Bandit's notes

There are three bandit's notes in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt:

Journal entry

 * They say can you can't catch an elf in the woods. Oh, you can, in fact. You just gotta try real hard. We've got living proof in our camp – a Scoia'tael archer. I thought we'd eliminated all those vermin after the last Nilfgaard war, bit it seems we missed some.


 * I'd rather hang the long-ears right off. Well, maybe after a couple a days of torture, but still, hanging's what he needs. Thing is, Cula says as long as we have him alive and in our camp, the other Squirrels won't attack us, outta fear we'll kill him before they can stop us.


 * I listened to his advice – and so far I don't regret it. Used to be an arrow'd come flying towards your arse every two steps, now it's dead quiet. That elf stays calm, doesn't eat much, and when you get some vodka in him, he even sings in that language of theirs, pretty good, too. "Bl'oede dh'oine, aespere evellienn," or something like that. Must be about flowers, sunshine – they love that shite. "Bl'oede dh'oine, aespere evellienn," translates roughly as: "Bloody humans, shoot them all".

Journal entry

 * Nilf bastards must have coin coming out of their arses. They buy every peasant I capture, no matter if he's lame, cross-eyed or dumb as a rotten stump. Never haggle, neither. They need folk for the silver mine, they say, and no one ever lasts more than two months there anyway, so every hand helps. Fine by me. Business is good. Only thing worrying me is that soon I'll have caught all the peasants around, and then who'll I sell?

Journal entry

 * What's that, dear papa? You're kicking us off the family plot? Your younger sons are good-for-nothings who deserve a mess of porridge at most, you're gonna give Joefler everything, and we're to go make our own sorry way in the world? Well, we went, papa, we went - and now we've our own plot. Sure, might be a hill barely sticking out of the bog, a few trees and some rushes. No crops will take here, but we don't mind. There was no room for us in the fields, so now, well, guess we'll just never touch rake nor hoe ever again.


 * What's that you ask, papa? How we plan to live? I'll tell you. We've never met with much good from our fellow men, so we've decided to repay the favor. Either they'll give us what we want, or they'll end like you, papa, you and your dear Joefler. With a knife between their ribs.