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[lettenhove]

WHO: Jaskier + anyone, everyone
WHAT: exploring the Gallows, maybe getting into trouble with the locals, writin' songs and flirting with anything that looks human-ish. also probably trying to find a place to get some good wine.
WHEN: Now-ish
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Jaskier, the bisexual singing disaster comes with his own warnings for language. will update as necessary.

Fall, in Jaskier's opinion, is generally his favorite season. Not rainy like it can be in spring, nor is it cold and frigid like it tends to be in winter. In fact, he finds fall suits him well given his love of long-sleeved doublets with frilly, cotton undershirts. They're just enough to cut out the chill while still cool enough that they don't stick to his back or chest like they might during the summer. Furthermore, fall tends to be the time of Saovine, a time of late-harvest merriment that always proves to be a good time to try out new ballads and jigs.

That, at least, holds true for the Continent. Back home, Jaskier usually would be making his gradual way back to Oxenfurt, having parted ways with Geralt for the season, but since he is both parted from his close friend and no longer on the Continent he knows, Jaskier feels a bit adrift. That morning, he rises with the sun, dons his clothes ( which are starting to look worse for wear and in need of a few repairs ), and figures now would be a good day to do a little exploring.

The Gallows, as cloistered as it is, seems worth checking out, since he can't go much else for the time being. What he really wants is some good ale, or even better, a Toussaint wine. He also wants some company. This is the first time in a long time in which Jaskier has been well and truly on his own. Fortunately, as he emerges into the main area of the Gallows, it's clear that the place is well protected, which allows him a sigh of relief.

That is, until a giant griffin swoops overhead with a loud cry. Immediately, Jaskier ducks, almost falling on his face, as he tries to keep out of the creature's path.

"Sweet Melitele, someone bring that thing down!" he shouts, because where he's from, griffins are monsters slain by witchers. Nobody would think to ride one.

LATER:

It's getting towards noon now and Jaskier can feel his stomach growl with every step he takes around the Gallows. He's not really sure when the last time he ate, but he figures with a place like this, they have to have somewhere he can grab some food. Something beyond moldy or stale bread, he hopes. Or rations. One of the benefits of not traveling with Geralt anymore is the fact he doesn't have to live off whatever Geralt rustles up from the area in which they might be camping. So Jaskier expects something warm and filling. He heads towards where he expects to find the mess hall or whatever it is and sidles up to the nearest cook with an expectant expression.

"Any chance you've got some ale to go with that?" he asks, hoping that it's better than some of the other ales he's had on the road as of late.

EVENING:

The sun is slowly beginning to set behind the walls of the fortress and Jaskier, after picking at his anchor for a bit, decides he better find something to take his mind off the shard in his hand. It no longer hurts, fortunately, but it's still something of a nuisance. Now that he's been told what it does, he doesn't know what to do with himself. "Close rifts," he murmurs to himself. "This is so beyond my pay grade."

Eventually, he settles himself in the main area, hoping to draw some attention to his music and not his hand, and thus distract himself a little. He starts with a gentle strumming of his elven-made lute, and then begins to sing.

Warm glow with a golden shine
Come to rest under the virile vine
Dark flow from the oldest shrines
Blight and blood under the wealth and wine
With black blood in my veins
My silver sings again

He'll continue to play quietly, mostly for himself, until someone decides to come along and sit with him.

Comments

evening

[lumelume]

Before too long, Jaskier finds himself with an audience: a little man cloaked in yellow with a mop of rust-colored hair watches him raptly, a tambourine held still in one wiry hand.

[lettenhove]

Pleased as he is to have an audience, even if it's an audience of one, Jaskier stands and begins a more upbeat tune. A smile forms on his lips and he nods to the little man.

[lumelume]

Still listening attentively, Mado begins to tap and gently shake the tambourine, using only his fingers and the sides of his hands, to accompany the rhythm of the song. If the other musician shows any indication that he'd prefer a solo act, he'll stop at once-- in the meantime, it's nice to have a music buddy.

[lettenhove]

It is nice, and Jaskier shows his appreciation by giving another nod of his head. He then picks up the tempo, winking at the man and then does a little two-step jig.

