gleymdu mér aldrei

Night enveloped Novigrad, the sky alive with bright stars and a moon half full. It was the most dangerous time to be caught unsuspecting, but Felix wasn't exactly the type to keep his wits about him. He was rather more the kind to simply walk with his head up, one foot in front of the other, and never dare to imagine the worst. Novigrad's busy streets were a far cry from Oxenfurt's, but still, it took more than the smell of the city to dampen his spirits.

This street, however, was calm at this time of night, much like the ones he was used to. There was only the figure of one person walking quite a way ahead of him, minding their own business he imagined. But as he took another step and felt the crunch of metal underfoot, he looked down to realise he had stumbled upon a coin purse. It must be the stranger's! He picked it up, tightening its string, and took off after them. "Hello!" He called, hailing their attention.

Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her. Someone trying to get her attention? It could be a mimic. Carefully, she drew out her sword and spun around, holding it out. After a moment, she greeted them back. “Hello,” she watched the human, before slowly sheathing her sword back in its place. “Did you need something?” she asked, brow raised, not yet noticing the purse of coin he was holding in his palm.

Olwen was finding that it also seemed to make loose tongues, and more than one piece of useful information had been tucked away already. But the night's interests were beginning to wane when a familiar face passed through the door. Savya, with all the aura that accompanied a witcher, seemed to take some pull some of the air out of the room. Gazes lingered, and the space closest to the door grew quieter as the patrons watched her enter.

Excusing themselves, Olwen moved to greet the woman, a genuine smile on their face. "Too long" they say, taking her hands, and peering into that beautiful face. "Come. Are you hungry? Or would you like some wine? Anything."

She'd donate a coin or two for some entertainment. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd indulged in her free time. Her swords had been a little intimidating. She thought she saw a few patrons shying away while she entered the room, finding a seat. But nonetheless, she was here now and she could rest. Carefully tossing her shield onto the floor, she turned to her friend and gave a genuine smile.

"Indeed I am," Savya said, offering them some coin from her bag. "Please, I would greatly enjoy some wine. I have not had much on the road since last night. This morning's ride had too many drowners. A distraction, mostly but I needed to make it to Novigrad early enough. Thank you," she said.

Cultural pursuits aren't exactly high on the list of things Yair bothers to engage with whenever he finds himself in the city - not when there are brothels to visit and taverns to be thrown out of - but he has never been able to resist the pull of a crowd, the allure of a little fucking commotion, no matter its source.

He doesn't join the audience until the show is practically over, a dark blemish on the tapestry of otherwise colourfully-attired townspeople, his yellow eyes tracking the performer as they readily command the stage. He realises he's seen them before, years ago, out on the road, though their costumes were not quite so elaborate back then - it's easy to forget, sometimes, how quickly humans change.

One could bet they were there where the merriment was. The Yard was meant to bring out the best in people, or maybe just the worst because of all the back and forth that happened. But they didn't care. They enjoyed bringing in new faces and bringing back loyal patrons. Some of whom they had seen out on the road. A Witcher, perhaps?

"Please, continue to admire," Blaer toed their way closer. "I won't stop you," they said in a dreamy sort of drawl. "Easier to dress up on a stage that doesn't move along with me," they smiled. "Can I delight you with another poem?" they asked, and started reciting before an answer could be given.

Where: Fishmarket, southwest of Hierarch Square

The sorceress looked over each offering with a careful eye. Salmon, haddock, mullets. A fine catch for the upcoming solstice.

While the eternal fire had loosened their grip on the city for the celebration, Sahana still spotted a few temple guards around. She acted as nonchalant as possible while looking over a large fish. "How much?" She asked the fisherman before he gave her a truly outrageous price.

Sahana scoffed and walked away. She'll just have to catch her own salmon later. There was still an altar that needed to be set up. She hurried back to the mainland before getting blocked by a curious buyer. "I suggest waiting unless you absolutely need that crab right now, the prices are absolutely ridiculous" she warned.

"Hmm..." she looked down at the creature laying on the surface counter, legs up in the air. With her dagger that was sheathed in her pocket, she poked at it. "Make sure you actually sell produce that is intended to be eaten and not used as decoration to scare travelers away," she glared at the man selling the items. She glanced at Sahana, and then back at the man. "Give us a fresh one. And at a discounted price,"

She waited for the merchant to hesitate or protest, but Savya kept her hand on the edge of her knife. Scaring dishonest fishermen always brought a little bit of excitement. But she'd never hurt them unless they gave her reason to. He looked between the sorceress and the Witcher, pulling a fresher looking fish from the tray behind him, rambling in apology.

