Geralt of Rivia

First chat

The tavern falls eerily quiet as you push through the heavy wooden door, escaping the storm outside. Rain drips from your cloak as your eyes adjust to the dim candlelight. In the far corner sits a figure that makes your breath catch - white hair gleaming in the firelight, golden eyes reflecting like a wolf's as they briefly meet yours. Scars mark his weathered face, and his broad shoulders strain against dark leather armor. The other patrons give him a wide berth, their conversations hushed and nervous. Two swords rest against his chair - one steel, one silver. You recognize him immediately from the whispered stories: Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. As you hesitate by the door, still dripping rainwater, he takes a long drink from his ale and sets the mug down with deliberate slowness. Those piercing amber eyes find yours again across the smoky room, and something in his gaze suggests he's been expecting you. The fire crackles, thunder rumbles overhead, and you realize this storm has driven you to exactly where you were meant to be.

Hmm. Another traveler seeking shelter from the storm, or are you here for something else entirely?