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Novelization of Baldur's Gate - By Nonnahswriter

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  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520

    Wow, what can i say, a magnum opus! Absolutely terrific writing, I love it. Brilliant dialogue, excellent characterization, of Xzar and Khalid in particular. Thank you so much for resuming this thread as I never would have seen it otherwise (or was the necromancy Xzar's work?). I can see how much effort and time you've put into this, so again, my sincere thanks for a cracking read and I look forward to reading more when you're able to post!

    Thank you! I know it's cheesy to say, but there's really no words to describe how happy it makes me to know that something I've created brought a smile to someone else. :)

    We'll see how much more I write of this before I scurry back into the caves for November. After that, I'll dedicate more time to it. I have a bad habit of leaving projects unfinished, and it's about time I did something about that. *shakes her fist full of resolve*
    JuliusBorisovlolienrufus_hobartkcwise
  • BelgarathMTHBelgarathMTH Member Posts: 5,653
    This is the best fan novelization I've ever seen. Your writing mechanics are impeccable. Almost every other effort I've read is peppered with inconsistent verb tenses, inconsistent points of view, punctuation errors, clumsy sentence constructions, and stylistic errors. There's none of that in your writing! Kudos. You write like a professional, and you would make any editor's job easy. (Perhaps you *are* a professional writer of some sort?)

    I'm also loving your content and characterizations. Your action scenes are very detailed, have great temporal flow, and make me feel like I'm there with your characters during combat.

    Very enjoyable. I look forward to future chapters.
    NonnahswriterkcwiseJuliusBorisovlolien
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520

    You write like a professional, and you would make any editor's job easy. (Perhaps you *are* a professional writer of some sort?)

    Not yet, but I intend to be someday. :)

    Thank you very much!!
    kcwiseJuliusBorisovlolien
  • kcwisekcwise Member Posts: 2,287
    I forgot to say that I've caught up. I enjoyed the humor in particular. Xzar cavorting around as a woman is pretty funny.

    “Not on your life, Xzar…”

    Perhaps someday he'll meet up with Edwina?

    I don't really have anything in the way of constructive criticism to offer, but I can say that I enjoyed the read quite a bit. Thanks!
    NonnahswriterJuliusBorisovlolien
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520
    Chapter 9 (Part II)

    Prism started from his sculpting as his protectors took a defensive stance. Markra put a hand on his trusty longsword while Jaheira drew her quarterstaff. Behind them, Khalid came running with his shield raised and Imoen drew her bow.

    “No!” the artist screamed. “Not yet! My work is nearly done! Please, I implore you!”

    “Your sentiment is wasted on me, fool. You are but gold in my purse.” Greywolf flashed a toothy grin as he waved a hand at Markra’s party. “Do you make your situation worse by hiring help to protect you? Who are you fools?”

    “Who we are is unimportant,” Jaheira answered. “You must be Greywolf.”

    “And if I am?” Greywolf asked, but judging from the widening smile across his lips, he had no real intention of hiding his name.

    “Prism has been out here for days crafting this sculpture,” Markra explained. “He only wishes to finish his masterwork. Why not let him? What harm could it do?”

    “Ha!” Greywolf barked a laugh and spat on the ground between them. “You should be more worried ‘bout the harm I can do! Never have I taken a bounty and not delivered!” He then raised his sword and pointed it straight at Markra. “Now, stand aside that I might dispense with this fool and claim my prize. Or would you rather I go through you to get him? Consider well if he be worth your lives!”

    Six against one. So Markra hoped as he glanced at his party members. Aside from the vanished Montaron and the frantic Prism, everyone was staring at him. Of course, this job had been his idea. He was responsible for whatever would come next if they spat with Greywolf. And as good as the odds looked, the mercenary must be either wrongfully arrogant or rightfully powerful to take them all on at once. Or, Markra realized uneasily, perhaps both.

    He glanced back at Prism. At the tremor running up and down his limbs, so spent he could hardly stand. At his bloodshot eyes, his blemished hands. At the flawless sculpture he’d slaved over for hours, even days to complete, all for a nameless muse who’d stolen his heart.
    The nameless muse whom he would die for.

    Gazing back at Greywolf, Markra at last drew his sword.

    “You can’t have him,” he said. “I promised I’d protect him, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

    Greywolf’s smile bent into a frown, and he scoffed. “Fine. If that’s your wish, then I’ll just have to cut you down too!”

