EIFSTIDE

[abraxasmods]

EIFSTIDE

As much as the changing of the seasons differs across Abraxas, so too do the traditions that herald in the coming holiday. While some view this time of year as a joyous and silly affair, others consider it a time of extreme caution and scorn others who mock its gravity. The days have started to chill and nights are spent by a warm hearth as the leaves change to their autumnal hues. Winter approaches, much as it always does, but not all is as it seems. Something has shifted in Abraxas’s very being, whether by the large influx of outsiders or to something deeper and darker, no one can say for sure. With all good things, there must also be a balance.

THORNE/NOTT

In the whole of the kingdom of Thorne, autumn has taken on a distinctly festive flair. Decorations in rich oranges, yellows and reds adorn homes and businesses alike. Lining the streets are gourds, painted or carved into intricate designs and often hollowed to make room for flickering balls of flame. For the whole of the week of Eifstide, everyone seems to be a bright, cheerful mood, taking time out of their schedules to sip mugs of warm cider or eat any number of seasonal treats that seem to be available for almost nothing. Children run around in cobbled-together costumes of old clothing and hats, mimicking the university students of Hayle or the scarecrows that now stand as decor throughout the town. Neighborhoods smell of bread and pastries throughout the season, and most families have a few morsels to spare to anyone who expresses interest. Eifstide is a holiday of gratitude and fun, of honoring the gods for the bounty they have given over the summer and fall, but mostly an excuse to have a good time.

Come Eifstide Night in the city of Thorne, a massive street fair opens in the center of town. Booths sell pastries and sugared nuts, jars of preserves and pickled vegetables, crafts made from any variety of natural materials. As the sun sets, the whole town shares in a feast, with every family offering something to share with the others. Once the plates have been licked clean, the townspeople send lanterns into the sky, giving the last of their summer to the gods in exchange for a safe and short winter.

As the lanterns fade in the distance, the children begin to Roam. Holding burlap sacks, they run door to door, asking everyone they come across for "blessings" to be put in their bags. Blessings are little treats or trinkets, and even people walking down the street seem to have some spare items in their pockets for those who stop them. Anyone who visited the fair earlier will have been advised to stock up, lest they set themselves up for a haunt from the unblessed — or maybe just a jape from an empty-handed child.

In Nott, the festivities are nearly the same, if with a more nautical flair. There's far more seafood available, and popular costumes include sailors and mermaids. They send their lanterns over the sea, and it's common to give little strands of unsellable pearls as a blessing.

As the town clocks strike midnight, there's a sudden chill in the air. A screaming wind tears through the kingdom and fires both inside and out extinguish themselves. Whole streets are suddenly plunged into darkness, with only the moonlight filtering down to cast terrifying shadows on the cobblestones. With eerie crrrreeeeaaaaaks, the iron gates of the kingdom's graveyards swing open, and ghostly figures flood neighborhoods with anguished screams and furious groans. They make their way toward the homes and taverns, where they begin to bang on the doors and windows.

FREE CITIES

In the Free Cities, the celebrations are in full spring. Citizens are gathered together for parties and get-togethers in every city. Some of the festivities have spilled out onto the streets, revelers parading in fancy clothes or face masks or clustered together outside of taverns and cafes. Music and light spill out from private residences.

It all starts off as expected. Spirit boards are brought out to be asked silly questions, tables are set for no one, bands and phonographs wail out songs about ghosts and spirits and graveyards. People dance and eat and drink and tell stories by the fire. Maybe you've wandered into one of the many open parties thrown, either in some wealthy citizen's home or a public house. Maybe you've even joined in on some of the party games. It's all just for fun, you've been assured.

And everyone is having fun! Despite the grim and macabre nature of the holiday, the Free Cities are full of laughter and merriment. Drinks (and whatnot) are flowing freely. It seems as though the celebrations may well go on right until dawn!

It starts at midnight. Here there's a group gathered around a spirit board, giggling and trying to think of the most ridiculous questions to ask. There, a handful of revelers are drinking in one of the cemeteries, sharing stories by the graves. In the streets clusters of people are swinging crystals to hunt out ghosts. Something in the air suddenly changes. The wind turns sour. The air grows thicker. In houses and taverns and on the streets the laughter begins to die away. Spirit boards start to move on their own. A thick mist drifts in from parts unknown to blanket the ground.

