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.
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
— Oscar Wilde, “The Importance of Being Earnest”
NARRATOR – …An infinite amount of time passes… At last, you come to lying on the bed in the posture of a man whose limbs quarreled during the night and wandered off in different directions.
STEADINESS [Easy: Success] – At least today you’ve been spared the infernal headache. Your mouth is dry, your body feels as though it has been filled with lead, but you might even be capable of walking without swaying. Not as bad as it could have been.
NARRATOR – You make your way down the now-familiar staircase to the ground floor. The common room is empty again. Garte’s voice drifts in from the kitchen, where he is arguing with the cook about something, invoking the gods and the price of meat. At a table in the far corner sits your partner, Vernon Roche, holding a steaming mug. Some sort of paper lies in front of him.
SENSIBILITY [Challenging: Failure] – It’s impossible to tell whether Roche has figured out anything about your stellar escapades. You probably look just as battered as you did yesterday.
NARRATOR – Vernon gestures for you to sit down. He gives you the same sharp, appraising look as before, then says with perfect composure:
VERNON ROCHE – Good morning. Judging by the smell, you somehow managed to get hold of some alcohol after all. I’m very happy for you.
WHISPER [Easy: Failure] – Um… Thank you?.. That was meant as congratulations, right?
NARRATOR – He seems to notice the guilty look on your face.
VERNON ROCHE – There will be no sermon on your dissolute lifestyle. Nor do I care to repeat myself: I’m not your father, and what happens in your free time is your own affair. For now, all that matters is being fit for work.
NARRATOR – He gives a quiet grunt. Perhaps it was an expression of sympathy. Probably not.
VERNON ROCHE – Curious. Was this feast arranged for you by good sir Jaskier?
YOU – No… I met an alchemist. I was trying to find out what’s wrong with me and why I can’t remember anything.
NARRATOR – Roche raises an eyebrow slightly.
VERNON ROCHE – I take it the result was unsatisfactory, and you drowned your sorrows in wine?
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Failure] – You should object. Tell him it was… a scientific tasting conducted in pursuit of the truth.
YOU – You could put it that way.
VERNON ROCHE – I see.
WHISPER [Easy: Success] – He has no intention of asking for details.
VERNON ROCHE – Still, that is of little importance. I hope you enjoyed your evening, but now it is time to return to our duties. An hour ago, I received a report from the coroner.
NARRATOR – Roche casually gestures toward the document you noticed a moment earlier. It is written in unexpectedly neat handwriting, with an imposing seal at the top — the sort that usually means there will be no good news beneath it.
VERNON ROCHE – You may read it yourself later, if you wish, but the gist is this… First, our hypothesis was correct. The victim’s hands were bound after death.
NARRATOR – Vernon interlaces his fingers and pauses.
VERNON ROCHE – Second, the exact cause of death could not be established. In any case, there were no signs of strangulation.
YOU – So he was already dead when they hanged him?
VERNON ROCHE – Apparently so. And third, pan coroner believes death occurred five or six days ago. In other words, the victim died on the day he disappeared.
DIALECTIC [Easy: Success] – So someone really did stage an entire installation for you, trying to lead you down the wrong path.
YOU – But why couldn’t the expert determine the actual cause of death?
VERNON ROCHE – Unknown. The condition of the body presumably complicated matters; it was already in an advanced stage of decomposition. In any case, these facts only make the situation more troubling.
NARRATOR – Vernon puts the report away in his bag and abruptly rises to his feet.
VERNON ROCHE – We must go to the Merchant Quarter at once and take a statement from the merchant Leuvaarden. We need to establish exactly when his emissary disappeared. On the way, we should also stop by the junk dealer’s shop, as pan Meis suggested.
BOND OF STEEL [Medium: Success] – Vernon seems more tense than he did yesterday. His hand keeps dropping reflexively to the hilt of his sword — when facts are scarce and questions too numerous, the familiar weight of a weapon helps put one’s thoughts in order.
NARRATOR – Roche opens the front door and lets you go first. Fountain Square greets you once again. The sun is shining brightly today, though it does nothing to make the surroundings feel any more cheerful. There seem to be fewer people in the streets, and the few passersby move quickly with their heads down, glancing over their shoulders every so often.
