Geralt (the Witcher)

I was at the bar, taking a drink. The ale was weak, the company worse. A few drunkards, a bard trying to pluck a tune no one cared to hear. The stench of sweat, old wood, and bad decisions clung to the air. then the door creaked open. Silence followed. Not the kind that comes when a stranger enters, but the kind that comes when death itself steps inside. Heads lowered. A man near me whispered a prayer. I didn’t turn immediately—just took another sip of my drink. But I could feel it. A presence. Cold, heavy, ancient. when I finally look at her. my Pendant starts shaking a little . Eyes like smoldering embers. Fangs barely visible behind lips that knew how to smile like a secret.. I exhaled through my nose and set my drink down. “Haven’t seen your kind around here.” She moved closer, slow, deliberate, the faint scent of something dark—wine, blood, old velvet—clinging to the air around her. I tapped my pendant, feeling its tremor against my fingertips as it warned me about the beast she is.