There was a fault in putting too much weight in first impressions, Geralt knew. At the same time, there was nothing more to the little village than what could be read from the moment he laid eyes on it. A handful of buildings that sagged like tired bodies, and a broken wagon that sat abandoned by the road leading to the settlement. Still, he spurred Roach on. Even in an unknown little place like this, he would be able to find something. If not a contract to fuel his coin purse, then a tavern or inn to lessen its weight.
As he passed the dead wagon, he gave it a brief glance. Tall grass poked through between the brittle spokes and missing planks. The thing hadn't seen a different patch of ground in years.
A faded signpost greeted him. The piece of wood might have been able to tell him the name of the village, but it was nigh impossible to glean any sort of distinct marking from its sun-bleached surface.
"Not the worst place we've been to," Geralt remarked in a low voice to Roach. The mare flicked an ear. Tapping his heels against her side, he continued down the dusty path. A crack and a hollow thud behind him told him that the sign had fallen off of its post. "Charming," he mused to himself.
There was no gate. Only a crooked line of fencing separated the homely village from the rest of the world. They passed through the shadows of a few buildings. By then, they had gained an extra companion: a stray dog that followed curiously at Roach's heels. Little by little, the village came to life as Geralt caught glimpses of the other inhabitants. A woman hung damp laundry over a line that ran next to her home. A merchant shifted his wares out of the sun and into the shade his little tarp provided. A pair of meagerly dressed guards patrolled past, eyeing Geralt with their hands hooked onto their belts. A little boy climbed a bone-dry tree to fetch his ball while a small group of his friends waited underneath. Perhaps this place wasn't as derelict as it first portrayed. The stray dog that had tailed them wandered over to the children.
The inn wasn't difficult to spot; it was the largest building there. By the entrance of the inn was a bulletin board, its surface dotted with small scraps of paper. Geralt dismounted and headed over to the board. His eyes scanned the papers quickly. Announcements, old event notices… nothing of interest. There were no requests. No mention of monsters or 'Witcher needed.' All though maybe there once had been postings like that. Geralt caught sight of empty nails with bits of paper fiber stuck to them.
"Another one!" he heard the hushed voice comment. It came from a little girl standing a short distance away. As Geralt met eyes with her, she continued, "See? He's them amber eyes too!" The young man holding her hand, likely her brother, shushed her and began pulling her away. He cast one last worried glance over his shoulder before they disappeared behind a building.
Geralt looked to the inn. Another witcher? That explained the barren board. He couldn't help but feel intrigued. Crossing paths with another was quite a rare event.
Upon entering the inn, a poignant, bitter scent hit him. It came from one of the corners of the place, a secluded pocket of darkness where the sunlight through the windows could not hit. That was probably where the witcher was, judging from the other patrons. They were seated far from that corner. Upon hearing the door, a few curious faces peered at him. Quickly, their expressions fell as realization dawned on them. They looked away, but not before casting quick glances to the dark corner.
He made his way to the corner. Drawing closer, the solitary figure became clearer. Indeed, it was another witcher. The two swords on his back were the most obvious hint. As Geralt took a seat across from the man, he spied the medallion nestled between the man's collarbones. It was that of a roaring beast; intricate detail focused on the teeth inside the short snout, the round ears, and the beady eyes.
"Not seen many from the School of Bear," Geralt remarked, first to break the silence. The other man regarded him wordlessly, calmly blowing another plume of bitter smoke through his mouth. As Geralt waited for a response, he studied the strange appearance of this other witcher.
His black hair was shaved, save for the top half of his head. The rest was tied back in a long ponytail, several bands bunching the hair into segments. The locks of hair that fell in front of his ears were each strung with long beads of the same dark grey color as the piercings at the tops of his ears. A black beard covered his jawline and chin. Age had done little to his face, but Geralt could tell that this man was much older than he.
The Bear witcher raised a hand, bringing his black pipe to his lips. His leather gauntlet had a small knife strapped to it. Black gloves covered his hand up to his fingertips. A strip of pointed metal covered his knuckles, an accessory to add a little more meaning to his fists. Well, Bear did have a reputation for brutishness, or so Geralt heard. That notion was furthered by the two swords strapped to him, their bear-head pommels indicating Bear craftsmanship. They were both broadswords, designed to be wielded with two hands. Though judging by the look of this man, he'd probably be able to handle them single-handed like one of Geralt's greatswords.
