EVENT #2 IC POST

[abraxasmods]

Event #2

On July 11th, all of the prisoners and honored guests alike will be marched outside of the castle grounds, to a lightly forested area with a bright blue portal shining in the distance and flanked by a group of four Thornean mages.

Ambrose's Speech

"Good afternoon to you all. I suppose this is a little overdue and on that note, I am sorry. There's a lot to get done, and a lot at stake, and I find myself trapped between my duties to the crown and what I owe to you. I thank you all for your patience, save for one individual among you," he says, shooting a glare to Jon Sims, who is heavily guarded to an extent that the other prisoners are not, "But in light of a recent altercation I think it best that you all know what's going on."

"What you're about to see is an ancient artifact known as the Singularity. It has existed, as far as we know, since the dawn of time. Not only is it the source of all magic in this world, it is the life-force which sustains all other universes. If you've ever wondered why our magic seems so terribly powerful compared to yours, or why some of you have no magic at all, it's because the magic in this world sustains the Singularity and the Singularity, in turn, sustains every other universe that has ever existed or will ever exist."

"However, that does not mean that the Singularity in inherently good. It exists, and sustains your universes by random happenstance, not by design. In recent years the Singularity has begun to turn, and weaken, and for the first time in recorded history the amount of observable universes attached to it has decreased in number. If we cannot find a way to harness and re-energize it, we fear it may devour all that is to ensure its own continued existence."

"It is a known fact that we - natives of Abraxas - cannot approach the Singularity ourselves. We would be torn apart in seconds if we tried. People from other worlds have no such limitation. You may get close enough to touch it. So, while you may be upset that we have pulled you from your worlds without permission - an act for which I do apologize, and I truly wish there was a better way - you are here to save not only this world but all worlds. To understand the Singularity, we need you."

"We thank those among you, our honored guests and the prisoners we've chosen to release, who have behaved themselves and even aided us throughout the last few weeks. I caution you against becoming so smitten with our prisoners that it distracts you from what I have just said: for the sake of all universes, we must contain all threats. I've seen a great deal of possibilities, and there are times when even the best of intentions leads to disaster. To those of you who have been welcomed, you are a boon to us and we will accommodate you as much as we can, but you are still guests in this world, unwilling though you might be, and trust needs to be earned. Given your situation we want to treat you all with a certain degree of understanding and offer you some leeway that our own citizens would not receive. That does not, however, mean you have free reign to do whatever you please."

"Case in point, I regret to inform you that an honored guest, Jon Sims, did attack me and use a particularly intrusive form of magic in an attempt to extract confidential information that could have endangered my world and yours. This is considered high treason, and he will be executed by hanging on the twenty-third of August. Good day to you all, and I hope that what you are about to see impresses upon you the gravity of our situation."

The Horizon

Everyone is marched through the portal and when they emerge on the other side, what they'll see is a huge desert with a perfectly circular crater a few miles wide. At he center of the crater is the Singularity, and although it doesn't seem too imposing at this distance a certain power radiates from it. Some of the mages avert their eyes, as if they can't bear to look at it. Some of them seem almost drawn to it and they have to be held back by their fellows to prevent them from crossing the line and being torn apart. Ambrose stares, and though he doesn't approach it there's a certain amount of melancholy in his expression.

The newcomers are allowed to soak in its majesty for only a minute or two before they are yanked forwards and into the crater by something that feels like a rope coming from the inside of their chests. They are at once overwhelmed, and without exception they all black out...

...and awaken in the Horizon, where they will spend the next few weeks without memories of any world but this one, constantly aware of the Singularity and its power.

Comments

Jaskier | The Witcher | The Sun

[cointosser]

I. Pre-Singularity

[The thing about the Continent is that executions surely happen every day. Thankfully, because Jaskier hangs out with (mostly) exquisite company and not war criminals, it's never anyone he knows --

Jon Sims.

Oh. Great.

