CHAPTER I - OVERHEARD DIALOGUE
CONTENTS
[For the purposes of the overheard dialogue, ‘[NAME] 1’ and ‘[NAME] 2’ indicates two different people in a specific exchange, not that there are only two of that NPC type in the entire area.]
ELF WOMAN 1: Have you heard? They killed the King!
ELF WOMAN 2: Leave me alone. I'll worry when they kill the innkeeper.
CHORAB: They're murdering kings.
ANEZKA: Why would I care? Am I a queen?
CHORAB: Ah, Anezka, smarten up, heed the world...
ANEZKA: But why?
CHORAB: If they come to burn the witch, ye won't even know who 'they' are.
MOTHER: Have ye heard? Another king was murdered.
BOAT BUILDER: Shame it was only one.
MOTHER: Stop talking nonsense, son!
BOAT BUILDER: The tyranny of despots must be ended!
MOTHER: Stop saying that, my son. Who would reign over the world?!
BOAT BUILDER: The common folk, mother. Common folk like me, common folk like ye.
MOTHER: Gods forbid!
ELF MAN: Hm, first Demavend, now Foltest...
ELF WOMAN: Let it go. That's for humans to worry about.
GERALT: How's your health, grandma?
CHORAB'S WIFE: Well enough, sonny. What are ye looking for, here in Lobinden?
GERALT: Kingslayers.
CHORAB'S WIFE: Well, well... Seems I outlasted even Foltest... Now just to outlast Loredo, and I'll be on my way.
MAN 1: They say that fine looking witch will drive off the Old Man.
MAN 2: Witchers, witches... Just like the bad old times.
MAN 1: Only the gods can save us.
MAN 2: Except the old gods have gone away...
MAN 1: Spit those words out! *Ptooey*
MAN 1: At the harbor they said Foltest is dead.
MAN 2: Foltest, eh? I don't believe it. Pure tommyrot, methinks.
MAN 1: But they murdered King Demavend, too. Same blackguards, most likely.
MAN 2: Poppycock.
MAN 1: There's something in the wind. I expect we've a bad night ahead of us.
MAN 2: What about Cedric? He say anything?
MAN 1: Close the shutters, stay inside, and pray if ye believe in the gods.
MAN 1: Did you hear them yesternight?
MAN 2: Who didn't? Me youngsters even cried.
MAN 1: It was once unthinkable - monsters prowling at yer very doorstep.
MAN 2: Bad times are upon us, but we'll defend ourselves, like our fathers.
MAN 1: Oh, we will.
MAN 1: Look, a witcher.
MAN 2: I wonder where he's going.
MAN 1: Prob'ly looking for King Foltest's killers.
MAN 2: Behind a hut in Lobinden?
MAN 1: Quiet, he might hear us.
CHORAB: Everybody here? Sitting comfortably? Then listen...
CHORAB: Not so long ago, our King Foltest had a daughter named Adda. The girl died, but an evil man cursed her and wouldn't let her rest in peace.
CHORAB: Adda was reborn as a striga. She left her sarcophagus at night and, hungry for human flesh, hunted on Vizima's streets.
CHORAB: The city was frozen with fear, and the King promised a reward for lifting the curse from his daughter. Many tried, but they all failed.
CHORAB: Then a witcher came to Vizima. He heard people out, examined wounds left by the striga's talons, and accepted the job, despite many warnings.
CHORAB: The witcher fought the beast the whole night. He led her on, dodged her fangs, and parried her furious attacks. Though he was close to death, he didn't want to kill her.
CHORAB: This was the first time the striga saw such fierceness in a man. She felt the strength of his iron will and backed down.
CHORAB: Witchers know how to dispel enchantments and spells like nobody else. That brave soul also knew how to lift the curse.
CHORAB: He sealed himself in the striga's sarcophagus, beside her mother's corpse, and waited for morning. The third cock-crow lifted the evil spell and turned the striga back into a princess.
CHORAB: However, the curse was not dispelled immediately. The witcher nearly died, attacked by the beast in girl's form.
