About a third of the way into Blood and Wine, a character asks the protagonist, Geralt, if he has any regrets. This isn't an easy question for anyone to answer, but it's particularly troubling here.
Geralt is a witcher, a monster-hunter taken as a child and given supernatural abilities to fulfill his calling with cruel efficiency. He didn't choose his life, so the question cuts deeply: If you could go back in time to take control of your life, would you? Would you want your life to play out differently? Is what happened fair?
As the player, I could choose Geralt's response. This is fitting, because in many ways I've become him. *Blood and Wine *is the second and final expansion for the immense role-playing game *The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. *I've spent more than 100 hours in this world and accompanied Geralt through the defining moments of his life. As the game draws to a close, the question applies to me as well. Do I have any regrets?
Like many open-world games, The Witcher 3 seemed boundless at first. Reaching the end leaves me feeling something approaching grief.
Saying GoodbyeI've spent the better part of a year with The Witcher 3. Last month, I beat the core game. Last week, I beat Blood and Wine. Now, I feel bereaved. As I've written before, entertainment like this weaves itself into our lives to become routine, even ritualistic. Geralt's world was for a time moving in an orbit parallel to my own. It's a strange kind of vicarious travel. Something in me visited those places and did those things. It isn't easy to see that world go.
It can be hard to know where games like The Witcher 3 sit on the experiential continuum. Is playing an open-world game like reading a novel, or more like binge-watching a TV series? All media involves you, of course. As a discerning viewer or a player, you participate in it. But open-world games add the dimension of space to the experience. They leave you thinking in terms of location and time---when I was there. This taps deep wells of emotion: wanderlust, nostalgia, joy.
When a game resonates with you, that sense of involvement intensifies the heft of a farewell. It's getting on a plane to return home after a wonderful vacation. You can come back, and probably will. But it will never be truly new again. The scenery won't captivate you in quite the same way. The twists may fascinate, but they won't surprise.
