abraxaslogs | (open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

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(open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

Who: Altaïr & OTA
What: An Assassin gets a feel for Abraxas; catch-all for the first part of the month
When: Early August
Where: Mostly Cadens

It takes more than a day spent in this strange new world before Altaïr truly accepts that this is not some delusion, a grand vision sent by the Apple or his master from beyond the grave — and even then he can't be fully certain of anything. But he did not survive Al Mualim's phantoms by denying what he sees in front of him, no matter how outlandish.

What is, is, and that means he must respond as an Assassin does. Learn the land. Observe the people. Hide in plain sight.

rooftop parkour;
He'd taken to the roofs almost immediately, and that's not something that changes with the passing of time. Not yet, anyway. It will take a while to learn Cadens as an Assassin truly needs to know it, including all the boltholes and escape routes on multiple levels. He spends at least a couple of hours during each of these early days observing, mapping, and simply free-running for its own sake; it keeps his muscles strong and his skills sharp. He doesn't expect to run into anyone else, and if anyone happens to see him skitter up or down a building ~~like a lizard~~, well, he's not particularly bothered, as long as they're not a guard.

rooftop napping;
Eventually, he has to sleep, but not in the barracks. Altaïr is not under anyone's command and has no intention of allowing himself to be coerced into military service. Instead, having acquired* several linens, pillows and some hay from a nearby stable, he makes a place for himself tucked into a reasonably comfortable spot atop a rooftop, where he's unlikely to be spotted from below.

He's a light sleeper, but in the unlikely event that someone else is inclined to walk the rooftops, a recently liberated** knife rests under his pillow. Hopefully no one wakes up him up while standing too close.

*stolen
**also stolen

library & museum;
If being here has any benefit, it's that he can learn. Once his immediate needs are taken care of, Altaïr makes a point of spending time at both the library and numerous museums. In Cadens, it's not necessary that he take on the guise of a scholar, but if it were he would certainly fit the part; he gathers piles of books, surrounding him at a study table in stacks, and rapidly jots down notes and scribbles sketches at exhibits. It almost seems like the only reason he leaves is because he's kicked out at closing time.

desert;
Having acquired a sword, he's able to borrow a horse from a man who came to the conclusion that anyone who could afford such a fine weapon would clearly be coming into further funds soon. He may or may not be wrong, though Altaïr has every intention of returning his mount; he only wants to venture a little ways into the desert, extending his knowledge of the landscape by no more than a day's ride into the wilds.

Once he's far enough away from Cadens, he's not particularly surprised to hear the sudden sound of other hoofbeats, nor is he bothered by the appearance of bandits, who demand that he dismount his horse and hand over his money. Altaïr could inform them that they've made a poor choice of victim in more than one sense, but instead he smiles and reaches for his new blade.

Should anyone come along, he doesn't truly need the assistance, but they're welcome to join in if they like.

[ooc note - Feel free to tag this in action brackets or prose format, I picked one for the top level but I truly don't care which — I'll match you. Also, for the rooftops prompts, please keep in mind that Altaïr will be moving relatively quietly, so anyone who wants to spot a weirdo doing parkour should be fairly observant/prone to looking up...but he's still a weirdo doing rooftop parkour so it's not that hard to spot him.

If you'd like to try a different scenario, hit me up at my ooc intro/cr meme thread or on plurk at

effervescible!]

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A shrewd man, if Altaïr takes him at his word. More and more, he's glad their paths have crossed.

"It doesn't require a title, or even formal recognition," he says, shaking his head. "Philosophy is to do with the way one sees the world. The creed they live by. Wisdom can be found anywhere, shaped by the the mind it comes from and the society one lives in. It's rare that anyone has the chance to travel as far as we have coming here; I'd like to take advantage of that."

It is, perhaps, the most genuine enthusiasm Altaïr has displayed about anything since they met.

Edited 2022-09-05 05:20 (UTC)

[You know what? Thank goodness it wasn't the first. Then the dhampir would have well and truly felt terrible in alluding to troubles not being over. The third is...well that's fine. No need to get into the rest. He also can't recall if the Albigensian Crusade would have been ongoing by this point. Not hugely important.

There's a warm little hmm at the man's understanding of philosophy there. It's actually quite nice to hear someone being thoughtful about more intellectual matters beyond the practical and applied sciences.]

The museums might also help come to understand some of the unwritten elements. They helped me early on.

[That gets Altaïr to relax a little further, and he resolves to put thoughts of the future out of his mind. They will do him no good far from his homeland and years from when they might occur.

Besides, it's nice to know there are others with an appreciation for the things worth learning.]

I'll have to pay them a visit. [He nods in appreciation.] It may not be so immediate a concern as the necessities of survival, but I find it's as worth learning about as a list of objective facts.

