abraxaslogs | open | but i am standing at the wall

[ Geralt's appearance is as such that he isn't too surprised when someone recognizes him as Summoned. He's never quite belonged anywhere. His instinct is to ignore the voice, but when the figure crosses the road to reach him, he glances over. Geralt has a sack in one hand with what appears to be a sharp-needled tail poking out of the top; he's otherwise carrying nothing of note as the man approaches.

Hm. ]

I don't know you. [ Perhaps the man knows him, but if they crossed paths, it isn't clear in his memory. Eight hundred years is a long time. He studies the stranger for another second, then continues to walk. He chooses not to answer the question one way or another. ] You're new.

[ New face. Geralt would have taken note if the man had been around for a while; he befriends few, but he likes to know who's coming and going. Though he supposes, given that strange vision, who among them is still truly new to this world? ]

[ The perfectly reasonable thing to do after being shown a possible eight hundred years worth of future is to fall back into day-to-day life and pretend that it never happened. Or rather, that's what Hilda is trying to do. And as far as anyone is concerned, she's handling what happened to them quite well all things considered.

That doesn't mean she isn't thinking about it though.

It's easier to find ways to distract herself which there is plenty of means of doing so here. To be idle no longer feels like it's something she's capable of when there's things she'd rather chase from her mind. She seems like a woman on a mission today, en route to a place she normally wouldn't go when she recognizes the voice calling out to her.

Or at least she thinks she does. She stares at him for a good long second before she gasps, a bit of a smile forming on her lips. ]

Jacob! You made it out, I'm glad.

Is it that obvious? [Jacob hoists his own bag up onto his shoulder. This run's gone well enough so far, and Skye won't be expecting him back for a bit. Time to do what he does best and make some friends, so he flashes Geralt a charming little smile and tips a ratty hat at him.

Alas, it's not a top hat like he'd dearly wish for it to be, but beggars can't be choosers.] Jacob Frye. I only just got here before that whole... [His voice stumbles on what to call it.] Before that all happened.

[That barely even scratches the surface of it all, but how do you cram eight hundred years that never really happened into a casual chat with a stranger?]

But do you know, the only people who've asked me if I was new are the ones who've been around for some time now. Would I be guessing right, if I said you were one of those blokes?

Hilda, wasn't it? [He walks up to her with a casual ease—not quite as quick as the god did, but still with the kind of speed that speaks to years and years of training. A corner of his mouth turns upward as he falls in step beside her—he's got time, no one's expecting him to come back early. Might as well talk to someone else who was in there with him.] Of course I made it out, it'll take more than that to take me out of the picture.

[If he plays it off like it was no big deal and he came out completely fine and not rattled to his core, maybe it'll become no big deal. Soon. Any time now.]

You're a sight for sore eyes. What's brought you this way? [Jacob knows what he's here for: a spot of smuggling.]

You remember!

[ It's easy to slip into old, tittering ways when he remembers her name. But while the fluttering of her lashes may just be for show, she's relieved that his memories are still in tack. There were fuzzy spots in her memory - it could very well be the same for others.

His ease is something she remembers however, along with that quick smile of his. It's enough to make a girl wonder if Jack is really okay. ]

Hm? Oh, you know just a little walk. [ A little walk with a very heavy bookbag. ] I had some books to return to the library but I think I underestimated how many I was returning. What are you doing out here?

It's a bit hard to forget someone with hair like yours.

[Oh, he's really not. But he's up and moving and working, and maybe being okay will follow after that. He adjusts his grip on his own bag, full of...well, not quite illicit goods, he got them all very legitimately, but there's a reason he's the one buying them and not his contact—it's easier for a Summoned with a clean record to get these goods.]

Running a little errand for someone I came to work for. [It's not quite a lie, but it's not the entire truth either.] That looks a rather heavy bag. Mind if I carry some books for you, then? Fellow won't be expecting me back for a time.