    And with another battle cry, he lunged. Metal-on-metal clashed and grated against one another as Markra blocked the first—the second—the third blow, one after another after another. Greywolf’s swings were relentless, savage, and fast. Blocking the first few was easy, but with each collision, Markra lost inches to Greywolf, and his confidence.

    Jaheira tried to get in with her quarterstaff, but he was too slippery, nor did he seem to care when or where Jaheira struck at him. Markra sensed it in his ruthless gaze and harsh swipes—it was the elf, the baby-faced elf who’d dared to get between him and his mark… He pissed him off the most. An arrow flew past them both, just a breadth away from hitting Markra. From Imoen, though her friend and her enemy were too close together to land a clear shot.

    White sparks lit Xzar’s fingers as his hands danced, and the familiar pale orb flew out of his palms and struck Greywolf. The mercenary staggered, and gave Markra but a moment’s relief. The elf thrust forward, aimed straight for Greywolf’s heart. But he recovered too fast, and with a snide grin, Greywolf swung and blocked yet again.

    This time was different. As their swords collided, a chilling breeze blew into their faces. Shards of glittering ice grew out of nothing and crept along their blades like living crystal. Frost bit into Markra’s fingers as he fought Greywolf’s weight, but the ice didn’t harm Greywolf. With another loud yell, Greywolf shoved him off and the flower of ice shattered—along with Markra’s sword.

    Icicle shards cut into Markra’s exposed hands and face, as deadly and fragile as glass. As Markra faltered, trying to shield his face with his free arm, Greywolf swung a kick into his gut, hard enough to throw Markra rolling down the short hill.

    In a victorious yell, Greywolf raised his sword again, but Khalid and Jaheira stood between him and Markra. The magic sword banged against Khalid’s shield and left a bloom of ice behind. Jaheira struck him in the shoulder with the butt of her staff, but Greywolf whacked his blade against it and threw her off her aim. Another stray arrow shot too wide, almost hitting Prism as he clambered to finish his sculpture amidst the chaos.

    Once he’d hit the bottom and the rolling slowed to a stop, Markra scrambled to get back on his feet. But as he reached for the hilt, one look at his sword dashed his hopes. Cracked in the middle and splintered, as though a beast had bitten it in half. Flecks of frost lined the edges where it’d broken in two, and somewhere far away, old Winthrop’s words echoed in Markra’s mind. “A fine choice, lad! Crafted with Iron Throne metal an’ all!” Metal of the Iron Crisis, brittle and dull.

    A thousand panicked thoughts swam through Markra’s head as he watched the fight continue above him. At last, Montaron reappeared. The halfling melted out of the shadows behind his new favorite rock, and thrust his shortsword into Greywolf’s lower back. But Greywolf sidestepped at the last moment and threw him off his aim; the shortsword just barely sliced the corner of his tunic. A red line etched into Greywolf’s side where the clothes had been torn open by the blade, but it was only a surface cut. A wound that would bleed, yet damaged nothing of import.

    Letting out a yell, Greywolf turned his vengeful eyes on Montaron. His sword slashed through the air, seemingly whiffing, before another burst of ice crystals flew out of the blade. Jagged icicles buried themselves into Montaron’s right shoulder, and the halfling fell to his knees.

    Though with Greywolf’s back turned, one of Imoen’s arrows finally found its mark: his upper back. Greywolf loosed another angry howl as he swerved around and raised his magic sword with both hands. This time, at Jaheira. Khalid leaned close to Jaheira as he raised his shield, covering them both. But it was a clumsy stance, hastily put together, and now they were trapped behind it and Greywolf’s relentless barrage of swings.

    Khalid seemed to shrink beneath every strike, knees bent and arms dipping. Not because he was tiring already, but with each collision, Greywolf’s sword left sheets of ice on his shield. Layer upon gleaming layer gathered in its center, one on top of the other, and burdened the shield with crippling weight that Khalid was not used to. It was taking all of Khalid’s energy just to hold his defense, let alone look for the chance to strike back. A chance that Greywolf was not about to give.

