This is a non-commercial fanfic based on the universes of The Witcher and Disco Elysium. All rights to the original works, characters, names, and elements of their respective worlds belong to their respective copyright holders. The author of this fanfic does not claim ownership of any of them. Age rating: rated R (18+). The text contains profanity, alcohol, fictional drugs, violence, and other themes intended for an adult audience.
“Hell is other people.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre, “No Exit”
NARRATOR – With great difficulty, you slowly make your way down to the ground floor of the tavern on numb, trembling legs, keeping a wary grip on the worn handrail. At least, you suspect this is a tavern. The common room is almost empty; in the middle of the day, most people are working rather than drinking themselves into oblivion.
FORTITUDE [Medium: Failure] – Sunlight slams through the long-unwashed windows and pierces your eyes like a flaming spear, burning away the last parts of your brain that still seem to be functioning.
NARRATOR – By the wall to your right, you see a wooden counter with a large man bent over behind it. Apparently, he’s trying to fix something. Hearing your footsteps, the man looks up and gives you a quick, dark glance.
SENSIBILITY [Easy: Success] – He is DEFINITELY not happy to see you. You have no idea why, though.
INNKEEPER – Well, what are you staring at me for, pan? Your friend is standing by the entrance — been waiting for you a good while now. Go talk to him. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.
REFLEX [Easy: Success] – Friend? What friend?
NARRATOR – In the far corner of the room, by the entrance, you notice a tall, clean-shaven gentleman dressed in a long blue doublet. A strange-looking black turban sits on his head. The stranger stands perfectly still, lazily watching you through half-lidded dark eyes. Calm, composed, unreadable, and endlessly patient.
BRAWN [Legendary: Success] – He may be standing still, but you know at once: this is a trained fighter. An extremely dangerous one.
DISCERNMENT [Challenging: Success] – Indeed. Look at that weathered face, the distinct scar, those calloused fingers… The man can’t be much older than thirty-five, but he’s already seen a great deal. And he carries himself like someone used to giving orders. Orders that are usually followed quickly and without question.
NARRATOR – Noticing your attention, the man in the turban casually raises a hand and gives a short nod, inviting you to come closer. You take a few unsteady steps toward him.
KEEN EYE [Medium: Success] – Your gaze is drawn to the long sword at the stranger’s hip. The blade rests in a well-made scabbard — apparently, he takes good care of it.
WHISPER [Easy: Success] – Well… Unlike you, he has at least one sword.
NARRATOR – Now you’re standing directly in front of the stranger in blue. He holds out a hand, covered by a black fingerless leather glove. You return the handshake almost automatically, noting his firm grip. This is not a man accustomed to hesitation or delay.
DISCERNMENT [Medium: Failure] – Who the hell is he? A soldier? A mercenary? A spy?
UMBRA [Impossible: Failure] – Your long-lost twin brother. Obviously.
BOND OF STEEL [Medium: Success] – For some reason, you suddenly feel that if a squad of Nilfgaardians burst into this room right now, this mysterious swordsman would fight beside you, never flinching. Shoulder to shoulder. Without a second thought, without hesitation, without fear. Until the very end.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Good afternoon. I’m glad to finally meet you in person. I came as quickly as I could. You are probably aware that I am here on Thaler’s orders… Ahem, forgive me — on the orders of Bernard Ducat, head of intelligence in the service of His Majesty King Foltest.
NARRATOR – Still utterly bewildered and continuing to clutch the man’s hand, you look up at him with the pitiful, pleading eyes of a sheep being dragged to slaughter. After a few moments, it finally occurs to you that you should probably let go.
CODEX [Medium: Failure] – Thaler?.. What Thaler?
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Have you already carried out an initial examination of the crime scene? Were you able to get the body down from the tree?
WHISPER [Challenging: Failure] – He clearly has you confused with someone else.
YOU – Uh… listen, friend… What body? I don’t really… like bodies. Not much, anyway. Actually, not at all. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.
