CHAPTER II (ROCHE)
CONTENTS
- TUTORIAL
- PROLOGUE
- chapter I
- chapter ii iorveth
- CHAPTER II (ROCHE)
- Prelude to War: Kaedwen
- Dethmold's Blood Curse Briefing
- Conspiracy Theory: Information Gathering
- The Butcher of Cidaris
- In Cervisia Veritas
- Conspiracy Theory: The Plotters' Den
- Lost Lambs at Sabrina's Pyre
- The Captured Elf
- Visiting the Visionary
- Crossing the Mists: Vergen
- Where is Triss Merigold?
- Breaking Henselt's Curse
- The Assassins of Kings: Serrit and Auckes
- The Eternal Battle
- Conspiracy Theory: The Blue Stripes
- The Siege of Vergen
- Character Dialogue
- Overheard Dialogue
- Sidequests
[TITLE TEXT: Upper Aedirn in the Pontar Valley - Two days after leaving Flotsam]
[The camera zooms out to reveal King Henselt with Sile and Dethmold standing behind him.]
DETHMOLD: It must've been a massacre! Bones everywhere! How in the world did Glevissig harness so much of the Power?
SÍLE: Do you always get so excited at the sight of skulls, Dethmold?
DETHMOLD: Scoff all you want. I speak of magic! The kind of spells that win wars! Thousands incinerated in seconds! Mmmmwaah! Power, destruction, annihilation!
SÍLE: Yes, after which Sabrina Glevissig was burned at the stake, and the Pontar Valley remains within Aedirn's borders.
DETHMOLD: Aedirn is a carcass! Still showing life signs, but the realm's days are numbered. No peasant revolt can change that!
HENSELT: You're wrong, Dethmold. This country lives, I can feel it. Like an old, wounded bear, covered in scars, hounds all around it, but still strong, still deadly. This will be a good war.
DETHMOLD: But, Sire! The Aedirnian barons won't dare stand against you. You shall see that shortly, I've prepared everything!
DETHMOLD: De Tansarville, can you feel that? Magic still beats strongly in this place. Shivers run down my spine.
SÍLE: Hm. Strange... Glevissig's Quadruple Sun is a short duration spell. It should have dissipated long ago.
DETHMOLD: An anomaly, perhaps? Not uncommon... The sheer amount of Power she summoned – I doubt she retained complete control...
HENSELT: Stop discussing Sabrina Glevissig or I promise you that heads will roll.
DETHMOLD: Baron Felart has forever hinted that he would gladly change his colors...
SÍLE: Felart is unparalleled scum.
DETHMOLD: The other nobles are panic-stricken at the very thought of Saskia with her peasant and nonhuman rebels. They are unprepared to fight and know it very well.
HENSELT: And Demavend's cub? Has he named his price?
DETHMOLD: Prince Stennis has yet to respond, but Felart has assured me...
HENSELT: I must see him, look into his eyes. I'll know what he's made of, then.
[Henselt, Síle, and Dethmold make their way down the hill to the tent where the Aedirnian nobles are waiting.]
FELART: We most humbly greet His Majesty Henselt, King of Kaedwen, heir to the Dynasty of the Unicorn, Lord of Ard Carraigh, Archduke of Ban Ard and vanquisher of Nilfgaard!
NOBLEMAN: Welcome to Aedirn.
HENSELT: How much do you want?
FELART: You Majesty surely jests...
HENSELT: I couldn't be more serious. How much for your signatures?
FELART: A hundred thousand Novigrad crowns, we thought. To each of us. And the titles of marquis.
DETHMOLD: Ooooh!
FELART: We speak of Upper Aedirn, of coal and silver mines, numerous factories, the sole white marble quarry this side of the Yaruga, and the North's main east-west trade route...
DETHMOLD: We speak of Lormark. I advise you to adopt the new nomenclature.
FELART: In exchange, we shall swear fealty and acknowledge Your Majesty as sovereign of these lands.
HENSELT: You'll receive fifty thousand apiece and no additional titles.
HENSELT: Also, you'll provide guides and supplies to my army. My men will install themselves in your castles. Your armed men will gather under sorcerer Dethmold's command and will set out to quell the peasant rebellion.
FELART: Sire, the common folk will hate... They simply won't understand...
HENSELT: Yes, Felart, they will hate you. But at least this way you'll live. Comfortably, I might add. Refuse and die – by my hand or that of Saskia the Dragonslayer.
FELART: Sire... We accept your conditions.
HENSELT: Dethmold – the scroll!
FELART: Sire, there is yet the matter of Prince Stennis and his rights to these lands. So long as he lives... Ahem... So long as the Prince lives, he'll force his claims...
HENSELT: Then kill him, Felart.
FELART: Sire, I'm no warrior.
HENSELT: In that case, shut up and sign.
KAEDWENI KNIGHT: Sire, the Dragonslayer approaches, white flag in hand!
HENSELT: Excellent, let her pass.
DETHMOLD: What are you waiting for? Pick up those quills and sign.
HENSELT: I shall give you naught for your worthless signatures. I have no need of them.
NOBLEMAN: But Your Majesty, without our support you'll forever be the invader, the occupying force, the enemy. The folk of Aedirn...
HENSELT: The folk of Aedirn follows Saskia the Dragonslayer and Prince Stennis. I wish to speak to them.
KAEDWENI KNIGHT: Sire, the Dragonslayer approaches, white flag in hand!
HENSELT: Excellent, let her pass.
[Saskia arrives with Prince Stennis and a priest.]
SASKIA: Just out of curiosity... What does Upper Aedirn sell for these days?
DETHMOLD: How much do you demand... lass?
DETHMOLD: Fifty thousand. How much would you have demanded... lass?
SASKIA: King, command your vulture to shut his beak, before I thrust his cockerel up his arse and twist so hard he'll crow until noon reverts to morning.
DETHMOLD: I... Sire, you must have her restrained!
HENSELT: Shut up, Dethmold. I've rather taken a liking to this Saskia. Say your piece, woman.
SASKIA: King, withdraw your army, recognize Upper Aedirn's sovereignty, end your persecution of nonhumans and give them leave to quit your realm... Do this and save yourself and your army.
HENSELT: Ha–ha–ha! You have balls, woman, but what would I gain? My soldiers would call me a coward. I am Henselt of Ard Carraigh – I'll not run from a woman, even if she be a dragonslayer.
SASKIA: I see one other solution.
SASKIA: You and I, King. Here and now. Before these folk and the gods. I challenge you. As in the old days, when the honorable ruled this world. Upper Aedirn to the victor.
FELART: The lass has gone mad. To challenge a king?!
DETHMOLD: Sire, this is absurd! We shall crush them in battle. They say the lass has slain a dragon - she could be dangerous.
HENSELT: Precisely why she makes a worthy foe. Don't disappoint me, Dragonslayer. Please, show me how it's done. Begin!
[Henselt and Saskia meet in single combat.]
HENSELT: I find you fetching, girl. And I want you alive... I want you and this country.
SASKIA: You'll need to take Vergen first.
HENSELT: Oh, no. You, then Vergen, then the whole of Aedirn. Grab her!
[The two sides meet in battle.]
HENSELT: Will you bully me as well?
SASKIA: Anything to save Aedirn, King...
DETHMOLD: A whore after all.
HENSELT: Dethmold may not be the bravest soul, but he is right in one respect. Were I to restrain you, there would be no war. You are either very brave or very stupid...
SASKIA: Will you hear me out, King, or must we continue our threats and insults?
HENSELT: I'll hear no more. Three years past, upon this field, Aedirnians met my army in battle. Those were men of honor! Knights and footmen who fought like lions! Who proved that blood, not water, coursed through their veins!
HENSELT: The people of Lormark deserve a strong and just ruler. They need a king. I have a vast, battle-hungry army. You have nothing. Kneel before me, Saskia – you have no other choice.
SASKIA: You speak not to subjects but to free folk, King. You come with an army that loots the surrounding villages. You negotiate with traitors of this land. You allow your mages to threaten and offend. And I am to kneel before you?
HENSELT: It's the only way.
SASKIA: I kneel before no one.
[Saskia and her allies attack.]
HENSELT: Tell me what you want.
[Continues as from "SASKIA: King, withdraw your army..." above.]
KNIGHT: Opposing one another in a chivalrous duel shall be Henselt of Ard Carraigh, King of Kaedwen, Sovereign of Caingorn and Malleore, last of the line of the Unicorn...
KNIGHT: And Saskia - the wench who killed a dragon!
KNIGHT: The victor shall take Lormark! May the gods settle this! Begin!
[Whether in single combat or as an all-out clash, Henselt defeats Saskia. The priest approaches to try and intervene before he kills her.]
PRIEST: Stop! Stop in the name of Kreve, Freya and Melitele!
[Henselt slaughters the priest on the obelisk overlooking the area. It begins to glow with an unearthly blue light. Meanwhile, Geralt and Roche approach the gates of Henselt's fortress.]
ZYVIK: Hey! Halt!
ROCHE: What's with you, Zyvik? Booze made you batty? Don't you recognize me?
ZYVIK: I'll be ploughed and damned! Why the hell did you bring him here, Roche?
ROCHE: He's a witcher...
ZYVIK: I know who the whoreson is! Ploughing kingslayer at the gate of a king's camp! Why, he's not even bound.
ROCHE: Easy, lads. The witcher's no murderer, I'll vouch for that. As for kings... well, I desperately need to see yours.
ZYVIK: You're in for a wait then, mister special mission knight! Don't move, mutant! One of you go get the sergeant, and while you're at it, fetch a solid piece of rope to bind the freak!
ROCHE: Come on, Zyvik, no need for that. Where'd you say the King was?
ZYVIK: Out in the fields somewhere – negotiatin'. Hey, kingslayer! Drop your weapons - or do I need to pack a bolt up your arse?
[Geralt senses someting and turns to look, seeing the blue light from over the hills. Zyvik becomes increasingly agitated.]
ZYVIK: Don't move!
ZYVIK: Don't even twitch, mutant!
ZYVIK: Hands where I can see 'em!
ZYVIK: Shoot!
ZYVIK: Smash the freak!
[Geralt casts Quen and runs in the direction of the unearthly blue light. Roche turns to look up at it himself.]
ROCHE: What the fuck?!
[Stennis and a knight help Saskia to her feet. Everyone makes to flee, but wraiths begin to appear on the battlefield and attack. Geralt and Roche leap in and join the fray.]
HENSELT: These specters were my soldiers! It's Sabrina's curse!
DETHMOLD: Aedirnians are here as well...
GERALT: Admire the sights later. We have to go on.
DETHMOLD: Endure, friends! I must focus enough Power for the spell!
[Dethmold casts a barrier spell shielding the group, and they begin to descend through the spectral mist, fighting wraiths that get through the spell as they go.]
DETHMOLD: Ready! Stay close to me!
ROCHE: What the hell? Where'd the sun go?
GERALT: It's an eclipse. Somebody cast a curse. A very powerful one.
ROCHE: What do we do?
GERALT: We have to get out of here. Specters are only susceptible to silver and spells. Stay behind me.
DETHMOLD: I'll try to disperse the fog!
HENSELT: It's Glevissig's curse! She's out to kill me!
GERALT: Stay close to me, Sire. It's not far now.
ROCHE: Let's hope so.
[Halfway down, they find Stennis' corpse.]
HENSELT: It's Prince Stennis... He lives?
GERALT: No. The wraiths have taken him.
DETHMOLD: The fog is dissipating. We're near its end.
[The group exits the mist and arrives at Henselt's camp.]
HENSELT: Dethmold, Síle - meet me in my tent. You're to explain what the hell happened there. And how we're to get rid of it!
DETHMOLD: As you command, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: I'll tolerate no delays on this matter. And summon all my company commanders.
DETHMOLD: Immediately, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: Corporal, I'd like you to watch the witcher closely. He just pulled me from a magic hell, so I doubt he wants my head as he took Foltest's, but I'll not have him wandering the camp like some stray dog... Occupy him for a time, then bring him to my tent.
ROCHE: Sire, I must request an audience.
HENSELT: Later. I'll see my mages first, then the witcher.
ZYVIK: Argh, just lovely. And here I'd hoped for a calm little war.
GERALT: Know where I might wet my throat around here?
ZYVIK: Roche, willin' to vouch for this overgrown urchin?
ROCHE: He did not kill Foltest or Demavend if that's what you're asking. You've got my assurance on that.
ZYVIK: Good enough for me. Let's go, then.
[Geralt can stop Zyvik and talk to him.]
ZYVIK: Yes?
GERALT: Take me to the King. I've seen enough military camps in my day.
ZYVIK: That I cannot, witcher. I'm to keep an eye on you - the King's orders.
GERALT: Really want to babysit me?
[If not convinced to take Geralt directly to Henselt, Zyvik shows Geralt around the camp.]
ZYVIK: Our armorer... Busy as ever with military commissions, but he'll take a private commission from time to time.
ZYVIK: Ah, we're here at last. The canteen - the most important place in the camp!
ZYVIK: If you ever get bored, you should find a monster contract or two on the noticeboard.
ZYVIK: Here's where the King organizes tournaments. All glamour, ceremony, noses and cocks in the air. Between those, we kill time thrashing about with swords, pikes, chairs, the works. Good stuff - no holds barred.
ZYVIK: They pay well, too, if you know who to talk to and who to bet on. Excuse me a moment, witcher...
ZYVIK: How did the fight go?
GUARD: You've a nose for this, Zyvik... You won again.
ZYVIK: My gold.
GUARD: You gonna bet on more fights today?
ZYVIK: Course. I'll come by later.
ZYVIK: See him, witcher? Loosen his bonds a bit and he's liable to jump at your throat like a rabid mutt.
GERALT: One of Iorveth's Scoia'tael? How did you capture him?
ZYVIK: Scouts found him wounded in the ravines. Someone massacred a small unit. The boys said it was a bloodbath, as if the reaper just swung his scythe right through them. Whoever attacked them was very strong.
GERALT: Any idea who it might've been?
ZYVIK: No. But if they managed to ambush elves in the wild, I'd rather not meet them.
GERALT: Right, Zyvik. Let's go see the King.
[Geralt and Zyvik approach the gate in the middle of camp.]
ZYVIK: How's it going lads?
GUARD 1: I can't feel me ploughing feet from all this standing around. Any chance you'll be sending up some replacements?
ZYVIK: In an hour... Open up the gate, the King wants to see the witcher.
GUARD 1: Yeah, yeah...
ZYVIK: Go straight to the royal tent. You can't miss it. I've a few things to take care of.
GERALT: Godspeed, Zyvik.
ZYVIK: I'll be near the main gate if you need me. So long.
GUARD 1: Ha! A witcher!
GUARD 2: The King must have summoned him to fight the wraiths.
GUARD 1: You think?
GUARD 2: I'm certain.
GUARD 1: Ha, let's see him deal with the Blood Curse.
GUARD 2: Ten silver on the curse.
GUARD 1: I wanted that bet.
[Shilard is standing before King Henselt's tent.]
SHILARD: A ghastly mist and a witcher. What a coincidence.
NILFGAARDIAN MAGE: Ethen mael dune, vatgharn.
SHILARD: We shall se.
[Shilard stops Geralt before he goes in.]
SHILARD: Nearly everyone hunts you, yet you live in spite of that. Impressive.
GERALT: I find it hard to wean myself off life.
SHILARD: As do we all. However, in all my career as an ambassador of His Imperial Majesty, I have never met anyone quite as talented at surviving as you.
SHILARD: I took the liberty of checking some rumors about you. I'll say it again - impressive.
GERALT: In no small part thanks to you, Excellency.
SHILARD: I've helped you, yes. I trust I shan't regret it.
GERALT: As do I. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.
SHILARD: Are you seeking employment? I was unaware you fellows hired yourselves out for battle.
GERALT: My aim here is different.
SHILARD: Really? Perhaps I can be of assistance?
GERALT: What's the emperor's envoy doing here? Satisfy my curiosity.
SHILARD: The last unfortunate conflict left the Northern Kingdoms in pitiful economic condition. His Imperial Majesty desires stability.
SHILARD: We wish to offer financial assistance, so I'm visiting those lands hardest hit by the war.
GERALT: Henselt is coping admirably as far as I can see.
SHILARD: The details of my visit here are reserved for the Emperor and the Kaedweni king.
GERALT: I understand. Matters so secret no one ought to know them... or something.
GERALT: You sure they're that big a secret? I mean, they could be important to me.
GERALT: Why do I interest him?
SHILARD: He didn't say. His Imperial Majesty keeps his motivations to himself.
GERALT: I need to know everything.
SHILARD: Huh. Magic will not help you. I'm very well protected against such attempts.
GERALT: Foltest was a good king. Shame he ended that way.
SHILARD: I've already conveyed the Emperor's condolences to Constable Natalis.
SHILARD: Since we're talking about Temeria and Foltest... Apparently the fallen king's advisor, the sorceress Triss Merigold, has disappeared in mysterious circumstances. Rumors abound... Do you know anything about her?
GERALT: Why do you ask, Excellency?
SHILARD: I heard the two of your are... close.
GERALT: Witchers and sorceresses don't generally share that kind of information.
SHILARD: I understand it's a delicate matter. All right, then, allow me to ask about something else.
GERALT: Mages have a natural tendency to disappear into thin air once in a while. Why is anyone concerned?
SHILARD: Maybe they wonder if witchers, locked in dungeons, possess the same capacity. You're avoiding the subject, which means it's uncomfortable for you. Have it your way, I shan't press. But I'll ask one more question, if I may.
GERALT: Of course, Your Excellency.
SHILARD: I mentioned Triss because. I must admit, I am perturbed. Mages are known for their mutual envy and rivalry. I wonder if there's any matter that could unite them?
GERALT: Perhaps you could be a bit clearer, Excellency.
SHILARD: Then I shall ask directly. Do you know anything about Merigold's involvement with an organization of sorceresses?
SHILARD: Assuming, of course, that you are, theoretically, or have been, close.
GERALT: I'm not sure why the acquaintances of a sorceress would interest a Nilfgaardian ambassador.
SHILARD: Many things interest me. Art, for example. A very interesting statuette was delivered to me today. A peculiar piece. Elusive, sensuous. It forces one to think. Even a monster slayer might not be indifferent to the beauty entrapped within.
GERALT: Maybe. But I'm afraid I don't have time to admire art.
SHILARD: Do you have any other queries? I have some matters to which I must attend.
GERALT: Maybe she's involved, maybe she's not. Triss has her friends and I have mine.
SHILARD: Undoubtedly. Wandering poets, dwarves with terrorist contacts, and special forces agents.
GERALT: It's certainly true you diplomats are experts at gathering information.
SHILARD: How else would we negotiate effectively? Learning all there is to learn about other countries is a necessity. Nevertheless, I thank you for your information. Was there anything else?
GERALT: I'm a witcher, I rarely theorize. Killing monsters is purely practical.
SHILARD: I don't doubt it. Though sometimes a single understatement can speak more than a thousand words. So I thank you for your silence, witcher. Do you have other questions?
GERALT: Why are you so interested in this organization of sorceresses?
SHILARD: I wonder about some strange coincidences. I'm told several of them were seen in the vicinity when the assassination attempts occurred.
GERALT: What's so suspicious about that? Mages have always thronged around monarchs - the source of power and coin.
SHILARD: I'm not accusing anyone. I merely said it makes me wonder.
GERALT: I saw you with Foltest before, now you're with Henselt. No doubt you'll visit the King of Redania next.
SHILARD: I need not go far. Radovid is en route to Loc Muinne. Perhaps he has already arrived. We'll meet there.
GERALT: Loc Muinne? An ancient elven city, quite a ways away, near the source of the Pontar. Why there?
SHILARD: The mages wish to reestablish their Council. They've sent out invitations to all the kings.
[Geralt enters the king's tent.]
HENSELT: Come in, witcher. I wish you to feel at ease, as this is an unofficial audience... You helped me in the mist, thus I surmise you do not seek my death. Which leads me to ask what you do seek here, Geralt of Rivia?
GERALT: Peace and quiet, Sire. I need to clear my name... Though I tend not to meddle in politics, this time I believe I have no choice.
HENSELT: Mhm... You must answer quickly and unequivocally. You must be clear, witcher. I'm in no mood for excuses, hiding behind professional codes and trade secrets.
HENSELT: Did you kill Foltest?
GERALT: No.
HENSELT: Do you know who did?
[Same options to answer as below.]
GERALT: Justice.
HENSELT: A slippery thing, I'd say... It really depends on your point of view. So you claim you did not kill Foltest.
HENSELT: Do you know who did?
GERALT: A witcher named Letho.
HENSELT: Do ya know each other?
GERALT: I don't know, I have amnesia. Letho has suggested he knows something about me. It's possible we met before.
HENSELT: There's an old Kaedweni saying - a bitch will never bite another bitch. A hundred percent accurate where sorceresses are concerned.
GERALT: To the matter at hand, Sire.
GERALT: No.
HENSELT: I was told you lost your memory. How can you know?
GERALT: I can only say what I know to be certain. You wanted clarity, Sire.
GERALT: I do not.
HENSELT: Sadly for you, De Tansarville claims otherwise. One more lie and I shall have your head. Is that clear, witcher?
GERALT: I know who held the dagger. I don't know who ordered him to wield it. I thought you were asking about the latter, Sire.
HENSELT: I asked you about a witcher who wears a snake medallion. Huge, bald...
GERALT: His name is Letho.
HENSELT: De Tansarville claims this Letho is in the area, is that true?
GERALT: Yes.
HENSELT: What does he want here? My head?
GERALT: He's hiding from Iorveth and his Scoia'tael. I don't know his plans.
HENSELT: And you aim to get him?
GERALT: I do.
HENSELT: Last question. Do you know who had Foltest and Demavend assassinated? Who's behind the kingslayers?
GERALT: I don't know. But I'll find out when I find Letho.
HENSELT: My spies have confirmed your words. I suppose I must believe you.
HENSELT: Now to the other matter - the mist, the wraiths, all that magic shit holding up my campaign. My mages, as usual, have proved useless. They blather on about higher magic, delayed curses and other hogwash, but nothin' comes of it.
HENSELT: This matter must be settled with a sword. A witcher's sword. Will you manage this task?
GERALT: Yeah, I'll manage.
GERALT: I'm wiling to try.
HENSELT: Excellent. Lift the curse, and you'll learn the meaning of royal generosity. And even should you fail to catch this Letho, I shall help you clear your name.
HENSELT: Consider Dethmold at your disposal, he'll give you all the necessary information. Also, you are free to move about the camp and its environs from now on.
HENSELT: Now, leave me alone.
GERALT: The curse was cast three years ago. Any sign it's been active in the interim?
HENSELT: Is that important?
GERALT: Sire, we're not talking about a fortune told in a tent on market day, nor about some curse cast by a novice mage. This curse caused a solar eclipse and summoned hoards of specters.
GERALT: We're dealing with a complex spell that operates at several levels. Uncommon knowledge and skill were required to cast it. Lifting it will be even more difficult. If I'm going to deal with it, I need you to cooperate.
HENSELT: Ah, the plague...! So be it.
GERALT: As we forged our way through the fog, you claimed it was Glevissig's curse...
HENSELT: Sabrina Glevissig's. She was a sorceress, my former advisor. I ordered her bound to a wagon wheel and burned alive. While dying, she cursed me and my lineage. That was three years ago.
GERALT: The curse was cast three years ago. Any sign it's been active in the interim?
HENSELT: My son was killed during a hunt.
GERALT: Anything strange or unnatural occur at the time?
HENSELT: A rabid boar ripped open his femoral artery. I witnessed it. An accident – nothing more.
GERALT: The curse was activated today. I need to know why.
HENSELT: As we negotiated, a fight broke out. I killed a priest of Kreve. Perhaps that...
GERALT: Maybe...