    Broken sword or not, Markra had to do something. He threw the useless weapon away and reached for the bow strapped to his back. How long had it been, he wondered, since Greywolf had tossed him over the hill and out of sight? Not very; mere seconds, minutes at most, yet it seemed that the mercenary had already forgotten him, thirsty for new blood. And while Greywolf may be a famous man with a shiny sword, in the end, he was still just one man with only one set of eyes.

    This should surprise him, Markra thought as the fletching touched his cheek. While aiming, Jaheira’s eyes met his, an unspoken question as she grasped her quarterstaff with white knuckles. Markra answered her with a nod, and she poised to strike. And that’s all I need to do.

    The arrow flew. It dug into Greywolf’s exposed side, right where Montaron’s sword almost stabbed into him. For the first time since Xzar’s magic trick, Greywolf faltered, hand instinctively reaching for the red splotch in his waist.

    That moment was all Jaheira needed. With a final warcry, she leaped out from behind Khalid’s shield, spun her quarterstaff above her head in a fluid dance, and—crack! The brunt of the stick whacked Greywolf’s skull, and he dropped to the ground like a pot from a high window.

    A silent wind brushed through Markra’s hair as he slowly climbed back up the hill. Khalid fell on his butt, breathing heavily, and at last dropped the frozen shield. He even began rubbing his hands together, as though to keep them warm.

    “Alright, we did it!” Imoen was the first to cheer, punching the air victoriously as she hopped to her friends. She even gave Jaheira a loving clap on the shoulder, beaming. “Take that, ya greedy mongrel! And oh boy, what a hit ya gave him, Auntie! That was great!”

    “Thank you, Imoen,” Jaheira replied, though her brow furrowed an instant later. “But did you just call me—”

    “Ohhh!” Xzar popped out from behind the rock with a spring in his step, and a goofy, almost drunken tune in his voice. “Fi-fo, thy brute is dead! That’s what I said, the one thou wed! Fi-fo, thy brute is dead, but now I shall take thine spot in bed!”

    And a drunken rhythm in his steps, as Xzar practically tripped over his own toes and fell on his knees. He hovered just above Greywolf’s corpse, a slimy smile tugging his lips. “And take thine shiny pretties too…”

    Before one of Xzar’s slippery hands could cut Greywolf’s purse from his waist, however, Montaron grabbed his shoulder and yanked him off. Only with one arm too, but even as his strength returned and the ice in his shoulder started to melt, he shot Jaheira a haggard glare as he struggled for breath.

    “Quit yer yowling before I cut out ye throat,” he growled at Xzar. “You did no’ do nothin’ to earn a pretty coin in that fight. Me, on the other hand…could be usin’ a certain woman’s touch?”

    A scowl etched into Jaheira’s sharp features, but she wordlessly sat beside Montaron and began to heal him with magic. Within minutes, the ice vanished, and all that remained of the hole in his flesh was a red stain in his clothes and some bruising. When she had finished, Montaron scooped up the pouch of gold for himself, and began counting the pieces inside.

    Markra had no interest in Greywolf’s gold though. His hands wandered instead to the hilt of the sword lying abandoned beside its old master. Even without Greywolf’s icicle attacks, Markra could have known just by looking at it—at the sheen in the blade, the design of the hilt, the magic that resonated in the air around it like the quiet thrum of hummingbird wings… This was no ordinary sword.

    “H-Hey, hey!” Khalid’s voice pulled him back to the real world. The half-elf gently put his hand on the sword and lowered it back to the ground. “C-Careful with it, Markra. We don’t know wh-what kind of s-s-spells are in it.”

    Yes, Markra knew full well the dangers that came with mishandling magical items, especially when he may not know the extent of its abilities. Gorion had made well sure that those lessons had gotten drilled into his very soul back in Candlekeep, let alone his mind. But—

    “All it does is make ice,” Markra reassured him. “I don’t think it’s too dangerous, so long as you don’t point it at the wrong person.”

    Everyone’s eyes fell to him and to the sword in his lap, some more wonderstruck than others. Imoen peered at it over his shoulder and gave a breath of awe in his ear. “It sure is pretty, Marky,” she gasped. “Real pretty, kinda like it was made for you.”

    “It would be more efficient in Khalid’s hands,” Jaheira bluntly pointed out. But right as Markra opened his mouth to protest, Khalid raised his hands up and shook his head.

