[ The arch mage swans in like he owns the joint. Like there aren't at least ten other mages of varying levels that could put him on his ass out there, not that John thinks they would dare. That's not even counting Geralt who looks about ready to see how far into his gut he could get one of his swords.
Clearly, he only has eyes for John and he puffs up a bit, hands shoved in his trouser pockets as the other man comes close to rake his gaze over him. ]
What is this rabble you keep company with and dare to bring to this sacred place?
[ Sacred indeed to the lining of your pockets. You've lost no love for pretty young things to look at, have you? Geralt wants nothing to do with the man lest he have the opportunity to end him. Perhaps speak back the words he said to him so long ago about lesser evils. ]
If you're meaning me, mate, then I'm flattered. But I hate to tell you that he's really not my type. Not even a glamour could do anything for that.
[He is among the eldest of the brotherhood, so naturally it inflates his importance. There are more powerful. No one is talking about his great accomplishments to be sure.
Stregobor's proximity to their research is also detrimental. The last thing they need is external meddling. Yennefer closes the book she has in her possession.]
John is a mage like us. Visiting.
[Which is much more information than he deserves. The quip has her blinking and a bit of a laugh breaks her annoyance. She has noticed the crackle in the air of thunderclouds building. Tales of the Butcher of Blaviken aligning with the crusade of Stregobor's, it isn't difficult to draw the lines. Yennefer has not dipped deeply into Geralt's thoughts of that time, of that day. Facts speak more loudly and plainly.]
I am more than capable of seeing both John and Geralt around. Unless there is something worth while you have to say, leave us.
[ Rotting corpses have inflation issues as well. He has more in common with those than all else. Geralt turns his attention back to the book in his hands, sparing no other glance or word for the arch mage.
John quirks a grin back in Yennefer's direction at her startled laugh and the big man's snort. Once he's gotten a good look at the git he heads back over to where he was sorting through things with the rest.
Before Stregobor can argue, Tissaia brings up the fact that they are due back to discuss matters of greater importance. This is hardly anything worth fussing over and she'll waste no more of her own time with it.
Yennefer can thank her later for the exit if she wishes. She'll likely return to assess this John herself. ]
[Watching the power strain of personalities as it flows in the room from Tissaia to John and Stregobor and back keeps the glimmer of amusement in Yennefer's eyes. She looks to Geralt who is equally irritated. John openly wears his humor on his face. The door shuts and she indulges a low laugh.]
I cannot wait to leave this place.
[Though here they are. The options are so few. Yen shakes her head.]
...are we getting anywhere yet?
[It's too soon to tell. And with that interruption, who knows how long it will take.]
[Yennefer nods her head in the direction of the door. That may have been one of Tissaia's more charming moments. As to Stregobor, no one in this room with any mind likes him. The momentary lightness makes her forget that there is more at stake that merely getting John home. Somewhere in this is the key to what she's been looking for all this time.]
Three people looking is better than one.
[Better doesn't mean successful.]
Any other suggestions? This is the place of knowledge the only other thing is--[She quiets and considers the option. The Source. Tor Lara and the pool of eels. Casting any magic there would be very, very powerful. Also very dangerous.]
[ Reminds him of Faust. Rotten bastard he was, even before he Rising Darkness afforded him power he didn't deserve. ]
If you know of a place better than this that might give us answers, don't hold back. I'm not looking to stay in your collective hairs any longer than you want me here.
[ Though Geralt still has questions. He rarely considers flights of fancy but this man is impossible. Some light shed upon things could be beneficial. Especially for Yennefer. ]
[ Geralt hums a nod and a quirk of a smile escapes him. He takes her hand and John can't help the tug of feeling in his chest at watching the display. Unlikely pair and all, they seemed.
Once they leave the room, making their way through the throngs of people still gathered. John lags behind only a step or two, almost through the thick of it and out the other side, but a man takes his arm suddenly, making him tense. ]
You. The stranger here. [ There's a connection there, even through the clothing. John's felt the kind of power before but never without skin to skin contact. ] Not so strange after all.
[She leads the way, sure footed and pulling at Geralt's hand as though she were the larger of the two. He has a firm hold. Yennefer glances back, John following suit. This might be easy.