FOREBODING [Challenging: Success] – Something is definitely brewing. The city tried to warn you yesterday. And whatever it is, it has drawn very close, already casting its dark shadow over the Temple Quarter. Stay alert, witcher.
NARRATOR – To the right of the entrance, you are surprised to find the young gnome from yesterday. She is sitting on a tiny chair with one leg crossed over the other, absorbed in some book. A glass of coffee stands on the little table beside her.
REFLEX [Challenging: Failure] – Maybe she’s reading Mother Goose?
GNOME – Ah, you again! Morning, gentlemen! Just in case, I should mention: we’re still in Vizima.
DOMINANCE [Easy: Success] – Magnificent. She remembers you. You are now officially a local attraction: the deranged witcher who forgot which city he’s in.
NARRATOR – The girl laughs brightly, entirely unfazed by your gloomy expression. Evidently, the oppressive atmosphere hanging over the city does not trouble her in the slightest.
CODEX [Medium: Success] – In that respect, gnomes are much like halflings. Both possess an almost indestructible optimism and a talent for appreciating life’s smaller pleasures: good food, pleasant company, a warm hearth. In the end, it is things like these that keep the world together.
ELOQUENCE [Medium: Success] – All right, let’s try this again. Pull yourself together. Just think of an ordinary question that a normal person might ask. Preferably without mentioning geese or amnesia.
YOU – Hello. Do you work here? I mean… why are you sitting by the entrance?
NARRATOR – The girl frowns, her pretty face tightening slightly. Not angrily — more with the mild displeasure of someone whose rightful idleness has suddenly been subjected to an administrative inspection.
GNOME – Maybe I do. But at the moment, as you can see, I’m indulging in dolce far niente and enjoying my coffee at leisure. There’s no need to hurry — the whole day is still ahead!
DOMINANCE – She has a much better grasp of the situation than you do. Even though she’s sitting on a doll-sized chair while you stand there at your full witcher height.
STEADINESS [Medium: Failure] – Hmm… She does have a point: the whole day is still ahead. Maybe you should get a cup of coffee yourself and sit with her for half an hour… Or an hour. Investigations, as everyone knows, tend to go much better after a proper rest.
VERNON ROCHE – Unfortunately, we do have somewhere to be. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.
NARRATOR – The redhead spreads her hands theatrically and leans back in her chair, making it perfectly clear that other people’s haste is a regrettable problem, but absolutely none of her concern.
YOU – Tell me, where can I find the junk dealer’s shop?
GNOME – Ah, I see you’re still trying to make sense of our city’s complicated layout? It’s not far at all. Follow that street to the first turn, then go left. Look for a sign and a staircase leading down into a cellar. Fair warning, though: the smell down there is something else. Either Tibald’s footwraps stink that badly, or the man himself gives off that delightful aroma… Anyway, watch yourselves!
NARRATOR – She giggles again, then picks up the book she had set aside, making it perfectly clear that her duties as your guide are now complete.
WHISPER [Trivial: Success] – Clearly, the conversation is over. You’ve been sent into a cellar, warned about the smell, and returned to your natural habitat of uncertainty.
YOU – Thanks…
VERNON ROCHE – Excellent. Time to go, before you decide to ask her about the price of coffee, the latest news, and the meaning of life.
NARRATOR – You follow the street the gnome pointed out. Around the corner, there really is a sign bearing the symbols that have meant “junk dealer” since time immemorial: a boot with a hole in it, a cracked jug, and a few coins. Down the stairs, you find yourselves in a small room literally crammed with every imaginable kind of junk. The shelves sag beneath rusty candlesticks, old crockery, dusty books, blunt knives, and objects whose purpose even their former owners have long since forgotten.
FORTITUDE [Easy: Success] – Dust, damp, mold, mouse droppings, cheap oil, and the sweat of a man unfamiliar with the concept of bathing. But after the stench of a corpse, nothing can faze you anymore.
NARRATOR – Behind a crooked table sits an unremarkable dark-haired man of middle age with sad eyes. Presumably, this is Tibald — the very man whose aroma the giggling gnome warned you about.
ARTISTRY [Challenging: Success] – It almost seems as though Tibald himself was brought into this shop for safekeeping, with every intention of being collected later, only to be forgotten in the end. By now, he has practically grown into the junk around him. He probably remembers every little thing stored here.
