The arrival of the next man was heralded by a long, pale gray horse floating ghostlike and silent out of the woods and into the light of the fire. The horse's rider held his head high and proud, his unruly flaming red hair announcing his presence better than any kind of banner. As he grew closer, those paying attention would be able to see the chainmail and leather that enwrapped him. Those paying even more attention would notice how easily he moved in it, how natural it seemed to him as he hopped down off of the horse, tying her to a young tree. "A'right then, girl," he cooed softly to her, "jus' stay nice and calm here, an' I'll get you some oats later, maybe an apple if we're lucky. Sound good?" It had been a long ride up the Yaruga from Cintra for her after they landed from Skellige, and he was happy she would be able to get some rest now. He'd been pushing her a bit harder than usual lately.

Steam nickered, and the man laughed quietly, giving her mane a quick rub before turning to the group spread out about the clearing, looking at each in turn as he analyzed and moved in closer to the fire, looking for a place to sit down. First, a sorceress. He'd worked with them a few times over the years. The higher vampire of Novigrad, for example, had only been lured out by using a sorceress as bait, and he didn't think she'd quite forgiven him over it yet. Still, before that, they'd gotten on okay. Hopefully, his interactions with this lass would be a friendlier sort than the terms that he'd parted with the other on. He didn't know if he quite [i]trusted[/i] her--sorceresses were notoriously hard to work with sometimes, and always had their own agenda--but they were to be defending a fortress, so the more help they could get, the better. He nodded at her, face caught in an expression that had likely been seen by few enough on a witcher: a warm, almost conspiratorial grin.

The next in line was a little bit stranger. Her skin color was strange to him; he'd traveled a long way, and it was still uncommon for him to see that tone. Still, he could tell she was Nazairi: the tattoos around her biceps left little else as a possibility. He'd spent quite a bit of time in Nazair as a younger witcher, close as it was to Amell and, by extension, to Haern Cadwch. The silver in the large sword that was strapped to his back had come from Nazair, actually. So he knew a bit about the brigands that made up the majority of the country's highlands. He knew some of their culture, what some of their customs were. He also knew they could fight like the dickens, and so he was glad to have what appeared to be one of them with them. A nod to her as well, the smile on his face growing a bit sharper. 

There was a younger but hard-looking man, wearing the crest of the Temerian lilies and scars with equal weight. This, he assumed, was Balidvar. As the witcher approached him, he spoke to a person for the first time since he'd arrived, and the faint burr of Skellige in his accent became more apparent: "I'd assume you're Balidvar, then? I'm Aidann, here about the Rakald Keep contract. Needed someone to keep the monsters at bay, aye? I'm yer man." Once he'd spoken, he turned back towards the fire. He would talk to Balidvar more later, but he looked like he was busy at the moment; that was where the sorceress was, after all, and he didn't want to intrude too much. 

As much as he wanted to sit down and relax, though, he turned his eyes towards the man sitting on a stump fairly close to where his horse was tied, cowl pulled down over his face, cleaning and oiling a sword.

A silver sword.

Keeping his eyes peeled, Aidann spied the Griffin school medallion and tensed slightly. The Bears and the Griffins, while never...[i]overly[/i] adversarial, were still different schools, and so there would likely be some tension. Simply the way of things, between witchers. Still, it would be nice to have someone who was...hopefully equally competent as he was nearby. Perhaps they could spar; Aidann was always looking for practice.

As he took a seat around the fire, he sighed deeply and grimaced, distressed: the men parted around him, looking at him warily. Some stood up and actively walked away, taking a seat on the other side of the fire. He closed his eyes lightly, trying to pretend that it didn't bother him, that he was as clinical as most other witchers were in such situations. He didn't know how effective it was, but he didn't like his chances. 

After a few moments of being stared at distrustfully, he sighed again, standing and brushing some dust off of his habergeon where he'd sat on it, rising to his feet and stomping out of the circle of soldiers. They closed once again, the gap filled, and he closed his eyes momentarily as another wave of disappointment washed over him. Still, though, he kept moving, rolling his neck as he approached the other witcher, giving him a very faint nod as he inclined his head towards the horse. Zerrikanian, if he wasn't mistaken, and of [i]exceptional[/i] breeding. 

"Tha's a beautiful animal you have there."