![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abraxas:: INBOX
Inbox
» action
» text
» Horizon
To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
no subject
As if living on the Continent was a day job. Er. Perhaps in some ways, it was.
He stirs the pot of heated chocolate and milk, breathing in its sweet scent.]
I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. [He pours the heated drink into two mugs, rather carefully, which rattle together as he lays them at the table.] Even if I feel like my fucking head will erupt from it all. I -- to start, do you even know of any shapeshifters who can stop time? Walk across spheres? Is that even possible?
[Possibly stupid question, considering where they are right now.] She wasn't a dopple, I'm quite sure of that. I've never met a dopple with a right hook that painful.
no subject
What makes you think she walked across spheres?
[ Stopping time is one thing. Walking across spheres is another talent completely. He doesn't know what Jaskier saw, but if there is something else other than Ciri that can open the doors between spheres or access the monolith's power, then...
(The Wild Hunt?)
He has to wonder. How much do these memories of their time on the Continent impact what happens here? In Abraxas. Between fluxes in time and gaps in memories, what does it mean? Why grant them these memories? ]
no subject
Well, to be fair, she simply said she's done it, but after she changed her form three times, and stopped time, and saved my life, and made plants grow out of a sword, I simply decided not to question her about these things too hard, considering I thought she'd eat me.
And... because we're very aware of other esteemed beasts that can cross spheres, aren't we?
[He rubs his fingers together, drawing them away from his mug and into his lap. Not only themselves and Ciri, of course. Unicorns, if one were to believe the funny rumors. And the Wild Hunt.
The Wild Hunt.]
Anyway, she is not really the important part of the story. She is the storyteller. And oh, let me tell you. It was a hell of a doozy. [Yeah, fuck this. He's taking that whisky bottle again.] There's no point in asking if you know of the Seven, because that's why she came to me. She told me a story, and wanted a song made of it. Now, I'm not in the business of disappointing scary women who can kill me, so I did that. And... well, the Seven are... well, a lot.
[And he explains them, rather concisely, because he doesn't think they're that important, in the long run -- not to Geralt, who only cares about the specific things. But it is when he gets to the elf Eredin that he pauses, rubbing his face. How is he supposed to accept that sort of thing? That the Wild Hunt is led by just another man? Another man who was lost to love?] She told me these fucking sad bastards were trapped in this rather... depressing, dead sphere. A sphere of desolate wastes. And that, in time, as they withered, they did not die. And, apparently, found a bunch of bloody horses or something. Can you believe that? [He laughs, but it is small and short and not with humor.] A bunch of angry, betrayed elves. That's who the Wild Hunt is.
no subject
But the Wild Hunt. That is worth noting.
He rests his fingers on the lip of his mug. His expression is thoughtful, brows furrowed. After a moment, he takes a breath and exhales. ]
When Ciri opened the portal in Kaer Morhen, we fell into a deadened sphere. A wasteland full of dust. I watched Voleth Meir take up her skeletal steed and rejoin the Wraiths of Mörhogg.
[ She had wanted to return to her people. Who were...what. Once elves of the Continent? Is that what she is then? An elf turned wraith through the sands of time?
He leans forward. Jaskier may consider the story hard to believe, and in a sense, it is. But the pieces fit. Elves trapped, monoliths, doorways, Ciri. ]
Ciri tells me she's been running from the Wild Hunt for years. They've pursued her across realms each time she uses her magic to escape. If what you say is true, then they must want her as a key to return home. Reclaim the Continent.
no subject
She called them another name. The Red Riders. I imagine your dead little sphere was a hellhole of red, wasn't it? It did not sound literal, after all, since they're aren't very red. I mean. Per the stories.
[He drinks, mouth cloying with chocolate.] This was twelve hundred years ago, Geralt. That is a long time to crave home again. To go mad with obsession.
[People hardly needed a century for such madness. Let alone centuries of it.
It does fit together. Elves banished from the Continent, from their people, without knowing what has become of them. Without truly knowing what the coming of humanity, of monsters, will do to the home they left.
They should have no idea, should they? That the Continent is nothing like it once was?] There's something else. The elves... well, the monoliths are dwarven creations -- for making fertile fucking soil! Can you believe that? But the elves were using them. They could be used to portal between each other, but not only that. Between spheres. And if Ciri's blood can force portals to form in the monoliths... I fear you're right. That's exactly what they want her for. Ithlinne's prophecy. It all fucking fits together, Geralt. And what is the Singularity if not another bloody monolith?
no subject
He's beginning to understand enough.
They. And what of the elves of the Continent now? Nilfgaard? How the fuck does Nilfgaard fit into the picture? What do they know?