Jaskier far more recognizes the man being bustled about by guards than he does the name, but certainly he'd caught it in their brief meeting -- ah, gods, what? Weeks ago? How did he go from lamenting a boyfriend to being executed? Some men really did get around.

The bard is far more concerned, unfortunately, with the way the guards around them begin shuffling them forward than he is a fellow honored guest being slated for executions. (When one is from the Continent, one is far too accustomed to public executions for far, far less. Peeking into someone's head is far more dire than the theft of bread or a horse.)]

Ah, this is all quite delightful, thank you, but surely we don't all need to go in there. I am very comfortable simply standing by and watching. I -- wait, what was that? I'm sorry? Torn apart?

[Jaskier is far from the strongest man to fight off guards who have a mission for him, but he makes sure the yells he bellows are explicitly clear: he does not agree with this treatment. And, by the time he's pulled forward by the Singularity, one of his eyes is blackened from an elbow, his lip split.]

II. The Bard's Tale

[Jaskier does not have to think hard about this.

There is space, and he doesn't know it. Put two and two together: it must be explored. But how? Horses. There's almost always been a horse nearby, whether -- well, wherever he was. The horse that appears has soft brown eyes and a white strip down her nose; a chestnut mare, with a gentle nicker as she chews his hair affectionately. All right. A brown horse is fine and functional, but this place certainly needs color. And he? Cannot be found alone with a horse. What is he, some sort of beggar?

So he begins the crafting. It all comes so easily when he thinks of it, of what he wants: there's people, richly dressed (and perhaps a few with simple black clothing, a woman in a dark red gown). There's music, a hum that begins in his throat until they all start finding their instruments. There is, of course, the transportation. Some of the wagons are a bit more humble, to store instruments and barrels of wine. Others carry items which are colorful and varied; it's difficult to tell whether these are meant to be offerings or simply trinkets Jaskier enjoys bringing about with him. The wagon at the front is far more richly decorated, always with warm candles glowing in the windows, and the smell of buttercups and honey permeating the air around it. Soft, not overwhelming.

He isn't sure where or when the White Wolf shows itself, yawning with great large teeth, horrible breath, and scars over its flank. It hangs halfway out of his wagon, seemingly with no regard for anyone moving around it. Jaskier's performers -- for though he is more than talented enough to perform on his own, it's always so much more interesting with company -- don't try to move the wolf, working around him to set up the caravan for traveling.

Because they will, and they must. Jaskier cannot sit here and build a hut and live like some sort of bored peasant. There's so much out there! So much he can't even see, and as mountains rise in the distance, or the rush of water echoes through a valley, his heart tugs him onward. And there, in the furthest distance, a bright orange flare like fire spurting into the air.

It all holds so much promise, and whether or not Jaskier recalls the songs he'd once sung, songs still come to him.]

All right, boys. It's time we head out! Where shall we go first? Surely those mountains have a few shimmering castles? Oh! Or trolls! [A few performers look at him with hesitation.] Oh, don't worry. We'll be safe.

[Hard to say why. They simply will be. The wolf's gold eyes glow from underneath the cover of a wagon as the horses paw the ground. A song flows around the caravan as it rolls off, undeterred by rough terrain or long stretches of land. Why should it be slow? They have food and drink to last for ages.] Onwards, faster! The world won't wait for us!

III. Toss A Coin

[The caravan can be heard far before it crests a hill, or somehow curves around a tiny mountain path (perhaps it was not there before?) or fords a river without a single tapestry, wagon wheel, or horse hoof suffering to wetness or rot. Music pours from every body riding on the wagons, or hanging from them, or laying on top with a drum or a pair of castanets.

When Jaskier spots a figure in the distance, whether intimidating or not, he points the lead wagon of the caravan straight for them. The horses snort, hooves pounding the terrain. They work hard but never tire; occasionally a great beast of a white wolf can be seen trotting beside them, his tail swishing back and forth.

His eyes are wide with curiousity either way, and certainly even more so if they look particularly dangerous.

