Fourteenth of the Hill

“Don’t need anything, no. Came by to see if you needed anything, actually.” Geralt stands in the doorway and folds his arms across his chest. He and Triss have known each other too long for him to not know that something’s on her mind. 

The voice was so familiar that he knew the tones by heart. He knew that under that hood was that redhaired sorceress that had given him enough lectures to fill a volume of texts. Regardless, he closed the door behind him in a casual yet quiet manner and crossed his arms, striding closer to the other and following her lead to go upstairs. “But how else would ye’ know it’s me? Not like I carry a distinct scent like yer… ‘home’ does.” A grin spread across his lips and a chuckle soon followed.

“Well we can’t all live the glamorous path of a witcher now can we?” The sorceress crossed her arms and walked to her small corner in the foul pit that Novigrad had become. In truth she’d been meaning to move houses again, after the first close encounter it seemed she’d need to keep rotating out of safe-houses.

“Nice to see you can still read...and manage not to draw too much attention. Sorry you have to see my world so...twisted right now, nords and magic are one thing but what Radovid is doing makes them look like High Elves.” Triss found a dresser to lean against and crossed her arms. Six months since they’d returned, everything changed once they left Skyrim she had to deal with the consequences of what she’d revealed at the Conclave. 

@formeradvisor

The stench, all to familiar to this man’s nose. That was burning flesh, searing, far beyond death to the point that it would send a message. If any understood fire as a weapon it would be he, wielding it with ease and flowing primal origins. But this… Overkill, over-use. And while he’d heard whispers in his travels, this didn’t compare to the actual sight of plumes, the stench of the bodies, though faint but clinging to the air. 

‘James, 

I can’t give much detail but maybe Geralt can. However if he’s short on words, follow the smell of fish until you find the smell of spiced herbs, can’t miss it.

Regards, T.’

With the words of the message still in mind, the cloth, leather and mail clad spellsword moved in on the outer gate. The city was something that he’d compare to the Imperial City in Nirn. But alas, even the most beautiful, the most architectural miracles had their dirty secrets. And even then some were on display for the world to see.

Moving past the guards amongst the crowd of people, he did his best to remain incognito, and natural. It succeeded, despite wearing much more than a common traveler or war refugee from the South.

Whilst navigating the streets he took note of his surroundings. Shrines to this ‘eternal flame’ everywhere, men preaching this word of truth whilst the common man suffered and in some cases bought into it, poverty a level of dirtiness that would normally be more on-par with the cleanliness of a poorly kept village stable.

Still he pressed on, aiming to reach his destination as quickly as possible. The less time he spent out in the streets, the better off he’d be. The faint smell of fish was indeed in the air and the mild scent of fresh herbs. Off an inkling, or perhaps an educated guess he ducked into a doorway and opened a door.

“Careful there sell sword...people may believe you’ve taken too many swings to the head if you keep talk about places and fruits that don’t even exist.” The sorceress was on the stairs with her hood still up just incase anyone else might walk through the door. 

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