#hehe haha they r indigenous

[fllagellant]

10 23 33 lets get it on

You spoil me , Mwah

Sorry these became little drabbles , that was the only way I could see answering the prompts ERM ! I wrote them in my notes app thinking they would be short but Um ! < 3 woe wall of text

10 ) The Garbage Collector.

In Novigrad, some folks pay a premium to have their trash collected every other week. Instead of having to keep and burn your own, or hope the smell of rotting food didn’t turn away customers, most tavern and inns pay whatever is demanded.

One such customer was the Chameleon.

The sun had already dipped low enough that the shadows of the stone walls and buildings draped across the streets. The last bits of sunlight slipping into the cracks wherever it can, burn orange colouring like a toddlers hand.

Waiting just beyond the front door, was Priscilla. A woven basket in her hands, the small bits of garbage they had collected strewn inside. When she saw the man come trotting down, pulling his cart behind him, she waved him down.

He just couldn’t understand.

She shook the minuscule amount in the cart, smiled, and reached to unhook a hefty coin sack from her belt.

“Oi, got any more in there?” He couldn’t help it. Gesturing toward the open door of the tavern, the outdoor performers paying little attention to the man. Priscilla paused, fingers now tracing the beading of her belt. Her other hand tucking the basket under her arm.

“You know how we are, good sir! Rare we have anything to toss!”

“Aye, but I thinks you’re forgetting something.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes, the man stared like he had just answered her question.

“… No sir, this is all we got? Thank you for asking.” She didn’t move to offer the pouch, even with the sureness of her words. She knew this wasn’t the end of the discussion.

“So, you folks pay so much, every time we come round. And most times you have nothing for the pile. And the times you do, it’s hardly scraps.” The man, expecting an explanation, guffawed when she simply shrugged.

“Come now! I heard from the hunter that the fella Zoltan placed an order for rabbit and pheasant. Many of them, if he did not fib. So tell me, where are the carcasses?”

Priscilla seemed to pale at that, eyes widening ever so slightly. The man cocked a brow. In the encroaching darkness, their faces only half highlighted by the torches and oil lamps that the people began to light.

Almost like a whisper, Priscilla tucked her auburn hair behind her ear. Thick locs only being held back for a few moments before they slipped back to frame her face. But that was all the Man needed.

Pheasant feathers. Tied with beads and thread, an earring. An earring on an ear with a slight pointed tip to it. Now, it was the man’s turn to widen his eyes.

“Lady Callonetta, the rumours are real? I knew about your companionship, but you as well?”

“Well, my good man, will you still take my coin?”

Instead of accepting her offer of payment and to continue his route, he couldn’t help but push some more. “Does this make you Scoia’tael? Do they guard this place?”

“I’d have to join to be a member, like how you’re not in the army if you’re born in Nilfgaard. And no, not to my knowledge.”

“Is your mother human? She must be, aye?”

“Well, sure she is, but she’s not from any settlement you’d know.”

By now, Priscilla has crossed the small barrier between them, coinpouch hanging from her outstretched hand.

“So you make jewelry? Only jewelry?”

“You don’t see me wearing rib bones, do you? Everything has a purpose, these feathers were for my crafts. Now, you should take your money and go.”

When the man opened his mouth again, a different voice was heard. It came calling from the warmth of the Chameleon. When it was heard, Priscilla couldn’t help but smile.

“Oi, Kwitókwito, get inside! Or I’m gonna start stretching the hides, and the bet is still on, You hear?” Zoltan. There was a chance he was calling out to scare off the collector. Or his impatience had finally won.

Either way, it did work. The garbage man finally took his payment, hooking the sack on his own belt. Priscilla stood back, giving him ample room to maneuver the cart, sending a friendly smile his way.

Behind her, a drummer brought down his mallet on his hand drum, thunder seeing the man out.

23) Low Stakes Gambling gets Heated.

“No, no- walk me though your plays again. You couldn’t have done what you did.”

The Lodge was seen, to many who wish to discredit the sorceresses at any chance, as something dark. Scary. Mystery and an air of intrigue.

In actuality, while they did try to see how they could influence the rulers, it was to see how far they could push their agenda of protection. Pass laws to allow them easier access to owning homes and travel passes. Before they would have to take to more physical means to prove a mage should not be trifled with.

At the moment, while waiting for Kiera and Síle to show, they’d taken to Gwent.

And Phillipa was certain that Yennefer of Vengerburg- Yes, the Horsewoman of War- had cheated. It didn’t help she was giggling to herself.