[lumelume]

With a grin, Mado proceeds along with him, his eyes widening in delight when the dancing begins. Hopping up from his seated position, he begins to boogie along with him, or whatever one might call boogying in a pre-70's time period.

[lettenhove]

Laughing between refrains and with eyes alight, Jaskier continues playing the fast pace jig until he's just about out of breath. Only then does he pause with a flourishing bow to give the little man another smile.

"I couldn't have asked for a better audience!" he laughs, offering out a hand to shake. "Jaskier, bard extraordinaire, at your service."

[lumelume]

Meeting the laughter with some of his own, Mado is delighted to clasp his hand when all is said and done.

"Amador of Rialto," he replies, "I've never seen you before! You must be new. Newer than me." His grin is lopsided.

it's a bird, it's a plane

[sulahnan]

"The aerie's up there, though."

The voice, bemused, comes from the elf that has appeared just behind him. Not magically or anything, she's just naturally kinda sneaky. She doesn't wear any armor — because why would she need to when she's not currently allowed to do fuck-all with her right arm in a sling?

The griffon, meanwhile, had swooped low, but beats its wings to build up speed during its ascent to the top of the central tower (or whichever tower it's in, who can recall).

Athessa shields her eyes with her left hand, watching the creature.

"I think that one's called...Blunder Supreme."

[lettenhove]

When he hears the voice behind him, Jaskier does not jump, thank you very much. But he does look a bit startled as he turns towards her, eyes wide before he follows the griffon with his gaze to the tower. He stares a bit, as if he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing ( protip: he doesn't ), then he finally turns to the elf with an expression torn between shock and awe.

"You mean to tell me those things are domesticated? But- I mean- Don't they eat your cattle and sometimes people?"

As he speaks, he gestures wide with his hands before settling them on his hips with a huff.

[sulahnan]

She snorts.

"As domesticated as griffons get. I expect if we didn't take care of 'em they'd cause problems, but we feed and house them, so—"

A vague gesture encompasses the rest of her sentiment, so there ya go, and she gives the excitable man an appraising look. The rift shard is obvious, but the fashion is similar enough to Orlesian that he might not be a Rifter. He doesn't sound Orlesian, but Byerly wears extravagant clothes while sounding like a drunkard so that doesn't mean much either. And most folk around Thedas aren't used to griffons, either.

"I'd offer to take you up to meet 'em but that's a lot of stairs that I don't much feel like climbing."

[lettenhove]

Giving a nervous laugh, Jaskier shakes his head. The last thing he wants is to be taken to face what he knows to be a monster. He waves his hand dismissively and then adjusts the strap of his lute case before looking around.

"I'm going to be honest, this is not usually my kind of scene," he says, pursing his lips together for a second. "I'm more the guy that writes songs about adventures with, er, Rifts? Rather than the one who closes or opens them. So, I would rather call for help when it comes to griffons than see them face to face. Er. Beak."

[sulahnan]

"They have faces," she corrects, absently. She isn't that invested in the semantics, though, as she is eyeing the lute case.

"You're a performer, then?"

Strange, the sorts of people who end up with rift shards. Is he a coward, or is this a character he's playing?

[lettenhove]

"Faces?! Even more reason to avoid them..." he mutters before clearing his throat and redirecting his focus to the lute on his back. The panic disappears and he grins broadly, giving a bit of a bow. "Jaskier the Witcher's Bard, at your service, madam. I am indeed a humble performer, one known throughout the Continent."

He pauses, recalling he is no longer back home and his shoulders slump a bit. "Or, at least, the Continent from my home."

Later

[muckspout]

The cook either doesn't hear or ignores Jaskier and moves along his way. Edgard, perpetually unbathed, whistles quick and sharp and waves him over to the table where he's sitting.

"You're new, yes? A gift as welcome." He pulls a bottle out from under his very dirty shirt and slides it over to him.

"It's not poison." He reassures him.

[lettenhove]

Jaskier is about to give the cook a piece of his mind when the other man, smelling of... something unpleasant, calls his attention. Turning towards him with an annoyed expression ( not because of the unbathed man, but because of the very rude cook ), Jaskier appraises the filthy man. His nose doesn't wrinkle too much because there have been more times than he can count when he's had to clean kikimore or selkiemore guts off a certain witcher. The smell doesn't truly bother him, so he approaches and settles down on a bench across from the man.

