Gate

I loved the idea of Dungeons and Dragons when I was young, but can’t claim the same about playing it. Because I didn’t play it: Circumstances—small town boy, limited circle of friends, not very outgoing—meant that while I could and did spend hours poring over rules, sourcebooks, and even a few modules, I got very little in the way of actual playtime. A good, deep D&D adventure as I imagined them to be—basically Mazes and Monsters, minus the moral panic psychosis—was out of reach.

The first Baldur’s Gate changed all that, with great dungeons, an epic quest, and most important of all, a deep cast of characters with their own thoughts, beliefs, and personalities—and who, just like in the real world, would sometimes gel or clash with their fellows in unexpected ways.

Some became fast friends, others would try to literally murder each other, and a handful would just throw their hands up in disgust at my obvious incompetence and leave, after giving me a good telling-off of course.

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Baldur’s Gate 2 raised the stakes with a more focused cast and wider range of interpersonal possibilities, plus an unpleasant kickoff that reminded me just how much these characters meant. Discovering that two beloved* party members from BG1 (your mileage may vary on that point, but they were with me from start to finish in the first game and would’ve been for BG2, too) had been killed in pre-game events—irretrievably, irreversibly, no-resurrecting-thing dead—was a genuine gut-shot: We’re supposed to be the heroes, and now a third of us are just… gone.

It took a while to get my head around that, but I was fortunate enough to find a new companion of poise, ability, and coolness while making my way out of that first dungeon: Yoshimo, an immediately likeable bounty hunter who proved his worth a dozen times over on our adventures across Amn. And then, after weeks of camaraderie and good times, he screwed me!

I trusted you, you beautiful bastard. (Image credit: BioWare, Wizards of the Coast)

I was less upset about Yoshimo’s betrayal than I might otherwise have been for two reasons. One, potential spoiler here⁠—but come on, it’s been exactly 25 years⁠—it wasn’t really his fault, right? Lawyers call it “The Geas Defense.” Two, speaking of spoilers, that major twist had been spoiled for me weeks earlier by a jerk in a Baldur’s Gate 2 IRC channel. I was seriously pissed off at the time and yes, I still harbor a grudge.

Anyway, even though I knew it was coming, I was still heartbroken in the moment. Yoshimo was such a good guy, a solid all-arounder, and I’d grown genuinely attached to him and his presence in my party. It wasn’t the betrayal that hurt, it was knowing that—like Khalid and Dynaheir, victims of the madness of Irenicus—he was gone forever.

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Party down

It sucked! But it’s also at the heart of why Baldur’s Gate 2 was, and is, so special to me. No game before or since has so perfectly captured the sense of a gang of pals (or occasional allies of convenience) roaming a massive fantasy world, butt-kicking for goodness.

And what a gang it was: The bloodthirsty berserker Korgan, occasionally setting aside his evil ways to mack on Mazzy Fentan, the halfling fighter desperate to be a paladin; sad Aerie and her broken wings, Valygar and his family problems, insecure Anomen, old friends Imoen, Minsc, and Jaheira, and of course Viconia, the original BioWare bad girl with a deeply-buried heart of gold—all of them and others shared the road with me in Baldur’s Gate 2.

I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up what happens to my Dark Elf gf Viconia in Baldur’s Gate 3. (Image credit: Larian)

And yes, I did put the smooth moves on Viconia. Of course I did! Videogame romances can be trite and formulaic these days, but 25 years ago that kind of NPC relationship was new, unexpected, and real in a way that gave it a sense of significance beyond the mechanical necessity of cranking out loyalty missions.

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Best of all, amidst that bantering, bickering crew was me, ostensibly the leader of the pack but also just one among many: Grown from a young half-elf caught up in events beyond my understanding to a seasoned adventurer, but with still so much to discover and learn. I called the shots but my companions had their own ideas, and I ignored them at my peril.

Baldur’s Gate 2 anniversary

(Image credit: Beamdog)

25 years ago, one of the most important RPGs of all time was released onto PC, and today we’re celebrating that prestigious anniversary. You’ll find our thoughts and musings on what makes the game so special to us across the site, and we’ve also talked to the original developers about its ambitious and turbulent journey to release.

That’s what really sealed the Baldur’s Gate 2 deal for me: I wasn’t an unseen hand controlling an anonymous party of min-maxxed randos, I was that guy on the screen right there, and yes I was the boss but I was also getting yelled at by Jaheira on a regular basis and spending more time than I probably should wondering why I’m still putting up with Anomen’s bullshit. Sort out your daddy issues on someone else’s time, bud.

Baldur’s Gate 2 did so many great things: The art, the audio, and the huge, packed game world remain among the best of the RPG genre. But it was the decision to focus on the characters, and to make me one of their number, that elevated it from a great RPG to one of the most important and unforgettable videogames of all time.

It gave the game a feeling of tabletop authenticity I’d never previously experienced, and for someone who spent his youth on the outside looking in, suddenly having a seat at that table was nothing short of magical. That’s the real legacy of Baldur’s Gate 2 for me: Imoen, Jahiera, Minsc, Mazzy, and Viconia: Literally, and without a shred of irony, the friends I made along the way.

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