jaskoleczka | { pfsb } on the Path

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."

He looks at it with interest, then back at Ciri.

"What kind of curse is it?"

"I don't know," she says. "But I remember the words Eredin used: va fail, elaine - caed' mil, folie! glaeddyv dorne aep t'enaid, bunn'droh ithne i'yachus."

She shrugs, leaving the phylactery on the table as she goes back to her ale. "What it means, I have no idea."

He shakes his head; it has no meaning for him, either.

"Should you need help," he says, instead, as he studies the phylactery without touching it, "I have some experience with removing curses."

Faint surprise flickers in her eyes before she smiles warmly at him.

"Thank you," she says. "I'll remember that, when the time comes. Geralt or Yennefer might be able to help... Geralt has broken curses before, although whether he'll have any knowledge of this one, I couldn't say. And Yennefer..."

She amuses herself for a moment, picturing a meeting between Yennefer and Lan Wangji. Yennefer would like him, she thinks. "She's a powerful sorceress, but whether she can even touch this curse, I have no idea."

He looks at her for permission before he reaches out to pick up the phylactery, holding his hand in the air above it.

"Are curses so uncommon in your world? Or is it that this one is that powerful?"

He cannot volunteer Wei Ying without asking him, but he feels certain that he would help, too.

"Not uncommon at all, I'm afraid."

She leans back in her chair and watches as he examines the phylactery. "But this is beyond the usual garden-variety village witch curse. I've never seen or heard anything like it before. I'm hoping Geralt or Yennefer – or Avallac'h himself – have some knowledge of it."

"Mn."

Blue light sparks at his fingertips as he carefully calls forth a spark of spiritual energy and touches the phylactery with it. Something shivers about the box and he can feel it pull for an instant before it fades. Lan Wangji releases the energy and sets the box down in front of her once more.

"It resonates with power," he says, simply.

"Yes."

She's always fascinated by his magic, and it's no different this time. "But it's broken, somehow. I don't know how to fix it, or even how to use it once it is fixed. I'm on my way to a city in the north of Velen, Novigrad. There are mages there who may be able to help."

"Novigrad," he repeats, clearly making note of the name. "If they cannot..."

Lan Wangji looks at the phylactery again, then back at Ciri. "If they cannot. Perhaps Wei Ying can." Something dark and sad flickers in his eyes for just an instant. "He is skilled at creating objects of power."

Her own expression softens as she looks at him. "If I cannot find anyone to help, I will ask him," she says.

"How is he? Well, I hope?"

"He is well," Lan Wangji assures her. "Exploring all the intricacies of the inn. Adding to the list of new inventions that he wishes to create."

"There's much to find, I'm sure," she says, somewhat amused by the mental image of Wei Wuxian poking into every dark, dusty corner he could find.

"Has he invented anything of particular note since I was last here?"

"More than one might expect," he agrees.

"He is refining talismans, and also the array he has created that reveals and distinguishes between magical energies of different types." There is pride in his voice when he speaks of the latter.

"He has also created an inscription that allows one to store spiritual energy, magical power, in an instrument for use by a musician that has no such ability to wield those powers on their own."

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