Moro the Muddler had arrived in the village in the early hours of the morning, having taken one of several contracts on monsters in the area around it. He'd heard the rumours about spell slinging Sylvans and overly aggressive Spriggans, but didn't put much stock in them - after all, rumours are as rumours do, and rarely does a rumour meet reality.

However, as it turned out something rather odd [i]was[/i] happening.

A creature reminiscent of an Ekkimara, surrounded it seemed by a small score of other Witchers, was demanding its sacrifice. This would not normally have been terribly strange, for a Witcher - but Ekkimara are not capable of speech, and do not make demands. This was, instead, a Fleder.

And not once had the Muddler ever fought a higher vampire.

Briefly, he wondered if Axii might have an effect on them.

The answer was 'probably not, and don't try it.'

"And why does a higher vampire lust after the blood of children? Don't you know that adults have more of the stuff?" He questioned innocently, casually drawing his silver sword as he approached the site of the soon-to-be battle, and surreptitiously cast Quen on himself.