jaskoleczka | { pfsb } on the Path

She makes another agreeing sound and washes a bite of bread down with more ale.

"Perhaps if he spends more time here, he will come to see Wei Wuxian as the person he is," she suggests. "Not a ghost."

Although...

Wei Wuxian would never be able to go back to their world with Lan Wangji, would he? Perhaps therein lies the crux of the matter. Complicated, indeed. "I am sorry," she tells him. "From what you've told me of your brother, I'm sure his concern comes from love."

It isn't always the case, in her world, but then she's seen a great many others now. "Still, it does sound... complicated."

"It does," he confirms. "He cares deeply, which is why he worries so. I am sure of it. Time will help, as will becoming more familiar with the inn."

He sets his teacup back down and fixes her with a clear, direct gaze.

"Now," Lan Wangji says. "What of you?"

She finishes her chowder and pushes the bowl away, drawing the plate of bread and butter nearer. "When I left you, at the inlet," she begins, "I was aiming for Avallac'h's hideout in Velen. Instead, I found myself lost in a maze of swamps called Crookback Bog, home to three wicked old crones. They call themselves the 'Ladies of the Wood,' but, well."

She sniffs, a little of her old imperiousness rearing its royal head. "Truth be told, I don't know what they are. Old, very old. Evil things. They've held the surrounding villages under their thrall for, oh, generations, offering protection and plenty... in exchange for any unwanted children."

His gaze goes from searching to thunderous in an instant.

"Evil indeed."

"Very," she agrees. "I don't know what happened – perhaps it was something with the portal, perhaps I hit a branch as I reappeared – but the wound in my side re-opened. I had no idea of the Crones, only saw a light in the mists and went towards it as quickly as I could, but I'd lost too much blood and collapsed near the cluster of small houses where they sometimes appeared. They must have known I was there, somehow – or they smelled my blood. The Elder Blood," she amends, with a grimace.

"I woke in a dark room. I could hear them nearby, speaking of their plans for me. They were going to hand me over to Eredin... but not without taking a hand or a leg for their own... enjoyment."

She looks a little ill as she glances at her empty soup bowl, and is happy she's mostly finished eating. "Needless to say, I ran."

He can all too easily imagine it: Ciri wounded as she had been, falling from the sky, only this time landing in a swamp, bleeding and dazed, only to be taken in by the three yaoguai.

One hand flattens against the wood of the table.

"I am glad you escaped," he says.

She offers him a faint smile and takes another swallow of ale. "Barely escaped," she amends, "but escape I did. They'd called the Hunt, and one of the lieutenants came looking for me. I hid in a tree until he passed by and then tried to find my way out of the swamp. Instead, I found a lost little girl, wandering terrified and alone in the dark. She'd been sent by her father along the Trail of Sweets. I suppose you can imagine where that might lead her."

She spreads her hands as she speaks, casting her memory back. "She warned me of a Wolf King prowling the area, which turned out to be a werewolf. I slew it, and a few moments later we were found by a merchant passing through. He brought us to the self-proclaimed ruler of Velen, the so-called Bloody Baron, Philip Strenger. It appears he had a reward out for his missing daughter, and the merchant mistook me for her... but he took me and the girl in and gave us food, shelter, a place to rest."

"It sounds as though the child was far better off in your care than her family's," he observes. Desperate people will do desperate things, he knows, but to send children to be eaten by monsters is unacceptable.

"This baron declared himself ruler over the land?"

"Velen is called 'No Man's Land' these days," she tells him. "Once it was a province of Temeria... but Nilfgaard occupies it now. The Baron isn't the first warlord to give himself airs. But he was... maybe not kind, exactly, but welcoming. He gave the girl a place in his kitchens and took to me as though we were old friends. I went hunting with him and his men, killed a wild boar with my sword."

She smiles, proud. "While we sat around the fire that night, drinking ale and swapping stories, I challenged him to a race, hoping to win a black mare he had in his stables. I won the race the next morning, but before we could celebrate, we were interrupted by a basilisk, a huge beast. It grabbed the Baron in its claws and hauled him to the top of a nearby tower. I had to get to him, so I –"

She hasn't explained all of her powers to Lan Wangji. "Along with portals, I can... teleport between short distances, like a light blinking on and off. I blinked up to the top of the tower and killed the basilisk, saved the Baron."

Her ale is almost empty; she waves at a waitrat for another. "I knew as soon as I used my power that the Hunt would track me down. So I left, that day. Nearly that same moment."

It does not escape his notice that she placed herself at risk of being caught by the Hunt to save the baron from the basilisk.

"Mn," he replies. "In time?"

"I believe so," she tells him. "I have not heard, since then, that the Hunt appeared at Crow's Perch – the Baron's seat. But..."

Now she smiles, truly and sincerely, nodding to the waitrat who brings her second round. "I was there for a few days. Long enough to do a little alchemy, and a little shopping."

