{ pfsb } a letter and a meeting

[jaskoleczka]

Time is passing strangely for Ciri; it's difficult to tell if she has slept entire days or only a few hours. There is no way to mark the days aside from weather, and that changes quickly enough that it is wholly unreliable.

(The Bar, in her infinite kindness and usual sympathetic meddling, has in fact created a mild time loop in Ciri's room, giving her time to recover and somewhat ignoring the distressed flurry which has emanated out in ripples from her arrival.)

She comes downstairs, therefore, determined to more fully explore this strange place. There are stables she wishes to visit, and the woods remind her very slightly of those around Kaer Morhen...but her plans are abruptly canceled when, along with the strong hot tea she'd ordered, Lady Bar provides her also with a note.

Anyone watching would see Ciri rub at her forehead as if to quell a sudden headache, then lay a hand on the bartop and request something in a soft voice. Quill and pen appear, and she bends her head to write briskly and neatly:

Reverend Daughter,

I am terribly sorry for the distress I have caused. Please know it was not intentional.
I welcome your request for a meeting. I am at your disposal and shall visit Room 99 within the hour.

- Ciri

Folding the note, she looks for a waitrat to charge with its delivery and watches as the messenger scampers up the stairs before she turns with a sigh back to her tea.

Which she is now wishing was something a good deal stronger.

---

It's about half an hour later that she stands at the door of Room 99 with no idea of what to expect, knocking lightly with gloved knuckles.

Comments

[lightamidchaos]

He blinks at that.

"Mn."

He cannot say that he is impressed with the quality of her previous teachers, in that case. But--

"Were any of them seers?"

[jaskoleczka]

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Triss and Yennefer, they're sorceresses, but not oracles. Avallac'h has no gift of sight. And the witchers..."

Her smile is wryly affectionate. "Most of them don't believe prophecy is worth the time it takes to hear one."

[lightamidchaos]

Avallac'h is a name he remembers - her friend, that she had been traveling with before she fell through the portal.

"Then maybe someone who is can help, where they could not. It is not something I know enough about to say."

[jaskoleczka]

"Perhaps," she admits. "I know so little about it that any information at all would be helpful."

For example, determining whether or not she's likely to lose control and flatten the greater Bar area by accident.

[lightamidchaos]

He nods, and takes another sip of tea, leaving it at that. She knows where to find Ford-daifu, if that is a path she wishes to pursue.

"Sorceresses," he says, instead, and gives her a quizzical look.

[jaskoleczka]

"Women born with and trained to use magic," she says. "There's a school...well, there was. I don't know if it exists any longer. Two, actually: Ban Ard for men, Aretuza for women. Aretuza was the academy where Yennefer and Triss trained. I was supposed to go there, myself."

[lightamidchaos]

"Mn," he says, and takes another sip of tea.

"Are they Aes Sedai?"

[jaskoleczka]

She blinks at him. "Sorry?"

[lightamidchaos]

He shakes his head.

"There is another woman here, who is as you describe. I thought it might be the same."

[jaskoleczka]

"I've never heard the term," she admits, "but perhaps. This woman, she deals in elemental magic?"

[lightamidchaos]

"She says that she channels something she calls the One Power," he tells her.

"Others have called it thalergetic - magic of life, similar to qi energy, rather than of necromancy."

[jaskoleczka]

"It does sound similar. Lady Yennefer taught me that magic comes from Chaos, and that a sorceress can draw from earth, air, water, or fire to cast her spells, though each has their danger and difficulty."

She gives him a curious look. "Who is your magical acquaintance? Perhaps I should keep an eye out for her, as well."

[lightamidchaos]

“Her name is Moiraine.”

He keeps his tone neutral. She may be an ally, he supposes, but he does not have to like her.

“She has dark hair, and dresses in blue.”

[jaskoleczka]

"Moiraine," she repeats. "I'll look for her."

Lan Wangji is neutral, but Ciri's expression is warm. "And what do cultivators do in your world, aside from aid damsels in distress and attempt to right past wrongs?"

