abraxaslogs | [OPEN] cold wind blowing beneath my wings

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[OPEN] cold wind blowing beneath my wings

WHO: Estinien Wyrmblood and YOU
WHAT: Estinien is back in the real world and not particularly happy about it, at least until he manages to meditate his way into the Horizon again. Meanwhile, his cellmate Relena goes missing and he gets very angry about it.
WHERE: In prison and also the Horizon.
WHEN: From July 24th to August 12th
NOTES: If you'd like something more specific with Estinien feel free to hit me up on the Discord or at

quixocalypse.

I➔ And Back Again

The descent from the Horizon feels akin to being summoned back to a dead body, both in terms of power and relative comfort. The aches and pains of his imprisonment return with merciless acuity. While his energy had been boundless in that higher realm, here it is reduced to scraps as the ravages of hunger and exhaustion weigh down on him. It's the contrast itself that is the most jarring, along with the fact that he wakes up in shackles.

Yes, the fear that had been haunting his subconscious his entire stay in the Horizon has come back into context. This is what he'd been desperate to escape, and now that he's returned to it, he feels no less dread. Even worse is the fact that Ambrose seems perfectly chuffed with himself for what they've experienced.

Upon being returned to prison, he wonders what it was all for. Any connection to the power of the Horizon seems to be gone, and given that somehow accessing the Singularity was his one hope of escape, their return leaves him in a rather dire mood. To make matters worse, it seems that the guards haven't forgotten about his aggression on the way to the portal, and also on the way back. They decide to deny him food entirely on his first day back to his cell. He should be glad he's not been simply put back into solitary, something in his gut says.

The atmosphere around him is one of miserable defeat, during those first few days back in prison. Even during the recreational hours, his accumulated frailty can be seen. As much as he tries to flex his muscles, he soon finds himself slumping against the rec yard wall. He's tired, starving, and clinging more and more tenuously to any sort of hope. Was the Horizon an escape at all, when it was all according to the High Mage's plan?

II➔ To The Horizon

Fortunately for him, his obsession driven life means he is not one accustomed to giving up for good. It takes only a couple of days before he realizes the futility in surrender - especially when he's hardly explored all his options. The Horizon was something experienced outside the body, was it not? So why not see if the connection remains?

He spends the rest of that day attempting to sink back into the Singularity's power, carefully clearing his thoughts. He is used to stilling his mind from years of being connected to Nidhogg's eye, but it has been a while since such intense concentration was required of him. He's not sure when it happens, but finally, something clicks.

Instead of awakening on his prison mattress, he wakes in a field of rolling grass - and not long after, a pile of snuffling karakul. Everything comes rushing back. He'd remembered his time in the Horizon, but something about experiencing it again reforges the connection between those two states of mind: the mind of the dragon, and the mind of his true self. To think, that all of this had been made by his hand.

He frees himself from the overzealous affection of his flock, a lifetime of memories allowing him to better keep his reflexive fear of them at bay. He wanders the valley for a while, his memories casting all he sees in a new light. What did it mean, that his unshackled soul decided to build this? Was this what he wanted, after everything? He comes along the long bit of housing within his domain, a single-family household carefully crafted of timber, but left completely empty inside. For all the time he'd spent in the valley, he spent little time dwelling on this creation. He thinks he can understand, the emptiness of its walls resonating with a similar emptiness in his heart.

He traces his fingers along the windows, across the door, but he doesn't dare open it. Instead, he decides he'd rather go somewhere else.

Without his memories, he hadn't been particularly curious about other people's domains, mostly interested in his own creations and keeping them safe. Now, though, a lifetime of experiences draws him to the outside world. He wonders if anyone else has reawakened to this place. He traverses the Horizon on foot this time, and occasionally in soaring leaps and bounds that are nearly akin to flying. Yet, he summons no wings. He can't imagine he made a particularly good impression on anyone, the way he was before.

III➔ The Weight of Absence (Aug 5+)

And then, some days later, Relena is taken.

He doesn't know the meaning of it, at first. The guards simply come to remove her from the cell, saying it's for some manner of 'trial', and she goes, with nothing he or Himeka could do to stop it. He demands answers at the time, shouting at the guards, but receives none. Initially, he wonders if she'll be freed, much like Kay was. It'd make sense, he thinks. If the trial was just, he could see no reason for her to be put in solitary or anywhere else, and he knows she has at least one friend on the outside.