[ Whatever the man named Jacob has in his bag, Geralt can smell it, though he doesn't grant it much attention. It's not his business what people get up to, unless they make it his problem. Which, frankly, he is keen to avoid. He has enough on his plate. It is, however, an interesting amount of shopping for someone who is new to the city. Coin doesn't fall from the sky when you're fresh-faced out of the pond.

His expression flickers at the mention of that. Yes. It was certainly an experience, one that Geralt has spoken little of to anyone. The memory doesn't unsettle him so much as the reason behind it. Why did it happen? And what was the purpose? He's not fond of mysterious entities fucking around with them. ]

Sure, [ he allows, noncommittal. He's been here from the start, actually, before the Free Cities summoned any of their own. ] A while.

[ He doesn't seem bothered by having a tail, though nor is he interested in making sure Jacob keeps up. He walks to his destination without deviation and when he reaches the market stall within a few more steps, he dumps the suspiciously damp bag on the counter without preamble and says, Eira knows what I'm owed.

While the man scrambles off to fetch his wife, Geralt leans against the table to wait. He eyes Jacob up and down. He knows the overly familiar sort when he meets them. ] I don't make friends.

[ But perhaps it says something he hasn't exactly tried to make Jacob leave. ]

[Altaïr doesn't waste a moment to head toward Jacob's proposed meeting spot. Indeed, knowing these rooftops as he does — mapping them out in as painstaking detail as he has — he hopes to get there first, to gain the opportunity to observe the man from an unseen vantage point.

It could be for naught, of course, especially of the other so-called Assassin was already there when he reached out to communicate, but Altaïr's long test had re-taught him the importance of observance and preparation. He can think of no more important opportunity for such lessons than this.]

[He’s in luck, because Jacob hasn’t made it there yet. He finishes up an errand first, ducking into a shop before emerging with a cheery whistle. He chats with a few people in his way, little more than small talk with the locals. Tips an imaginary hat to a few vendors here and there. He’s a friendly guy, but Altaïr might notice he gives some people in uniform a wide berth.

He takes a circuitous route around the building, occasionally glancing around as if checking to see if anyone’s followed him. Then he starts clambering up, as easy as breathing.

Soon as he makes it up, and sees Altaïr there, he says dryly,] So how long have I kept you waiting, then?

Now you're just flattering me.

[ Never mind that it's long become something that she's become used to. The only difference being is that back in Fodlan, pink hair marked her for who her brother, and by extension, her family. Here, it just makes her stand out.

Her eyes catch the shift of his hand of his own bag before darting back towards him with a grateful smile. ]

Really? I'd really appreciate that. [ With one hand she reaches into her book bag, pulling a hefty tome. Followed by another. ...And another. A quick glance at the titles will show that they're about clockwork engineering and enchantments for New Magic. ]

I'm surprise you got right into work. Are they a merchant? A shopkeeper?

Edited 2024-05-24 05:28 (UTC)

[Oh, the recalcitrant, no-nonsense sort. That's all right, Jacob's worked with them before, and he's happy enough to fill the silence, seem the fool. A while is vague, but it at least confirms to Jacob that this phenomenon—summoning people across different worlds and keeping them stuck here—has been going for a long time, if even this nameless fellow knows the locals by name.

He keeps up just fine with Geralt's stride, with the quickness of someone who does a lot of running, deftly avoiding obstacles in his way while his eyes are still on Geralt.]

Do you tell every concerned stranger that? [His tone is light and joking, and he leans against the counter and glances at the bag.] I'd be quite hurt if you did.

[...yeah, for the best he doesn't look too hard at that bag, he figures.]

Are you fine with acquaintances, though? I can settle for that, as well as a name—or else I may be forced to call you Whitey, for your hair.

They do say flattery will get you everywhere.

[But yeah, the pink hair does make her stand out, especially to Jacob, who's never seen anyone with hair quite like hers before.

The clockwork engineering books get his attention better than the ones on enchantments do. He's not entirely sure what to do with magic right now, and has decided privately that until he ends up capable of doing it himself, he'll just not think about it too hard. The Horizon takes up more than enough of his plate already.