Right before the new corridor the Sculptor stops him.]
Fuck.
[Now leading back to stand behind John. The Sculptor has a vague gesture to the man's personage.]
We must be away urgently, you can make friends later if you so wish.
[The man tutters and waves away her comment, for the moment simply fixated on their strange mage friend.]
[ It's telling how much ground the Witcher offers the sorceress by how she pulls him through the crowd. He is perfectly capable of making his own way but he finds no upset in allowing her to take the lead. Geralt's head tilts in interest as he listens to the mostly one sided conversation between the mage and the Sculptor. So he senses it too, but why? ]
Nothing special about me, mate. But if you're wanting to get friendly, I've got business first.
[ Trying to shrug off the connection. The touch. He pulls an arm free, trying to hide how shaken he is. The Sculptor looks between the three. ]
[It's not as careless of a gesture as it seems. She knows he can keep up. He has in more than walking. If Jaskier's music fancies her to be a storm than he is a mountain that weathers everything, it's an imperfect metaphor. She is not a poet. She just knows she can trust him, no matter how far apart they go, there is always a way back.]
John this is our most talented and skilled architect and sculptor. You may know is work better than you think.
[Yennefer's hand ghosts for his but remembers the last time they touched and thinks better]
...what is he? Explain and be quick abut it.
[Because she is bracing herself for some painful truth that Witchers are gifted a second chance for a legacy.]
[ John isn't here for any of this. He's not into the whole cloak and dagger bollocks. They can do what they like, he's seen where Yennefer is headed, he'll go on first.
Without them if he has to. Geralt huffs in mild irritation as John shoulders away from both of them, giving a terse glance at the Sculptor. ]
[Dog's balls. Is he really going to just hurry off? Yennefer's own tolerance for this--for John not being patient enough to wait, the Sculptor stopping them at all and herself for thinking that she had control of any happenings in Aretuza-- is all wearing her thin.
Her hand is still in the Witcher's grasp. She should send Geralt after John. Or at least she would have if she wasn't so thoroughly confused.]
Mine? What on earth do you mean by that?
[Her hair begins to lift and she can feel sparks gather at her fingertips of her free hand.]
Can you not see that--?
[Gods she is with Geralt? Does this mean destiny is serving something else? If it is, she does not want it. With or without his stupid wish, this is her choice.]
[ Yes, he is. He's already been here far longer than he's wanted to. He's got a lovely man at home waiting for him to not be stuck in this cocked up fantasy story. Geralt reaches out to try and stop him but he's gone before he can break away from Yennefer.
Then he feels the surge of power that accompanies the Sculptor's words. He continues. ]
He's of your line. And his. It shouldn't be possible but he is proof, living and breathing proof of it.
[ John goes down the passageways, letting his intuition and the taste of magic alone guide him. He can sense the power in this place. The way it curls in one spot in particular.
[Of your line. They are words she had only ever dreamed to hear. The elation and confusion together strike her dumb for a handful of seconds. Geralt's voice and urgency return her to the moment. They can't have a foreign mage run umoored here.
He's their child.
Their future.]
Hurry.
[Without another word to the Sculptor, she pulls at the Witcher, guiding him through the crowd to the narrow corridors beyond the large hall the throng takes up.]
[ Geralt is quick to follow before the tug at his arm to guide him. He only relents in pace because she is familiar with this place and he is not. John is already out of view, but Geralt can smell him, a difficult task with all the pomp and circumstance and ridiculous luxuries afforded by all those currently in the room.
His own pulse is quicker than normal, a mixture of excitement and dread that drives him. He thinks of Stregobor and what he might do should he find out about this. The very thought makes his blood boil. ]
If he knows others may yet find out. This place is too dangerous for him.
[Bless and curse the Witcher. He is right to warn of danger. That's his purpose. And it comes from care as much as survival. As they scurry through the party, the winding, older passages leading to the center of the tower, the source, clearly John is being pulled along by the sheer power.
The quiet buzzes in her ears as they finally break away. Torches ignite as they pass through the darkened halls. John is nowhere in sight.]
Fuck.
