farsickness | valley o plenty? jury is still out

Entry tags:

cassandra de rolo | critical role

valley o plenty? jury is still out

WHO: Geralt of Rivia
WHEN: April 1st to 5th
WHAT: Daily shit
WHERE: Tavern/Inn, Vasari area, enroute to check out Roselake
WARNINGS: C'mon, this is Geralt we're talking about. Anything goes.
NOTE: Put a location in the header please!

Really, life hasn't been all that bad since arriving. Even if he didn't have either of his swords or a horse to travel around the area with, no one was treating him differently because of who he was and what he did. In fact, some even seemed more inquisitive than uncomfortable when he lingered somewhere where others congregated.

As the weeks move on slowly one into the next, Geralt finally earns enough for a pair of swords, silver and steel, as well as a new horse which, of course, is given the same name as all the other horses he's ever owned. There was even some gold left over for some new leather armour. Yes, the Witcher was feeling far better now about travelling beyond the city limits of Gazin.

When he's not studying his map over a cup of some strong alcohol down in the tavern of the Inn he has a room at, Geralt finds himself in situations where he's "helping". Be it a lady who needs her cart pulled out of a mud slew or an old man who is being pestered by a menacing group of wanderers for money and items of worth. He even found himself rescuing a cat from a tree that was surrounded by three dogs. Had it not been for the devastated girl pleading for his help, the Witcher would have let nature decide the fate of old fat tabby.

If it wasn't raining, Geralt was wandering the area, learning about the bestiary and advertising himself to the remote farms that dotted the countryside, keeping mostly to himself and quietly missing the companionship of a certain bard, though he'd not admit it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wen Qing doesn't frequent the tavern as often anymore as she did in the early days, when every new day had her convinced that today would surely be the day when she finds a way home. Now she is more likely to visit when she wants to meet a friend.

Tonight, though, is one of these nights that she is here on her self-appointed task and so she looks around for new faces while she waits for the innkeeper to pour her a mug of the ale which she keeps being told is an acquired taste.

Her eyes almost pass over the blond man as he doesn't stand out for his manner of dress or speech, but then she catches sight of the maps in front of him. Now this is interesting.

With her dubiously enjoyable drink in hand, she walks over to his table. "Excuse me, sir? I couldn't help but notice the maps. Are you a traveler?"

Geralt does have to admit that since arriving he's been grateful not to have countless questions annoying him. Jaskier was always around and now, he can't help but feel the guilt needling at him more often than it cares to admit with the way things were left the last time he had seen the bard. In fact, over the past few days, he had been thinking a lot about his world and that was becoming its own irritation.

Amber eyes dart upwards and look at the woman. Geralt doesn't usually have a friendly face to greet strangers with, but then he doesn't normally give it to those he considers a friend, either.

"You can say that," Geralt answers, though not quite as rudely as he usually would. He grabs his cup and drinks, glancing down at the map and then back up again, clearly waiting for her to continue with why she was asking.

Well. That... is an answer and one she can't even be annoyed with since it is polite enough, it is just not the answer she had been hoping for. Namely one which would tell her whether the man is a local or another hapless visitor from another place and time.

Maybe there are cues in his manner or dress or the make of his weapon but his and Jon's and that of the other people in town all just look equally foreign to her inexperienced eyes.

Well. Nothing to do but forge ahead. "So am I. I'm originally from Qishan. I've been hoping to run into someone who is familiar with this wider area, specifically with magical ruins. Do you know the area well?"

Usually, the lack of politeness scares most off; his mood and deep gravelly voice not helping to dissuade this one like it normally does. But Geralt is reminding himself more and more that this place doesn't seem to have a problem with Witcher's or even know what they are. So far, he's finding that both a blessing and a curse.

Geralt says nothing after she speaks, yet sees a certain tenacity and finds himself curious in return (though it doesn't show) with her obvious interest.

Especially with magical ruins.

