EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

[abraxasmods]

Event #7 - The Sight

go to the OOC event info and plotting post

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The night before APRIL 18, your dreams are disrupted by a vivid image of the same eclipse that occurred last month. The black sun seems to be an endless void in the sky, growing ever darker - until it suddenly opens into an eye that stares straight at you.

When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.

Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.

The Awakening

It might happen that very morning or a day or two later. You could be discussing the dream with a fellow Summoned or perhaps you simply brush shoulders with them as you walk by. Whatever it is, as soon as you make brief physical contact, one of you is struck with a sharp pain in your temple that grows into a terrible headache. It's disorienting and painful as the world around you shifts to someplace you may or may not recognize. Like an old film reel, you watch the events of the past play out before you: the past of the other Summmoned. It might be something they would rather hide, a moment of failure or despair, or something they are immensely proud of and brings them great joy - or even a jumble of several images over the course of a person's life. But you see it as if it were real and right in front of you all the same. When you come to, you'll likely find yourself on the ground or bent over, possibly with one or more people around you to see if you're okay. It'll take you a bit to gather your bearings, and the subsequent pounding in your head could last from minutes to hours.

Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.

Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.

For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.

Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.

The Factions

What has occurred between the Summoned will not go unnoticed within the factions. While it's difficult to say how faction officials have picked up what's happening, it'll be obvious they do know.

In THORNE, characters will be asked to remain in the castle walls until further notice. Characters will not be allowed to leave the castle grounds, not even to go into the surrounding city, and anyone who is already outside will be requested to not leave again as soon as they return. If asked, they will be told it's for their own safety, given the Singularity is behaving unpredictably and the Summoned have a unique connection to it. Soothing potions and healers are on hand to offer assistance, if anyone is particularly suffering from ill effects.

In the FREE CITIES, characters will find the army by the outposts show more activity than usual. A higher number of guards will patrol the streets throughout the event, particularly in areas frequented by the Summoned. Anyone who publicly and visibly experiences the effects of the memory share (pain, doubling over, etc.) will be offered assistance by the guards. They are generally there to help, but they are also there to maintain order and ensure anyone behaving erratically due to this incident is properly contained. This might include confinement for a day or two if anyone is especially posing a risk, but no one will be punished except in the most extreme cases, as the locals are aware this is not within the control of the Summoned.

In SOLVUNN, the locals will be watching what's happening with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Host families and neighbors will be on hand to help with charms meant to offer protection, as well as general care and assistance (soup, blankets, and so on) if your character seems to be especially under the weather or afflicted by the event. Towards the end of the event, more elders and mages will be out and about to check up on the Summoned to make sure they're doing okay. If asked, the mages will say they aren't sure what's going on, but that they are currently divining with the gods and hope to have a definitive answer soon in the upcoming days.

None of the factions appear to be doing much more than keep a watchful eye on the situation - but as the week comes to a close, officials will start making a decision as to what they want to do and how to handle the Summoned who have demonstrated this unforeseen connection to the Singularity.

Comments

[cointosser]

Absolutely not! I do not coddle him. I take very good care of him. There's a difference! Haven't you seen how much thicker his fur is since I got him?

[Which, well. Is actually through a lot of Geralt's help, with all the hunting he does. Mog lives a life of luxury, eating rabbit livers, deer hearts, and all the bits in between of everything they bring in. And as long as Jaskier is around, the meat never spoils, so there's more than a steady supply of it.

Jaskier stretches his legs out, propping one on the lip of the tub. As lovely as it is to have company, Geralt does take up a lot of room.]

See? I told you! A few weeks ago, he would've jumped in here with all his claws out. Ask me how I know.

[Lucky no one had been around to hear his screech.

He's scrubbing at himself with a second bar of soap when he hears something like a grunt -- not that that's rare for Geralt, but it feels different. And he only has enough time to see him wince before Jaskier grabs his arm.

He's since gotten his sea legs, but today the rocking of the boat leaves him nauseous, a hand over his mouth as he meets the last elf with an offered hand, a child he can only guess is as young as five taking the steep steps down below deck. the guardsman this time was not easily swayed with words, hadn't heard the name Jaskier. But a pouch full of coin helped him look the opposite direction as Jaskier climbed off the ship, giving a final look back with his lute across his back. He passes by a patch of stained dirt where he knows one of the elves had their throat slit before being thrown into the harbor.