[They still must go. They must press on. There are too many here with agendas of their own to exploit this new truth.
The archmages have deemed their meeting adjourned and spill from one of the disappearing and reappearing rooms and wings. Of course John is there as they begin to file out. Why would he not be? Old, analytical eyes squint at him.]
[ John has no love for the way the old, wrinkled types squint at him and try to peel him apart by gaze alone. It sets his teeth on edge and he's already moving again before Stregebor comes out. If anything, he wants as much distance between himself and that other old bastard as he can get. Makes his skin crawl, that one.
So he's back to following the magic, letting it guide him through the ancient halls, feeling the lick of it like fire on his fingertips. A whisper of promise that tugs him along like a thread he can't see.
Unbeknownst to him, Stregebor watches his retreat with interest then looks over as Yennefer and Geralt arrive. The smile that turns up the corners of his mouth is cold and knowing. Geralt only barely manages to swallow down a snarl. ]
We're wasting time with this useless dance around the rest of them. Stregebor senses something, we need to get to John quickly. Is there another way to him?
[ He doesn't care what rules might be in place to prevent modes of travel if there are any. The important thing is getting to the young mage alone in this dangerous place. ]
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Clearly, he only has eyes for John and he puffs up a bit, hands shoved in his trouser pockets as the other man comes close to rake his gaze over him. ]
What is this rabble you keep company with and dare to bring to this sacred place?
[ Sacred indeed to the lining of your pockets. You've lost no love for pretty young things to look at, have you? Geralt wants nothing to do with the man lest he have the opportunity to end him. Perhaps speak back the words he said to him so long ago about lesser evils. ]
If you're meaning me, mate, then I'm flattered. But I hate to tell you that he's really not my type. Not even a glamour could do anything for that.
[ Geralt snorts in amusement. ]
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Stregobor's proximity to their research is also detrimental. The last thing they need is external meddling. Yennefer closes the book she has in her possession.]
John is a mage like us. Visiting.
[Which is much more information than he deserves. The quip has her blinking and a bit of a laugh breaks her annoyance. She has noticed the crackle in the air of thunderclouds building. Tales of the Butcher of Blaviken aligning with the crusade of Stregobor's, it isn't difficult to draw the lines. Yennefer has not dipped deeply into Geralt's thoughts of that time, of that day. Facts speak more loudly and plainly.]
I am more than capable of seeing both John and Geralt around. Unless there is something worth while you have to say, leave us.
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John quirks a grin back in Yennefer's direction at her startled laugh and the big man's snort. Once he's gotten a good look at the git he heads back over to where he was sorting through things with the rest.
Before Stregobor can argue, Tissaia brings up the fact that they are due back to discuss matters of greater importance. This is hardly anything worth fussing over and she'll waste no more of her own time with it.
Yennefer can thank her later for the exit if she wishes. She'll likely return to assess this John herself. ]
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I cannot wait to leave this place.
[Though here they are. The options are so few. Yen shakes her head.]
...are we getting anywhere yet?
[It's too soon to tell. And with that interruption, who knows how long it will take.]
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[ More time spent searching, flipping through pages. Both men mumble their inability to find what they are looking for. Geralt speaks up then: ]
We may be here for some time.
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[Yennefer nods her head in the direction of the door. That may have been one of Tissaia's more charming moments. As to Stregobor, no one in this room with any mind likes him. The momentary lightness makes her forget that there is more at stake that merely getting John home. Somewhere in this is the key to what she's been looking for all this time.]
Three people looking is better than one.
[Better doesn't mean successful.]
Any other suggestions? This is the place of knowledge the only other thing is--[She quiets and considers the option. The Source. Tor Lara and the pool of eels. Casting any magic there would be very, very powerful. Also very dangerous.]
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[ Reminds him of Faust. Rotten bastard he was, even before he Rising Darkness afforded him power he didn't deserve. ]
If you know of a place better than this that might give us answers, don't hold back. I'm not looking to stay in your collective hairs any longer than you want me here.
[ Though Geralt still has questions. He rarely considers flights of fancy but this man is impossible. Some light shed upon things could be beneficial. Especially for Yennefer. ]
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It's dangerous. Guests are not permitted. Not usually. Don't make a fool of me.
