The Witcher The Swallow and The Monster

The Crooked Inn

(F/N) was the first to walk in followed by Vesemir, the older witcher was clutching his arm, his shoulder was starting to bleed more and more. (F/N) noticed that a woman, most likely the innkeeper was taking down a coat of arms from the wall, he frowned when he realized it was for Temeria. The young witcher sighed, they weren't in Temeria anymore, it was Nilfgaards territory now. The bar was filled with people drinking to forget their problems, or to have a good time, but their was almost none of the ladder, except for a drunk sitting at a table in the back.

(F/N) clenched his fists, he was still angered about how that whole situation ended, he wished he could have been there to kill the man or witcher rather responsible for Foltest's death, but Geralt beat him to it. As they walked up to the counter, one man who was with his friends frowned, "Wha? Witchers?"

The men stared as the three witchers walked by, one of them even remarked "I'll not drink with weevil-arsed freaks." (F/N) shot him a look, when the men saw his eyes the got more reluctant. He heard them speculate that he might be a demon. He was used to the accusation, witcher's didn't have red eyes. As the three walked up to the counter, the innkeeper walked up behind the counter, and spoke of the comments made, "Beg your pardon for those thugs."

(F/N) put his hands on the counter and looked down, he felt slightly ashamed of himself, "It's fine, we've heard worse." The woman nodded, "Folk're jumpy around here. Armies just past through, now a griffin's prowlin' about."

Geralt nodded, as he spoke he kept the same neutral unfeeling look on his face, "Mhm. Already had the pleasure. Ran into your kinsman, Bram."

The Inkeeper's eyes widened, she clearly felt eager to hear how he was, "Bram? How is he?"

Vesemir happily responded, "Alive. Sends his regards."

The woman smiled happily at the three men, "Master Witchers, food and drink on the house. What can I get you?"

(F/N) looked up at her, his throat sounded scratchy, which was unsurprising, he was usually dying of thirst, "You wouldn't happen to have any wine here?"

The woman shook her head, (F/N) muttered, "Damn it, I'll have an ale then." The innkeeper nodded and started preparing the mug for him while Geralt spoke, "We're also looking for a woman, Raven-haired, violet eyes. Dresses in black and white. Riding in from Willoughby. And, uh...strange as it may sound she may have smelled of lilac and gooseberries." The innkeeper set the mug on the counter, (F/N) thanked her and turned towards the wall, he slipped his mask off so he could sip his drink, but kept his hood on, he wanted to feel like he was alone, as he drank.

The innkeeper looked at the young witcher strangely, as she answered Geralt, "I've not seen nor smelt such a lady. Believe I'd remember."

Vesemir smirked, "Yeah, especially hard to forget this one." (F/N) laughed chuckled a bit, as he took another sip of his ale, Geralt smacked him up side the head. The young witcher spilled his drink all over his face, he sighed as he pulled his face mask back on and turned back to the conversation, as the woman continued, "Plenty of travelers about though, folk from all over. Might be worth your while to ask after her."

Geralt nodded, "Thank you, for everything." The innkeeper nodded, and went back to work. (F/N) set the mug back on the counter, and stood up, Vesemir walked over to a table in a non-conspicuous area, (F/N) cleared his throat, as the old witcher sat down and started to tend to the wound on his shoulder, "Gotta work on your reflexes, next time that griffin'll take your head off."

Vesemir looked at the young witcher, he was used to his sharp tounge, a product of having Yennefer as a maternal figure, but he still refused to allow it, "Silence, I'm not decrepit, yet."