Jaskier hops off his wagon with a flourish, his elaborate, yet traditional bardic garb as richly decorated as the whole caravan. Suns embroidered with gold thread shine on his cloak and his doublet, and a warm honey-colored lute, bejeweled along the neck with a precisely painted gold design around its belly, hangs from his back.]

My friend, what are you doing out here? Thirsty? Hungry? We have absolutely anything you could need. All I ask for in return is a good story. If it's long enough, you're more than welcome to come along for the ride!

[The wolf doesn't look too pleased with Jaskier's offerings, glowering from the background. But it doesn't interfere.

It may, though, if anyone gets a bit too handsy with the bard.]

IV. Wildcard

[If you have other ideas, feel free to throw them at me! Jaskier will be traveling across and through people's domains; he won't interfere with anything, but is particularly looking for beautiful sights or dangerous things, like monsters or (slight) mayhem. As he travels through domains, your character is free to recognize something from their domain among his trinkets: as he travels, he picks up souvenirs. Perhaps one of his performers is now a moogle? Or is there an elaborate crystal sculpture of an iconic mountain behind him?

If you have ideas or questions, toss them at my OOC plot comment if you'd like, or catch me at scathefire!]

IIIish

[cryptsleeper]

[When Alucard made his horrid little depression hut, there were two badly constructed dolls that he didn't quite understand, but decided not to question. Looking at them invites some sort of longing, but he can't bring himself to move them into a hidden space either. They're important, somehow.

He's left his domain for the time being out of a need to simply move around. Even he can only manage the rotation of sleeping, loafing, cooking, and indulging in loneliness for so long. He knows some of those near by - the Tower with the Hedge whose presence is permitted to extend into his; the Hanged Man and his cabin who mostly is unhappy with the amount of shedding fur from Alucard's wolf form - but the rest are unknown.

The caravan is new. The caravan is very loud when Alucard catches a glimpse of it from behind, having stumbled upon the mountain path it travels by the same logic that controls the rest of this place. Where logic truly fails is why the sight makes him think of one of the dolls back in the cabin and the sudden, cautious hope that goes with them.

He's careful as he draws closer to the caravan itself, the noise a little too much for someone used to silence now, and--

--ah, spotted. The man that approaches puts Alucard in mind of a brightly colored bird, the kind that would not be at home in his own domain. The friendliness likewise feels overwhelming. Everyone else has been cool, or happy to co-exist in a space without asking questions.]

--I thought this might be another's caravan. Apologies.

[He was wrong. But there are exit routes available.]

[cointosser]

[It may come from either Jaskier's loud and perfectly suited to his Tarot personality that allows him to sense that his new company is depressed. Or it could simply be Alucard's face, or his whole... aura.]

Why on earth are you apologizing? We welcome all sorts here. [The music quiets down as Jaskier gives a gesture to the players behind him.

He knows the type, or at least he likes to think he does. The type that tries to scurry away without as much as a hello. And even if others in this place have been less than welcoming to Jaskier himself (including his friend, Sir Mountain Hermit, who had only needed a little cajoling), he sees no reason to return the same. Jaskier tips his head towards the front wagon, the most richly decorated.] You must be a bit tired, yes? Why don't you join me for a drink? Whose caravan did you mistake ours for? I'd be curious to know if there's any others here who have my sort of... spark.

[cryptsleeper]

[One of the many inheritences of stupid Tepes bullshit is the inability to be subtle about anything ever, especially when it comes to emotions. How other people decide to interact with that fact is usually when things become far more interesting.

How it is Alucard keeps getting himself noticed when he doen't want it is beginning to become a minor annoyance, although he'd sooner some quiet rather than the music. His preference has always been towards more natural noise, although that's nothing against the skills of the players themselves in this moment.

He holds a single hand up at the offered seat. Exhaustion has yet to set in, and likely won't for a time.]

--One and then I'd prefer to continue on, if you please. [He may not remember his mother's insistence upon hospitality, but it is deeply a part of him all the same.] But it's...a very different texture, I'd say.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier laughs.] I certainly won't stop you from whatever journey you're on, but come. I won't limit you to one, either.