    “O-Oh no! Not me, dear,” he insisted. “I-I’m much more comfortable with a plain sword… And the cold m-makes me itchy.” Then he gazed at Markra, a wry smile in his lips. “B-Besides… Your sword is broken now, is it n-not?”

    “Yeah…” Markra sighed out his nose as he gazed at Greywolf’s sword. Even with the masterwork resting in his hands, the snap of his old sword still echoed in his ears. It was sad, in a way; that was the sword he’d bought from Winthrop, the sword he’d carried with him from Candlekeep. A companion of sorts who’d been with him when Gorion was killed, when he’d fled through the woods until his legs collapsed in the dark. A guardian who’d protected him from wolves, ogres, assassins, and much more.

    Thanks for staying together for me, even though you were made from tainted iron, Markra thought. Silly, thinking to a sword as if it were sentient, yet the prayer gave him some small comfort. I’ll keep doing my best with this new partner.

    He would need to Identify it later. A small bit of magic, something he’d watched his father practice many times whenever he found something strange. Nothing difficult, but it had its preparations. Until then, Markra strapped the sword’s scabbard onto his belt, with a pair of approving nods from Imoen and Khalid.

    “Ah… At last…”

    Prism’s voice drew back their attention, and they all turned toward the artist and his sculpture. He gazed upon the stone even more loving than before, as if a sky full of stars were sparkling in his eyes. But his body was torn, strung together by thin tissue and muscles clinging to bones. Prism collapsed on his knees, yet he continued to stare into the sculpture, a horrid bend in his undoubtedly sore neck.

    Markra could not look away either, nor many of his friends. Even Montaron let out an impressed whistle. Every line of the sculpture: smooth, undeterred, graceful and elegant. She looked as though she could come to life at any second and speak to them. Prism had used the emeralds in her eyes, a royal green that glowed in the golden sunlight. Now that she was finished, Markra noticed the high curves of her ears, the sharpness of her eyebrows, the fine features in her cheeks—an elven face not unlike his own, yet he dared not compare himself to such a beautiful creature if she were real. At the bottom of the sculpture lay a collection of empty potion vials. Dozens of them, scattered amidst Prism’s sculpting tools.

    Upon seeing the pile, a chill ran down Markra’s spine that chased away the awe in his heart.

    “Prism…” he murmured, but did not know really what to say. Nor did it much matter; Prism may as well have been in a whole other world, an aura of love and relief embracing him all around.

    “Alas, she is complete,” Prism spoke absently. “Take what you will of my possessions, but leave the sparkle in her eyes. Oh sweet creature, my effigy to thee is done. Perhaps our paths shall cross in distant realms, and I shall find the courage to call thy name: Ellesime!”

    A tremor wracked through all of Prism’s body as he reached out his hand, and touched her smooth, stone face, much like a caress. Even after his legs failed him and he fell to the ground in dead stillness, the pleased smile stayed on his lips.

    Markra lowered his gaze as Imoen gasped beside him, and buried her head in his shoulder. Khalid took off his helmet and held it to his chest as he bowed his head. No one said a word as Jaheira knelt beside Prism’s body and put two fingers against his neck. After waiting a minute or so, she closed his eyelids.

    “He’s dead,” she confirmed, and bowed her head in prayer as she whispered the rites. “Silvanus, guide the light back to the source…”

    As she spoke beneath her breath, however, Xzar let out a loud groan and gripped his head, as if he were suffering from a giant headache.

    “Yes, yes, it’s all very tragic and sad!” he scowled. “But what of our payment? What of our just reward for fulfilling this utterly pointless—I mean… Purely righteous request?”

    “H-Have you no compassion?” Khalid asked. “The poor man is…d-d-dead.”

    “Lotsa people die all around,” Montaron cut in. “Don’t mean we gotta starve for our efforts. Oy, druid! What’s the fool got on him, eh?”

    Markra gripped the hilt of his new sword as he turned his steely green eyes on Montaron and Xzar. “Prism has just died, and you already want to rifle through his possessions?”

    “He hasn’t much, I’m afraid,” Jaheira answered. “His clothes are all but rags, and his pouch is empty of gold.”

    “Jaheira!” Markra scolded, but the druid simply shrugged as she pushed herself to her feet.

    “They asked; I answered,” she told him. “And as tasteless as it is, the artist did promise us payment in whatever was left on his person. The only thing of any value that he owned were the two emeralds in the sculpture. The same emeralds he’d stolen.”