A second memory comes. Jaskier in a different coat, but the same lute at his back. Jaskier holding his hand out for different elves, some missing the tips of this ears with only bloody stumps instead.

He sings at the tavern that was once his Horizon, the candles on the wall giving the whole scene a melancholy glow. Burn, Butcher, Burn! he shouts, and the crowd shouts it with him. Burn, burn, burn, burn! Like a call and response, until Jaskier sinks into a chair, breathing hard. He puts his lute down, lets the drums carry the song to its completion, and takes a heavy swig from a bottle of wine that had waited so patiently for him. Any energy he may have taken from his performance drops out of him, his head going into his hands.

Easy, Jaskier says, aiding a female elf down the steep stairs, her gait awkward and stilted. Her ankle had twisted on the run, she says, arm tightly wrapped around his own. She thought she'd never make it all the way, half-carried by two of her brothers who wait to take her out of Jaskier's grip. Thank you, Sandpiper, the larger one says, a short bow of his head. After all this time, I never truly believed you were real.

Jaskier smiles, lips curling, but there's a weight to him, a tiredness in the slope of his shoulders, as if his lute has grown heavier. Yes, well, he says in response, clapping the old boy on the shoulder, I don't believe it myself, some days. Be safe. Take care.

He leaves the ship, the murmured whispers of elves fading away as the sounds of the docks of Oxenfurt rise again, the lapping of water against the ship. At least there are no corpses today, but the air is growing bitter and cold, his breath rising in the dark. Jaskier sits on a nearby barrel, his legs swinging, a notebook opened across his lap as he watches the ship finish its final preparations, then begin to sail towards Xintrea.

He marks another tally mark on the page, a list of them spilled across the page already.]

Geralt? [He curses, holding onto him so he doesn't slip into the water. Mog is making an alarmed clicking that's driving into his head, making his heart pitter-patter in fear.] Geralt! Snap out of it!

[gynvael]

[ Geralt hears thicker fur and ask me how I know, and he's opening his mouth to answer (Is that what the noise was across the city was that night?) when he feels the pricking of heat at his temple, the pulsing. He has enough time to think, Shit, before the visions slam into him. They are rapid, flashing by, and at least this time he hasn't been trapped in the memory itself. They are—

—not what he expected. Maybe because he's known Jaskier for so long that even though he's aware of the months, years, time they spent apart, on some instinctive level, it surprises him that what he's seeing is wholly new. And yet, in another sense, it doesn't surprise him as much as it should, because of course Jaskier would help the fucking elves. Perhaps it makes the most sense of all. More so than the idea that Jaskier took his riches and fame and only spent it on wine and jewels and women and men. He has always known his friend to be much more than that.

(He regrets, a little, that he wasn't there for any of this. Does it matter, though? His regrets are not really the point, even if he is sorry he left, that he knows—without ever having to hear that song—that he broke his friend's heart. And he would say he didn't mean to, but the truth is in that moment, he had. It was easier, then, to sever ties than to cling to them, fearing that he would lose it, anyway.)

When he comes to, it's with a curse tumbling from his lips. Jaskier's hands are on him. Geralt reaches for them without thinking, his other hand on his head. ] Fuck.

[ Fuck. He's sick of his skull being split into pieces. He blinks once, twice, trying to drag himself back into the present. Ugh. His stomach roils, the water spinning. Mog chirps shrilly, anxious, and the noise pierces through his head, enough that he wants to reach out and give the bird a shake. ] I'm fine.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's voice is tight with a sick mix of unease and fear. Not only for what this means -- that they cannot stop it and cannot control it -- but for once, he fears what might have been seen.

He grips his friend tightly, even as his eyes open again, helping keep his head above water. Jaskier clicks his tongue at Mog to silence him, eyes never leaving Geralt's face. (The soap has fallen, lost to the abyss of water around them.)]

