The woman was sat in the back of the old tavern, her hood pulled over her head as she tapped her fingers on the wooden table, her other hand clutching the silver pendant in her other hand.

Indeed, there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives.

She was a witcher. And a damn good one. She prided herself on the fact she had yet to either deny, or fail a request she was given. Her shadow covered eyes tracked you as you walked into the tavern.