He’s a malleable character, and I feel more connected to him than I do the thoroughly customised RPG characters in Skyrim. Geralt has his complexities, but he inherits them from you. The truth is, he’s only the video game tough guy cliche you make him. It’s not that this fantasy is thoroughly objectionable to me, but it definitely seemed as if Geralt of Rivia was a boring video game tough guy. I’d see his face on marketing material and smirk: he was just another by-the-numbers video game power fantasy.
I didn’t like Geralt before I started playing The Witcher games. Turns out the witch was only 50 metres North all along. Several hours later, once I’d cleared out some monsters for a desperate peasant in her far-off stable, and made preliminary moves to slay a beast haunting the town, I forced myself to leave. This is especially true for The Witcher 3. It probably goes without saying, but if you’re in a hurry, never get off your horse enroute in an open world RPG. But something-maybe the sun setting so amber on the horizon, or the children dashing frantically through the muddy streets-made me stop. I didn’t care about the village at all, and I wasn’t drawn to its armories or tradesmen. On my way to the witch I stumbled upon a typically destitute Velen village. I’m Geralt of Rivia, scorned Witcher, master swordsman, and I have no time for nonsense. I was determined to speak to her immediately. The witch lived in a nearby waterside cottage and was reported to have details on the whereabouts of aforementioned daughter figure. It happened like this: early in The Witcher 3 I was tasked with finding a witch.
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