As the bottle is slid over to him, he considers it too. He's not worried about poison, and not just because how he's reassured. He's more worried about how bad it'll taste. He lifts it to his nose and takes a whiff, almost recoiling in response.

"Whoo... That definitely isn't a Beauclaire red," he manages before taking a swig.

[muckspout]

Edgard raises his eyebrows at the comment. He's not sure what to make of a man who immediately criticizes a gift.

"Thought it was alright." He shrugs. "Usually not the taste that matters though, right?"

He reserves judgement at the moment, deciding to give him a chance.

"What brings you here?"

[lettenhove]

It's not so much criticism and Jaskier's tendency to prefer the finer things in life. Without them, he still manages and takes another swig before tilting it in acknowledgement of what the filthy stranger has said.

"That is the truth of it, my friend," he says as he passes back the flask. "What brings me here is a rift, though not by my choosing."

He rolls up his sleeves a little and then presents his palms, with the shining shards embedded in them.

[muckspout]

Edgard nods in response and looks closely at Jaskier's palm.

"Is where you are from very different from here?"

Edgard takes a bite of potato and some sprays out when he speaks again.

"I suppose you might not know yet."

[lettenhove]

Wincing and then wiping off the stray bit of potato from his cheek, Jaskier forces a grin. Again, it's not the filth that bothers him so much as well... the entirety of the man. At least Geralt had the sense to chew with his mouth closed.

"A bit different, and yet very similar," he replies, looking around the hall. "The architecture is reminiscent of the elven architecture back home, but I get the sense the relationship between humans and the elder folk is a lot different here."

griffin sighting

[heorte]

"To ride?" is the question Ellis puts to this man, though he doubts that's the case.

If anything, it's Ellis very politely avoiding questions about someone nearly throwing themselves to the ground. It isn't entirely without cause, he supposes, even if Butterball is hardly as intimidating as some of his fellows who have declined to swoop down.

"Here, he won't do you any harm," Ellis says, in what might be a more reassuring follow up. "Were you looking for someone?"

[lettenhove]

"Ride? People ride them?" Jaskier replies, his voice maybe going up an octave. He looks up at the stranger, with a shaky smile as if he's trying to reassure them both.

Slowly, Jaskier gathers himself together as elegantly as he can manage and then brushes himself off with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry, you mean to tell me those... things aren't monsters about to carry off livestock? Because back home, a good silver blade is what would be in his future."

He forces a laugh and then shakes his head again. "No, no, I'm just... trying to acquaint myself with this place. Even my normal guide would be a bit lost, I think."

[heorte]

The panicky explanation continues, uninterrupted, while Ellis reaches to smooth his hand over the plumes of feather and fur. Butterball beak clicks appreciatively, though Ellis expects that fondness to ebb once Butterball discerns Ellis isn't planning on parceling out treats for free.

"I can't say they haven't carried off some livestock in their time," Ellis admits, looking to Jaskier without breaking the easy stroke of his hand at Butterball's neck. "But they don't mean you any harm."

Which is very different from "they could do you harm." However.

"Do you have other questions? I'm good for answering about more than just griffins."

[lettenhove]

"Right, right, of course. Well trained, they are, I'm sure." Jaskier clears his throat and watches Ellis with an appraising eye. The man is offering to answer questions and, fuck, if Jaskier doesn't have a treasure trove of them. To start off with, he wants to know the name of the place he's currently stuck in and if he should expect any more tamed creatures to swoop down over him.

"I don't suppose you could tell me what other... things you've domesticated here. Just to warn me, you know. So I can be prepared for... yeah."

[heorte]

A considering pause, in which Jaskier would be forgiven were he to assume Ellis were tallying some list of ferocious creatures.

"There's a stray dog in the Gallows."

Said with only the barest twitch of humor to offset the seriousness of the remark.

[lettenhove]

He had been prepared for a different answer. But with that, Jaskier makes a slight face and then huffs. "Well, that's just... not very exciting for a place called The Gallows."

(Wait, what?)