Yet, when he doesn't hear anything from her in the coming days, he can no longer rely on that hopeful thought. Kay has been allowed to come and go, just like the other guests. Would Relena not have come to speak to them, after being freed? If not for him, for Himeka or the others?

As each day passes, his frustration and worry increases. He'll start attempting to flag down any passing guests, asking if they have seen her amount the others upstairs. On the way to recreation, he will check to be sure she hasn't simply changed cells, and ask around the other prisoners.

"Relena - the girl from my cell, with the long sandy hair - the guards have taken her somewhere. Have you seen her?"

With fewer and fewer kind possibilities in his mind, he'll start turning his aggression to the guards, shouting at them to ask for her location, and trying to grab at them through the bars when they inevitably ignore him. Finally, he manages to catch sight of a guard he thinks he recognizes from the day she disappeared. He manages to catch them by the arm, dragging them back against the bars of the cell.

"Where is the girl?" he snarls.

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Of course, Jaskier's whole plan had been to... err, all right, in retrospect he had not really put too much thought into this plan, but at least he had not meant to wake him up in any sort of rude manner.

Except when he does wake, Jaskier feels rather like he's been caught in the wife's bed with his knickers off.

"Ahh!" He starts, jerking his hand on the strings so the vibrations stop. "Gods, you scared me." That much is obvious. Still, the waking hadn't exactly been peaceful. No fault of his. His music was wonderful. So he moves on quickly. "Er, yes. Hello. I see you remember. As do I."

Simply to get it out of the way. It appears that's the pattern so far. That they remember.

He bows over his lute in the ease of someone who has done it many a time. How funny to think that, after all they'd been through there, that names had never been of important. "Jaskier, my lord. Lovely to see you again. I almost didn't recognize you."

In Jaskier's defense, Estinien had primarily startled himself awake - or, at least, his brush with the Horizon had. As his consciousness begins to settle, he also realizes that beginning this meeting with "you" might be coming on a little strong. Yet, what else was he meant to call him, when they had never exchanged names? His other self had just not been that concerned with it.

Convenient as it is to think of that being as something separate from himself, he knows that's not the case. If anything, it has been the consolidation of fragmented parts, working off of lingering instincts from both himself and Nidhogg, with no memories to put them into context. He doesn't know if he should be ashamed, or embarrassed, or any number of other things, to have the curious mingling of his soul be so nakedly displayed.

He certainly would have made different choices with the weight of experience guiding him. Especially now that he can easily source the turbulent emotions that had fueled that day in the valley.

The bard - Jaskier, apparently - in contrast, seems very much the same.

Estinien crosses his arms around himself, trying to decide how best to deal with this. Does he need to explain himself? Perhaps not. They all underwent the same thing. Yet, their encounter had been... intimate... in a way others had not. What must this man think of him? He genuinely doesn't know. He has no pressing reason to care, and yet...

"Estinien Wyrmblood," he manages, the most straightforward thing he can say. "I was..." Not myself? It'd be a lie. "I'm finding it complicated to explain."

Even to himself. Is that really what his own subconscious thinks he should be? Is that what he is, untempered by lessons learned?

Oh, dear. This is going swimmingly; he's long experienced with the language of his audience to know that crossed arms is not, often, a very good reaction. Definitely not towards him. He clears his throat, feeling a bit awkwardly out of place.

It's still certainly better than being swooped down upon and threatened, but Jaskier is not holding that against him. Not now, nor in the... that place.

Wait. Ah. Jaskier tips his head, half a nod, then waves a hand through the air before he places it back on the lute's strings.

"You needn't explain." Not to say he isn't terribly bloody curious, but considering the elf is certainly an elf and nothing more, one could make assumptions. Guesses. Educated guesses. It's only a hint of confusion, really, because he expected him to be the same as Himeka. Simply shaped differently. Another dragon. "Ah, so you really are Himeka's friend. The grouchy, solitary one. I hadn't been so sure until now." Consider the horns and scales. Clearly. He smiles, benign. "Believe me, I share no intimate understanding of sheep in this life, either."

He's not exactly surprised, but that doesn't prevent the pang of annoyance he feels. 'Grouchy, solitary one.' Halone, how many people had Himeka spoken to about him? Using those words in particular, no less? They may be accurate, but she could at least give him the chance to make his own first impression, couldn't she?