CHORAB: The King's men found him, bleeding. They also found the princess, cured, but still feeble of mind.
CHORAB: That's how Foltest regained his daughter. Such things do happen under the sun and the moon.
CHORAB: Today I'll tell ye how Lobinden came to be.
CHORAB: A long time ago, our forefathers came to this shore. The King granted them land, on the condition they clear the forest.
CHORAB: Back then, like now, the wilderness was a dark, dreadful place. But our forefathers wanted to settle here badly.
CHORAB: They spent their nights on their riverboat. From the deck they could hear the Old Man and the howling of werewolves. During the day, they tried to clear the forest with fire and axe.
CHORAB: The trees, however, were too large and too tough for Aedirnian steel. And the forest responded to fire by sending ever deadlier nightmares from its depths.
CHORAB: A priestess came here with the settlers. A wise woman, who finally said that this land belonged to no man, and would never submit to man.
CHORAB: The priestess led the men deep into the forest and showed them the altar of the old god Veyopatis. All understood this land would never belong to them and they could only settle its edge at best.
CHORAB: Our forefathers bowed before Veyopatis and offered him sacrifice, and he protected them from the forest and gave them the river rich in fish.
CHORAB: They posted poles in the forest, to forever mark the boundary between the human and that which be not.
CHORAB: That is how it was, is, and will yet be.
FISHWIFE: Ugh, dinner's ready, soup's getting cold.
FISHERMAN: Hush...
FISHWIFE: Come on!
FISHERMAN: Can't ye see I'm fishing, woman?
FISHWIFE: Always fishing and fishing! Ye should have married that rod!
FISHERMAN: Be quiet already, I'll be right there.
FISHERMAN: Bloody hell! Fishing without nets? We've hardly any catch.
FISHER ELF: Aye. The Old Man overdid it this time. These whims of his...
FISHERMAN: Back to the depths, monster! Sleep! Leave us alone!
FISHER ELF: Shut it, or he'll hear you.
FISHER ELF: Eh, if I could only catch a magic fish...
FISHERMAN: I'd have it make me a count, and my woman a countess.
FISHER ELF: I'd just ask for a cold beer.
FISHERMAN: Beer? Are you dumb?
FISHER ELF: You're dumb yerself. Even a magic fish won't make you a count.
FISHERMAN: I suppose you're right. Could very well manage that beer, though.
FISHERMAN: Loredo says danger be everywhere - in the forest and on the river. We should close the gates, wall off the world, support the military, he says.
FISHERMAN: Dah, it's all bullshit, methinks. Propaganda.
FISHER ELF: It's well known that clumsy rulers look for enemies to unite the people against...
FISHERMAN: And to divert attention from their own incompetence and local problems.
FISHER ELF: Well, the river gives us fish, the forest, mushrooms, berries and game. We'll survive.
FISHER ELF: Oh, I think something's biting.
MOTHER: Oh, my son... You should get home early today, eat something, get some sleep.
BOAT BUILDER: Stop annoying me, mother.
MOTHER: Nothing but work and the tavern. Ye should settle down, find a woman.
BOAT BUILDER: Leave me alone, mother. Can't ye see I've work to do?
MOTHER: And what good will it do you, son? Ye'll sail and never return. Leave me all alone...
BOAT BUILDER: Mother!
MOTHER: Like father, like son. Fools, the both of yous. Ah, sail to yer ruin!
MOTHER: Son...
BOAT BUILDER: Mother, I told ye to leave me alone.
MOTHER: The talk in town is someone's murdering kings.
BOAT BUILDER: Know any kings, mother? Huh, well neither do I.
MOTHER: They started with kings, but they'll soon come for us.
BOAT BUILDER: Well, they'd better make it bloody fast, or I'll do the job for 'em.
PRIEST: A fine mess you have here. Dwarves stealing bread from the mouths of honest craftsmen, elves wandering among decent folk...
MAN: The Commandant will deal with them just as soon as he's dealt with the Scoia'tael.
PRIEST: Loredo catch Iorveth? The sky will sooner rain anchovies.
MAN: Don't badmouth the Commandant. He's a decent man and a patriot!