Geralt did happen to find out, twice. He doesn't mention he was not among those pulled into Cadens. That when he arrived at their gates, the Free Cities had not even done a single successful summoning.

A year has changed a hell of a lot.

They march up a steep hill, all loose rocks and prickly shrubs. His footing is sure, though, despite the weight of the body tossed over his shoulder. And at the top, an opening that yawns into a cavernous pit below. Whatever lives there isn't home at the moment, but fresh tracks and gnawed bones suggest the nest is far from abandoned.

"Here." He drops the body in unceremoniously. It hits the rocky ground below with a wet crunch. "I don't recommend staying to watch."

The spaces in the galleries are interesting in that way. They present objective facts, but always with opinions and understandings of what the object means here and now.

[They're woolgathering, and Alucard knows there are other things he needs to attend to. So he offers a polite nod.] I'll leave you to your exploring.

If you're doing things right, does that mean I get extra points for being one of the few to look up?

[ Or, you know, just one of the few also meandering from roof to roof when he's ready for a different view of the city, but close enough. Claude's not actually looking for an answer to that flippant question as he looks back at the map with a nod after the other man's introduction, committing his name to memory. ]

Well, welcome to Cadens. You'll find no lack of ways to stay busy here even if it might not feel like it at first. I haven't been here too much longer than you myself so I can't claim to know everything and everyone, but if you're ever looking for a job to fill in the cartography gaps let me know. I can point you in the direction of some merchants always looking for help.

[ Perhaps they haven't chatted very long in the grand scheme of things, but anyone with this kind of interest in knowing a city beyond the surfaces everyone sees is someone who catches Claude's attention. And is he offering in an attempt to get to know Altaïr better even if it's someday far down the road? Absolutely - but it doesn't make the offer any less genuine. ]

Altaïr follows him closely, listening to the sounds of corpses landing in order to gauge the distance better. He ventures close to the edge, but no closer than he can be certain will hold under his feet than crumble beneath them at a very inconvenient moment.

"I am not squeamish." Still, he's not one to turn down good advice from those who would know better. Not anymore, at least. He looks for a moment longer before stepping back. "I take it something dangerous will dine well tonight."

Better than he will, with the rations he's packed. That's fine; he's not picky.

[Of course. He's let himself get caught up in such talk, as he sometimes does — but this is neither the time nor the place. Altaïr nods, takes a step back and whistles for his borrowed horse, which stands idle a short distance away.]

Will you be departing on two feet or four?

[The fact that he is one of the few to look up just means that Altaïr will have to try harder in the future.]

I expect I won't have any trouble finding ways to occupy my time.

[He rarely does in a land he knows well, with hundreds of his brothers to work together in what must be done. Here, where he knows little and is alone? He expects he'll find himself too busy to sleep overmuch.]

But I may take you up on that. One or the other.

"No," he agrees. Squeamish is not the concern. "But you are fresher meat."

As is he. So. He isn't waiting around to be the more appetizing meal. He knows exactly what's dining well tonight and it prefers when its prey squirms.

He starts down the path, unbothered if the other man decides to stay to watch regardless and risk losing a hand. Corpses are disposed. He's done his part. He just wants to get back to his horse and return to the city.

He assumes he'll see the stranger about Cadens. Unless he doesn't. Happens sometimes, when folk show and then vanish.

That says enough. Altaïr does not hurry away from the edge of the pit, but neither does he tarry. The dead will have to be enough for whatever will come to consume them.

The horses aren't far away. He supposes he should bring his back to its owner, lest he encounter better-prepared bandits who hinder his ability to do, but he probably won't. There's more to see out here. If necessary, he'll handle threats the same way.

Altaïr pats the mare on the nose once he's close enough and turns to face the taciturn man. He hasn't minded the silence, but he can't say he's not curious. "Do I get to know the name of a man willing to dispose of bodies with a stranger?"

Four. It's enjoyable to not have to be human every so often.

[And with a shake of his head and a step back, there is that same wolf again. It offers Altaïr a polite enough snuffle, turns tail, and begins a brisk run off into the desert sands.]

[While he cannot imagine being an animal, Altaïr can easily see how not being human might appeal to sum. But it is a burden most must bear nonetheless.]

Safety and peace to you, then.

[He watches carefully as the man/wolf transforms and runs away. It's a sight he won't forget anytime soon, that is for certain.]

Roach is right where he left her, waiting patiently as she chews on some dry grass. He adjusts her saddle, already swinging up to mount when the man asks for his name.

A small pause. It's not that he minds giving his name. He just rarely thinks about bothering. He's easy enough to find without one. Despite the inexplicable influx of white-haired men in this sphere, there still aren't that many of them with yellow eyes on top of it.

"Geralt." He turns Roach around. "Next time, buy me an ale first."

He only grants one (1) free body disposal per person. And whether he gets the other man's name or not in return, he'll leave in short order, urging his horse down the dusty road without a glance back.