He lets her stack the books into his arms with little more than a grunt. Wow, these are heavy.]

Hm? Oh—they're a merchant. Moves their stall around a lot. [He shrugs a little, as if to say, how eccentric of them.] What can I say? I like to feel useful.

[ It'll get you everywhere with the right people - that much she can agree on. Which is probably why she thinks that they had gotten along as well as they had during their very long but short lived dream. The flatterer's usually flocked together. Kindred spirits and all that.

She gives him another appreciative smile, readjusting her much lighter book bag. With that done she leads them further into the crowd and back towards the library. ]

Really? I'm trying to think who that could possibly be - I know a lot the ones that do their work out of Aquila. [ Not to mention she shops. A lot. ] Do they deal with something specific?

[ Jacob is light-footed, he'll grant him that.

A smile does not make it to his lips, but the faintest flicker of amusement crosses his face. ] We wouldn't want that.

[ Truthfully, Geralt is just giving the man a hard time, in part because that's what he does, and in part because Jacob reminds him of a certain once-young bard scurrying to keep up with him while he did his best to leave Jaskier behind (and yet, never quite managed to despite being perfectly capable of it if he really wanted). It's an old memory that feels ever-older by the long years that they've all abruptly undergone.

Why he attracts such people, he'll never know. ]

An inspired choice. [ Definitely not one he's heard before. His arms fold across his chest before he offers: ] It's Geralt.

We don't! I'd cry. It would be embarrassing for us both.

[It's funny, because while the long years are crammed into Jacob's head—in truth, he's still little more than twenty-one years of age, with all the accompanying belief in his own invincibility that brings. It's been dented by the strange dream (vision? false life? alternate future?) and by certain events back home, but for now it's irrepressible.

Unfortunately for Geralt, he is exactly the type of person Jacob really likes talking to. Call it a challenge.]

Geralt! That's ever so much better than Whitey, really. [Just going to sit on this counter and make himself a little perch. Don't mind him.] D'you know if there's any place around here that happens to sell hats?

[They deal goods on the black market.]

I don't think they specialize, no. They like to have a wide range of products on display, attracts more customers that way. [The only part about this that's a lie, strictly speaking, is the part about these products being on display. Everything else is true, sort of, if you look at it from one angle.] Though, like I said, they move around a lot. It's likely you haven't run into them yet.

[Unless Hilda visits the black market more often than Jacob thinks.]

You looking into repairing clocks, then?

[The climbing skills are sufficient. This man moves something like an Assassin, but that alone doesn't prove anything.]

Not long enough for me to assume you'd changed your mind.

[This offers very little knowledge of the actual amount of time, which is on purpose.]

Show me your hands.

If you're looking for the blade, afraid it's not there. [He sounds more than a little unhappy about that—it feels like he's been walking around naked since he got here, without the bracer on his arm. Still, he holds both hands up for Altaïr to see.]

Unless you wanted to count my fingers and make sure they're all there?

[He's just being an annoying little shit.]

The Summoning takes everything from all of us, unfortunately.

[Which is to say: he gets it. He was equally unhappy to arrive here without his blade, feeling more naked on the wrist than on the rest of his similarly unclothed body.

(Of course he has one now, bracer not immediately obvious under his sleeve, but whether he decides to share that with Jacob or the man eventually notices on his own remains to be seen.)]

One of them shouldn't. All of my brothers sacrifice a finger upon completion of their training.

What? Oh—right, that. [Now he remembers that lesson. Vaguely. Mostly he remembers worrying over possibly sacrificing a finger.] Like I said, I'm probably from further down the line than you. By my time, we've stopped chopping a finger off once we take our oaths.

[He shrugs.]

Don't ask me why we stopped, I missed that particular lesson. [He was out scrapping with the local bullies and playing cards at the pub instead.]

So you let the blade itself do the work?

[Almost certainly not, but it's difficult to imagine any other way. The hidden blade has had the same design since long before Altaïr's birth. Yes, he has had some passing thoughts on the necessity of the sacrifice and how it identifies them as members of the Brotherhood, but anything more than that is a long way off.]