DISCERNMENT [Medium: Success] – The man lets out an almost inaudible sigh. Clearly, he was prepared for just about anything — except that answer.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Well… Perhaps you are testing me?
WHISPER – Uh, no. If anything, it looks more like he’s testing us.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – As I was saying, according to my orders, I was to come to Vizima and report to the Shaggy Bear tavern. Here, I was supposed to meet a certain witcher. Apparently, that means you. In any case, I strongly doubt there are several witchers in the area at the moment, considering how much your ranks have thinned over the past few decades.
YOU – I’m… not so sure about any of this. I don’t feel like a witcher at all.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Come now, everyone has bad days. Still, we should stick to the facts we have. The moment you came downstairs, I noticed your Wolf School medallion — a kind of guild mark, isn’t it? I once met one of your colleagues. He had a rather distinctive scar on his face too, by the way. Though, of course, in theory you could have stolen the artifact…
NARRATOR – The stranger continues, scratching his chin.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Yes, and I cannot help noticing that you have no swords. Everyone knows that witchers usually carry two.
STEADINESS [Challenging: Failure] – A shiver runs through you. Large beads of cold sweat begin to roll down your back. Your stomach twists itself into a knot.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Still, at the moment I see no reason to believe you’re trying to pass yourself off as a witcher. It would be an awfully convincing disguise, considering your… ahem… unusual eyes. And the white hair. Even so, I have to ask: where are your swords? We may still have need of them.
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Failure] – Maybe you could try to talk your way out of this? Say you left them in your room?
FORTITUDE [Impossible: Failure] – Your chest suddenly constricts with a sharp pain. It feels like you’re about to have a heart attack.
NARRATOR – You try to say something — anything — but the words stick in your throat, stubbornly refusing to come out. When no answer is forthcoming, your companion breaks the silence again.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Yes, and one more thing… As far as I know, you should be carrying an official document signed by King Foltest and bearing his personal seal. It grants you fairly broad authority for the duration of the investigation. If you don’t mind, I would like to see it, since you seem unwilling to say what became of your swords.
WHISPER [Easy: Success] – “Unwilling” isn’t exactly the right word. But you really do have nothing to say on the subject.
NARRATOR – You begin frantically rummaging through your pockets, though somewhere deep down you already have a vague sense of how pointless this exercise is.
ELOQUENCE [Challenging: Failure] – You’re probably not going to talk your way out of this one. You have no idea what to say, or what document he’s even talking about.
YOU – W-well… Uh… You see, the thing is… Y-yeah…
DISCERNMENT [Medium: Success] – The stranger’s expression changes. He rubs his eyes in confusion.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – Wait. Are you saying you lost an official warrant bearing His Majesty’s seal? That is… an extremely serious matter. We need to report this as soon as possible. Just imagine what might happen if someone found that document and tried to use it for their own purposes.
BOND OF STEEL [Challenging: Success] – Even so, he has no intention of giving you the entirely justified dressing-down you deserve. At least not here, and not now. A born leader, this swordsman has a keen sense for such things. He has judged the situation correctly and realized that, at the moment, simply managing to stand more or less upright is already an achievement for you.
MAN IN THE TURBAN – But in any case… I think we’ll be able to sort this out. Yes, forgive me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. Vernon Roche, commander of the Blue Stripes special forces unit. As you’ve probably gathered, I was sent here to assist with your investigation.
REFLEX [Challenging: Failure] – What? Investigation? He mentioned some investigation again. I really don’t like that word.
YOU – Listen, Vernon… Well… How do I put this… I still don’t really understand what you’re talking about…
NARRATOR – Your companion slowly looks you over with a calm, steady gaze. From head to toe, taking in every detail. Suddenly, you desperately want to shrink to the size of a mouse and crawl into some dark hole very far away from here.
VERNON ROCHE – Well… Judging by your appearance and the rather distinct smell, I would guess you drank a great deal yesterday. Probably the day before as well. But believe me, during my army days I saw soldiers in far worse shape… At least you can still speak more or less coherently. Still, I suppose we should start from the beginning: you haven’t introduced yourself yet, my good man.