Without taking his gaze off her, Geralt pokes a finger at Gazin and then moves it to Roselake and then over to Vasari Forest before stopping on the town of Caerlias.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

She follows his finger on the map, wondering if he has actually seen these places he is pointing at. Nothing but his word for that even if she asks since she hasn't explored well beyond the town yet. A mistake, maybe, it occurs to her now, but not one easily remedied until she has either convinced Xue Yang or Jiang Cheng to accompany her, or become more proficient in wielding Zidian to fend off whatever dangers she may encounter by herself. Even then, cultivators are not suited to fighting alone, they were always meant to night hunt and travel in groups.

Her eyes find his again, taking in the color which strikes her as unusual, though maybe that is simply the eye color to go with his hair.

"I'm looking for magic the likes you can't find here in Gazin, something about," she hesitates, thinking how to put it into words when she's not even sure what she needs, "transportation. Across great distances." Across time and space and to other worlds, but she can't tell that to a stranger in a tavern, he would think her drunk.

The swamp witch is back in town to get provisions for her cave in the Vasari Forest when she comes across a sight both far too familiar and far too ridiculous.

Three large dogs literally barking up a tree while a fat tabby is sitting in the tree and clawing and hissing at the man trying to get it down while a girl is lamenting the fate of her poor innocent kitten who has never hurt so much as a fly.

It is far too familiar, exactly the kind of "rescue mission" she would have gotten dragged into by her Warden.

This familiarity is enough to make her stay and watch, enjoying the man's troubles for a while before calling up, "Do you need any help against this veritable beast?"

There were worse ways to make a few coins, only Geralt knew already that he wouldn't take the little girl's money for it. His conscious wouldn't let him, but there was no way he'd let on to it. Witcher's didn't feel and no cute kid or her cat was going to change that.

Holding the feline creature by the scruff of the neck, Geralt turns and looks at the unfamiliar face before lowering the white ball of fluff into the girl's open arms.

"Not necessary," the Witcher grunts loudly over the barking dogs. He glares down at each of them, the barking all but stopping. There was something in his amber eyes the canine's found off-putting and before Geralt spoke again, each one silently dashed away.

He looks back at the new face. "Did I look like I needed help?"

She watches with some mix of amusement and curiosity how the dogs react to the man's glare. Interesting. More to him than meets the eye then, most likely, animals have better instincts than most people.

"Not particularly, no," she drawls, making a point of still looking quite amused, "but you never know with dogs. Smelly, ugly beasts, and far too much trouble." She absolutely doesn't mind the Warden's smelly beast, of course.

She was right and Geralt, unfortunately, knew that from first-hand experience. Only they were bigger with sharper teeth and could run as fast as a horse. He hasn't come across one here, but there have been stories of a beast called the Hell Hound, of which he was oddly looking forward to crossing paths with.

Another grunt.

"Not afraid of dogs," A pause in brief thought. "Or any other creature for that matter."

Though there were plenty he considers a pain in his ass.

"Truly?" She gives him a curious look, it quickly turns scrutinizing as she tries to decide if he is bragging or truly that self-confident or... well, there might be something to give him reason for such confidence but that is the least likely option.

"I've met many men who claim they aren't afraid of anything. And yet I've found most of them will cower sooner or later. It just takes a beast large enough, or with enough teeth."

Geralt doesn't take the look personally. Most will look at him that way at such an admission but they also didn't have to believe him when he says so. It normally takes seeing it with one's own eyes.

He doesn't react. No smug smile. No words to entice the other into a heroic tale of when he defeated a striga. Geralt doesn't feel the need to prove anything. So, he doesn't.

Looking towards the inn, he gives a slight shrug and looks back at the woman.

"Those ones pay the best," Geralt says, gesturing towards the building. "I could use a drink, if you want to continue this conversation inside."

"I would like that better than standing around," Morrigan agrees, leading the way towards the tavern without hesitation. She's not going to turn down a drink, even if company isn't her favorite thing.

"You can buy me a drink and tell me about these beasts you don't fear." Which she still doesn't truly believe. Then again, there are heroes who are just that reckless; she's been traveling in the company of some of them.

In the tavern, she immediately orders two mugs of beer, then nods towards Geralt, adding, "He's paying."

