// continued from here - @simplly-lilly //
Happening upon another witcher on the Path was a rare thing. They were a dying breed as it was, and Cato knew that well, yet he couldn’t help but hope. What once had been a proud and powerful guild had grown closer and closer to extinction as the ages passed, leaving very little of their forefathers’ legacy remaining.
Cats, however, seemed to thrive in the chaos of the last few years. He respected their ingenuity and adaptability, but he couldn’t help feeling a sting of envy that his own school was so cruelly snuffed out, yet the Cats were flourishing. He, naturally, believed the sons of the Gryphon were better. A cut above the average witcher: True, honorable knights. Though, in the decades since Kaer Seren fell, his former biases had rapidly disappeared.
“They’re very nice, your horns! I’ve never seen any like them.” Cato pressed his arm to his chest and bowed his head, the customary greeting in Kovir for strangers. He cast a sign to cease the incessant thrumming of his medallion, which was attempting to alert him to the presence of the ghouls. The silence gave him some peace and granted him the ability to think - and speak - undisturbed.
“It pains me to see Aedirn like this. The countryside was so beautiful once, I could have sworn these valleys were tended by the gods themselves.” The witcher fondly remembered his excursions beyond the Pontar, his visits to the more southerly Northern Kingdoms. Cintra, in particular, stuck in his memory. Under the Lioness, the nation blossomed - only to be destroyed in the most brutal way possible. “Now, all that beauty’s been trampled beneath Nilfgaardian boots.”
After a moment of solemn contemplation, he grins back at the woman. She was quite different from the other Cats he’d met. Less aloof, like their namesake. This one seemed to be friendly, and he was glad of it. Cato stretches out his hand, offering for her to shake it.
“Ah, forgive me. I’d be happy to help. Cato of Pont Vanis, at your service!”
