Witcher part1 chapter 1
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
Scottish (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
layer of said he came from the north from Roper's Gate. He came on foot, beating his Laden horse by the bridle. It was late afternoon on the ropers, saddles and tanner stalls were already closed, the street empty. It was hot, but the mine had a black coat thrown over his shoulders, who drew attention to himself. He stopped in front of the old snore. Caught N stood there for a moment. Listen to the hubbub of voices. As usual. At this hour, it was full of people. The stranger did not enter the old narco. He pulled his horse further down the street to another tavern, a smaller one called the Fox. Not enjoying the best of reputations, it was almost empty. The innkeeper raised his head up off the barrel off pickled cucumbers, and me insured the man off his gaze. The outsider, still in his coat, stood stiffly in front of the counter, motionless and silent. What will it be? Beer, said the stranger. His voice was unpleasant. The innkeeper wiped his hands on his canvas apron and filled a chips earthenware tankard. The stranger was not old, but his hair was almost completely white. Beneath his coat. He wore a long leather jack and laced up to the neck and shoulders as he took off his coat. Those around him, no study carried a sword, not something unusual in itself. Nearly every man and was him carried a weapon, but no one carried a sword strapped to his back, as if it was a boa quiver. The stranger did not sit at the table with the few other guests. He remains standing at the counter, piercing the innkeeper with his case he drew from the tankard. I'm looking for a room for the night. There's none granted. The innkeeper, looking at the guests booths dusty and dirty, asked the old narc art. I would rather stay here. There is none. The innkeeper finally recognised the strangest accent. He was really in. I'll pay. Yep. Cider spoke quietly, as if unsure. The whole nasty affair began. Pope marketed beanpole of a man who, from the moment the outsider entered, had not taken his gloomy eyes from him, got up and approach the counter. Two of his companions rows behind him. No more than two paces away. There's no room to be had you, Vivian vagabond the Polk barked mine hist. He knocked the tankard fromthe strangers hunt and simultaneously grabbed him by the shoulder, dug his fingers into the leather strap, which run diagonally across the outsiders chest. One of the men behind him raised a fist to strike. The outsider curled up on the spot, throwing the pock marked man off balance. The sword hissed and its self and listen briefly in the dim light, the pace leased. There was a scream, and one of the few remaining customers tumble towards the exit. A chair fell with a crash on the earthenware smart holy against the floor. Then keeper, his lips trembling, looked at the horribly slashed face of the Pokemon who, clinging with his fingers to the edge of the toner, was slowly sinking from sight. The other two were lying on the floor, one motionless and the other writhing and convulsing the dark, spreading puddle. A woman's hysterical scream vibrated in the air, piercing the ears, and the innkeeper shuddered, called his breath and vomited. The stranger retreated towards the wall, tense and alert. He held the sword in both hands, sweeping the blade through the air. No one moved terror like pulled mud was clear on their faces, paralysing limbs and blocking throats. Three guards rushed into the talent with thoughts and climbs. They must have been close by. They had truncheons wound with leather straps at the ready, but at the sight of the corpses drew their sword. The privy impressed his back against the wall with his left hand, pulled the doctor from his book. Throw that down! One of the guards, he held, a trembling voice. Throw that down, you thug! You're coming with us! The second guard kicked aside the table between himself and the Vivian. Go get the men Fresca! Shouted the third guard, who had stayed closer to the door. No need, said the stranger, lowering this sword. I'll come by myself. You go, you son of a ***** on the end of a rope yet the trembling guard. So that's our down, or I'll smash your head in. The Rev. Ian Straightened. He quickly penned his Boyd under his left arm and with his right hand raised towards the guards, swiftly drew a complicated sign in the air. The cloak nails, which shuddered his tunic from his wrist to elbows, flashed. The guards do back shielding their faces with their arms. One of the customers sprung up while the other dart into the door. The woman screamed again, Wild on ear splitting outcome by myself. Repeat it. The stranger in his resonating metallic voice. And the three of you will go in front of me. Take me to the Castilian. I don't know the way. Yes, sir. Mumbled the guard, dropping his head. He made towards the exit looking around, Tainted Lee. The other two guards followed him out backwards. Hastily, stranger followed in their tracks, sealing his sword on Doug. As they passed the tables, the remaining customers hit their faces from the dangerous stranger.