    A twinkle lit up Imoen’s eyes as she jabbed Markra’s arm with a smirk. “I’m bettin’ those emeralds would sell for a nice price, huh Marky?” Though at his warning glare, her smile dipped. “I-I mean… If they weren’t stolen, that is.”

    “I-It might do us good to hold onto them,” Khalid suggested. “Whoever lost them m-must be searching for them as we s-s-speak.”

    “An’ what’re we, some delivery service fer lost goods?” Montaron grimaced. “No, not fer stones like those. Ya know how the words go: finder’s keepers, loser’s weepers. And finder’s richers too.”

    But to everyone’s surprise, Xzar was the first to scold his partner, patting him on the shoulder in a tut-tut voice, like a parent to a child. “Now now, Montaron. The goodly ones do have a point.”

    The tears swelled almost spontaneously as he went on. Xzar even produced a dirty handkerchief from the inside of his robe to dab his eyes.

    “Those poor, baby emeralds… Spirited from their homes one night by a mad artist, and now, out in a cold, harsh world all by themselves with no one to protect them…! Oh, just think of the Mama and Papa emeralds! They must be worried sick!”

    Xzar blew his nose as loud as a blare of trumpets, much to Montaron’s disgust. But as he wiped his eyes dry and feigned his grief, his voice dropped and spoke out of the corners of his mouth, just loud enough for all to hear. “Now think about how much Mama and Papa would pay to see their children returned, safe and sound.”

    Montaron seemed to take Xzar’s advice, for he did not protest again. He instead simmered off a bit, crossing his arms over his chest grudgingly.

    “Then are we decided?” Jaheira asked one more time, just to be sure. “Shall we take the gems or not?”

    Markra didn’t much like the idea of taking the emeralds, even if it was to return them to their rightful owner. Prism had begged with his dying breath that they “leave the sparkle in her eyes,” and looking at the stone Ellesime now, he didn’t want to remove them. It was the curves of the stone, their glint against the sun—the emeralds just seemed to fit. What a shame it would be if they were taken away now, before anyone else had the chance to look upon her in wonder.

    But a much wiser, more cynical part of him knew that it wouldn’t last. Someone, some time, would eventually stumble upon Prism’s statue, and that person may or may not be an admirer. More likely, a bandit or a thief who would sooner take the jewels for himself and sell them away, to some place where the original owner would surely never see them again. Prism had completed his statue; she was the last he saw before the light faded from his eyes, and she would be etched into his memory for eternity.

    And besides, Markra assured himself as he gazed again at the sculpture, she’s plenty beautiful without the emeralds.

    “Let’s take them down,” he answered at last. “It’s not like they’re hard to carry.”

    Jaheira nodded, and with Imoen’s help, they dislodged the sparkling gems from Ellesime’s eyes and placed them into a safe pouch. As the rest of the party gathered their bearings, though, Markra continued to stare at Prism. At his content smile, as unmoving as the statue that hovered over him.

    “We must hurry to the Nashkel Mines,” Jaheira’s voice cut through his remorse like a knife through ice. “They won’t be much further now, and we need to at least begin our investigation before the day comes to an end.”

    He knew that. Of course Markra knew that. But that didn’t stop him from at least trying to ask:

    “We’re just going to leave him like that?”

    Jaheira sighed, but instead of breaking out into yet another lecture—one that Markra had already begun preparing a plethora of comebacks for—she put a hand on his shoulder, and her gaze softened.

    “Let us ask the miners when we arrive,” she suggested gently. “As I said, they are not far, and there are many people in this region who loved Prism’s art. I am certain we can find someone willing to take care of him.”

    Markra’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, unsure of what to say at first. “J-Jaheira, I… Th-Thank you.”

    “Think nothing of it, Markra. But you should try to not stutter so much. We wouldn’t want you turning into my husband, now would we?”

    She smiled to show she was joking. And Markra smiled back, because Jaheira was actually joking. “No ma’am,” he laughed. And with Ellesime’s eternal gaze at their backs, the band of adventurers continued on, passing through the amber glow of early twilight.
    NimrankcwiseJuliusBorisovrufus_hobart
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520
    Nimran said:

    You should be called the necrowriter. :smile:

    Darn right I am. :smiley:

    (Something tells me that's not exactly something to be proud of... >.>;; )
    kcwiseJuliusBorisovNimranBlackraven
  • kcwisekcwise Member Posts: 2,287
    Great fun!