Then the screams begin.

SOLVUNN

Contrary to how the other settlements have chosen to pay tribute to the coming holiday, the mood in Solvunn is a somber affair. The lighthearted attitude about getting the work done before noon is almost gone, its residents working harder and longer hours as if a fire was being lit under their feet. In the days leading into Eifstide, wreaths of branches and bone are hung upon the doors, and lines of salt or soot are placed in front of the door and the hearth. The daylight hours are spent reverently in harvest and small groups of mages make their way around the perimeters of farms and communal areas performing rituals of warding to confuse the angry gods while volunteers follow behind to smudge with sage and cedar.

As the sun begins to set, citizens don homemade masks of varying degrees of complexity. Animal skulls or taxidermied skins decorated with veils and dried fauna or branches cover the faces of many of the older members, while children wear handcrafted masks depicting various animals or unnerving faces not their own.

On the night of Eifstide, despite how everyone has stayed indoors as night falls in the week leading to this, large bonfires are lit in the center of the Primary Settlement. Sacrifices are made by the Council members, each doing their own ritual for the safety and prosperity of their own settlement as well as for those who reside there. No one’s face is unconcealed by both mask or headdress and smudges of warpaint upon their face in large, disorienting swipes. Mages stand in the background chanting incantations from worn, leather books by the light of the bonfire.

As midnight strikes, something shifts.

The wind howls, though it seems not to have a true point of origin. The bonfire continues to roar, but its light flickers, seeming not to travel as far. Shadows twist along the periphery and a chilled fog starts to dance across the ground. A hushed murmur sweeps over the gathered crowd as mothers gather their children closer. Along the edge of the gathered crowd, a man screams, and a woman next to him lets out a mournful wail. The spectral figure of a child appears out of the fog. Closely followed by countless more of the same, gaunt and angry expression. Those long-dead have come back- and they’re out for blood.

Make haste in your actions and do not dwell in unrest- those who have brought you into their fold are in danger of being consumed. Fight off these spectral creatures large and small before Eifstide’s end, or the season’s change will not be the only thing that grows colder. Just as things will seem at their most dire, the spell that caused the dearly departed visitors will right itself and they will vanish with the morning dew. Until the spell can be reversed, ask yourself this most important question:

If there’s something strange and it doesn’t look good… who are you going to call upon?

Comments

[gynvael]

[ With the doors and windows sealed, he barricades the entrances with a chair for good measure. He lights one single candle, figuring the dim glow will attract less attention than the noise of someone knocking over a shelf. If there are any protests from the children of staying here for the night instead of their original plan, a look silences them into only grumbles at most. They can whinge about it all they want so long as they stay put.

Though it means he's largely trapped here for the night, too. The girl can look out for herself, but he isn't certain she can protect a whole gaggle of orphans and he's not willing to step out there in case he draws attention to them.

Granted enough competence, he imagines the military can round up whoever's left out there to safety. They built all those sturdy barracks in the city for a reason, didn't they?

He glances up at the mage girl. Her question brings a slight knit to his brows, as if he isn't sure what she expects in answer by asking. It's only magic. And not especially powerful magic, at that. Considering where they are, in a world saturated with magic, he hadn't expected his Signs to draw much attention at all. ] I learned. [ He considers, reflecting on her reaction when he'd acknowledged the first time she'd cast her spell. Is magic not common in her world? ] I'm not a mage, if that's what you mean. It should hold for a few hours. Less if they start knocking too hard.

[ Ideally not. But he can always recast it if it shatters or fades. ]

[rinwell]

Oh.

[ The candle in the dark casts Rinwell's face in sharp relief. Evidently that is not at all the answer she was expecting from him, and her lips part and close twice before her jaw locks, chin drawing in towards her chest.

It is one thing to be in a world saturated in magic. It is quite another to hear someone state they're not a mage and have still learned something like this anyway. Never mind that it's very much an astral arte Rinwell has no idea how to do herself. Assuming she even can. (Could it be Dark-aligned? Perhaps if Dohalim or Shionne were here..) ]

They seemed attracted to sound. If we keep quiet, then, maybe.. [maybe that'll be enough time to give her an opening to leave. The soldiers at the outpost had been casual in their reassurance that no one would notice if people got back late. But she rather suspects they hadn't told her that with this kind of situation in mind. She looks up, then, at one of the high shelves, a ladder propped beside it. And above, the tell-tale crisscross of wood set as a hatch.] ...They couldn't get in through that, could they?