PRIEST: I don't deny that, but he could perform his patriotic duties more vigorously.
MAN 1: It's true, Foltest is dead!
MAN 2: So I heard... Killed by nonhumans.
MAN 1: They say the elves hired a witcher. For a few coppers, no less, since the mutants were eager to slay a king.
MAN 2: That I don't believe. After all, Vernon Roche himself arrived with a witcher in tow.
MAN 1: That mutant must be on Roche's leash, here to sniff out his people's hideouts.
WOMAN 1: Vernon Roche himself has arrived from Vizima! Vernon Roche!
WOMAN 2: Who's that?
WOMAN 1: Foltest's enforcer, a real bigwig. He's sure to put an end to the local banditry.
WOMAN 2: The capital's sent someone to deal with the Squirrels? Bah, I don't believe it.
WOMAN 1: It's true! They've even hired a witcher!
WOMAN 1: So, how is it going, deary? Everything all right at the household?
WOMAN 2: Dho-ho... Youngsters screaming in daytime, the Old Man moaning at night.
WOMAN 1: And how do you find country life? Was it worth it - marrying an Aedirnian?
WOMAN 2: Love is where you find it.
WOMAN 1: You're young and naive. You'll return to Flotsam in tears not a year from now.
MAN 1: Listen, I've a matter to discuss with you...
MAN 2: You'll not get one oren more out of me, spendthrift.
MAN 1: Somethin's troubling me.
MAN 2: Let's hear it.
MAN 1: What does a bloody witcher actually eat?
MAN 3: Eh, mushrooms...?
MAN 2: Spuds?
MAN 3: Why spuds?
MAN 2: Cause he's a human, like us. He sweats, he bleeds, prob'ly eats spuds, too.
MAN 1: I'm thirsty, dammit.
MAN 2: Yeah...
MAN 3: Maybe someone'll lend me an oren.
MAN 1: And then she says, "I love you and all, but we can't be together."
MAN 2: Why not?
MAN 3: Yeah, why the bloody hell not?
MAN 1: She says, "You're a drunkard from the inn, I'm aiming higher."
MAN 2: Strong words for a girl who does the sweeping.
MAN 1: Arse.
MAN 2: Fanny.
MAN 3: Bronzer.
MAN 1: Erm... anus.
MAN 2: Dammit... heinie!
MAN 3: Keister.
MAN 1: Erm... Gluteus maximus.
MAN 2: The devil! Buttocks.
MAN 3: Posterior.
MAN 4: Erm.. I don't know, I give up.
MAN 3: Bloody hell, ain't our mother tongue beautiful?
SÍLE'S BODYGUARD: The witch pays me well - can't complain. What do I care she's a cunt?
SÍLE'S BODYGUARD: I'm hopin' to catch a glimpse of her tits or somethin'. Who knows?
MAN 1: That witcher just came in.
MAN 2: Oh gods! Pretend you don't see him. Don't look him in the eyes. Never, ever, provoke a witcher.
MAN: Fair chickadee, bring a beer to me. Heh, heh, heh.
BARMAID: Lager? Dark? Whatevah?
MAN: Lean over, lass, and I'll whisper my true desire in your ear. Eh?
BARMAID: Just you wait, old goat. I'll hit you so hard, you'll think twice about copping a feel.
MAN 1: Enjoy your meal.
MAN 2: May it be our last one in this shithole.
MAN 1: Tuh! Spit it out.
MAN 2: Tuh! I mean... I hope we can leave soon.
MAN 1: And may the gods protect us on the forest tracks.
MAN 1: Enjoy your meal.
MAN 2: Enjoy yours!
PRIEST: Radovid surrounds himself with knights of the Flaming Rose.
MAN: Doesn't he know what the Order did in Vizima?
PRIEST: He certainly should. He was in the city during the Grand Master's rebellion.
MAN: Huh. I've no mind for top echelon politics.
PRIEST: Neither have I, but Redania will soon weep - I can feel it.
PRIEST: I pledged to make an offering at each wayside shrine if I get out of this shithole.
