[It's not entirely conscious that this change has come about. When Jaskier is tired of being drunk and awake -- both things that have already become quite a chore -- he decides that, yes, being elsewhere, where dreams and memories and thoughts cannot quite attack him as terribly is in order.
Unfortunately, his... his whatever, his psyche perhaps, has decided otherwise. He walks into a vineyard with his grapevines turned brown and crisp under a sun that has grown too harsh. His horses are gone. The ones that pulled his caravan across the entire Horizon. In the distance, he sees two pairs of red eyes watching him. Ah. Radu and Dănești. At least someone still finds his domain suits.
Jaskier sighs. The vineyard vanishes between one breath and the next, and all that is left is. Nothing.
What does he want? He's not even sure anymore. It sort of builds itself, crafted from the memories he came here to get farther from. The Horizon seems to know what it wants to be. What a man looks for when he thinks of home.
Not necessarily always a place of safety. But a place of meaning, of work. Of change.
He almost laughs at the name. Yes. Yes, that is what he'd name it. And as the domain works out itself, as it decides (and he decides) what it must be now, he is relieved to see that those gifts he held so dear are still here. They find their own rightful place, safe. And then the creatures. Alucard's two horses approach him as the night takes on a twilight darkness, snuffling into his hands and nipping at his fingertips. With a shrieking cry, the goldfinch rests on top of the tavern, nesting itself in the crooks of the roof.
Jaskier opens the door, stepping inside to a warmly lit tavern. No one else is here, but the sounds of low murmuring, laughing, of clinking glasses reverberates. And there, on the counter, is Moglad. Jaskier closes his arms tightly around his apprentice.]
My boy. What it means to see you again.
[Moglad looks as bright as ever as he takes a bow. I promised by my pom I would stay! ]
And so you have.
[With time, Jaskier settles into this new, heavier domain. The sky always seems a bit darker than usual, but he attributes it to wanting his horses time to roam more than anything. The streets build themselves, cobblestone by cobblestone, but they remain rather clean of debris, of rats. It has that smell, though. Guaranteed Oxenfurt smell. Fish and salt water and horses. Lovely.
By the time anyone stumbles into it, Jaskier has taken to laying across the bar, occasionally a table, with a glass of liquor beside him. Moglad flutters around as if looking for something to do, unsure of himself. And gradually, the tavern fills with the shadows of bodies. Of company. Of an audience, an adoring one, if only he had the energy to sing.]
OPEN [Horizon]
Unfortunately, his... his whatever, his psyche perhaps, has decided otherwise. He walks into a vineyard with his grapevines turned brown and crisp under a sun that has grown too harsh. His horses are gone. The ones that pulled his caravan across the entire Horizon. In the distance, he sees two pairs of red eyes watching him. Ah. Radu and Dănești. At least someone still finds his domain suits.
Jaskier sighs. The vineyard vanishes between one breath and the next, and all that is left is. Nothing.
What does he want? He's not even sure anymore. It sort of builds itself, crafted from the memories he came here to get farther from. The Horizon seems to know what it wants to be. What a man looks for when he thinks of home.
Not necessarily always a place of safety. But a place of meaning, of work. Of change.
He almost laughs at the name. Yes. Yes, that is what he'd name it. And as the domain works out itself, as it decides (and he decides) what it must be now, he is relieved to see that those gifts he held so dear are still here. They find their own rightful place, safe. And then the creatures. Alucard's two horses approach him as the night takes on a twilight darkness, snuffling into his hands and nipping at his fingertips. With a shrieking cry, the goldfinch rests on top of the tavern, nesting itself in the crooks of the roof.
Jaskier opens the door, stepping inside to a warmly lit tavern. No one else is here, but the sounds of low murmuring, laughing, of clinking glasses reverberates. And there, on the counter, is Moglad. Jaskier closes his arms tightly around his apprentice.]
My boy. What it means to see you again.
[Moglad looks as bright as ever as he takes a bow. I promised by my pom I would stay! ]
And so you have.
[With time, Jaskier settles into this new, heavier domain. The sky always seems a bit darker than usual, but he attributes it to wanting his horses time to roam more than anything. The streets build themselves, cobblestone by cobblestone, but they remain rather clean of debris, of rats. It has that smell, though. Guaranteed Oxenfurt smell. Fish and salt water and horses. Lovely.
By the time anyone stumbles into it, Jaskier has taken to laying across the bar, occasionally a table, with a glass of liquor beside him. Moglad flutters around as if looking for something to do, unsure of himself. And gradually, the tavern fills with the shadows of bodies. Of company. Of an audience, an adoring one, if only he had the energy to sing.]