Too Much of a Good Thing

The MTv generation once cheered: Too much is never enough!

But as we grow older, we realize wistfully that too much can sometimes be...too much.

I'm pouring back a few Kaedwenian Stouts at the local pub, and I strike up a conversation with a Knight of the Order, who's bemoaning the disappearance of his sister. As he describes her, I comment that it sounds remarkably like the blue-eyed lass working at the House of the Night brothel. (I failed to mention, of course, that comparing her eyes to sapphires, and then greasing the skids with an actual sapphire, earned me quite a discount from her usual price.)

There was something else strange about the girl, which I also didn't mention: the dual puncture scars on her neck. House of the Night. Hmmm.

It turns out - sorry for such a huge spoiler, because I know how it would shock you if I hadn't told - that the Madame of said brothel is a vampire. But you see, she's not a bad vampire...she only takes the blood she needs to survive, and never enough to kill her victims/clients. And the blue-eyed lass? Well, she wanted to get away from her brother and the marriage he'd arranged for her. She's chosen immortality and the lavish lifestyle of a high-class whore. Hey, whatever...ethical dilemmas aside, her brother paid me to bring her back, and I'm a monster-slayer, so you'll excuse me while I run this silver sword through your undead chest. What's that? A night with the Sisters of Mercy in exchange for your life? And how many of these Sisters are there again?

Needless to say, that goodie-two-shoes Knight had me followed, and rudely interrupted my menage-a-quatre with a company of his sword-waving brothers. A pile of corpses later, the vampiresses were only too happy to continue expressing their gratitude.


This made me late for a private party that I was scheduled to attend with the fiery sorceress Triss Merigold. It was hosted by a fabulously wealthy merchant, and the room was choked with nobility, including Princess Adda herself. Turns out she has rather unusual cravings for raw meat, but I looked past this oddity and arranged a private audience. Assuring Triss that I was pumping the princess for information, we retired to a room, and well, let's just say she's a beast in bed.

Which leaves me with just one question: now what?

Sure, there's the noblewoman who thinks she'd look wonderful in a silk scarf, but who needs a noblewoman when you've just bagged the princess? And the town clerk who loves diamonds, but after group sex with vampiresses, who looks at a clerk with desire?

I walk around town now, and behind my back I hear men whispering: It's the Witcher, hide your women! But really guys, your women are safe. It's been a busy day, and a man's got to have his rest, you know? If she's not royal or supernatural, I'm just not interested. And it's an empty feeling. With every worthwhile conquest behind me, somehow I have to slog through the rest of this mediocre game, hacking monsters apart and completing FedEx quests. Yawn. I even cleaned out my inventory last night - transferring the daisies, tulips, roses, jewelery and expensive women's clothing from my backpack into the bank. I can always get to them if I need to, but the urgency's gone.

Everyone wants to be at the top of the mountain, but once you're there, you realize that any way you go is down. Alexander wept when there were no more lands to conquer. Witchers don't weep, of course, but...I get it.