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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.

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.

[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.

[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."

[sulahnan]

It dawns on her that he might be thinking of faces as the same as people faces and not a more general definition of the word. Griffons have bird faces.

But that doesn't matter. He'll find out sooner or later what she meant.

"What continent is that?" The unlikely third option: he's arrived from beyond the Boeric ocean to the north. Very unlikely. "Are you a Rifter? I don't think I've met a Rifter Bard before."

[lettenhove]

"Ah..." Stumped, he's not quite sure how to explain the Continent to someone from outside it. Where should he begin? With the Conjunction of the Spheres or something more mundane and easy to follow? He bites his lip as he considers and then grins again because her next question is far easier to answer.

"A Rifter, yes, though I've almost always been a bard. The Rifter part is a new situation for me."

Tilting his head a fraction and giving her a good look over (for the first time, let it not be said he's completely unobservant), he frowns.

"Do you not have many bards here in this..." He gestures a bit. "World?"

[sulahnan]

A flicker of a smile, silent laughter at an inside joke maybe, crosses Athessa's features at the revelation of him being a Rifter. He's probably not the kind of Bard she's training to be.

"We have plenty of Bards," she answers, "it's just that they don't often announce themselves so openly. I guess that depends on the Bard, though. Some of them are quite famous. Others...you'd never know they were a Bard until you're poisoned, or bleeding from the neck, or tragically fall from a very high window."

[lettenhove]

The gasp that Jaskier exhales sounds as if he's been scandalized. Bards? Killing people? He lays a hand on his heart and shakes his head rapidly, the sheer idea being preposterous to him.

"No. No, no, no, no." Is he looking a bit green? Maybe. "Bards are musicians who retell history to the low born and high born alike! But you're telling me, bards go around... offing people?"

[sulahnan]

That strikes her as a very Byerly-ish reaction, though it seems he's being genuine.

"Not willy-nilly; it's their job."

[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.

[lettenhove]

"Hoh-" he breathes, trying to comprehend the idea that in this world, bards are more assassins than musicians. It's a little overwhelming to consider, so he takes a few more breaths with his hands on his hips.

"Right. Right, okay, so... What you're telling me is that instead of sharing music with people, telling tales, reciting history and ballads... Bards here are assassins?" He grimaces as he speaks because it still sounds outlandish in his ears.

[sulahnan]

She looks at him with the detached concern of a passer-by, as if worried he might retch and that she might be in the splash zone. It's a very eyebrow-centric expression.

"They do all that, too."

Unhelpful, she knows. Glancing around, she sighs and steps closer to put what will hopefully read as a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Pat pat. There there.

"You look like you could use a drink. C'mon." With that, she starts off toward the ferry, because the quickest way to introduce anyone to Thedas is to introduce them to a lowtown tavern.

[lettenhove]

He could certainly do with a drink about now. Heaving a breath, he nods and begins following her, half paying attention to his surroundings as they change and half paying attention to her backside. He can't help it, okay?

"Do they have some sort of meeting place, these bards? A leader? A headquarters, if you will. Because I'd like to make a note of avoiding that. But yes, a drink would certainly be lovely."

[sulahnan]

Luckily Athessa isn't the type to begrudge someone appreciating her assets. Her primary fighting style is a lot of kicking and jumping, so her legs and ass are superbly defined, which makes up for her less than superb upper body strength and lack of breastward endowment. She chuckles and glances back at him over her shoulder.

"They'd hardly be effective if they did. They're not Crows. And before you ask, the Crows are a guild of assassins based in Antiva. They're kind of also the main body of government, but you don't need to worry about them."

Unless someone puts out a general contract on any and all Rifters, but that seems unlikely.

[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."

[lettenhove]

Meanwhile, Jaskier has no primary fighting style. In fact, his style is mostly just running away, which has made his legs very strong, but his upper body could do with a bit of work. Not that this can be seen under his elaborate doublet. Rather, it's more his hair and facial expressions that readily give away what kind of man he is. The way his expression shifts from pleased with what he sees to confused regarding to which she referred.

"I've traveled to many countries, with many forms of government, but a country ruled by a guild of assassins? That's just... Have the people lost their marbles?" He looks genuinely concerned, especially since he's been told not to think too harshly about Antiva.

[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.

[sulahnan]

"Are you telling me that governments don't orchestrate people's deaths where you come from?"

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.