[It's a fair assessment to Jaskier; in his travels, he's noticed one specific thing: there aren't many others doing as he does. Traveling. Journeying. When he meets new faces, he can tell they are settled in the place around them. Of it, or its... owner, perhaps. This place is as nebulous as his understanding of it, but simple terms like king and kingdom do come to mind.

This one doesn't have anything following him. So what is it he journeys for?

If his companion won't come up to meet him, Jaskier will go down. He pats the leg of the man holding the reins, the caravan readying to set still for a bit. He hops off the wagon, his lute appearing at his back. It always feels most natural that way, as if inspiration may strike at any moment.]

A different texture? [He grins. Ah. Not so much the same spark, then.] I'd be surprised to see another caravan, really. So much of this land is rather... empty, isn't it?

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard's found that while is domain is absolutely safe, while it provides the protection he needs, there is still a tiny part of him that finds that there ought to be a break from it. Going for a walk helps, and this is absolutely not a metaphor for how he should be trying to fix his problems. Not at all.

He's careful to give the man room to hop down and maneuver. Having an instrument on his back (Alucard hadn't noticed it before) means that bumping into anything is going to hurt everyone involved and cause damage to a valuable item. He'd rather not be the cause of that problem.]

Very different, although I can't articulate it further than that. [He'll understand, once everything is settled again and half of them are forced into those awful little cells. The Speakers are good people, but their caravans carry a more serious purpose as well as a whole people.]

It is, but I think that's rather value neutral. The space will take a shape eventually.

II

[petcromancer]

[Of course it would be The Sun who would be that loud and conspicuous in this strange, shared space.

But Hector is drawn to sunlight, and as he leaves his library to explore the wilds beyond his little domain, he hears the hubbub and quietly draws closer to it. The leader's wagon isn't hard to spot, a gaudy showpiece amidst more practical carts.

Hector doesn't sneak, per say, but he also doesn't announce himself as a visitor as he joins the throng of people wandering between wagons. He just wants to know more. Music isn't something's he's considered much before, but travelers like this must have stories from elsewhere, maybe samples of flora and fauna from abroad.

The Sun's announcement of the caravan's departure catches him off guard. Fuck. The travelers all board their various wagons and beasts of burden, and Hector looks around himself, unsure of what to do.]

Don't suppose anyone's got room for one more?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier doesn't notice the intruder mostly because he's so intent on making sure everything is perfect: that the colors, while brash and bold, do not clash on any wagon; that every instrument is tuned and oiled and restrung, if it needs it. His wagon of trinkets is, of course, protected, though it's not quite as obvious how: potted plants with curled tendrils rest on the edges, and the vines appear to move when one looks away, tipped with thorns.

It's only when the wolf hops off the lead wagon and begins sniffing around, ears cocked forward, that he notes a less than colorful presence. And certainly not fashion that he designed. Not a single sun upon him.

And yet despite that, Jaskier doesn't look at this man and feel any danger from him. The wolf, surprisingly, doesn't snarl or growl. It simply watches, curious.]

Excuse me, friend. Plenty of room up here. Where are you off to?

[petcromancer]

[Hector shrugs. He definitely looks plainly dressed compared to this man, though it doesn't seem to bother him.]

I've no particular destination in mind. I'm just seeing what lies beyond my domain.

[Hector is stronger when he's within his own space, but he feels restless, not knowing what else is out there.]

Where are you heading?

[cointosser]

Simply hitching a ride, then? [He smiles. It's certainly the first time for that sort of thing! Strange, though -- the faintest feeling as if he knows this quiet presence pulls at him. And, well, the wolf doesn't appear bothered at all, so that's a rather good sign, isn't it?]

Everywhere and nowhere, if you mean my destination. This old thing is my domain. [He pats the wagon's side.

Of course it goes everywhere with him. He doesn't need much, and he doesn't need a place to return to. The whole of the Horizon, in a way, is home.

