Witchers, no matter where they were from, always gained similar reactions from the villages they visited, at least at first, and almost always in the same order. The first thing to notice them were the cats, and they never took kindly to the intruder's presence; they hissed and tensed, before quickly fleeing to a hiding place. The next that usually seemed to detect that something was off would be children, and then finally followed by the adults.

Considering how it was already well into the night, there weren't any children out and about to be set off by the rider's presence, and there weren't many adults as well, but there were certainly more than enough mangy cats to spit and hiss away, scampering away despite all the fuss they made. He was more than used to it by that point, with as much time as he had spent in the world, and how much experience he had gained on the road.

The rider on his grey mare made his way towards the inn that, in most other places, would have been considered a little more than a hovel. The Pontar Valley may have been an agricultural haven, food pouring from this relatively small place out, but that didn't mean the money was spread out evenly as a result. Borderline murderous taxes thanks to the the impending (if not already active, depending on who you asked) conflicts drained an already very beleaguered populace, which meant little money could flow into places such as an inn for pleasure. The inn in front of him was nearly another victim.

When he dismounted, the motions he made briefly opened his hooded cloak from around his body. Beneath was a black vest with white sleeves and reddish-brown belts, and a flash of metal around his neck. However, there was no one around to see this besides the mare, and she knew her rider well enough that point to not be too interested. Gently he reached up to pat her neck, before leading her over to the stables, which was barely more than a roof on a few poles. He tied her reins off loosely, and with a smooth turn went towards the front door.

When he entered the inn, all of those within turned their eyes toward him; with it being so late, there weren't many overall. Those farmers and craftsmen who felt like they could spend a little bit of extra time getting drunk during the night only numbered at four from the small village, and plus the tired looking innkeep meant five in total. The inside of the inn didn't look much better than the outside; everything seemed to have a thin layer of grime over it, and there was plenty of lopsided or otherwise cracked and broken furniture to go around.

Upon taking his first step in, he slowly looked back and forth, before he reached up to finally lower his hood. It revealed hair the color of steel which fell down just to his nape, pushed back for the most part, and a gaunt, pale face that seemed drawn back into a perpetual sneer. He had plenty of scars, including one small in width but deep parallel above his left eye. There was also one along his throat that curved upwards across the horizontal line, and must have been caused by a terrible wound.

His gleaming yellow eyes, with their slitted pupils, glanced back and forth slowly at all of those within the common room of the inn before he stepped forwards. His boots were quite loud as he stepped, almost deliberately so. To one of the empty tables he went, sitting down in it almost carefully; the motion caused the cloak to open slightly once again, and this time stay opened. The black vest, white sleeves, and belts could easily be seen, and the smaller details of the vials at various points along the belts were easy to see. More importantly was the silver medallion around his neck, in the shape of a terrible manticore head with the wings set behind and around it.

At first glance, this man was just a stranger who traveled much too late to be reasonable to these simple village folk, but those who paid more attention realized who he was, and before the innkeep even had a chance to reach him the whispers had been passed around, colorful but not necessarily untrue words like "freak" and "mutant" being passed around as easily as terms for the weather or the harvest.

The innkeep was a plain woman, one who had clearly worked nearly every day in her life. He could see it better than any other person, with the way his eyes ate up the minuscule details in seconds that would take others years to notice; the fact that her calluses were set upon other calluses, that one watery brown eye was just slightly off center, and that she held the platter in her hand as if she were prepared to brain someone with it were just a few of those that he noticed in less time than it took to blink.

"What'll it be?" Though she spoke quite bluntly and there was a slight scratchiness to her voice, she didn't seem too unpleasant overall, just a bit tense. That tenseness increased when his eyes met hers, his pupils even thinner than normal thanks to the nearby light.

"Cobble something together from whatever you have left to eat, and bring something hard to accompany it with." Despite the look of his face, which still held that sneer, was quiet and smooth, each syllable carefully enunciated to the point that there was no notable accent. The woman nodded in response, turning and leaving him alone at his table once again. With nothing better to do, he listened.

"Another one?"

"Hope he doesn't think he can get paid as well."

"What if the first 'un doesn't get the job done, though?"

"Then none of 'em are worth hiring."

What he heard, of course, interested him. So, there was clearly another Witcher in the area already. None of his brethren had mentioned an interest in the Pontar Valley before they had all set out on the Path once again, and due to the nature of his business they had elected to avoid the area for the time being. Another Witcher here undoubtedly meant they were from another school, which could mean many things. If from that of the Wolf, there was no telling what they might do if they caught wind of what he was doing. If from that of the Griffin, perhaps they would vacate the area as well, or perhaps they'd follow him. And if from that of the Cat, well...

There had already been plenty of blood on this Path. What was a little more, now that he thought about it?

He only halfway watched the innkeep when she returned carrying a bowl of lukewarm stew, and a mug of what was undoubtedly warm and pisspoor beer. He gave her a nod as she set it down, even as she asked, "Anything else I can do for you? A room for the night, maybe?"

He briefly considered it, and then he gave a nod. "Yes, and there is something else as well. Any strange travelers in the past year-"

"You're going to have to be more specific than that-"

"-that simply passed through, rather than taking what would seem like a reasonable break. A single person travelling by himself; no entourage, "

The woman blinked once; in response to both the strange question, and how he so calmly continued even as she interrupted him. For a little while she was silent, thinking back, before she said, "I remember one, back towards the start of the winter. He passed through, and was quick about it, but when he was gone we found the bodies of the Nowicki family in their home. The bodies were... strange."

"Strange? How so?"

"Empty, sir. Drained."

"You didn't report this?"

"Of course we did. No one came forward regarding the notice, and so much time passed we took it down."

"I see... Thank you. Anyone live in the Nowicki house now?"

"No sir. We, er, burned it down."

"Unfortunate. You recall which way this suspected murderer was heading?"

"North. Exactly where I haven't a clue."

"Mmmmm." He looked straight forwards then, ignoring her for the most part. After a moment he nodded slightly, and without looking at her he reached down to a pouch, pulling out a few coins and leaving them on the table in front of her, enough for the meal, drink, and the night, plus a little extra. "Thank you for the information. That'll be all."

"Of course." Taking the money, she gave a brisk nod before she left, and he returned to his own thoughts. So his quarry had been seen, fleeing after the incident that had forced him to take the winter to rest from the Path. Missing the prey by a few months, along with the probable destruction of all evidence, would have been too much for some, but he had started this hunt with less. Once again, he would slowly but surely close down the gap between them once again...

And this time, he wouldn't be the one who ended up with his throat slit.