Cassandra has finally settled into life in this new world. There’s a degree of happiness here that she hadn’t managed to find in the City, after everything. Maybe not as much as Rome, despite the war against the Titans... but there’s a freedom here that suits her. A freedom that she hadn’t had in... a long time. Choice. She can live the life she chooses here. A life she can build for herself.

She’s finding herself itching with inactivity. Her... pseudo-employment with the herbarium and the apothecary have filled her pouches with gold well enough and it does keep her a little busy, as well as her delving into studying and learning about the world she’s found herself in and the creatures that live there. But she’s used to... more. Running a city and then fighting a war. So she sets about to fix that.

One of the things she’d purchased once she’d built up a decent amount of gold and good will was a horse. Rome had reminded her how much she enjoyed riding and she intended to take it up again. And horseback would make travel far quicker than making attempts on foot (not that she would mind). So she found herself a horse; a hot-blooded mare she named Melora. As soon as she’d caught sight of the mare there had been no other horse for her.

It’s a terribly fanciful notion, but she feels something ease in her chest the moment she mounts up and rides out of Gazin. Nudging Melora into a gallop, she revels in feeling the wind in her hair, the sun on her face. As Gazin fades from view Cassandra slows down to enjoy the ride. She doesn’t expect to see a familiar face, but she’s terribly glad to. Grinning, she speeds up a little, to fall into pace beside Geralt, handling Melora with the skill of someone who’s grown up with horses.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she greets him, teasing. “Mind a little company?” Echoing the question she'd asked him the last time they'd ventured outside the city's boundaries.

Edited 2020-04-08 09:42 (UTC)

Geralt could hear the galloping of Melora hooves before he saw who was riding her and even then he had long since made the realization by the scent of her perfume that it was Cassandra. The two seem to keep crossing paths and as much as Yennefer had been on his mind over the last few days, the Witcher was not going to complain. He wouldn't admit it but her company was definitely appreciated.

He turns his face towards her nonchalant, with a little bit of a smile as if he's been waiting for her, which he has been. For at least the last five or so minutes.

"Not at all," Geralt replies. "But I'm heading to Roselake and won't be going back to Gazin for a while."

Cassandra could join him for as long as she wished.

Cassandra is terribly pleased by his answer, although she’d never admit it. Aloud or otherwise. She enjoys his company, that’s all; which is fortunate, given how often their paths seem to cross. It’s nice, though. She doesn’t mind.

The smile she gives him is bright and warm. “That’s all right. I rode out intending to be gone for some time, myself.” The pack her horse carries is proof of that. She’s planning on taking advantage of her newly gained freedom. “So I’ll join you for the duration, I think.” Roselake had been one of the places she’d intended to explore, anyway.

His own slightly concealed smirk and nod is telling enough that Geralt is happy to hear of Cassandra's decision. There aren't a lot of people in this world that he can say he's taking a liking to and she is one, if not the only person he can tolerate being around.

Pulling the reins right, Roach straightens out and takes to a leisurely gait so they can continue talking as they ride side by side.

"Do you usually head out without a destination in mind?"

Most don't, but Geralt is quickly coming to know that this woman isn't like most.

There’s an ease, riding alongside him that’s relaxing, Cassandra finds. She’s comfortable. (To a degree that she’s not sure she’s felt even remotely close to since... well, since James. Which catches her by surprise.)

She smirks a little at him. “As often as I can. Which isn’t nearly as often as I’d like. At least not until I found myself here.” Whitestone had been a cage, and while Rome had held its own freedoms, of a sort, there had still been little ability to roam truly freely. And the City had been a cage of another sort entirely. (Although it had allowed her to travel to other planets. Which was thrilling in and of itself.)

Here, though? There’s an entire world beyond Gazin to be explored, unknown to her. It’s... a little bit like seeing the sky for the first time after years of captivity.

Geralt stares ahead, casually looking her way now and then and also finding himself a little more comfortable than he's used to. Perhaps more than he would with Yennefer back in his own world. It's enough to wonder why he doesn't feel that draw to her but he realizes that if this is another place far from the Continent then the reason is obvious.