[gynvael]

[ He studies her for a second or two longer. She must be newly summoned. That much has been increasingly clear. The entire situation bothers him, both because he's seen something like this coming and because, even so, the speed of it had caught him off guard. It suggests the Free Cities may have either attempted or held a similar spell and were only waiting for confirmation that it could work. Confirmation that their arrival had granted.

The fact that Solvunn has done the same, despite all their claims of remaining neutral makes it even more dangerous. ]

We'll be safe. [ He can make sure of that. He peers up at where she's gestured. ] They can't appear to climb.

[ He leaves it unsealed, just in case. If they need to escape, going up seems to be the safest route rather than out on either side of the streets. He puts aside a tray of herbs and sits down on one of the tables. Fuck, he's tired. ]

I should ask you where you learned yours. You didn't study that here.

[ The book, the channeling—the mages in this world vary in discipline, as far as he can tell, but none cast like that which he's seen. ]

[rinwell]

That's good. [very good, in fact. something she can file away and use later, if those wraiths make a return showing] And that mist doesn't seem to rise at all. So hopefully, there's no risk of a fog to follow.

[ If she notices his frank appraisal, Rinwell doesn't mention it; his question, however, does widen her eyes some, and the spellbook (the story book) is clutched to her chest a little more tightly. She sets her back to the counter; she doesn't glance towards the other children, who are no doubt listening intently while they settle in. ]

No, I didn't. [agreement, that she doesn't expand on; learn here in Cadens? In the Free Cities proper? Abraxas? anyone's guess. And she's starting to figure out what his own might be, hence the quiet stab of:] Yours, neither.

[gynvael]

[ Hopefully. His posture is relaxed, despite the fact that they're technically trapped here until sunrise. Only his grip still curled around his sword and the cant of his head every time there's a noise he thinks isn't right suggests he's alert in any way. ]

No. [ He agrees, too. The scrutiny in his eyes doesn't relent, but he doesn't prod yet at her tight-lipped response. ] They're small spells. We were taught as a matter of practicality, nothing more.

[ It's nothing to do with the magic in this sphere. At least not in how Jaskier has absorbed it: learning to control what was not normally for a human to have. For Geralt, his Signs are the same as he's always possessed, though he's noticed they're stronger sometimes. Lasting longer, holding firmer. He's slowly been pulling on that thread, to figure out exactly how he can manipulate it. Beyond that, though, he's accepted the rest of the world's magic is not for him to use. A side effect of his mutations, probably.

It suits him fine. He has no desire to become a mage or to wield their power. Something about that idea edges too close to a path that was long closed off to him, when his sorceress of a mother placed him in the hands of the Witchers. ]

[rinwell]

[ It has yet to occur to Rinwell that there may yet be magic available here to her beyond that which Dahna gives some few remaining children. Of the six elements, only five belong to Dahnans, after all.

There are some very different attitudes towards it, compared to the home she knows. The idea that some magic might be taught simply because it's practical to know, feels like a pipe dream to someone who's family hid that they were in possession of any magic at all (and still ensured it was taught on to the next generation anyway.) It also hasn't helped that Cadens, and the Free Cities proper, have given her a very confused idea on what is and isn't acceptable regarding magic as it is. The disdain confuses her. ]

Everything is tied to elements. [meaning, when paired correctly, there's a lot of explosions. Or shattered monsters, after being frozen] I can't do anything small like that.

[ There's a loud scraping sound along the outside wall, making her jump, and the orphan crowd freeze. Several thumps follow, but after that...silence. Or at least, a stillness. There's still movement beyond, not targeting doors and walls, but for now: a bit of breathing room. ]

[gynvael]

[ The concept that small magic is unusual is, conversely, a strange one to him. Geralt nearly answers, but the light scratch distracts him. He peers in its direction, though he doesn't move. It trails alongside the building, then peters away. He gives it another minute or two, until even his ears can't pick up any sound, before he returns his attention to the girl. ]

Mages harness magic in their own way. More like you. [ He knows the Brotherhood has their own ideas of what makes a trained mage. To Geralt, magic is magic. On the rare occasion he needs spell work, he finds someone capable. As long as they can do what he wants, he doesn't much care how it's wielded or why or if they refer to themselves as a wizard or a druid. ] You're cautious.

