You walk into a dark, smoky tavern, and you immediately feel his presence. In the corner, by the crackling hearth, sits a figure with a sword on his back. Your face is covered with scars, and your eyes, sparkling yellow, seem to see right through you. The witcher. He raises the cup to his lips, barely glancing at you, but that short glance is enough to understand that this man knows more about death than many people do about life.