GERALT: Sire, do you remember the curse itself? What exactly did Sabrina say?
HENSELT: All she said at the time has been fulfilled to some degree. A star adorned with a bloody braid will cut across the heavens. Square coins from maritime depths will beguile the hearts of fools.
GERALT: Coins?
HENSELT: Dethmold found a few such coins among soldiers accused of treason.
GERALT: What did you condemn Sabrina for, Sire?
HENSELT: One year after the Peace of Cintra, I fought Demavend for Lormark. General Vandergrift commanded a part of my force. He forded the Pontar and joined battle on this field.
HENSELT: It raged until evening, when Sabrina Glevissig decided to take matters into her own hands. Fireballs rained down onto the battlefield.
HENSELT: Three thousand men turned to bloody, charred meat scraps. The fire consumed Kaedwenis and Aedirnians alike. Knights boiled alive in their armor - mad beasts howling with pain.
HENSELT: War is for the honorable. When the likes of Glevissig enter the fray, it turns into hell.
GERALT: What drove Sabrina to attack her own army? Any specific reason?
HENSELT: I've heard none. Not even speculation. She was my advisor, a member of the Council of Mages. For years I was forced to tolerate her excesses, schemes, court scandals...
GERALT: Was she loyal?
HENSELT: Hah! Only to herself.
[As Geralt leaves Henselt's tent, Dethmold calls out to him.]
DETHMOLD: Witcher, a word, if you will.
DETHMOLD: You have no idea how delighted I am to work in tandem with you.
GERALT: True, I have no idea.
DETHMOLD: Better times approach, Geralt, you shall see. I trust you're not bothered if I refer to you by name?
GERALT: Not at all.
DETHMOLD: Wonderful! I feel we shall become great friends...
GERALT: That remains to be seen.
DETHMOLD: Shake my hand, Geralt. To mark the beginning of our friendship! Don't worry, I've no poison needle up my sleeve...
DETHMOLD: I believe one can learn much about a man from his handshake.
GERALT: Learned anything?
DETHMOLD: You have the handshake of a warrior - strong, decisive, dominating. You're the conquering type. The kind women love...
GERALT: I was asking about the curse.
DETHMOLD: Ah! Of course! What would you like to know?
GERALT: I'm not looking for new friends, Dethmold. Let's get to work.
DETHMOLD: I see... As you seem to be the hero, how might I help you, White Wolf?
GERALT: Why is Henselt still breathing? He killed the priest - why didn't he burst like a ripe tomato under a dwarf's heel?
DETHMOLD: Perhaps Glevissig wishes Henselt to wait for imminent death?
GERALT: I don't think so. I know a few sorceresses. They're mean, true, but they also want results. Sabrina cast the curse while roasting at the stake. Not the most comfortable circumstances. I suspect she botched something.
DETHMOLD: Are you suggesting Henselt may be safe?
GERALT: I'm suggesting he could be saved. Provided we cut him off from the heart of the curse - the battle of specters. It's the weakest link.
DETHMOLD: How could we do that?
GERALT: I don't know yet. But I suspect I could summon Sabrina's ghost and force her to free Henselt. First, I need to learn the circumstances of her death.
GERALT: If I'm not mistaken, you need blood to cast a blood curse.
DETHMOLD: Precisely – unachievable otherwise.
GERALT: Sabrina was bound to a wagon wheel. Where did she get enough blood?
DETHMOLD: She put a spell on a soldier, who gave her a coup de grace. It was easy, the minds of some soldiers are so uncomplicated... Sabrina needed one of them to strike her, shorten her suffering but complete the curse. However, this is where she erred! That whore performed miracles, gathered the Power, got the prophecy and activator right, but fell flat on her face on the simplest thing at the end!
GERALT: Don't get so excited.
DETHMOLD: She chose a fool, a bungler. I heard he thrust five times with his spear, yet the witch's soul would not quit her corpse.
GERALT: There was no one guarding the pyre?
DETHMOLD: It was one of the guards the sorceress chose for the task. His comrades were irate – he spoiled the show for them. The King was no longer anywhere near.
GERALT: In any case, blood flowed and the curse took root.
DETHMOLD: Yes, but the harlot got her due.
GERALT: Did you notice that not all the specters were aggressive?
DETHMOLD: Mm... Most would disappear when we neared them.
GERALT: I think the curse's power corrupts the ghosts of those who died in the battle, turning them into draugirs.
DETHMOLD: Draugirs? Is that some professional name you witchers have for specters?
GERALT: They're demons, Dethmold. Draugirs are demons of war that arise on battlefields where the fighting was vicious and the slaughter particularly bloody. They are hatred and blood lust in condensed form.
DETHMOLD: The name matters little. Do you know how to rid us of these draugirs?
GERALT: A silver sword's enough to send them to their rest. But as long as the curse remains active, new ones will appear. The soldiers' ghosts are the key. If we could reverse the tide of the battle...
DETHMOLD: Don't delay! Grab your sword and start reversing...
GERALT: I'll need some symbols of war that belonged to the soldiers who perished here. Artifacts symbolizing hatred, death, courage and faith. They have to be magically active and linked to those who died. Without them, I won't be able to summon the ghosts.
DETHMOLD: Well I've no idea how to find them. Apart from which, I know little about war symbolism...
GERALT: I'll deal with the artifacts. I have another job for you.
GERALT: Have you dealt with curses before?
DETHMOLD: I've cast a few in my time. One victim sprouted donkey's ears and a tail, another's house burned down... Nothing too serious.
GERALT: Shame... Have you removed curses, lifted spells?
DETHMOLD: Never had the chance. But I mastered the theory involved – best in my class at the magic academy.
GERALT: They don't teach you about curses like this one at Ban Ard.
DETHMOLD: Glevissig's curse is a fourth-level blood spell. It's also known as the "Arch Mistress's curse." A misnomer, for they have been cast by generally crazed mages or priests, not necessarily women.
GERALT: You've done your homework.
GERALT: Explain this blood curse to me.
DETHMOLD: An ordinary blood curse is a trivial thing. You let a little of your own blood – best done at midnight, surrounded by lit candles.
GERALT: Sabrina had a whole pyre around her. Tell me about Glevissig's curse.
DETHMOLD: Read about it for yourself, I've all the necessary literature. In fact, you only need the "Great Encyclopedia of Curses, Spells and Prophecies" and a volume compiled by Tissaia de Vries and Margarita Laux-Antille - "Masters of Magic on Curses - Selected Writings."
GERALT: Quite a tome...
GERALT: I'm not going to waste my time reading. Tell me the important bits.
DETHMOLD: Oh... Oh, no need to be ashamed, Geralt. In these times few get the opportunity to learn the arts of reading and writing. Illiteracy is...
GERALT: I can read, mage. Time's a-wasting – are you gonna start helping me?
DETHMOLD: The effects and phenomena generated by a fourth level blood curse require an immense amount of the Power. The eclipse, the death of a dynasty, the battle of specters... No sorcerer, no living being, can summon such levels of energy. It's quite simply impossible.
GERALT: But some clever mages discovered how to make possible the impossible. Since then the world has lived in fear of your curses. Genius. What did you discover?
DETHMOLD: A prophecy that initiates a blood curse is simply a spell that binds the Power. It should be cast at a site possessing the appropriate accumulation characteristics.
DETHMOLD: A battlefield is perfect: blood-soaked ground, defined boundaries, a symbolic dimension. When the caster utters the words of the prophecy, the curse begins to accumulate the Power. For the last three years – day after day, month after month – the initiating curse has been gathering the Power, drawing it from the elements of fire, earth, air and water.
DETHMOLD: The energy thus accumulated could move the stars...
DETHMOLD: Enter the activator – one of the prophesied events, possessing its own symbolic dimension. It releases the accumulated energy for use by the curse proper. Ordinarily, the curse cannot utilize all the built up Power, which must be released in some way. So one gets side effects, like solar eclipses...
GERALT: Are you sure Sabrina cast the curse?
DETHMOLD: Positively. Curses of this kind are cast rarely. There have only been six confirmed cases.
GERALT: How many confirmed cases of their being lifted?
DETHMOLD: One. By a team of mages led by Arch Mistress Francesca Findabair, whence came the curse's other appelation. In any case, Sabrina Glevissig was part of that team...
GERALT: Small world. And one that just got a little uglier.
DETHMOLD: That's not all. The curse that Francesca and Sabrina dealt with was meant to end the lives of the last of the Thyssen dynasty, the rulers of Kovir. It was cast by Scarlet Rodallega... A very talented, but completely mad man. A prophecy and an activator were also involved.
GERALT: I see. Sabrina just stole her curse from this Rodallega.
DETHMOLD: Precisely. Besides which, the King himself and a company of armed men witnessed her casting it.
GERALT: We've got our comet and murder. What about the coins?
DETHMOLD: We have those as well. Not enough for you?
GERALT: No. Why do I get the feeling I've stumbled on some shameful secret?
DETHMOLD: A state secret.
GERALT: If you don't tell me, your head of state may soon lose his head...
DETHMOLD: There's a plot afoot within the military. Those involved share a symbol – a square coin adorned with a fish. Let's do this: I shall in no way hinder your investigation and you will reveal to me anything you learn. Should I happen upon anything related to the curse...
GERALT: You'll let me know. So be it.
GERALT: You're gonna help me, Dethmold.
DETHMOLD: Of course, as the King ordered.
GERALT: Listen up. You'll do the paperwork - I get the feeling you like it. I'll need a number of protective runes to summon Sabrina's ghost.
GERALT: They need to detain the sorceress' ghost and anything else that enters this world with it. Find something for me in your library. The runes need to be easy to produce – I haven't seen any artists around here.
GERALT: Apart from that, the draugirs are likely to begin their forays in search of Henselt. When they leave the battlefield, they'll grow weaker. Your men should be able to handle them. Just equip them with silver-plated weapons.
GERALT: Henselt could also use something silver to defend himself. Over the entrance to his tent, hang a wreath of cinquefoil and fool's parsley. Inside, a fire fueled by juniper branches must burn at all times.
DETHMOLD: Where will I get so much silver?
GERALT: Melt down your collection of pots, for all I care. Just get it.
DETHMOLD: Those aren't pots! They're silver vases of Nazair!
GERALT: Last of all: give Henselt an instructional talk, explain that I'll need him.
DETHMOLD: And what will you be doing? Drinking ale and fondling the camp women?
GERALT: There's that, yes, though I'll also prepare to summon Sabrina's ghost and figure out what I need to send the fighting specters back to the afterlife. I'll drop by and give you more work as I learn about this curse.
DETHMOLD: How did you divine that you might recover your memory by lifting the curse?
GERALT: The only diviner I've ever trusted told me.
DETHMOLD: Interesting. That being?
GERALT: A drunkard and fool in love. He's dead. But keep your nose out of my past.
GERALT: I don't like people poking around in my life...
DETHMOLD: Learning about others is my job. I must know the secrets of all who wish to approach the King. I've no problem admitting I like the work.
GERALT: My past has nothing to do with Henselt.
DETHMOLD: You don't know that. Do you know why I have no friends, witcher? Because sooner or later I learn all their secrets. Which is followed by interrogations, torture, executions.
GERALT: Just leave my past alone.
GERALT: See you.
[Geralt begins his quest by gathering information around the camp, starting with the soldiers.]
SOLDIER 1: What do you want?
GERALT: This your first war?
SOLDIER 1: Not a chance! We soldiers never want for work under Henselt.
GERALT: How's the mood?
SOLDIER 1: Food and drink are good and the ploughing tent's well staffed. Fightin' men don't really need anything more.
GERALT: Think you'll win?
SOLDIER 1: That Aedirnian rabble don't stand a chance.
SOLDIER 2: What is it?
GERALT: You're young. This your first excursion?
SOLDIER 2: Aye. I'm itchin' for that battle.
GERALT: Hmm... Young and zealous. Not afraid?
SOLDIER 2: Of who? Short arses led by a lass? We'll thrash 'em.
GERALT: I heard the Nilfgaardian force is going to support you.
SOLDIER 2: Oh, yeah? The Nilfgaardians yap a lot, demand even more, but when it comes to fighting, they slink away.
GERALT: I heard there are some lovely ladies around here.
SOLDIER 2: I heard the same.
GERALT: Only heard?
SOLDIER 2: Left me fiancée at home. Gave me word I'd be true.
SOLDIER 3: What d'you want?
GERALT: They feed you well here?
SOLDIER 3: Depends. One day be heaps of meat, the next straight grits without one pork drippin'. Still, we fill our stomachs with what the foe has in his stores.
GERALT: Any idea what Nilfgaardian forces are doing here?
SOLDIER 3: Ah, who the hell knows?! I reckon they're just observin', and nothin' good will come o' that.
GERALT: Think they've made a deal with Henselt?
SOLDIER 3: They've been here weeks, so they must've agreed on something. The camp folk don't like it.
GERALT: I think I'm being followed.
SOLDIER 3: Very likely.
GERALT: Who is it, and why?
SOLDIER 3: Dethmold's men, they're everywhere. Word is they're onto some plot, but that's all I know.
SOLDIER 4: What do you want?
GERALT: What are the Nilfgaardian forces doing here?
SOLDIER 4: I dunno. Their presence disgusts some, but I'm glad to see them here.
GERALT: Why's that?
SOLDIER 4: I'd rather they be with us than with Aedirn.
GERALT: I heard that Sabrina Glevissig was burned at the stake somewhere nearby.
SOLDIER 4: Upon a hill. Folk congregate there to this day.
GERALT: What for?
SOLDIER 4: They say it brings luck, but I don't buy that superstitious shite.
GERALT: Why do you think the Temerians are here?
SOLDIER 4: I've not the faintest idea. And I don't trust that captain o' theirs.
GERALT: You know Roche?
SOLDIER 4: Not personally, but I heard he's a madman, something terrible. Folk by the campfire claim he cuts off elves' ears and eats them.
[Geralt talks to the relic seller in the canteen.]
RELIC SELLER: Relics, artifacts, trinkets and talismans – hallowed and highly valuable!
GERALT: I'm interested in objects that belonged to the soldiers who perished in the battle three years ago. Not any old things. They have to be magically active. I know how to check.
RELIC SELLER: That's not my speciality, witcher. I deal in relics.
[Geralt meets the mercenary Adam Pangratt in the camp.]
PANGRATT: Need some help, monster slayer?
GERALT: I want to talk, dog of war.
PANGRATT: I've heard much about you, witcher. Greetings.
GERALT: Greetings, captain.
GERALT: Is Henselt paying you to wait?
PANGRATT: Curiosity itchin' you, witcher? Not the best trait to have in wartime.
GERALT: You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.
PANGRATT: Dethmold's given us silver-plated weapons and protective amulets - on your advice, as I heard it. We're to observe the mist and, if need be, drive off the wraiths.
GERALT: How many mercenaries you got watching the fog?
PANGRATT: I've got them spread out in small groups, around campfires. And how many we number, well, that's my concern alone.
GERALT: Since you're already watching it, pay attention to the size of the cloud. I need to know if it's expanding. PANGR: Well...
GERALT: How fast?
PANGRATT: It's almost imperceptible, but it's constant. A foot, perhaps two a day... What does that mean?
GERALT: Means I have to hurry.
GERALT: Does Henselt pay his mercenaries well? Call it professional curiosity on my part.
PANGRATT: It's no secret - a lump sum of twenty thousand Novigrad crowns awaits. To be divvied up between those who survive.
GERALT: So the more of you die, the greater the take per head.
PANGRATT: Yes.
GERALT: Were you here three years ago, during the last battle for Vergen?
PANGRATT: Bradley's Blue Banner was. They were decimated by mages. The survivors enlisted with us. They weren't eager to talk about it, and we didn't press 'em.
GERALT: No lack of work for your kind...
PANGRATT: Mercenary might just be the surest profession these days. Sign of the times.
GERALT: I heard you gained fame during the wars with Nilfgaard.
PANGRATT: Our fees have doubled since the Battle of Brenna. As it turns out, it was worth risking our necks.
GERALT: I wouldn't mind learning some details about Brenna from someone who played first fiddle there.
PANGRATT: Constable Natalis commanded the Nordlings. The Nilfgaardians mounted a vicious attack, and if not for us and the Dun Banner, the collected armies of the North probably would've shattered into bits. Luckily, we showed up at the right time, withstood the assault and came out victorious.
PANGRATT: We earned every last copper we were paid. Fifty thousand Nilfgaardians shattered their teeth trying to bite at us. Menno Coehoorn, their commander in chief, chose death over humiliation. Like in every battle it was a question of timing, taking advantage of the foe's missteps, and a bit of luck.
GERALT: Must be fatiguing - fighting all the time.
PANGRATT: I took a little time off recently, somethin' along the lines of a honeymoon, but I like my craft and I'm not afraid to admit it.
GERALT: I knew one of your kind once. Woman by the name of Rayla.
PANGRATT: Killed by an elf's treacherous arrow. She made a mistake - let her emotions take control. This profession requires cold calculation.
[Geralt checks with the brothel madame, Carole.]
CAROLE: Well, well, a witcher. Girls, prim yourselves! How can I help you, handsome?
GERALT: I wanted to talk.
CAROLE: We're no strangers to the art of conversation, but it'll cost you just as much as a good plough.
GERALT: I'm not gonna pay for conversation.
GERALT: Sounds all right.
CAROLE: Ask away, then. What would you like to talk about?
GERALT: Anything interesting going on in the camp?
CAROLE: Soldiers are scared shitless what with this battle approaching. They'd rather drink themselves silly than let us honest whores make some coin. Is that interesting? I doubt it.
GERALT: Not raring to fight, are they?
CAROLE: They might've been eager at first, but the longer we sit here, the less lively they become. Fighting's like ploughing - lust for one and you lust for the other.
GERALT: I wouldn't mind knowing what you think of Henselt.
CAROLE: I'm a madame. What can I know about the King?
GERALT: I seem to remember that madames and innkeepers know everything.
CAROLE: He used to come here to plough. To develop a camaraderie with the fighting men, like. But that was just a phase. Most likely only ploughs sweet-smelling ladies now.
GERALT: Heard of the Virgin of Aedirn?
CAROLE: Hasn't everyone?
GERALT: Any thoughts?
CAROLE: Oh, yes. A maturing woman like that never been ploughed? Her head's bound to be muddled. We'll have peace when she drops her sword to grab a nice healthy prick instead.
[Geralt talks to Zyvik.]
ZYVIK: What d'you want, witcher?
GERALT: Did you participate in the battle?
ZYVIK: I did, and I fought... But I'd rather not go into it.
GERALT: The spirits of those who died in battle are now in combat on that field. They kill each other and change into nasty creatures called draugirs. Aedirnians, Kaedwenis, even your comrades... I want to help them, but I have to know what happened during the battle.
ZYVIK: Oh the plague, listen then!
ZYVIK: The fighting started in the afternoon. The Dun Banner was first to attack. We were ambushed, cut off from our main unit and devastated... Bloody scouts and Sabrina Glevissig, who was supposed to mind the battlefield...
ZYVIK: By then, the battle was in full swing. Wherever you see those damned furrows... people fought there. The Aedirnian lines faltered a few times, but we couldn't crush them because of Seltkirk...
ZYVIK: Yes, we had the Visitor, they had Seltkirk of Gulet, the invincible white knight, Aedirn's finest swordsman. Wherever our forces gained the upper hand, he'd appear and reverse the fighting's course.
ZYVIK: Then Vandergrift himself went into battle. He met Seltkirk in the middle of the melee. It was a battle of titans. In the end, the Visitor hacked Seltkirk and sliced the white knight from his head to his balls.
ZYVIK: Then death fell from the heavens. Lumps of burning soil flew through the air, the whole valley was on fire... Damned magic of a damned witch!
ZYVIK: I owe my life to Priest Chrest, our chaplain. He led me out of the battle and went back for the others. He had a medallion that protected him against fire. He led everyone out, including the Aedirnians, but the flames got him in the end.
GERALT: What happened before the battle?
ZYVIK: We forded the Pontar on the third day after the autumn equinox. The Aedirnians were waiting for us, formed up in a long line at the foot of those hills. I remember the banners of Vengerberg, Aldersberg, Gulet... Knights, armored infantry, peasants, the Vergen dwarf regiment... All save the King. They numbered more than five thousand.
ZYVIK: General Vandergrift, commander of the Kaedwenis, had less than four thousand, including the elite Bearheads, armored troops from Ard Carraigh, and the famous White Foxes of the North. And ourselves, the Dun Banner, veterans of Brenna, hated by the Aedirnians more than the plague.
ZYVIK: But above all, we had Vandergrift the Visitor. Maybe he was a bastard, but he knew war like nobody else.
GERALT: Did you see the duel between Seltkirk and Vandergrift?
ZYVIK: From a distance. At the time I was on that hill and they were somewhere over there. The field used to be as flat as a table...
ZYVIK: It was their second duel. Earlier, in peace time, they'd met at a tournament in Ard Carraigh. Seltkirk won then. Vandergrift's sword cracked and the Visitor had to yield. After the tournament, he had a new sword forged by Kaedwen's best mages and swordsmiths. That's how "Loa'then" came to be.
GERALT: I think that means "hatred" in the elder language - pretty pretentious.
ZYVIK: They say a sorcerer cast a spell on the sword and told Vandergrift the blade wouldn't crack as long as he remained invincible... The mage got fifty lashes and was the last to mention any such nonsense.
GERALT: Who has Vandergrift's sword, now?
ZYVIK: When the sea of flames died out, the looters ran amok. They found Seltkirk's chainmail, which survived somehow. Maybe it was magical, too... Vandergrift's sword went missing. The boys in the camp claim the female dragonslayer has it. But I wouldn't even try talking to her...
GERALT: Who's got Seltkirk's chainmail?
ZYVIK: Er... A certain Vinson Traut. Low nobility, in the army since forever, a greedy bastard.
GERALT: Where can I find him?
ZYVIK: That's a problem. Dethmold wanted him arrested after they found a square coin on him. Some of the officers and noblemen want to get rid of the Black Ones. They don't like how they lord it around the camp, even that the King talks to them. Those coins are their sign, the stupid bunch of plotters...
ZYVIK: Anyway, Vinson's a swashbuckler, he thrashed Dethmold's people and disappeared. Those with the coins won't say a word because they're scared of Dethmold.
GERALT: Do I have this right? You served in the Dun Banner?
ZYVIK: Did, indeed. Henselt's never commanded a fiercer group of warriors. And he never will. If not for us, there'd have been no victory for the North at Brenna. We carried the day.
GERALT: I didn’t see the Dun Banner in the camp.
ZYVIK: And you won't. The unit's no more... Ensign Ekhart Henessy carried the standard into battle for the last time three years ago.
GERALT: Glevissig's magic?
ZYVIK: Worse. The Aedirnian troops, the bastards. The Dun Banner, the pride of Kaedwen, lost its standard and almost all its men. The Visitor refused to send us reinforcements when we were cut off. The Dun must prevail. It's been in worse shite than this. The Dun will be all right. Seven Aedirnians to each one of us. We had no fucking hope.
ZYVIK: Two hundred men went into battle and less than seventy came back. But that's not all... only a few survive to this day.
ZYVIK: The boys couldn't handle it... suicide, fire-water, fisstech. A few became highwaymen. They ended up on the gallows or in ditches... Memories can also kill you, and soldiers don't always deal with them well.
GERALT: I have to find that standard.
ZYVIK: I heard it lies in the catacombs 'neath Vergen, alongside my mates. Hey, if you're thinking of going there, I oughta give you my beaver skin cap. That's it's rightful place.
GERALT: You mentioned the Priest.
ZYVIK: A really good man. He was with us the whole time - during the march, in the barracks and in battle... Among common soldiers... Freya gave him a medallion to protect him from fire. I don't know how true that is, but he led me and many others to safety.
GERALT: Who has this medallion?
