lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 138 - Day 152
Where: The Summerlands
What: The Ringmaster brings the carnival to the Summerlands immediately after being freed from Portland so that everyone can take a fucking nap. Her included.
Warnings: Individually marked! Most likely discussion of torture and trauma in here.

DAYS OF SUMMER↴

You made it! And things are back to normal... more or less. Upon waking, you will be greeted with a clear blue sky and gentle breeze – the carnival has found itself situated between a pair of mountain peaks, with great fields of flowers extending in the distance. In the other direction, you’ll see mountain-top cities and tall waterfalls accenting vast swaths of forest.

Some of you will already know this place. It’s the Summerlands. You game here once to rest in safety nearly a year ago, and now you’ve come to rest once again.

► WAKING UP: Shortly after the carnival arrives, the Ringmaster will send out a somewhat cryptic radio message - but her immediate location won't be clear. Whatever items you had on your person at the time the Severing was broken will still be on your person, including whatever clothing. All of the animals and pets of the carnival will have returned to the grounds as well, though they are currently free from their designated living spaces. Things in the carnival will appeared to have naturally aged a month, as if the carnival was been sitting here empty and waiting while everyone was in Portland. The lawn needs mowing.

► SUMMER CITY: After the Summer Fae become aware of everyone's presence, they will welcome you into their city. There are stairs that lead up the sides of the mountains, but thankfully there are also magical means of getting up there as well. The Summer Fae will be willing to help workers with the injured as needed, offering herbal remedies and healing magic to those that want it. You'll also be invited to join them for dinner, but they will not be particularly offended if they are turned down, for now.

► SUMMER PEOPLE: The fae here will mostly enjoy the company of any carnival members that offer it - it doesn't seem that much happens here besides day after day of peaceful meditation and relaxation. It is not uncommon to see Summer Fae spent days doing exactly the same thing, whether that be enjoying the weather, listening to music, or dancing - the day and night periods may be similar to earth, but when you don't need rest it can all blur together just the same. Some of the fae work on feats of agriculture or craftsmanship, and while there is no particularly need to work in this place, they take pride in the fact that they do.

► NEW ARRIVALS: Though the Ringmaster will not be offering much guidance for the first week or so, eventually the carnival will begin running for a few small performance sessions, off and on, as a thank you to their fae hosts. The carnival will also be open to receiving new arrivals during that period, and so there will likely be some newbies to train and get orientated as well.

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Now that's a suggestion Rita's never heard before, and she can't help but crack a smirk at the thought. Wouldn't that be fun? Just blasting those bucket-heads whenever they make stupid requests... It's a nice fantasy.

But after a moment, she shakes her head. "For one... my proficiency in combat magic is well above average." It sounds like bragging, and it kind of is, but it's also a fact. "Mages are scholars first and foremost; most of them don't have the will or the firepower to take out a knight squad."

But Rita does, and there are some good reasons that she doesn't make a habit of it. "Besides, annoying as it is, the mages and knights have a mutually beneficial relationship. The Empire provides funding, resources, and protection to us, in exchange for our findings being used to improve the army and infrastructure. If Aspio tried to separate from the Empire, we wouldn't last long. We can't produce food, we'd lose access to valuable excavation sites, and we wouldn't have protective escorts for research expeditions." They could hire mercenaries, sure, but once the money ran out, they'd be screwed.

"In the case of individual mages... blowing off Imperial requests could land you in a disciplinary hearing, if someone chooses to push for it." Rita mentions that because it so happens that she's gotten away with a little insubordination here and there. Among other things. "You'd run the risk of getting your license revoked, which means being expelled from Aspio and losing access to all the benefits of being a mage there."

"And let me guess: for most mages, that's a fate worse than death." Having all that knowledge at your fingertips and then losing access to it? He doesn't need to be a mage to know how that would turn out, though he privately thinks that if they didn't have combat aptitude before, being expelled would be excellent motivation to gain some.

"Put it that way, feels like witchers get off easy." He picks up a bomb from the table, absently hefting its weight in his hand. "We don't have to deal with all those politics. Doesn't stop people trying to tell us what to do anyway, but it's a lot harder to force us to."

"The politics really are the worst part," she agrees with a shrug. "Most of us would rather focus on our research and forget about the rest of the Empire." But it doesn't really work that way, and that's the price they pay for having a well-protected institute with all the best resources.

His comment strikes her as mildly surprising, though. "Do witchers have that much freedom? I would've thought that whoever's turning kids into super-powered monster slayers would try to keep them on a tight leash." Both to get the most out of their resources, and to avoid a situation where they might turn around and act against the authorities.