UMBRA [Challenging: Failure] – A bottomless dark abyss opens up inside you, swallowing everything. You have absolutely no idea what to say. You don’t know your own name.
ARTISTRY [Legendary: Failure] – Yes. A name. A noble name. Something truly magnificent is required to distract both yourself and everyone around you from the fact that you have forgotten every detail of your own life. And there it is, stirring within you. A dead-drunk phoenix struggles to spread its plucked wings. It is woven from the scents of sour wine, not-too-expensive perfume, and vulgar arrogance… Sir Andrzej Ambroise de Beaupré. Oh, it’s perfect! Simply perfect.
YOU – My name is… ahem… Sir Andrzej Ambroise de Beaupré.
NARRATOR – Vernon doesn’t seem to be listening to you at all and responds with the faintest of nods. He’s rummaging through a small leather pouch hanging from his belt. Whatever he’s doing in there clearly interests him far more than the aristocratic masterpiece you just vomited out. He doesn’t seem to have paid the slightest attention to the name you gave him.
VERNON ROCHE – Now, allow me to remind you of a few important facts about this case, since you seem somewhat… lost after last night’s drinking. We need to make sure we’re working with the same information.
NARRATOR – He folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes, as if reciting the lines of a familiar role from memory.
VERNON ROCHE – So. Four days ago — on Friday — the body of a middle-aged man was found hanging from a tree in the backyard of this tavern. Before you ask, let me make one thing clear: this was no nameless vagrant, and there are plenty of those around here. We know for certain that he was a man of noble birth. More than that, he acted as an emissary for some extremely influential people from the Merchant Quarter. Many of them are close to the king, so we’re talking about the upper crust here. People with plenty of money, connections, power — and enemies and jealous rivals to match.
SENSIBILITY [Easy: Success] – It seems Vernon isn’t particularly fond of all these “influential people.”
VERNON ROCHE – The locals swear the victim was killed by some terrible monster that has supposedly been seen in the area from time to time, with several sightings even reported to the guards. That’s precisely why it was decided to bring in a witcher: this is Vizima, after all, the capital of our kingdom. If some beast really has turned this area into its hunting grounds, we could have a serious problem on our hands.
NARRATOR – You nod vigorously, though your mind is in complete chaos.
VERNON ROCHE – However, things are somewhat more complicated than they appear at first glance… There are serious suspicions that the Scoia’tael are somehow involved in the murder. Rebels. Elves. If that’s true, we may be facing another wave of pogroms.
FORTITUDE [Medium: Success] – Roche looks exhausted. It seems he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in several days.
VERNON ROCHE – But there is something else. From one source — not an entirely reliable one, I should add — we received information suggesting that the murder was carried out by bandits working for a local crime boss known as Grave. He’s the king of the local underworld. Most of Vizima’s cutthroats answer to him, along with street thugs and every kind of gutter scum.
YOU – So… a robbery gone wrong?
VERNON ROCHE – Not exactly. One theory is that they were sending a kind of “message” to the nobles of the Merchant Quarter. Those people have certain… business interests here. In any case, that’s why Thaler sent me to assist you. The situation could have disastrous consequences for virtually everyone involved. Forgive the cliché, but this place has become a powder keg just waiting for a spark.
NARRATOR – He frowns.
VERNON ROCHE – I think that’s enough for now. If you have any other questions about the case, we can discuss them this evening. And… from what I understand, you still haven’t taken the body down from the tree. Which means this is the fifth day it’s been hanging there… Well. In any case, I’d like to speak with the innkeeper first. He may know something.
NARRATOR – You approach the wooden counter, which has probably stood here since the tavern first opened and has clearly seen better days. The innkeeper you noticed earlier is still towering behind it. Dark-haired, around forty, and unshaven, he looks as though the world has been getting on his nerves since birth.
SENSIBILITY [Trivial: Success] – And he’s still not happy to see you.