MAN: Seems even the gods cannot prevail over this blockade.
SEX WORKER 1: Ever heard of doing it "witcher and striga" style?
SEX WORKER 2: Heh, heh, heh, no. Tell me!
SEX WORKER 1: He downs a flask, tries to get it on, falls fast asleep, and she wakes up a virgin in the morning. Huhuh.
SEX WORKER 2: Heh, heh.
SEX WORKER 1: Remind me - which one was this Foltest they killed?
SEX WORKER 2: Hm. Wasn't he the one who always wanted us to call him "daddy"?
SEX WORKER 1: No, I've seen that one today.
SEX WORKER 2: I don't know, then.
SOLDIER: As Oyster Nan stood by her Tub.
SOLDIER: Duh, duh-di, ya-daah.
SOLDIER: To show her vicious Inclination.
SOLDIER: She gave her noblest Parts a Scrub.
SOLDIER: And sigh'd for want of Copulation! Hahahahah.
SOLDIER: You free?
SEX WORKER: No, working my arse off like a stagecoach.
SEX WORKER: No, you're not handsome enough.
SEX WORKER: No, my john's over there. He wanted a platonic.
SEX WORKER: Why, you got coin?
SOLDIER: Sure do.
SEX WORKER: Well, keep it. I don't think I'd go with you for all the gold in the world.
SEX WORKER: Piss off.
SEX WORKER: No, same price as always.
SEX WORKER: No, I'm betrothed to Tancred of Kovir. I'm to extend the House of Thyssen.
NEWBOY: Lads, I was thinking...
PIRATE 1: About what, Newboy?
NEWBOY: Maybe we oughta try some honest work from time to time?
PIRATE 2: Newboy, my friend'll now tell you something very important.
PIRATE 1: Listen carefully and take it to heart.
NEWBOY: Yeah, what...?
PIRATE 1: Never, ever say that again.
NEWBOY: Lads, listen up.
PIRATE 1: What is it now, Newboy?
NEWBOY: Am I always going to be "Newboy"?
PIRATE 2: No. Just till a new "Newboy" joins us.
NEWBOY: And what'll my nick be then?
PIRATE 1: Dark Apostle, Harbinger of Anguish.
NEWBOY: Lads, listen...
PIRATE 1: Newboy, a word if you will?
PIRATE 2: He's about to explain something, plain and simple.
PIRATE 1: Thanks for the introduction.
NEWBOY: What is it?
PIRATE 1: Open your pie-hole one more time, and I'll ram your leg in there. Without tearing it off. Don't ask how, I'll just do it. Clear?
NEWBOY: Eh, sure.
PIRATE 1: I tell him, "I'm takin' your pouch, or your pouch and your life."
PIRATE 2: What did he say?
PIRATE 1: He said, "There's a third option." Then his hand inched towards his knife.
PIRATE 3: Nervy.
PIRATE 2: What then?
PIRATE 1: He got a bolt in the back. Too bad he turned out to be poor.
PIRATE 3: The poor ones are always uppity.
PIRATE 1: That prick Loredo turned his nose up, eh?
PIRATE 2: Hah. You'd think he was Foltest himself, parading among his lessers.
PIRATE 3: Glad we made the deal.
PIRATE 2: True enough. Sometimes you just gotta grit your teeth and bite back later.
PIRATE 1: I always say this, but I'll say it again...
PIRATE 2: We know, we know...
PIRATE 3: "We should commandeer a barge and sail to Vizima."
PIRATE 1: Nothing left for us here. There we'll have a new life, new opportunities...
PIRATE 2: It's not that simple.
PIRATE 3: I'd miss the old turf.
PIRATE 2: Here, we're our own men. In the capital - who knows what we'd be?
SAILOR: Did you see that?
SEX WORKER: Squirrels at our very walls!
CRAFTSMAN: Iorveth led them! I saw him with my own eyes!
SEX WORKER: Who are these blokes?
CRAFTSMAN: They're the ones the elves were chasing. Assault in broad daylight!
SEX WORKER: What about Loredo? Where's the Commandant when we need him?!
