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.
“Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout…”
— William Shakespeare, King Lear
NARRATOR – You make your way toward Fountain Square. The sun is out, but it looks as though it rained not long ago: water still drips from wet awnings and eaves, puddles gleam in the cart ruts, and the cobblestones shine with a cold silver sheen. After the damp underground tunnels, the fresh air should feel like a relief, but… something is wrong.
SENSIBILITY [Medium: Failure] – The whole quarter feels deserted. No merchants, no idle onlookers, no children. Even the shutters are closed. Where has everyone gone?
BOND OF STEEL [Challenging: Success] – On a nearby street, guardsmen Jurajda and Janusz stop at an intersection. From the direction of the market comes a low murmur of voices. Not the ordinary bustle of a busy district, but the heavy, ominous growl of an angry crowd.
JANUSZ – Look, Jurajda… There’s a whole crowd coming this way. Must be a hundred people, at least.
JURAJDA – I see them, kurwa…
NARRATOR – Craftsmen, apprentices, shopkeepers, a few ragged-looking men. Many of them carry clubs, knives, hammers, butcher’s cleavers…
JANUSZ – We should report this to the captain.
JURAJDA – Yeah. And I should’ve been born the son of a rich merchant instead of standing here knee-deep in somebody else’s shit. But here we are. Fucking job… All right, enough standing around. Move!
BOND OF STEEL – They turn and run toward the barracks.
NARRATOR – Suddenly, you feel the familiar vibration again.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – Kumpel, you actually managed to cast the Sign! Frankly, I had my doubts. Not that it made much difference — you still got your ass handed to you.
YOU – Serves me right.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – Glad to report there’s a very good chance you’re about to get your ass handed to you again. Hear those shouts?..
DISCERNMENT [Easy: Success] – You listen. Somewhere in the distance — from Fountain Square, it seems — people are shouting. Sounds like quite a crowd has gathered there.
NARRATOR – Vernon gives you a meaningful look.
VERNON ROCHE – Oh no… Geralt, are we too late?! Let’s hurry.
NARRATOR – Just as you suspected, people have begun pouring into Fountain Square. It quickly becomes clear that it has already started. Not a massacre yet — but that final moment before one, when the air is stretched so tight that a single wrong word could make it snap. On the street where Enna’s parents keep their shop, at least seventy nonhumans have crowded together: elves, half-bloods, several dwarves, and a few gnomes. Most are unarmed, but some clutch kitchen knives, sickles, and axes — whatever they could find at home.
BRAWN [Easy: Success] – They’re frightened: trembling hands, bewildered eyes, nervous whispers. Hardly any of them look capable of putting up a fight.
NARRATOR – The street opposite, near the Shaggy Bear, is packed with humans, many of them armed as well. They carry themselves with noticeably more confidence. At the very front towers a burly fair-haired brute gripping a heavy club. There is genuine hatred in his eyes — the kind that has been waiting a long time for an excuse to break loose.
DIALECTIC [Medium: Success] – These must be the same “concerned citizens” Iorveth warned you about.
RESOLVE [Challenging: Failure] – Damn it, this looks worse by the minute… What the hell are we supposed to do?
NARRATOR – The unnatural silence hanging over the square lasts only a few moments before a sharp, clipped shout cuts through it.
VINCENT MEIS – In the king’s name! Disperse immediately!
NARRATOR – A squad of guards approaches from the direction of the barracks, led by Captain Meis. He is wearing chainmail, with a shield in one hand and a short sword in the other. His broad face is set in a hard, focused expression.
VERNON ROCHE – Looks like it’s begun. Witcher, we have to at least try to prevent a massacre. It’s our duty.
NARRATOR – He suddenly rushes forward and jumps onto the rim of the fountain. You run after him, not entirely sure what’s happening. The noise of the square presses in from every side: shouting, curses, the clatter of metal, someone’s hysterical sobbing. Roche addresses the crowd in a loud, steady voice.
VERNON ROCHE – Have you all lost your minds?! This is rebellion! You’ll answer for this under the law!
