Historically speaking, witchers made their coin off of slaying beasts. Dangerous, criminally hideous monstrosities that took a special kind of person to swing a sword at. Be they in swarms, packs or skulking by their lonesome, a witcher's life was to root out and hunt these creatures.
What great irony to have the same fate befell their eccentric order. If a witcher was no different than the monster they slayed, then Tiraul had long sworn to avoid the same conclusion his predecessors had committed to. He would be the first witcher to slay wine and roast pork.
But the air was humid and devoid of scented lilies or honeyed lime, and the taste on his sweaty lips were of salt and humility. He trudged through the woods, not atop the wooden floorings of an inn, the chirping of birds to drown his thoughts and wash away his delusions.
He was Calleghos Tiraul, the closest thing to a disappointment among the witchers.
The forests of Novigrad was an excellent hunting ground for foresters and poachers alike, but they were not the only predators that lurked the woods. Ghouls where blood has been spilled, nekkers where the tree branches overlap and dim the sun, and drowners where the streams flow. Gods help them, those were already dangerous threats to a lone witcher.
A Leshen would make him drop and run. And he still would, even if his employer promised to triple the coin he was receiving for this fool's errand. He claimed to be a wizard a hundred year old, and having met in a tavern with alcohol in their guts, Prospero looked the amicable sort. Here, Tiraul could only call him a prick. Alchemical ingredients- specifically monster parts- were rare to come across on the market, so any scholar would go through the appropriate 'secret' channels to acquire these parts. Or, as one witcher once said, you could go directly to the source.
The witcher flipped his silver dagger in hand, eyes twitching as he lead the wizard through the trees into a wooded clearing. Cat eyes peered beyond into the opposite side of the clearing, where light could hardly reach. He spied no movements that sprung any alarms. Calleghos beckoned for his companion to follow, and walked into the open space himself. "A good place as any to rest." he proclaimed a little loudly. He stomped the earth and harrumphed, a hand on his hip.
Both the men had been up since dawn to make it this far into the forest, having met nothing more than the cursory, panicked glances of woodland animals. Admittedly cute, but bore no interest to his employer.
"Should mark this place. If'n we take yet another half-day to find us a ghoullie, we can always set camp here." He turned to look back at Cardairral as he broke through the leafy branches. "Or magic us out of here, if that suits you just fine." He shrugged and unclipped a hip flask, bringing it to his lips.
"Sure suits my feet great." He said, as he drank his fill.