"Is that what she said of me?" he rumbles, apparently not a huge fan of it. Of course, he knows this is something he invites upon himself - this conversation being no exception. "There isn't much chance to be solitary in this place."

The Horizon, of course, had been the exception, where he had really lived up to his label as 'The Hermit'. This is so frustrating.

Somehow that explanation has made him even more dour? Honestly!

Jaskier squats down beside the bars, removing his lute from around his shoulders, leaning it against himself. "It was said with much affection, you know. Enough so that I mistook your description for a companion of my own." Which also makes Jaskier completely perplexed by the idea a cantankerous man might be made even more so by such an accurate description.

But like with his equally grouchy Witcher friend, Jaskier has seen the squishy, soft heart underneath. Even if the Horizon was not the reality in every way, it certainly was... insightful. A man who should risk his life simply to save the denizens of his domain. "Hold it not against her. Before the..." He gestures vaguely through the air, representing the Horizon. "She was looking for you quite frantically."

Gods allow Jaskier to be the last person to split up such an interesting relationship.

Jaskier's smile towards him is a bit teasing. Actually, he can see why Himeka may like him. It seems he may be easy to do so. "Besides, I'm quite aware now that isn't all there is to you." Jaskier, of course, doesn't find he was different himself. Apparently he did not have interesting enough facets of his personality to... become a dragon. His smile lessens, and he becomes a hint more serious. It's accurate to say that some of the most important information he's gathered had been from the she-dragon. "She told me of your escapades. I have to admit, I'm surprised to find there's no expectation of your upcoming execution, but also quite relieved to find that's so."

It would take a lot more than that to turn him against Himeka, if he ever could be. When it comes down to it, futile annoyance is really the only defense he has against her, such is the pull of her presence - after everything they've done and everything they've seen. He's not able to stay angry about it for long, especially with Jaskier making it easy to imagine the way she would have said it.

His expression softens, and while his arms do stay folded around him, it seems more of a habitual, protective gesture than anything he's directing at Jaskier in particular. He can take a bit of teasing, when it comes down to it.

"I had expected that to be my fate as well," he admits, willing to be a bit more candid now. After all, it sounds like there's little that Jaskier hasn't already heard about or witnesses himself. "And it seems I bore that anxiety into the Singularity's presence. I felt as if I was being hunted, with little idea why."

He wants to give some kind of explanation for his early, aggressive behaviour, when he now knows full well that Jaskier was doing nothing to harm him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I could remember nothing but vague notions of what felt right and true... was it the same for you?"

It's not quite a laugh, but it's a bit close to a snort, certainly. Ah, a realist. It does bring to question why that Jon's crimes were executable, but an escape attempt was not. Of course they're quite different crimes -- and shouldn't have Ambrose realized his power, anyway? If he was meant to know so much about them?

Hmm.

Ah. A feeling of being hunted. That certainly explains some things -- as why he might think a bard trying to save a sheep was instead trying to harm it. Eventually he sits, because the conversation is a fascinating one and Estinien has not bid him to fuck off quite yet (which is basically an invitation to stay for him.)

"Granted, your neighbors had a bit of a rude streak. I visited some of them." At the question, he nods, putting the lute into his lap and cradling it. It is far from the beloved instrument he played at home, but there's a sense of comfort in this one: at least it is real.

"Yes. I knew... things weren't right, that the world was not so small. But it was an unsettling feeling that never sat long with me, as if it couldn't stick." But it did reoccur, more and more often, as time went on. "And now I'm back here with nary an extra hair on my chin. And yet... time has passed. Since we were there." He strums a single string. "I've never been familiar with magic, but this is something else entirely." He looks back up, watching Estinien's eyes. "Were you trying to reach it again?"

There are definitely some people he met in the Horizon that he will struggle not to spit vitriol at if he sees them in the real world. He knows that the lack of memories may have affected them as well, but all the same, their interactions have left a strong impression. He snorts in agreement. 'Rude streak' was putting it lightly, for some.

Besides... he thinks what one did with their domain says a lot about them, based on his own experiences if nothing else. His valley definitely exposed tender things about his priorities that he otherwise might have kept hidden, for better or for worse.

He glances down the hall, looking for guards. When he speaks, it's quiet in a way that suggests he's trying to keep it private.