NARRATOR – The people gathered around look at him with little interest. Someone laughs. Someone else spits into the mud. Right now, the word law sounds to them like an echo from another world — the one where everyone could still go home and pretend none of this had happened.
VERNON ROCHE – Captain Meis, what the hell is going on here? Where did all these armed people come from?!
VINCENT MEIS – What do you think?! I suppose they’ve come to dispense justice themselves!
NARRATOR – The captain shouts at the fair-haired brute, who is watching the scene with a nasty grin.
VINCENT MEIS – Korda, what the hell?! I told you not to get involved in this. Don’t you understand how this will end if you try to force your way into the ghetto with weapons in your hands?
NARRATOR – The leader of the racist group steps closer. Five grim-looking men follow him. They aren’t shouting along with the crowd or getting swept up in the frenzy. They carry themselves far too calmly, almost with boredom — as though they hadn’t come to take part in a bloody lynching, but to perform some tiresome job they’d already done a hundred times.
BRAWN [Challenging: Success] – Those five… they’re not just angry townsmen. These men are trained to kill, and their feigned laziness is deceptive; they’re ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Could the rumors about infiltrators really be true?
JAROMIR KORDA – Because we’re sick of putting up with this! Your guards are good for nothing except chasing beggars around, stuffing their pockets with bribes, and getting fat. Meanwhile, the damn elves are murdering innocent people and selling fisstech. That cursed powder is everywhere now!
NARRATOR – Korda bellows like a seasoned agitator, loud and full of conviction.
JAROMIR KORDA – They’re getting our children hooked on drugs! We’ve had enough!!!
NARRATOR – The enraged crowd picks up his words, chanting: “E-nough! E-nough!”
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Success] – A trick as old as the world. Take real problems that trouble the locals, then offer one simple answer — short enough to chant. If one is guilty, then all are guilty.
JAROMIR KORDA – We let the elves into our city, gave them a place to live… And how do those bastards repay us?! By selling poison and helping the Scoia’tael, that’s how! If the city guard is this useless, then we’ll take justice into our own hands and restore order to our own district! Am I right?!
NARRATOR – The crowd answers with approving shouts, taking up the chant: “Or-der! Or-der!”
STEADINESS [Medium: Success] – This is bad. It looks very much like some of the men in Jaromir’s group are under the influence of drugs. They don’t need an excuse anymore. One shout of “get them” will be enough. Give it another moment, and they’ll snap.
NARRATOR – Meanwhile, a thin blue-eyed man slowly steps out from among the elves.
ARTISTRY [Challenging: Success] – Little Enna looks so much like him… The same eyes, the same fair hair. Is that her father?
NARRATOR – When he begins to speak, there is no fear in his voice, only the weariness of many years.
BLUE-EYED ELF – You should know, Jaromir, that “your city” was built on elven ruins. Before your houses, your shops, and your guards, elven homes stood here. Our ancestors lie beneath this soil… The very ones you humans killed in your struggle for a place in the sun. And now we’re forced to live in poverty and endure constant abuse!
NARRATOR – A murmur of approval rises from the nonhuman crowd. Korda, however, merely snorts.
JAROMIR KORDA – Hear that? Now they’re bringing up ruins five hundred years old! Kurwa, nobody even remembers them anymore except pointy-eared storytellers. What the hell difference does any of that make when we’re talking about what’s happening now?!
NARRATOR – The thin elf refuses to be shouted down and raises his voice.
BLUE-EYED ELF – We’re blamed for everything: the price of bread going up, missing purses, the drug trade, murders… And now you want to use the death of an aristocrat as an excuse for a massacre!
NARRATOR – Jaromir merely laughs and shifts his grip on the club.
VINCENT MEIS – Enough! I will not allow a massacre! Korda, I’m warning you for the last time: either you disperse peacefully, or I declare you outlaws. My guards will search the ghetto and arrest any suspects. No vigilante justice.
NARRATOR – Grave strides out of an eastern alley with his entourage: Rock, Janek and Jarek, Rat, and, strangely enough, Rosie. Several dozen thugs follow behind them. They aren’t shouting or waving their weapons around, which somehow makes them look even more dangerous. The thief-in-law steps closer to the fountain, pulling a war hammer from his belt. The metal gleams dully in the daylight.
