Gotta new one on the gallows here. I'll keep the description brief by saying these words: Witcher, Iorveth, Twilight style romance fanfic, complete with Mary Sue.
You feel me? Okay good, because once you're in, there's no turning back from
IORVETH: A HEART BOUND.
It's a Witcher fanfic so incredibly hammy and filled to the brim with brain dead romance novel cliches that it's practically asking for it in the same way the 80's action flick 'Roadhouse' was asking for Mike Nelson to ram into it once Rifftrax was established.
Plus, who doesn't like the Witcher? Oh come on, the franchise isn't exactly indie obscure anymore. It's swimming in the joyful tears of game journalists and Metacritic user reviews alike (holy shit, is an 88 score not an easy thing to get there), and has sold five-million copies. Chances are you've at least heard about it, or heard somebody singing its praises.
Guh, whatever. I'll try to keep it as low brow as possible for those who haven't played it.
OHHH WE GOT STORY SIGN, AAUUUGGHH! Oh, it's one of those introductory messages. Great. Here we go.
Which means things are about to get as non-canon about as much as Iorveth is about to get naked.
And yet...
They're scattered around like landmines actually. Much like the Witcher games (particularly the first), sex happens when you least expect it.
We're... not following you................................ AT ALL............................. here...
Transportation, both public and private is an affront to my creative flow!
Oh, yeah. Let's start making sense AFTER we make the least of it and give the most misleading and frivolous details possible for the pronunciation of your OC's name.
Spar'le! You dhoines are so predictable. Take a technical college course and learn yourself some Elvish.
Anyyyway, here we go.
One small step for dhoine...
Yes, I'm confident you and the endrega are on near constant good terms, Vanya...
Okay, so she's definitely not a dhoine. Good show!
The English System of Measurement was serious business in Flotsam.
Naiph?
Na-eef?
Na-eeph?
Naiph the Knife?
Naiph the Nymph?
Naiph the Knife Wielding Nymph?
Er, sorry. Continue.
And the Naip- er, the knife.
The orens from the trust fund hit her like a freight train.
SISTERLY bond. Emphasis on the plutonic part, you motherless fucks!
Also fun fact about the commandant in question for those who haven't played W2; Bernard Loredo, he's a fat dude with a psychosexual defect who lives with his mother.
There's a terrible and abrasive Old Testament verse here somewhere but I can't seem to recall the book or the number...
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!
Vanya, honey! They're the freaking elven Taliban!
Aen Elle is sounding too much like “Anal” upon pronunciation... uh, I'd better stop saying it out loud then.
That last sentence... what- wha-
That's a particularly strange addiction Vanya has. Not the healthiest one, either by the sound of it.
The estrogen level cannot climb any higher during this scene.
Yes, things can get ever so stereotypically girlish in this fanfic. It's best you get used to it.
TESLA COILS, COMRADE! LET THE JUICE FLOW! FOR MOTHER RUSSIA!
You think that's the only place they hang out at? Loredo's men are freaking top dog in Flotsam and they go anywhere they please, practically. You can probably find them doing (fisstech) rails in the basement of Amadeus Miller the Butcher's house and no questions would be asked.
“Oh, ho, ho! Ha, ha ha! Correct you are, everyone knows the guards do not tally toward's Flotsam's male population!”
“Unless big hunky Iorveth comes in and changes my mind almost entirely. Not bound to happen!”
Yup. Sounds like Flotsam, I'm afraid. And the entirety of Tameria's populace, both male and female.
“Wow, I wasn't expecting this Modest Mouse album to get that depressing! I'd better change the record.”
“Yo mamma's so fat, that when she wears a T-shirt with a Nilfgaardian sigil on the front, the roosters are confused on what to cockadoodledoo at!”
Not so secret now, eh? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to pack your things. You've failed MI-6 training.
I'm always imagining stock photography of two women laughing. The kind of stock photography Cracked.com seems to have an endless supply of.
Did I mention she was the most beautiful Mary-Sue ever? I think I left that out... well, time for that later!
She then later checked her E-Harmony profile to see that Dorian Grey was the only match on the list.
Ha, ha, ha. It's not like Cedric has the entire forest drenched in bear traps right?
Oh? Oh...
Medieval village life being that benign was always too much to hope for, I'm afraid.
Usually he dozed within the innards of a slain endrega warrior, like a boss. Nobody ever found him that way.
It's about to be a heavier morning.
Through trial and error, no less.
If Cedric's hearing is affected by booze the way every other part of his body is, well then, yeah. No use trying to tell him anyway.
Right after doodling on every square inch of his body with a magic marker.
I'm basically imagining this music video, except with nekkers, rotfiends, wraiths and endregas. And in the end it basically ends with a “You are dead” and the screen covered with blood and gore.
Uh-Oh.
The beauty in life! Constantly befouled and ruined by negativity and constipated sneers! It's so unfair! (Sob)
(TWANG)
(THWACK)
Nope. Sadly, we're still on this.
One more time.
Oh blimey! They're elf pirates! They're gonna send you to Davy Jones' locker, Vanya!
No country for old blunt eared men, evidently.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even cold November botox.
Perhaps the worst thing about this story is the strange and unorthodox way the dialogue is written. A very poor way, I might add. Even Cormac McCarthy would likely be tempted to criticize it.
Don't believe those biased Dh'oine Newspapers, Vanya. We actually attach loaves of buttered bread and pixie sticks to arrows and shoot them through the windows of little children's rooms. They just blew those few dozen arrow delivery related injuries and deaths out proportion!
Dammit, there she goes, waxing Jedi. Just let them strike you down so you can become more powerful than they could ever imagine, honey! You'll show them.
And soon to be inside y-
Oh whoopsie, we aren't there yet!
Woah, fourth wall's screaming in pain right now! Wouldn't it be easier to call it “Common” or some other language? I don't know if Andrzej Sapkowski has established this or not, but I assume everybody speaks the lanuage the dialogue was translated in. I assume they'd call it “common” in the lore, as I've said before, but I dunno. Stop making me think so hard about this.
THOU HIDETH THY SHAME BENEATH THY LOBES!
Goddammit, if this keeps up it's gonna be a tough one to get through this without excessive headdesks.
Ohhhh myyyy!
And great. Now I have Foreigner in my head, which is only slightly better than having Brett Michaels songs in it. Thanks a lot.
Then she drew the Remington from her hip and emptied all six chambers, two shots, for each of the brigands, then twirled the gun in her hand, blowing smoke out of the barrel before swaggering off with Ennico Morricone music blasting in the background. GREAT SERGIO LEONE STYLE SUSPENSE! WHOOOO!
Well obviously she's going to abduct him and probe him. You elves aren't seeing the very conspicious and glaring Grey-Man style alien tropes in what she's saying, are you? “Take me to your leader!” essentially!
Mayhap. But you gotta know, espionage isn't as sexy as it used to be. Just ask Daniel Craig if you don't believe me.
I'm really starting to get the feeling this trio is probably the Larry, Moe, and Curley of the Scioa'tel. They can barely act coherently, let alone think and cooperate coherently.
The Scoia'Tel has one weakness: Geese.
Good God. None of you are worthy of your ears.
This bunch is so keen to suppress their emotions and fears, but more inclined to blatantly talk themselves through the processes out loud of the most simplest of plans. The dumbest of elves.
Or more like just lying in a very truthful way?
And naturally, the journey is cut short by several of these!
Be right back, guess who's gotta drink.