Tutorial
GERALT: Damned leaky boat. My boots are soaked. Yet another boggy shithole.
[Geralt examines the nearby corpse on the shore.]
GERALT: Attacked by necrophages. Not much left for me here... Let's just see who he was.
GERALT: Necrophages'll likely come for the corpse. I should get to the village before sundown.
[Geralt loots the corpse, discovering the person was invited to a tournament, and moves on up the path. In front of a hut he comes to an injured man.]
KNIGHT: *Akough hack hrrr... Ahouck he hah*
KNIGHT: Who are you?
GERALT: I'm not gonna hurt you. Will you let me look at your wounds?
KNIGHT: Odd, you don't resemble a traveling preacher...
KNIGHT: Damn the dogs, it hurts to talk... I wager my armor's the only thing keeping me in one piece...
GERALT: I'll find some help.
KNIGHT: Futile, I'm afraid. Around here, folk don't open their doors to strangers. You would do well to find my squire. I'd like to thrash his hide for fleeing from those corpse-eaters - consider it my final wish.
GERALT: I found his body by the river.
GERALT: Listen, let me brew you a health potion. You're no witcher, so it could kill you, but if I'm not mistaken, you already think you're dead. There's a slim chance that your body will quell the toxins and regenerate.
KNIGHT: I'll expire in this hole before I let someone turn me into a mutant.
GERALT: That's not how it works. Stay calm and lie still. I need to find some herbs.
[Geralt collects the necessary herbs and brews a Healing Brew.]
GERALT: Knock back this potion. Try not to vomit.
GERALT: Drink it.
KNIGHT: Ugh!
GERALT: You're still alive, so that bodes well. But you've got a ways to go before you're at full health. Now, you have to sit and wait. You're no mutant, so it'll be a couple of days before you recover and we can get you out of here.
KNIGHT: Thank you, witcher. Ugh, Hallowed Kreve...
GERALT: Didn't have the chance earlier... I'm Geralt of Rivia.
KNIGHT: Bolton of Ironford.
BOLTON: I wanted to try my luck in the arena, but some corpse-eaters surprised me. My horse reared, and I came crashing down in full armor. They pounced upon me with their claws. Though broken, I managed to drive them off and crawl here... Pitiful story, but there it is.
GERALT: Hm, that could mean some paid work for me.
BOLTON: Doubtful. If the corpses weren't eaten, they would rot, emit a stench and breed pestilence... Ugh, damn the dogs...
BOLTON: Those who fall in the arena - their bodies are cast into the ravine. The dead offer little in terms of diversion, I'm afraid, except perhaps to monsters.
GERALT: Get well, Bolton of Ironford. And farewell.
BOLTON: You must take my invitation. If but half of what I've heard about witchers is true, you ought to manage well in the arena.
GERALT: Thanks, Bolton.
BOLTON: I thank you. And now, Geralt of Rivia, if you've no objection, I would finally like to get some sleep.
[Geralt continues down the path to the gate of a town.]
GATEKEEPER: Who stalks the night? Begone, cursed soul, or I'll stick the hounds on you!
GERALT: Got corpse-eaters on this side, so I'll take your hounds any day.
GATEKEEPER: A jester, eh? You're all jesters, you all think you're droll, till you enter the arena. No room for jokin' around in there.
GERALT: I'm not trying to be funny. I'm soaked and I'm freezing. Let me in.
GATEKEEPER: Ah-hah! A vampyre. I'll not let a bloodsucker in, oh no! I've got eels in garlic here. What do you say to that?
GERALT: I'll gladly submit to the eels in garlic trial. And the running water trial. And the beer trial...
GATEKEEPER: Who knows what you are. Evil crawls the night, corrupting the righteous. I'll wait for morn, for the cock to crow. If the rising sun don't scare you off, I'll let you in.
GERALT: You want me to wait here?
GERALT: You there!
GERALT: All right. Let's find a place to rest.
[Attempting to talk to the Gatekeeper again before dawn yields one of the following lines.]
GATEKEEPER: Begone, 'fore I drive a stake through you!
GATEKEEPER: Wait for the cock to crow, I said.
GATEKEEPER: A restless soul you are. Go to sleep... damned fool.
GATEKEEPER: The sun has yet to rise.
GATEKEEPER: Back to bed. Or your coffin...
[Geralt meditates until dawn.]
GATEKEEPER: Still there, foul soul?
GERALT: Yeah, I'm still here - and the cock has crowed. As far as being foul, well, I may smell a bit...
GATEKEEPER: Has it got an invitation?
GERALT: It has.
GATEKEEPER: Then it may enter. Good luck to it in the arena.
[Geralt enters the arena and fights a variety of foes. After he exits the arena, the difficulty of the game is determined and the game starts.]