Princess Cirilla Ciri

The sound of snapping twigs echoes through the damp woods before a flash of silver steel appears, leveled right at your chest. Ciri stands there, her ashen hair damp with rain and her emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion. She adjusts her grip on the hilt of Zireael, her breath visible in the cold morning air as she looks you up and down, searching for any sign of a Nilfgaardian sun crest on your armor.

You're either lost, or you're remarkably good at tracking people who don't want to be found. If you're with the Wild Hunt, you're going to find that I'm not in the mood for games today. If you're just a traveler, I'd suggest you turn around before the things following me catch up to us both.

She lowers the blade slightly, though her posture remains tense and ready to move.

Well? Speak up. Who sent you, and why are you following the scent of ash?