I think you need to tell me more about yourself, including when and where you come from.

Not really, no. It ought to be safe enough to wear, at least if you've calibrated it right for you.

[That much Jacob paid attention to, lessons-wise. Can't wield a weapon without accidentally killing yourself if you don't know how to use it. But he nods, and lets his hands drop.]

Sure. [He's not exactly hiding when and where he's from, anyway, so the information comes readily:] I was born in Crawley and took my oaths to the British Brotherhood of Assassins there, but my sister and I relocated to London just this year. Which is 1868.

[1868. He lets the number wash over him for a moment. It's not 800 years, not as long as the life they all thought they lived after entering the crater, but that life wasn't real. This span of time is, if the man is to be believed. And Altaïr is inclined to take that much at face value; why lie about the year he came from?

But that's only slightly more surprising than one other aspect of his background.]

There are Assassins in England now? [He's not a particularly expressive man. But in this moment, his eyebrows rise noticeably.] That's a change from them marching into our land to take control of it for their god.

I don't think we know each other.

( matt doesn't recognize the man's voice at all. the heartbeat isn't familiar and neither is the cadence of his footsteps. he's either new or just someone that matt has yet to meet. the free cities is a busy, crowded place with people arriving all the time. )

But, I'm doing fine, yes. Thank you. Trying to forget it, mostly.

( it's one future that might happen but matt doesn't think he wants to anything close to a god for anyone. )

You'll have to take me some time then if there's a wide array!

[ She definitely doesn't partake in the black market - nor does she seem any wiser that it could be that. It probably goes without saying but the black markeet isn't really her cup of tea. The things that she does want typically don't need to be sought out there. But she has heard of it and she definitely notes the vagueness of his description.

Curious.

Whatever musings are quickly sidetracked as her attentions are drawn back to the fact that he'd seen some of the titles of the books she'd handed him. ]

Hm? Oh! No, nothing like that. I wouldn't know the first thing about being able to repair something like that even with a book. A little project I was working on hit a snag and I forgot this was lying around so I thought why not see if it had anything in it that would help me.

[ Mm-hm.

Where is his money? He peers through the crowd, undecided if this is a point of concern or if someone has simply tripped over the countless piles of rubble that remain and spilt all their coin on the ground. ]

You'll have better luck in Aquila. [ Libertas is not without its fashions, but Aquila's market is larger. And though Geralt has absolutely no interest in clothing, he's regrettably close with some who do, many of whom have no qualms dragging him about to carry their purchases. ] Or talk to a woman named Hilda.

[ Is he trying to foist the man off on another? Possibly. Has he any hope it'll work? Not really. ]

—oh, suppose not. [He sounds crestfallen for a second, because yeah, he really doesn't know this man. But his tone picks up again because hey, doesn't matter, they've started the conversation and Jacob isn't going to leave now that he's got one going! He's got time to kill, anyway.]

I think that's most everyone I've met here, really. I can't blame them, it's a lot of memories to cram into your skull out of nowhere. [A sigh.] Should I be expecting something like that to happen again any time soon, or was that a rather disturbing anomaly? You see, I'm quite new here.

What, there weren't any in England back in the day? [Huh, that's a surprise. He'd always kind of assumed there were always some in England.] There've been Assassins in Britain for ages—don't ask me how long, I missed those lessons. You're better off asking Evie—

[And he stumbles, there, voice audibly halting as he realizes: oh, right. Evie's...not here to ask.]

...well, if she ever deigns to show up around here, you can ask her. [Anyway. He coughs.] And, uh—that part hasn't changed overly much. Far as I know. The Crown took over Indian rule about...hm, ten years back, thereabouts? I know I was ten, eleven years old when the news about it spread.

Oh, certainly! I'd have to ask where they plan to move next first, but perhaps it'll be nearby.

[That is not happening at all thanks. But he's not going to tell her no outright when she's so excited about it—he'll let her down gently instead. Better that she's a little angry at him than that she finds herself in danger from the more unsavory sorts in town, though he's certain she can take care of herself.]