GRAVE – Whoa, whoa, whoa… Not so fast, Meis. You’re not searching any ghetto.
NARRATOR – He speaks quietly, but the noise around him dies down a little. The crowd is clearly listening to the local kingpin.
GRAVE – I know exactly how that’ll end. Your boneheads will beat the shit out of everyone they get their hands on, throw half the district in cells, file a report about what a fucking wonderful job they did, and then go drink to the king’s health.
NARRATOR – He sweeps a heavy gaze over Korda, Meis, and the gathered crowd.
GRAVE – So how about all of you be good little boys and happily fuck off home. Otherwise, we’ll continue these negotiations by way of brute force.
ELOQUENCE [Challenging: Failure] – You need an argument, fast… Something that might calm them down. Don’t hesitate.
YOU – Captain Meis! Declan Leuvaarden doesn’t support measures like this either!
NARRATOR – Meis whirls around to face you. For a moment, he seems genuinely baffled by how the merchant’s name has managed to surface in the middle of this hell.
VINCENT MEIS – What do I care about Leuvaarden?! Is he here now?! The Merchant Quarter has sensibly been sealed off. All the nobles are hiding behind locked doors, terrified of the people’s anger — the very people they supposedly care so much about!
NARRATOR – He strikes the rim of his shield with his sword — not hard, but the sound is sharp and unpleasant.
VINCENT MEIS – And as far as I know, I’m still captain of the guard, not pan Leuvaarden!
VERNON ROCHE – Listen, Vincent, the elves had nothing to do with this! We’ve practically finished our investigation…
VINCENT MEIS – I can see what your investigation has led to, pan Roche! At this rate, the whole city will be in revolt! We’ve waited long enough. Your methods clearly haven’t worked — now the soldiers are going to act. The king should have handed this case to me from the start… But no, he had to hire that lunatic witcher again for old times’ sake!
STEADINESS [Medium: Failure] – Yeah… Maybe hiring a “lunatic witcher” really wasn’t such a great idea after all. So far, at least, it hasn’t led to anything good.
JAROMIR KORDA – You and your soldiers can go to hell. The people don’t trust you! You’re a corrupt bastard and Grave’s lackey! Am I right?!
NARRATOR – The crowd answers with loud shouts of approval. You notice that some of the men carrying bows are already nocking arrows.
GRAVE – Watch your mouth, Korda. Leave the people in the ghetto alone.
JAROMIR KORDA – And who’s going to stop us? You and your rabble? There are at least twice as many of us!..
NARRATOR – A loud, cutting voice interrupts him.
IORVETH – I will.
NARRATOR – The one-eyed elf drops lightly, almost silently, from the roof of the nearest house. His cloak flares behind him, his boots touching down softly on the worn cobblestones. Iorveth straightens and takes his place beside Enna’s father as calmly as though that were exactly where he had been meant to stand all along. You glance around. Slender figures in dark clothing begin appearing on the neighboring rooftops, bows in hand.
KEEN EYE [Medium: Success] – The Scoia’tael have taken good firing positions. But there are no more than ten of them, and Korda’s men have bows too. The numbers are hopelessly against them — they’ll simply be overwhelmed.
NARRATOR – The captain fixes the rebel leader with a murderous stare. His face flushes red, and his fingers clamp around the sword hilt so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
SENSIBILITY [Medium: Success] – For one brief, terrible moment, it seems as though he might transform right here into the fanged monster you saw the night before last and tear the elf apart.
VINCENT MEIS – Iorveth?!! You dare show your face here after shooting my soldiers? They were barely more than boys! Why did you do it? What had they done to deserve that?!
IORVETH – I have no idea what you’re talking about, Vincent. We try to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible when entering the city.
VINCENT MEIS – Enough of your bullshit, bastard!..
DIALECTIC [Challenging: Success] – Wait a moment… Vincent said those guards were killed with an arquebus. But elves generally keep their distance from modern technology. Besides, a firearm is too loud, too conspicuous, and too unreliable for people who survive by staying hidden. They rely on bows, knives, ambushes, and swift retreats.