CRAFTSMAN: Quiet, woman.
SAILOR: Shut it yourself. Guzzling ale and lollygagging - that's all Loredo's good at.
CRAFTSMAN: Hey, it's a witcher! They always bring trouble.
SAILOR: We've all heard what the witcher did in Vizima. Blood flows wherever the witcher goes.
SAILOR: Boss, why the hell are we stacking and restacking this stuff if the port's still blocked?
MERCHANT: For practice.
SAILOR: Bah.
MERCHANT: Just keep stacking. The witcher will soon kill the beast and we'll set off immediately.
SAILOR: What's in these crates, boss?
MERCHANT: King Vridank's treasures.
SAILOR: And in those?
MERCHANT: The Amber Room.
SAILOR: Boss, so what about that bonus?
MERCHANT: Is the work complete?
SAILOR: Not yet...
SAILOR: Get to work, you sloths!
SAILOR 1: Ma always said: "Go ask the mason to take you as his apprentice, you'll learn a trade, gain respect."
SAILOR 2: I've always preferred the wandering life. Meet new people, beat some of them up.
SAILOR 1: Don't tell me you like it here.
SAILOR 2: Not really, it's a shithole. But plenty of folk to beat up.
SAILOR 1: How you like that offer from the Commandant?
SAILOR 2: I'm in.
SAILOR 1: Me, too.
SAILOR 2: Not a word more, then.
MAN: Oh no, I'm not talking to a freak.
GERALT: Wait a minute...
MAN: Be off, or I'll call the guards!
MAN: People! The mutant's pursuing me!
BERTHOLD (BLACKSMITH): My prices stay as they are. And I'll not join your guild. Period.
BLACKMAILER: I urge you to reconsider.
BERTHOLD: I don't give a shit about your guild - I'll not join that racket nor change my prices. My weapons are superior, and that's how I aim to keep it.
BLACKMAILER: Shame. Please think it over. The guild helps and protects. And accidents do happen.
BLACKMAILER: Fires are common enough in smithies. And a broken arm can make it very difficult to forge weapons...
BERTHOLD: You threatening me, dipshit?! Piss off! And don't come back, or I'll thrash you so hard even your ploughing guild won't help you!
ELF WOMAN 1: New shoes?! What happened?
ELF WOMAN 2: He said he can't leave her just yet - she's going through a difficult time.
ELF WOMAN 1: Pig! Which shoemaker?
ELF WOMAN 2: Amandil.
ELF WOMAN 1: Hmm... I didn't know you could afford designer goods.
ELF WOMAN 1: I did just as you said, but the rain washes it off.
ELF WOMAN 2: Did you mix the henna with oil?
ELF WOMAN 1: Do I look like an idiot?
ELF WOMAN 2: Hm... Try adding more sugar.
ELF WOMAN 1: Yours seems to keep well.
ELF WOMAN 2: I don't loiter in the rain.
ELF WOMAN 1: Then he asked me why I was crying.
ELF WOMAN 2: Moron. What happened next?
ELF WOMAN 1: I called him a sordid pig and told him to leave.
ELF WOMAN 2: And did he?
ELF WOMAN 1: He did.
ELF WOMAN 2: Will men ever learn to listen?
ELF WOMAN 1: Not now, we'll speak later.
ELF WOMAN 2: Something new?
ELF WOMAN 1: Indeed.
ELF WOMAN 2: Eeeek!
WAITRESS: We're out of mutton.
COOK: What do you want me to do? Shit a sheep?
WAITRESS: We should send for Loredo.
COOK: Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh...
COOK: Not a "thank you" nor a "goodbye." They're rabble, I tell you.
WAITRESS: They pinch my arse and don't even leave a tip.
COOK: Animals, dammit. The moral downfall embodied.
WAITRESS: I think the stew's ready.
COOK: Quiet, woman. Artist at work.
WAITRESS: You might want to stir it.
COOK: I don't stir. I work the material.
GERALT: Greetings.
DWARF: Greetings.
GERALT: I see even Flotsam has its ghetto.