[ It's only an observation. Not his place, to advise her on when and where to demonstrate her skills. If she thinks it best to keep it quiet, that's her decision. This world is new, even to him, even after all these months. Caution is the least all of them can have. And he still hasn't got an fucking notion what the Free Cities is truly after, beyond the shattering of the Singularity. ]

[rinwell]

[ Rinwell's gaze rests on the distant door; while Geralt reinforced it, just in case, her heart pounds hard until the sound is gone, and even after. There's a faint spike when the man addresses her again, and her brows furrow. It's an odd, older look on such a young face.

'You're cautious.' ]

[a one shoulder shrug, as brown eyes meet his.] ..I'm alone.

[ Aren't they all, really? ..But there's layers to it. Multiple meanings stacked on that word.

She has met people here, ones she chose to reach out to, and then lost them as quickly as they arrived; there are people like Goro, monstrous in form as well as soul, who terrify and anger her; there are people like Maxwell, who seem to take anything thrown at them with a pinch of salt and enviable nonchalance; and there are people like Ciri, who are kind, though they have no reason to be to a stranger.

There's no one else from her home on this world. And back home, she has no home. None, save for the warmth of a campfire shared with five strangers-turned-allies, and a beloved owl. ]

If I'm cautious, it's because I have to be. I didn't ask to be here.

[gynvael]

[ The expression doesn't escape him; it's familiar in a way it may not be for another. One he's grown up seeing in those around him. Maybe one he's glimpsed in himself long ago. He doesn't expect an answer to his comment, so when she grants one that's surprisingly genuine, he's quiet. For a few moments, it almost seems as if he's not even heard, but eventually, his reply comes in the form of a vague noise of assent.

Aren't they all indeed. Something in his gaze softens for a second before he glances away, out through the curtained windows. ]

You don't have to explain. [ His words are blunt, but not necessarily meant to be harsh. Curiosity aside, he isn't here to pry. She asked for his help, the children need someone to keep an eye on them, so that's all he's doing. ] You should be cautious. We're all wanted for something.

[ More and more, he's begun to question whether the real war will be fought over the Singularity, or if it will, in reality, shift towards those who have been summoned. Who can touch it. Even now, he feels that tether stretch. It's become such a part of him over the past several months that he's stopped noticing it as much, except when he deliberately reaches for it, and the idea that it's settling, that it's at home within him leaves him uneasy. It isn't only that they've been dragged into a world that isn't theirs. It's that they've made to belong to it now, pushed inside the Horizon when none of them have asked for it.

He likes even less those as young as she have been taken. Perhaps Thorne could claim it as a mistake, whether that's true or not. He doesn't know if the same can be said of the Free Cities. ]

[rinwell]

[ The defensive posture remains in place, but Rinwell's expression softens at the noise of assent, a mixture of relief and confusion present in brown eyes. It's odd, that Geralt isn't being more direct, isn't pushing for more details. At least, for her experiences here.

It's appreciated. If nothing else, it helps solidify her earlier feeling to trust, however tentatively. ]

I'm beginning to think no one will explain why, or what for. Really for. [she slides slowly down, until she's seated on the floor with her back to the counter] It's worse to think that they don't know either.

[ She hasn't been near the Singularity yet. She's seen artwork of it in books, had it described. But she has no link to it or the Horizon established yet. Perhaps she'll feel the same when that time comes - but for the moment, she turns her gaze instead to the book she settles against her knees. ]

..How long have you been here?

[gynvael]

Other than power? [ There's a wry note to to his words. In the end, kingdoms all want the same thing. ] We can reach what they can't. I don't know how much they're aware of it.

[ Little is known of the Singularity; Jaskier has dug through the library the entire time they were in Thorne. Nothing substantial. Considering Thorne's near obsession with the Singularity's power, either they were hiding those records—a possibility—or they simply don't have the information themselves. In any case, it leaves questions as to how much the Free Cities understands in turn.