YOU – Captain, I think he’s telling the truth. The elves wouldn’t use firearms.
VINCENT MEIS – What, now you’re defending him?! Next you’ll tell me they weren’t the ones who seized that wagon full of weapons either!
NARRATOR – A hoarse laugh rings out.
JAROMIR KORDA – Ha! That damn mutant is in league with them. He’s just another nonhuman, kurwa…
NARRATOR – You feel a number of furious stares turn toward you. Under their weight, you suddenly feel very uncomfortable.
IORVETH – I warned you this was how it would end, pan witcher… I hope you make the right choice. We will never be friends, but here and now, I’m afraid we stand on the same side of the barricade.
VERNON ROCHE – Everyone, calm down! No one needs to die today. We only need a little more time to finish—
NARRATOR – A loud, commanding voice cuts him off.
ARMORED MAN – In the name of the Order of the Chalice!
NARRATOR – From the direction of the catacombs, a squad of six knights in full armor approaches at a brisk marching pace. Each bears the same emblem on his chest: a chalice, a pair of outspread white wings, and a star above them. The man in front carries a bastard sword over one shoulder; two behind him have crossbows at the ready, another two shelter behind narrow shields, while the last grips a long glaive — not something you’d want to argue with in a street this tight. Struggling to keep up with the martial procession is a long-bearded old man in scarlet robes.
CODEX [Medium: Success] – Robes of that color are commonly worn by priests of the Church of the Eternal Fire.
LONG-BEARDED OLD MAN – Armand, I beg you, stop! Violence is not the answer. Revenge will not bring your brother back. Please, my son, do not take such a sin upon your soul.
NARRATOR – The leader of the detachment raises his visor. The face beneath it is far younger than you expected: fine features, smooth skin, dark eyes, and an elegant little mustache in the latest fashion.
ARMAND LAVELLE – Your pleas will change nothing, Father Hieronim. I must drink this cup to the dregs. I must avenge him. That bandit Grave will answer for all his crimes. There is no other path.
GRAVE – And who the fuck is this little brat?.. He actually has the nerve to call me to account?
ROCK – Well, look at that — must be the dead pretty boy’s relative! The Chalice bastard the Wolf was yapping about. Same fucking face, too! Another little shit, just like him!
ARMAND LAVELLE – I’ll make you choke on those words, you bastard.
NARRATOR – His voice rings like a taut string with barely restrained fury.
JAROMIR KORDA – Shut up, pup, and don’t interrupt your elders! There are only six of you.
ARMAND LAVELLE – …And then I’ll deal with you, Korda, you damned racist.
VERNON ROCHE – Listen, Armand, you’re making a serious mistake. Grave is certainly a scoundrel, but he had nothing to do with Bastien’s murder!
NARRATOR – Armand snaps his gaze toward Roche.
VERNON ROCHE – Please, help us calm the crowd and protect the ghetto from a massacre. And I promise you: we will find whoever is responsible.
ARMAND LAVELLE – I know you… Vernon Roche, isn’t it? But why are you taking that bastard’s side? The whole city is already saying Grave confessed to the murder himself. He even boasts that he hanged a noble chevalier and no one can touch him for it! How can you turn a blind eye to that? They desecrated my brother’s body!
WHISPER [Easy: Success] – Don’t just stand there. You can still change his mind if you tell him what the investigation uncovered. No time to waste.
YOU – The crafty jackal didn’t… I mean, Grave didn’t do it! Bastien didn’t die from strangulation at all — he was actually shot! Ask Karmen. She was with him that night; she’ll confirm everything!
JAROMIR KORDA – Who the hell is Karmen? Have you swallowed too many of those potions of yours? Everyone saw the body hanging in the vacant lot! And Grave loves running his mouth… Probably wanted everyone to think he was some terrifying, dangerous bastard. But it was the fucking elves who killed him, no doubt about it!
NARRATOR – A trembling voice from somewhere above cuts you off. You look up. Garte is standing on the tavern balcony, large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
GARTE – She… She ran away! I saw Karmen heading toward the Mill Gate about an hour ago with all her belongings!