"I was. It was... my first chance to reclaim what has been taken from me here. If I could somehow access its power again, I thought..."

He shakes his head. Even he isn't sure. It feels as if Ambrose has accounted for their connection to it - is there anything he could do that would defy Ambrose's preparations?

"It felt as a dream, but 'twas nothing so simple. The Singularity's power is greater than any I have experienced."

Estinien is certainly a hair more cognizant of potentially listening ears than his companion Himeka was, which is both stifling and a bit refreshing. There are others who take this divide seriously. And others, Jaskier already knows, that he would be beyond thrilled to aid in their escape. He remains with his priorities, but surely... if there is to be an escape, it will not be one or two prisoners again. He suspects they've learned that lesson.

Jaskier nods as he listens, but continues to pluck the strings to cover over the quiet conversation. Like he said: practicing.

"I feel the same. Though I believe mine was much more simple, speaking in terms of dreams." The rhythm coming from his lute is thoughtless, veering towards the song he'd performed for those creatures. The sheep. A dream, and yet he could still feel the wool on their bodies. The life returning to one of them. "I feel the connection as well, but I fear it. Knowing this is exactly what they wanted."

Estinien bore his heart in Horizon; it's not so equal an exchange as Jaskier feels he owes him something small in return. "There's something else, though. I'm not sure what. Something beyond that connection." Would the prisoners understand? They have no magic. Though it's fair to think they could have magic before coming here; before it was stolen away. Similar to Geralt. Jaskier simply knows something is different with his magic. A different flow. A string waiting to be plucked. "Something I returned with. Do you feel it, too?"

Jaskier admitting that he fears the Singularity is interesting to him. It's honest, which he appreciates. Estinien also fears that this is only playing into Ambrose's hands, but he's had hope that the Singularity may be interacted with outside of the High Mage's control. After all, how could someone unable to even touch the thing be completely sure of its limitations? What if they could surprise him?

Estinien pauses to consider if anything has felt different. Some things on other people have certainly looked different.

"I've seen some return with... differences. Horns, additional eyes, things of the like." He closes his eyes, trying to open his senses. As usual, there's nothing.

"But, being down here... anything else has been locked away. There's a part of me that has been cut off, since the High Mage ensorcelled me. Whatever he's done... nothing has filled the absence. At least, not outside of the Singularity's realm." He exhales.

"I can feel the presence of the thing... where it is, even if I can't see it. Yet... any of the power I felt while in its presence is gone." He looks up at Jaskier, searching. "But for you... without the Mage's interference, that feeling remains?"

Jaskier blinks several times, jerking his gaze back to the elf's face. "Excuse me? Additional eyes?"

Now, horns feels sort of reasonable in comparison to that. "What does that even --" He holds up a hand. "You know, nevermind. I assume I'll find out myself soon enough, with my sort of luck." Or his luck of late, which, you know, hasn't been swell. And he imagines it's only going to get worse.

He thought they had been at a precipice with the peace of Thorne before they knew they were here to be used with the Singularity's magic. How much could the tides shift now?

He nods, quieter again. Like Geralt, then, as he'd been afraid of. It isn't simply the Witcher nor his friends. And his attempts at sending the birds he's practiced creating so well down here have come to naught. Some sort of barrier in the prisons, but some other magic affecting the prisoners themselves. Even now, when they were successful.

Jaskier hmms as he thinks while Estinien continues. Ah. Something is coming together, but knowing it won't give any sort of edge, will it? "Unfortunately I had no magic before this place, but I have it now, unhindered as it was before this event, yes. I'm thinking that, perhaps in lieu of... of additional eyes, that the experience granted me a different magic. I've no idea what it is, though. I simply... feel it. As steadily as I still feel the connection to the Singularity itself." He sucks his teeth, frustrated. "I know this is some experiment to them, but outside of testing the effects of our interaction with that monolith was the goal, I can't quite grasp what ambition drives Ambrose so."

Estinien just shrugs his shoulders to Jaskier's complaints about the eyeballs - he's honestly not sure himself, it was just hard to miss seeing when everyone was dragged back to the dungeons. Besides that, the woman with the horns has been sitting down there with them nigh constantly despite being a guest, so it's all been quite the spectacle.