The witcher exhaled the smoke slowly. Then he spoke. "So the great Geralt of Rivia graces me with his presence." His voice was deep and gruff, like it was hardly used. There was the slightest hint of a suppressed Skelligan accent.
"You know of me?"
"I know of much. Don't feel special."
A man approached their table. The innkeeper. He seemed nervous. "A tankard or warm plate for you sirs?" he inquired, mainly to Geralt.
"Go," the Bear witcher ordered harshly. The innkeeper jumped.
"O-o-of c-course, right aw-w-way sirs." His voice faded as he scampered away. Geralt turned back with raised eyebrows to his companion, who was taking another inhale on his pipe.
"You helped these humble little village with its monster problems and they still avoid you like a disease. I can see why now."
"I'm not here to make friends," the witcher replied bluntly.
"Folk already treat witchers bad enough without you giving them a reason to."
As the man took another drag, the embers in the pipe's claw-shaped bowl lit up. The dim orange light illuminated his face, his burning eyes. After a few seconds, it became apparent he wasn't going to entertain Geralt's last statement with any response.
Another topic, then. "Got a name?"
"Get your entertainment elsewhere. If you're looking for a job, then I suggest you talk with one of them." The witcher jerked his head towards the townsfolk sitting on the opposite end of the room.
"I'm not asking for a job. I'm asking for your name." Geralt's voice dropped its mild, polite tone.
There was a pause. "Kozin," the witcher answered, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke. "What do you want, Wolf?"
"It's been a while since I've met another," Geralt answered. "And I imagine it's the same for you. Thought I'd stop by. Share a few drinks, swap a few anecdotes. But it seems I've run short on luck and find myself with some boorish, smoke-spewing ass."
Kozin let out a throaty huff. Geralt couldn't tell if it had been a laugh or an irritated grunt. "I remember when I used to be like you. It's been a long time." He placed the pipe between his lips, and then continued, "Then I learned of the world. The way it is: filled with fools. I'm getting tired." Kozin tilted his pipe to inspect the chamber. He procured a pinch of crumpled leaves from a pouch on his belt and sprinkled it into the chamber. With his other hand, he made a small motion that Geralt recognized. A small flame erupted from the bowl of the pipe, which quickly fizzled down. Left behind were the smoldering leaves.
Geralt had seen many a pessimistic witcher. But that was how they usually were when they started, when they realized how much the world needed them and hated them at the same time. Time and experience, he found, gave them the momentum they needed to accept their role. "You will find that no matter what you do, wherever you go, you will be surrounded by the dark," Vesemir had once told him. "You can choose to remain in it and resent it, or you can hold up your own light and break it apart. It won't be easy. That's why you need to fight. The world won't ever let you stop fighting, but it will give you plenty of reasons to keep going." At the time, he had accepted the words at face value with a respectful nod. Now, as he saw the facets of the world, he'd seen their truth.
So why was this witcher still so jaded? Perhaps cynicism was prominent in the Bear guild like sleaziness was in Cat. Who knows? Geralt was curious. He wasn't ready to leave this witcher alone quite yet.
The past minute had been spent in silence. Geralt had been pondering to himself while Kozin, reclined, continued to smoke from his clawed pipe. Suddenly, the dark-haired man said, "So you want to hear stories, Wolf? Very well." He raised an arm and made a sharp beckoning gesture. The lazy fog of smoke that hung around his head stirred. The innkeeper appeared. "Rye beer. Two, topped to the brim," he demanded before the innkeeper could get out a word. To Geralt, he continued, "I've seen more than I care to in this world of fools. There's one thing that has been made clear to me time and time again." Kozin sat forward, leaning his arms on the table. "There is nothing worth caring for. Try, and there'll be naught but disappointment."
Jaded from head to toe. "I take it you've had a few relationship go sour?"
"Don't mistake your shortcomings for mine," Kozin spat. A server brought the tankards to their table. He waved them off without so much as a glance to their direction. "There was a time when I used to care. I was naïve. And then I found myself in a village nestled in a small, forgotten corner of Temeria. They claimed that there were monsters among them, and they were right."
Addendum: I'm not really sure when this Geralt-Kozin meeting happens. The most I can say is between Andrzej Sapkowski's The Last Wish (ie. the "first" book in the Witcher series, time-wise) and the first Witcher game. Not very specific, I know.
Cover is a concept drawing of Kozin that I burped up a while ago.
Also, smoking is bad for you, kids. Unless you're a witcher. But chances are, you're not.