I -- fuck. You'd say that if you were missing a bloody arm, too. [He moves closer, all but taking his weight as he can.] I'm sorry... I thought it -- I thought it was over. If you can sit up, I've got -- Nadine made me a nice concoction, it should help with the pain. Would you like it? It's rather concentrated.

[gynvael]

[ He grunts in answer, too busy reorienting himself to say anything else. He is fine. He just needs a moment.

He does sit up, one arm propped on the side of the tub. ]

No. [ No. He's all right. He takes Jaskier's arm with a firmer grip—one meant to let Jaskier know he's steady. It isn't ever over, he thinks, but. He'd hoped that was all for them tonight. Not that...the memories were anything terrible. Not really. His head just hurts like fuck. And he needs time to—

Think.

He looks up at Jaskier, searching his gaze. ] You were helping the elves.

[ He doesn't ask why Jaskier didn't tell him. Whether it was deliberate or a reason to say it simply never arose, it isn't important. He thinks he understands either way. ]

[cointosser]

[Ever the martyr. Jaskier nods, but doesn't move. Geralt is fine as long as he's conscious, but -- for fuck's sake, he's pretty sure the amount of times he's watched the Witcher fall into unconsciousness could be counted on one hand.

Since he tends to do it away from everyone else.

Jaskier blinks. Oh, no. His gaze is piercing, serious. Here it comes. He swallows.

All at once, Jaskier appears nearly abashed.] Ah. That... that is not what I was thinking you may see.

[He nods again, but he looks away, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it from his face. Still, there's humor in his voice leeching in.] Surely you didn't think I would spend the war resting on my laurels like some horrid noble. [He looks back.] I was so used to keeping it a secret. You can guess what they would have done to me, should anyone have found out.

[gynvael]

[ He tilts his head, some curiosity there. Was Jaskier afraid he'd see...the fire mage? That's the only thing he can think of that Jaskier might want to keep to himself. He's glad, too. That it hadn't surfaced. It isn't something he wants to remind Jaskier of, inadvertently or not. ]

Well, I did have the thought you might've saved a cat or two from a tree. [ Some humour leeches in, too, before it fades. Yes. He can guess. It was a good strategy. No one would've suspected him. A bard. Wealthy, vain, self-absorbed. Jaskier is all those things. But he isn't only that. (Always did have too big of a fucking heart.) He feels it. The curl of fear that might be in part a remnant of the memory, in part from the thought itself, if Jaskier had ever been caught. Yennefer had told him Jaskier as in trouble, and he'd asked what kind, found his friend jailed for nothing more than lecherous behaviour.

It strikes him it could've been something far more dangerous.

Geralt reaches into the water to try to fish out the slippery soap. An attempt to bring himself back to a grounded reality. ] Sandpiper, hm? You couldn't have picked a bigger bird?

[cointosser]

Hah. Hilarious, as always. Good. If you have time for your terrible brand of humor, you're not quite about to keel over.

[He doesn't want to think about what he didn't want Geralt to see. What he was afraid he would see.

He doesn't think about him at all.

Ever. Clearly.

Jaskier brings up his other arm out of the water, already holding the soap. He taps Geralt's chest with it, but his other arm remains strained, even with Geralt's fingers around it.

Please. Someone must have picked up the mantle.]

Because no one expects anything from a sandpiper. [He smiles, only somewhat guarded.] Nothing more than a minor annoyance. And guess who assured me I was exactly that?

[gynvael]

[ He takes the soap from Jaskier's hands. He senses the guardedness, but it no longer puts him on edge as it once had. They've spoken of it. He is simply quieter as he unties the cord holding back his hair. ]

I heard it. All your songs. [ He doesn't specify in or out of the memory. Both, now. It doesn't matter. He hardly thinks Jaskier would've expected him not to hear them, with how quickly, how far, his music spread. ] Seemed easy to tell myself they meant you preferred I stay gone.

[ He's not really denying he was an idiot. And a bastard. Just—he's never had anyone in his life like Jaskier. He still doesn't. Not really. Not someone who knows him. They were friends, not bound by anything except Jaskier's desire to remain by his side. There was no bond of suffering, no wish. In all of his life, he thinks, their friendship felt like one of the most fragile things he ever possessed. Some part of him had always anticipated he would be the one to shatter it and so he did.

