It took me eight straight hours to crawl through the sewers, beneath Cologne’s conference centre and then up through an impossibly tight U-bend into a disused toilet somewhere in the North Hall, but finally I was back at GamesCom. The guards had turned me away when I’d tried to enter through the main doors – disgusted by the foul breath that had resulted from eating a sleeping tramp’s shoes and by the rotting pigeon-skin loincloth I had been forced to don once I’d sold my last clothes to afford a cup of frightening grey coffee. I thought of Quintin, and his shoes made of finest unicorn hide. Perhaps he could spare me a promotional t-shirt to cover my filthy body? But not. He would have his minders throw in the Rein on sight. Better to carry on, and to my next appointment. At least the world of this game would mirror my own condition. Onwards, and to the Witcher 2.
Read the rest of this entry »