And the culprit, a bandit in triumphant tighty whities, still loomed over them, admiring the handiwork of his grim deed. However, for the first time ever - around 25 hours in - I walked in not on people cooking or sleeping or idly chatting or staring maniacally at me, melted eye sockets running like waterfalls of tar, but instead they were… dead. ( Warning: spoilers lurk in the depths of this post. Its world still feels surprising, terrifying, alive. The Witcher 3, for me, hasn’t even come close to falling prey to that issue. ![]() So I play until they get predictable (usually around the 20 hour mark or something like that) and then I move on. It doesn’t take long for me to see them for what they are: repetitive playgrounds for the same series of rote mechanics - meh-chanics, really. I usually get bored of games that offer gigantic worlds. Last week Kirk wrote about how big The Witcher 3 is, but I feel like its size would be a huge knock against it if not for the number of curveballs it throws. I love the game best, however, when it subverts its own structure. Many Witcher 3 quests at least include elements of that formula. I know that I’ll likely be using my Witcher senses to follow some sort of trail to a place, brew some potions, slather myself in sensuous oils, and meet/slay/have sex with a monster.
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