He sighs again. Puts aside the detail about the dwarves and the monoliths for now. He only has so much information he can sift through at a time. ] I know. I believe the Singularity's presence is protecting or shielding Ciri. The Wild Hunt can't seem to penetrate its immense power to locate her in Abraxas.
[ They may in the Free Cities, and he may harbour no lost love for Thorne, but when it comes down to it, his goal remains the same: to preserve the very structure that is the only thing keeping Ciri safe. ]
This world...it's the first time she's been able to stop running.
no subject
[Which isn't much. And he certainly never spoke to any monolith on the Continent. It feels a bit more than coincidence they were pulled into another world using one. It's far too close. It only means the Continent is not the only one with such magicla technology.
For fuck's sake. He really is only a bard. And he still does not know why she chose him, except that is very talented at making those once hated, beloved.
He sets his mug back down, getting up to pace. There is one thing he did not get to yet through the story of the Seven -- the ending, with the storming of the Empress's keep. How it was possible.]
Of course, I think we should stay here. But I do believe you've always insisted that knowing one's enemy is important. [And feeling some misguided pity for the Red Riders, or for the elves, will not change his love for Ciri. He would do anything a bard could to protect her.
And if they should break a prophecy? All the better. That's rather exciting stuff.
Jaskier licks his lips, walking past Geralt. He pauses, then paces again.] There's one other thing. It's... it was the crux of this entire rebellion. Once the Seven discovered they could cross over to other spheres, they... they brought a monster's heart with them. [He stops, and he looks at Geralt, and there is a deep sadness there. The horrid part, he thinks, of what he learned. The worst. This echoing chamber that still holds the cries of children, stained with their splashes of blood and failures. Torn down and replaced with a gilded gold temple.
Jaskier wonders if he should even bring it up, but Geralt himself would say it was his past. Long past. A trial he survived.] They needed a monster to destroy a monster. So they... they made one.
[He sits back down.] From the Trial of the Grasses. And the monster's heart. This elf was the first of his kind. Of your kind.
no subject
He nods. No disagreements. He appreciates the information, no matter how uncertain—how nebulous the source. He shifts, meaning to ask Jaskier if he's all right. If there's any other aspect to the memory that isn't to do with a past long forgotten. If Jaskier was in the midst of some bloody conflict...
He remembers Rience. The fire mage.
Then Jaskier continues. Geralt looks up sharply. ] What?
[ He frowns. No. Is that possible? It isn't impossible. The mages must've based their research and findings on something. A lost ritual. An old science. From the elves? ]
The Trials have never been successful on a grown man. [ That's why they chose children for the process. ] Are you saying...?
[ He hesitates. He's not sure what to think. Some memories do not leave. They only grow dull over the years. And sometimes, they return, vividly, brightly. The ritual forced on him down in that place only months ago—
It's stirred the dust back up. He's tried to put it aside. To simply not talk about it. But he knows Jaskier is close enough to him that he must've noticed his disrupted sleep in those weeks following. A little less so now. ]
no subject
Love is truly the worst of weapons.]
They were successful in that he was what they needed. And he did destroy the empire's monster. But he... I'm afraid he turned into one himself quickly after. [The silence after says enough: that he was put down like a monster himself, too.] But it all sounded the same. They even called it the Trial of the Grasses. Made him imbibe a potion that led to the -- well. [He wrings his hands together.] You know.
It was different enough that he was not, apparently, infertile while it took place. He impregnated the Lark. I don't know what Seanchaí was trying to imply, but this child they had, a mixture of monster and elf, led to some sort of... bloodline, a lineage. Something, I believe, that must be important to the elves. I don't know if it is the same one that leads to hen ichaer, but... I don't know. If you don't want to wish more, it's all right. I'd understand.
no subject
Elder blood. Yes. [ It fits. Doesn't it? ] When Ciri was at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir attempted to replicate the Trials with her blood. The missing ingredient to create more of our kind. I put a stop to it, but...
[ He does not think Vesemir was incorrect in his theory. Only in his actions. In trying to revive what should be laid to rest for good. He doesn't blame Vesemir for being lost in his grief. There's a deep pain in the knowledge that the only way to make more Witchers is to inflict the sort of suffering he wouldn't wish on anyone.
He glances back up, reaching for the whisky. There's probably more liquor than chocolate in his drink by now. He adds another splash. His head fucking hurts. ]
It follows the elf would not have been sterile to start. That facet was introduced by the mages who later created us.