She reaches into the pack she'd brought in and draws out a package wrapped in rough brown cloth, which she hands over to him, her face now alight with pleasure. "It is shamefully late, I know, but... happy birthday, Lan Wangji."

Edited 2021-05-13 00:18 (UTC)

He accepts it automatically, holding it carefully in both hands as he stares at her. Utter and absolute shock is clear in his eyes, and it is evident that she has completely surprised him.

"You--"

After a moment he shakes himself out of it and glances down at the gift before setting it on the table and offering her a respectful nod.

"--thank you," he says. "Ciri, this is very kind of you."

With painstaking care, he begins to unwrap the cloth, treating the rough material as though it is the finest silk.

"You've been very kind to me," she tells him, eyes alight, and smiles over the lip of her mug as she watches him unwrap what's inside: the ornate but beautifully balanced silver dagger, the collection of eclectic but neatly filled and stoppered glass bottles containing oils of various colors and viscosities,

"I thought they might come in handy during your night hunts."

He stares at the dagger and the oils for what seems like a very long time, reverently, before he carefully picks up the blade. Lan Wangji tests the weight of it in his hand, immediately realizing how well-crafted it is, then sets it back down and carefully examines each of the oils in its bottle before he looks up at Ciri.

"They will, I am certain," he murmurs. "Thank you. Very much."

"You're very welcome." Her eyes are shining and pleased as she leans to tap the dagger with one pale finger.

"A silver sword is traditional," she tells him. "I'm sure you saw that Geralt carries two: one steel and one silver. But I thought the dagger would do for now, if you need a silver blade. I know Bichen already has many magical properties."

She indicates each bottle in turn. "I brewed these myself. I tried to think of ones you might need... Hanged Man's Venom, good against humans. Specter oil, for use on ghosts, wraiths, spirits. Necrophage oil, for the undead; those that haunt battlefields and graves and feed on corpses. Cursed oil, for beasts of a more supernatural nature – werewolves and the like."

She looks back at him. "I wasn't sure if you ever run across draconids or vampires, but from what you mentioned before, these ought to prove useful."

"I did notice, yes..."

To his credit, he does not flinch - much - when Ciri casually mentions beings of a draconic nature in the same breath with the others. He shakes his head at that and explains, "Dragons in my world are very, very different from how I have discovered they are for others. They are respected beings, even divine. Not beasts, or monsters."

A faint smile curves his lips as he looks at her. "But this, yes. I have fought against all of the others you mentioned. So - very useful indeed."

"True dragons are a rarity in my world," she tells him. "And as a rule, witchers will not hunt them. They're intelligent and rarely bother humans. Geralt even met a golden dragon once... they were supposed to be pure myth. Draconids are more like... flying lizards. Wyverns, slythens, and so on. They lack sentience and can be very aggressive."

Her smile is a little rueful. "I would very much like to see one of the dragons in your world. I've never managed it in mine."

There is no mistaking the way his glance brightens at that. "That is much more like I would expect," he agrees. "I also have never met a true dragon, but would like to, someday."

"Perhaps the Tortoise of Slaughter, Túlù Xuánwǔ, that Wei Ying and I fought would have been one of these draconids, as you call them."

"Perhaps," she agrees. "Although it sounds as though it could be a relict, also. Creatures of great, ancient power, wild magic. There are not many, even on the Continent, but those that exist can cause no end of suffering."

She sits back in her chair and lifts her mug to him, pleased. "I'm happy you're satisfied," she tells him. "To tell the truth, I have no idea how well they'll work on your night hunts... I can only hope they offer some small benefit."

"A relict," he says, with certainty, after hearing her explanation. "Yes. That."

He wraps the oils and the dagger carefully back up the way she had originally packaged them, and puts them away in his qiankun pouch.

"I will let you know. I am traveling for night hunts these days, and will have ample opportunity."

"If you come across any more like it," she tells him, "let me know. I'll brew you some relict oil that may help."

She's warmed through now, her belly full, her blood pleasantly alight with the ale, and she beams at him. "What were you working on when I interrupted you?" she asks. "You were writing something, I think."

He nods his thanks for the offer. "A letter," he tells her. "To my brother."

"I see."

She gives her ale a thoughtful look. "Perhaps I should write one for Geralt, in case he comes back...but no." She shakes her head, dismissing the thought.

"Who knows if he'll be back here? And I must focus on finding Avallac'h."

He takes a sip of his tea before he speaks, thinking. He cannot say that he is fond of Avallac'h, despite having not met him, not after what Geralt had told him. It is also very, very apparent from what she has said that Ciri - who was the one most affected by what he did, after all - still considers him a friend. Lan Wangji holds his own thoughts on the matter, deciding to wait and see, and asks,

"Have you found any sign of him?"

"Of him, no. But I think I may have something that will help lift the curse Eredin placed on him."

She rummages in her pack again and produces a small, beautifully detailed – and empty – casket. "It's called a phylactery," she tells him. "It's meant to contain strong magic. It could help lift the curse... but it's broken. I'm on my way to Novigrad now to find someone who might be able to fix it."

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