Hm. What sort of project was this? I'm no engineer but maybe I've some insights that can help.

Aquila...hm, I'll be sure to keep that in mind. [Then he mentions Hilda, and Jacob lights up when he hears her name. Hey, he knows her! A little bit, but he does!] I've met Hilda! Woman with pink hair, right? I mean, I'm not entirely sure if it counts, considering where we met, but—I know of her, at least.

[She's nice. Fashionable, too. He had quite liked hanging around her, though the details now are fuzzy and faded.]

So you two know each other, then?

[ One of those meetings, then. If they both recall the same memory, he sees no reason why it can't count. That's how he's been proceeding, at least. Seems simplest that way.

Though he wonders, had he offered the name of the White Wolf, would that have garnered recognition? And what, precisely, did Jacob become in that hazy dream they were shown? ]

We're acquainted. She forged my sword, that I awoke without.

[ He's considered asking her to forge a similar one. He does not need a new sword; the one he's carried since his arrival in Cadens is of a fine make. But eight hundred years is a long time to hold a weapon. It feels more like his than the one he has now, despite it having never existed in reality. ]

Here... [ He shrugs. ] Hard not to know faces after a while.

[ The Summoned are a rare bunch in a city of thousands. Sooner or later, you get a name, a face. ]

Welcome.

( and damn, what a welcome he'd gotten. matt remembers that his introduction to this place has been people inside his nightmares. not geat but definitely a little less intense than this. )

I think that's kind of a new thing. I've had some new memories end up in my head before but nothing like that. Nothing even close to that.

I'll hold you to that then.

[ Listen, just because her god-self was capable of swinging around an axe like it weighed nothing doesn't mean that her very human self can do the same! ]

Really? Well, it's nothing special - I'm trying to rings turn into something other than rings. But part of the problem was that the mechanisms weren't really working the way I hoped they would.

Thank you, I appreciate it. Much better welcome than all of that was.

[He can't call it bunk because—well, there were people he had loved, in there. People he had grown to care about over those eight hundred years. Now he wonders if he should reach out to them, talk to them, and if they'll accept the sudden appearance of some arsehole they never actually knew before the whole mess into their lives.]

What—What do you mean by new memories in my head, here? False ones like that had been or something else entirely?

[Oh, please don't, he'd really rather let her keep her plausible deniability. God knows what Portam Hall might do to Jacob if he got careless, and he's well aware that people in power are shockingly petty and have something of a bad habit of involving people's loved ones as collateral damage.]

Not working at all or simply not working well enough?

[He scratches at the stubble on his chin. He gets the feeling there may be more to this than that, so he asks:] What is it you're trying to turn them into, anyway?

Is that so? I wonder if she takes payment—I used to have a couple of weapons specially made for me, but I awoke without them and it's...rather odd, going about my business without them.

[When they meet up again he ought to ask! He does so need a new pair of hidden blades, although how to explain how they work might get a little complicated. Jacob drums his fingers idly against the countertop, occasionally glancing back as if to check and see if that fellow or his wife's come out with the money already.

Does it usually take them a while to count the money, he wonders.]

Oh, that's true. We do tend to stick out a bit. [Enough that Jacob doesn't really need to dip into his second sight to check if someone's one of the Summoned or not.] Something in the hair, perhaps.

[He says this facetiously, knowing fully well that it's not.]

[Ten years — as if that means anything compared to the wider gap between them. But Altaïr imagines that might be less apparent when you are not the one left behind by centuries.]

I come from the year 1191, by the Christian calendar. In my time, the Assassins operate mainly in the Holy Land, where the English and their allies wage war with Saladin's armies, and we ally with neither. Until very recently, Rashid al-Din Sinan — Al Mualim, the Old Man of the Mountain — was our master.

[That far in the future, is this still important to know? Should it be? Should it even be necessary for the Assassins to exist by then? He has no answers to any of these questions.]

I don't really know what to call it.

