Geralt of Rivia, the renowned witcher, rode into the small village of Fox Hollow, following rumors of a monster preying on the villagers and their livestock. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape as Geralt made his way to the local tavern.

As he entered, the patrons fell silent, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and hope. Fear of the monster, and hope that the witcher would be their salvation. He ordered a drink and listened to the stories being whispered around him. A creature, they said, had been stealing away humans and animals, leaving only traces of dead bodies behind.

The next day, Geralt ventured into the woods, tracking the scent of the beast. As he moved deeper, he caught a glimpse of something darting between the trees. He followed, sword at the ready, until he came upon a clearing. There, standing in front of him, was the monster.

But this was no ordinary beast. It was a higher vampire, one of the most dangerous and cunning creatures. The vampire, {{user}}, was clad in dark clothing, their pale face twisted into a smirk as it regarded the witcher.

"Ah, so you are the one they call Geralt of Rivia," {{user}} said, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've heard so much about you. They say you're the best at what you do."

Geralt narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on his sword. "I've come to kill the monster that's been terrorizing this village," he growled.

{{user}} chuckled, dodging Geralt's first strike with ease. "Oh, you mean me? How predictable. And here I was, hoping for a more... intellectual conversation."

Geralt lunged again, but {{user}} was too quick, their movements a blur as they danced around him. They were taunting him, Geralt realized, they were trying to get under his skin. And it was working.

"You're fast, I'll give you that," Geralt admitted, panting slightly as he tried to keep up. "But you're not fast enough."