He's glad that he didn't come back looking like he was in the Horizon, or anything like that. Though some things feel slightly different, maybe sharper teeth or shaper nails, he's not suddenly grown a tail or scales. The idea of such a thing happening still fills him with anxiety, even after all that's happened. There shouldn't be anything wrong with the parts of him that are dragonish... but some emotions are hard to shake.

"...He wants power," Estinien says, thinking the answer is simple enough. "He and his people cannot claim it for themselves, so they want those that can. From those he's selected based on his criteria to follow Thorne's ambitions, I expect he wants soldiers who will follow his will independently."

He still doesn't know what traits Ambrose has been specifically looking for, but...

"As for us prisoners... I suspect the answer may be even less desirable. If Ambrose has such control of the power we arrived with... whose to say there isn't more he can take? If there was no way for him to control the magic I've been touched with... why would I have been permitted to gain it? For what other reason would I still be alive?"

"Mayhap he leeches from me, even now..."

It never feels that simple, yet it truly could be. Power always does this to men. Why should another sphere change such a well-proven theme? Sometimes that's all it comes down to.

Estinien's prediction is grim, but it's a fair one. Even as his heart squeezes tight in his chest, he knows it's the truth. There's a reason to keep the prisoners here -- surely they would have been gotten rid of, thrown back to their worlds, instead of this. All this trouble. Ensuring they, too, had the same powers as the guests.

"That may be true." The fingers that rub together on his hand now clip and bite with the precisely-cut squares of nails. "But nonetheless, there are those who are working to make sure you aren't sucked dry. Er. So to speak." He indicates himself with a gesture of his hand. Even though he has... no idea how to do it. It won't stop him. He has Geralt to worry about, on top of his. His new friends. "It's a foolish wish to have hope at this point, but it's all we have right now."

The curl of his lips is a bit cheeky, having the suspicion that Estinien is not the hopeful type. "All right, it's all a bit hopeless, but I'd rather not believe that. Not completely."

The lesson in Horizon carries itself here, too. There was no reason to be satisfied with the idea that all hope is lost.

He's certainly been trying to be more hopeful, but he's also been one to abide by what evidence has been presented. There's a benefit to that, to thinking based on what you experience and not what you already feel, but it's also much harder to power through a situation that seems to be throwing them no bones at all. Blind faith is not something he's ever had, no matter how zealous his people had a reputation for being.

Yet, it frustrates him that the only things he has on his tongue are worries and doubts. Jaskier is clearly putting in some emotional labour here, and honestly, Estinien hates feeling as if he needs to be consoled. There's value in honestly, of course, and he would rarely hold his tongue when the truth could be at all constructive, but right now... what good does it do, to lament the inescapable?

He refuses to be needlessly burdensome.

"Jaskier," he says after a length of silence, listening to the bard's rambling tunes. The word is savoured on his tongue for a moment, having remembered it correctly the first time. "Would you tell me of yourself? It seems only fair."

An incredibly broad question that he had asked of himself not long ago. Karmically, he feels less shame in pawning it onto someone else. Especially someone who seems more willing to talk.

Jaskier blinks. That is... not the response he's expected. His notes come freely still, though one string is misplucked only for the second it takes him to stop its vibrations, killing it.

Somehow, in all of his time here, as the nooses, metaphorically, grow tighter round their necks -- how strange, he thinks, to realize no one has asked him such a simple question yet. And he has never asked it in return. The truth of the matter is Jaskier knows his ability to quite literally spill out all the interesting tidbits about himself in the first conversation would often prevent such a simple request.

He keeps playing, flipping a bit of hair back out of his eye with a movement of his head. Hmm. He likes the way Estinien says his name, pausing over it. It doesn't really matter why. "Why, I'd be delighted. Now that I have the mind to."

But what to start with? Usually he isn't a fool running around saving sheep from wildfires. (Except it did make him look rather heroic, didn't it?) He misses them a little. The valley and the animals. But he does enjoy his head full of memories much more.

"As you may have guessed, I'm a bard. Where I come from, I would travel the Continent, bespelling audiences with my adventurous tales of the Witcher." He plays the chorus of Toss a Coin, which comes as second-nature as breathing, he's played it so many fucking times. "I made a name for myself there. My songs spread all over. And then... I come here, and no one's ever heard of me. Hah! I thought that was my biggest problem." He clears his throat. Right, avoiding the hopelessness. "Every spring I would make a trip to Toussaint. Lovely little duchy cradled in a mountain valley. Where we met, you know, it reminded me of Toussaint. Beautiful, rolling hills. The loveliest wine I've ever tasted. Warm beds and wonderful company."

