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

[aquilus]

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!]

Comments

[gynvael]

Ominous. Geralt accepts that with a vague grunt.

"I prefer it out here," he replies, by way of answer. City's fine. He isn't a stranger to large cities, though Cadens alone is more vast than even Novigrad. But cities and towns are not places he ever spends more than a week or two in. Staying in one place is stifling.

And he likes sleeping under the stars, away from most of the world.

"Lucky you got dragged to Cadens." Mm. Well. Lucky. So to speak. But he recognizes a wanderer when he sees one. "Thorne barely lets you out of its castle."

[aquilus]

Altaïr raises an eyebrow and lets out a small huff of laughter at the assessment. Lucky, indeed; none of the Summoned are, save perhaps those who were taken from even more unpleasant circumstances, but he's not pedantic enough to point that out. He understands the relative nature of such things.

"They would have to try very hard to keep me contained," he says in a mild tone. "I'm not accustomed to confinement. And I'm very good at getting away."

Still, he has to wonder how successful his efforts would be. It's one thing to race through the streets of Acre, Jerusalem and Damascus to the safety of their bureaus; it's quite another to contend with those who wield magic. Truth be told, he is grateful that he won't have to find out.

[gynvael]

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."

[aquilus]

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.

[gynvael]

"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.

[aquilus]

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?"

[gynvael]

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.

[aquilus]

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.