ZYVIK: King Henselt. I saw it once. I don't know how he got hold of it, but he definitely had it.
GERALT: Were you at Brenna?
ZYVIK: Ah, yes... Cut down more Black Ones there than anywhere else. The Redanians were in disarray on the left when we joined the battle. Same with the Temerian regiments in the middle. We arrived just in time. Menno Coehoorn commanded the Nilfgaardians... He was some leader. Even we feared him like fire, but somehow we prevailed.
GERALT: What happened to him afterwards?
ZYVIK: He refused to flee, died like many others. Though no one knows who did it and no one ever found his corpse.
GERALT: Thanks, Zyvik.
[Geralt can check back in with Dethmold about the things he's learned.]
GERALT: We need to talk.
DETHMOLD: What? No 'hello', 'good morning', 'pucker up and kiss my arse'? Nothing?
GERALT: Uh, hello.
DETHMOLD: Good morning, White Wolf. Will you take some tea? It's a fortifying beverage.
GERALT: Some other time, maybe.
GERALT: Spoken to the King yet?
DETHMOLD: Indeed. He was delighted to hear he can be 'cut' from the curse.
GERALT: Great, because I need the medallion of the priest known as Chrest. I heard it's in Henselt's possession.
DETHMOLD: He'll give you nothing until you free him from the curse. Truthfully, I believe I understand him. You've a good chance of perishing when you confront the draugirs...
GERALT: Give me a break, Dethmold. The two of you are just afraid I'll leave this entire mess in your hands.
DETHMOLD: Ah, that is something I do not fear at all, for I know exactly why you're here. As for the King... You may curse him and scold him and call him a fool if you wish, though it's not something I would advise.
GERALT: Learn anything new about the curse?
DETHMOLD: A mage on the other side of the fog is also probing the battlefield... A sorceress.
GERALT: How do you know?
DETHMOLD: "You shall know them by the fruit of their spells..." Magic differs with the brain type that generates it. The female mind is simply laid out differently.
GERALT: It could be Triss...
DETHMOLD: No, witcher, it's someone far more powerful.
[Outside the canteen, Geralt witnesses an argument between two men.]
SVEN: Leave me be, father!
MANFRED: Leave ya be?! Your life's at stake! Why, your mother will have my head if anythin' happens to ya!
SVEN: NO! This is about my honor! And plough what Mother does to you. I'll practice, I must prepare.
[Geralt finds the father in the canteen, slumped over the table.]
MANFRED: Why didn't he turn out like his mum? Must my devilish blood course so quickly through his veins?
MANFRED: Why did he have to be like me? Stubborn imbecile...
MANFRED: Goin' to the slaughter like a pig for a feast. And there's naught I can do...
GERALT: Mind if I join you?
MANFRED: Think I've the right to stop you from taking a free stool?
GERALT: No right, but you might not want company while you drink.
MANFRED: And why might you want to drink with me?
GERALT: Always better to talk business over a tankard. Let me buy a round.
MANFRED: All the same to me.
GERALT: Getting sad drunk?
MANFRED: Mm-hm... My son's decided to kill himself.
GERALT: I prefer to drink in good company.
MANFRED: Doesn't ring true. You don't even know me.
GERALT: That's true, but I know a good man when I see him. So?
MANFRED: Do what you will. Everyone does what they want. My son, for instance, has decided to die.
MANFRED: He's decided to duel Letande Avet, known as the Butcher of Cidaris. All in all, that makes him a dead man.
GERALT: Letande Avet? Who's that?
MANFRED: A killer.
GERALT: Plenty of those in the army.
MANFRED: No! Killing enemies is not the same as slaughtering your own countrymen. The Butcher likes the latter and he's good at it. The best.
GERALT: They're going to duel, to the death?
MANFRED: Are you that ignorant? We've been sittin' here for weeks. Nothin' is happenin', and Henselt don't like that. So he's organized some diversions.
GERALT: You mean tournaments.
MANFRED: Nothing like tournaments, more like murders - mock battles without the mocking. The duelers rarely leave the arena on their own two feet. When our unit learned that sixth company was puttin' forward the Butcher of Cidaris there were no volunteers. So we drew straws and it fell to Sven.
GERALT: He can't back out?
MANFRED: He can, but he won't. I've pleaded, I've begged, but my son's a stubborn one. The pup's got 'honor.' But what good's honor to a corpse?
GERALT: What if I helped you?
MANFRED: What kind of question is that?
GERALT: Could I count on you in return?
MANFRED: Save my son and there won't be a thing I wouldn't do to aid you.
GERALT: I take that as your vow. Where's Sven?
MANFRED: Training in front of the canteen, near the mercenaries' tent. You'll know him when you see him.
[Geralt finds Sven practicing where his father said he would be.]
GERALT: Are you Sven?
SVEN: Who's asking?
GERALT: Somebody who just might save your ass.
SVEN: Piss off!
GERALT: I wouldn't play the hero if I were you.
SVEN: You don't know me.
GERALT: I spoke to your father.
SVEN: Ah. I'll wager he told you the sad story of Sven, who needs to be rescued.
GERALT: I'm no wandering knight and you're no princess in distress.
GERALT: Never speak to me that way again.
SVEN: Why? Will you beat me? I'm to fight the Butcher - I piss on your threats.
[Continues same as "I promised someone I'd help you."]
GERALT: I promised your father I'd help you.
SVEN: Then go back and ask his pardon for tricking him.
GERALT: Will you feel better when they kill you?
SVEN: I'll certainly feel worse if I cower out.
GERALT: I'm the last one who'd ask you to do that.
SVEN: What will you do? Summon the Butcher and send him out on an urgent mission to deflower the Virgin of Aedirn?
GERALT: No, we'll fight as a pair against Letande and his second. Your honor will remain untouched, like a twelve-year-old nun's petal.
SVEN: Why do you wish to help me?
GERALT: Don't ask me to explain myself. Now wave that sword around some more. We both need you to practice.
GERALT: I told you. Your father asked me.
SVEN: And you courteously agreed? Is that so?
GERALT: Yes.
SVEN: You lie.
GERALT: What difference does it make? Really?
GERALT: I'm not a fan of uneven fights.
SVEN: How much did he pay you?
GERALT: Your father could never afford my fee.
[Geralt goes to look for Letande.]
GERALT: I'm looking for Letande Avet, the Butcher of Cidaris.
LETANDE: What do you seek?
GERALT: I want to try my luck.
LETANDE: Strange. Most shit themselves at the sight of my sword.
GERALT: They say you're equal to a witcher in a fight.
LETANDE: They lie. I'm better.
GERALT: We'll see.
LETANDE: You'll need to wait, I've a fight lined up already.
GERALT: We could always duel in pairs. I look around and I see the cream of Kaedweni knights. Someone's bound to agree.
EDWIN: I am Edwin Leistham, known also as the 'The Petal.' If Letande will have me, I'll gladly stand at his side.
LETANDE: Why do they call you 'The Petal'? I've no need for one who ploughs maidens simply for the pleasure of deflowering them...
EDWIN: You offend me greatly, Letande. I owe the moniker to the fact that I place flower petals in the mouths of the foes I defeat.
LETANDE: I'll be glad to see anything stuffed in the witcher's mouth. So be it.
GERALT: I'm looking for the coward. Heard he picks fights with youngsters who have yet to start shaving...
LETANDE: What did you say?
GERALT: He's a coward and a poser. You know him?
LETANDE: I am him. And consider yourself dead, wanderer.
GERALT: We'll meet in the arena.
LETANDE: Yes, in the arena. Hey, Leistham, you'll be my second. We shall duel in pairs.
GERALT: See you.
[Geralt returns to Sven.]
SVEN: And? Has he agreed?
GERALT: Yes.
SVEN: Some whoreson, eh?
GERALT: Unique among them. Ready?
SVEN: Uh-huh.
GERALT: Give me a minute.
GERALT: Let's go get 'em.
MAREK: Most gracious King, noble lords, men at arms... Shortly, in the arena, you shall witness the famed Letande Avet, known also as the Butcher of Cidaris, at whose side shall stand the honorable Edwin 'The Petal' Leistham.
MAREK: Opposing them are Sven of.... somewhere and Geralt of Rivia - witcher!
MAREK: May the gods favor the better men! Begin!
MAREK: Hail to the victor! Glory to the vanquished! The next tournament will take place in the coming days, to be announced by the Royal Herald! Long live our Gracious Lord Henselt, King of Kaedwen!
[Geralt meets Manfred afterwards.]
MANFRED: I knew it would end this way.
GERALT: I'm sorry.
MANFRED: You did all you could. All I have left is to bury my son and explain his death to his mother...
GERALT: Mm...
MANFRED: What payment do you demand?
GERALT: I failed to save Sven.
MANFRED: Yet you tried. I'll not be called an ingrate.
GERALT: Very well. I need to learn about the people who carry square coins.
MANFRED: Why do you need this knowledge?
GERALT: Sorry, I can't tell you.
MANFRED: All right. This coin belonged to my son. Take it and go to Madame Carole's brothel. Ask for Whistling Wendy. The madame will take you to the whore's tent and leave you alone with her. When Wendy asks you what you wish, tell her you would like her smile to open the gates of paradise.
GERALT: Thank you.
MANFRED: You might chance upon Vinson Traut among the conspirators. Be wary, he's an evil man, very dangerous too. They say he's protected by magic armor. Even you could have a problem with him.
MAREK: Hail to the victor! Glory to the vanquished! The prize in the contest was a noble title. Our gracious and merciful ruler, King Henselt, shall generously bestow this upon the young Sven. Heralds will announce the subsequent duels. Long live King Henselt, long live Kaedwen!
[Geralt exits the arena and meets Sven and Manfred.]
SVEN: Thank you. You salvaged my honor.
MANFRED: He salvaged that foolish head of yours.
SVEN: I'm a knight now! The King himself will do the honors!
MANFRED: You were born in a pig sty, where the labor came to your mother eighteen springs ago. Nothin'll change that. Witcher, I said you could demand what you will, and my word's no worse than a noble's.
SVEN: You demanded payment for helping me...?
GERALT: Everything has its price.
MANFRED: What is it you wish?
GERALT: Information on those who carry square coins.
SVEN: Father!
MANFRED: Silence! Why do you need to know?
[Same options to continue as below.]
GERALT: This is between your father and me.
SVEN: Who do you pry for?
GERALT: I just need to know what this is all about.
MANFRED: Ah, it's a long story.
GERALT: I've got time.
MANFRED: It started before the victory at Brenna. When we split Aedirn between ourselves and Nilfgaard, we were shamed throughout the North...
GERALT: What's that got to do with the coins?
MANFRED: Everyone wanted to thrash the Black Ones, not play brother to them. A group of officers hatched a plot, the coins their mark... I don't know who gathered the first group of plotters, but the seeds of the scheme fell on fertile soil and sprouted quickly.
MANFRED: Then came Brenna and it all died down. The plotters themselves lost direction, though it seems they resurfaced recently.
GERALT: Is Henselt dealing with Nilfgaard again?
MANFRED: Who knows? But he's welcomed that shriveled old bat here and spends time in discussions with him. That plot - well, the lads just want to prevent the Black Ones from meddling in our affairs. Naught more.
GERALT: You know a lot. You got a coin?
MANFRED: Argh, I'm old and know that he who gains power loses his heart. I'm past the age of takin' the crown off one head and placin' it on another. But my son still believes a monarch can be just. Why must you know if I've a coin?
GERALT: I can't say.
SVEN: And neither can you, Father!
MANFRED: An old soldier's word is no handful of hay with which to wipe your arse.
SVEN: I'll have naught to do with this.
MANFRED: Argh. Go to Madame Carole's brothel and ask for Whistling Wendy. The madame will take you to her tent and leave you alone. Wendy will ask what you wish. Tell her you want her smile to open the gates of paradise. Are we even?
GERALT: Yeah.
MANFRED: And beware of Vinson Traut - he may be hiding with the conspirators. Dangerous man, that one.
SVEN: Dethmold's looking for him, and if he finds him we may all end up tasting the executioner's axe... That scoundrel falls into the sorcerer's hands, he'll give us all up to save his own skin.
GERALT: I'll be careful.
SVEN: Traut wears a magic suit of armor. He could prove a difficult foe, even for you...
[Geralt can find three visibly drunk soldiers around the camp calling out for a man named Odrin. The first soldier is close by the elven prisoner.]
SOLDIER 1: What do you want? Norm'lly, I only talk to drunks.
GERALT: I heard you calling for Odrin.
SOLDIER 1: Thass right. I'm lookin' for him, so I called out. Got a problem with that?
GERALT: I used to know a man named Odrin.
SOLDIER 1: Not the same guy.
GERALT: How do you know?
SOLDIER 1: Odrin'd never deal with your kind. A right and true man, that one. Drinkin' without him's like ploughing without a... woman.
GERALT: Seen any square coins around here?
SOLDIER 1: Square coins and white mice are good signs you hadda nuff of the booze. I need to find me mate. Lemme be.
GERALT: Let me buy you a beer.
SOLDIER 1: All right...! What d'you want to talk about?
GERALT: I'm looking for work.
SOLDIER 1: With me...?!
GERALT: Maybe Henselt needs a witcher.
SOLDIER 1: Henselt... needs a brain.
GERALT: I heard his soldiers love him.
SOLDIER 1: Back in the day... Yes... Henselt was like a brother. In war, he drank what we did, ate the same grub... and ploughed the same whores as us.
GERALT: When did that change?
SOLDIER 1: When he started believing he's invincible.
GERALT: He had to give up on Aedirn three years ago.
SOLDIER 1: What of it?! They convinced him he hadn't lost. Get it? It was all that -hic- witch's fault... See...? And he believed 'em. Had the witch -hic- killed till she was dead. Now he's all important... La-de-dah...
SOLDIER 1: He's just not the same, Henselt. But you'll find work, I wager. All kinds of monstros'ties prowl the ravines.
GERALT: Dethmold summoned me.
SOLDIER 1: Oh, fuck...
GERALT: What're you afraid of?
SOLDIER 1: Hard enough to get inside Dethmold's quarters, but bloody impossible to leave.
GERALT: I'm sober. I think I'll be able to find the door.
SOLDIER 1: You wouldn't scoff if you'd seen the broken bones... the gouged-out eyes... or men so crazy they didn't rec'nize their own mothers. It's true, that! Dethmold tortures anyone who wrongs him, even in the slightest. They say the sorcerer made Henselt burn Sabrina at the stake. Dethmold's so strong at Henselt's side - it's a bad thing... very bad.
GERALT: What do you know about the Virgin of Aedirn?
SOLDIER 1: No one's ploughed her!
GERALT: I'm serious.
SOLDIER 1: They say she'd killed a dragon... those Aedirnians have gone silly about her.
GERALT: I heard the story about the dragon is true.
SOLDIER 1: What of it? That don't mean she should be crowned queen!
GERALT: True. But people follow her.
SOLDIER 1: Folk are fools and like freaky things.
GERALT: Saskia's a freak?
SOLDIER 1: Maidenhood intact and hunting dragons! Ever heard of a stranger lass?
GERALT: In that case, see you around.
[The second soldier is hanging around the soldiers' tents.]
SOLDIER 2: What d'you want?
GERALT: I heard you calling out for Odrin.
SOLDIER 2: What of it?
GERALT: Just curious. Half the camp's looking for him.
SOLDIER 2: Well he's gone and got lost. But Odrin's a good man - he can drink six noggins of liquor, one after the other.
GERALT: Wouldn't mind buying him a pint. What does he look like?
SOLDIER 2: Ordinary, like any soldier. 'Cept he staggers a lot.
GERALT: I collect old coins.
SOLDIER 2: Here in the camp? Are you daft?
GERALT: I heard there are some overseas coins floating around. Square, with a fish on them or something.
SOLDIER 2: Don't know nothing 'bout that. Fuck off.
GERALT: To talk. I just arrived.
SOLDIER 2: What do you want to know?
GERALT: This place worth staying around?
SOLDIER 2: The company's all right. All lads with balls, as far as I know.
GERALT: I've noticed that. And the rest?
SOLDIER 2: What rest?
GERALT: Nobles? Dethmold? The King?
SOLDIER 2: Can't complain. The lord's aren't too lofty... Dethmold keeps the peace, great mage that he is. And our King's the best. Long live King Henselt!
GERALT: Yeah, long live.
GERALT: Think you can beat Aedirn?
SOLDIER 2: Can we ever!
GERALT: It won't be easy. They say Saskia's gathered quite a force around Vergen.
SOLDIER 2: What force? A band of short asses, peasant rabble and a few elves? Don't forget, they'll be dealin' with a legurl-- re-gu-- with a legular army.
GERALT: So what're you waiting for? Why aren't you at Vergen's gates?
SOLDIER 2: The ploughing fog's cut us off from Aedirn. Just yesterday, a company tried to get to the other side... Only three men returned.
GERALT: Henselt has no sorceress at court.
SOLDIER 2: Indeed! And he won't.
GERALT: How do you know?
SOLDIER 2: Wasn't for naught he burned that Sabrina Gless... whatever. Won't take on another after her. Dethmold would never agree to it, anyway.
GERALT: Strange custom. Dethmold has more to say than the King?
SOLDIER 2: How should I know? Sabrina's dead and that's that. Some mourn her, most just couldn't give a goat's arse.
GERALT: Oh, piss off.
[The third soldier is just inside the gates of the camp.]
SOLDIER 3: What is it, witcher?
GERALT: Who's this Odrin you're calling out for? A Kaedweni god of some sort?
SOLDIER 3: Ha ha, Odrin a god? If you suggested the god of drinkin', I might agree. He's a mate. We agreed to meet at the tavern, but he's gone and got lost. If you find him, tell him we're waiting.
GERALT: How will I know it's him?
SOLDIER 3: Oh, you'll know Odrin. Nobody quite like that cunt.
GERALT: Can I speak freely?
SOLDIER 3: If you want to be sly, best you step away.
GERALT: I'm looking for someone with a square coin.
SOLDIER 3: Why's that?
GERALT: I can only tell someone who has one.
SOLDIER 3: You got one?
GERALT: No.
SOLDIER 3: Then don't ask, for you'll learn nothing.
GERALT: I like to get my bearings once in a while.
SOLDIER 3: We all do.
GERALT: Will you answer some questions for me?
SOLDIER 3: If I know how to... And if I can.
GERALT: You from Kaedwen?
SOLDIER 3: Like me father and grandfather before me.
GERALT: Know what they say about you in Aedirn?
SOLDIER 3: Folk always got somethin' to say about their neighbors.
GERALT: Henselt wants to conquer Aedirn. What would you expect them to say?
SOLDIER 3: They're kingless in Aedirn now. They could use a good ruler.
GERALT: They've got someone to rule. You don't need to meddle.
SOLDIER 3: Don't be naive, the world's no sandbox. Though come to think of it, the stronger bairns reign in the sandbox as well.
GERALT: I heard not everyone likes Henselt.
SOLDIER 3: To be liked by everyone, you need not to have a mind of your own. And Henselt's got one.
GERALT: Put it this way, more and more people don't like how he thinks.
SOLDIER 3: We agreed to speak freely.
GERALT: I've learned of a plot.
SOLDIER 3: I promised I'd answer every question I know how and every question I can. That's a question I cannot answer.
GERALT: The sorceress named Síle...
SOLDIER 3: She's just arrived.
GERALT: What for?
SOLDIER 3: I've no clue. Do you ever know with witches? I mean, they never do what they say they're doin'.
GERALT: Could she become Henselt's sorceress?
SOLDIER 3: Our King's already got an advisor for magic. And Dethmold don't like competition... he likes sorceresses even less.
GERALT: Just touring the camp.
[Geralt finds Odrin passed out near the water outside the western gate of the camp, surrounded by empty bottles.]
GERALT: Get up, you piss pump. Your friends are worried sick about you.
ODRIN: Wha...? Where am I? Wha' am I doin' here? This is strange...
GERALT: Are you Odrin?
ODRIN: Odrin, thass right! And tha' one was a cunt-runt, not a proper whore, y'know...? I was all la-de-dah, I'll plough you nice, I says... And she done scream at me... like a bruxa!
GERALT: Listen, Odrin, you're so drunk a single spark and you'd be a torch. Now, straighten up and shut up, or the guards won't let you in the camp.
ODRIN: So I says to her, I says, "Square, shmare.... What square? What the fuck fish do you mean? I wanna plough..." and this cunt's prattlin' on about square fish...
GERALT: Tell me about the square fish later. We gotta get you back to your friends. They're worried about you.
ODRIN: Me mates? Uuulf? Uuulf, me brother, where is he? ULF, ULF!
GERALT: Calm down. And try not to puke on the guards.
GERALT: Calm down and stand up straight.
ODRIN: Down, up... Yesssiiir!
ODRIN: I'm goin' where I'm goin'...
ODRIN: And I'm not goin' where I'm not... goin'.
ODRIN: I'm goooooiiiinnn'!
[Geralt carries Odrin back up to the gates.]
GUARD: Halt! What's that corpse you want to drag into the camp?
GERALT: Private Odrin. He's, uh, uh, sick...
GUARD: Looks like he slept in a vat full of booze. And smells like he fell out a dwarf's arsehole.
ODRIN: Why, you limp-arse prick! You sayin' I stink?! C'mere!
GERALT: Odrin, shut up.
GERALT: This soldier didn't drink of his own accord.
GUARD: Oh, yeah...? Looks just like a teetotaler.
GERALT: I had to question him.
GUARD: And get him blind drunk in the process?
GERALT: I have my methods. You know something that unties the tongue better than liquor?
GUARD: Hmm... All right, come in. But hide him somewhere till he sobers up. You don't want no officer catching sight of him.
GERALT: King Henselt's in danger and this is the only man who can provide important information.
ODRIN: Thass riiiight... I'm the fuckin' only man... The only one, get it? Hic! Thasss me!!!
GERALT: Shut up, Odrin.
GUARD: Important information? From him?
GERALT: You better believe it.
GUARD: The commander catches him in the camp in that state, he'll skin him alive. Then skin me alive for lettin' him in.
GERALT: Not my concern. If you want, report it to your commander. I'm going to question this drunk then hand him over to the guards.
GUARD: All right, but I warned you. Come in.
GERALT: Tough life, being a guard.
GUARD: Aye...
GERALT: And the pay's piss poor...
GUARD: Don't I know it. Thirty gold coins and you're in.
GERALT: Come on, Odrin.
ODRIN: With you?! Never!
GERALT: Calm down and let's go.
ODRIN: After you talked all that shite about me? You stinkin' prick! I'll not go anywhere wi' you, not on my life.
ODRIN: Where do all these drunks come from....? Sheesh, fuck... and the mice...?
ODRIN: I'M BAAAACK! I WOOOOON! YEA HAHOOOO!
ODRIN: I know you missed me! Well, I'm back!
GERALT: Shut up, Odrin. Let's look for your friends.
ODRIN: Uh-huh! See, I'm goin' to take me a nap right here... You wake me jusassoon as you've brought 'em to me...
GERALT: Odrin, stop fucking around and get up!
ODRIN: What, hm? Who are yooouuu...? Ah, right... Wait a second...
ODRIN: Hm... D'you see that? Sumthin' jus' flew past me head...
[Geralt picks Odrin up and walks him around the camp to pick up the three other drunk soldiers, then leads all four of them to the canteen.]
ODRIN: Beeeeeeeer!
GERALT: I'm buying.
SOLDIER 1: Ever see a witcher spreading coin around? Well? Ever?
SOLDIER 2: A first for me.
GERALT: It all depends on the company.
ODRIN: Hear that, cocksuckers?! Now step the fuck 'way from me bessst maaate...
GERALT: Beer inspires great conversation.
ODRIN: Now that was... beautiful... what you said...
SOLDIER 3: So -hic- what are we gonna converse about?
