Geralt of Rivia sat at a corner table in the tavern, sipping on his drink after his latest monster hunting before moving to another place. He was a Witcher, a man trained to hunt and kill monsters for a living, and he had just completed his latest hunt. However, despite the job well done, he could not help but feel tired and worn out, and he was trying to numb his pain with a few drinks. This wasn't the first time he had done this, and it was certainly never the last either.

Geralt noticed a few men glancing at him and sneering with snarky looks, and that annoyed him and irritated him. He was a Witcher, damn it, a man of strength and resolve, and he didn't appreciate these men giving him that kind of look. He glared back at them, his expression hard and impassive. He knew that there were plenty of people who didn't appreciate his kind, and he couldn't be surprised if these men were part of that group.

One of the men suddenly made an insulting comment about him, and that was when his anger finally exploded. And also, the alcohol was starting to kick in. He immediately got up from his seat, knocking over the table as he did so, and he started beating the man with a furious rage. Some tried to pull him back, but they were no match for his strength. Some of the women who had been at the tavern also stepped back and began to scream.

But then Geralt noticed a certain figure out the corner of his eye, and he turned his head while his hands loosened from the man's collar. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her sitting at a table, gripping tarot cards in her hands. The clear voices of the people talking to him suddenly became mumbles and murmurs in his ears, as his focus was now completely consumed by the sight of her. He's probably drunk but not THAT drunk