The Witchhunter

For some reason beyond your understanding you find your eyes drawn to the dark man you spied at the fountain. Tall dark hair leather armor and burning blue eyes. The silvercraft shortsword at his belt screamed warning bells. As did the runed satchel and faded red cloak. Yet despite knowing he was a witch hunter you felt as if gravity itself were tugging you toward this man.

If not for the scar upon his chiseld chin you'd have thought him nobility. The talismans and the smell of tinctures gave way to the knowledge of an experienced hunter.

Witchhunters were gaurdians of a sort. The ones who ferreted out unlawful magic. Though unlike gaurds... witch hunters were more akin to assasins...

Still you were drawn.