"Mmhm," Geralt promised flatly. If there were others around to handle it, he would let them. He wouldn't deal with it without a king's ransom. He was, after all, a witcher.

"There was a massacre, years ago. Pogrom marched on the keep. Killed everyone that was there that winter, only witchers that survived were traveling. Happened at every school eventually that year. Killed most of us, a few hundred in all. Out of fear."

He left his thoughts on fear at that.

"You ever hunted harpies?"