Lambert glances up from the bomb he holds cradled in his palm, pursing his lips. As much as Rita had to think about ways to explain her world's magic and its workings to someone who'd never been there, Lambert had to think about how to explain things that he'd taken for granted people simply ... knew, even if it was a factually incorrect and twisted version of it.

"Depends how you define freedom," he says, finally. "First of all, there aren't all that many witchers around anymore. At least for the School of the Wolf -- the one where I trained -- new witchers haven't been made in forty, fifty years." He sets the bomb down, leaning his hip against the table and continuing.

"The first witchers were made about a thousand years ago -- no one really knows how it started, but we know mages had to be involved, because you need alchemy and magic to do it. At some point, that changed. Witchers went off to hole up in places where they couldn't be found, to keep making and training new witchers. They took all their secrets with 'em, too, so nobody else could do it after that. But people heard stories, and that was enough."

"Witchers making new witchers? Why do that?" Especially after having gone through that process themselves, and going into hiding... Wouldn't that be an opportunity to do, well, literally anything else with their lives? Rita cups her chin with her hand as she ponders that, as well as the other facts he just mentioned.

Wait a minute...

She shoots him a wide-eyed look of sudden revelation. "How old are you?"

"Who knows? Probably because they wanted to make someone else as miserable as they were," Lambert snorts. It's more likely it's got something to do with preserving tradition or honoring those who came before them or some high-minded shit like that, but words can't describe how little Lambert cares about either of those things...

Besides, Rita's question is a much riper opportunity for entertainment, as he grins shittily.

"How old do I look?"

Her eyes narrow into an impatient glare. "Old."

If he was hoping she'd flatter him with a guess, it's not happening. If she had to guess, though, she probably would have placed him in his thirties or forties... but it looks like that must be off by a couple decades, at least. Her answer is still plenty honest, though: any of those ages would still be old in her eyes.

She goes on. "...But not old enough to be my grandfather, which is about the minimum you'd have to be for those numbers to add up."

It's been a while since Lambert was Rita's age (though arguably, mentally, he never grew out of it) but he can still remember exactly what it was like to feel like everyone else around you is a million years older ... mostly because they keep treating you like you're five.

Regardless, her open irritation makes him snigger, tipping his head to the side. "Well, you're not wrong. But believe it or not, I'm probably one of the youngest witchers living. Geralt and Eskel are pushing a hundred and Vesemir's probably been around a few centuries or so."

Edited 2017-08-20 01:40 (UTC)

Looks like Rita's assertion was right on the money, weird as the whole thing is. It's clear from her expression that yes, it is hard to believe... but she's seen and heard a lot less believable things lately, so in the end, she can't doubt him all that much.

"I take it witchers normally live longer than other people." He is from a different planet, and there's always the chance that human life expectancy could be different there, but from the way he phrased it, it's probably similar enough that her surprise is expected. Still... an extended lifespan... "Is that... caused by magic?"

It's not the first time Rita's heard of magic extending someone's life, but it's not exactly a common story, either. Nor has she heard any specifics about how it's done, in any case.

As expected, she's quick on the uptake, and Lambert nods. "That's right. But don't ask me how it works, because I have no idea." No witcher's ever had a chance to live long enough to figure out what that actual extended lifespan is, either, but he figures that detail probably isn't all that important to Rita.

"Magic makes it so we can't have kids, either. Same thing for any other magic user where I'm from. That's why you don't end up with too many."

Edited 2017-08-21 20:25 (UTC)

It's a shame that Lambert can't tell her how it works, but it's probably just as well. Research that involves meddling in the very nature of human life is largely taboo in Aspio, and with good reason. Rita's already delved into that more than would normally be tolerated, anyway.

That aside... there's one thing he mentions that brings a look of alarm to her face. "Wait... all magic users are sterile? What the hell's going on with the magic in your world?"

It's looking more and more like Rita's best off not trying to pursue that magic for herself... Having kids isn't something she's ever given much thought to, but sterility could be a symptom of serious damage to the body.

Lambert can't help chuckling at the alarm in Rita's expression -- probably because he's mentally comparing it to Strange's reaction to the same information. However, he simply shrugs.

"Witchers don't study that kind of thing, but if I had to guess? Something about being exposed to that much magic and making babies just doesn't mix."

"Magic exposure?" Rita sighs, shaking her head. "That's about as unscientific an explanation as it gets." Magic can refer to a lot of substances, many of which are completely different in the ways they interact with living beings. Of the ones Rita's familiar with, she doesn't know any that would specifically cause sterility without having other, more visible symptoms appear first.

"Do you even know what your magic is made of? I mean, on a chemical level." Knowing that much is common sense for any magic user where Rita's from, but she's getting the impression that people in other worlds tend not to be so informed.

Lambert shrugs. "You're asking if magic's a thing we can pull out of the air like you do with your blastia? I don't know the answer to that. Witcher magic training was pretty basic stuff. You don't really need much to do something like this."

He turns, narrowing his eye at the target dummies, then pitches the bomb in his hand overhead in a clean, easy throw. If Rita's paying attention, she'll notice the small, subtle gesture he makes once the bomb's clear of his fingers that lights the fuse, and when it bounces off the ground it explodes in a circle not of fire, but ice and frost, icicles forming on the dummies almost instantly as the force pushes them back.

For a guy with a few extra decades on most humans, one would think he could take a little time to actually study and understand his own abilities in depth... But that bomb serves as a distraction, sparing Lambert the lecture.

Rita's eyes flick between the bomb and Lambert, widening when it detonates. "An ice bomb!?" There's surprise, and perhaps a bit of excitement in her tone. Because hey, chemistry is cool, and that's a pretty unique use of it. "...You used magic to detonate it?"

"Yeah. More reliable than carrying flint and steel, and it lets you keep a hand on your sword." Lambert grins at Rita's excitement. Because if there's anything that's obvious about him in the time they've known each other, it's that Lambert thinks explosions are pretty neat, regardless of whether they involve fire or not.

"That one's called Northern Wind. It's a little weaker than usual ... normally the radius would be bigger. Gotta adjust the formula some." His hand hovers over the bombs still lined up on the table. "Wanna try one yourself? Every color does something different."

Edited 2017-09-02 21:09 (UTC)

"I suppose it can't hurt," Rita answers with a nod. She's trying to act cool and indifferent about it, but her grin betrays her real feelings: blowing things up is fun, and this is a whole new way to do it.

Also, they're bombs, so hurting is literally a thing that could happen if they're careless, but never mind that.

Looking over the remaining bombs, Rita selects one bound in a different color than what Lambert just threw. "I'll try this one." She steps up to face one of the training dummies and with some effort, throws it. It's not the best throw, but it lands within a reasonable range of its target. She leaves the fuse to Lambert; lighting it with her blastia magic would be overkill.

Lambert figures out what she means for him to do easily enough. It's a valiant effort at a throw but he can tell Rita's cut from the same 'why exercise when you could do magic instead' cloth that Strange is, and if this were actually a training session, he'd have something to say about that, but ... this is just playing around, so it's fine.

When the bomb lands in the middle of the dummies, though, there isn't anything impressive, at least not to start with: just a soft paff and a cloud of billowing gas creeping around them. The witcher doesn't seem put off by the disappointing display, though.

"All right, now try igniting the gas."

Rita squints at the result, then looks to Lambert questioningly. Was that one a dud? Fortunately, he answers before she needs to say anything. It's at the same time that she can smell something weird in the air...

"I see... so that's it," she muses with a grin, holding her hands out and conjuring a simple fireball with her blastia. With a wave of her hand, she launches it into the gas cloud.

Normally, igniting a cloud of unknown gas that's still pretty close by would go against common sense, but she's pretty sure Lambert wouldn't tell her to do something that would get both of them killed. That, and fire simply doesn't scare Rita easily. Even in the middle of an inferno, she tends to feel like she's the one in control. Usually because she is.

They're luckily standing far away enough that it isn't going to singe off their eyeballs or anything like that, but as soon as the open flame makes contact, the gas ignites in a roar of flame. The wave of heat that comes off the explosion hits them like a wall as the fire shoots nearly fifteen feet up, the explosion setting the dummies ablaze and pretty much melting all the ice that used to be there into a watery mess that soaks into the ground.

Lambert's grin is insufferably smug. "That one's called Dragon's Dream. Usually works better if you toss it at something that's already on fire."

Is it worrying how he knows that? Probably not to Rita.

Rita's eyes widen as she watches the display with an expression much like that of a child watching fireworks. This might be a little less safe than that, but she doesn't look too concerned.

"Incredible. With the right chemical components, a tiny flame like that can pack as much punch as a high-tier arte." It's something Rita would be capable of, if she put her mind to it. Of course, any time she wanted to make a bigger fire, she'd usually just come up with a bigger spell. "I suppose it goes to show how much of a difference knowledge and planning makes on the battlefield." Brains win over brawn every time, in Rita's book.

Lambert doesn't tend to put much stock in things like 'moderation of lethal force,' but he is still a witcher, even if his personality doesn't make him seem like much of a planner.

"Right. Witchers usually work alone, so we can't count on anyone else to watch our backs for us. When you're up against a monster, you need every advantage you can get."

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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