[lightamidchaos]

"For some, it depends on the sect. In general, though - assist and protect where those without cultivation have need."

He has never been fond of the pursuit of larger and more dangerous monsters and other threats for glory alone.

[jaskoleczka]

"And what sort of assistance and protection do you render?"

Ciri's mental image of cultivators is starting to look more like the Knights of the Round Table who she rode with for such a short while and less like the sorcerers she remembers from the Continent: grim men concerned more with political intrigue than with helping the people of the villages they ignore.

[lightamidchaos]

"Remove curses. Liberate, suppress or eliminate ghosts, or monsters, or demons."

A pang strikes his heart as he repeats the words of Wei Ying's vow, and his.

"Stand with justice, curb the violent, and assist the weak."

[jaskoleczka]

Something incredible happens to Ciri's face as he lists his goals and repeats his oath; her eyes light and for the first time her smile is nothing but genuine pleasure.

"A witcher," she says, triumphant. "Or something like one, anyway – more selfless, undoubtedly, something more than just a monster hunter, but – oh yes, I know this." The line of her smile turns wistful but no less brilliant.

"The man who raised me – and his brothers in arms – was something very similar."

[lightamidchaos]

He looks surprised, even as curiosity flickers in his glance.

"You do? He was -- they were?"

Remembering something Ford-daifu had said, then, and how Ciri had responded, he asks,

"Is this the Geralt you mentioned before?"

[jaskoleczka]

"Oh, yes," she says, even as she blinks away sudden stinging tears. They don't fall – she's more master of herself now than she was when she came here a shattered, terrified mess – but they make her green eyes gleam like spring grass shining with dew.

"Geralt. The White Wolf. A witcher of Kaer Morhen." Her smile is slightly watery but warm with memory. "I told you destiny dogged my footsteps since before I was even born. Geralt of Rivia was that destiny."

[lightamidchaos]

He did not mean to upset her. Carefully, he tries to edge toward another part of what she has offered.

"Kaer Morhen would be your sect, then?"

[jaskoleczka]

"It's alright," she says at his expression, and laughs as she rubs the heel of her hand into her eye. "I only miss him, is all. And hearing what you do...yes, I suppose you could say that. Kaer Morhen was once home of the School of the Wolf, one of the Witcher schools. There are no more witchers being taught there now; there or anywhere. They have lost the knowledge of how to create more."

[lightamidchaos]

"Ah. Then I hope you are able to see him again soon."

Ford-daifu had said he was all right, he recalls, and Ciri had been very pleased to hear it.

"Lost the knowledge?"

[jaskoleczka]

"I hope so, too."

Geralt, gruff and serious, would undoubtedly be embarrassed by her wish, but she can still remember how those yellow eyes of his warmed with pride when she ran the Gauntlet, can almost hear his voice warning or cajoling or soothing her.

"Mm," is a thoughtful noise into her mug. "Yes. Witchers are mutants. The schools took boys – orphans, usually, children with nowhere else to go, or a child surprise – and trained them, but the trick to creating a new witcher lay in secret concotions, potions. The Trial of the Grasses, it was called."

She takes another draught of her ale and sets the mug down. "The potions were dangerous. Only three in ten boys might survive the Trials...but those who did were gifted eyes like a cat to see in the dark, faster reflexes, greater speed, a host of physical gifts, along with the ability to use special potions and oils. And then they were set on the Path to fight the monsters plaguing the Continent.

"But there was a battle, a long time ago, long before I was born, and the recipes for the Trial were lost. So now there are no new witchers, and in fact there are very few left in the world at all."

[lightamidchaos]

How desperate her Continent sounds, he thinks; how desperate they must have been, to have worked so to find a concoction that would transform ordinary children, without the ability to cultivate qi or form a golden core, into something like cultivators.

And then to have lost it.

"I am sorry," he says. "Do your sorceresses fill that void, now that the recipes are gone? To cultivate - or practice their magic, I suppose you would say - and protect?"