I wouldn't doubt it. There's an inn where most Summoned here seem to congregate either to live or to get together in the tavern on the ground floor, so even when you do get busy be sure to stop by now and then.

[ Just a suggestion since Claude doesn't think he's seen Altaïr around Mag's in his careful noting of who the regulars are for his own variety of reasons, so it can't hurt to offer. There's also the fact where if he chooses to stay there then Mag will have plenty to keep him occupied. Something that helped Claude get through that first month of adjusting, so it's an unsolicited piece of advice he's quick to offer others now.

Still. Getting one's bearings isn't something he wishes to intrude on when he knows how vital it is from firsthand experience. With the map laid out and ready to be studied by an expert, Claude decides it might be best to leave the other man to do just that. ]

On that note, if you do want to take me up on either I can also usually be found around Mag's in the evenings. In the meantime, I'll leave you to our friend here, [ a gesture to the map, of course, ] to reveal its secrets to you.

[ And one more important thing as he picks up the contested book and holds it up for a second with a smile - ]

Thanks for this too, by the way. I'll find you to make sure you get to read it before I turn it back in. Only fair for passing up on it, I should think.

The stranger — Geralt — moves to leave so quickly that if Altaïr were to give his name, he would have to call it out to a seemingly uninterested back. He could, it's only fair since he broached the topic first, but...he'll leave it, then.

It's never a bad thing to gain more information than you give.

He mounts his horse, an amused smile on his lips, and rides off in the other direction. There's more for him to learn before he returns to the city.

[He's seen it. Rejected it as a place to sleep — it's far too populated, far too public for his taste. But it wouldn't be a terrible place to visit; if nothing else, it would likely be an excellent source of information gained by simple awareness.]

I may do just that.

[Later, though. Claude is right, he does want to spend some time with this map, memorize it as best he can. Knowledge is precious right now and he wants to soak up as much as he can.]

And you're most welcome. [His smile twitches into something more like a smirk.] It's a favor I'll only grant once.

[He waves him off and turns his gaze back to the map. Now, where to start...]

The hesitation does spark her curiosity, but it isn't long enough for her to question; after all, the first time someone had tried to shake her hand, she had been absolutely baffled. She had expected a salute, or perhaps a kiss on the hand, but not a handshake. Luckily, he returns the gesture, which satisfies her and assures her that she's made the correct greeting.

Her brows raise slightly with interest, and she answers: "Nor have I heard of the Holy Land." She drops her hand back to rest easily on her hip, and tilts her head. "Who is your land holy to?" There is no malice or mockery in the question; she's genuinely curious.

It doesn't surprise him. Almost no one he's met so far hails from the same world as he does, and why should they? This world is entirely removed from his own; why shouldn't the worlds of others be just as alien?

Still, it's a fair question. "Many who claim it's sacred ground to the god they worship," he says. "They battle for control of the land and justify it with their religions. But all I see is needless war."

Kaz hadn't thought about it quite that way, about what he could learn from this land. Only in what he could shape it into for his own sake, and that of his people. He considers it though, especially in the way that Altair speaks about it.

"I've always looked to the people. How they live their lives, why they do what they do. You can't do anything unless you know these things. Not when it comes to thriving in their society. Here presents an interesting challenge, especially with what you talk about taking advantage of.

"It's not just the society that's taken us, but that of the others taken. What I learned in my world, in Ketterdam compared to your own, for one. And then that opens how many doors?"

That strikes a chord with her; she has read stories about people going to war for their gods, though she has never experienced it firsthand--all she did was go to war against a god. But she has heard many stories of the kind of havoc wreaked in the name of a deity, and it saddens her to hear that such a thing exists in a world outside her own.

"I wish I could say I have never heard of such a thing, but I cannot." There's voice in her grief, even if they don't come from the same world.

He believes it. Anyone can lie, but there's something in her voice that he recognizes. A note that can only be made by one who has seen suffering.

"There is no stopping those who mistake bloodshed for glory. Nor is it anyone's place to force a change to their beliefs." As much as it burns, Altaïr knows this to be true. He would persuade Saladin and the Lionheart, not control their minds. "They make their war. We do what we can for the people."

Altaïr nods as he speaks, understanding and apparently agreeing.

"Many, I expect," he says. "Even if the one we walked through has closed behind us so that we can't return. The opportunities we have to learn go some way to make up for the inconveniences." He smirks. "Does that make me sound like an optimist?"

"Isn't that how life always is? Always facing forward to what comes next? I guess that makes me sound like an optimist, which I admit that I'm very much not. An opportunist though, that is another story."

And he is going to take advantage of whatever opportunities he's given.

"Truthfully, I don't think I'm either one." He smiles faintly and shakes his head. "But I do think it's important to make the most of every opportunity one comes across."

In life or in his...work. It's all the same in the end.

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(open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

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