VERNON ROCHE – Good day, pan. I am Vernon Roche, an envoy of His Majesty King Foltest. We are investigating a crime committed in the backyard of this tavern. This is my partner, a witcher by the name of…
NARRATOR – Vernon looks at you expectantly. You clear your throat with some uncertainty, puff out your chest, and straighten up as much as your hangover allows. Finally, you proudly announce…
YOU – My name is Sir Andrzej Ambroise de Beaupré.
MASQUE [Medium: Failure] – That was magnificent, maestro! A performance worthy of a true aristocrat!
RESOLVE [Easy: Success] – That was absolutely awful. Why did you even say that?
NARRATOR – For several long seconds, the innkeeper remains deathly silent. He just stands there, wide-eyed, looking from you to Vernon and back again. Apparently, the man is trying to decide whether you’re making fun of him or whether life has simply taken a very strange turn. In the end, he chooses the safer option and turns his attention to your companion instead. Vernon breaks the silence.
VERNON ROCHE – So, pan… Garte, if I’m not mistaken?.. You’re the innkeeper here, aren’t you? Could you tell us about the circumstances of the murder and the events leading up to it?
NARRATOR – The innkeeper gradually regains his composure and begins to huff like a boiling kettle.
GARTE – Hold on, pan Roche. First of all, I’m not an innkeeper. I manage several establishments in Vizima. Second… yes, I happen to be here now, filling in for one of the staff. But I wasn’t here that night. Sylvie was behind the counter.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – KUMPEL, who gives a damn who he is or where he was?! Just look at those glorious ranks of gleaming bottles behind him! That’s an army — no, a divine host sent to save us! Demand that he pour you a glass or two. Right now. No delays!
NARRATOR – The sturdy chain holding the medallion begins to tighten around your throat. After several futile attempts to shove the cursed pendant down your collar, you give up. Vernon shoots you an annoyed look.
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Success] – Don’t rush this. You need to speak calmly and sensibly. No foolish scenes. He’s clearly a pragmatist, so the voice of reason should have some effect.
YOU – Forgive me, Garte… Ahem… Given the circumstances, I find myself compelled to ask you for a small drink. Strictly for the sake of efficiency, so that I may discharge my duties properly. Regrettably, it is absolutely necessary if this rather difficult investigation is to be brought to a successful conclusion.
NARRATOR – For a moment, Garte stares at you in astonishment, clearly not expecting such eloquence. Then his face quickly turns dark red and his eyes narrow.
GARTE – Listen, my good man… Didn’t you hear what I told you not a minute ago? I am not an innkeeper. I manage this establishment — one of several. I have other responsibilities. Not to mention that you trashed your room, broke the stuffed bird hanging by the entrance, and…
DOMINANCE [Medium: Success] – What is this worthless peasant even mumbling about??? YOU are the law here — or at least something close to it! It’s time to put him in his place once and for all. Time to show some real TOUGHNESS!
YOU – LISTEN HERE, SHITHEAD, I WANT A FUCKING DRINK!!!
GARTE – OH, DO YOU NOW? TOO FUCKING BAD! Because you’re not getting a damn thing, YOU PISS-SOAKED MORON!!!
RESOLVE [Easy: Failure] – Ow. That hurt.
NARRATOR – Vernon silently watches the two of you with a distant expression. Confusion, resignation, and the faintest hint of sadness show on his face. He seems to have accepted that this partnership will eventually be his undoing.
VERNON ROCHE – Splendid. That was rather… unusual. But let us return to the matter at hand, pan Garte. So, you say you weren’t here on the night of the murder? Your employee, Sylvie, was on duty?
GARTE – That’s right. Unfortunately, Sylvie quit. She doesn’t work here anymore.
REFLEX [Easy: Success] – Hmm. Quit? That sounds extremely suspicious…
YOU – Why? Where did she go?
NARRATOR – Garte’s head snaps up. He fixes you with an intent, unblinking stare.
