[@Sini]

Areir bit himself, it wasn't just the biting cold of the impending winter that did so. Dijkstra, had one of his messengers summon him to a place, in particular the seven cats inn. Areir was heeding summons from a not so honest business man, but at this point, with the few leads he has of the Wild Hunt ran cold, he realistically had no choice. The eagle head of his Witcher medallion bobbing to and fro from his neck as he rid his horse.

Each breath becoming more visible with each step as the temperature rose, Areir tightened the once draping, ragged cloak around him in response to the growing, stinging cold. He looked around him, the smell of death and despair subtly present in the area. Much like many other places, however probably not as bad, the east of Novigrad was riddled with poverty and evident pauperism. The walls around him were in disrepair, but the people were worse off. People huddled around small, dying bonfires, their hands etching near the edge of the flames, trying to wring as much warmth as they can before the embers ebbed away.

Areir dismounted wearily, he slowly sauntered next to the fading fires, his armor clinking against the frozen cobble, and weaved his hands against the empty air, risking looking like a madman to people unknown. A small stream of concentrated fire shot from his left hand, revitalizing the once dwindling flames. The small crowd of people huddling near the fire either shot him surprised looks, some looks of enmity and others flashed small smiles of bitter gratitude. Arer simply shook the glares off and mounted his horse once more.

The eastern area of Novigrad were the result of a power struggle between the nobles, not giving a single damn about the inhabitants, instead the coins that jingled in their pockets. The biggest cities do tend to have the poorest of inhabitants, as is the growing trend in Novigrad. He clicked his tongue at this, even though he's had not much power to realistically do anything about this. He somberly looked at the flames as he passed by more huddled crowds, being reminded of that one looming night. The sounds of screams and steel clashing. He bit his lips, and despised himself for being powerless that night.

The Seven Cats Inn came into view, [i]Seven Cats, huh, maybe I'd fit in?[/i] he thought to himself as the building got closer and closer. He was a bit fatigued from the long travel, as he spent a few days on horseback. He dismounted his horse and left him near a trench of bucketed water, the horse greedily guzzling down the water. As he was making his commute to the inn, a white and grey bearded man bumped into him before he could enter, the man not even turning back, not that Areir really cared, but he was plenty sure it wasn't by accident.

Areir entered the inn, with it having the same atmosphere as outside, silent and somber, sometimes high pitched giggles that pierced the stillness. The smell of 'beer' meeting his nose. Not many actually propped their heads up, but the few that did averted their eyes when they meet Areir's own amber eyes. His medallion lazily swayed back and forth as he made his way to the seats.

His eyes gravitated to a sullen man, wearing a long cloak, laced with obvious hints of armor. Areir could also easily feel that this man wasn't a normal man, his aura gave off hints of experience and memories. He tread towards this man, and sat next to him near the benches. He looked at the bar maid and held two fingers up at her, she looked irked but complied nonetheless, bringing him two kegs of beer. He handed her a few coin, and slid the drink next to the man.

"So, what's a Witcher doing around these parts." He asked, trying to start a conversation, knowing well that Witchers are normally the 'lone-wolf' types. He also had his doubts, the most likely answer being that he himself was also summoned by Dijkstra.