GERALT: I came here from Temeria.
ODRIN: I visited once. Beautiful country... The women there have huuuuuuge tits...
GERALT: People in Temeria fear Henselt. They think he'll take advantage of Foltest's death and attack from the west.
SOLDIER 2: They're right, heh-heh-heh. And while he's at it, Henselt'll plough all his other neighbors, too.
GERALT: I hear people fear him more each day.
SOLDIER 3: Folk fear kings, just as ants fear bears, wouldn't you say?
GERALT: If they had any brains, the ants would hire a hunter.
ODRIN: Thass right! Here's to the hunter!
SOLDIER 3: What're you driving at?
GERALT: Just interested in knowing what you think of your king.
GERALT: Ants are small and stupid. They don't realize that if all the anthills united, they'd easily kick the bear's ass.
ODRIN: Thasss right! Long live the ants!
SOLDIER 3: Who are you?
GERALT: Let's say I'm someone who can help you.
SOLDIER 1: With what?! Huh?!
GERALT: Your plot against Henselt.
SOLDIER 2: Shut up, or you'll send us all to the gallows!
SOLDIER 3: We'll not drink with you. Step away.
[The conversation ends.]
GERALT: I like to know who I'm drinking with.
ODRIN: With frieeendzzz...
SOLDIER 3: Your presence here is no coincidence, I sense.
GERALT: I don't particularly like Henselt and I'm just interested to know what you think of him.
SOLDIER 1: There was a time I'd've put me head on the block for him.
GERALT: Was?
SOLDIER 1: Wouldn't be around if it weren't for Henselt. It's true! He saved me old man in battle. Pop just lost an eye and his right hand.
SOLDIER 2: But not his bollocks!
SOLDIER 1: He'd not do that now.
GERALT: I'm looking for work. Think Henselt could use a witcher?
SOLDIER 3: Dethmold would make better use of one.
SOLDIER 1: Aye, he'll cut you up into bits an' look at them 'neath a scope. Like a frooooog.
SOLDIER 2: Shut it! Dethmold's got long arms and even sharper ears.
GERALT: I'm not sure it's good that a mage has so much power.
SOLDIER 3: That's the King's concern, not ours.
GERALT: It's your concern if you're afraid of Dethmold.
ODRIN: Dethmold's a pri-i-i-i-i-ick!
SOLDIER 2: Shut up, Odrin, before I lash you!
GERALT: Beer all round!
SOLDIER 2: No. We'll not drink with you. You're a spy!
ODRIN: Geralt, a spy?! Draw your sword! Hic!
SOLDIER 3: Calm yourselves. And you, step away, 'fore anything dramatic happens.
[The conversation ends.]
GERALT: Henselt trusts Dethmold. I think the King knows what he's doing.
SOLDIER 1: He don't know shite. I stand by it - Dethmold's got him under his thumb.
SOLDIER 2: Quiet down...
GERALT: Folk are happy, though. That's what's important.
SOLDIER 1: Folk have had Henselt about up to the tops of their -hic- helmets! Things go on like this -hic- they'll knock his fat arse off that throne.
SOLDIER 1: He don't look to his soldiers no more. Forgotten us, the ingrate.
ODRIN: Well, it's no s'prise they wanna get rid of 'im, eh?
SOLDIER 2: Odrin, shut it.
ODRIN: Geralt's like a brother! I'll keep nooooo secrets from him...
GERALT: Who're you talking about?
ODRIN: A knave, greedy and cruel. Kills for pleasure... The son of a bitch has magic armor and plays tough. Thought he could do what he pleased until he caught Dethmold's eye. Now he's hiding...
ODRIN: Too bad about them other lads. If Traut's caught, he'll give them all up. Heads'll roll, I tell ye. Some peoples've come together to plot. They wanted me to join them, but I wass toooo busy. And I don't trust this Traut. Them other coiners is all right, but Vinson's a greedy sadist.
GERALT: Where can I find them?
ODRIN: Whatcha mean, where? The brothel, 'course. Ask for Whistling Wendy.
GERALT: I'm not looking for a whore...
ODRIN: Once you have her - pay attention now - tell her you want her smile to open the gates of paradise. Get it right! 'Cept you won't get to fuck her, then. Ah! And give her this... I've no use for this coin, won't buy me no beer... Wendy'll take you to them coiners.
[Before going to Wendy and finding the leader of the coiners, Geralt can optionally talk to Dethmold about what he found.]
GERALT: Does the name Vinson Traut sound familiar?
DETHMOLD: A traitor. He did some damage in my ranks – one dead and two still in the field hospital. If you know where he's hiding, I've some issues I'd like to discuss with him. The tools are already in the fire, but the rogue seems to have donned an invisibility cap.
GERALT: I believe he has Seltkirk's armor – one of the artifacts.
DETHMOLD: My investigation's at a dead end. I know not where he is and I'll soon need to resort to more radical methods.
GERALT: Hold off a bit longer. If he escapes...
DETHMOLD: There's no way to do so. My people guard the ford, and I doubt our brave Vinson could make it past the specters. He must be nearby.
GERALT: The plotters – I know where they meet.
DETHMOLD: I knew I could count on you.
GERALT: Is that enough for you, then?
DETHMOLD: One can tell a real man not by how he begins, but by how he finishes.
GERALT: What else do you want from me?
DETHMOLD: I shall give you four of my men, who'll be near at hand and provide backup if something goes awry. They'll stay out of sight until summoned. Bring me one of the plotters alive. I have many questions. I must know who's behind all this.
[Geralt can also ask Roche for assistance with the plotters.]
ROCHE: Here to spy on us?
GERALT: Who would I be spying for?
ROCHE: For Henselt. For Dethmold. I heard they hired you.
GERALT: It just so happens we have common aims. But don't worry, observing Vernon Roche isn't one of them.
ROCHE: In that case, to what do I owe this pleasure?
GERALT: How are things, Vernon?
ROCHE: Quiet. Nothing to talk about, really. Like everybody else, I'm waiting to see how events unfold.
GERALT: Why not stop waiting and try setting something in motion?
ROCHE: My people are combing the area for Letho, who seems to have vanished. There's nothing else I can do. What are you up to?
GERALT: Busy as ever. I need to lift the fog of specters, reverse Sabrina's curse and find out who's behind the plot to assassinate Henselt.
ROCHE: I never thought I'd see you so eager to help Henselt.
GERALT: Coincidence. Our interests happen to have aligned.
ROCHE: Hm... What interest might you have in tracking down this plot?
GERALT: I get the feeling it's all linked. If I can't get to the bottom of this plot, I'll be unable to lift the curse and never recover my past.
ROCHE: In any case, I wonder who's behind it.
GERALT: Well, I know where the plotters meet. If you want to learn more, come with me.
ROCHE: That would be a grave error. A captain of the Temerian army shouldn't meddle in the domestic matters of another state.
GERALT: I thought that's exactly what they pay you to do.
ROCHE: Sorry, Geralt. This time I truly cannot help.
[Geralt goes to Madame Carole.]
CAROLE: Well, well, a witcher. Girls, prim yourselves! How can I help you, handsome?
GERALT: I'm looking for a whore.
CAROLE: We've got plenty of those, you'll be glad to hear. But you'll need to show me your coin before you choose one. We all have our principles.
CAROLE: Well, these are my girls. Choose, white-haired one.
GERALT: I've heard good things about Whistling Wendy.
CAROLE: At your service. My prettiest girl, 'tis true. Fool soldiers gave her that stupid nickname. Tidy yourself, Wendy! Witcher on the way! Come on in!
[Geralt enters the brothel tent, where Wendy is waiting for him.]
WENDY: What do you desire, my hero?
GERALT: Conversation.
WENDY: Piss off! That's like visiting town hall to plough the mayor up the arse. Town hall's where you want to talk, here's where you want to fuck.
GERALT: I'll pay.
WENDY: What is it with you fighting men? No one comes to the brothel to plough anymore! Talk and talk, and me with my lisp. I mean, I'm shite at talking and great at other things! But, have it your way.
GERALT: How's the mood among the soldiers?
WENDY: Shittin' themselves before the battle. And they'd rather get blind drunk than let us honest strumpets make a decent living. They were eager at first, but the longer there's no action, the less lively the men are. Fighting and ploughing are a lot alike. Lust for one, lust for the other.
GERALT: Any rumors circulating about Henselt?
WENDY: What can a simple whore know about the King?
GERALT: Whores know everything about everyone.
WENDY: Well, he fucked me a few times, but the conversation wasn't terribly exciting. He hollered a bit – "I'm a great ruler! Tell me so, you stupid whore!" Or he had me hollerin': "Fuck me harder, my hero!" What's it to me? I hollered.
GERALT: Have you heard of the Virgin of Aedirn, Saskia?
WENDY: You're right daft, you are! Talkin' to a whore about virgins?
GERALT: I am.
WENDY: Here's what I think: a maturing woman's never been with a man – well, not likely her head's on straight. That lust for power's straight from the cock on her mind.
GERALT: I'm looking for a kingslayer.
WENDY: In a brothel?!
GERALT: You think kingslayers don't have sex?
WENDY: Not here, they don't.
GERALT: Show me what you can do.
WENDY: You're about to get the fuck of your life, darling.
[Geralt and Wendy have sex.]
GERALT: Oh, nothing.
WENDY: Wha...? Who'd you take me for? A blazing priestess?
GERALT: I'll drop in another time.
GERALT: I want your smile to part the gates of paradise.
WENDY: Come with me.
[Wendy leads him into the back, where she opens a trapdoor into a tunnel. Geralt jumps down and goes through the door into a carved stone room lined with cells, where Vinson Traut and several other coiners are waiting.]
GERALT: Vinson Traut. You're a little elusive.
VINSON: Here alone? Not wise, witcher...
GERALT: We'll see about that.
VINSON: I'm wearing Seltkirk's armor, you know. Pretty much renders me invincible in a duel.
GERALT: I didn't know you had Seltkirk's armor. I guess that changes things...
VINSON: If you think we're willing to let you go... or that you can escape through magic trickery of some sort...
GERALT: Relax. I'm not going anywhere.
GERALT: Give me the chainmail and I'll forget everything - Whistling Wendy, your plot... I know about the coins...
VINSON: You're Dethmold's hound. I don't trust you.
GERALT: You don't need to, I just need the chainmail. Not interested in anything else.
VINSON: I'm to remove it?
GERALT: And hand it over.
VINSON: Then you'll be on your way?
GERALT: And all will be well.
VINSON: Doesn't sound like my kind of story. How's this instead: I'll kill you, take your swords and gold, and the gods will rain good fortune upon me for ridding them of a filthy mutant? Die!
[With or without the help of Dethmold's men, Geralt kills Vinson and the other conspirators. Afterwards, he searches Vinson's body to get Seltkirk's armor, the key to the room, and an anti-Henselt leaflet.]
GERALT: Search the bodies.
GERALT: Hm... Nothing useful here, they must've been pawns. Report back to Dethmold.
GERALT: In the meantime, I need to talk to a writer I know...
[Geralt finds Dandelion and confronts him.]
GERALT: I found a letter addressed to the people of Kaedwen.
DANDELION: A letter? Mm... So?
GERALT: It's your drivel, idiot!
DANDELION: Where'd you get that idea?
GERALT: I know you! Not to mention you had the gall to quote me.
DANDELION: You're not the only witcher in the world.
GERALT: So, you admit it's yours!
DANDELION: Sure it's mine! People have had enough of that pompous clown colluding with Nilfgaard. I decided I needed to open their eyes a little wider.
GERALT: Any idea what that pompous clown's going to do when he finds out who's opening his people's eyes?
DANDELION: How would he find out? It could only come from you and I assume, at least I hope, you won't rat me out.
GERALT: They're going to kill you.
DANDELION: Nah.
GERALT: Why did you poke your nose in this?
DANDELION: Henselt approached me to write a few panegyrics about him. You know, singing his praises. Can you imagine that?! Me, writing a political pamphlet?! Who the hell does he think I am?!
GERALT: But that's exactly what this letter is.
DANDELION: Possibly... But it's for a good cause. Henselt's a prick.
[Geralt goes to see Dethmold.]
GERALT: I found Traut and a few other enthusiasts of the square coins.
DETHMOLD: Did you learn who leads them?
GERALT: No.
DETHMOLD: Any survivors?
GERALT: No.
DETHMOLD: Argh, you might at least have spared Traut. I'm sure he had secrets.
GERALT: I'm afraid he took those with him.
DETHMOLD: There was a reward on the conspirators' heads. Do you wish to collect, or is it beneath your witcher's dignity?
GERALT: Any reward for the conspirators?
DETHMOLD: Indeed. A nice round sum per head...
GERALT: I could use the gold.
DETHMOLD: How many were there?
GERALT: Vinson and five others.
DETHMOLD: You killed six men?! You and your kind should be isolated...
GERALT: The reward...
DETHMOLD: Is yours. Here.
GERALT: I don't want any gold for this.
DETHMOLD: Why not?
GERALT: You wouldn't understand.
[Geralt leaves the camp to go investigate Sabrina's pyre. As he exits, Zyvik stops him.]
ZYVIK: Oi, witcher. Out in these wastelands hunting monsters? Well, if you see two of my men, tell them I'll rip them both brand new arseholes if they miss muster.
GERALT: Why don't you look for them yourself?
ZYVIK: I've not gone daft yet. Droves of monsters prowl near this gully, and life's not grown tedious enough for me to just give it up.
GERALT: They may never return.
ZYVIK: Anything's possible, but I for one hope they just overdid it with the liquor and fell asleep in some bush.
GERALT: What are they doing there?
ZYVIK: It's a common malady. A day don't go by that some dimwit don't sneak out of the camp to go to the gullies.
GERALT: We'll see if I come across anyone.
ZYVIK: Luck be with you. You're a good fellow. Ah - find them and you'll see Corporal Zyvik knows how to be grateful.
[Geralt finds Sabrina Glevissig's pyre near the water south of the camp, as well as two soldiers huddling inside a circle of candles.]
SOLDIER 1: Oy! What you doing here?
GERALT: Get out of the way, I need to inspect this area.
SOLDIER 1: Be careful. They say stepping on the ashes brings bad luck.
GERALT: I heard Zyvik can't wait for you to get back.
SOLDIER 2: Plough it all! If we miss muster he'll have us flogged.
SOLDIER 2: Get us out of here, will ye?
GERALT: You came here on your own, you can get back on your own.
SOLDIER 1: This place is crawling with drowners. I mean, we'd have stayed in our tents, on our arses, if we'd known. We're safe in the Circle, but three feet outside and who knows what would happen...
GERALT: All right, we'll go back together, but let me look around first.
GERALT: You're soldiers, show some courage.
SOLDIER 2: Have a heart.
GERALT: I'll think about it.
[Geralt examines the pyre.]
GERALT: Apparently, it's bad luck to tread on the ashes...
GERALT: The execution spot...
GERALT: Who cares enough to bring all these things here?
GERALT: A goat's skull... A pixie ring... Black candles... A charred tree... Petrified bread... A raven's corpse... Sour milk....
GERALT: Strange aura... Let's take a closer look.
GERALT: Carved from a solid piece of stone. Reusable, you could say...
GERALT: Candles, amulets, coins - people make offerings here, like they would at a shrine.
GERALT: Candles... The stench is worse than Zoltan's boots... Nothing unusual about them otherwise.
GERALT: Square coins adorned with a fish... I guess the plotters like to come here.
GERALT: Let's see...
GERALT: An unnatural stillness typical of Intersections and places where streams of the Power meet... Unnerving, but harmless.
GERALT: People seem to be staying away from the wheel - they're afraid. All the "gifts" are at a safe distance from it... Except for one person... with Kaedweni army issue boots. Glad to know I'm not the only one to desecrate this site.
GERALT: Animal tracks - dogs, wolves, bears, even birds... You'd think this was a feeding ground. But they all fear the Circle.
GERALT: Except for cats. Their tracks are everywhere. One even napped on the pedestal. Triss once told me cats like to sleep on Intersections, and they're the only beasts apart from dragons who can draw the Power. They clearly like this place.
GERALT: Sabrina was nailed to this wheel.
GERALT: Something protected the wheel from the flames. It’s hardly scorched.
GERALT: Hm... Fresh holes and splinters. Someone's pulled nails from the wheel recently.
GERALT: I better take one, just in case...
GERALT: I need to bring the king here, I need to reenact the execution. If I can only summon Sabrina's ghost, I could force her to lift the curse. The draugirs and the mist will remain, but at least the king'll be safe.
GERALT: I need to know what happened here. Witnesses of the execution, they're the key. If I can just find out how Sabrina died, I should be able to free Henselt of the curse.
GERALT: Two leads - Sabrina's cultists and the nail thief, who's obviously immune to the aura of this place. Time to question some soldiers.
[Geralt goes to the soldiers huddling inside the circle.]
SOLDIER: You've looked and touched your fill, right? Let's get outta here!
GERALT: Did you light those candles?
SOLDIER 1: We did.
SOLDIER 2: What's it to you?
GERALT: From what I've seen, it's not safe here.
SOLDIER 1: The beasts are too scared to come near the Circle.
GERALT: Maybe, but you gotta leave the Circle to return to camp.
SOLDIER 2: Help us get back.
GERALT: If you all know this area is infested with monsters, why the hell did you come here?
SOLDIER 1: On a kind of pilgrimage, to visit the Circle.
GERALT: Burning them for Sabrina?
SOLDIER 1: To you, 'tis a waste of time, right?
SOLDIER 2: Feel their eyes on ya? They're watching us. We won't get out alive, superstitious idiots that we are.
SOLDIER 1: Don't you believe the Visionary? You don't have to... but it was worth a try, right?
SOLDIER 2: Old idiot! It's his fault we ended up here.
GERALT: Who is this Visionary?
SOLDIER 2: He's behind all this. He talks of miracles in the Circle.
GERALT: What kind of stories did the Visionary tell?
SOLDIER 1: He says, if we burn candles, the dead sorceress' spirit will save us from death in battle.
SOLDIER 2: He also says only those who believe will survive.
SOLDIER 1: I believe him. Know why? He lives deep in the valleys, but something protects him from all those harpies.
GERALT: I know who you're talking about.
GERALT: Did you see them burn the sorceress?
SOLDIER 1: Three years ago? We both served under Henselt then, but only the 5th Company guarded the stake.
SOLDIER 2: They say the king never wanted to make a spectacle. Some soldiers never come here, but others visit the Circle to check the remains.
SOLDIER 1: You're just like them. To you, it's only a superstition to make money from. You're looking for old nails in the ashes.
SOLDIER 2: Like that shitbag who trades outside the inn.
GERALT: You're mistaking me for someone else.
SOLDIER 1: Really? Then give us the nail.
GERALT: I'm keeping it.
SOLDIER 1: Keeping it? Not heard what they say? Relics are like fisstech for simple folk!
GERALT: Here, take it.
SOLDIER 1: Really? Ta.
GERALT: How did you manage to avoid the drowners on your way here?
SOLDIER 2: The Visionary was with us, he led us through, then left.
GERALT: I don't like this place.
SOLDIER 2: Thought you'd want to stay the night here.
GERALT: I know at least a few places I'd rather sleep. Come on.
SOLDIER 1: We're coming with you! We won't make it back to the camp alone.
SOLDIER 1: We just wanted to light some candles in the Circle... Didn't know there'd be so many drowners.
GERALT: All right, follow me.
GERALT: Go on your own. Sabrina's powers will protect you from evil.
SOLDIER 2: What a swine.
SOLDIER 1: I dunno. Maybe he's right.
SOLDIER 2: Who?
SOLDIER 1: The witcher. That we have nothing to fear. As long as we burn candles, the sorceress will protect us.
SOLDIER 2: But what if she don't? Want to see if the monsters get you? I'll wait here, thanks.
SOLDIER 1: No way I'm goin' alone.
SOLDIER 2: Then keep your trap shut.
SOLDIER 2: Beats me why they've been fighting over these hellholes for generations.
SOLDIER 1: I get goose bumps every time I go outside the palisade.
SOLDIER 2: Guess Zyvik was right, we should've sat on our arses.
SOLDIER 1: You'll be whistling a different tune when the mist lifts and we attack Vergen.
SOLDIER 2: The Visionary's a right bastard, leaving us here.
SOLDIER 1: I believe him. He says he hears voices.
SOLDIER 2: My nan heard voices, too. Her mouth would froth up like a dog's and she'd shit all over. When my old man couldn't take it anymore, he axed the hag to death.
SOLDIER 1: Shut your gob.
[Geralt escorts them through the drowner nest, defending them from drowners.]
SOLDIER 1: Curses on 'em! If it wasn't for you, they'd have eaten us.
SOLDIER 2: We owe you our lives, witcher.
SOLDIER 2: We can't let Zyvik catch us.
SOLDIER 1: Don't shit your pants. Sabrina saved us from the monsters, so what's one little Zyvik to her?
SOLDIER 1: He talked and talked until Sabrina turned her back on him.
SOLDIER 1: Cheers, witcher. I owe you one.
SOLDIER 2: Sabrina's a load of tripe. The lad burned candles, collected relics and still got torn to bits by the monsters.
SOLDIER 2: Thanks, witcher. I owe you my life.
[Geralt can talk to Zyvik afterwards.]
ZYVIK: So... where are they?
GERALT: I tried to get them back, couldn't protect them from the monsters.
ZYVIK: Dammit, witcher! We're losing good fighting men on account of some ploughing superstition. What am I to put in my report? "Evening stroll ends in death"? Dammit all...
GERALT: I managed to save just one of your missing men.
ZYVIK: I know. Got a full report. Says some monsters gave you hell on the way back. Well... One in the camp, one in the dirt - split the reward down the middle, I guess. You get half.
GERALT: The soldiers you were looking for, they got held up for a while at Sabrina's Circle.
ZYVIK: Oh, the idiots! To be duped by witchcraft and superstitions! I'll put them to scrubbing the latrines indefinitely.
ZYVIK: But, I thank you for bringing 'em back... Your reward - as promised.
GERALT: There's a soldier by the inn selling scraps from Sabrina's execution site.
ZYVIK: I know. The damn quartermaster! This business of his muddles the minds of the soldiers. Suddenly, everyone believes a splinter in your pocket'll protect you in battle. Halfwits.
GERALT: They'll pay for their folly with their lives.
ZYVIK: And who the fuck are you to judge them? You roam around the world with no care for folk like us. Sure, you can fight. But you don't have to get up, eat or fucking die when ordered. All my friends died on someone's orders! You'll never get it.
GERALT: You're right, I'll never understand. Sorry.
ZYVIK: What else do you want?
GERALT: Go to hell, Zyvik. You don't know a thing about me.
ZYVIK: And I don't want to. Go on your way.
GERALT: If the relics give them courage, so be it.
ZYVIK: So far, all those candles have only brought us some tent fires.
[Continues same as from "ZYVIK: I'll tell you one thing, witcher."]
GERALT: After what happened here three years ago, it's no surprise they're terrified.
ZYVIK: I'll tell you one thing, witcher. In combat I can count on my shield, my armor and my comrades, if they still live. Many of those boys will die in Vergen, even with their pockets stuffed with mystical splinters that cost a silver piece each.
ZYVIK: I want them to be afraid. When steel hits steel, I want them to be alert, dammit. If they're dumb and put their trust in rusty nails and ashes, they won't have a hope in hell.
GERALT: I heard there's a man living outside the camp known as The Visionary. Ever met him?
ZYVIK: The soldiers talk about him but I've never seen him. If I ever do, he'll regret that he fooled my people with all those superstitions.
GERALT: Did you see Sabrina's execution?
ZYVIK: Wish I could've, but only the 5th Company was sent there. She deserved it.
ZYVIK: What she did to the boys... Believe me, I've seen a lot of monstrosities in my life. My brother died during a coup in Rinde, when a mage boiled the blood in his veins. Also, I once saw a soldier raping a dead elf woman.