GARTE – Oh, pan witcher, now that’s an interesting question. Yes, yes, a very interesting one indeed. You see, the thing is, she no longer wanted to see a certain someone. Turns out Sylvie has little patience for customers who behave like deranged fools escaped from Narrenturm.
YOU – What?.. What the hell are you talking about?
CODEX [Challenging: Failure] – Sorry, I’ve got nothing. But here’s an interesting fact: the Pontar is almost half a kilometer wide along its middle course.
GARTE – Don’t play the innocent with me! I’ve heard a few things, you know. You showed up here three days ago, and on your very first evening you started bothering the other patrons. You wandered around the common room, held that damned sword to your own throat, and, laughing like a madman, claimed that His Majesty would literally fall from his throne if he found out that the witcher sent on an important mission had slit his own throat.
VICE [Trivial: Failure] – Yeah… I don’t know what to say. Honestly, that sounds a lot like you.
NARRATOR – The innkeeper turns to Vernon for a moment.
GARTE – Just to be clear, I’m only repeating what this madman said. Personally, I have no desire to see the king fall from his throne.
NARRATOR – Vernon, meanwhile, has taken a small notebook from his pouch and is writing something down. It’s impossible to tell whether he even heard Garte’s loyal declaration.
GARTE – And last night we had a famous bard performing here — cost us a pretty penny, too! Yet somehow you managed to pick a fight with the musician, throw him out into the street, and take his instrument. Then, as far as I know, you spent the entire night strumming that damned lute in a decidedly unmusical fashion and howling like a wounded werewolf.
MASQUE [Medium: Success] – Maestro, surely you had excellent reasons! Creative madness! A sudden burst of inspiration!
GARTE – And in the end, you wrecked your room, smashed the window, scared off all the guests, and broke that damned stuffed bird.
NARRATOR – He angrily jabs a finger at something behind the counter.
GARTE – That was too much even for Sylvie, and she’d seen all kinds of customers during her two years here — Grave’s cutthroats included. So I bow at your feet, pan witcher! Now I have neither an employee nor any customers!
DIALECTIC [Medium: Success] – Hmm… That means you still had your swords three days ago. Well, at least one sword. Some good news, finally. It still doesn’t explain what you did with your weapons afterward, though.
YOU – I’m sorry, Garte… I really am.
NARRATOR – Having finished his notes, Vernon now listens closely to the innkeeper’s tirade, his expression unreadable.
VERNON ROCHE – I see. I have only one question left for now: how do we get to the crime scene?
GARTE – Oh, nothing could be easier! Go outside, turn left, and walk through the enormous hole in the fence! You can’t possibly miss it. A whole Temerian cavalry regiment could ride through there!
DISCERNMENT [Challenging: Failure] – You can tell he’s angry again, but you have no idea why.
GARTE – Not so fast, gentlemen. Pan witcher still owes this establishment one hundred and twenty orens for the damage to the room and the drinks. And I might add, he drank enough for a whole gang of dwarves.
CODEX [Easy: Failure] – Orens?.. What are “orens”?
NARRATOR – You furrow your brow as hard as you can, trying to work out what is being demanded of you this time. The man behind the counter notices your mental struggle and continues, visibly irritated.
GARTE – Oh, gods! Stop playing the fool, pan witcher. Yes, you owe me money! You should be grateful I didn’t charge you for the room itself, seeing as you’re supposedly here on important business. Though so far, I haven’t seen much evidence of that.
YOU – But what exactly is this… money?
GARTE – Is that a trick question? What exactly are you trying to get at? Money is what people exchange for various goods and services. For example, you can rent a room at an inn so you don’t freeze to death on the streets of Vizima at night. And I should warn you: from now on, I’ll be charging you twenty orens for every day you stay here. Charity is over; this isn’t Saint Lebioda’s shelter. I’ve already been more than accommodating by letting you stay here for three days free of charge.
DOMINANCE [Challenging: Failure] – Who does this boor think he is?! You are an envoy of the king himself! You need to put him in his place somehow… but your mind is a complete mess, and you can’t find the right words.