DWARF: We're in Temeria, aren't we? Nonhumans are to blame for everything - cattle plague, higher taxes... Let them live, so long as it's far away and not for too long.
ELF: Hello, neighbor? How's business?
DWARF: Rotten, as ever. I'm on my way to render unto the crown what is the crown's.
ELF: Heh, heh... Tax or a fine?
DWARF: Taxes. On unwarranted nonhuman enrichment, dammit.
ELF: Heh, heh... Undoubtedly to finance another of Commandant Loredo's schemes.
DWARF: Those outsiders are a plague. When will they leave?
ELF: Not soon, that's for sure.
DWARF: How are you?
ELF: Crappy as always. You?
DWARF: The same.
ELF: They say Foltest's dead!
DWARF: What of it? We're practically Kaedweni by now.
ELF: Kaedweni? How so?!
DWARF: Hush... The walls have ears. We'll speak later.
SERGEANT: Make way for the town watch!
SOLDIER: Argh. It stinks of nonhumans.
SERGEANT: Step lively, boys!
SOLDIER: But we're not in a hurry.
SERGEANT: Mouth off like that again, recruit, and by hell I'll thrash you.
SOLDIER: Bloody grubs, I hope they rot in hell.
SOLDIER 1: Chins up, lads. Not long to the end of our shift.
SOLDIER 2: My legs hurt.
SOLDIER 1: Your arse will, too, in a minute.
SOLDIER: Why don't we ever chase real criminals, sergeant?
SERGEANT: Because we're not heroes.
SERGEANT: Step lively, stretch those legs! Let the stinkers see what a real army looks like.
SOLDIER: But sergeant, they bathe more often than we do.
SOLDIER: Bloody dwarves, rebel reactionaries.
SERGEANT: I hate this bloody job.
SOLDIER: Drop it then, sergeant. Make room for the young and able.
SERGEANT: Drop it, recruit? Drop is what I can do to you - down some stairs.
SERGEANT: Make way for the watch, mongrels!
SERGEANT: I hate this job.
SOLDIER: Why keep it then, sergeant?
SERGEANT: My medic recommended long walks.
SERGEANT: Make way! Make way for the town watch!
SOLDIER: Sarge, since Cidaris is on the sea shore...
SOLDIER: Are the town guards there called the Baywatch?
SERGEANT: So, recruit, enjoying your first patrol?
SOLDIER: It's boring, sergeant.
SERGEANT: We can fix that. Tomorrow we'll club an elf.
SERGEANT: So, recruit, happy with your career choice?
SOLDIER: Not really. Me ma told me to serve my country. I wanted to be a cheese maker.
SERGEANT: A cheese maker...?
SOLDIER 1: Some day, all the whores and politicians, wallowing in dirt, will look up and cry, "Save us!"
SOLDIER 2: And we'll say: "All right."
SOLDIER 1: Nothing better than a fireside feast!
SOLDIER 2: Except a fireside feast with copious amounts of liquor!
SOLDIER 1: Add ploughing to the mix and it doesn't get any better!
SOLDIER 3: Luckily, the Commandant's provided it all.
SOLDIER 1: True! Come here, lass. Your uncle's got a story for you...
SEX WORKER: So long as he can afford to tell it. I'll not lend an ear for less than ten orens.
SOLDIER: A little elf was skipping down the path... Plough 'em all, plough 'em all... Along came a dwarf and kicked him in the arse... Plough 'em all, plough 'em all... Oh, you arse-fucked dirty rotten scum... Plough 'em all, plough 'em all... Do that again and I'll fuck yer mum... Plooough theeem all!!!
SOLDIER 1: Haven't had this good a time in ages!
SOLDIER 2: That's true!
SOLDIER 1: You know this one...?
SEX WORKER: You've had your song - care for some real diversion?
SOLDIER: What treasures you got under there, darling?
SEX WORKER: Everything's where it should be.
SOLDIER: Could you eh... prove it to me?
SEX WORKER: Mhm. For 10 orens.
SOLDIER: I've only got four...
SEX WORKER: Four gets you a peek, though not a long one.