He supposes he's learned better now. He regrets how it happened. He does. He'd missed him. But he is glad to see that Jaskier found a purpose that drove him. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier opens his mouth, closes it, then sighs. When he was all swept up in his feelings at the time -- when being left on that fucking mountain was the worst that had happened to him -- it was all he could do to write the next song with anything other than a sick mixture of regret, anger, and grief.

He may have loved many and lost nearly as much, but it never... Geralt had been the longest-standing thing in his life. The only thing that felt permanent. Jaskier had never doubted what they meant to each other.

Until after.]

Hmph. I wanted you to hear them. I hoped you would, that you would go sick with what a bastard you were. Ah. How I dreamed of you finding me again, grumbling, Oh, Jaskier, I'm stupid and brutish and don't deserve your presence. But I do deserve to be snapped up by a dragon, or a wyvern, or whatever. My life is lonely and empty without you. [All said in the very accurate Geralt imitation he's picked up over the years.] But you are such a silly fool, thinking that's what they meant. Melitele's tits, Geralt, I never thought you were that shit at interpreting my lyrics.

[He takes it all in stride now, however. Mog, having sensed the danger is over for now, trills quietly and curls up on top of Jaskier's discarded clothes. Still keeping an eye on them, just in case.

Jaskier is quiet again.]

I've done plenty of good in the world. I will never say otherwise. And, as we both know, you would be penniless and possibly dead in a ditch without me. [A touch of humor that brings his lips up, his legs shifting in the water.] But it was the first time I felt as if... as if I'd really changed something. The things the elves suffered, I can hardly recount. I was sick with their suffering. My own.

[His hands raise to spread over his face, washing it with fresh water anew. Even thinking of them, of what he left behind... it's his only regret.] Now I'm here, and I cannot help them ever again. It is naïve to hope that another has picked up the mantle where I dropped it, but... someone must, mustn't they?

[gynvael]

I already knew I was a cock. [ He means it, when he says that it was easy to think that way. One more reason to stay away and keep his solitude. It's what he knows. It's still what's most familiar to him. He's just...learned not to sever all those ties. That maybe—he can find more worth in clinging to the few people he's found than setting himself adrift, alone.

Coming back is hard. Staying is hard. Perhaps it shouldn't be, but for him, it is. It requires opening a space in his heart that cannot ever be closed should it be found empty. It's funny. He's dealt with loss and grief his whole life. But he's so rarely dealt with being pushed away by someone who matters to him. The lasting memory in his mind is his mother, leaving him. In that moment, some part of him had wanted to do the pushing first, before his closest friend could have the chance.

He places a hand on Jaskier's knee. ] It isn't.

[ The world is shit. They both know that. The war back home, elves and men and dwarves alike will fill the streets with their corpses. But he doesn't believe it's naïve to want for better. Sometimes he wishes he could—

(He could be not so afraid to hope.) ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier laughs quietly.] Feels rather good to hear you say it.

[He knows. There was no way Geralt came to him asking for "help" he didn't need, looking like someone's dog that's been stuck in a rainstorm and is begging for a bit of shelter and a pat on the head, without knowing he'd been an utter cock. Without even knowing a bloody thing about what Jaskier had spent his time doing.

Jaskier takes a deep breath, holds it, releases it. He nods.

A rare thing it is, he thinks, to hear such quick reassurance. And it feels all the more meaningful for its rarity.]

Here. You may as well scrub yourself before it happens again. If it does. [He hopes not. If only because he knows Geralt hates this, the headache is rather awful, and Jaskier feels utterly exhausted by it now.] If you ask me, I think we can do just as good to this world.

[Geralt didn't ask. And Jaskier doesn't need to say it, but he wants to hear the words out loud, his intentions building themselves into something real, solid. There are no elves here, but there is always suffering. There is always looming war.]

[gynvael]

[ A sharp little exhale falls from his lips. Undoubtedly. (He did not, it is true, need Jaskier's help. Not like that. But he had needed him.) ]

As far as I've seen, it's not yet happened twice. [ Even if one spends a couple hours or so with someone. With extended physical contact. But who fucking knows with the Singularity. The only predictable aspect of it is its unpredictability.