TIBALD – Good day to you, honored panowie. How may I be of service? Are you looking for something in particular, or would you simply like to browse our wares?
ARTISTRY – His voice matches his appearance: dull and resigned. And yet his speech is precise, elegant, and unexpectedly refined — as though it had been stored separately in a closed drawer, safely away from the damp.
VERNON ROCHE – Good day, sir. My name is Vernon Roche. My partner and I are conducting an investigation of the utmost importance in this district. Here is a letter of authority confirming our credentials. We would like to ask you a few questions.
NARRATOR – Tibald gives the proffered letter a bored glance and nods. His expression is utterly vacant, as though somewhere in his mind he is still sorting through his treasures and deciding how much to ask for each one.
SENSIBILITY [Medium: Success] – Tibald is neither surprised nor alarmed by the unexpected visit from the king’s envoys. He merely wants to get your questions over with and be left alone again. It isn’t that he dislikes visitors — solitude is simply much more peaceful.
VERNON ROCHE – You have probably heard about the murder that took place in the yard behind the tavern several days ago. Do you know anything about the matter?
NARRATOR – The shopkeeper slowly shakes his head, looking somewhere past Vernon. After a pause, he decides to elaborate.
TIBALD – I’m afraid I must disappoint you: I know nothing about it. I spend my days in this cellar and return home to the outskirts of the city in the evening. Besides, I make a point of keeping well away from crime, politics, lawsuits, and other manifestations of public life.
SENSIBILITY – This is the truth. He tries to live as inconspicuously as possible. Not to hide — to disappear in plain sight. To become part of the furniture, the dust, the general backdrop of the city. The eye slides over him without catching. In this quarter, being unnoticed is a necessary survival skill for many.
NARRATOR – You leave Roche to conduct the conversation, especially since he is doing an excellent job of it. Wandering over to a tall bookcase, you idly examine the spines. Many of the titles are written in unfamiliar tongues; some have nearly faded away with age. On the bottom shelf, you find a piece of parchment bearing a drawing of some hideous creature with a savage expression. In one hand it holds a bloodied sword, in the other a sack of coins. Beneath this work by an unknown master is written: “A witcher, otherwise yclept a witch-man.”
ARTISTRY [Challenging: Failure] – Is that supposed to be you? Do you really look that disgusting? You don’t even have a sword! Or a sack of coins, for that matter.
YOU – Excuse me, sir… What is this picture?
NARRATOR – Tibald, occupied with his conversation with Vernon, does not answer at once.
TIBALD – Oh… It isn’t a picture, pan witcher. Merely a foolish pamphlet — people calling themselves “concerned citizens” used to paste such things around Vizima. Please, don’t take it personally. The paper is of historical interest only, nothing more.
NARRATOR – The reverse of the pamphlet contains a brief and none too flattering account of monster slayers. Among other things, it declares that “witchers be exceeding fond of women and strong drink,” demand “a most outrageous sum” for their services, yet ought to be paid no more than five orens for a drowner and ten for a kikimore.
BRAWN [Trivial: Success] – I’d like to find the bastard who wrote this and smash his face in! That sadist Garte charges you twenty orens a night, and this prick thinks five is fair pay for risking your own skin?!
DIALECTIC [Medium: Success] – Obviously, this is a very old document from those distant days when witchers were still relatively common and prices were considerably more reasonable. Though people, it seems, have been ungrateful in every age.
NARRATOR – You set the malicious little scrap of paper aside and continue examining the treasures the junk dealer has amassed in his lair.
KEEN EYE [Medium: Success] – Look! Over there, on the third shelf. It mentions Mother Goose!
YOU – So what?
MASQUE [Easy: Success] – Why, maestro, everyone wants to know what vile scoundrel dared steal her golden egg! Little Enna made the book sound so fascinating yesterday!
RESOLVE [Medium: Failure] – Of course, you don’t exactly have time to read children’s stories right now… Still, it would be interesting to take just one little peek.
KEEN EYE – Unfortunately, it’s a different book. Apparently from the same series, but an earlier one. Enna did mention that the story about the golden egg had only just come out. This one is called Mother Goose and the Magic Arrowroot.
YOU – What the hell is arrowroot?..