REFLEX [Easy: Success] – Wait. It looks like Vernon wants to say something…
VERNON ROCHE – My good man, perhaps we can reach some sort of compromise? Let me remind you that we are here on an important mission on His Majesty’s orders. There is no need to stand in our way. Besides, the royal treasury has more than enough funds to compensate you for any losses.
SENSIBILITY [Challenging: Success] – Surprisingly, Vernon’s speech — even the ominous mention of Foltest’s name — makes absolutely no impression on Garte. When money is involved, it takes a great deal to rattle him.
GARTE – You know, pan, don’t try to intimidate me. I’m not standing in your way. You’re free to conduct your investigation wherever and however you please, and I won’t say a word against it. But that doesn’t mean I have to provide free lodging for a witcher who threatens other guests with a weapon and wrecks the place. And I certainly don’t have to feed him or keep him supplied with drink for nothing.
ELOQUENCE [Challenging: Failure] – Damn, he makes a good case. There’s not much you can say to that.
GARTE – I don’t doubt for a moment that our dear king has untold riches at his disposal — and may they never run dry. But what good does that do me? The moment you finish your business and leave this tavern, everyone will forget about me and the debt by the very next day. And finding this witcher afterward? You might as well try to catch the wind. So what exactly do you suggest? That I knock on the gates of the royal castle and politely remind them that I’m owed one hundred and twenty orens for vodka and a broken window? What do you think the guards would say to that, pan?!
NARRATOR – The innkeeper turns red with indignation, practically shouting the last few words. Then he finally gets a grip on himself and finishes in a much calmer voice.
GARTE – I have nothing against you, pan Roche. Your reputation speaks for itself. But I don’t trust that blasted witcher one bit, and as for placing my hopes in some royal favor I may one day be granted… Hardly anyone comes here as it is, for the reasons I’ve already described. If I start forgiving everyone’s debts as well, I’ll have to shut the tavern down.
VERNON ROCHE – Very well, pan Garte. I understand perfectly. We’ll settle the account with you this evening. Come, witcher.
BOND OF STEEL [Trivial: Success] – Roche knows he has lost this battle and makes the most sensible decision: retreat. Best not to say anything about it.
NARRATOR – You pull open the front door and step uncertainly outside. The world before you is painted mostly in shades of gray and muddy brown. Spring has already reached the city: puddles lie scattered across the unpaved roads, while filthy, thinning patches of snow still cling to the ditches. Ahead is a small square, dominated by the proud remains of a half-ruined fountain that clearly hasn’t worked in years. At its center stands the statue of some unknown gentleman, generously coated in bird shit. A cluster of shabby little houses crowds around the square. On the wall of the nearest one, someone has scrawled in crooked letters: “NONHUMANS OUT!” Not far from the fountain, a pack of children around six years old are running about in torn clothes. They shout and laugh, apparently oblivious to the bleak little world around them.
FOREBODING [Medium: Success] – A strange feeling takes hold of you… Yes. Spring has come to the capital. You are standing in the Temple Quarter, home to those who have lost almost everything, hope included. Hope that one day they might crawl out of this filth and grinding poverty. East of here stands Saint Lebioda’s Hospital — a place for those whose hopes are fainter still. People often end up there not to be cured. They go there to die. Yes. You can smell it. That vile, clinging stench that, once known, can never quite be forgotten. Wet rags. Cheap herbs. Vomit. Rot. And the quiet despair of a person’s final days.
UMBRA [Easy: Success] – You know that smell. It is the smell of death. You have met it many times on countless roads.
FOREBODING – To the west lies the cemetery. The final destination. A place where the word hope… loses all meaning. Farther to the northwest stretches the Merchant Quarter. An entirely different world, where no one knows what true hunger feels like. Its residents care nothing for the tragedies playing out in these dark courtyards. And farther west still rises the magnificent royal palace of His Majesty Foltest. Paradise on earth. A place so far beyond the reach of ordinary mortals that it might as well stand on another planet.
NARRATOR – A sudden premonition sends a shiver through you. A cold raindrop lands squarely on your head.