"And what exactly do you look for?" he questions further.

For him it's never about adventure, it's about finding work and doing what it is that Witcher's do. Hunt monsters. Kill them. Make the world a safer place and collect the coin offered to take care of the problem.

Cassandra is doing much the same, the occasional glance at him as they ride companionably together. She might have to persuade him to do this more often. Go riding with her. Travel with her. (Or let her travel with him.)

“I’m attempting to map out the world, and learn more about the creatures in the forest. As well as gather plants for the apothecary and myself.” Because she’s keeping a few jars of salve on hand, in case of injury. “But mostly I’m enjoying the freedom to go where I choose.” She pauses, and adds. “I’m enjoying having the choice.”

No one here knows her past. No one here knows her. This is the most she’s spoken about it. The most she’s said about having had her freedom, her choice, taken from her.

Unless something went drastically wrong, she would find he wouldn't need much convincing.

As Cassandra speaks, he listens, one corner of his mouth lifting in interest before his amber eyes drift her way again. How lucky of him to find someone with such similar interests. Geralt might even say he enjoys having the option to come and go as he pleases, but then that part was never a problem.

But now there was another question that has inevitably risen from what she's told him.

"Was that a problem before coming here? It sounds as if it was."

She would be very pleased at that.

Cassandra tilts her gaze towards him, again, blue-grey eyes meeting amber. The question he asks doesn’t surprise her, but what does is how unbothered she is at the thought of answering truthfully.

“It was, yes. It wasn’t quite so bad, in the worlds I found myself in before this. But in Whitestone... my home.” There’s a complicated tangle of emotions in her voice, there. It hadn’t been her home in a very long time. “Or what was my home. I haven’t had much choice there in a very long time.” Any. Choice.

Geralt is rather astute even without his mutant enhancements, allowing him to hear that mess of memories that instantly get called back even if she didn't want them to. He almost feels bad for pressing it but when he's around Cassandra there's a draw to want to know about her. And more than what he was normally interested in knowing with someone.

"Worlds?" he looks at her again, keeping his gaze fixed on her side profile. "How many have you been to?"

He's barely accepted there was a world beyond his own. To know there were so many other worlds was something he couldn't fathom.

And strangely enough Cassandra doesn’t mind, with him. Despite the painfully complicated snarl of emotions the subject of Whitestone and Exandria brings up in her... with him it’s all right.

“Two others. The first was by choice. The second... wasn’t.” She’d far preferred the first. And not simply because of her choice in the matter. Rome had been... strange, but familiar. The City had brought with it nothing but loss, and pain. “There are other planes, in my world, and the ability to travel between them exists. But completely different worlds felt... different, somehow.”

Understanding came a little too easy with her words. He had never done any sort of dimensional travel but the multiverse did exist in his world, as well as astral and elemental planes and parallel realities. He had never visited any of them, though Vesemir had taught him everything he knew and so much more. Being a believer of it made it easier to apply it to things Geralt had experienced.

He nods.

"I can see how they would," he muses, rounding the hillside to go down into a valley. "Where I'm from there are also planes. Several of them. And not all have friendly inhabitants. Unlike here where I'm still trying to find the malevolent balance because a Witcher need to earn a living."

There’s always a touch of concern, wondering whether or not someone will believe her when she talks about such things. She is aware of how it sounds, and for someone who might be from a world with less magic, less oddities it would probably sound ridiculous. So the fact that he believes her so readily is a relief.

Neither had she, but her mother had, and so had Vox Machina. (More than she’s even aware of.) “No, that seems to be something of a commonality, with planes in different worlds.” She tilts her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “I’ve done what I can to build something of an information network in town.” It had become a habit in the City and she’d done so almost without thinking after arriving here. To try and stay abreast of anything that might be going on. “If I hear about anything that you haven’t I’ll send it your way.”

While she has a tendency to fling herself into situations to tend to things that need tending to, she doesn’t need payment. She’s doing well enough for herself between working for the apothecary and her ability to play betting and bar games. So it’s absolutely no problem to send jobs his way. Jobs that might be more interesting than a cat in a tree.