CODEX [Easy: Success] – A plant. The root part is the important one. It has nothing to do with the sort of arrow you wanted to heroically fire at a rope yesterday. According to an old superstition, hanging dried arrowroot above a doorway keeps evil spirits from entering the house… which is, of course, complete nonsense.
ARTISTRY – Come to think of it, a book about Mother Goose firing arrows from a bow would probably be a great success with boys of ten or twelve. You should mention the idea to Enna sometime.
MASQUE – Maestro, let’s at least read the one about the arrowroot! Perhaps the future thief of the golden egg makes an appearance in this story too. Then we’ll be able to expose the scoundrel before he ever commits the crime!
YOU – All right, just one little peek…
DEFTNESS [Trivial: Failure] – At last, you make up your mind. For some reason, a stupid idea pops into your head: give a rakish snap of the fingers and, with one swift, elegant motion, yank out the book wedged between an Encyclopedia of Mushrooms on one side and a hefty treatise on economics on the other.
STEADINESS [Challenging: Failure] – Don’t…
DEFTNESS – Relax. Time for a maneuver.
STEADINESS – Last time this “maneuver” landed us at the bottom of a garbage pit.
DEFTNESS – Alas, the intended movement turns into some bizarre gesture instead. The fingers twist into an impossible configuration, the air in front of your palm suddenly begins to shudder, and then a loud crack rings out.
REFLEX [Challenging: Failure] – Back!..
NARRATOR – Too late. Something hits the bookcase like a battering ram smashing into the gates of an enemy castle. Books fly in every direction, the shelves creak pitifully, and the whole bookcase, groaning with every fiber of its wooden being, begins to topple straight toward you. The crash is tremendous. Encyclopedias, reference books, novels, atlases rain down on your head… You find yourself buried beneath a heap of centuries-old wisdom.
FORTITUDE [Medium: Failure] – Ow. That hurt. Knowledge is power — especially when it falls on you from a great height.
MASQUE – Maestro, what have you done?! Oh, woe is us! Mother Goose is lost forever, and now we shall never find her!
YOU – Damn it, what just happened?..
CODEX [Challenging: Success] – You just used a Sign. Congratulations. Many witchers are capable of casting spells, albeit only very simple ones — nothing compared with the magic wielded by sorcerers. To cast a Sign, all it takes is concentration and a particular arrangement of the fingers. This time, the result was a shockwave. Powerful enough to break a bookcase.
NARRATOR – With some difficulty, you crawl out from beneath the ruins of the Logos and find Tibald and Vernon staring at you in stunned silence. Tibald has even forgotten to close his mouth — presumably, he had been answering your companion at the exact moment of the collapse.
RESOLVE [Medium: Failure] – You are deeply ashamed. An unpleasant shiver crawls down your spine.
ELOQUENCE [Challenging: Failure] – Try to make it sound as though the bookcase collapsed of its own accord, without any direct involvement on your part.
YOU – Sorry… I only wanted to look at one of the books, and then suddenly everything started falling apart… I’ll help clean up the mess.
NARRATOR – Tibald rises with unexpected energy and comes closer to assess the full extent of the goose-related disaster. His face, however, retains the same unruffled expression as before.
TIBALD – No, no, it’s quite all right, don’t worry. These bookcases are very old and rather unstable; things like this happen sometimes. They came with the shop when I took it over from the previous owner, about five years ago. His name was Thaler, I believe — a gloomy fellow, extraordinarily fond of foul language… I hope you weren’t hurt? No? Good. Never mind, I’ll put everything back in order later. I hardly get any customers at this time of day anyway.
NARRATOR – He returns to the table and sits down again. Vernon continues to give you a very pointed look.
VERNON ROCHE – I think it would be best if you simply stood over there in the corner. We shall be finished shortly.
WHISPER [Trivial: Success] – Probably for the best. And no more “maneuvers.”
NARRATOR – You meekly trudge off to the corner like a kitten caught misbehaving. Roche folds his arms across his chest and, with a strained smile, turns his attention back to the junk dealer.
VERNON ROCHE – Ahem. Please excuse my colleague. Now, returning to the matter of the dead man’s belongings…
TIBALD – Of course, pan Roche. As I was saying, our shop does not normally accept clothing, so there can be nothing of that sort here. However, three days ago, an unfamiliar young gentleman sold me an ornate silver snuffbox. I can’t say exactly where it came from; as a rule, I don’t ask my customers unnecessary questions.
