farsickness | 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.

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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?”

valley o plenty? jury is still out

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