ZYVIK: But three years ago? People melted like lead - something you can't forget, witcher.
[Geralt can also check in on the relic seller. Nearby the tent, he overhears some soldiers arguing about nails.]
SOLDIER 1: The peddler said this nail was the closest to her right hand!
SOLDIER 2: You fool! You'd believe him if he told you it was Sabrina's shin bone! He ripped you off!
SOLDIER 1: We'll see in the next battle. The relic will protect me. All you'll have is the tin pan on that empty head of yours!
GERALT: What's going on?
SOLDIER 3: Stay out of it.
SOLDIER 1: Sabrina was a saint in her lifetime. Remember how she healed the wounded?!
SOLDIER 2: But now she's dead and can't help anyone.
SOLDIER 1: I believe the Visionary. Those who dismiss his words are doomed.
SOLDIER 2: Doomed are those who take lunacy for prophecy and carcasses for holy arses.
GERALT: I'll leave you to it.
GERALT: What's this argument about?
SOLDIER 1: I bought a relic to protect me from Scoia'tael arrows. They say I was ripped off.
SOLDIER 2: That relic's rubbish!
GERALT: Show me the relic.
SOLDIER 1: What for?
GERALT: I just wanna look at it.
SOLDIER 1: And?
GERALT: A nail like any other.
SOLDIER 1: It's not any old nail. Sabrina was nailed to the wheel with this! It'll protect me in battle.
GERALT: If you believe that, all's well.
GERALT: I have a similar nail. Mine's rusty, but this one looks like new.
SOLDIER 1: So what?!
SOLDIER 3: Told ya! The seller ripped you off.
GERALT: I'd like to talk to him.
SOLDIER 1: Better hurry up, 'cos if he conned me I'll chop his head off.
GERALT: So long.
[Inside the canteen tent, Geralt approaches the relic seller.]
RELIC SELLER: Relics, artifacts, trinkets and talismans – hallowed and highly valuable!
GERALT: I found footprints at Sabrina's execution site, do you know anything about that?
RELIC SELLER: Why would I? You found them, not me.
GERALT: Yet your boots are black from ash.
RELIC SELLER: Sssssh! All right, what d'you want to know?
GERALT: Do you believe in the power of your merchandise?
RELIC SELLER: You mean the relics? Others believe in them, that's what counts. They'll believe in anything that'll give them hope. Soldiers shit their pants and throw up in fear before going into battle.
RELIC SELLER: If kissing a rusty nail gives them courage, then in my book it works.
GERALT: Did you see Sabrina's execution?
RELIC SELLER: Sure I did, I was in the 5th Company. I remember the commotion when that idiot Yahon killed her with a spear. Ah, if only I had that spear now.
GERALT: Do you remember the curse that Sabrina placed on the King?
RELIC SELLER: When they set the stake on fire, she shouted something to the King. His face went red, but I couldn't hear very well.
RELIC SELLER: She probably foretold his syphilis, a gruesome death.
GERALT: Where did you get these things?
RELIC SELLER: Trying to compete with me? It's too good a business to share with others.
GERALT: Where is Yahon's spear now?
RELIC SELLER: I don't know. Besides which it's none of your concern. I simply won't talk about that.
GERALT: You know Yahon?
RELIC SELLER: Never heard of him. Where'd you get the idea that I know him?
GERALT: Do you remember the sorceress, Sabrina?
RELIC SELLER: Same as all the others. Looked like a young nympho, but an old hag inside. You want to talk about her? See that freak who burns candles.
[Geralt approaches the imprisoned Scoia'tael.]
GUARD: What do you want?
GERALT: Get anything important out of him?
GUARD: Not really... We salted his wounds, broke his fingers, scorched his feet... But he didn't so much as peep his own name. Tried to bite off his own tongue, in fact. Them elves like a bit of sufferin' methinks.
GERALT: Maybe he's hoping to be rescued.
GUARD: Not likely. Someone massacred them - the whole unit. That's what the royal mages asked him about - who it was and where they are now. There's no understanding elves. If he answered, we'd hang him quickly, he'd have peace, but he prefers to suffer...
GERALT: How did you catch him?
GUARD 1: We didn't. Nothing to boast of, really. We found 'im - barely alive.
GUARD 2: He was lyin' in the ravines among the corpses of other Squirrels. Terrible bloodbath it was.
GUARD 1: As if a mad medic slashed them with a giant scalpel! Aiming at their arteries, no less, for there was blood everywhere. Nasty splashes even high up on the rocks.
GERALT: When was this?
GUARD 1: Before that ghastly fog appeared.
GUARD: No chance. I don't know ya.
GERALT: Hm. How might we get to know each other?
GUARD: Trust needs to be earned, mate. You'd best go... now.
GUARD: You're all right. I heard you've been helping our lads... Talk away. But be quick. If the corporal sees you, he'll have your balls... and ours...
ELF: Bloede... vatt'ghern? What do you want?
GERALT: Information.
GERALT: You from Iorveth's unit?
ELF: And proud of it. Iorveth will avenge me.
GERALT: Maybe.
GERALT: I'm responsible for you being captured.
ELF: I don't understand.
GERALT: I warned Iorveth that the kingslayer had betrayed him. Your leader's alive because of me.
ELF: You lie! You're not one of us...
GERALT: Never claimed to be. I'm not interested in your fight. Nor in that of the humans. I have my own goals. I'm hunting the kingslayer and need information. Will you help me?
ELF: I'd rather not reveal anything to the dh'oine. Do you know Elder Speech?
GERALT: Mhm.
ELF: D'e thaermen en Rhendunv hesst. Ev'de salle e'maes oep Demaewn slaeht. [The kingslayer has two comrades. They hid among us after assassinating Demavend.]
GERALT: S'ea h'earth. [That I know.]
ELF: En tedd vaer Letho caeme e'n sterte dunver n'ea woert. Er'te Draeh aep dh'oine! [Letho appeared one day and began killing without a word. The most terrible warrior I've ever seen.]
ELF: Serrit e'n Auckes vatt'gherne esste, thene Aarthenoekh waert. [Serrit and Auckes are witchers too. They wear snake medallions around their necks.]
ELF: Visse e'goen. Aerle e'goen. Caenne ha't mer. Thene thar e'men dunv, dach'me moert. [We had no chance against them, despite our numbers. They killed everyone, but somehow overlooked me, forgot to finish me off, or believed I would die from my wounds.]
GERALT: Que'n thene dearme haess't? [What are their plans?]
ELF: Thene n'ea saerle, ve'de salle e'n eassne ge irch. Ve n'ea saen then ert, ell? [They didn't mention them. We shared food and hid together, but they didn't trust us. Nor did we trust them.]
GERALT: N'ea teamme? N'ea saeg en Yrre? E'lle saerl? [They must have said something, mentioned their past.]
ELF: Me ceanne... Bea hen tedd Feainn e'ssert. Serrit n'ea urre Eassene haet. Er t'eap Auckes gar'the saegt enneth Roethainne caem hesst, te erne Mauthe dearmh. [There is one thing... I overheard them. Serrit couldn't stand our food, and once he told Auckes he wished the Redanians would finally arrive because he dreamt of having roast beef.]
GERALT: Roethainne?! Que d'yaebl ess'e Roethainne ver ther, ell? [Redanians?! What do the Redanians have to do with this?]
ELF: Vessen'eath Roethain d'Rhen Henselt gaerle Vurte haenne. [A Redanian delegation is to visit King Henselt very soon.]
ELF: Thene dearme elles Treach haenne. N'ea mer s'ea h'earth. [If I understood correctly, they were to set off on their own after this visit. That's all I know.]
GERALT: Ve cean'me thene treiss? [Where can I find them?]
ELF: En Herrte aep Caennye ess'me goeth verth - s'ea ess'the en Ceann et D'yaebl aep arse gehedh... Caennye'sse thaeth Treach. [If they're still in the area, they must have hid in the gullies - but that's like searching for a needle in a haystack. The gullies are a real labyrinth.]
GERALT: Me'sse e'me Treach gleidd. [I'll find another way.]
GERALT: Ve quelle elleth thene haesst caemme? [Any idea who they're working for?]
ELF: N'ea me Herth! Ess'the er velth aep Cethainn coenn h'esst. [I don't know, but it's someone with a deep knowledge of politics.]
GERALT: Hwenn te'ss coenn? [How do you know that?]
ELF: Thene ceanne velth e'merr d'horre Vatt'ghnerne. [They know a lot. Too much for simple witchers.]
GERALT: Va fail. [Farewell.]
ELF: Quenne aerle Vatt'gherne hen Llinge coenn? [Do all witchers know Elder Speech?]
GERALT: N'e me saecht. [I don't think so.]
ELF: Auckes e'n Serrit est elle coenn. Vaell moerth t'Gwynbleidd coenneth baelk. [Auckes and Serrit knew it, better than you. Much better.]
ELF: Ve thene e'meath, Gwynbleidd... S'ea te Steib gath'ess e'n Treith wynn'ess. Va fail. [When you find them... May your step be soft and your breath still, witcher. Farewell.]
ELF: Essea en'ca aedd. Daepre te me. [I'm tired. Leave me be.]
[Geralt sets out to see the Visionary. On the way he encounters a set of Kaedweni soldiers fighting rotfiends.]
SOLDIER: Heeeelp!
SOLDIER: For Sabrina, who died on the pyre - help us!
[Geralt helps fight off the rotfiends.]
SOLDIER: Thanks for your help, witcher... If not for you, I'd've ended up like my mates, there.
SOLDIER: Thanks for the help, witcher... If not for you. We'd end up like our mate, there.
SOLDIER: Thanks for your help, witcher! We were in a tight spot, there. The rotfiends are multiplying like rabbits.
SOLDIER: We were on our way to the see the Visionary, bearing gifts and all. But I'll be damned if I'll take one more step that way. Wouldn't be on your way to see him, would you? If y'are, give him this coin for us. Ah, do what you will...
[Geralt takes the coin for the Visionary. Further into the ravines, he comes across a hut encircled by candles, and is attacked by harpies.]
VISIONARY: Over here! Inside the candles!
VISIONARY: Quick! You'll be safe here!
[Geralt enters the candle circle, and the monsters stop attacking.]
VISIONARY: We're safe here.
VISIONARY: I awaited them. They were to come bearing gifts. I heard their cries, guess they were attacked. If they're not here, they must be dead...
GERALT: Rotfiends attacked them. But they managed to escape with their lives. Weren't up for any more adventure, though, and went back to camp.
VISIONARY: You listen... I know those soldiers, and I know they do all kinds of nasty things, but not one of them would dare cheat me.
GERALT: No, they're alive. They didn't want to risk it anymore, went back to camp. They asked me to give you this coin - for candles?
VISIONARY: This is but half. Why, I'll not do more than braid some wicks for this.
GERALT: Neither of them survived, unfortunately.
VISIONARY: You're a witcher, hunting monsters is your daily bread. You couldn't help them? Is it 'cause they were simple soldiers?
VISIONARY: What do you want from me? I'll not believe you came here by chance.
GERALT: Yeah, you're right. I need to learn some things, and few are willing to talk. Sabrina Glevissig's story - that's what interests me most.
VISIONARY: Listen. I'll not speak with you until I get my coin, pure and simple. Though I do provide charitable help to the faithful. If you were to become one of them...
GERALT: I've heard a lot of good things about you. All right, I'll become a follower.
VISIONARY: Wonderful! Listen then, for I'll not say this twice. If your intentions are pure, you will do as I ask. Each convert must pass a test. You will spend the night at the old chapel near Sabrina's Pupils.
GERALT: Where?
VISIONARY: Twin lakes I have named in her honor.
GERALT: Is that all?
VISIONARY: Before you kneel to meditate, you will drink the mixture I shall give you. You must then remember all that occurs. That's very important, as you'll need to recount it to me fully.
GERALT: All right. I'll come back once I'm done.
[Inside the Visionary's cabin, Geralt can find two note fragments, revealing that the Visionary is Yahon, the soldier who pierced Sabrina's heart. He goes to the twin lakes and after dusk, kneels before the alter there and drinks the potion. His vision blurs.]
GERALT: I'm too old for this.
[Geralt sees a vision of a forest of giant, phallic mushrooms, and a chicken the size of a tower. As he approaches the chicken, the vision ends. He wakes up on the ledge above the altar.]
GERALT: Errrr... Don't know that anybody needs to know about that one...
[Geralt picks up a third note on the ledge describing Yahon's conversion to the cult of Sabrina. Geralt returns to the Visionary.]
VISIONARY: Huh...? What other matters?
GERALT: I did what you asked.
VISIONARY: Tell me what you saw.
GERALT: Sabrina Glevissig appeared to me. She walked across the waters of a lake, her airy robes and long black hair caressing the waves.
VISIONARY: You lie. I don't know what you were hoping for, but we'll not talk about Sabrina unless you actually meditate.
GERALT: I saw the Battle of Vergen. Henselt's mercenaries swarmed the walls. The dead lay thick on the ground, but the Kaedwenis broke through the defenses and drove into the town.
VISIONARY: You lie. I don't know what you were hoping for, but we'll not talk about Sabrina unless you actually meditate.
GERALT: You may think I'm as mad as you are, but in my vision I walked through a forest where the trees were huge mushrooms and a giant chicken walked between them, pecking at the underbrush...
VISIONARY: You have no idea how happy I am. I've been having this vision of a giant hen among mammoth mushrooms for weeks... I thought I'd lost it, gone insane. Turns out, my herbs must have gone off. I'll need to gather new ones, but that's my concern. Ask me what you will.
GERALT: You must know a lot about Sabrina Glevissig's death.
VISIONARY: Ah, Sabrina the Martyr left the world of the living to protect us all.
GERALT: Did you hear about the curse Sabrina cast on the King?
VISIONARY: Of course. A well-deserved punishment - a ghostly spell from her crimson lips!
VISIONARY: The King concocted a cruel fate for the sorceress, humiliated her, made her suffer the flames. Bound to a wheel and placed on the stake, she suffered in a way unimaginable to ordinary humans.
VISIONARY: But when the flame reached her maiden waist, not a single cry could be heard, only words foretelling King Henselt's imminent demise. Let a shooting star split the heavens and mark its mortal journey with a braid of blood! Let fools be duped by the sight of fish scales turned by magic into square pieces of gold! Let the Unicorn violate thousand year-old rules, prompting a just punishment!
VISIONARY: Sabrina suffered so badly that a merciful soldier ended her torment, thrusting his spear into her aching heart.
GERALT: Why the candles? What's the difference between Sabrina and other mages burned at the stake?
VISIONARY: Others were strong in life. Her power bloomed when death wrapped its steely arms around her. She took the soldier who ended her suffering under her kind care. He never had to fear walking alone in the dark again.
VISIONARY: Have you seen the area? It's full of beasts and monstrosities. Yahon, the merciful soldier, has walked in the blaze of her power ever since. No creature born of darkness can get close to him.
GERALT: Any chance of finding that spear?
VISIONARY: It was so long ago, witcher, but I believe the spear went to another soldier. The bugger sells relics from our Lady by the camp inn.
GERALT: I know who you mean.
GERALT: Now, back to some other matters...
GERALT: Who are you?
VISIONARY: Our descendants will decide who we were when they see what we've left behind.
GERALT: Is Yahon still around?
VISIONARY: Yahon is dead. He didn't deserve to bask in the glory of the Lady.
GERALT: So, Sabrina's mercy has limits?
VISIONARY: You don't know what you're talking about, witcher.
GERALT: The valley's been engulfed by a battle of specters. Know anything about it?
VISIONARY: It's a place of horror. You can still hear the sound of steel and the cries of the dying. If you want to soothe their pain, you have to believe that Sabrina is watching over you benevolently.
GERALT: I won't achieve anything without some memory tokens - magically active conduits left by those who fell in battle. They're supposed to symbolize faith, courage, hatred and death.
VISIONARY: Faith? I don't know what those soldiers believed, but their faith didn't help them, they were deceived. Courage, hatred and death? There was too much of all of them... Especially death. But I remember a knight who, ignoring the danger, led a handful of soldiers against overwhelming enemy forces.
VISIONARY: Seltkirk of Gulet, Demavend's champion. When Vandergrift's cohort cut him off from the rest of the army, he attacked the Visitor fearlessly. If you're looking for a symbol of courage, find Seltkirk's armor.
GERALT: Who were you before?
VISIONARY: What does it matter? Let the sins of youth fade into oblivion. Look at the candlelight. Feel it, and you'll hear what it has to say to you.
GERALT: I can't hear a thing.
VISIONARY: Then you're not yet ready, but your time will come. You will then hear and understand. Trust me.
GERALT: I talked to the relic seller. I know you killed Sabrina.
VISIONARY: That man died long ago. I'm no longer a soldier, murderer or coward. Sabrina set me free.
GERALT: Why do you need so many candles? Why not build a campfire?
VISIONARY: This is Sabrina's flame. Its light protects us and guides a soldier's every step.
GERALT: Did you rob a convoy of wax sellers?
VISIONARY: I make the candles myself. I give them to anyone looking for protection within the flame of courage.
GERALT: So long.
[Geralt goes to see the relic seller]
RELIC SELLER: Relics, artifacts, trinkets and talismans – hallowed and highly valuable!
GERALT: I know you have the spear Yahon used to pierce Sabrina's heart.
RELIC SELLER: He told you about that? And I thought the old freak was trying to forget the sins of his past.
GERALT: You know Yahon well?
RELIC SELLER: He despises me now, but things used to be different.
RELIC SELLER: We were called up at the same time. We fought under Henselt together. But I managed, somehow, while he hated it. Why did they send him to that ferocious battle? He was the worst dumbass in the entire army but he outlived the best soldiers. Covered in shit, piss, snot and tears and still he survived.
RELIC SELLER: He cracked when they burned Sabrina. A beautiful end to a fucking beautiful day. Then he went to the dogs. He pissed away all he had on drink. I was the fool who followed him and bought everything he pawned around the inns. That's how I got the spear.
GERALT: I need that spear.
RELIC SELLER: Tough luck, witcher. I last saw it a few years back.
GERALT: What happened to it?
RELIC SELLER: Look how similar we are. You want knowledge, I want coin. And we both need help to get what we want.
GERALT: How much?
RELIC SELLER: What are your customary takings on a contract? I'll gladly accept but one half of that.
GERALT: All right...
RELIC SELLER: Great! Listen, then.
GERALT: Too much.
RELIC SELLER: How much you offering?
GERALT: Tell me about her.
GERALT: Tell me what you know and we'll part in peace.
RELIC SELLER: You know the price. I can't go any lower.
RELIC SELLER: Are you out of your mind? Know what'll happen if you do that?
GERALT: You won't be able to fuck?
RELIC SELLER: I supply this camp with food for the body and spirit. Wonder what they'll do when there's no fresh fish because of you?
RELIC SELLER: You've got nothing on me.
GERALT: The camp's full of pretty simple soldier folk. I mean, I doubt they'll listen to reason when they learn one of the vendors has been chiseling them.
RELIC SELLER: Bastard.
GERALT: Right back at ya. Now talk.
GERALT: You'll go out of business when I tell everyone you're just a con artist.
RELIC SELLER: Anyone can talk. You'd have to prove it.
GERALT: As it happens, I found a nail at the execution site. A real one. Doesn't look anything like that shiny scrap you're peddling.
RELIC SELLER: How did you manage to get there?
GERALT: Some other time. Now, you talk.
GERALT: The fate of your King depends on that spear.
RELIC SELLER: You see... When Yahon lost his head for Sabrina, I bought the spear from the innkeeper. The donkey's ass pawned it in the inn - he drank like a fish.
RELIC SELLER: By then Yahon had already hidden in the hills, where no one dares to venture. Some call him the Visionary but in my book he's just a nutter. Beats me why the beasts don't attack him. A fisherman who supplies the canteen said that some monsters hate the smell of fish oil. Yahon makes candles out of it.
GERALT: What did you do with the spear?
RELIC SELLER: Sorry to say I lost it in a dice game. Shame, 'cos today it'd fetch a good price. I lost the spear to a soldier, who later fought the Squirrels in the forests of the Pontar Valley. He told me he'd used it to kill some Scoia'tael big shot. I heard the shaft cracked as if there'd been some fucking jousting tournament.
RELIC SELLER: The most interesting thing is, that big shot is still alive! I heard he's now with that vixen from Aedirn. Some frigging commander. Elves are weird creatures. Who knows, maybe he still has that spearhead.
GERALT: Iorveth.
RELIC SELLER: You know him?
GERALT: I'll tell you for 100 orens.
RELIC SELLER: Bah!
[Geralt talks to Dethmold about the rest of the artifacts he needs.]
GERALT: I think I know how to free the King from his curse.
DETHMOLD: Well, then, let's get to work...
GERALT: Can't do anything until I have the spear the soldier stabbed Sabrina with. Problem is, it's in the hands of a Scoia'tael commander named Iorveth.
DETHMOLD: I know this Iorveth. Are you certain this is the spear?
GERALT: Mhm. I last saw him back in Flotsam.
DETHMOLD: Iorveth is in Vergen, witcher. Along with most of the Scoia'tael from the area. They've joined that peasant girl's insurgency.
GERALT: Iorveth, part of a peasant uprising? It doesn't make sense...
DETHMOLD: There's only one way to confirm or disprove it. You must cross to the other side of the mist. What of the other artifacts? Do you know them all now?
GERALT: Not yet.
DETHMOLD: In that case, you must wait until you've learned everything before crossing. It's a dangerous voyage – not one to attempt twice, wouldn't you say?
GERALT: Yeah, I'd say...
GERALT: There are two others in Vergen – the sword of The Visitor and the standard of the Dun Banner.
GERALT: I've got to get through the mist, or I can't lift the curse.
DETHMOLD: I shall supply the white flag when you set out as our emissary... The lass is reputedly honorable. She'll welcome you, invite you to a feast and, with a bit of luck, you may even plough her.
GERALT: You're sick, Dethmold.
DETHMOLD: They say she's very pretty. Peasant girls not to your liking?
GERALT: Not your concern.
DETHMOLD: In case the elves lack an understanding of diplomatic symbolism, please also take this armor. With His Majesty's blessing, I might add.
GERALT: A king's concern can be boundless when his life depends on that of another.
DETHMOLD: I spent some time working on this recently. This little marvel will guide you through the fog and provide a measure of protection from the specters.
GERALT: Thanks.
[On his way out of camp, Geralt runs into a morose Zoltan.]
ZOLTAN: Good to see you, y'old rogue.
GERALT: Why the long face, Zoltan?
ZOLTAN: Everything's fucked...
GERALT: The only sight worse than a sad dwarf is the sight of a very sad dwarf.
ZOLTAN: I don't suppose you have any vodka?
GERALT: I see things are worse than I thought.
ZOLTAN: I feel like a monkey in a cage. Those pricks act as if they've never seen a dwarf before.
GERALT: Might have.
ZOLTAN: Wonderful! Life without old mates and booze is like a woman without a rump.
GERALT: Do I look like a liquor peddler?
ZOLTAN: You've always enjoyed a tipple.
GERALT: Only when I've had the time for that.
ZOLTAN: Got yourself into deep shite again?
GERALT: Lemme tell you, Zoltan, I'd kill for a drink with you, too.
ZOLTAN: What's stopping you?
GERALT: If I'm drunk, I just might not manage...
ZOLTAN: That's fucking worrying...
GERALT: If you need a change of climate, come with me. I'm on my way to Vergen.
ZOLTAN: You say that as if you're going to the brothel round the corner. Forgetting about the specters?
GERALT: I may have amnesia but I remember the curse.
ZOLTAN: Well, all I get around here is "nonhuman midget" and the like... And I've dwarven brethren on that side. Sure as shit I'll take Saskia over that prick Henselt, too. You really willing to help me cross?