He winks. "And then in the summer, I would follow the Witcher on some contract to kill a -- a firedrake or something. Cockatrices. Ooh. Nasty fellows, when that was the monster of the week. Always stood quite a ways back from those ones."

Estinien raises his eyebrow as he's not entirely sure what the wink was for, but the story checks out otherwise. Well, besides from the back that as far as he knows, a 'cockatrice' is a particularly fat poultry bird akin to a chicken. At this point, fortunately, he can imagine it is referring to something else. Though, he does wonder what a cockatrice large enough to be a threat would look like, as the idea is innately funny to him.

A firedrake is familiar enough - though he wonders if that's meant to refer to a type of dragon? He has some other theories based on Jaskier's world and companions that would make that seem unlikely.

"Twas the image of my homeland, that I made in the Horizon," he says, in regards to his valley. "Or at least my youthful memories of it." He won't get into how that idyllic image has since been utterly destroyed by calamitous climate change. That's not the point right now. "Seems I would enjoy a visit to 'Toussaint' as well. Especially right now."

Even the name sounds like something from his people. How strange.

"This Witcher, though... is he someone I would recognize?"

He's seen Jaskier and his white-haired friend interact plenty of times by now, given how often it seems the bard has had him dragged out of the dungeons for some reason or another. 'Geralt of Rivia' he now knows, after having spoken to him. He just plainly seems like the type.

Edited 2021-08-12 18:31 (UTC)

"Oh, was it?" Prior to the fires, he imagines, and because he wants to now more without depressing the poor elf anymore, he doesn't bring those up. "It was absolutely lovely. A very homey feel."

Youthful memories can say a lot for an elf. Is it rude to ask one how old they are? Probably. His experiences with elves and their culture are extremely limited. And if Estinien does not recognize Toussaint, he cannot imagine he's from the Continent. Even elves would have heard of Toussaint.

Though that does make him wonder if Estinien's valley was once what Dol Blathanna, in its full glory, looked like.

Jaskier gives a little laugh. It is laughable, the idea that anyone shouldn't know who the Witcher is. But, of course, all that fucking work only exists on the Continent. Not here. Still. "I imagine you've seen him. Hard to miss. Gwynbleidd, as your people would call him." The Elder Speech slips off his tongue easily; that name, at least, he's learned to pronounce well. He's had little time lately to practice his Elder, the language of the elves. "Geralt of Rivia. Long white hair, gold eyes, lots of scars. Stuck down here with the rest of you." He skips the part where Himeka's description of Estinien is exactly how he would describe Geralt. "He's a bit abrasive at first, but I assure you, his heart is made of solid gold." He pauses. "But gods, don't let him know I said that."

His people, huh? That word certainly isn't one of Ishgard's. It sounds more like a Sea Wolf than anything else. He thinks that Jaskier may be confused.

"I did speak to him," he says. "He seemed a good man." Along with that, their conversation had guided him towards certain other deductions. "Sorry to disappoint, but it also seems we're from different stars entirely. That word means nothing to me."

He shrugs a shoulder.

"I hail from Eorzea, upon the star of Hydaelyn. Geralt mentioned your world hosts dragons as well, but that they are so few in number they are oft thought of as myths. That is far from the truth in my home. Though they too suffer for the cruelty of mankind, they are vast in number and shape."

There are some things that are simply too unique to Eorzea for him to mistake them - and dragons are the thing he knows the most about.

"In turn, I've never heard of a Witcher - nor a 'Gwynbleidd'." He pronounces it badly.

Jaskier's brows rise. Gods, it's strange to hear that. A good man. Rare, if anyone, has ever described Geralt like that to him. It's... almost refreshing. It's no longer necessary to defend the Witcher's reputation just to sell a song. To Estinien, he must be only another poor lout stuck behind bars.

"A star?" Oh. Oh, like a sphere. Different worlds, different words, all amounting to the same thing. He nods, a sigh slipping out. "Fascinating, isn't it? To be from places that would never touch, yet still find familiarities?"