[She looks to Geralt first, harsh words but her lips are in a smile before she offers her hand.]
If they are in conference we should go now while they believe we're occupied.
[Outside of the library Aretuza is still at the height of entertaining. Good. More people to pass through. With luck few would pay them attention.]
Come. Hurry.
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[ Geralt hums a nod and a quirk of a smile escapes him. He takes her hand and John can't help the tug of feeling in his chest at watching the display. Unlikely pair and all, they seemed.
Once they leave the room, making their way through the throngs of people still gathered. John lags behind only a step or two, almost through the thick of it and out the other side, but a man takes his arm suddenly, making him tense. ]
You. The stranger here. [ There's a connection there, even through the clothing. John's felt the kind of power before but never without skin to skin contact. ] Not so strange after all.
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Right before the new corridor the Sculptor stops him.]
Fuck.
[Now leading back to stand behind John. The Sculptor has a vague gesture to the man's personage.]
We must be away urgently, you can make friends later if you so wish.
[The man tutters and waves away her comment, for the moment simply fixated on their strange mage friend.]
You truly are something special.
John. This is John. And he must be away.
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Nothing special about me, mate. But if you're wanting to get friendly, I've got business first.
[ Trying to shrug off the connection. The touch. He pulls an arm free, trying to hide how shaken he is. The Sculptor looks between the three. ]
You don't yet realize what he is, do you?
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John this is our most talented and skilled architect and sculptor. You may know is work better than you think.
[Yennefer's hand ghosts for his but remembers the last time they touched and thinks better]
...what is he? Explain and be quick abut it.
[Because she is bracing herself for some painful truth that Witchers are gifted a second chance for a legacy.]
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Without them if he has to. Geralt huffs in mild irritation as John shoulders away from both of them, giving a terse glance at the Sculptor. ]
He's yours. Can't you tell?
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Her hand is still in the Witcher's grasp. She should send Geralt after John. Or at least she would have if she wasn't so thoroughly confused.]
Mine? What on earth do you mean by that?
[Her hair begins to lift and she can feel sparks gather at her fingertips of her free hand.]
Can you not see that--?
[Gods she is with Geralt? Does this mean destiny is serving something else? If it is, she does not want it. With or without his stupid wish, this is her choice.]
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Then he feels the surge of power that accompanies the Sculptor's words. He continues. ]
He's of your line. And his. It shouldn't be possible but he is proof, living and breathing proof of it.
[ John goes down the passageways, letting his intuition and the taste of magic alone guide him. He can sense the power in this place. The way it curls in one spot in particular.
Geralt cuts in: ]
Yennefer, we should leave this one and find John.
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He's their child.
Their future.]
Hurry.
[Without another word to the Sculptor, she pulls at the Witcher, guiding him through the crowd to the narrow corridors beyond the large hall the throng takes up.]
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His own pulse is quicker than normal, a mixture of excitement and dread that drives him. He thinks of Stregobor and what he might do should he find out about this. The very thought makes his blood boil. ]
If he knows others may yet find out. This place is too dangerous for him.
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The quiet buzzes in her ears as they finally break away. Torches ignite as they pass through the darkened halls. John is nowhere in sight.]
Fuck.
[They still must go. They must press on. There are too many here with agendas of their own to exploit this new truth.
The archmages have deemed their meeting adjourned and spill from one of the disappearing and reappearing rooms and wings. Of course John is there as they begin to file out. Why would he not be? Old, analytical eyes squint at him.]
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So he's back to following the magic, letting it guide him through the ancient halls, feeling the lick of it like fire on his fingertips. A whisper of promise that tugs him along like a thread he can't see.
Unbeknownst to him, Stregebor watches his retreat with interest then looks over as Yennefer and Geralt arrive. The smile that turns up the corners of his mouth is cold and knowing. Geralt only barely manages to swallow down a snarl. ]
We're wasting time with this useless dance around the rest of them. Stregebor senses something, we need to get to John quickly. Is there another way to him?
[ He doesn't care what rules might be in place to prevent modes of travel if there are any. The important thing is getting to the young mage alone in this dangerous place. ]