VERNON ROCHE – It doesn’t look like this drizzle will let up anytime soon. Still, we have plenty to do. First, we need to examine the crime scene. Then we should take a statement from pan Leuvaarden. He’s a very influential man and represents the magnates I told you about. Naturally, he lives in the Merchant Quarter. It would also be wise to speak with Grave, though I’m afraid that particular conversation may prove… rather difficult.
NARRATOR – A tiny, freckled pani is lingering near the tavern entrance, quietly humming to herself. Very young and rather pretty, she has a round, lively face, a pert upturned nose, and thick auburn hair gathered into a careless bun. Large green eyes watch the passersby with open curiosity, while a sly little half-smile keeps flickering across her lips.
CODEX [Medium: Success] – A young gnome. Gnomes are shorter and much less heavily built than dwarves, with finer features and, on the whole, a more easygoing and friendly disposition.
NARRATOR – The red-haired stranger meets your gaze openly and without the slightest hesitation. For some reason, though, the way she looks at you makes you want to check whether your purse is still where you left it.
GNOME – Hullo! So, what do you think of the weather?
ELOQUENCE [Trivial: Failure] – A perfectly ordinary opening to a bit of harmless small talk. You should answer politely. Perhaps ask some simple question.
YOU – Hello… Well, it certainly is rainy… Tell me, we’re in… Vizima, right?
ELOQUENCE – Definitely not the best question.
NARRATOR – She snorts with laughter and gives you an incredulous look.
GNOME – Where else would we be? Vizima, of course! The Temple Quarter, if you want to be a little more exact. And if you want to be really exact…
NARRATOR – The gnome gives you a playful wink.
GNOME – …Fountain Square. Fountain’s right there in front of you, only it hasn’t worked for nigh on five years now. There you have it, sir. Well, if you’ve got no more questions for me, I reckon I’ll be off to see to my own little business!
NARRATOR – The tiny woman spins around with surprising speed and, a moment later, disappears around the corner of the nearest house.
ELOQUENCE – That was a very unusual conversation.
SENSIBILITY [Challenging: Failure] – Yes. There was something… suspicious about her. What was she even doing here in the first place?
DISCERNMENT [Easy: Success] – Near the fountain the gnome pointed out, you suddenly notice a strangely familiar man in a flamboyant, rather fanciful cap. The stranger has a lute in his hands and is playfully bowing to the young women passing by, idly plucking out some carefree little tune.
NARRATOR – After giving yet another townswoman an exaggerated, almost clownish bow, the musician turns around and spots you standing by the tavern. He goes pale at once and hurriedly looks away.
SENSIBILITY [Medium: Success] – This man doesn’t seem the least bit pleased to see you either. Is there anyone in this city who would actually be glad to see you?
REFLEX [Challenging: Success] – Of course. A tax collector, for instance. Or a gravedigger. Though the latter would probably regard you with nothing more than professional indifference.
NARRATOR – You and Vernon walk closer.
KEEN EYE [Easy: Success] – The mustachioed man is at least forty, though he looks considerably younger. He’s clearly accustomed to female attention and makes no secret of enjoying it.
MAN WITH THE LUTE – Ah, witcher… Come to break my second lute as well? Was last night not enough for you? Yes, I understand you’re going through a difficult time, but… But you can’t treat your friends — or their belongings — like this, damn you!
MASQUE [Medium: Failure] – Maestro, it appears this pan knows you… Yes, you haven’t the faintest idea who he is, but play along! Put on a show of inconsolable grief! Indulge in merciless self-abasement!
NARRATOR – You do your best to put on a sorrowful expression and, with any luck, squeeze out at least a single tear. Absolutely nothing happens. You merely rub at your dry eyes in vain and pull a ridiculous grimace.
YOU – My friend, forgive me… I don’t know what came over me… It’s just that everything sort of… came crashing down all at once…
NARRATOR – Vernon quickly cuts off your incoherent babbling. He steps forward with purpose and greets the stranger with a slight bow.