DIALECTIC [Medium: Success] – Naturally. He understands perfectly well that much of what gets sold here was stolen from someone at some point. A certain delicacy is essential in this line of work.
BOND OF STEEL [Challenging: Success] – In an alley nearby, guards Jurajda and Janusz are searching a captured thief. A silver buckle, a woman’s brooch, and an expensive folding knife clatter onto the cobblestones. “Listen, Jurajda, we ought to find the owners.” “Yeah? Tramp across half the city over some buckle? Better take it to Tibald. He doesn’t ask questions.” “And the money?” “For the needs of the guard. More precisely — for you and me. They promised us a raise three months ago, and what did we get? Fuck all, the bastards…”
NARRATOR – The junk dealer rummages through a chest by the wall, then places an attractive little snuffbox in front of Vernon, decorated with stones and a gaudy monogram.
TIBALD – Here you are. As you can see, it is perfectly intact. There is no tobacco inside, however; presumably, the unknown gentleman took it with him.
NARRATOR – The commander of the Blue Stripes studies the possible clue closely without touching it.
KEEN EYE [Easy: Success] – He definitely noticed something. This little thing almost certainly has something to do with our case. But there’s no need to say that out loud.
VERNON ROCHE – Extremely curious. It is difficult to say who the snuffbox belonged to before, but it may prove relevant to the investigation. I’m afraid I shall have to confiscate it until the matter is concluded.
NARRATOR – He takes a sheet of paper from his bag.
VERNON ROCHE – I’ll give you an official receipt. If the snuffbox has not been returned within three months, you may present this document at His Majesty’s Royal Bank and claim monetary compensation. By the way, how much did you pay the gentleman for it?..
NARRATOR – Tibald answers without hesitation. Apparently, he really does know every item in his shop by heart.
TIBALD – Forty orens.
ARTISTRY [Easy: Success] – That’s all?.. It looks considerably more valuable.
DIALECTIC – Which only confirms the obvious: the thing was stolen, and whoever sold it wanted to get rid of it quickly.
VERNON ROCHE – And what would you value it at?
NARRATOR – Once again, the answer comes immediately.
TIBALD – Two hundred orens.
DIALECTIC – There you have it. A respectable merchant would probably charge half as much again. But respectable merchants tend to ask those inconvenient questions.
VERNON ROCHE – Very well. Here you are.
NARRATOR – Roche hands the document to the shopkeeper, carefully slips the snuffbox into his pocket, and is already preparing to take his leave.
UMBRA [Challenging: Success] – Wait. Not yet. There’s still something you need to ask this pan.
YOU – About what?
UMBRA – You know perfectly well. The swords. What if your missing weapons somehow ended up here? I have a vague suspicion…
YOU – Vernon, wait a moment. I have a question too… Tell me, Tibald, have any swords happened to come your way over the past few days? Two of them — the kind witchers usually carry: one silver, one steel.
NARRATOR – For the first time during the entire conversation, the shopkeeper’s expression changes slightly. He raises an eyebrow and twists his lips in a peculiar way.
TIBALD – As a rule, I try not to buy weapons. They can bring a great deal of trouble, as I’m sure you understand… However, a pair of swords matching that description did remain in my keeping for some time.
UMBRA – There it is. I told you.
NARRATOR – Vernon, who has been writing something down again, suddenly freezes and begins listening closely.
TIBALD – To be precise, you sold those swords to me yourself three days ago.
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – I told you, kumpel! We really did pawn them so we could go on a proper bender! And you know what? It was worth it!
YOU – I’ve been here before?
TIBALD – Indeed, good sir. I’m afraid you were quite beside yourself at the time. Kept shouting that the swords had to go, or you’d cut your own throat with them… Wild-eyed, practically begging me to buy the weapons on the spot. I confess, the whole scene frightened me considerably.
VICE [Easy: Failure] – Mmm… Yes. Something like that could certainly have happened. Nothing to add here.
YOU – And how much… how much did I sell them for?
NARRATOR – Tibald scratches the back of his head awkwardly. An uncomfortable silence follows.
TIBALD – Twenty orens.
UMBRA – Gods…
NARRATOR – Roche lets out an involuntary sigh. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.
VERNON ROCHE – Twenty orens each?