[ For a purpose. Because monsters should not be left to breed amongst their own nor introduce their mutated genes into the population at large. That was the thought. The choices taken away from him run beyond what he was made to become. ]
no subject
How could a man ever do that to children? is the first thought: affronted, confused, even angry. To orphans? To Ciri? To -- well, he won't call her a sweet girl, at least not back then, but she was still only a girl. But the thought that follows is borne of Jaskier's life of watching others, of peeling back their masks, of defining motivations. When Jaskier arrived at Kaer Morhen, there was already a dull veil over the place as if he death had touched them. And there were so few Witchers as it is...
Vesemir did not strike him as a man who did anything lightly. Possibly he was the reason Geralt himself was such a hardass.
Jaskier does not respond. He sits there in the quiet, his drink set aside, fiddling with his fingers and watching Geralt's face. He sees Vesemir in it, to be sure. Certain mannerisms he has long known Geralt to do placed onto the older man. Perhaps ones Geralt himself does not realize he does.
To use Ciri, Geralt's daughter, his Child Surprise, in an attempt to create more Witchers... against her will? Or had Ciri somehow agreed?
There were so many things that happened in that keep that Jaskier does not know, and will likely never know.]
I hadn't realized. [Jaskier stills. He wars between did the mages find a reason? and that certainly sounds like mages, bitter enough to spread their curse to others.] I'm sorry. I don't want to dredge this all up for you, I only -- I thought you might want the history.
no subject
He wonders if Vesemir ever saw Ciri grow into the woman she is now.
Geralt does not expand on what occurred at Kaer Morhen. A lot happened that winter. Too many losses. Too much pain. He does not wish to reflect on it at length. Between Yennefer, Ciri, the bloodshed—the present is a better place to focus.
He shakes his head. ] No. I'm glad you told me, Jaskier.
[ This is important to know. And he cannot avoid the facets of his past. It is embedded in the history of the Continent. Speaking of the Continent. His gaze returns to the bard. ]
And what of you? You said you were in the thick of battle in this memory. You escaped afterwards?
[ You were unharmed? ]
no subject
It's... a lot. And he still cannot think what the shapeshifter's end goal will be.
To galvanize the elves? The bard is all for that, mistreated as they are. But to what end? When he thinks about what this could lead to, he must think truthfully: to what end? Will they be granted land, and people, and supplies by Nilfgaard? They seemed to believe it enough to want passage. Or perhaps it is only as important as having feet steeped in Xin'trean soil once again.
He takes a breath. The conversation moves on.] About half an inch from the end of a Temerian axe, before I was saved. [He picks up his drink once again, but doesn't drink.] The elves came for me. They broke up the camp. I suppose I was not very good at keeping secrets.
[They must have known he was the Sandpiper. Which is funny, in some ways. He still does not think that was enough reason to come for him.] I walked away with all limbs intact, albeit with one new fear added to the growing list I already have.
no subject
So far, the Singularity shields her. He's determined to keep it that way until a better solution can be found.
His expression softens. Jaskier is no stranger to conflict—but the Continent has not seen war of this scale in Jaskier's lifetime. Not until Nilfgaard marched on the north.
Still. He's relieved to hear Jaskier escape intact. ]
Well. It's not a fear you need worry about here for now.
[ There are a hundred questions unanswered. About the monoliths, the dwarves, the Wild Hunt. What could have caused mere elves to become corrupted into wraiths? If they are trapped in that world, how did they come to pursue Ciri? What allowed them to not only break free of their arid prison, but travel through worlds as she can?
And now that they know of the Singularity, what does this mean for all of them here?
He sighs to himself. Perhaps it may be worth approaching Istredd later. He wants to consider it first.
After a second, he claps Jaskier's on the shoulder. ] Get some rest.
no subject
[If anything, he would say this place sometimes has worse than the Continent, if he has anything to say about the old gods. Maybe the Singularity is a friend, maybe it isn't. However, Jaskier likes to think Hilda is a friend now, so at least he has one axe on his side.
He rubs his hands over his face. Geralt doesn't seem to have any questions, at least for the moment; perhaps that's enough. Either that, or he's masterfully overwhelmed the Witcher.
And himself.]
Wait.
[Jaskier stands, pulling Geralt in against him -- or at least himself against Geralt, gripping him tightly. There is no need to apologize because nothing was his fault, but he feels an urge to, anyway. That Geralt should have so much more dumped upon him by Destiny.]
Whatever your fears, too. You know I'll bear them. Whatever may come.
no subject
He needs time to consider. Process what he's learned. Consider who he would like to talk to next about it. For now, he wants to sleep on it. Jaskier could use some rest before he piles on another set of questions, anyhow.
As he begins to walk away, Jaskier catches his arm. Geralt turns around and allows himself to be tugged into an embrace. After a second, he lifts his hand and hugs his friend back. He has got fears. One, in particular. Losing all that he cares about. ]
I know.