It is always awkward to write about oneself, yet I cannot shirk this duty. In an effort to preempt any accusations of partiality, I shall set down the humblest of notes, relating only the best-known facts. Dandelion - in reality the viscount de Lettenhove, though titles are unimportant - is a certified troubadour, a lecturer at Oxenfurt University, a persona known among society as a charmer, poet, dandy and unparalleled lover. Almost everyone north of the Yaruga has heard of him, and those who have not are either boors or simpletons or both, as a result of which their opinions do not matter in the slightest. Dandelion played a significant part in the most important events of the era. He loved, fought, negotiated, and acquired immense knowledge, even that of the forbidden variety. His works are a testimony of the times, but it is his moving poetic tropes that have brought him true fame. The important thing in this story is that Dandelion was a friend to Geralt of Rivia - possibly his only true friend. He was Geralt's confidant, advisor and companion in misery (for it was impossible to experience good fortune in the witcher's company). What Geralt did, Dandelion faithfully recounted, and one should not give credence to those who accuse this humble chronicler of confabulating.
Discretion - a virtue I have always professed -obliges me to remain silent about the circumstances in which, through the person of Vernon Roche, I began working with the Temerian intelligence service. Suffice it to say that there comes a moment in everyone's life when, facing great events, they cannot remain indifferent. And so I could not stand aside as history took shape before my very eyes. My dedication to the cause brought me to Flotsam at the time. There, through an unfortunate incident involving twins at the local brothel, a town guard, a dog, a cat and an oil lamp, I would up on the scaffold in the town square, from which I barely escaped with my life.
Obviously, when Geralt decided to continue his search in King Henselt's military camp, located in a borderland soon to be engulfed by the flames of war, I chose to accompany him. For the witcher could at times be naive as a child and knew as much about politics as a ghoul knows about cooking. Thus the chances were slim to none that, bereft of my help, he would manage to find new leads without getting embroiled in some trouble along the way. As his friend I clearly could not allow that.