THE SONG OF THE RED WOLF
Ritchy Targaryen

The call of the Red Wolf
Is loudest at dawn
The call of a Stone Heart
Is broken and alone

He was a human and a mutant, an aberration of the creation cursed by those who prayed to God. He may look like a human but he is nothing more than a being born of dark magic and evil intentions... or so they thought.

He was no monster nor entirely a human by any standard, he was but a mere Witcher.

No one would mourn his death, he knew that all too well.

He walks his lonely Path through this godforsaken world to achieve enough coin to live a peaceful life in another place, another country; maybe owning one of those vineyards or an orchard near the woods. But no Witcher has ever died on his bed and growing old... maybe he could be the first, or he might as well be another number to a long list of diseased hunters like himself.

He growled and swallowed his beer.

These were modern times, he thought. The steel and silver carved wolves shinning in the dim light. He needed a couple of contracts more to earn just enough coin to start a new life, buy a house and hang up his swords for good. Yeah, it was a nice dream.

"Oh, so you really were here!" he heard someone say before him. "I just never thought you'd be here, to be honest."

"And who you might be?"

"Matters not for I've finally found you. Issei, a Witcher... the infamous Red Wolf."