DIALECTIC [Medium: Success] – But Roche has her travel papers. If the courtesan really intends to leave the city, then she must have another set of documents, a trusted accomplice at the gate, or some other trick you haven’t accounted for.
YOU – Garte, what the hell are you doing up there?!
GARTE – What do you think?! There’s about to be full-scale warfare right outside my tavern!!! Put an end to this madness!
JAROMIR KORDA – What kind of name is Karmen, anyway? Sounds like something a whore would call herself…
VICE [Easy: Success] – He gets it.
YOU – Uh, well… That’s beside the point! We established that—
ARMAND LAVELLE – In any case, this Karmen is no longer in Vizima. Grave, however, is standing right here, having confessed to Bastien’s murder. And I, Armand Lavelle, knight-captain of the Order of the Chalice, sentence him to death. The sentence will be carried out immediately.
YOU – Just listen to me! The hanging was staged! Someone shot him!..
JAROMIR KORDA – Oh yeah? Then who did it? If you’re so damn clever, name the killer!
DIALECTIC [Challenging: Failure] – Think. Use your head. No one heard the shot. Pani Růžička and everyone else who was in the tavern are almost certainly uninvolved. So who does that leave?
YOU – It was… someone who isn’t here right now! We need more time to figure out what really happened…
JAROMIR KORDA – Ha-ha-ha! Just look at this mutant!
NARRATOR – The crowd joins in his ugly laughter.
JAROMIR KORDA – How convenient! Someone who isn’t here? Well, I say he’s standing right there, glaring at me with that filthy eye of his. Time to deal with Iorveth, these collaborators, and you too, you white-haired freak. The air in Vizima will be a damn sight cleaner afterward!
VINCENT MEIS – Back off, Korda! In the king’s name, you are ordered to lay down your weapons and disperse immediately!
GRAVE – That’s right. Back off. You too, Vincent. Get the hell out of here while you still can.
JAROMIR KORDA – All right, I’ve had enough of this talking… People! Are you with me?!
NARRATOR – The crowd answers with a roar — ragged and uncoordinated, but very loud.
DIALECTIC [Easy: Success] – So this is it. The talking is over. The question of the nature of evil, which for so long seemed purely theoretical, has suddenly acquired clubs, axes, and a hundred furious faces.
RESOLVE [Medium: Success] – So this is that moment that sooner or later comes in almost everyone’s life. Time to choose…
UMBRA [Challenging: Success] – …But not thoughtlessness. Not inaction. Not the convenient indifference of a man who will later say, “There was nothing I could have done anyway.” Perhaps this is your ultimate purpose. And now an ancient maxim, long forgotten amid wine fumes and delirium tremens, flares clearly in your mind once more, like a final sentence.
YOU – Gladius fati duas acies habet.
UMBRA – The sword of destiny… always has two edges. And one of them is you. The other is death.
NARRATOR – You draw the steel sword from your back and take half a step forward.
FORTITUDE [Medium: Success] – Sometimes a choice looks exactly like this. Half a step onto dirty cobblestones — where you may very well end up lying dead.
JAROMIR KORDA – So you really have decided to die with them, bastard.
NARRATOR – He slowly raises a hand and points at you with a grin.
JAROMIR KORDA – So be it. Shoot him.
NARRATOR – One of the men behind Korda matter-of-factly raises an already cocked crossbow.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – Watch out, kumpel!
NARRATOR – Barely taking aim, he squeezes the trigger in one quick motion. The bolt flies straight at your forehead.
REFLEX [Impossible: Success] – Your body reacts before your mind does. With a barely perceptible flick of the blade, you knock the bolt downward. A sharp clang rings out by your feet.
RACIST WITH A CROSSBOW – He… he fucking deflected it…
NARRATOR – An excited murmur sweeps across the square.
MASQUE [Easy: Success] – Magnificent, maestro! You have astonished the esteemed audience, but now is hardly the time to bask in the glow of your well-earned acclaim!
NARRATOR – Jaromir, however, keeps his composure. He quickly draws a handgonne from his belt.