GERALT: Course.
ZOLTAN: You know, Geralt, I've a feeling that Vergen's where I should be.
GERALT: I get you. Let's go.
ZOLTAN: How do you plan to get through the fog? Thought it was suicide to venture into it.
GERALT: Dethmold gave me a protective amulet.
ZOLTAN: Throw it out! I wouldn't touch anything belonging to that dick.
GERALT: I had a choice - navigate the fog with an amulet or without it. Seemed safer with.
ZOLTAN: You're the expert on that magic shite, I guess.
GERALT: Just trust me and stay close.
ZOLTAN: Oh, what the hell! Better the devil you know... I'll come with you.
GERALT: The magical potential of the talisman will cause a local interference in the astral projection, creating disharmony where the two dimensions of reality meet.
ZOLTAN: Er... meaning?
GERALT: The mist should part to let us pass.
ZOLTAN: You should've put it like that to begin with, instead of all that crap about astral bodies. I'll go with you.
[Geralt and Zoltan leave the camp.]
ZOLTAN: I can't wait to have some proper ale, instead of that piss water they drink in the Kaedweni camp. Thanks again, Geralt.
GERALT: Tough crossing ahead of us, Zoltan.
ZOLTAN: Lookin' to scare me now? We're goin' and that's that.
[Geralt and Zoltan enter the fog and are immediately surrounded by wraiths. A purple orb from the amulet appears, showing the way.]
GERALT: I see the path. The amulet is guiding us.
ZOLTAN: You sure?
GERALT: We can't be sure of anything in this fog.
ZOLTAN: You could have lied to make me feel better.
[Geralt and Zoltan fight their way through the battling wraiths, following the amulet. They come out the other side of the mist.]
ZOLTAN: Never again. Fuckin' fog.
GERALT: Look at it this way - you'll be able to brag about seeing the ghostly fog from the inside for the rest of your life!
ZOLTAN: I'd rather brag about how I ploughed three wenches at once in my youth.
[On the way, they encounter a party of Scoia'tael archers who block their path in the ruins of a burned-out village.]
SCOIA'TAEL: Kill him!
SCOIA'TAEL: Aediiiiiiiirn!
ZOLTAN: Stop! You're making a mistake.
SCOIA'TAEL: A mistake? Interesting. There's a war on - don't know if you've noticed. And wars are won by killing foes. Or do I have it all wrong?
ZOLTAN: The witcher's a messenger! On his way to see Saskia.
SCOIA'TAEL: Not your typical messenger...
ZOLTAN: Well I don't know if you noticed, but we had to pass through an atypical fog in which your typical messenger would've shit just before he...
SCOIA'TAEL: Enough. We'll not let you inside Vergen, but you can deliver your message to the commander of the watch. He's stationed by the town gates.
ZOLTAN: Ploughing typical elf. Come on, Geralt.
[Geralt and Zoltan proceed to Vergen, where they are met at the gates by Yarpen Zigrin and Skalen Burdon.]
YARPEN: Why it's Geralt of Rivia and Zoltan Chivay... Pinch me, Burdon, for I believe I've dozed off while on duty.
SKALEN: Could be an illusion, eh? Or some specters from the battlefield have lost their way? Maybe we ought to tickle them with an axe just to be sure?
YARPEN: Ha ha! I'm afraid there's no mage out there who could conjure up the witcher's mug, nor the aroma of Zoltan's beer-soaked beard. Heheh.
ZOLTAN: Yarpen Zigrin! Lice eat me if I'm not delighted to see that horrid mug of yours!
YARPEN: This lad here's Skalen Burdon... Geralt! What are you doin' standing there as if you've swallowed a halberd? Got a hug for an old mate?
GERALT: Greetings. Triss has told me a lot about you.
YARPEN: Wee Merigold?! Hah! How is the lass? Let me tell you, Skalen, this here witcher's the very embodiment of chivalry. All the Seltkirks of the world can't hold a candle to him. And you know why?
SKALEN: No, but I got a feelin' we're about to find out.
GERALT: Me, a knight? I'd sooner call Zoltan a show dancer.
YARPEN: Well then, listen everyone. At the time, we were escortin' Kaedweni army convoys through the Shaerrawedd forests. Aye, aye - we served Henselt once, though always for coin... Anyways, the witcher was on the road as well, with Triss and Ciri, heading south.
YARPEN: The lass, I tell you, was a demoness incarnate, pure pepper on her feet and healthy as a horse. But the sorceress fell ill. Some terrible pestilence held her, gave her the runs. That woman needed to go every five minutes. Never seen anythin' like it, and I've had my share of gut rumblings. This one time I roasted an old, ailing gerbil and...
SKALEN: Oi! You promised us a chivalrous tale...
YARPEN: And I'm deliverin' it, lad. In any case, the witcher would carry her into the bushes time after time. He treated and cared for her, cleaned her, bathed her...
SKALEN: Sounds normal to me - a man lookin' after his woman. It's too much to call it chivalrous, Yarpen...
YARPEN: Hah! Wrong! Triss weren't his woman - not his wife nor lover! She was sick and in need of aid! And he was on a secret mission, might've left her in some city, might've gone off on his own. But he didn't... Know why? Because he's got a heart of gold, he truly cares... A lad like you, Skalen, don't know that bein' a knight's not just about thrashing around in full plate, a long sword in hand. It's not just about fightin' duels and winnin' tournaments.
ZOLTAN: Damn, I missed hearin' your bullshit, Zigrin...
GERALT: Hm, I don't believe anyone else has tried to tell me that story.
YARPEN: How is the wee Merigold, anyway?
GERALT: Not great. The kingslayer kidnapped her.
YARPEN: Oo. Damn the dogs, that's downright terrible.
SKALEN: I suppose it's no coincidence you're here...?
GERALT: I'm afraid we're in too big a hurry to stop and reminisce. We're here on important business.
[Gives same options to continue as "This is no time for hugs."]
GERALT: We're in a bit of a hurry. Got important matters to resolve.
GERALT: I have to see Saskia.
YARPEN: To what end?
GERALT: To dispel the mist of wraiths, I need a few magic artifacts.
YARPEN: What's Saskia got to do with that?
GERALT: Her sword is one of those items.
YARPEN: And what do you suggest I do? Iorveth and Saskia banned us from lettin' strangers in, and here are two old mates come over from the other side who want just that... A lose-lose situation, if I've ever seen one.
ZOLTAN: That ought to be easy to get around.
YARPEN: Cow pies ought to be easy to get around, yet we don't always succeed...
ZOLTAN: I'm staying here, Yarpen. I want to join you, enlist. Will you have me in the dwarven brigade?
YARPEN: Will I have you, Chivay? Will I ploughin' have you? Why I'll make you a fuckin' commander, you cocksucker! Problem solved. Skalen, you're my witness - Zoltan's no longer a stranger.
SKALEN: Uh-huh...
YARPEN: All right. Now I'll introduce you to Saskia, and you can try to clarify the story with the sword for her. Or whatnot.
ZOLTAN: Don't you fret about the sword, Geralt. I promise to ascend to the fuckin' heights of oratory, be soft as a mink, cautious as a novice strumpet. I'll get you that blade if I have to shave my beard off.
YARPEN: All right, then. See that Skalen? We were headed for a tragedy...
SKALEN: Now we're headed for a comedy.
YARPEN: Argh, youth these days. Lacking hope and heart. You know what Zoltan and I saw at Brenna, lad? To us, there's no such thing as the impossible!
GERALT: Any idea where I might find the Dun Banner?
SKALEN: Try the nether world. The whole unit was cut down during the battle three years ago...
GERALT: I meant the unit's standard - which symbolizes death.
SKALEN: Ah, that makes it a lot easier. We buried it with the remains of the Kaedwenis.
GERALT: Where?
SKALEN: Just outside Vergen... I'll mark it on your map as the road could get confusing. Strange things are afoot in those crypts, witcher. Kaedweni ghosts scaring off our folk - that would be normal, since they were invaders. But one's some kind of amateur historian, askin' all that venture there about the battle and the Dun Banner.
GERALT: I'll look into it. Thanks.
GERALT: Triss could be somewhere in this area...
YARPEN: The plague, I've not seen her five years, must be... Since that day they proclaimed you dead. Last saw her in Rivia, in any case.
GERALT: From what I've been able to establish, the kingslayer forced her to teleport the two of them to this area. And she's not on the other side of the fog.
YARPEN: What did this kingslayer look like?
GERALT: A huge, bald witcher. Wears a medallion with a snake on it.
YARPEN: Sorry, Geralt, doesn't even ring the tiniest bell, any of that...
SKALEN: I might know something... This drunk in Vergen claims he saw a redhead fall from the sky somewhere among the ravines. And then he said the sorceress Philippa Eilhart came around looking for this woman.
YARPEN: Shriveled old minx...
SKALEN: She sent her servant and some peasants to the ravines after her, but they came back empty-handed. Now Philippa's serving maid's gone, leaving the sorceress angry as a wasp - she even turned one of the plebs into a pig.
SKALEN: I spoke to one of those peasants. He claims the lass was no servant, but a Nilfgaardian agent, and she apparently found something in those ravines - maybe it was Triss, and maybe it was that witcher. Madame Eilhart, or the old minx, as Yarpen calls her, knows she's been duped and can't forgive herself for it.
GERALT: Did the woman flee south? Deeper into Aedirn?
YARPEN: Fuckin' hell, she came out the main gate not more than an hour ago. Headed straight for the fog. Thought she might be out to do some magic probing or whatnot...
SKALEN: She knew a bit of magic. She might've crossed.
GERALT: I guess I need to visit Shilard when I get back.
GERALT: How's Iorveth? Any chance I might run into him?
SKALEN: Minimal. He follows Saskia around like a once neglected pup, eyes on her at all times.
YARPEN: At least the lass is well-protected. What do you seek from Iorveth? Last I heard, you weren't exactly chummy...
GERALT: You heard right, but when I last saw him in Flotsam, he had something I need to lift the curse.
ZOLTAN: Even if you see him, I doubt he'll give you anything out of the kindness of his heart. Perhaps Saskia can convince him.
GERALT: Guess I don't have much of a choice.
GERALT: It's nice to talk to you all, but we've got things to do.
ZOLTAN: Argh... That's life. Open the gate. I've got to fetch me a certain sword.
YARPEN: Wait a minute. If by some miracle you obtain that cursed blade, I'd advise you not to parade it out the main gate past the Squirrels...
ZOLTAN: Got another solution?
YARPEN: There's another passage. I'll mark it on the witcher's map and show you myself. Sound all right to you?
GERALT: It does. In the meantime, I'll look around for that flag...
ZOLTAN: Prime, I'd say.
YARPEN: Off we go, then.
[Geralt enters the dwarven catacombs and makes his way to the burial place of the Dun Banner. As he enters the room, a wraith manifests.]
GHOST OF EKHART: Who are you and what do you seek?
GERALT: Geralt of Rivia. I seek the standard of the Dun Banner. Who are you?
EKHART: Ekhart Henessy - ensign and color bearer of the Dun Banner, the best force to issue from the land of Kaedwen.
GERALT: Go back where you belong, corpse.
[Geralt banishes Ekhart's wraith.]
GERALT: You may not remember me, but I remember you.
EKHART: Where from?
GERALT: I served in the Dun Banner.
EKHART: Liar!
GERALT: I fought beneath its standard at Brenna and at Vergen...
[The ghost decides to test Geralt's knowledge of the battle to prove his claim.]
EKHART: If not for the beaver cap you wear, I would speak to you no longer. Try once more.
EKHART: You lie! You are not of the Dun Banner and you must die!
EKHART: The Battle of Brenna... The Nordlings shoulder to shoulder against the Black Ones. The Redanians led by De Ruyter on the right... Natalis leading Temeria on the left. A splendid sight, was it not?
GERALT: You're mistaken. The Redanian regiments were on the left, the Temerians took the center.
EKHART: Correct. Perhaps you speak the truth...
GERALT: Try me again.
EKHART: Tell me, for this you must know... Who was chief commander of the Nilfgaardians at Brenna?
GERALT: Menno Coehoorn.
EKHART: I'm beginning to believe you. Menno Coehoorn... The repulsive head hound of the Nilfgaardian pack. But a great commander. He will again let the Nordlings' blood. Would you agree?
GERALT: Your memory has suffered after death. Coehoorn perished. At Brenna.
EKHART: You are vigilant. I could not deceive you.
GERALT: Because I am of the Dun Banner.
EKHART: Perhaps you did fight at Brenna... It was so long ago... I may have forgotten you... But Vergen is another matter...
GERALT: I can't answer for the state of your memory.
EKHART: You are right... Memory often fails us after death. I cringe to admit I've forgotten who commanded the armies during the Battle of Vergen, perhaps the most important day of my life. And the last... Be so good as to remind me...
GERALT: Seltkirk led Aedirn, Vandergrift led us.
EKHART: Well done. Not all know that. Some believe that the kings commanded the armies during the battle... Or that their mages did...
GERALT: Do you believe me yet?
EKHART: Not yet, but I shall when you tell me how you survived the massacre at Vergen.
GERALT: Reverend Chrest led us out of the fire. He had a magic medallion that protected us from the flames.
EKHART: Many survived?
GERALT: Zyvik's platoon.
EKHART: Zyvik... The regiment's best corporal.
EKHART: You have proven that you served in the Dun Banner.
GERALT: May I take the standard?
EKHART: Why do you desire it so?
GERALT: It will help me lift a curse.
EKHART: Curses are of no import to me.
GERALT: This one should be. It has stopped King Henselt's army from advancing.
EKHART: The Unicorn has returned?
GERALT: He stands at Vergen's gates. With your help, he'll avenge the Dun Banner.
EKHART: The standard lies in the sarcophagus. Take it. You will also find the sword of Colonel Gondor. Now, it is yours.
GERALT: Thank you.
EKHART: Where have you left your mount?
GERALT: There are no horses here.
EKHART: True. I would gladly drink with a brother from Brenna, but I am an unfettered soul, strong drink means nothing, tastes of nothing. Perhaps I miss that most in death. Guard the standard. I grasped it firmly even as they cut me down.
[Geralt retrieves the standard and the Dun Banner sword from the sarcophagus, and leaves Zyvik's hat on the tomb out of respect.]
[Geralt enters the Tunnel of the Founders and travels down to where he was meant to meet Zoltan. Zoltan is waiting for him - and so is Saskia.]
GERALT: Zoltan, you were supposed to bring the sword...
ZOLTAN: I failed, Geralt.
SASKIA: That was not the best idea, witcher. Dwarves are poor liars in general, and that's especially true of this one.
GERALT: You know everything you need to know?
SASKIA: Yes. You need the weapon to lift the curse from Henselt and free the souls of the fallen.
GERALT: M'Lady, I know you're at war with Henselt, but the curse threatens Vergen as well. It's a field of uncontrollable magic energy...
SASKIA: No need to exert yourself. I know this - the sword shall be yours.
GERALT: Just like that?
SASKIA: Yes. I'm glad to help and thank you on behalf of the Vergenis, the souls of whose loved ones will finally be granted the peace they have so long deserved.
GERALT: M'Lady...
SASKIA: I am no lady. My name is Saskia.
GERALT: Saskia, I'll need some time to lift the curse. Enough for you to fall back. The Scoia'tael and peasants can't hope to defeat a professional army in open battle... Withdraw deeper into Aedirn.
SASKIA: You underestimate them.
GERALT: Looking to be another Aelirenn? Do you want them to die with your name on their lips? You know that's what'll happen if there's a fight. The fighters will die quick deaths, but then Henselt's men will enter the town. They'll spare no one. They'll kill the men, rape the women, turn the beautiful ones into slaves, and torture the rest to death...
SASKIA: I have seen conquered cities and know the risks. Why do you aid Henselt? Why do you risk your life to lift this curse?
GERALT: It's not up to me to judge rulers, good or bad. If there's a curse, it needs to be dispelled. Not much room for politics or moral judgment.
SASKIA: Yes, I know. You're a hero, folk tell stories about you in taverns and troubadours describe your adventures in poems. But you've never known the whip, your children have never lost hands for stealing apples, you know not how it is to serve at a heavily laden feast table while your family awaits famished at home...
SASKIA: You fail to understand me, for you make no moral judgments. I have no such restrictions and can thus warn you that Henselt is scum. Be cautious, take care of yourself and your friends. And I'll not heed your advice. We'll not flee, we'll not surrender.
GERALT: Farewell, Saskia.
SASKIA: Farewell, witcher. And know that I hope never to have to face you in battle.
GERALT: You can be sure of that, Saskia. I only fight monsters.
GERALT: I have my own agenda. A certain seer foretold that in lifting the curse I'd recover my memory. I'm certainly not Henselt's devoted follower.
SASKIA: In that case, join my forces.
GERALT: I can't. I have certain obligations on the other side... Friends who remained in Henselt's camp. Friends I can't leave behind.
SASKIA: I, too, have obligations that prevent me from fleeing or withdrawing. I cannot disappoint all those who placed their trust in me. Go where you must and hope your obligations don't drive you to fight me.
GERALT: I'm no soldier, Saskia. You can be sure of that.
SASKIA: Time will tell. Farewell, witcher, and look after your friends. Henselt is a true rogue.
GERALT: I refuse to explain myself.
SASKIA: So be it. And I'll not heed your advice. Good luck with the curse.
ZOLTAN: See you, you old prick. Don't let them Kaedwenize you and don't get killed.
GERALT: That goes for you, too, Zoltan. Farewell to you both.
GERALT: Thank you and good luck. See you, Zoltan, and don't get killed.
ZOLTAN: Nor you, you old prick. See you again... some day.
ZOLTAN: Eh-em. Saskia, I forgot one wee thing. Geralt wishes to meet with Iorveth. He's got dealings with the elf...
GERALT: I need the head of the spear used to finish off Sabrina as she uttered the curse... Iorveth had it when we ran into each other in Flotsam.
SASKIA: He lost it playing dice. Skalen now has the spearhead. The young Burdon is a gambler, an addict, and perhaps Vergen's top sharp. You should speak to him.
GERALT: Iorveth put that spearhead up as a bet?
SASKIA: When it comes to getting folk to sit down to a game of poker, Skalen can be convincing. His pack is bulging with treasures - you'd be surprised. All won at dice.
GERALT: I won't need convincing. We'll see how he does against me. Farewell to you both.
[Geralt goes to find Skalen.]
GERALT: I heard you have the head of Iorveth's spear.
SKALEN: I do, indeed.
GERALT: I could use that spearhead.
SKALEN: Not a chance in hell. It's my trophy. Won it off the greatest killer among elves. In certain circles that makes me a hero...
GERALT: What were you playing?
SKALEN: Dice poker.
GERALT: I've rolled a few dice in my time...
SKALEN: Do I hear a challenge?
GERALT: Mhm.
SKALEN: I trust you'll not ask me for a handicap. Though I must warn you, I aim to be merciless - curse or no curse.
GERALT: Let's begin.
GERALT: Rematch?
SKALEN: With pleasure.
SKALEN: You play like a true sharp. Almost like a cheat... But true to my word, the spearhead's yours.
GERALT: Thanks, Skalen. I heard you have a few more interesting trinkets I could win off you...
SKALEN: I could find something.
[Having finished his business in Vergen, Geralt crosses the mists again. In the mists, he finds the body of a Nilfgaardian soldier with a letter from Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen on him; the order is for the capture of Triss Merigold. When he emerges from the mist he finds several Blue Stripes looking over the bodies of several Nilfgaardians.]
ROCHE: Good, you're here. The Nilfgaardians attacked us.
GERALT: Any idea why?
ROCHE: They were loitering around here, staring into the fog as if waiting for something. I summoned Fenn, Silas and a few others, and told Ves to cover us from a distance while we went to talk to them. So I asked the black dogs, courteously, why they were gazing into the fog as if the emperor himself was about to emerge from it. No answer. But I can see the anger, knitted brows, faces reddening... And they start growling to each other in that dog's tongue of theirs.
ROCHE: A woman came out of the mist. Beautiful and barely alive, she dropped to the ground, and a small object slipped from her hand... It was a jade figurine, no larger than a man's hand. If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say it was Triss turned into a statuette.
GERALT: It is possible - artifact compression. Where's this woman?
ROCHE: I dunno. The girl growled at the soldiers and all hell broke loose. The Black Ones jumped us and she ran off towards the camp.
GERALT: I need to follow her.
ROCHE: We're going with you. Fall in!
[As Geralt and the Stripes approach the Nilfgaardian camp, they see a ship with black sails departing.]
ROCHE: We're too late.
GERALT: Is the Percival ready to sail?
ROCHE: It is, but they will not let us go. Henselt has plans of his own.
GERALT: I couldn't give a shit about Henselt. Shilard has Triss, and I need to save her.
ROCHE: It's not an option. They'll not let us sail until you lift the curse, and we've no chance of catching the Nilfgaardians on foot. If they wanted to kill her, she'd be dead already.
ROCHE: Besides which we know where they've gone. Loc Muinne, witcher. The monarchs and mages are to meet and decide the fate of the known world. You will find Triss there, I promise.
[Roche and the Stripes leave as the ship disappears. Inside Shilard's tent, Geralt finds a letter to the emperor about the emissary's mage and a book with a poem about the Wild Hunt.]
[Geralt goes to meet with Henselt.]
HENSELT: At last! Have you got Sabrina's spear?
GERALT: Not only that. I've got all three artifacts.
HENSELT: You won't regret it. Let's do some magic!
GERALT: Easy... First I have to see Dethmold.
HENSELT: What for?
GERALT: We agreed to play cards.
HENSELT: Remember this... I need you now, but that doesn't make you irreplaceable. Another remark like that and you'll have your own slow-burning stake, and I piss on whether you curse me or observe a proud silence as you roast.
GERALT: We'll need some magic powder to perform the exorcisms.
HENSELT: Argh, I'm beginning to have enough of this magic nonsense.
GERALT: Magic can only be defeated by magic, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: All right, but make haste. I'll wait for you by the stake.
[Geralt goes to obtain the magic dust from Dethmold.]
GERALT: I need magic powder to mark out the runes.
DETHMOLD: Are you aware that the formula requires powdered camphor resin?
GERALT: I am.
DETHMOLD: Then you must also know that the resin is extremely valuable.
GERALT: Get Henselt to pay you. I need the powder to do the exorcism, reverse the prophecy and release him from the curse.
DETHMOLD: You should have said. I'll give you as much as you need.
GERALT: Thanks, on the King's behalf.
GERALT: Well I can't pay you, so just give it up.
DETHMOLD: You're pressing your luck.
GERALT: Maybe it's because my services are worth no less than camphor resin.
DETHMOLD: Out of my sight before I lose my patience!
GERALT: You never asked why I needed the powder.
DETHMOLD: Why, then?
GERALT: For the exorcisms that'll release your King from his curse.
DETHMOLD: I've one more thing you might find useful.
GERALT: What's that?
DETHMOLD: You asked me for protective runes. I've done better. Take this grimoire, which details many. I believe there's even one for syphilis. I've marked my recommendations.
GERALT: Thanks.
[Inside the grimoire is a diagram of seven vertexes placed over a goat's skull. Geralt takes the dust and the grimoire and meets Henselt at the site of Sabrina's execution.]
GERALT: She died here.
HENSELT: And pissed and shat as she did.
GERALT: Evil place... You can feel it in the air. Those candles don't help any, either.
HENSELT: They've gone mad. Someone said the bitch died a martyr and now the common folk burn candles for her.
GERALT: I have to observe this place from a distance.
HENSELT: During the execution, I was on that hill. I'll show ya.
[Geralt climbs up to the hill overlooking the wheel with Henselt.]
GERALT: Flat area, that's good.
HENSELT: Are you concerned for your feet?