WHISPER [Challenging: Success] – You already know the answer perfectly well. Vernon probably does too.
TIBALD – No. Twenty for the pair.
STEADINESS [Legendary: Failure] – This is a complete CATASTROPHE. You sold priceless weapons — a witcher’s pride — for twenty fucking orens. Twenty!
HORRIFIC MEDALLION – And then you probably went and DRANK IT ALL AWAY, kumpel! That’s my boy!
DIALECTIC [Easy: Success] – At the Shaggy Bear’s extortionate rates, you effectively traded two swords for a single night in a shabby room with a broken window. Economically speaking, this was not a transaction. It was an insult to the very concept of trade.
NARRATOR – Roche slowly closes his notebook. Far too slowly.
VERNON ROCHE – Tell me, Tibald… do you still have those swords?
NARRATOR – The junk dealer lowers his gaze.
STEADINESS – Now that is a very bad sign.
TIBALD – I’m sorry, but I resold them the very next day. I had no desire to keep merchandise like that around for long: the guards who occasionally visit my establishment might have started asking inconvenient questions. Some elderly lady bought the weapons. I let them go for a very low price.
MASQUE [Challenging: Failure] – Maestro, perhaps she was an admirer of yours? A secret devotee in her twilight years, dreaming of keeping the blades close to her heart!
DIALECTIC [Impossible: Failure] – Why would some old woman buy swords? Hoping to sell them on to someone else? That would be a fairly risky proposition. Something doesn’t add up.
VERNON ROCHE – Do you know this woman? Have you ever seen her before?
TIBALD – I’m afraid not. Though she kept the lower half of her face covered with a kerchief, I’m almost certain I’d never seen the pani before, either around the shop or on the outskirts. The only things I can recall are a somewhat hoarse voice and a rather peculiar manner of speaking…
VERNON ROCHE – You mean she wasn’t from around here and spoke with an accent? Perhaps you remember her name?
TIBALD – No, no. I meant that she spoke like someone… not quite right in the head. Her thoughts kept jumping from one thing to another: first her sons, then the war, then some “kittykins.”
NARRATOR – The man spreads his hands.
TIBALD – And you must understand… even when my customers give a name, it is rarely their real one. She paid and left immediately. Believe me, I would like to help, but I truly have nothing more to add.
SENSIBILITY [Medium: Success] – He’s telling the truth. And yet something about the whole affair clearly troubles him as well. Tibald probably understands it too: old women don’t usually buy witcher swords simply because they have nothing better to do.
NARRATOR – You leave the dark shop and step back out into the sunlit street. After the stench of the cellar, the city air feels almost crystal clear. Vernon, however, looks black as thunder.
ELOQUENCE [Challenging: Failure] – You consider trying to lighten the mood, but no suitable words come to mind. Well then. Looks like you’ll just have to endure another dressing-down.
VERNON ROCHE – I cannot imagine what possessed you, but this is beyond all reason. Finding that unknown old woman will be nearly impossible; for all we know, she may already have left Vizima. What could possibly have made you sell your own swords? And why wreck the shop? What came over you? I am astonished…
DOMINANCE [Medium: Failure] – Tell him the truth. Plainly, directly, and without dodging.
YOU – I just… um… wanted to look at the book about Mother Goose.
ELOQUENCE [Easy: Success] – That was a mistake. You should not have said that. Of all the possible explanations, you chose the one that sounds like an outright admission that you’re unfit to be left unsupervised.
NARRATOR – Roche looks at you as though he is ready to grind you into powder.
VERNON ROCHE – We are not here to play games, damn you! Get this through your head: the situation is critical. We have a murdered emissary, a staged hanging, a very real risk of riots, and now some unknown deranged woman walking around with your swords — while you, instead of working, read children’s books and knock over bookcases. If you continue pulling stunts like this, I swear by the gods, I will go to Thaler personally and demand that you be removed from the investigation at once.
NARRATOR – He takes a threatening step closer. His voice grows quieter and lower.
VERNON ROCHE – You’ll be thrown out of the city without a single coin. And then what? No weapons, no memory, and no one left who’s still trying to keep you on the job.
FORTITUDE [Medium: Failure] – It feels as though he just punched you in the liver. The words hurt almost physically.
DIALECTIC [Trivial: Success] – Because he’s right.