JAROMIR KORDA – All right… Let’s see you deflect this, you bastard.
KEEN EYE [Easy: Success] – Korda is standing ten or twelve meters away. One accurate shot means certain death. You won’t reach him in time. That leaves only…
WHISPER [Medium: Success] – Vernon’s gift!
REFLEX [Easy: Success] – Shifting the sword into your left hand, you yank the dagger from your boot with a sharp motion. It wasn’t made for throwing, but you don’t have much choice.
DEFTNESS [Legendary: Failure] – You weigh the dagger in your palm, trying to judge the throw. Your hands are visibly shaking.
FORTITUDE [Challenging: Failure] – Oh no. Gods, not now… Focus!
DEFTNESS – For a moment, time stands still. The shouting crowd, the guards waiting tensely for an order, terrified Garte on the balcony, furious Korda with the handgonne leveled at you… There is only an instant. All of Vizima seems to stop breathing, waiting for the throw. You make one desperate swing and send the dagger flying.
ARTISTRY [Challenging: Success] – Beautiful flight. You have to give it that. A silver streak cuts gracefully through the air.
DEFTNESS – But… the blade sails a good cubit wide of Korda’s head and buries itself in the tavern wall with a dull thunk.
NARRATOR – Everyone in the square seems to exhale at once. The members of the racist group, in relief. Everyone else, in disappointment.
STEADINESS [Challenging: Failure] – How humiliating. Dozens of eyes are fixed on you, and every one of them seems to say the same thing: What a loser.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – You’re fucked, kumpel. Maybe everyone else is too. You screwed up again. Probably for the last time in your life.
NARRATOR – Korda spits with a smirk.
JAROMIR KORDA – Missed. Now goodbye, mutant.
NARRATOR – Breathing hoarsely, he looks you straight in the eyes. His hand does not tremble.
UMBRA [Challenging: Success] – In his eyes, you see your own death. The one you won’t escape this time.
NARRATOR – A gunshot cracks across the square.
REFLEX [Legendary: Failure] – You turn your right side toward him and lunge aside, trying to keep the bullet away from your heart. A moment later, terrible pain sears through your arm.
YOU – Damn it…
RESOLVE [Challenging: Success] – Easy! It’s not that bad. He hit you somewhere in the right upper arm. The sword is in your left hand, and you can still fight. Keep your breathing steady. Hold on.
JAROMIR KORDA – All right, get ’em!!!
NARRATOR – Everything erupts at once. Jaromir charges straight at you, club raised to smash your skull, with his five henchmen and the rest of the mob surging behind him. The elves on the rooftops loose a volley; two attackers crumple onto the cobblestones, while a third clutches his shoulder and drops to one knee with a groan. Behind you, the guard captain barks out clipped orders.
VINCENT MEIS – First and second squads, with me to the fountain! Third squad — take Iorveth!
ARMAND LAVELLE – Attack! Leave Grave to me!
NARRATOR – The knights of the Order of the Chalice lower their visors. The crossbowmen raise their weapons, while the shield-bearers move to the front.
GRAVE – Whoreson… Fall back to the ghetto! Hold the line!
NARRATOR – The bandits move with surprising discipline and coordination. You have no time to watch their maneuvers, though.
VERNON ROCHE – Witcher, look out!
NARRATOR – You slip under Korda’s arm and drive your sword hard into one of his men. The one with the crossbow, you think. The keen blade goes in far too easily. The man jerks, drops his weapon, and collapses onto the stones, gasping for air that will never be enough.
UMBRA [Challenging: Success] – Since your “second birth,” you haven’t once put the sword to use. Haven’t killed anyone. So why do you feel absolutely nothing? This should tear you apart from the inside, fill you with horror, disgust… perhaps regret. But there is only emptiness.
YOU – Why?
NARRATOR – The question is swallowed by the roar of battle. Your body is already moving on, as though everything has been decided without you: wrench the sword free, step aside, raise the blade, keep the next man from reaching your throat.
UMBRA – Perhaps some part of your soul knows all too well how to deal with this later, when this is all over, one way or another.
NARRATOR – The others pile in on you. Someone is screaming bloody murder. Another volley follows.