He looks back down at her. He tends to keep it to himself, that he was once in Thorne. Knowledge he prefers not to be floating around the general populace where he just wants to find his work and collect his pay without being interrogated. But the Prime Minister is well aware. It isn't much of a secret. ] In Cadens? Several weeks. Longer in this world.

[rinwell]

[ Information is its own form of power, and Rinwell knows all too well the ease with which knowledge can be lost. And hoarded. So she's not surprised by the first part of his answer, but it is clear that Rinwell doesn't really get what he means by the second.

But Geralt is answering her questions in turn, and even with the frightened children taking the time to rest (and no doubt listen), she appreciates that he's sharing that much with her. So there's a small smile, and a little nod. ]

I've only been in this city a few weeks myself. I've heard—

[ As to what she's heard? Well, that'll remain unfinished, as a sudden thump occurs against the closed and barred door. Then another. And another.

Whether it was the light, or their conversation, Rinwell isn't sure, but she scrambles to her feet quickly enough as it becomes clear several bodies are now battering at the building, likely attracting more. ]

[gynvael]

[ He'd clarify, if she asked, but the opportunity for that shatters abruptly. His attention snaps towards the door. Shit. He reaches out, snuffing the candle at once at the same time he grabs his sword. The barrier put around the door glows and crackles with every thump. It should hold, but he doesn't know if the wraiths possess an ability to break it that he isn't aware of.

Irritating, the inability to be completely certain. His knowledge has always held firm for the past hundred years until now.

Still, he puts out a hand, indicating the others to stay where they are. For a minute or two, he's just listening, waiting. Then it seems he's made a decision—moving towards the hatch found earlier. ] Watch them.

[ However she answers, whatever she does after, Geralt is already starting to disappear, heading up the ladder and out the top. His steps are surprisingly quiet, until he is not. There's a thump of something, a rock or a brick, that lands square in the middle of the wraiths piling at the door. Some stop, beginning to peel away from the building in search of more active, easier to reach prey—but maybe not all of them can be so easily drawn off. ]

[rinwell]

[ Understandably, there are panicked gasps from the orphan gang as the banging resumed. None look happy to see their main protector disappear roofwards either. Whatever he's doing up there is giving Rinwell ideas, however - she doesn't have any earth magics, but she has spells conducive to raining down upon unwanted foes.

However, he said to watch them, and she's not about to desert her charges - she led the group this far, after all. Rinwell swallows and straightens her back anyway. To the eldest kids, she motions to the table, then at the door - more reinforcement can't be a bad thing in this case, whether or not the shield holds.

And just in case it doesn't.. She takes a slow deep breath, and begins muttering an incantation under breath. Once complete, she can hold the spell as long as she needs to, but first, she needs to complete it. ]

[gynvael]

[ Outside, he can see the sky starting to lighten a hint. As the wraiths peel from the door in his direction, he darts off, leading as many of them away from the building as he can. He's used to operating alone; it doesn't occur to him to ask the girl for her magic.

Besides, baiting is easy enough. They trail after him as he circles the block—moves towards an old abandoned tavern, still with toppled dusty stools grimy windows. He pries open the door. With luck, the girl will hold her own while he's taking care of this. Geralt's plan is not a complicated one. He prefers simplicity every time and the wraiths have the intelligence of a hound after a bone. They pile inside—where he seals them in, leaving them smashing against the crackling barrier. It'll slow them down, if not contain them forever.

He ducks around a cluster of more wraiths before he returns to the shop where the children are gathered. There's no warning when Geralt drops down through the same hatch he'd climbed, landing with a surprising lightness. ]

[rinwell]

[ There's no warning, earning a few shrill noises of fear and surprise, before the familiar figure of their sword wielding saviour is recognised, and they immediately swarm close to him.

It won't take Geralt long to notice an absent figure.

The explanation from the street rat posse is mixed at best, but they at least convey this much: shortly after he had led away one group of wraiths, others had filed in to take their place. Only once she'd made sure the group stayed hidden and quiet had Rinwell disappeared up the very safe stepladder to the roof. Beyond that, the flash of magical lights and the screech of monsters, and the sound of feet running across roof tops had followed, but Rinwell had yet to return.

Outside, the scent of magic still remains, wind and electricity still caught in the dust; purely elemental, and what little energy is present seems to ebb slowly back into the natural flow of the world.

Where ever she's gone, at least it won't be too much longer until sun up.. ]