GERALT: Your Majesty, you need to draw runic protective signs around the stake.
HENSELT: Magic signs are the domain of witchers, not kings. Correct me if I'm wrong.
GERALT: There's no time to explain.
HENSELT: I'm the one who decides what we do and don't have time for.
GERALT: The runes must be created by the one afflicted by the curse.
HENSELT: You should have said so earlier.
GERALT: It's important that you draw the circle yourself, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: Important for whom?
GERALT: It was your death Sabrina foretold, so who d'you think?
HENSELT: All right. Tell me what we do.
GERALT: To lift the curse, we have to reenact the events from three years ago.
HENSELT: How do you wish to do that if half of those involved lie rottin' with the worms?
GERALT: It's about the energy of that time. The energy of the woman who cast the curse, combined with the energy of its victim.
HENSELT: *Ptooey*
GERALT: When you get the runic signs right, Sabrina's ghost will appear.
HENSELT: Bring the bitch to life. It'll be a pleasure to put my spear in her...
GERALT: Remember to stab her in exactly the same spot as that soldier did, but earlier this time. Before the sorceress completes the curse.
HENSELT: I'll look for the hole... But how am I to know when?
GERALT: When you realize that the curse concerns you. But be ready, she may use a different name.
HENSELT: Is that all?
GERALT: For you, then I take over. Specters might appear during the exorcism.
HENSELT: Might, or will?
GERALT: It depends on Sabrina's aura in the spirit world.
HENSELT: I wager ghosts loathe the cunt. Let's get it over with. Tell me what I'm to draw.
GERALT: You have to go down there, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: What about you?
GERALT: I'll guide you. I have a good view from up here.
[Henselt goes down to the pyre, where the offerings are laid out around the base of the wheel.]
GERALT: Pour the powder towards the petrified bread loaf, Your Majesty!
GERALT: Head towards the black candles, Your Majesty.
GERALT: Now go towards the goat skull, Your Majesty.
GERALT: Now towards the burnt tree!
GERALT: Find the raven's corpse, Your Majesty!
GERALT: Now spread the powder and head for the stone bowl.
GERALT: Go towards the pixie ring, Your Majesty!
[As Henselt goes, trailing the dust behind him, the shape of the goat skull is drawn on the ground.]
GERALT: Sire, form a large, even circle, at a good distance from the pyre.
HENSELT: It's turned out beautifully. Pity the wind will soon scatter it.
GERALT: The evil power of the curse came from the fire. Fire's a hard element to tame and this one had added potency... it consumed the body of the one casting the curse.
HENSELT: Enough of these phantasmagorias, as Dethmold puts it. Look at my boots!
GERALT: Stay in the circle, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: The powder reeks of dwarven dung.
[Geralt comes down from the hill and casts Igni to light the lines of magic dust. Wraiths spring up from the lines, and Sabrina's ghost appears lashed and wailing to the wheel. Henselt's soldiers cry out and flee.]
GERALT: It's begun. You have some brave soldiers, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: They're scared of ghosts, as we all are! Curses, there's hundreds of them!
GERALT: Calm down, Your Majesty, we're protected by the magic runes. The ghosts won't get past the barrier.
HENSELT: I'm not afraid of people, but those ploughing creatures have begun to bother me.
GERALT: You're safe if you stay within the runes.
HENSELT: What should I do?
GERALT: When the sorceress calls your name, you have to show mercy and end her suffering with the spear.
[Henselt goes to kneel in front of the pyre.]
GERALT: You've broken the circle! Specters could get through.
HENSELT: What shall we do?
GERALT: I'll take care of them. You finish the exorcism, Your Majesty.
[As Geralt attacks the wraiths, Sabrina's ghost begins speaking.]
SABRINA: By blood and fire! Let it be so by blood and fire!
SABRINA: Let a shooting star split the heavens and mark its mortal journey with a trail of blood! Let fools be duped by the sight of fish scales turned by magic into square pieces of gold! Let the Unicorn violate thousand year-old rules!
SABRINA: By the pain and power of fire devouring air, by the charred bones of the innocent, let the prophecy be fulfilled!
SABRINA: You will die in accordance with my prophecy! You cannot escape your fate.
SABRINA: Curse you, Henselt!
GERALT: Now, Your Majesty!
[Henselt grips the spear and stabs Sabrina in the chest. She shrieks, and the lines of the circle stop glowing as she and the wraiths evaporate.]
GERALT: It worked.
HENSELT: Are ya sure?
GERALT: All I can say for sure is that a dwarf can pass between a troll's legs, even on tiptoe. But I think it went well.
HENSELT: Good! For me and for you. But all the worse for Aedirn.
GERALT: I've separated you from the curse, but it remains active and powerful. The specters of the fallen continue to fight in the fields outside Vergen....
HENSELT: You'll find a way, like you did with that charcoaled slut.
GERALT: You owe your freedom from the curse to Saskia's generosity. You should send a delegation to thank her, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: I'll thank her in person once you disperse the fog of specters from the battlefield.
GERALT: That'll be much harder.
HENSELT: I have faith in you and faith can move mountains.
GERALT: Funny you say that. I need an artifact symbolizing faith.
HENSELT: Yes, Dethmold told me. I'll give you the medallion. First, I must have a drink. Come to my tent, I'll roll out my best wine. You deserve it.
[When Geralt arrives at Henselt's tent, three Redanian soldiers are clustered outside, and inside is a Redanian messenger.]
HENSELT: I'm glad you're here. A messenger from Redania arrived this morning. Read.
MESSENGER: The King of Redania, Radovid the Fifth, son of Vizimir and Hedwig from Malleore, the heir...
HENSELT: Get to the point.
MESSENGER: The point is, it's not true that after the death of King Foltest, Temeria will be inherited... In truth, Foltest left a lawful heir.
HENSELT: Who's this heir?
MESSENGER: Due to the tragic death of Prince Boussy, his sister, Anais, will inherit the Temerian crown.
HENSELT: Witcher, you fought in the battles for the La Valettes' fortress. Tell me, how old is this princess?
GERALT: She's too young to rule.
GERALT: She's only a child, but she'll grow to take the throne.
HENSELT: Throne?
HENSELT: Remind me, who's her mother?
GERALT: Anais is bastard offspring.
HENSELT: That's it! Bastards cannot be heirs.
GERALT: She is the King's daughter. Foltest wanted to recognize her as his own.
HENSELT: The Foltest I remember would never do that.
HENSELT: If you counted all the bastards I begat, I could fill all the thrones of the North.
MESSENGER: Queen Adda – daughter of King Foltest and wife of Radovid.
HENSELT: Adda? Everyone knows she was the fruit of incest. If my memory serves, Geralt, she's under a curse, isn't she?
GERALT: That was true, Foltest's daughter was a striga, but I managed to lift the curse. Or else Radovid wouldn't have wed her.
HENSELT: It appears you removed that curse twice.
GERALT: Third time lucky.
HENSELT: Third, fourth... maybe fifteenth!
GERALT: The curse has been lifted, Your Majesty.
HENSELT: I'd like to believe that.
HENSELT: Adda could yet savor human flesh again.
GERALT: It's no worse than Your Majesty's curse.
HENSELT: I don't run around the castle devouring people.
HENSELT: Tell King Radovid that I will not honor a monster with a royal title. If Redania doesn't wish...
HENSELT: What the hell's going on?! Guards!
[An assassin wearing a snake medallion slits the throat of the messenger and throws a knife at Henselt. Geralt deflects the knife with his own blade; the assassin draws twin swords from his back and leaps at Geralt. Geralt repels him with Aard; he recovers with a somersault and is joined outside the tent by a second Viper witcher. Geralt manages to slay one of them, then a lightning bolt from Síle misses the other; he notices the magic and flees.]
SÍLE: Who are they?
HENSELT: They wanted to kill me! Me! Hah! The scum! Witcher, we must talk.
HENSELT: Dethmold said you needed this medallion. You saved my life and I'm not nearly as ungrateful as some might say. You'll receive the pendant in due time.
SÍLE: Pity none could be taken alive.
DETHMOLD: Don't fret, Tansarville. There are ways to make a dead man speak.
SÍLE: I know those methods. Necromancy is forbidden.
DETHMOLD: In the absence of the Council and the Conclave, it's hard to know what is forbidden. What would you say, Your Majesty?
HENSELT: I want to know everything. Plough that corpse if you have to. Do anything it takes!
DETHMOLD: Necromancy, Your Majesty, is a branch of magic...
HENSELT: I don't care. Do as you're told.
SÍLE: Count me out.
DETHMOLD: Ah, as the common folk say, "Be at ease, the woman's gone." I'll need your help, witcher. You know where to find me.
HENSELT: It's never-ending! I'm the bloody King, but she mumps and sulks like some common servant was trying to grope her.
GERALT: Not every sorcerer is like Dethmold. Many don't like messing with corpses.
HENSELT: As long as she's in my camp, she'll do as I say!
GERALT: You could always turn her into another Kaedweni saint.
HENSELT: And get hit with the same dung again? I hope you're jesting. Everything had better change when they appoint a new Council and Conclave. Otherwise, damn it, I will light up the stakes again. Like Demavend!
GERALT: I'd better go.
HENSELT: Go. Dethmold is probably biting his nails in anticipation.
[Geralt goes to join Dethmold in the medic's tent, where he has the dead assassin laid out on the table.]
DETHMOLD: Geralt of Rivia... Ready for the ride of your life?
GERALT: Can't handle this without me?
DETHMOLD: You're a mutant, like this killer. An ordinary man would never survive Hanmarvyn's Blue Dream. You must drink a potion that will increase your heart's efficiency and strengthen your blood vessels. Hallucinogenic properties are also welcome, as they will enhance the vision...
GERALT: Gadwall should do it.
GERALT: Necromancy's awfully fishy. What do you aim to do?
DETHMOLD: Hanmarvyn's Blue Dream is a spell that grants you a glimpse of a dead man's memories. You'll see, feel and taste what the killer experienced in his life. As a mutant, the operation isn't at all dangerous for you.
GERALT: I need to do something before we begin.
DETHMOLD: Have a drink, plough a girl, do something to relax... whatever it takes.
DETHMOLD: You look your normal self. Have you had your fill of fortifying potions? It would be foolish if you died due to a simple oversight...
GERALT: Not just yet. I need to prepare. Gadwall should do it.
GERALT: I'm ready.
DETHMOLD: Wonderful! The Blue Dream can be very useful, although it only lets you see the killer's recent past.
GERALT: Hope it's worth it.
DETHMOLD: Pay attention to every detail. Places, names... everything.
GERALT: Got it.
DETHMOLD: Let's begin!
DETHMOLD: Veki ner'zan zala!
[The scene changes to the ravines, where Geralt, in the head of Auckes, is following the other assassin, Serrit.]
SERRIT: I nearly got lost in that fog.
AUCKES: Look at it this way - nobody'll find us here.
SERRIT: Unless Henselt attacks Vergen despite the mist.
AUCKES: Henselt's not going to attack anyone ever again.
SERRIT: Always the optimist, Auckes.
[If a wrong turn is taken, Geralt resurfaces.]
DETHMOLD: You wriggled like a fish in a net. What happened?
GERALT: One more time... I was so close.
DETHMOLD: Damn it! All right, close your eyes.
DETHMOLD: Veki ner'zan zala!
[Serrit and Auckes make their way through the ravine to a stone door, which leads into a tunnel system.]
SERRIT: Follow in my footsteps.
AUCKES: I love these traps.
SERRIT: I know, I do too.
SERRIT: Henselt behaves as if he wants to help us.
AUCKES: What d'you mean?
SERRIT: You've seen him, he loves playing the soldier. He's everywhere. He's reckless.
AUCKES: Letho will want him assassinated like the others.
SERRIT: Finally, some action. We've been skulking in these caves like bats.
AUCKES: I'd rather be like a bat than slain by the King's mercenaries.
SERRIT: What is it, Auckes? Scared?
AUCKES: I heard Dethmold never lets Henselt out of his sight. And now a witcher's arrived in their camp.
SERRIT: One of him - three of us.
AUCKES: But you know who it is.
SERRIT: I know, dammit, but don't let it get to you.
AUCKES: It's Triss Merigold who worries me.
SERRIT: If she betrays that Síle ordered us to get rid of Demavend, things will get out of hand. Letho should kill her.
AUCKES: He should, but apparently he only kills kings.
[Auckes and Serrit arrive at a campfire where Letho is waiting.]
LETHO: Here at last.
SERRIT: They're guarding the camp like it was a princess' chastity.
LETHO: Did you learn anything?
AUCKES: The White Wolf has arrived at the Kaedweni camp with Vernon Roche.
SERRIT: Looks like he's Henselt's lackey now.
LETHO: I'd rather Henselt used others as his lackeys.
AUCKES: With his amnesia, we're safe.
LETHO: Not so. That's exactly what makes him so dangerous.
AUCKES: I thought he was hanged for killing Foltest.
LETHO: You want him hanged?
AUCKES: No.
LETHO: We have to be careful. Especially now we've broken off with Iorveth and his bunch.
SERRIT: There's something else: Síle de Tansarville.
AUCKES: You're right. Our sorceress is playing hard.
SERRIT: De Tansarville has done her job. We don't need her anymore.
LETHO: We won't kill her. Not just yet.
AUCKES: You know best.
LETHO: That's right. The main thing now is to get rid of Henselt. You'll go soon.
AUCKES: What about you?
LETHO: I'm heading to Loc Muinne. That's where things will be decided. We'll meet again soon, if you're careful.
AUCKES: To drink a jug of wine and laugh about it?
LETHO: Who knows.
[The scene changes to just outside Henselt's camp.]
SERRIT: I'll take the palisade, we'll meet by the cave entrance.
[Auckes sneaks into the camp and kills a guard from behind. The scene changes again, to inside the cave that Serrit told Auckes to meet him in.]
AUCKES: Loc Muinne?
SERRIT: The mages plan to appoint a new Council and Conclave. All the bigwigs of the North will be there.
AUCKES: Imagine. Kings, sorceresses...
SERRIT: We're here.
[In the next vision, Auckes and Serrit fight a group of guards outside Henselt's tent.]
SERRIT: That's all of them. What is it?
AUCKES: I thought I saw Síle.
SERRIT: Let's go.
[The next thing Geralt sees is himself, killing Auckes. He resurfaces from the vision.]
DETHMOLD: Wake up. I'm dying to hear everything. What did you find out?
GERALT: They're hiding in the ravines.
DETHMOLD: The other one's probably fled there.
GERALT: Our dead man should have a key on him.
DETHMOLD: D'you remember anything else?
GERALT: They said Síle de Tansarville was an accomplice in the murder.
DETHMOLD: Síle! She was here while you were lying in a trance. She said she'd follow the second assassin.
DETHMOLD: D'you remember anything else?
GERALT: There's no time to waste. I'll follow them.
DETHMOLD: Good luck, Geralt.
[Geralt goes to the kingslayers' hideout, where he finds two gargoyles and a golem - and evidence of magic. In the room where the campfire had been, he finds Serrit lying in a pool of blood.]
SERRIT: Geralt...
GERALT: Serrit!
SERRIT: Síle knew... She wants to destroy the evidence...
GERALT: What evidence?
SERRIT: We didn't want to leave you...
GERALT: What are you talking about?
SERRIT: Nearly made it... Just think! The Wild Hunt...We could've freed the world of the omen of war...
NGERALT, NARRATING: September 13, 1269 – The Ravine of the Hydra. Following the Peace of Cintra, 53 officers of the Vrihedd Brigade were brought here and executed, their throats cut. The elves’ bodies were dropped into the chasm. I don’t know what the riders of the Hunt were looking for.
[Geralt returns to Dethmold.]
DETHMOLD: Did you get him?
GERALT: Síle got to him first. He's dead.
DETHMOLD: The bitch! She's probably on the other side of the mist by now. Come on, witcher, we've got to remove that damn curse. I got the medallion from the King - the one you were looking for. Here...
[Geralt goes to Dethmold.]
GERALT: I'm ready to lift the curse. I've got all the artifacts.
DETHMOLD: Then there is a chance we will soon move against Aedirn and you will recover your memory.
GERALT: I'll need your help, sorcerer, to find the right ghosts.
DETHMOLD: Ah, they will find you. The artifacts' aura will lure them. Allow them to think, speak and act, then you will know what to do.
DETHMOLD: Geralt, there's something else out there... I scanned the battlefield and noticed the Visitor's ghost. It's different from the others, it's changed.
GERALT: A draug. I expected as much.
DETHMOLD: Uhm. Good luck, witcher.
[Geralt enters the mist. One of the specters possesses him.]
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 1: It's warm...
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 2: A lovely autumn. I bet the fruit is plentiful.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 1: We won't be the ones pickin' it.
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: You'll be picking enemy heads. Today.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 1: No reason to wait. Slaughter the Kaedweni mutts!
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: Wait! The time's not right.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 2: Sometimes I forget what we're fighting for.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 3: Powerful kings have no choice but to wage wars.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 2: Then why don't Demavend and Henselt duel to settle things?! My brother-in-law is from Kaedwen. A decent fellow.
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 3: Once I was at a market there. Quality goods - cheaper than our merchants', too.
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: Bloody hell, shut it! Every Kaedweni is a bastard! Do you know what they'll do to our women if we lose this battle?!
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 1: Have you forgotten that they've come to pillage, burn and steal our land?! Are we to give it away?!
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 3: Whoresons' seed! At 'em!
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: No! Wait for the signal!
AEDIRNIAN SOLDIER 3: There's no time to lose!
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: Silence! Archers! Light your arrows! Aim at the first ditch!
[The arrows fly.]
AEDIRNIAN OFFICER: Get them! Capture the enemy standard!
[Across the field, a draug made of the enemy's standard bearer assembles itself. Geralt, in the form of the Aedirnian soldier, defeats it. The ghost leaves him, and a Kaedweni ghost possesses him next.]
KAEDWENI OFFICER: The standard's in enemy hands! We're sitting ducks here! You need to tell the commander we were ambushed. We can't hold without reinforcements!
KAEDWENI SOLDIER: I'm to tell him?!
KAEDWENI OFFICER: No, Princess Syphilis! Move it, imbecile, before they slaughter us to a man!
KAEDWENI SOLDIER: I shan't make it... First battle... Killed my first man... Got blood on my hands...
[Arrows rain down on the Kaedweni soldiers.]
KAEDWENI OFFICER: Take cover! They're shooting!
KAEDWENI OFFICER: Run, you fool! Deliver the message!
[Geralt, in the form of the soldier, runs across the battlefield to the commander.]
KAEDWENI OFFICER: Cease shooting! He's one of ours!
[Geralt approaches a massive draug, created from the ghost of Vandergrift, the Visitor.]
GERALT: My Lord, the leader of the Dun Banner sent me. We were ambushed! We can't hold!
VANDERGRIFT: Weren't your scouts keenly watching the battlefield, captain?
KAEDWENI SOLDIER: Yes, sir! They must have dug those ditches in the night, the field was clear by day. Lady Glevissig scanned it with her magic during the night.
VANDERGRIFT: Ten lashes to each scout, hang every third one.
GERALT: My lord, we need support.
VANDERGRIFT: There will be no reinforcements. You must hold. And you, Glevissig... I'll settle this after the battle. The King will learn of your incompetence.
SABRINA: Battles are won or lost by the commanders, not by sorceresses. Remember, I'll make a report, too, and...
VANDERGRIFT: I've finished talking to you, witch. Time to win this battle. My Lords, to your banners! We enter the fray!
SABRINA: Maybe you've finished with me, but that doesn't mean I've finished with you.
[The soldier's ghost releases Geralt, and he watches as Sabrina steps away and casts a spell, planting her staff in the ground.]
SABRINA: Nadovessiveg.
[Philippa, Síle, and two other sorceresses manifest.]
PHILIPPA: How can we help you, Sabrina?
SABRINA: My place at Henselt's court is threatened. Furthermore, if Vandergrift wins the battle, nothing will stop Henselt from taking Upper Aedirn.
PHILIPPA: The balance of power in the North will be upset. What do you intend?
SABRINA: I shall summon Melgar's Fire to the battlefield. It will kill Vandergrift and weaken both sides.
PHILIPPA: Any use of unconventional weapons may be severely censured.
SABRINA: I'm aware of that.
PHILIPPA: Henselt's hegemony is counter to the Lodge's plans. We will help you, but remember... in the event that you fail, you'll be on your own.
SABRINA: I am ready.
[The ghost of Seltkirk dispatches a Kaedweni soldier.]
SELTKIRK: That's all you've got?! You're dying fast, like roaches under my boot! Is there a Kaedweni to match Seltkirk of Gulet on this field?!
[Seltkirk's ghost possesses Geralt. He fights his way through Kaedweni wraiths until he reaches an open field where the Kaedweni standard bearer awaits. Geralt tears free from the ghost's influence.]
SELTKIRK: The Visitor! I've long awaited this meeting.
GERALT: Leave, ghost.
SELTKIRK: I'll not give up an opportunity to duel Vandergrift.
GERALT: He will kill you.
SELTKIRK: Seltkirk does not fear death.
GERALT: When you die, your soldiers will die every day afterwards. Forever... Leave! This is a task for a witcher, not a knight.
SELTKIRK: I do this solely for my men.
[Seltkirk leaves, and Geralt defeats the standard bearer.]
KAEDWENI STANDARD BEARER: Mercy...
VANDERGRIFT: You have failed me.
GERALT: Who are you?
VANDERGRIFT: Hah! Your nightmare!
[Geralt defeats the draug. Around the battlefield, Sabrina's meteors begin to fall.]
SELTKIRK: Should have stayed at home, Vandergrift. Cursed mages! To die after such a victory! Gods! We can't fight such sorcery.
CHREST: It's sorcerous hail! Unclean fire! We're doomed!
KAEDWENI SOLDIER 1: Why are they doing this?!
CHREST: As the prophecy sayeth, "And the time will come when sorceresses turn on men, flaming balls rain from the sky and destruction will be unleashed!"
KAEDWENI SOLDIER 2: What should we do? Wait here for death?!
CHREST: I shall lead you, as a shepherd leads his flock, safely from the dark abyss!
[Reverend Chrest's ghost possesses Geralt. He leads the Kaedweni soldiers to King Henselt's position near the edge of the mist.]
CHREST: Stop firing! Our men are dying! A massacre! Save us, Sire!
HENSELT: Sabrina, is that your work?
SABRINA: Order your troops forward, Your Majesty. The Aedirnian army is routed.
HENSELT: Not only the Aedirnian. Look at that terrified horde - this very morning they were the finest of my knights.
SABRINA: They'll make it if they're reinforced.
HENSELT: Who allowed you to use magic?
SABRINA: Sire, if you strike now, Lormark will be yours!
HENSELT: You've tainted my honor, brought death to dozens of knights...
SABRINA: Sire, the battle was lost...
HENSELT: You put me to shame before Demavend. His troops fought like men of honor should - to the end. Sabrina Glevissig, I sentence you to death. You shall burn at the stake.
HENSELT: I will return to claim my birthright...
[Geralt experiences a flashback.
GERALT, NARRATING: July 25, 1270 – The forests of Angren. "No mighty mortal, no heap of meat or strongman can parry the strike of the slyzard's tail..." Letho couldn’t either, but by some miracle, he survived. I helped him. After all, witchers on the Path should help each other. The Hunt continued south, and Letho of Gulet knew where it was going. He had two comrades, brother witchers from the School of the Viper. He knew where the hellish chase would end.]
[Geralt emerges from the flashback to see Dandelion.]
DANDELION: Hmm... finally awake.
GERALT: Where are we?
DANDELION: In one of the safest places in the camp, my friend.
GERALT: The brothel?
DANDELION: Mm-hmm.
GERALT: How did I wind up here?
DANDELION: I found you out in the fields, unconscious.
GERALT: The fog...
