expression says, considering it's tucked into the dim of his hood.

Whether it's because of Horizon magic or volume fueled by irritation, he hears the complaint perfectly well.]

I could have, if I had the gift of prophecy!

[He doesn't feel particularly guilty. This isn't his doing, not really. He does share Thancred's annoyance, albeit a dryer variety.]

[funbreaker]

[ As much as Thancred wants to be annoyed by the smart comment that he receives from the stranger perched on his ivory tower, he knows that there's little reason in aiming his ire at him.

This is clearly not his doing, but instead just more proof of how the Singularity has been thrown yet again into disarray, which is causing issues both inside and outside of the Horizon.

Thancred could simply choose to wake up and be free of this water-logged situation, but he will admit that he's curious about the hooded man and his fortress, and if he continues to climb he'll soon be able to reach shelter, so up he hikes. It's not like Thancred hasn't had to endure conditions such as this before, so he pushes through until he gets to the front gates of the fortress and then enters the main hall.

Finally, free of the storm. He finds a pillar to lean against as he wills himself to be dry. Thankfully, that little bit of Horizon magic does still work, and soon his soaked trousers are back to normal. ]

Note to self... add less outdoor settings to my Horizon.

[ The Rising Stone serves as the only bit of proper shelter, he's now realizing. ]

[aquilus]

[Altaïr makes his way down from the battlement. He's made a point of not crafting anything within his domain that would bother him if it were found by a stranger when he is not here, but that doesn't mean he wants to remain here like a pointless guard while someone wanders through the recreation of his home.

It is also probably the hospitable thing to do. And polite, after nearly washing the other man away. He has to remind himself that these can be worthwhile qualities.]

In your defense, I don't think anyone would have expected a flash flood.

[He smirks briefly and looks up, casting a frustrated glance to the sky.]

Including me. There's something strange about the Horizon of late — even for the Horizon.

[funbreaker]

[ It's only now, hearing that voice up close instead of shouted from across a long distance, that Thancred realizes this is not a stranger at all. It has been well over a year since he and Altaïr last spoke at the Nightbloom Ball, so he can perhaps be forgiven for not immediately clocking whose domain he'd stumbled into.

Their conversation was brief, but Thancred does recall that he'd encouraged Altaïr to enter the Horizon and see it for himself, particularly in the context of them sparring and showing off their knife-work to each other.

Clearly that never happened, but it seems they may have just found themselves an opportunity. ]

Much like there's something strange about the weather the whole continent over. I don't know how well you can see it in Cadens, but that thunderstorm is situated right over the Singularity.

[ It would have been more surprising if the Horizon was completely normal.

Still, Thancred won't just ignore the fact that they've reconnected after so long. He inclines his head to Altaïr in a brief greeting. ]

It's been some time. Glad to see you got your domain all sorted out. It's quite impressive.

[ Even more so when it isn't partially flooded, he imagines. ]

feel free to drop if this is too crusty c: I think I lost the notif sob

[aquilus]

We can see it well enough. I'd thought that could be the case, but...

[He sighs and shakes his head. It doesn't matter. No — it does matter, a great deal, but there is only so much they can do here and now.

Sometimes he despises the need to be patient. For now, there is no choice.]

So it has. [It's been both longer and shorter than it seems.] I drew inspiration from a piece of my home. It felt appropriate.

[funbreaker]

[ Thancred isn't surprised to hear that, as he's not sure what else the inspiration for such a large fortress would have been. Nonetheless, he takes a look around the courtyard in a new light. ]

It's what most of us seem to do. [ And why not? It's only fair that they would be homesick in this place, and so who would resist the urge to recreate a small sliver of where they come from? ]

What piece of home is this from, then?

[ He turns back to Altaïr. Is this home? Work? A place he visited that held some significance to him? ]

geralt

[aquilus]

[With weather conditions as they are, it's no surprise that the Sarstina is more crowded than it typically is. Summoned and local patrons alike are increasingly taking refuge at the inn, either as a place to sleep or an opportunity to drink away from the unceasing winds.

Altaïr doesn't mind. He's doing the same, isn't he? Even if the increased volume of people suggests he be more sociable than is typical, it also provides more of an opportunity to blend in. He's but a blade in the crowd...with no intention of using his blade in the near future.

He supposes it helps to be around Geralt. Neither of them seem to feel pressure to fill a reasonably companionable silence; they've been here enjoying, or at least tolerating, this break from whatever will call them out to face the odd and unpleasant weather again, for some time.]

Why did your eyes change that time we drove off the dragon?

[There's no particular reason for him to ask this now, which means there's no particular reason he shouldn't ask this now.]

[gynvael]

[ The shit weather is the main reason Geralt happens to be in the Sarstina. No point in dragging Roach further through the thick dust; he may as well wait for the winds up abate and find a drink in the meantime.

Which is how he finds himself next to Altair. They'd exchanged a nod in greeting before Geralt settled into his customary silence, a mug of ale in hand. He doesn't expect Altair to say much—and the question comes so abruptly, Geralt blinks.

The—? At first, he can't recall fighting dragons in the Nether. Then he realizes Altair is referring to an encounter further back.

Oh. Mm. ] Witchers consume elixirs to sharpen our senses. On this sphere, it appears elixirs aren't necessary.

[ That's the short of it, at any rate. ]

[aquilus]

[Doesn't everyone ask questions from months ago?]