SOLDIER: You're beautiful! I've never seen a prettier whore!
SEX WORKER: Short on coin, are you?
SOLDIER: Not short. The Commandant owes me several weeks pay.
SEX WORKER: So come back when you have it.
SOLDIER: I promise to pay you.
SEX WORKER: Your old lady might plough you for promises. Not me. Piss off.
ROCHE: And to think, these drunkards protect people from the Scoia'tael.
GERALT: Peasants in uniforms...
ROCHE: Drunkards... Iorveth could take them singlehanded.
GERALT: Lucky he hasn't realized that.
SOLDIER 1: Ploughing Squirrels. I'd put 'em in their place.
SOLDIER 2: You're all talk. Prove it! I doubt anyone'd stop you.
SOLDIER 3: We're too soft on 'em, that's the problem! Soldiers are bored, the garrison's thinnin'.
SOLDIER 1: Now you're talking! We don't need to look for the Scoia'tael. Cut the rabble down one by one and we'll finally have peace!
SOLDIER 2: You'd go after the women! Then relish killing the elven brats.
SOLDIER 3: So? The brats turn into Squirrels, and once the women are gone, there'll be no more brats.
SEX WORKER: Stop talking bollocks or I'll go.
GUARD: Don't you traipse around here!
MAN 1: Will I see you at the hanging, friend?
MAN 2: Bah, some hanging. A bunch of nonhumans and a spy.
MAN 1: I heard the spy's cowardly. You're a worldly man - think he'll shit himself? Hah.
MAN 2: I suppose I have seen my share, that spy included...
MAN 1: So?
MAN 2: He'll shit himself without a doubt.
WOMAN: People! Everyone! The hanging's soon!
OLD WOMAN: Hurry up, good folk, or you'll miss it!
OLD WOMAN: Oh, I'll be late...
GUARD: I heard the poet's to hang for debauchery.
MAN: For debauchery? In Flotsam? Must've gone on a real romp, that one.
GUARD: Aye, guess he did. They say he's a famous rake from Vizima.
MAN: Ah, they're hanging a celebrity! I'll want to see that.
OLD WOMAN: They're hanging nonhumans! And a spy!
GUARD 1: Got his due, ploughing Squirrel!
GUARD 2: Doesn't look so tough, now.
GUARD 3: He'll look even less tough without his head!
GUARD 2: Serves him right! Last year I lost a brother because of him!
GUARD 3: You're not the only one...
LOREDO: Wonderful, witcher! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Heh-heh.
WOMAN: Hey, witcher. What's the hurry?
WOMAN: If it's a girl you seek - well, wouldn't you rather have a woman?
GERALT: Some other time.
WOMAN: My gratitude won't last forever!
MAN 1: Down with Iorveth!
MAN 2: Damn him to elven hell!
MAN 1: Who'd've thought Loredo would capture him.
MAN 2: It's that witcher's doing. Loredo couldn't've caught Iorveth even if he'd knocked on the Commandant's door already bound.
MAN 1: They had to get a witchman. Defeating the devil's not humanly possible.
MAN 2: Well, the witcher's done his job, probably collected payment, so why does he linger?
MAN 1: Seems the hunt is still on.
MAN 1: Listen, people! That devil Iorveth has finally been captured!
MAN 1: An historic day. And history will forever remember the name of Commandant Loredo.
MAN 1: We're finally free from fear! A time of peace and prosperity is upon us. Let us drink to our savior's health!
MAN 1: Long live Commandant Loredo!
MAN 2: Long live Loredo!
WOMAN 1: The gods keep him in splendid health!
WOMAN 2: Long live our savior!
WOMAN: Whoresons! Make those bastards stop!
MAN: Quiet, woman, or they'll come after you.
MAN 1: They're really showing those bloody nonhumans.
MAN 2: Oh, they could tone it down a peg.
MAN 1: Oh, you think...?
MAN 2: Loredo won't sic them on honest folk... Will he?
SCOIA'TAEL 1: Bloede nekhains. Semilien vart.
SCOIA'TAEL 2: Nae, dh'oine ve'caeme est.