Though the word feels rather unfamiliar.]

The last adventure was mountains and dragons, so I'm planning on something a little flatter this time. The horses need a break.

[petcromancer]

Hmmmm. That's a fascinating idea, a domain that travels with you. [It feels right to Hector. When has a moving castle domain ever been a bad thing?

He climbs up onto the wagon.]

So the problem the last time around wasn't the dragons, but the terrain? I thought a bard would just sing about adventures, not live them.

[Teasing? A little. But Hector's also curious. What a wonderfully free lifestyle.]

[the_archive]

Jon's crossing one of the few remaining bare spots in the Horizon when the caravan, in all its jolly musical mayhem, reaches him. He's carrying what's left of his sweater over one arm - really, why he bothers with that vaguely-formed mound of yarn - exposing the sign of the High Priestess embroidered through his shirt in black glossy ribbons.

"I'll tell a story for a cup of tea."

[cointosser]

[The more people Jaskier meets in the Horizon, the more he wonders why they're all so damn depressing. Even still, he isn't one to refuse a ride to anyone (well, most anyone), and so the horses slow to a stop all together, as if they're connected.

They may as well be. There will be no accidents here.]

A cup of tea? What, you think I'm carrying about kettles out here? [He smiles though, looking back at a few of his performers. Wine was prevalent, and ale... tea was so old-hat in comparison, but a story was a story.] All right, get the man some tea. A bit of chamomile?

[He looks like he could use something to relax. Jaskier leans down from the wagon, offering a hand up.] What's that mess you're carrying about? Part of your story?

II

[aquaveiled]

[ The desire to move and explore is one that she understands well. With so much being built up and created around them, who could simply sit and watch it all from afar? To hole up inside their own domain, surrounded only by the familiar and not at least wonder a little about what lay beyond? Nay, such a thing seems impossible by her reckoning. On the road it must be.

Roads less travelled, of course, as many do not exist as such between the different regions of land being carved out amidst the nothingness. But discovering those or paving a new path is half of the fun.

Her own entourage, however, is not exactly very engaging on its own. Though there was a certain comfort in knowing that her crystal was never far behind, she had not imbued it with the sort of sentience that would provide amusement. Her goal is ever to explore and to meet any and all that she finds along the way. So when she hears the faint sounds of something lively--voices...music--she deigns to step outside of the aetherial dome of her own domain to peer out down the hill she's camped out on to see with her own eyes what her ears tell her is happening.

The sight of the caravan brings an immediate smile to her face. She pulls down the hood of her robe as she approaches, though keeps the half-mask on her face, skidding to a stop at the base of the hill. ]

Hello there!

[ She calls out, waving to the group as a whole. ]

[cointosser]

[It's lucky she calls out during a quarter rest, which is just enough time to hear her call. Jaskier keeps strumming his lute as he leads the song, but looks up in time to see a bright head of hair peering down at them. Now, what is it with white-haired beings around here? And here he'd thought Geralt was original.

Jaskier lifts an arm as the performers go on playing without him.]

Well, hello! [Several performers wave up to her as well, and a great white wolf's head sticks out of the wagon beside him to peer up.] What are you doing perched up there? This must be a bit of your home, I imagine? Do you mind a bit of company?

[Of course he asks. Even with the wolf and all of these musicians, there's still a drive for... more. And company, when he finds it, feels so much more solid than the caravan.]

[aquaveiled]

[ It is the fashion of the ancients the style of the day, apparently! She is glad to see that they did catch sight of her and all seem equally happy to greet her in turn. She takes a few steps away from the base of the hill, scanning the different carts in the little caravan. ]

It's my camp, yes.

[ She agrees aloud as she flicks her gaze back from the last of the troupe to the leader. Opening her arms wide, she motions to the lot. ]

You and yours are more than welcome! I am happy to share what I have in turn for a performance, if that suits you.

[cointosser]

[Perfect! Of course one of the few to come out to greet him should welcome him in side.]