Mmm.

[He considers that for a moment. Concocted or magical elixirs? Where Geralt is from, is there even much of a difference?]

I've seen you fight before, but never looking like that. [He takes a sip.] I suppose it's not necessary when dispatching bandits?

[gynvael]

[ There is, in fact, no difference were Altair to ask. Alchemy is alchemy. He can brew a variation of the same elixirs here—and does—but without access to the right ingredients, they aren't as potent.

He shrugs a shoulder. ] No. And it isn't wholly in my control.

[ Sometimes, but not always. He's still working on it, how his newfound abilities truly function. He won't deny it has its uses. ]

Is there a reason you ask?

[aquilus]

[He shrugs.]

Curiosity, I suppose. The mind tends to wander when we're limited in where we can go.

[Altaïr has heard the term 'cabin fever' bandied about recently, and supposes he's as afflicted by it as anyone else until these winds die down. Is that the only reason, though? He considers a moment before continuing.]

And I've never known anyone else whose eyes are tied to special abilities.

[gynvael]

[ True. Geralt hums. He seldom explains the particulars of a Witcher. Never much needed to. Either nobody asks—assuming it's simply a mutant quality—or Geralt does not care to elaborate.

Maybe Altair's curiosity has got him curious. ]

Anyone else? [ It's a gentle prompt before he continues: ] Our elixirs are deadly to humans. The physical effects are— [ He lifts a hand, then drops it. ] —a byproduct of the toxins.

[ Ones a Witcher can withstand and eventually absorb, but. It doesn't necessarily feel pleasant. ]

merchant saving

[thedreamer]

[ Clearly, no better buddy system but the pair of them! On the surface of it, perhaps the Doctor seems ill suited for this sort of work, but it's really what he does best most days, or tries to — attempting to help where something's gone wrong. ]

No, no, very much agreed, time gets a bit stroppy when you do waste it. Unpredictable! Silent treatment, all the dramatics.

[ As though time were an old friend he's crossed on occasion now and again. Which — yes. Basically. ]

Even under the circumstances, I can see quite a distance ahead. Well, when there's something of note to be seen. Have you done this often, tracking someone missing?

[ He's walking, of course, while he chatters on. ]

[aquilus]

[Altaïr knows enough of the Doctor to know he should not underestimate the man. Even if he didn't the Summoned have collectively demonstrated more than once that capability does not always match appearance.]

I've tracked men before, yes. [Most often to kill them. But not always.] Their goods, less often. I suspect their value is what's funding this search, not the lives at stake.

[He doesn't sound as if he agrees with it, but the dealers who don't want their goods lost with the merchants don't get to know his private thoughts.]

We'll bring it back as well if we can.

[If not...oh well.]

[thedreamer]

A tracker and an adjacent-to-the-crusades-er. You just keep unfolding like a very interesting, very fresh, not at all rotted onion, Altaïr. [ A fine compliment, he thinks. Couple that with the times he's been wandering Cadens at night when his mind is more restless than usual, and spotted Altaïr in different areas around. It's a curiosity to him, not something he's felt the need to press him on urgently. There are times the Doctor wants immediate answers and times when he enjoys the thrill of not knowing right away, and learning.

But, they obviously have more pressing matters at the moment. ]

I suspect you're right, but we have our priorities sorted, at least.

[ He will, of course, always value life over goods. ]

I don't imagine we'll encounter many others out here, do you? I know there are bandits about, though they'd be more foolish than they are already to still go out in this. Only the finest idiots would! And don't we look dashing. [ Really. The best of company. ]

[ For a moment, the Doctor pauses, touching the tip of his index finger to his tongue and then holding it up in the air, narrowing his eyes as he obviously tests something. ] We've got a small window before the worst of the winds kick up again. [ It's been fairly unrelenting, and it's not pleasant now as it is, but it has and will get worse. ]

[aquilus]

[Altaïr opens his mouth and closes it again. No one has ever described him...quite like that, and he does briefly wonder whether it is meant to be a compliment until he reconsiders who was speaking.

Of course the Doctor meant it as a compliment. It's the type of man he is, Altaïr is coming to learn.]

Likely not. If we do, they will probably be desperate, which could make them pitiable or dangerous — call out if you see anyone before I do.

[Unlikely, he thinks; but unlikely is not impossible. Equally unlikely is the Doctor's ability to accurately predict an imminent shift of the winds, and yet...Altaïr doesn't disbelieve it.]

We should hurry, then. If you are certain.

[thedreamer]

[ As Altaïr seems to have faith in him, so does the Doctor have the same in return when it comes to the other man's instincts. He's reasonably sure he'd see someone before Altaïr, but he's also equally sure of the other man surprising him. ]

Lucky for both of us, I think, we're neither of us strangers to dangerous or pitiable people.

[ While the Doctor isn't exactly a walking barometer, he can sense subtle changes in the surrounding atmosphere. But it's also the sort of environment that's volatile enough to reasonably predict bad things are likely imminent.

He's quick to bounce ahead though, nimble on his feet. He doesn't dash too far ahead of Altaïr, but he perches up on a craggy rock as they come to a brief, small narrowing in their path. Only a few seconds as he looks through the hazy air, and points — ]

I see tracks, left — two hundred and seventy degrees. Less than a kilometer. On our way!