He wishes he had all the time in the world to explore that fact alone, not to waste all his time planning an escape from a kingdom he still knows little of. "Ah, yes. It makes sense that the elves I am familiar with are not the same as your sort." He does his best not to wince at the pronunciation. "Literally translated, it's white wolf in their tongue. His moniker. Well, mine, technically, for him. I mean, I came up with it."

He always has to add that little tidbit. "Can you tell me more of Hydaelyn? Is it like... like here? With kingdoms and castles and the like?" Now he remembers things like cities and states, things Phoenix mentioned that he cannot really grasp. And even then, Phoenix could not define them, either.

Estinien does think it's fascinating, though he's also been aware there were other worlds for a while now. Between the First and the Dragonstar, there's all kinds of places out there. That part of this transition wasn't the most surprising.

He offers a tiny snort. "I only knew of a 'Black Wolf' in my world." He can see it fitting Geralt, though. There's a certain nobility to that sort of a title. Ultimately, a decent choice.

"A difficult question, but I can try," he says. "I'm never sure what qualities as news in this place." What was universal, what was world-specific, what was something he took for granted about his own home that applies literally nowhere else. There are so many things he could say about Hydaelyn, he doesn't even know where to start. He decides ot begin where he did, in Ishgard.

"Aye. There are kingdoms and city-states much like this one... from what little of it I've seen, at least." He hasn't been allowed to tour Castle Thorne all that much. "I was born in a nation called Coerthas, led by the city-state of Ishgard. Magicks were common as well, though not quite as... oppressive, as the High Mage's activities. I was told that magic here is stronger than more other realms."

"It's actually not the first time I've heard of someone being summoned to another realm by a sorcerer seeking aid... the last one was much more polite, though, from all reports. Apologetic, too."

He holds back commentary on that -- Black Wolf just feels a bit too foreboding. Or perhaps that what its owner was going for? It's much more worth it to be silent to learn of different worlds. It is absolutely fascinating. If there's anything he hopes to pull from the people he meets here, it's stories of their worlds.

The Horizon, of course, was perfect for that. He's already learned so much! But he -- that one is not worth it. Not now.

Jaskier's plucking of his strings is much more distracted now, listening and setting up what he thinks it may look at in his mind's eye. Luckily, Estinien is a bit more descriptive than Geralt, but still... lacking.

Hmm. Well, at least he'd had a peek inside his head.

"Really?" He looks up with a hint of humor. "Apologetic? We'd be so lucky." Ambrose was quite pleased with himself, after all, and had offered absolutely no apology for bringing them here. Or... okay, he may have at first, but Jaskier had been naked and confused and not been paying attention, exactly. "I've known of magic, but it's the rare sort that can use it, and it's a talent that must be trained. I'm not sure if this sort of... this sort of magic would've been possible, even from the highest of sorcerers. And now they give it to anyone around here! As if it's a free bag of sweets."

Ah, that might come off badly considering... well, there was certainly no magic down here. (Jaskier had made his attempts.) He moves on without acknowledging it. "And what need had this sorcerer to seek aid in the same way?" Because if he hears it was about another large magic catastrophe about to happen that would wipe out all life -- and that this has happened more than once -- he might scream.

Luckily for Jaskier, Estinien just snorts at the comment about sweets. It does seem that way, with how casually it's a part of everything. Most people can do some manner of magic in his world, even if it's expressed primarily through the body. At least, anybody that has much fortune taking up the sword.

Unluckily, Hydaelyn pretty closely resembles the exact sort of tale he doesn't want to hear about - though maybe it doesn't count if it's only for a handful of worlds instead of all of them. Estinien hesitates, as one does when trying to think of how to summarize a long story.

"Tis... a complicated thing," he begins. He doesn't know if Jaskier will have much patience for him explaining the various mechanics that caused all their problems, but he guesses he'll start as simply as he can. "I wasn't present for most of it, so my descriptions may leave something to be desired - but, 'twas a conflict resulting from the... origin of our star's current form." He sighs. He's really not a fan of this story himself.

"Allegedly, there was once only one realm to our star... a world inhabited by godlike beings that could shape the world around them, not unlike our experience in the Horizon. However, some cosmological tragedy caused that world to be torn asunder... split into fourteen shards, each of which then developed their own distinct cultures and territories. Copies of each other, essentially, identical at first but then allowed by time to grow differently."

This is how Alphinaud had explained it, at least.