But he’d said something interesting. A phrase she didn’t recognize. “Witcher?” She asks him softly. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name. Or is it a title?”

[From here.]

Cassandra watches the antics with the breadcart, the fussing of the breadcart’s owner and insistence that Geralt accept a loaf of bread with a warm, fondly amused smile on her lips, her blue-grey eyes sparkling. And they only grow moreso, as he takes in her bow and sword and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Good morning,” she replies. “It seems we had the same idea. Mind a bit of company?” It’s evident in her voice that she won’t be hurt if he decides he’d rather not; she’s quite certain he’s not much of a company person. Neither is she, some days. So she understands. And won’t be offended if he’d rather go wandering alone.

It took a number of hours for them to get to Roselake from where they were and once there, Geralt set up a fire and took a seat. He wasn't exactly the best date and could have probably caught them a fish to eat, but he had some dried meat slices and some fruit in his bag for the travel and offered that. All in all, he thought the evening went well. Cassandra had been good company and the conversation was easy and engaging.

Still, Geralt spent more time listening then he did talking, if only because he enjoys watching her; the way the flames from the fire dance across her features and the way her voice sounds so much prettier while he sits closer than when they were riding side by side.

After a while, his attention gets pulled to something on the left side of the lake. A small glow bouncing between the tall dark silhouette of trees. Then there was another. And one more after that.

Geralt smiles and looks to see if Cassandra notices them.

It was a lovely journey, and a large part of that was the company. Cassandra would argue that Geralt was a fine date, were that particular sort of phrasing something that would cross her mind. It’s not, exactly, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is, and she does. It’s easy to talk to him, being near him. Comfortable and easy and lovely.

(She finds herself wanting to do this again. To spend more time with him.)

It’s difficult not to notice how he watches her; and she cannot say that she’s not doing the same. He’s terribly handsome, and striking, and firelight only accents his features. (And although he doesn’t speak often ~~if more often in her presence, it seems sometimes~~, she does very much like the sound of his voice.)

It’s easy to share a little of herself, a tale here or there about Whitestone despite her feelings towards it now - it had been her home, once, and once she had loved it there; the time Ludwig had teased her over liking a boy and so she’d shoved him in the lake before stomping off with all the outraged poise an eleven year old could muster. She tells him a little of Rome, as well. Daud. The war against the Titans. (She doesn’t, however, mention the cult or its orgy.)

Her attention is drawn by a glow of light in the shadows of the trees. One, then another, and then more. She catches Geralt’s gaze, and answers his smile with one of her own, blue-grey eyes bright. It’s beautiful.

Dating was also a word he wouldn't use. Not when his needs are generally met during an evening at the local tavern with copious amounts of alcohol and women. But, he hasn't seen Cassandra like that. She was that kind of lady who deserves better than someone like him. Still, he can't help but lose time when around her.

He enjoys the stories, even tells a few of his own of his time at Kaer Morhen and of experiences with creatures and beasts. He had been about to tell her of how he met the bard, Jaskier when the phenomenon stole his attention.

Not knowing if Cassandra has seen them before, he glances back at animals responsible for the lightshow.

"They're fire fennec's," he tells her. "And soon, they'll be hundreds of them."

Cassandra enjoys the stories he shares, listening attentively and asking a soft question here and there, usually regarding the creatures he’s encountered. Hearing about his time in Kaer Morhen is a little fascinating. And that he’s comfortable enough in her company to share such tales is... it means a great deal.

“I’ve never seen anything like them before,” she murmurs softly. “They’re beautiful.” It’s a breathtaking sight, and she watches, entranced, as more come to join the first.

The fire dances about, circling and jumping in and out of each other until it's so busy that it's hard to know where one starts and another ends. It is beautiful, but only for as long as one stares at it. Only Geralt looks at her, completely transfixed by her smile and the way the fire in front of them flickers and dances in her eyes.

He's finding that an urge is steadily growing inside him. The type that can only result in reciprocation or a slap across the face. So when Cassandra looks at him again, he moves to steal her mouth in a hard kiss.