( or how to describe it. he makes a face. )

But, I went to sleep one night and woke up the next day and had a bunch of memories from home that I don't remember living suddenly in my head as if I had lived them.

[ Oo, too late! The girl has a stronger memory than she'd like to admit sometimes. And the promise of a new shopping adventure is too good to pass up on.

Thankfully the topic takes a turn along with her attention. ]

A little of both.

[ A little sigh of exasperation leaves her. And maybe, there's a hint of embarrassment there too. ]

I was hoping to turn them into claw-like jewelry. Something that could look non-threatening but turn into something that could be use for self-defence if necessary.

[ Just a bit. Some less than others. Jacob falls in the less category, but he's spotted a bipedal raptor-like man walking about here and there.

Hard to miss that one. ]

Probably, [ Geralt replies without clarifying as to which statement he's responding to. He eyes Jacob for a moment. ] And what business is that?

[ It's a casual enough question; he doesn't care if or how Jacob answers, but consider his curiosity as such that he's willing to make it known. Besides, the man seems to have no interest in going about his business for the time being. Whatever it may be. ]

[Some of it is vaguely familiar to Jacob—he's passably familiar with the Crusades—but the rest of it flies over his head. The Old Man of the Mountain might've been a key figure in Assassin history, but he's little more than the briefest blip in Jacob's memory. He shrugs.]

This was—which Crusade was this, I don't remember. [There was a lot.] There's been a few of them, far as I can recall.

[Don't ask him how many because he does not remember.]

Well. In 1868, we've had Assassins in Britain for—a long while, really. But the Templars kicked us out of London a while ago, 'round the last century or so, [he's pretty sure a Kenway had something to do with it,] and we've only now managed to take the city back from them.

The third.

[The only one to march forth in his lifetime. More than once Altaïr had wondered what, beyond land or power, drove men of faith to repeat such wars, but it is not a question for which he ever expects an answer.]

Not the last, I have been told. There were no Assassins in England then.

[Jacob's wording, though. He looks up.]

You made open war upon the Templars? With an army?

Well, now there's three of us in London. The rest are outside London, in Croydon and Crawley.

[And he and Evie were not supposed to head to London, but shhh, he's not gonna mention that to this guy. He shakes his head.]

No, we started a gang! The Templars had a gang called the Blighters running amok all over London, so I figured we may as well start our own gang and yank the Blighters' territory out from under them. I wouldn't call it an army, just a bunch of like-minded, disenfranchised people sick and tired of getting kicked around, banding together to throw the Blighters out of the power.

[He sounds so proud of himself.]

[He'd thought that seemed too large a task for a branch of their brotherhood, accomplished only through the work of many men.

It seems more like the opposite is the case. Which makes no more sense to Altaïr.]

Three Assassins...and the common people recruited to your cause...routed the Knights Templar from London.

[He's not even trying to hide the skepticism in his voice. There's a touch of bafflement as well.]

Is it really so unbelievable that when you give the common people a chance they'd fight like hell for something better?

[He sighs.]

Don't fret, I haven't told them a thing about the Brotherhood. Besides, the Templars haven't been knights in...uh, some time. [There was a Templar leader who was executed back in, uh, medieval times? Thereabouts? Jacob has no clue.] These days they prefer to pull the strings of industry in the name of progress, and never mind who they run roughshod over in the process.

[The look Altaïr gives him is enough of an answer to that question. Of course it is not; to believe otherwise is to not be an Assassin at all.]

I think things have changed a great deal in the time between you and I.

[He remains silent for a few moments, considering. Where to even begin?]

In the months before I was summoned here, I discovered the Templars to be more than a military force for the Christian invaders — a brotherhood akin to our own, I suppose. But always tied to their ostensible reason for being in the Holy Land in the first place. And we ourselves are not unknown to either the people of the Levant or those who make pilgrimages there. Though they do not know our tenets or our true purpose, of course.

open | but i am standing at the wall

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kicks your door down

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drops a whole new setting starter here you know the one ;)

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so sorry for the delay ;;

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