A fair trade indeed, my lady! Let us make our way up. [The performer next to him snaps the reins; the horses give a whinny and, somehow, the path begins smoothing its way up like a spiral staircase to the crest of the hill. As they move, the beat of the sound is in perfect sync with all the horses' hooves, which hit the ground together.

The dome is a little intimidating, to be fair, simply because he can't see what's in it. But no more dangerous, he surmises, than a mountain that spews fire. As the caravan pauses in front of the dome, he hops down to greet his new host. With a long bow and a sweep of his hat against his chest, he announces:] The bard Jaskier, at your service. A delight to meet you. [He stands again, taking in her eyes.] In some strange way, this feels like a reunion. How odd!

Welcome to Lavatown

[photophobic]

[Kylo is trekking back towards his mountain from the edges of his domain when he encounters the caravan crossing his path— quite possibly, it seems, on route to his rather imposing volcanic fortress. Why it might be heading that way, he doesn't know, which is probably the reason he looks quite so suspicious when Jaskier hops down and bounces over to approach. What is Kylo doing out here in this desolate, blackened hellscape?]

I live here.

[He does sound more than a little aggrieved.]

What are you doing on my mountain?

[Beyond the obvious. Kylo eyes Jaskier's musical entourage warily.]

[cointosser]

[It may be the smoke getting to him, but it is only when Jaskier is closer that he realizes what he thought was a pop of red sleeves and gloves (bright enough to rival his own, thank you), is not, in fact, clothing at all.]

You live...

[It's not to say the whole place is sort of terrible and depressing and smoky (none of that is enough to deter him from exploring it, nonetheless), it's only that --

Welll. He suits it.]

I'm exploring. Obviously. [Jaskier is still staring, and brain cells may be even be brushing together to send a signal. His mouth opens, closes, and then opens again as he rubs his chin.] My dear, I'm afraid to say so, but I think you're on fire? Are you all right?

[Somehow it is not the most bizarre thing this man does not appear to be very much worried about it.]

[photophobic]

[Kylo, of course, prefers terms like magnificent and ominous to depressing, so it's fortunate Jaskier hasn't made that particular assessment aloud. He looks more puzzled than anything by the question.]

Everything here is on fire.

[Which... isn't really an answer, but why would Kylo ever be pedestrian enough for that?

Anyway, Jaskier may be feeling the heat coming through the soles of his shoes by now. This part of the mountain is still young.]

[cointosser]

[That horrible sense of being overly literal hurts his heart for a moment. Everything is, rather, on fire. Which does not seem like the way things should be, especially people.

Why... is he not bothered by this? Fire is destructive. And cliché, which is even worse. All this darkness. Even the skies above are no longer sunny, nor blue. He misses the blue of Hemera's land, actually, but one cannot sit still forever. One cannot soak in only the same experiences.]

And you like that sort of thing? [He raises his eyebrows and, brushing his chin, then waggles them. Ah, wait. He's sort of putting things together here. What sort of man would be enamored with fire snapping across his skin. Ooh, that's certainly... different.

He glances down. Right. Everything is on fire, and his boots are beginning to feel the warmth. Hmm. It does bring to question what would happen if that fire reaches him, which he is not quite so eager to see... but also is terribly curious.

He reaches forward for the man's arm, fire or not. He can't help himself. Like putting a cat near a lit stove.]

Kind of prompt 3, kind of wildcard? lmk if this is ok!

[stealsthetruth]

[It took Kay a while to get her domain set up. Losing all memory of past relationships really threw her for a loop upon waking here, what with her sense of self tied so intrinsically to experiences shared with the people she cares about. But after doing a fair bit of traveling around the Horizon, interacting with the other people here, she has finally regained her footing psychologically, and found the confidence needed to build a space to call her own.

What she has created seems like a regular mountainous pine forest from the outside. It's misty, and quiet... Very atmospheric. Up ahead, there's even a glimpse of a Japanese castle visible through the trees, perched up on a hillside.