DANDELION: Gone. Three days ago.
GERALT: Three days? You sure?
DANDELION: Mhm. In that time, Roche ventured deep into Kaedwen on some secret mission. Managed to go off and come back.
GERALT: Did you come here to fuck?
DANDELION: You gotta be kidding. My friend on his deathbed... I couldn't possibly do that.
GERALT: Look around – you're in a whorehouse.
DANDELION: In a professional capacity only.
GERALT: Cedric was right. The Power within the battle of specters restores memory.
DANDELION: Ah, so did you get a look at another chapter of the epic poem titled "Geralt of Rivia"?
GERALT: I remember who helped me track down the Wild Hunt.
DANDELION: Who?
GERALT: Letho... Foltest's murderer... I saved his life, and he knew where to find the Wild Hunt. I don't know if we rescued Yennefer.
GERALT: So what happened while I was out?
DANDELION: Loads. You drove off the fog of specters, Henselt learned of the plot against him and Dethmold lost it completely.
GERALT: Why has Henselt waited to attack?
DANDELION: The Kaedweni nobles and officers are holding out for privileges. They want assurances there'll be no treaty with Nilfgaard, and that they'll get lands in the Pontar Valley...
GERALT: Henselt's agreed?
DANDELION: Not on your life. He blew up. Roared and wailed and called them cowards. Thing is, he can't alienate the nobles completely. It went on for three days. Finally, he convinced part of the army, probably promised them a thing or two, and moved against Vergen. The battle's probably just getting underway.
GERALT: What did you mean when you said that Dethmold's lost it?
DANDELION: Henselt chewed him out for not telling him about the plot. Then he chewed him out again for failing to find the plotters.
GERALT: Dethmold's an ambitious guy. I can see how the stress might've gotten to him.
DANDELION: That "ambitious guy" has had every last suspect arrested. Now he's interrogating, torturing and hanging them.
GERALT: Yeah, he always goes back to what he does best.
GERALT: Any news on who might be behind the plot?
DANDELION: They arrested Brightfelt, Kirim of Caingorn and Gunar Blekenhove and his entourage, but I haven't heard any details. Though I do know where to find the leader of the plotters.
GERALT: How come?
DANDELION: I've always maintained that brothels are some of the best places under the sun. They're not only great places to...
GERALT: Get to the point, Dandelion.
DANDELION: I overheard Whistling Wendy talking... Incidentally, don't let her nickname fool you. She's got a beautiful...
GERALT: Focus, Dandelion.
DANDELION: Haven't the faintest who she was talking to, never saw his face, but I heard him clearly: "Further instructions from the boss. Today in the hut on the cliff."
GERALT: Dandelion...
GERALT: You've gotta get out of here. And fast. I've got a bad feeling. This plot...
GERALT: There's one more thing.
DANDELION: Tell me.
GERALT: Your pamphlet. If Dethmold finds out...
DANDELION: Right. We need to get out of here.
GERALT: You need to get out of here. Quick.
DANDELION: I'm not about to leave you behind, Geralt. Adventure awaits, kingdoms teeter, plenty of things to write up in ballads.
GERALT: Dammit, Dandelion. Game's over, can't you see that? When Dethmold finds you... You've got to go. Somewhere far from the Pontar Valley.
DANDELION: All right... I'll do it for you.. I'll go to Oxenfurt, say "hello" to some of our old friends.. But just as soon as this blows over, I'll come looking for you.
GERALT: I know.
DANDELION: We have unfinished business to take care of. What now, Geralt?
GERALT: I need to find Síle and the kingslayer. Then I need to get my memory back. First, I'm gonna find out who's behind this plot. Though I expect I already know.
DANDELION: Think it's Síle?
GERALT: Leave, Dandelion. Hide. And I'll see you soon, old friend.
[Geralt goes to the house on the cliff.]
THELONIUSS: We must rid ourselves of that damned mage, whatever the cost!
BORIS: If it were that simple, you'd be viceroy by now.
YANNICK: Mages don't die easily, and you've nothing left to offer us.
[Inside the hut, three conspirators sit across a table from Roche.]
BORIS: Three years ago you promised financial assistance. We were to convey information and resist Dethmold and his supporters in most matters.
ROCHE: Nothing's changed...
YANNICK: But it has. Foltest and Demavend had their throats slit! Someone, we know not who, wanted to slaughter the Unicorn! The situation is fucking tense and Dethmold's stronger than ever!
BORIS: More importantly, you've nothing to offer us. The Temerian treasury is closed to you.
ROCHE: Gentlemen, you forget what will happen if the king learns of our dealings.
BORIS: We'll not be intimidated, Roche. And remember - you speak to nobles...
ROCHE: I've been in Kaedwen for three days. Traveled through nearby villages and towns. Saw old friends, sounded out the mood, asked for news outright. The people of Kaedwen detest Dethmold and his thugs. They await the man who would dare to wring his neck...
THELONIUSS: Someone approaches. Weapons!
[Geralt enters the hut.]
GERALT: Easy there.
BORIS: What the swiving hell is he doing here?!
ROCHE: He woke up and walked over, if I'm to guess...
THELONIUSS: We didn't approve this! How did he know of our meeting?
ROCHE: Something I'd like to know as well. Geralt?
GERALT: I have my ways. Unimportant.
ROCHE: But it is. If you know, others might know.
GERALT: Overheard a conversation between Whistling Wendy and one of you gentlemen...
THELONIUSS: How dare you, freak. I've a wife!
YANNICK: It's shot. It's all shot, Roche. We return to our banners to aid the King in battle. Your plot is done, dissolved, having achieved nothing.
BORIS: Gentlemen.
[The conspirators get up and leave.]
GERALT: How did you ever come to head a conspiracy in a Kaedweni camp?
ROCHE: It's a long story. Literally. Foltest and I devised the plan three years ago. Shortly after Henselt burned Sabrina at the stake and appointed Dethmold his adviser. Morale among nobles and officers was low following the failed campaign. We took advantage. I bought them off, gave them political direction... I received information in exchange.
GERALT: What was your aim?
ROCHE: To sow some ferment, prevent any alliance with the Black Ones and generally limit Dethmold's and Henselt's influence.
GERALT: You were gone three days. Been back at the camp? Any idea what's going on there?
ROCHE: I haven't, but continued to get news from those... traitors. Who have they arrested?
GERALT: Dandelion mentioned Brightfelt, Kirim of Caingorn and...
ROCHE: Not good. Kirim has been one of the plotters since the beginning. He knows me...
GERALT: Maybe the interrogators have yet to start on him.
ROCHE: Quickly, back to the camp. We need to warn Ves and the others.
ROCHE: We've no time!
[Geralt and Roche arrive at the Blue Stripes' camp and are attacked by two of Dethmold's soldiers.]
SOLDIER: Finally, you are here!
[Geralt and Roche kill the soldiers. A sex worker approaches them.]
ROCHE: Where'd everyone go?!
SEX WORKER: They were invited to a banquet.
ROCHE: How do you know?
SEX WORKER: I saw Dethmold's messenger arrive.
GERALT: What is this feast?
SEX WORKER: A celebration. Apparently, Dethmold exposed the leader of some conspiracy...
ROCHE: The syphilitic prick...
GERALT: Where's this banquet taking place?
SEX WORKER: The camp canteen. But it'll be empty now. Everyone's marched on Vergen.
ROCHE: Quickly!
[Inside the gates of the camp, more soldiers greet them. Several new gallows have been erected, and at least a dozen men are swinging from them.]
ROCHE: I'll kill the sons of bitches, they'll suffer and die, long and painfully.
ROCHE: Cocksucking Kaedwenis. Ploughing forest apes, sons of whores.
[Geralt and Roche rush into the canteen, where they find the Blue Stripes hanging from the ceiling.]
ROCHE: I'll kill the whoresons... Every last one...
[They see Ves sobbing in the corner; she notices Geralt and flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.]
GERALT: Ves? Are you all right?
VES: Y-yes.
ROCHE: What happened?
VES: Dethmold invited everyone to a feast. He said the King was grateful that we'd helped reveal the plot. A roast pig and two barrels of wine awaited, he said... He said Vernon had just returned from Kaedwen. He was to be personally decorated by the king, and I was to be there to see it... The lads went to the canteen, I went to the royal tent...
VES: Well, Roche was not in the King's company. Dethmold jumped around like an ape, shouting that they'd all hang as punishment for Flotsam and for conspiring...
GERALT: Ves, what did they do to you?
VES: I begged them, I pleaded... They laughed at me and let me go...
[In Ves' memory, she pleads with Henselt.]
VES: Your Majesty, withdraw your order, I beg you. They're normal fighting men who were just following orders. They don't deserve to die. Please, Sire, show mercy. They're men of honor, they deserve better.
DETHMOLD: Honor? Where was your honor when...
HENSELT: Dethmold, leave us.
DETHMOLD: Your Grace.
HENSELT: What can a whore know of honor? You're a stupid, little strumpet and that is how I shall treat you. You'll behave if you want to see any of your foolish comrades again...
[Henselt forces a kiss on Ves. The memory ends.]
VES: Don't go there, please... Roche, Dethmold expects you to seek vengeance. He awaits it...
ROCHE: He won't need to wait long.
VES: Don't you understand?! They hanged the lads to provoke you... you were away, they had a battle to win, they didn't know when you'd return... You cannot go there.
GERALT: We won't.
ROCHE: We'll follow the army, kill every Kaedweni we meet.
GERALT: That's suicide.
ROCHE: Plough it all. Everything I loved died in this tent. My country disintegrates, my friends cruelly murdered. I want blood...
VES: As do I, you've no idea how much! I can still smell that swine on me. But I'll not let them win! Attack Henselt now, among his army, and blood will flow - but it will only be yours.
GERALT: Ves is right, Roche. Let it go for now.
ROCHE: Fuck. What do you suggest I do?
GERALT: We'll try to get to Vergen through the ravines. I know a hidden path into the town. With the battle raging, we won't be noticed. We'll find Síle and get the kingslayer.
ROCHE: And in the process kill as many Kaedwenis as we can.
GERALT: Ves, can you manage it?
ROCHE: Ves stays. I'll not put her in danger again, and someone must get back to the Percival and its crew. Sail to a nearby cove. We'll need some way to get out of here.
VES: I'll take the boat around the bend past the camp and await you there.
[She leaves to head to the Percival.]
ROCHE: We must head through the ravines.
ROCHE: Shit, shit, shit...!
GERALT: Ves is lying.
ROCHE: What?! I can vouch for her with my life.
GERALT: I can't believe she escaped Dethmold.
ROCHE: What are you suggesting?
GERALT: Nothing...
ROCHE: First I'll kill Henselt... then Dethmold. Or maybe the other way round... What do you advise?
GERALT: I advise you to shut up and keep your eyes and ears open. Pleasure comes later.
[Geralt and Roche head into the ravines, fighting Kaedweni soldiers as they go. Halfway to Vergen, they encounter a troll.]
ROCHE: What's that beast?
GERALT: A troll. Watch it! He could break your neck with a single blow.
ROCHE: Do I look like a cow?
TROLL: Who you? What want?
GERALT: Out of my way, troll.
TROLL: My home this. Run!
[Geralt and Roche kill the troll.]
GERALT: We're passing through.
TROLL: Wishas trolls kill! Me kill! Not easy. Run! Old man coming, old man rip apart you.
GERALT: Calm down, you silly cow. We're on our way to Vergen.
TROLL: Where want run go - this way not. My home is. Folk in and out - no peace for troll. Bother, bother.
GERALT: Who does?
TROLL: Folk.
ROCHE: Geralt, let's end this beast's suffering.
GERALT: Yeah, we don't have time for all this talk.
[Geralt and Roche kill the troll.]
GERALT: Wait. Who's been bothering you? Try to remember.
TROLL: Wisha other. Shine head here come. Fat.
GERALT: Did you speak to him?
TROLL: Tried. But he my face - whack! Old man called: "Beatin' your missus!" He sword show. Blood springs. Old man down, wounds. Wisha say rush to Lomin.
GERALT: You mean, Loc Muinne?
TROLL: So said. Wisha say rushed, other he'd take old man's...
ROCHE: You mentioned that already.
GERALT: Anyone else pass through this way?
TROLL: Lady. Came out fog, awful reeked.
GERALT: What did she look like?
TROLL: Humie lady.
ROCHE: Anything more specific?
TROLL: Head strange. Horns huge.
ROCHE: Síle.
TROLL: Say Vergen go. More nuttin'.
GERALT: Good to chat. No harm in talking, see?
TROLL: Oahh... Sleep I. Run out go.
GERALT: Sweet dreams.
TROLL: Old man see, tell not wake me. I want sleep.
[The female troll curls up for a nap against the ravine walls and Geralt and Roche continue. Further on, they encounter another troll fighting several Kaedweni soldiers.]
ROCHE: Looks like our new friend's old man is in trouble with the Kaedwenis.
TROLL: Thank! Good humies. Bad dead.
GERALT: Take care of yourself, troll.
TROLL: From gully come. There my missus. Her see?
GERALT: We did, yes.
TROLL: She how?
GERALT: She disappeared before we could approach her.
TROLL: Dispeared? How? Troll big. Feared, might hid. Help I must. Good old lady, good old bug.
GERALT: We wanted to leave her alone, just pass through, but she didn't let us explain.
TROLL: Kill her you? Me missus?
GERALT: We had to defend ourselves.
TROLL: Beast! Gut you!
[Geralt and Roche have to kill him as well.]
GERALT: She's all right. But don't wake her or she'll rip your head off.
TROLL: Dear old bug! Like me she. Liver fresh feed.
GERALT: She's fine as long as she didn't run into a Kaedweni unit.
TROLL: Aye, no! Kaedweni no! Kaedweni murer!
ROCHE: Maybe she evaded them.
TROLL: Old bird's honor I protect! Kill Kaedweni! All kill!
GERALT: Go to Vergen. You'll find plenty there.
TROLL: I go! Hard hit. Hard!
[He charges off in the direction of Vergen.]
[If they sent the troll to Vergen, he attacks the next group of Kaedwenis they encounter in the ravine, allowing Geralt and Roche to slip past unnoticed. Otherwise, they fight through the group themselves. Either way, they enter the Tunnels of the Founders, only to find it occupied.]
ROCHE: Looks like Dethmold's people know about the secret passage, too.
[After dispatching the two mercenaries, Geralt and Roche open the next door and meet Adam Pangratt and several more of his men.]
PANGRATT: Witcher Geralt and Vernon Roche. Now that's some pairing!
ROCHE: Out of our way, Pangratt.
PANGRATT: Come on, Roche. You know this is no chance meeting.
ROCHE: You never appear anywhere by chance. Always turning up where the pay's best.
PANGRATT: You haven't changed a bit. Think you're superior because you wiped a royal arse. Sad... Kill them!
[Pangratt leaves; Geralt and Roche dispatch the mercenaries and continue through the tunnels. At the end, they find Dethmold, along with Pangratt and even more men.]
DETHMOLD: You said you'd got rid of them.
PANGRATT: I underestimated them.
ROCHE: You'll pay for my people, you whore's son! For each and every one of them.
DETHMOLD: So don't underestimate them this time and never let me down again.
[Geralt and Roche defeat Pangratt's mercenaries.]
DETHMOLD: Useless brainwaste. The perfect foe for you. Don't chase me, it would be stupid.
[Dethmold teleports out of the tunnel. Geralt and Roche approach Pangratt, laying on the ground.]
PANGRATT: Hah! That was a good fight... I'd forgotten how well you witchers do sword in hand. What now?
ROCHE: You murdered my men...
PANGRATT: I had nothing to do with it. Wasn't even there. Henselt ordered your men killed, on Dethmold's urging. I'll not ask for your mercy. To tell you the truth, I don't know what I'd do in your position. But should you decide to spare me, you have my word I'll go and stay out of your way.
GERALT: Maybe you wouldn't know what to do, but I do. It'd be stupid to leave an enemy alive behind our backs.
PANGRATT: I'll not beg you. Finish this.
[Geralt kills Pangratt.]
GERALT: I'll hold you to your word. Go where you will.
ROCHE: Next time, choose your missions more carefully.
PANGRATT: Perhaps it's time to rest. Got a woman in Tretogor - Julia. She's expecting...
ROCHE: You knocked up Pretty Kitty? Ah, congratulations, Pangratt. And give her my regards.
PANGRATT: Thanks, witcher. I won't be needing this anymore. Take it.
[He gives Geralt his sword the Nevde Seidhe.]
PANGRATT: Farewell to you both.
ROCHE: See you the next time a war rolls around.
[Geralt and Roche exit the tunnels into the thick of a battle. Zoltan runs at them, yelling.]
ZOLTAN: Hex on you, bastard...! Geralt?
ZOLTAN: I thought it was Henselt's mob that got through the tunnels.
GERALT: They tried.
ZOLTAN: Glad you knocked it out of their heads. So good to see you! Where's Dandelion?
GERALT: Headed west. To Oxenfurt.
ZOLTAN: Who'd he ploughin' cross this time?
GERALT: Henselt.
ZOLTAN: Hah! Henselt's about to get whooped, bare-arsed and all. Dandelion could've stayed.
GERALT: Zoltan, Vergen will fall. Get out of here while you can.
ZOLTAN: Oi, there'd be nothin' dwarven about that. Leaving my mates?
GERALT: All right. Just don't get killed.
ZOLTAN: Don't get killed yerself, you divot. As soon as Vergen's victorious, I'll find Dandelion. I owe him that much. Incidentally, what're you doin' here?
GERALT: We've got some unfinished business with Henselt.
ZOLTAN: We all have unfinished business with that nitwit.
GERALT: Is he leading the army himself?
ZOLTAN: He wouldn't have it any other way...
GERALT: We're looking for Síle de Tansarville. We heard she was in Vergen.
ZOLTAN: I caught a flash of her noble arse, but only briefly. She's staying in the house of that other sorceress, what's her name...
GERALT: Philippa Eilhart.
ZOLTAN: That's the one. Maybe they're screwing, 'cos I heard that Philippa...
GERALT: Where's the house?
ZOLTAN: It's the furthest to the north. Shortest way is across the rope bridge.
GERALT: Mhm.
ZOLTAN: And listen. She has a secret passage extending beyond the city walls.
GERALT: Thanks.
ZOLTAN: One more thing... They've surrounded Iorveth! He's holed up in the town hall with a handful of Squirrels. Help him...
[Geralt and Roche run into a tower and up several flights of stairs to the bridge entrance.]
ROCHE: There's the bridge! Let's go!
[Roche runs out onto the bridge and falls through the middle of it, rolling and coming up in the middle of the fighting.]
ROCHE: Fuck!
GERALT: Still alive?
ROCHE: Go around! We'll meet at Philippa's house!
[Geralt heads to the town hall where Iorveth and his men are trapped, and assists the Squirrels.]
IORVETH: I didn't expect to see you here, dh'oine.
GERALT: A surprise visit. I hope we meet in better circumstances next time.
IORVETH: There will be no next time. There is no more Saskia, no Upper Aedirn... It's all gone.
GERALT: Upper Aedirn will endure.
IORVETH: It will never be the way we'd hoped. Goodbye, Witcher.
IORVETH: I'd be less surprised to find you among Henselt's mercenaries.
GERALT: You never did get me, Iorveth.
IORVETH: I haven't forgotten about Flotsam. We shan't retreat into the woods just because Upper Aedirn has been conquered.
GERALT: Your dream's over, Iorveth.
IORVETH: Never...
[Geralt heads to Philippa's house, encountering a golem on his way. He enters the house just in time to Síle vanish into a portal.]
GERALT: I'll see you in Loc Muinne.
[Henselt and his men enter.]
GERALT: You're late, King.
HENSELT: Where are they?
GERALT: No idea.
HENSELT: Tell me or I'll...
GERALT: Don't make me laugh. You wouldn't let me out of here alive anyway.
HENSELT: A soothsayer, now! Kill him!
[Geralt kills Henselt's men and defeats the king.]
HENSELT: Er... You can certainly fence. It seems I've met my match. You've won the battle, but lost the war. The city's in my hands.
[Roche enters the room and bars the door.]
ROCHE: And you're in mine.
HENSELT: Vernon Roche – Temerian cockerel of the Blue Stripes? What will you do with me?
ROCHE: You know perfectly well.
HENSELT: You won't kill me. You wouldn't dare. I'm the King of Kaedwen and soon of Lormark. The North won't survive without me. I've won! Do you know why I rushed into battle? Do you? I had to resolve it before Loc Muinne...
ROCHE: He's playing for time... Let's kill him.
GERALT: Wait. Tell us, King. What's going to happen in Loc Muinne?
HENSELT: A new world order, new borders... Everything will change. All the kings and princes of the North will be there. Do you know the old saying? He who controls the Pontar Valley controls the North.
GERALT: Have the mages been invited?
HENSELT: It's their idea. They want to revive the Council and Conclave. They want to regain their rights and privileges, their place in society... What tripe! I've outsmarted them all! I'll be the one to dictate treaties. I'll show them who's ruler!
ROCHE: You had my men killed...
HENSELT: Of course I had them killed. What do you do with spies in Temeria, give them awards?
ROCHE: None of those hanged were part of the plot, only me.
HENSELT: You know the saying - where there's smoke, there's fire.
ROCHE: Your villainy knows no bounds.
HENSELT: What do you call villainy? The fact that I've made Kaedwen stronger than ever? You fool! I'm the last ruler of the North, whom Nilfgaard must respect. And it will!
HENSELT: Witcher, reason with him.
GERALT: Are murder and rape royal virtues of the new order, too?
HENSELT: Every wench dreams of being ploughed by a king.
ROCHE: And Ves?
HENSELT: Did she complain to you? I thought she liked it. She squeaked like an un-oiled hinge...
GERALT: Let's get out of here, Vernon.
ROCHE: Have you lost your mind?
GERALT: You wanted to kill a king, not a cockroach.
ROCHE: I won't forgive him.
GERALT: Want to be like those murderers you chase, because of this son of a bitch? Kill Henselt and you'll aid the kingslayers' agenda. Let's go.
ROCHE: Why should we spare him? He won't rest until he finds us.
HENSELT: Kill me and my people will find you.
[Geralt punches Henselt, knocking him out.]
GERALT: He'll need to look long and hard.
ROCHE: Let's get out of here before I change my mind.
[Geralt and Roche leave Henselt.]
GERALT: You've got balls, Vernon. You proved it.
ROCHE: Not when I needed them most.
GERALT: You had a choice: kill the defenseless Henselt or battle yourself. You chose the tougher opponent and won.
ROCHE: I may regret that to the end of my days.
GERALT: He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. I'm leaving you two alone.
ROCHE: Scared?
HENSELT: No...
HENSELT: Witcher... Surely you didn't lift the curse from me to now have me murdered?
GERALT: You don't know a thing about curses. Make it quick.
GERALT: I'm leaving you two alone.
ROCHE: Squeaky hinge... Funny, very funny.
HENSELT: You wouldn't dare...
ROCHE: Enough of this ploughing chatter. Someone needs to die, and I'll sleep better for it.
HENSELT: I am Henselt of Ard Carraigh, the last of the Unicorns. I won't beg for mercy.
ROCHE: Look me in the eyes.
HENSELT: Go on, take your revenge.
[Roche stabs Henselt in the gut.]
HENSELT: Uhhuhhg! A flea... has bitten a lion.
[Roche leaves the building, and Geralt falls into step next to him.]
GERALT: Henselt...?
[Roche shakes his head.]
GERALT: Only we know what happened here... Well, and Henselt. The sooner we forget it the better.
ROCHE: I'll erase it from my memory.
GERALT: Síle teleported herself to Loc Muinne.
ROCHE: Where there's Síle, there's Letho. The murderers are gathering for their peace talks.
GERALT: We have to be there.
[Continued in Chapter III (Roche).]