VERNON ROCHE – Ah, Master Jaskier himself! The famous bard who performs ballads inspired by my partner’s adventures. Though I must admit, I’ve never had the opportunity to attend one of your performances… If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions. My name is Vernon Roche. I command the Blue Stripes special forces unit. I believe we were introduced at some reception several years ago.
WHISPER [Medium: Success] – He sings about your adventures? Strange. We’ll have to look into that separately. Why would anyone want to do such a thing?
JASKIER – Oh yes, sir, we have indeed met before, at some splendid reception held in honor of… Well, I can’t quite remember what, but I’m sure it was something terribly important. I’ve heard all about your exploits!.. But do forgive me — this is simply outrageous. My precious instrument! My lute! Fortunately, I had a spare with me, though one of incomparably inferior quality!
DIALECTIC [Trivial: Success] – Well, that mystery didn’t take long to solve. This is the very musician you threw out of the tavern last night. The mortal remains of his lute are now resting in your room.
VERNON ROCHE – My good sir, I assure you: my partner will compensate you for your losses in full. Unfortunately, we are currently occupied with a very serious investigation, so I must come straight to the point. Tell me, have you heard about the murder that took place in the backyard of this tavern? What do you know about the incident?
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Success] – How neatly Vernon managed to quiet Jaskier down. You would have just stood there, still trying to squeeze out a tear while listening to his endless reproaches and lamentations.
JASKIER – Well, I do happen to possess a certain amount of information.
NARRATOR – The bard clears his throat with an air of importance.
JASKIER – You see, yesterday I was performing at the Shaggy Bear — and, between ourselves, the whole affair turned into an absolute fiasco. People were plainly frightened; twenty showed up at most. Not to mention a certain witcher who had the audacity to…
SENSIBILITY [Challenging: Success] – Yes, he is definitely angry. Hardly surprising, considering you quite literally dared to lay hands on his art. But beneath that anger lies another feeling… pity, perhaps. Apparently, he knows more about you than you do yourself — or at least more than you can remember.
JASKIER – …But let us leave that aside for the moment. Now then, I know that the murdered man was of noble birth. We were never personally acquainted, but he served as an emissary for pan Leuvaarden, with whom I happen to be on rather familiar terms. I’ve visited his home on several occasions, spoken with his daughters… The elder one, Sophia, and I became particularly close… Upon my honor, a truly lovely young lady… Ah… yes.
NARRATOR – Jaskier sighs dreamily and turns his gaze toward the colorless sky. Vernon, meanwhile, studies his own boots with perfect composure. After a brief silence, he asks in a deceptively mild voice.
VERNON ROCHE – Forgive my bluntness, but does that mean you know nothing of substance? Were you here on the night of the murder?
NARRATOR – The bard, still lost in thoughts of the elder daughter of pan Leuvaarden — a man entirely unknown to you — makes a vague gesture with one hand and absently shakes his head.
JASKIER – Oh no, sir, I wasn’t even in Vizima at the time of that tragic event. I arrived later, and a few chance acquaintances at the tavern told me that the poor fellow had been killed by some dreadful beast. Which is why I sincerely hope my dear friend will return to his proper calling… and, instead of destroying lutes, turn his attention to monsters.
BRAWN [Challenging: Success] – For the briefest instant, Jaskier is seized by an overwhelming urge to hit you. Hard. Just for a moment… He quickly suppresses the impulse, apparently surprised by it himself.
VERNON ROCHE – Very well. Thank you. If you learn anything new or happen to remember something important, please let us know at once.
JASKIER – Of course! I think I’ll stay at this shabby little tavern for three or four days. Perhaps I’ll even try to put on another concert… I’ll be waiting for you in the common room this evening. We can play a game or two of Gwent, have a chat, have a drink while we’re at it!
CODEX [Easy: Failure] – You haven’t the faintest idea what “Gwent” is.
VICE [Trivial: Success] – But you know exactly what “a drink” means! Maybe this Jaskier fellow isn’t so bad after all!