“Did you check the stars before you played, my dear?” Fringilla chimed. “Maybe they would have told you how Yennefer would cheat you of five coins.”

Truly, there was no loss. But Phillipa was certain that Yennefer had played too many cards. Pushing her just over Phillipa’s score.

The blindfold she wore, the one she used to see after loosing her eyes, blinked angrily. The threads twisting and weaving to mimic actual eyes. Triss placed two drinks in front of the betting women, having been the one to refill their glasses the whole time they played.

“I’ll play you five coins if you give Yennefer the five coins?” It was a small offering, one she knew was going to fail, but she still offered it.

“Oh, don’t fret too hard, Phillipa!” Yennefer was still giggling. “I asked my magic ball how to-“ she broke into a full throated laugh, knowing she was playing into being ridiculous. So was Fringilla. Phillipa had almost puffed herself up like a bird, by that point.

“Keep it up, Yennefer! Maybe I’ll find a nice travelling band to dump you on. You can cast little shines for them. I know how you adore to travel.”

“I do! But only with people I know. And with people I can beat at cards.”

Triss, having joined Fringilla’s side, leaned in to whisper to the other woman. “Did she actually?”

Fringilla smiled, dimples pulling at her cheeks. “No, she just had an unruly amount of spies. I think Phillipa lost count.” She whispered back. They both paused, seeing the two now trying to play the other for a fool, Phillipa starting to have a ghost of a smile on her face. The others must just be down the road now, as well.

“Hm, I need to check on the curry.” Still whispering, like their meal was a secret, Triss changed subjects. “If I overcook the lamb I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“That you will, I’ve been looking forward to this meal. Go, start plating. They’ll forget about their tryst here once they hear plates.”

As Triss moved towards the kitchen once more, one of the woman make a comment about fortune telling. And both of them finally broke into a fit of laugher.

33) Investigating an Abandoned Place

“Elven.” Stated Lambert.

“Elven.” Echoed Eskel.

They’d found the carving of the head of a Griffin on a rock a few steps away from the entrance to the ruin. If Geralt’s tracking was right, Coën had been here. Now, they needed to see if he was still here. Though, based on the flooded floor from last nights rain, Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he had left during the night.

Now that they were there, they slowed their investigation and began… poking around.

“Burial tomes are still solid. No man had been down here. No treasure hunter or historian or… Whatever.” Lambert had only checked to relight the fire, stood high enough the pooling water couldn’t reach it, one that had been lit the night before.

“Those are sitting tomes, aren’t they? You don’t see those all too often anymore.” Eskel’s voice echoed across the room, his hands brushing the remains of herb bundles. His hands paused their movements, finding something of importance amongst the dried, fragile remains.

Geralt paused his investigation of, what looked to be, a set of once cleaned deer furs. Eying the knelt form of the larger man, he waited to see what he had discovered.

“Geralt, could you come handle this? It’s not mine to hold.” He stated it matter of factly, standing and taking a step away from it. Lambert, now curious, pulled away from his own investigation and moved to join Eskel. Long legs crossing the distance quickly. He seemed to stumble when he noticed what Eskel found, though he would deny it later.

Geralt took a moment to wonder, imagine what he would find. A dagger of lore, a headdress in perfect condition, beading work that rivalled any living hand.

When he did finally catch a glance, he understood why neither Eskel or Lambert had picked it up. A sacred bundle.

They could recognized it easily, Eskel was their Fire Keeper and Lambert was usually the dancer. Geralt was the Bundle Keeper.

When they were younger, Eskel had asked Geralt to be his Bundle Keeper. A few years after that, they both pursued Lambert and asked if he would be willing to participate. He already seemed to know Red River jigs, and was quick to learn Fancy dance on top of that.

Now, the three of them watched the forgotten sacred bundle like it could run away. Geralt took a moment, deep breath in then out, before kneeling to pick it up.

“Do you think it belonged to one of the buried?” Lambert offered, after a moment of quiet.

“Sad thing, then, it wasn’t passed down.” Eskel shifted, the noise of gravel and water grinding beneath his heel.

“We should burn it. For them, I think.” Geralt looked over his shoulder, eyeing the fire by the tomes.

There was no argument amongst the three.

A moment before they finished their setup, Lambert called everyone’s attention.

“Did Coën miss the bundle? Weird we haven’t found a note.”

Geralt offered, “We haven’t been looking for his traces, have we?”

Eskel finished, “The bundle was buried in the remains of the herbs. I think he did that.” almost forgot questions here !