He scrubs. Having not travelled recently, there is much less to scrub than his usual. No dried blood, no dirt and gore. Just dust and sand. The air fills with the smell of sage and a hint of citrus. Geralt cares not at all about what kind of soap, has never cared, and has long made a habit of using whatever Jaskier hands him. So long as he doesn't smell overly of sugar and florals. Partly because of the scent itself, but equally because the strength of it gives him a damn headache. ]

Hm. [ We. He's not certain he wants to include himself in that. His only desire is to keep his people safe. He gives no fucks about good for the sake of it. That's not who he is. ] You've certainly filled it with your songs.

[cointosser]

Really? [He sighs.] That's a relief, honestly. Not that I've anything against you seeing more, personally, but -- I'm rather shit at handling headaches.

[And he does not say something selfish, though he thinks it: he would not mind seeing more of Geralt's memories. But he's not a fool. He knows plenty are horrible. All he needs to do is go to that basement in Kaer Morhen to be reminded.

It's... he's glad, though. That Geralt recalls such a simple thing as a good memory. The warmth he'd felt through the vision still rests in his chest, helping him relax back against the other side of the tub, watching Geralt wash.

Jaskier grins all of a sudden, splashing Geralt with a flick of his hand.] Ah! So you think my songs are good, then? Spreading good? Oh, Geralt, you fucking softie.

[It is not, of course, the first time Geralt has implied so. However, Jaskier intends to treat every single time it occurs as if it was the first time -- because it brings that sort of joy to him every time.]

[gynvael]

Trust me, I know. [ His reply is wry. Skirts, deliberately, the subject of memories that should and should not be shared. Jaskier knows fucking well what lurks inside his mind.

There is a reason Jaskier has not returned to his domain since. Not that he was often there in the first place, but...they don't speak of it, either. Nor of the fact that he cannot rid of it, no matter how hard he tries. If he could, he'd have told Jaskier so. His silence on the matter tells enough: it remains, lurking. Haunting.

He sighs. Scrubs his hair some more with the kind of roughness that suggests he's no care for the state of his hair so long as it's passably clean. ] I'm saying it could be worse.

[ He isn't a softie. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier considers blowing a raspberry at him, but he's above such childish things, of course. He still considers it. For far longer than necessary.

Splashing him's good enough. He does that again.]

Which, essentially, means you love it. Ah! What beauty to hear. I'll be sure to quote you on my written books of sheet music on that. "Jaskier. He could be worse." You've always such a way with words, no wonder your bed never empties.

[And yet all of this, so needlessly said, is so damn affectionate. Even warmer than Jaskier normally is. He's simply... he's been struck by the feeling he say in that memory. And even should he remain feeling vaguely nauseous, his head aching, he can hold onto that.]

[gynvael]

[ A frown, directed in Jaskier's direction. (He's lost count of all the time Jaskier has splashed him while he's bathing. Or dumped a bucket over his head. ) ]

Fuck off. [ He's only grouching. Somehow, it's the warmth in Jaskier's voice that makes him want to especially grouch, in that way where be obviously doesn't mean it. He rinses the soap and dirt out of his hair. It's all accomplished with thoughtless efficiency. Sometimes he's in the mood to lounge and relax in a bath. Tonight's not quite one of those nights. He appreciates Jaskier's company. He does. It's just been—

A lot.

Even so, a minute or two, and: ] Bed's empty tonight.

[cointosser]

[Such a way with words. Jaskier waits patiently, only because he has a show to enjoy -- the stretch and flow of muscles, scars, skin. Gradually relaxing as the hot water ebbs away the pain in his head. Or perhaps it's going away on its own.

In some ways, it could be any other night where Geralt is at home.

With the glow of that memory, however, it's different.

Jaskier's eyes level, heat prickling across him. In some ways, yes. Geralt has his way with words.] Is it, now? [Well. He knows that, seeing as it's his bed. Jaskier leans over, moves between Geralt's legs, kissing him.] Not anymore, then.

[If Geralt says it won't happen a second time, he trusts him. If he can hold onto that memory, the feeling of it, then he will.]