Marghrite had watched the man ride into town, along with anyone else who hadn’t been out in the fields at the time. Not much happened in Azmar, at all, so a stranger was enough of a curiosity. But this man wasn’t just any stranger. He was an interesting stranger. White and black clothes made him enough of a striking figure, even from a distance, but it was his eyes that had people gossiping. Yellow eyes. She was curious; she never met a witcher. Although, she supposed, he’d probably never met one of...whatever she was, before. Best she knew, she was one of a kind.
She sought him out later, in the town’s only tavern, which had no name. She was curious, but she also wanted to know what his business was in Azmar, and whether it would interfere with her business, because business had been going well, lately. She kept the town and the surrounding area safe from any monsters and the occasional bandit, the townspeople left offerings of grain and vegetables and sometimes even meat for their forest-dwelling guardian, and no one questioned how Marghrite could afford to feed herself with her spinning and some honestly mediocre weaving.
He was easy to find, not just because he stood out, but because he was sitting off in the corner, back to the wall and away from most of the other patrons. She’d done things like that, when she’d first been figuring out the world. Since then she’d realized that people were more likely to overlook her if she acted normal. But then again, her magic hid the true color of her eyes.
She ordered two pints, took them over to his table, and sat down across from him without asking permission. “Hope you’re not expecting to find work here, witcher,” she said, with a pleasant-enough smile as she slid one of the pints across the table. “This town’s protected by a vila.”
@chasiingrain