There are some things she’s almost forever caught off-guard by. And a terribly attractive man kissing her is one of those things. One moment Cassandra is returning her attention to Geralt, because he draws her, pulls at her that way... and the next he’s stealing her mouth in a hard kiss. Oh, Pelor. She cannot help the soft gasp of surprise (and need) against his mouth. She hadn’t thought... she’d wanted, but she’d never thought....

She twines her arms around him and kisses him back, just as hard.

A hand reaches up, caressing one side of her face while deepening the kiss a little more. Passion ignites hotter and Geralt can't help but lose himself completely. He can't think too clearly at the moment but there's a certainty that a kiss like this rivals every other one he's had before. Even with Yennefer.

Eventually, once his lungs are completely depleted of air, he pulls back, half to see if it had the same effect on her.

"I should have asked first," Geralt barely manages, still breathless.

His hand caresses her cheek and Cassandra is lost in him, in his touch, the taste of him, the press of his lips against hers. The burning of passion and desire. It has been a long time since she’s felt this way, since she’s been kissed so intently. She wants... she needs...

She is breathless when the kiss finally breaks, filling her lungs with air once more with a gasp as she gazes at him with blue-grey eyes dark with desire. His words earn him a soft, breathless laugh and a smile as she briefly untwines from him to reach up and cradle his cheek with her hand, fingers splayed along his jaw.

“I think,” she manages, tugging her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I think you can be forgiven.” And then it’s her turn to lean forward and kiss him fervently, an answer to the question he hadn’t spoken. Yes.

He's glad there's no anger but he's also aware that if she protested the gesture that Cassandra would have made it known, either by pulling away or pushing him back. And at the moment she advances, the Witcher is smiling against her lips until he loses himself all over again.

But this time, the other hand begins to wander, up her arm to her shoulder and then across her collarbone as fingers drift inwards over bare skin. As the passion mounts, he slowly lowers her back until she's laying in the grass.

A moment later nimble fingers work to undo the buttons on her blouse, one at a time.

He is correct, had she any protests over his actions she would have made it quite clear. As she’s making it absolutely clear that it is rather the opposite. His advances are more than welcome, and reciprocated.

She feels him against her lips and smiles in return, pressing close and reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Kissing him as though she needs him to breath. And so perhaps she does, as breathless as she is, as breathless as he makes her. Losing herself in his kiss.

Anticipation and desire shiver through her as he lowers her back against the grass and she cannot help the soft little needy sound she makes against his mouth. Pelor, how she wants him. Needs him. As his fingers work at her buttons her own tug as his tunic, working to get him out of it, her fingers brushing against his skin. She only stops touching him long enough to slip out of her own blouse once he’s undone buttons enough for her to do so.

Geralt knows he can't resist moving things further along and as soon as he can pull away from her lips to completely shed his tunic before amber eyes take in how beautiful she looks beneath him. Rather than press another kiss to her lips, he gently feels her skin beneath his palm.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, lowering again to kiss her slowly and more passionately, taking in the taste of her mouth while desire fills every bit of him.

While one hand keeps his full weight off her, the other roams across both bare breasts and when his pants tighten uncomfortably, he pulls at the string holding them on his hips and whispers again.

"I want to feel you naked against me."

The way he looks at her takes Cassandra’s breath away. It’s just... he's just... he makes her feel something she hasn’t felt since... James. John. Beautiful, and wanted, and... She reaches up to touch him, because she can’t resist, now that he’s shed his tunic, fingertips caressing him, mapping his skin.

He calls her beautiful and she blushes, pink colouring her pale skin, and she threads fingers in his hair as he kisses her, slowly and passionately, wanting him so deeply she aches with it. His hand caresses her skin, across her bare breasts, and she sighs into his mouth. Oh, Pelor.

“I want that, too,” she breathes. And she reaches between them, to undo the fastenings on her own trousers and begin to slip out of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

valley o plenty? jury is still out

at the tavern

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

enroute to check out Roselake?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

And in case you want to continue....

For Cass - CW: smut; Locked

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject