#celayawitcher

[theportaraceli]

who? @celayawitcher where? avernia, lady severian’s castle when? after neptunalia began, late at night

Being grounded is not a feeling Araceli is used to, after a few years with her crew, but a must is a must. With Iskaldrik’s fall and the wave of refugees stuck in Haven, there is a great deal of work to do within Lysara for Lady Severian’s heir, and that is without taking into account most of Neptunalia’s festivities. There is too much going on, and too little time to take to the waters. So she has given her crew some time off, and she has returned home once more, ready to meet with her mother and figure out what she needs to do next. The tasks have fallen upon her shoulders as easily as always, and day had turned to night before she noticed. 

She leaves her study with a sigh, a hand rubbing the back of her neck as she tries to massage away the knot that had formed after countless hours hunched down, when she stops in her tracks. A shadow wavers on the corner of her eye, and her hand falls to her rapier before she turns her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the shadow owner’s. Another sigh escapes her as she lowers her hand from her weapon and turns to face the amnesiac with a raised brow. 

“It's a tad late for wandering, is it not?”

[aegeanxcalla]

who?: @celayawitcher where?: the rescue ship when?: soon after captain maro found them

It wasn't much, just a torn piece of Calla's dress folded and tucked to resemble a flower. She knew it meant nothing in the grand scheme, but she still offered it to Celaya as they sailed back from the underwater temple. "There's no way that I could ever repay the debt I owe you, but I hope this will help to demonstrate what your sacrifice means to me." Calla moves in close to Celaya, hesitant to bring up the ring that attached itself to her finger, yet showing concern for her regardless. "Thank you, for keeping me safe on the raft. I felt safe underneath your shield and I still feel safe now, here with you."

[hiddenvaldis]

who? @celayawitcher where? Captain Tullia’s Boat when? After the Drowned King’s Quest

There is a part of Valdís that rebels against the idea of even associating with another witcher. Seraphiel’s annoying second-in-command, Moon-hwa, is troublesome enough. There is no need for her to face another one, not really. They are ghosts of people she would have met if the druid hadn’t saved her, and that alone is enough to send shivers down her spine. Pirates are a superstitious bunch, and she has never quite liked dwelling on what ifs, fearing that the wonderings would bring them towards here. 

And yet. 

There she is, approaching the witcher with a nod of acknowledgment and as friendly of a smirk as she can muster. They have both been fucked over by the lich creatures, and she guesses she is going to see her again because of the rings stuck in their hands, so might as well build some rapport. 

“You aren’t half bad in the field,” she praises. “Those were some quick moves you pulled out there.”

[theportaraceli]

A hum of consideration leaves her lips as she nods slowly, taking in the information with care. It’s a scrap of what has been taken from her. A name, a region, a city. Small puzzle pieces filling in empty blanks, yet not forming a full picture just yet. There are far too many holes in her memories, too many empty spots, and she worries that it will take far too much time and effort to fill them anew. Will she even be able to? Even if they leave the ship, even if they manage to survive… Will there be a solution to the emptiness within her head?

The question scares her, and she has to set it aside immediately, lest she spirals once more. Celaya is right that there is still work to be done. Escape is still possible, and sitting around waiting for death doesn’t strike her as something she would enjoy doing. 

“Ah, so they took advantage of those who were vulnerable and desperately looking for safety, then. How despicable,” she says with a sign and a shake of her head, unknowingly reproaching her past self for her own actions against Celaya. Moving to stand, she shrugs. “It might not be allowed in the end, or it might not even give us the answers we need, but at least this way I am trying, right?” 

"Indeed it was the region," her tone was solemn, unsure of how to navigate this despite having lived it herself nearly a year to the date. "Though Aventia was the city, and though we fought for many weeks, we still failed." Celaya was certain she'd never seen as many darkspawn as those that had swarmed the city. Anger flooded her at the reminder, further fueled at the fact the Kossith had promised to expel said creatures of darkness, only to subjugate those they had promised 'freedom' of.

"It's how we're in this mess, really; the Kossith promised they would expel the darkspawn from your home, and while they may have succeeded in that, they continued to take and take." Celaya did not step up, even within her mind, as a leader of this liberated group. Eivor had instigated her, the dragon had planned for her rage to be the Kossith's unraveling, and it had succeeded. But when the dust settled and many were slain, she did not feel it correct, after everything she had done while under the influence of the a'dam, to step forward and take charge.

"Only few have interrogated them since, but it doesn't hurt to try everything." A mild suggestion, she didn't want to squash Araceli's hope to aid them.

[eivorx]

@celayawitcher Notes: sorry he's just a little guy with angry tiddies and a job from nik

The Kossith could never understand the nuances of every place. They attempted; they'd sat, they'd waited. They'd watched. It'd all been part of their reasoning. Wrong place, right time, whatever it was. Eivor could see the witcher, the metal around her throat, her shoulders, what she would become. He didn't know about her past, had little to know about what she'd done, but did it matter?

"Are you always this fucking useless in times like these? You couldn't save the person you went below Eterna for, left them to die." She'd nearly died herself, if he remembered correctly. The dragon's eyes held no kindness, no empathy – "A witcher deserves to rot in this place more than anyone, I think."

[akanisxingrid]

Who: @celayawitcher Where: Kossith Vessel

How could she have allowed this to happen, it was meant to be simple her and Celaya were to go to Aventia to help it regain some kind of normalcy, help with relations with the Kossith. Well it hadn't gone to plan that was for sure. They had been stalked through the backstreets, ambushed with collars being thrusted on their neck before they could even react.

They were now in the belly of the ship amongst so many others who had been taken. Despair, dread lingered in the air, infecting in the minds as time passed. Ingrid had been trying to convince herself that she was strong enough to proceed since Akanis' death, that her damaged soul was enough to withstand. But she knew she wasn't alone she had her squire, her friend right beside her. As if being beside her would repel what was to come, as if they could protect each other. Ingrid would give her life for Celaya. If she had been told a year ago that she would do such for a witcher she wouldn't have believed it. But here she was a changed woman... she just didn't know if it was for the better.

As Celaya stirred awake beside her she allowed her friend to get her bearing "Slowly now." there was every reason to over react and freak out but it wasn't like it would get them anywhere so she advised caution. "We are on a ship to gods know where." who know how long they would be in the ship for or how long they had already been sailing.

[freydis-freydat]

who: @celayawitcher where: the hold on the Kossith ship when: early in captivity notes: let me know if this works or if you want changes

Celaya had not struck Freydis as a woman of many words during their journey back to the spine. This had not landed upon Freydis in a way that made her perceive the Witcher as unfriendly, but rather more driven and determined. It was unfortunate that Freydis knew so many ghosted away from the streets of Eterna and subjugated by the cold, metallic weight of the a’dam. She monitored Celaya from the corner of her eye, and though the woman had not demonstrated obvious signs of extreme distress, Freydis was almost certain she also had not seen the woman utter a single syllable to another. Cooperation would be a significant factor if there was to be any hope, and cooperation would be born of community. When she had taken a seat beside the woman and allowed a few beats to pass, she looked at the other warrior. “I don’t suppose your antimagic has any impact on these a’dam, do they?” she asked quietly. 

[travelervesper]

Vesper scoffed, for no amount of alcohol would soften his edge. "Just as you know who I am. It'd be wise of you to remember that. I'm not a hero nor am I your answer. I did my job the best that I could, and I'll continue to do it until it no longer suits me. That's it. Curb your expectations, even magic can't do miracles." That's the only way to stay sane in his line of work. Vesper stayed in his lane, minded his duties, and took what compensation he thought he deserved, even if that meant breaking the very laws he upheld. The queendom owed him his luxuries for his many years of dedicated service, though he owed nothing to anyone. Not Akanis, not Celaya, and certainly not the people harmed from their team's failure. That's why his drinking had increased. All the rationalization in the world couldn't absolve Vesper of his guilt. Instead it was easier to go numb so that he could go on.

He pours another glass for each of them. Better company existed, but he drank his breakfast alone that day. This felt slightly less depressing. "Hope is a fool's game. Hope is disappointment in advance, the byproduct of entitlement and fear. I do not 'hope' and if you were smarter, neither would you," he stated matter of factly. Vesper's entire life centered around judging people for their actions and leveraging their vulnerabilities. What they hoped to be or do never mattered, just as what he hoped he could do to improve Lysara never resulted in any change. Celaya's first mistake was allowing anyone to give her hope, her second was clinging to it after the one who gave it to her departed. He really had no compassion for her plight in that regard. Vesper only started gaining in this life when he abandoned hope entirely. "Like I said, denial can be an effective tool for some. Childish though it may be, denial is preferable to delusion. Think what you want, just to project your limitations onto me. I am right."

The man who wanted to help people died years ago. The witch Celaya saw before her was someone who put himself first. Always. Grabbing Sakkara was an action that came from a long forgotten instinct to save others, and if he had embraced it, then maybe he could've grabbed Ingrid too. Impossible to say now how that would've turned out. "Two souls in one body sounds unstable on the best days. I imagine the trauma Ingrid suffered in the final explosion made it difficult for Akanis to return. That's what happens when people try to play hero," he says, chuckling darkly before taking another sip. He didn't anticipate the depths of Celaya's naivety, finding it ironic that a witcher of all people would be so ignorant of the way of the world. "People are born to grow, fuck, and shit until they die. We all get crushed beneath the Wheel eventually. Life has no inherent value. Worth comes from usefulness and liability. However, if we were to accept your immature notions of worth, then wouldn't your wallowing over things you cannot change be no different than spitting on his grave?" Not that Vesper had any stake in Celaya's well-being. How she mourned was her business, no one was paying him to care. "A life "worth more" than yours was lost. Shouldn't you feel beholden to use your time to increase your value to honor him or something?"

"Celaya's hair was free, it was nothing like the tightly coiled braid that was typically rolled tightly up on her head, intricate patterns all rolled tightly into some design. It was free today, as wild and untamed as this palpable anger and lack of understanding which radiated off of her. It clashed with the anguish and grief, that sick feeling in her gut that she truly did understand, even if her mind was willing her not to. There were no second chances in life - and Celaya wished to throw her head back and laugh at that, the accidental cruelty in it, and how it plunged like a knife to her heart. If there were no second chances, what was she? A ticking timebomb that Akanis had wasted his time on? It'd only been a few weeks under his mentorship, and he had died, Celaya was starting to figure she truly was the problem.

"You know my name, it'd be wise of you to use it," half-growled out, and likely proving the point Vesper was trying to make through the witcher title, but she was rather fed up with the scrutiny. Even if she could not remember each detail of her former life, she could still feel the blood which coated her hands, tangible through each Lysaran that practically spat at her for what she did not ever ask to become. Who would ask for this? She learned through others that, back in Iskaldrik, she was to simply be a militant hunter; she was favored no titles or land, she simply was what they had apparently trained her to be. Celaya felt this within, though she was a practical blank slate with all she had inflicted, her body always stood at rigid attention, the scars which dotted her body forbade her from forgiving herself, and the hatred given from others only spurred her further that there was no redemption, there were no second chances.

She downed the drink as quickly as Vesper had presented it to her, it burned as it went down, but she remained some glowering attack dog glaring at Vesper for all he could not change with his magic. Pushing the empty glass half towards him as though to signify another, she shakes her head, shoulders lowering slightly, "If you're right then there is really no hope for me. I can't let you be right." Her eyes flickered back to Vesper, and though they weren't kinder than before, they were softer, less on-the-attack, "Do you know why they could bring back the others and not him? His life is worth far more than mine, don't you think?"

[veseniya-tqd]

who: @celayawitcher where: Marinus Bay encampment when: Not long after the fall of Aventia notes: dj khalid voice: anotha one

Everyone seemed to uncomfortable and cagey within the walls of the quarantine camp. If Veseniya had a stronger understanding of the world she occupied, she may have been more sensitive to this. Instead, she only knew the fear tactics she grew up with as a means of control over the masses and the sense of duty she had to the Legion of the Dead. These things, combined with her essential immunity to the Blight, left her bedside manners and sympathies lacking, and she was numbed to the culture of suspicion and fear of the former citizens of Aventia. In theory, this would posit her as a less than ideal candidate to help mitigate the emergency of the displaced Lysarans but in practice she was better equipped to handle the dirty work of the very real presence of the Blight spreading between the tents. The other members of the Legion, and the executers of the witch hunt some of the more fearful occupants of the camp had self-appointed themselves to, had helped ensure that Veseniya recognized the signs of the Blight easily. Veseniya was not one to indulge false hope or suffer fools, and so instead she had established a steady routine of using her druidic powers to numb the senses and dull the minds of the unfortunates stricken with the death sentence of the Blight, and it was not an uncommon scene to see her leading one or several dim-eyed Aventians away from the camp like lambs to the slaughter.

This did not make her a popular woman. Those who had caught on to her executioners role in all of this, although she viewed her role in all of this as someone granting the mercy of a death quick and devoid of suffering, seemed to avoid her. They averted their gaze, turned and walked the opposite direction, and some foolishly attempted to hide the afflicted from her. Veseniya took not particular pleasure in what she needed to do, but she also cut no corners when it came to what needed to be done. In this moment, one of rest, she chose to take a seat next to someone around the camp who she had rarely never seen speaking to anyone, but had never seen flinch from her approach either. "These days grow longer," she said after a moment. "The longer they keep these people together like livestock the more the disease will spread. The more they will die." It was Veseniya's approximation of small talk. She lacked the social experience to realize this was not casual conversation.

[witchertorsten]

Some people are just born to fight.

I think it's not that they're born brave, it's not that they're born strong, it's just that the universe has decided that this one, this one will have grit and fire and steel in their blood. This one will be tested, them and this cosmic metal of theirs; they'll face trial after trial, be broken and damaged in countless ways, but this one was born to fight. Maybe it's not the life they would have chosen, maybe they'd love to lay down their arms, but they were born to fight, that's what they know, it's what they do best, it's all they can do.

w/ @witchernjal @haelimthewatcher @celayawitcher @ofkaedon

@thequeendomhqinspo

[nylathriasoulseer]

Who: @celayawitcher

When: progress day

Nylathria had to wake up at an ungodly hour to set up her stall, make sure she had all her stock, that the wheel was working for others to spin. It had been a long morning to put it shortly but there was the whole day ahead of her. An event like progress day it was perfect for her to up her chances of finding her wife’s soul. Make the prizes attractive enough, the price low enough and she get more people visiting her then she would in the shop. No one would know her true motive, just think she was like the other business owners.

Crouched behind the stall she was organising the final few items, when almost like a sixth sense she could feel someone had walked up. “Sorry one second.” She finished before turning around to greet the customer. “Again apologies for that i did expect anyone to be here so soon.” Nyla’s eyes landed on Celaya, she had never seen this woman before but there was nothing out of the ordinary about her from what she could currently tell, who knew what was lurking within though? Nyla waited there expectantly for the other.

[lilyliux]

Who: @celayawitcher Where: In Lily's private chambers in the left wing of her patron's estate Notes: I'm a lil rusty and I've fallen behind in my readings so pls bare with me

People requested Lily's services for more than just a romp in the sheets, although that was common especially with the nobles who got oh so stressed about hearing how the common folk and honored soldiers had died out in Aventia and the threat of the darkspawn creeping ever closer. Her second most common requested service had to do with her performance abilities, whether it was a dance or for a portrait to be painted with candlelight burning and wine flowing, both were intimate affairs.

Her third and most rarely requested service of all was her druidic abilities, it was one that was visible if one stared long enough and yet she tried to keep her abilities veiled with a flirtatious smile and a bat of her dark lashes.

"Let's set you at ease." The fire crackled in the hearth and her fingers weaved a spell of a gentle wind laced with a fragrant floral tone of sweet cherry blossoms near Celaya's temples and she sang a delicate song of old druidic language.

[rowanmaxim]

Person: @celayawitcher Location: The Comedy Keep

It would be some kind of blasphemy to admit that he actually sort of hated the place. It's not like he's picky with his comedy on account of he's polite and now painfully aware of how hard it is to go up there. "Alright critic, what makes something funny?" Rowan looks across at Celaya with a raised brow, his attention going from the man on stage who is being regarded in a lukewarm manner by the audience to the woman. His tone suggests teasing, and yet there's something refreshing about an outside perspective. Did it matter if a comedian thought something was funny if the audience didn't laugh?

[patientakoda]

with: @celayawitcher when: recent days where: the streets of eterna notes: whether she remembers him or not is up to you!!

He'd never forget the face of the woman who'd stolen his voice - the Witcher who'd slit open his throat and left him for dead. It was only due to the benevolence of strangers that he'd survived, though it'd been hard to properly thank them when his voice had been reduced to a raspy whisper. He'd devoted the next few months to the Hidden Ones, more focused on making his way in this new realm than seeking revenge. Koda wasn't a wrathful, angry man by any means, but his reaction to seeing her face proved otherwise, albeit momentarily.

He hadn't expected to run into her in the city, though she'd likely fled here same as him with the downfall of Iskaldrik. It was late, and there were few others about. Even though the darkness was near pitch black, it appeared crimson as his vision turned red. He spotted her walking, the gravity of what she'd done clearly not weighing down her shoulders. He didn't bother using his magic against a Witcher, the sudden rage coursing through him opting for brute force instead. He charged towards her, vision tunneled, until his body slammed into hers, sending them crashing to the cold ground with his arms pinning her down. "You." he choked out, the jagged scar across his throat in plain sight as he towered over the Witcher.

[jovethebarbarian]

"Let us hope that stays that way." Jove responds, his voice once again having a delivery issue - a bit too rough, too curt. His own past seemingly pulling at the strands of his vocal chords as flurries of memories, placing him back in the Lostlands, placing him back to that suffocating stench of blight. He clears his throat, shaking his head slightly, even the faint whiff of Celaya's altered hand seemed enough to recall unwanted memories in the werewolf. "My apologies." Jove had begun to say, "I seem to have trouble articulating as of late." He offers a soft smile along with a chuckle that may have matched his restraint more than his gentleness. As much as the werewolf desired a bit of tranquility after their underwater nautical adventure, the name of the Iskaran Prince seemed to hit another nerve. "That does carry suspicion."

"I assume I can speak freely?" Jove began to ask. He hadn't much respect for the law, much less the authority of a king. No one becomes a Crimson Reaver while polishing those on ivory pedestals they'd never sit on top of. "How convinced are we that he orchestrated this series of events? Iskaran to Iskaran."

"You don't bring anything to memory, but you should take that as a good thing," whatever she'd been, it'd been better that the ocean had taken her when Iskaldrik fell, that her mind and memory had been purged from whatever cruel witcher she'd once been. Her strengths could be utilized for something better suited to her path today, even if the visceral scars she could not fully remember seemed wholly insistent to inflict her with strange grief. "I don't think us being Iskaran is a pattern here," not like when the Lysaran's tried to bring many to the masquerade to parade them around, "Though it is troubling they invited Prince Afshin along, too."

The hand was cold, that numbing, insistent chill that crept up the rest of her arm and commanded her to listen to it. Since the very moment her hand had grayed, seemingly attuned to the ring, her mind had felt so utterly conflicted - but pain? No, that wasn't the right term. "No - which worries me even more."

[theportaraceli]

i am the storm and i am coming for you

Happy Birthday Gusaroni!

@celayawitcher