It might seem like an excellent destination for a wandering caravan to visit. However, there's something lurking in the woods. Watching. Waiting...

The ground trembles. There's the deafening crack of splintering wood as trees are plowed aside. A 30ft tall cow-like kaiju sprints out into the path ahead of the caravan, screeches to a halt, winds up, and lets out a monstrous bellow in everyone's faces that seems to shake the very air.

The creator of the creature is nowhere to be seen, but rest assured, she's here and she's watching. She's just looking to see what kind of reaction she gets out of her visitors before revealing herself.]

of course!!

[cointosser]

[This domain may as well have been a honey pot and Jaskier a freefloating, thirsty bee. The cool mist of the mountains, giving them an ancient, mysterious air -- and the peeking of an architecture that, even with memories, would be completely foreign to him. The beauty of it! And the solitary nature! How he couldn't simply take it in as it is... or leave it alone.

The chances of meeting another interesting character like Geralt or Alucard are far too enticing to ignore.]

Keep your eyes on the prize, ladies! We're heading straight --

[All of the performers' heads dart around, mimicking Jaskier, as his eyes grow wider. The horses begin stamping and whimpering, attempting to back up until their rumps are hitting the wagon.] What the fu --

[Jaskier screams as the monster breaks through the treeline, and the scream is more than loud enough to echo across the mountains. He curls up, hands up around his head to protect him, only peeking out between the crook of his elbow as his heart hammers.

The roar echoes, much louder than his own sound.

He blinks. Neither of them move. As the final echo of both scream and roar die, a silence replaces them, with all of the performers and himself ready to jet at the first opportune moment.

And yet. Curiousity killed the cat... but certainly satisfaction brought him back.

Gods, does Jaskier live for the satisfaction.

He slowly lowers an arm, looking this way and that, a leg lowering from the protective ball he'd turned into on his wagon cushion. Instead of ordering them all to get the fuck out of there, immediately, he hesitates. His voice warbles slightly as he speaks:]

Er... excuse us?

[stealsthetruth]

[A bright and cheery voice rings out through the trees, making it impossible to pinpoint the source right away:]

Haha! Wow, that was a pretty impressive scream for someone who's apparently not actually that afraid of monsters!

[At last, the girl makes herself known, clambering up to stand proudly atop the kaiju's head. She's been clinging to the back of the beast's neck this whole time, hanging on tight to its ruddy colored mane. Now she stands tall between the horns, dressed the part of a heroic masked thief, hands on her hips, ninja scarf flowing dramatically in the wind.]

...I think this is the part where your ordinary run-of-the-mill petty highway thief would say something like, "your money or your life!", but I'm not really interested in that sort of thing. Hi! I'm Kay. What brings out to my neck of the woods? Did I scare you at least a little bit?

[cointosser]

[If anything was to happen in this moment, expecting to be chided by a woman's voice was not what Jaskier, necessarily, would've chosen. He jerks his arms down and stares at the monster, very sure the voice did not come from it. Which means --

The woods.

Oh. Wonderful. He smooths his doublet down, his hair, and --

Glares. Not the woods, then. What the fuck? Who in their right mind makes something so... unpleasant?]

I'd be stupid not to be afraid of something that large that could eat me, thank you! I don't need your commentary.

[Unfortunately for a fantasy-Polish bard, the ninja theme doesn't quite stick. And the bandits he's met in his time have been mostly stinking, lumbering thugs with jugs of ale. She is decidedly many things that are not that.

Jaskier clears his throat, easing back into the sense of comfort he'd had before. The white wolf, having poked his head out of the wagon door behind him, settles back down to rest. Apparently there's not danger here.] You, in fact, did not scare me. Your grotesque lizard did, so I think you have him to thank for any sense of amusement on your part. And at any rate, what sort of thief dresses like a runaway circus performer?

[He has to insult her for having frightened him as a trick. It's an automatic response.] I'm not sure you deserve to know, but, fuck it. Jaskier. Not at your service, your woods or not. I am exploring. And you're blocking the way.