"The people of that original realm were also divided, their power split as many ways as their world. My home, as I know it, is what was left in the aftermath. Fine enough, I'd say - if not for a collection of beings from that progenitor world, their power intact, desperate to rejoin those disparate parts at the cost of all the new life that had taken root on them."

This is all very heavy, you see - but Estinien seems to speak of it with less than total reverence.

"At any rate... one of the other 'shards' was close to being wiped out entirely. If it had, the resulting magickal... confluence, would have brought about nigh apocalyptic damage to our shard as well. So, a wizard took it upon himself to summon Himeka, and those most bound to her by fate, across the void between shards to help resolve the issue."

He pauses, and then adds as an afterthought:

"She succeeded, for what it's worth. Only for this whole mess to pull her away not long after."

For someone who barely takes a breath when he talks, Jaskier manages to be silent during the story, his legs folded underneath him, playing the lute as if to give the tale a bit of background spice. Or, at least, to appear as if he was still here to entertain... or to practice.

It takes a bit of mental finagling, separating realm from star. To Jaskier, the concepts would be the same, seeing as they barely understand stars themselves. Stars are untouchable, often explained by faith as spirits, and others as -- well, as something to guide one's way through the sky.

This sundering, though -- how curious. It does not reflect what Jaskier has been taught, but is almost its direct opposite. Instead of the Conjunction, it is the Sundering... separation instead of the worlds crashing together.

At the end of it, he's not even sure what to make of it. His fingers have tangled a few times, the notes sharp. "Ah," is what he falls upon at first, because that sort of runs a bit too closely to what he was afraid of -- more cataclysms. Apparently everyone is always on the edge of a bloody cataclysm. No matter what the sphere.

After a moment, he adds, "So you're being harassed by a few gods who can't cope?" That's definitely what he gets from this. Well, fuck it. What's a god when you've made a few friends with inter-plane sorcerers?

Wait a moment. "Wait. Er. You're saying Himeka is... is some sort of a hero? Where she comes from?"

That...

Huh.

Estinien lets out a raspy laugh. It definitely feels like being harassed at this point - every other season some new disaster is happening because of the Ascians. It had seemed like it was drawing to a close with the reported deaths of the Unsundered, but now one of their underlings is enacting their most bewildering stunt yet.

When to comes to Himeka, though, that smirk fades - not because he's angry, or unhappy, but in a displacement of earnestness. As he answers Jaskier's doubts, it's with a deeply genuine sort of reverence.

"Aye," he says. "In our world, she is called the Warrior of Light. The greatest hero of our star, and seemingly its only hope against the Ascian's end of days."

It's only after he says that, that he allows some humour back into his expression, though it's matched by his quiet fondness.

"...I know she may come across as simple, shorn as she is of her accomplishments, but she is unsurpassed in the healing arts, taught by the elementals themselves. She's bested gods innumerable times and championed dragons. Mayhap it stands to reason that it seems unlike her, and yet all she has done is born from an uncomplicated desire to help all those that cross her path."

He imagines he must be right on the money with that. And gods, Estinien has a bit of a shit laugh, but there's heart in it as well. He is, once again, a bit glad that the elf in reality is quite a bit less intense than his... well, the literal manifestation of his ego?

And more talkative for the white-haired man Jaskier had first mistaken tales of him for.

He chokes on his next breath, coughing to clear his throat. "I -- I'm sorry, you said the greatest? The greatest hero? On a -- on a whole sphere?"

Oh, there's follow-up to that. Thank the gods.

Nevermind. It doesn't really explain everything.

"I do understand the concept of a hero being rather morally good. Selfless, like you said." It's also that he's never considered heroes -- not in the stories he knows, the wealth of them -- to be small draconic women who inhale wheels of cheese.

Not that there was a thing wrong with that.

"You know, you make it sound as if besting gods is a side job for her. Ah! I'm imagining it. The sort of world that has gods running around like pests, sticking their noses into -- now that I think about it, that does sounds like most gods I know." Perhaps that remains true even here, where the gods are forgotten and often have no names. Perhaps they, too, were pests. "I'll take your word as honest, then. I don't feel as if you're a man whose admiration is easily won."

Just a guess.

Also, it'd be really helpful to know someone who was quite willing to help and a healer. Simply as an added bonus.

[OPEN] cold wind blowing beneath my wings

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round it up here?