    I enjoyed how you worked the sword's cold powers into the fight. Very nicely done.

    And, I got a good chuckle from this:
    “Those poor, baby emeralds… Spirited from their homes one night by a mad artist, and now, out in a cold, harsh world all by themselves with no one to protect them…! Oh, just think of the Mama and Papa emeralds! They must be worried sick!”
    :)

    Quick question, did something get left out here? It seems like a sentence or two might be missing:
    A disheveled young man dressed in blue, chiseling the stone ever so delicately. Clink-clack-clink-clackDie? Then we have to stop him!”
    Also, more more, write more! ;)
    JuliusBorisovNimranNonnahswriterBlackraven
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520
    edited January 2015
    kcwise said:

    :)

    Quick question, did something get left out here? It seems like a sentence or two might be missing:

    A disheveled young man dressed in blue, chiseling the stone ever so delicately. Clink-clack-clink-clackDie? Then we have to stop him!”
    Oh. Poop. How did I miss that.

    Lemme go fix that riiiiight noooow...

    Edit: Ah-ha. I accidentally typed in the wrong bracket when I was adding the italics, so it skipped a huge chunk of it even though the text is written in the post. Might want to go back and read it again now that everything makes sense again... Sorry about that. ^_^;;
    kcwiselolienNimranBlackraven
  • kcwisekcwise Member Posts: 2,287
    Yay! More story!
    NonnahswriterJuliusBorisovlolienNimran
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520
    Nimran said:

    You really make these characters your own. :cookie:

    ^_^ Thank you! They are my minions to toy with. >:D

    And one of these days I'm gonna marathon your story and get all caught up. Just haven't had the time lately. D: But it's inspiring to see you updating so frequently; it takes a lot to write so much so fast! :smiley:
    kcwiselolienNimranJuliusBorisov
  • NimranNimran Member Posts: 4,875
    It's worth it, though. That feeling of accomplishment as I finish each chapter is very compelling. :smile:
    NonnahswriterkcwiselolienJuliusBorisov
  • NonnahswriterNonnahswriter Member Posts: 2,520
    edited March 2015

    My plot-writing brain usually is agonizingly involved with how to exchange Jaheira and Khalid for Minsc and Branwen. I know I am going to miss them - they usually exit as escorts for Volo on a Harper Mission to rendezvous with Amnish confederates - but my Charnames only wake up and really start being themselves once the married couple leaves the scene.

    You could always just kill them off. :naughty:

    *shot*

    O-Or...let them live and go on their long-overdue honeymoon. Yeah, that oughtta liven up Jaheira's mood. Maybe. Um.

    Also agree with @kcwise about the onset of Bhaalspawn powers. Have not really given that aspect much thought but you have correctly pin-pointed that development as a crucial emergence of the self-discovery narrative. Whether or not that theme of "awakening to Bhaalspawn-hood" is fully explored certainly sets the tone of any fan-fiction in a pretty huge way.

    I really should spend the cash to purchase a really good Speech-recognition software... Going now to check out your fan.fiction link. Cheers! :)

    Thank you very much. ^_^ I wanted to write that scene sooooo bad, and the praise is immensely validating. :blush:

    Edit: Oh, and thank you for the favorite on ff.net too. ^_^
    Post edited by Nonnahswriter on
    kcwiseJuliusBorisovlolien
  • BelgarathMTHBelgarathMTH Member Posts: 5,653
    I'm amazed at how you build suspense to the climaxes in a story and a scenario that I've played in the game a thousand and one times. You make it all new again, and you have the best character development I've ever seen for the npc's.

    I was riveted the whole time while I was reading chapters 10 and 11.

    Isn't it amazing how just a few voiced lines from these BG1 characters in the game give so much exposition to their personalities, that our imaginations have so much fuel to fill them out into fully developed characters? And I think your interpretation of their personalities is spot-on. I can't wait to see what you will do with the J-K/M-Z conflict. I loved your foreshadowing in chapter 10, and how you made it a chance for Markra to take control of the party for the first time, if only for a moment.

    Excellent, excellent work.
    kcwiseNonnahswriterJuliusBorisovlolien
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