[Jaskier has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, more pertinently, he's never been one to miss the chance to fill his pants with bread. In a land where coin is hard to come by, you never know when there will be an opportunity to have bread in your pants again.
The spread laid out here affords so much more than bread, though. Before long Jaskier has his hose stuffed with foodstuffs he doesn't even recognize, sense of self preservation apparently not taking into account the possibility of poison. Who worries about poisoning at a free buffet in a strange building that has apparently kidnapped you? Skinny fools, that's who.
And now there's time for sampling and - oh, the little cakes are delicious. He's chipmunk-cheeked with pleasure as he turns and... looks down. A long way down.]
Greetings, fair midget. Try these - baked with the nectar of the Gods. And the little round crunchy things. Delicious, if unfortunately scratchy against the skin.
IV WELCOME HOME
[Strange how foggy his memory is. A good bard prides himself on his sharp recollection of detail, all the better to vastly overembellish everything in lyrical form later. Why, he can remember the precise number of teeth on that Bruxa that went for his throat three years ago (along with some of her finer features below the neck) and yet when it comes to how he got here there's naught but fog and a vague recollection of someone in a white suit. A bold and intriguing fashion statement given the muddiness of their surroundings.
He must have followed, or perhaps he was lured, and now here he is in what must be a palace, if grander than any he's ever seen, and more filled with enchantments. Not least the magical box that travels between floors and plays a pitiful excuse for music.
After a brief sojourn in his allotted room (the mirrored ceiling above both the heart shaped bathtub and the heart shaped bed is nothing short of revelatory) Jaskier finds himself drawn back to the... elevator, it seems to be called. With a mouth sticky with chocolate he attempts to fit some lyrics to the pan pipes.]
I am weak, my love, and I am wanting...
NETWORK: UN HUMBLEBARD
[Someone is clearly reading an instruction leaflet]
-talk and your Empathy will translate your words to text.
Jaskier | The Witcher
[Jaskier has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, more pertinently, he's never been one to miss the chance to fill his pants with bread. In a land where coin is hard to come by, you never know when there will be an opportunity to have bread in your pants again.
The spread laid out here affords so much more than bread, though. Before long Jaskier has his hose stuffed with foodstuffs he doesn't even recognize, sense of self preservation apparently not taking into account the possibility of poison. Who worries about poisoning at a free buffet in a strange building that has apparently kidnapped you? Skinny fools, that's who.
And now there's time for sampling and - oh, the little cakes are delicious. He's chipmunk-cheeked with pleasure as he turns and... looks down. A long way down.]
Greetings, fair midget. Try these - baked with the nectar of the Gods. And the little round crunchy things. Delicious, if unfortunately scratchy against the skin.
IV WELCOME HOME
[Strange how foggy his memory is. A good bard prides himself on his sharp recollection of detail, all the better to vastly overembellish everything in lyrical form later. Why, he can remember the precise number of teeth on that Bruxa that went for his throat three years ago (along with some of her finer features below the neck) and yet when it comes to how he got here there's naught but fog and a vague recollection of someone in a white suit. A bold and intriguing fashion statement given the muddiness of their surroundings.
He must have followed, or perhaps he was lured, and now here he is in what must be a palace, if grander than any he's ever seen, and more filled with enchantments. Not least the magical box that travels between floors and plays a pitiful excuse for music.
After a brief sojourn in his allotted room (the mirrored ceiling above both the heart shaped bathtub and the heart shaped bed is nothing short of revelatory) Jaskier finds himself drawn back to the... elevator, it seems to be called. With a mouth sticky with chocolate he attempts to fit some lyrics to the pan pipes.]
I am weak, my love, and I am wanting...
NETWORK: UN HUMBLEBARD
[Someone is clearly reading an instruction leaflet]
-talk and your Empathy will translate your words to text.
Translate my words... the thing is sentient?
Hello?
Greetings, strange pebble. Do you have a name?