He leaned on his hands and smirked "You, my love ," Apollo let the words drip with sarcasm "Can get right off stage and let me have a turn" it was a slight joke but nothing more. Apollo's cue was coming soon anyway and he'd have to run back stage to get ready anyway.

Apollo drummed his fingers on the stage. The summer performances were usually his favorite, but Apollo was not impressed with the pieces submitted this year. "With everything going to shit right now, I do feel that the plays could be less tragic" He threw out his arms "Where's the comedy this year? Did the Eternal Fire kill it all?"

"Please be my guest," they waved their hand around, gesturing towards the stage. Inviting him on stage meant more coin, a variety of their audiences would flock whenever someone else would take on the stage. They weren't all that easily going to give up the spotlight, however. Blaer would never let the energy in the house die down so soon.

They picked up the lute that was sitting in the corner of the stage and strummed its strings, giving a deep hum, before meeting Apollo's eyes again. "Do you have a poem about fire? A song that tells the tale of finding sweets and giving them to a Witcher?" they singsonged. "I think an epic tale may enlighted our audience tonight, dear friend,"

As the sun sets over Hierarch Square, Aled aep Gruffydd emerges from his shop to a chorus of plaintive meows from the motley trio of cats gathered around his door. It seems the absence of the two temple guards usually installed on the street outside has made them bold, and he himself breathes that bit easier, in turn. "Hello, my dears," he says in a soft, fond voice as he bends to scratch the friendliest - a whip-thin ginger tom - behind its ears.

"Ahh..." her eyes squinted a bit at the signage above the door. She looked at the human speaking and then back down at the strays that had gathered at her feet. "I don't have any food on me," she said, searching the pack at her hip for something for them. She bent down and held out her hand for one to sniff, earning a delighted purr. "No, unfortunately, being a Witcher doesn't always allow for domesticated pets. I did care for a wolf in the past. He ran away, though."

Acquiescent by nature, Aveline has agreed to help with some heavy lifting. Such is life when you're six foot four and broad with it. She is between clients right now, hence her arriving in the big city -- there are several taverns where, she has heard, it is easy to find work. But in the meantime, she is happy to help.

Or, she would be, were it not for this infernal bard. With the manic energy of an imp, he darts to and fro, and she catches snatches of song and poetry. Aveline tries to be a patient person, particularly when it comes to innocent bystanders. And this one does seem to be innocent. Just, incredibly tiresome. "Would you please stop... gambolling?"

Twirling on the cobblestone streets, lute in their hands, Corrand sang loudly, paying no mind to the passersby around them. Even if it meant stepping on a few toes or knocking over a few plants or whatever those vendors were selling these days. They didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the audience. The calling.

They spun around on their left heel and hopped a few steps ahead, nearly sending them right into someone. As if on cue, their feet landed perfectly trained, together in a poised stance. Looking up, they gasp as if insulted. “And what would you expect me to do?” they waved their hand dramatically.

There is little that lifts the spirits quite as much as seeing children have fun. Their laughter lights the streets; it is as though they can sense that the Eternal Fire has been quiet of late. Danica certainly feels the difference. Though she will never feel totally at ease, as a mage, the threat feels less heavy today.

She has ended up finding a small group of children and showing them to make flower crowns, which they do with great delight and creativity. She even manages not to bore them by telling them about the medicinal uses of some of the herbs and flowers present. One of the children seems distracted and keeps gazing off; Danica thinks little of it, because it can just be difficult to keep the attention of a child.

Her senses were heightened; so much chatter and music were in the air. She stretched her neck to the side and sighed, pushing her long braid back off her shoulder and hopped off of her horse, taking a glance around. Fully dressed in her Witcher armor, she stood out. She had a scarf wrapped around her waist, and felt a tiny hand tugging on it to get her attention.

She had gotten used to that—she probably had done so when she was that small. Witchers were intense, maybe even a little scary, but some of them were sensible enough to hold a conversation. Her eyes moved to the mage who was speaking to the child now. A small, rare smile appeared on her lips and she waved her hand, causing a breeze to blow, making the flowers dance. “Always a very good measure to have, especially these days,” she said, nodding her head.