Think of the most expansive game you've ever played. Times it by three. Add a resurrected foetus demon. There, you're getting to grips with The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. This title is the Bohemian Rhapsody of open world games. It's over-the-top. Humungous. Behemothic. Elephantine. Hundreds of quests are strewn across cities, mountain ranges, charred battlegrounds and dense forests.
And it looks . . . pretty good. Wild Hunt's graphics aren't anything to write home about. Its real aim is to impress you with almost-unprecedented scope. But that breadth comes at a cost. The game is like a mansion built under New Zealand's 90s building code. It's beautiful, but the construction is suspect.
You play as Geralt of Rivia: a spry 100-year-old with flowing silver hair and a voice like Bob Dylan coming off a three-day bender. Geralt is a Witcher - a genetically-engineered monster killer for hire. He'll get rid of your weird demon infestation, so long as you cough up a decent fee.
The aim of Wild Hunt is to keep Geralt's bloody day job ticking over while carrying out a continent-spanning quest to find his adopted daughter Ciri, who it turns out it quite crucial to the continued existence of the world.