YOU – Who was screaming?..
REFLEX [Easy: Success] – Focus. Don’t let them surround you. Keep moving.
STEADINESS [Medium: Failure] – Vernon… Where’s Vernon? We need to stay together…
GRAVE – Get out of there! They’ll overwhelm you with numbers, you brainless sheep!
NARRATOR – It’s impossible to tell who he’s shouting at. Maybe you. Maybe his own men. Maybe everyone at once.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – KURWA!!! Kumpel, danger!!! Use the Sign I taught you, now!
DEFTNESS [Impossible: Failure] – Without stopping to wonder what the danger is this time, you form the Sign with the fingers of your right hand, but… A stab of searing pain makes the hand seize up.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – That’s it. Now we’re definitely fucked. It’s been an honor traveling with you, kumpel. See you beyond the gates of night.
NARRATOR – You turn, instinctively thrusting the sword forward, and find yourself staring into the frightened face of a very young man. He is clutching an old pitchfork in trembling hands.
UMBRA [Legendary: Failure] – Where is this feeling of déjà vu coming from? What… what is happening? Why does everything feel like a dream? You can see it, even understand it, but you can’t do a thing to stop it.
REFLEX – For a moment, you freeze. Wide eyes, white-knuckled fingers gripping the shaft, rusty tines rushing toward you… Everything is happening too slowly — and still far too fast.
NARRATOR – Then the pain comes all at once, without warning, spreading quickly through your abdomen. The young man stares in horror at the bloodied pitchfork, then at his hands, then at you — only now realizing what he’s done. He staggers back, drops his makeshift weapon, and runs. You begin to crumple with a hoarse gasp. Someone shouts nearby.
IORVETH – The witcher’s wounded! Help me!
VERNON ROCHE – Damn it, we have to get him out of there! Come on, over there!
NARRATOR – You feel yourself being dragged somewhere. The sword slips from your left hand. The sounds around you begin to fade, as though someone were slowly closing a heavy door between you and the world.
VERNON ROCHE – Geralt, are you alive?! Can you hear me?
FORTITUDE [Legendary: Failure] – Hold on… Get up… Take your weapon… Vernon needs help…
STEADINESS [Medium: Success] – No. You can’t get back up anymore. This is the end.
YOU – So… I’m just going to die in this square?! Just like that? Without solving the case? Without finding out who the woman was who wrote that letter? Without ever learning what happened in that Mother Goose book?..
UMBRA [Challenging: Success] – But do you want to know? Or does some part of you wish it would all finally end? So the scent of lilac and gooseberries would stop haunting you? Where you’re going, there will be no smells anymore… No more exes…
VERNON ROCHE – Oh gods, Geralt, you’re bleeding out…
SENSIBILITY [Easy: Success] – There is desperation in his voice. He is an experienced soldier, and he knows how bad this is.
VERNON ROCHE – Here, I’ll bandage it… Please, just hold on…
YOU – Vernon… I was a real bastard. Still, it’s a shame the story has to end like this… That I’ll never find out who stole the golden egg…
VERNON ROCHE – Good, good, keep talking! Hold on, I won’t leave you!
NARRATOR – With great effort, you force your eyes open. You can’t turn your head. Shadows move around you. Vernon is bent over you, desperately trying to stop the bleeding… Then a hulking figure with a club looms over him. His face is twisted, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl. A swing…
DOMINANCE [Impossible: Success] – Vernon, turn around! Behind you!
NARRATOR – You’re not sure whether you said it aloud. You’re not even sure your lips moved. But Vernon reacts instantly. Without fully understanding what is happening, the commander of the Blue Stripes snatches up your sword from where it lies nearby and executes an elaborate pirouette. Korda’s club whistles past his temple. Vernon twists aside and answers with a fast, sharp, powerful swing. Jaromir Korda makes no sound. He only blinks in surprise, as though the world has suddenly turned out not to work the way he expected. Then he collapses to the ground beside you.
FORTITUDE [Challenging: Failure] – Your eyes close. You sink into darkness.
UMBRA – And once again… Nihil aeternum. Welcome back.