Northern Aedirn, 1250

Vesemir trudged through the iced-over woods, leading his horse by his side. The snows were coming early this year, he noted. All the more reason to retire to Kaer Morhen for the season, before the cold settled in his bones. He'd been on the Path for nearly a year, but no town would harbor a witcher in their walls.

The next town he came upon was in shambles, no doubt from the war. If there was anyone who suffered from wars, it was the already pitiful peasantry. Vesemir's hard soles crunched on the frost and the charred remains of wood. The stench of blood, fire, and rape still lingered in the air. Vesemir grimaced at the smell of it. His keen ears could already hear the cries of despair from mourning women and their babes, hungry for milk. The screams intensified as Vesemir approached the village. He stopped and sniffed the air. "Ghouls," He said to himself, drawing his silver sword. "I'm too old for this shit," he sighed. He ran forward, leaving his horse by the gates. The screams got louder still, now sounding of fear rather than despair. The disgusting stench of rot was overpowering, and so was the hideous sight of the creatures. They cornered a woman cowering behind an overturned cart. The flesh-eaters snarled and drooled, pale and ugly, slowly closed in on the woman. Vesemir swept in yelling and swinging, catching the ghouls by surprise. He dodged, pirouetted, and swung until the monsters lie lifeless.

"It's safe now, you can come out," Vesemir called to the cowering woman. She slowly approached him, daring not to look in his yellow eyes.

"T-t-thank y-y-you, good man," The woman said, slowly raising her eyes to meet his. She studied him over for a moment then spoke again. "Ah, you're a witcha, ain't you? Bet you expecting some coin or somethin'?"

Vesemir studied the woman. He already knew the village had been raided and plundered, no one had gold here. "Give me the first thing you see when you return home," He demanded. The Law of Surprise was only used when the victim had nothing else to offer. At least in Vesemir's mind it was.

"Oh, come then, my home's not far," The woman walked slowly, as if still shocked by the attack. Vesemir inspected the village further, taking in the toppled huts and shacks, women covered in mud, burying their dead husbands. The woman stopped at a crooked shack in somewhat better condition than the others.

"This is my home, and I -," the woman was interrupted by a childish cry of glee.

"Mummy!" A small child, no older than five or six winters ran out of the shack to embrace his mother. She broke down into tears, knowing the debt she owed would mean the life of her child.

"Oh no! Please no! Please, not my baby! Please master witcher!" The woman fell to her knees, groveling at Vesemir.

A sharp feeling of pity flowed through Vesemir, but he didn't allow his stone face to show it. "I'm sorry, dear, but a debt is debt and it must be paid."

The woman wiped her still fresh tears and turned to her child. "Listen to me, my boy, go with the good man, OK? He'll protect ya an' feed ya, I promise."

"B-but, Mummy," the boy whimpered.

"Not now, Kazi, you have to be a big boy now, OK?" The woman firmly embraced the boy for the last time, then gently pushed him towards Vesemir. "His name is Kazimir, please make sure he lives, please?"

Vesemir nodded and took the boy by the shoulders. He noticed the tears and snot clearly running. "Wipe your face, boy. Witchers don't cry." The boy promptly wiped away the snot, with warm tears still coming. He led the boy to the horse and helped him up on it.

"W-where are w-we going, s-sir?" Kazimir asked.

Vesemir grabbed the reins and without looking responded, "Kaer Morhen, boy, Kaer Morhen."