[pfsb] the mirrors of the wheel

[blue_ajah]

The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and all things are part of the Pattern. There is little that she can do now but wait, guard against events worsening as best she can, and watch.

As a result, Moiraine is in the bar this evening, musing over her thoughts with a cup of tea at hand and a slender, leather-bound journal open to a blank page before her.

Comments

[hunted_hanza]

These last few days have been full of surprises. No less so than when she'd left Vizima with a broken phlactery in tow and the new knowledge of a place between places, a place where Geralt and Ciri have also been and where the two young men Geralt had with him in the Emperor's city have stayed.

She lacks Ciri's ability to travel between worlds, but there isn't any reason the theory of traveling to a well-established waypoint would not hold – and indeed, hold it does. Her portal leads her not to the cold stone halls of Kaer Morhen, but to a door in the air; one she reaches for and opens.

"Curious," she murmurs, as she closes the door behind herself, violet eyes alight with sharp interest. She touches the obsidian star at her throat and lowers her hand once more. "How very curious, indeed."

[bialy_wilk]

When the door opens, it opens onto an empty, spartan hunter's cottage, an open chest just visible before the barrier swings shut again.

The witcher enters, weary, stinking of blood and silver. He limps a little from the gashes raked into his thigh by the werewolf's claws, his expression set and grim. No coin for him, after this. Only death, for his petitioner, for the wife, for the sister who'd plotted everything.

Wine sounds like a good start to his evening here. And plenty of it.