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Evil Dream Verbiage - Baldur's Gate EE (Spoilers)

Anyone have a resource which shows the verbiage of the evil dreams? I can find the good ones out there, but not the evil ones.


  • KuronaKurona Member Posts: 782
    Prepare for walls of text.

    1st dream
    You do not dream often, but tonight the visions are vivid indeed. Long have you walked, but now you find yourself back amidst the stones of Candlekeep. Your former home looms before you, the drab walls just as you remember them. Over the barricades, you can see your old room, and you wonder if it really was as small as it appears now.

    As you stand before the keep, a familiar figure comes into view. Gorion stands before you, but his visage is shadowy and weak. He is dead in your dreams, as in life.

    The phantom of your foster father mutely walks towards the woods, towards supposed safety, and beckons for you to follow as he did once before. This time, you remain behind, knowing what is to come.

    Before your eyes, phantoms of the past reenact the pathetic scene that must have taken place in your absence. Clad in armor assuredly magical, a figure strides from the darkness. Admittedly a powerful mage in his youth, Gorion is all but helpless before the onslaught. As he falls, the scene begins again, replaying over and over. Each successive viewing makes the unknown warrior all the more impressive.

    As you stare at the murderer of your former mentor, one thought coalesces in your mind: You will have such power as this. Whatever it takes, you will have all that he does, and more. With that, a passage becomes clear through the darkened wood, and you wonder how you could have missed it. The trees close behind you as you walk, but you are unconcerned. The path feels right and will assuredly give you what you seek. It seems to promise this in a voice you know, but yet have never heard.

    The image of Gorion's death replays in your mind throughout the night.

    You get used to it.

    The stone tunnels of the Nashkel mines constrain your dreams tonight. The twisting depths are more a nuisance than claustrophobic now, what with the hidden marauders dead at your feet. Deeper you tread, chuckling over your triumph at each body you see, pausing occasionally to wipe your boots clean or check the odd kobold for coins you might have missed.

    There is a sound from below, and you quickly move towards it. A door opens, and before you stands Mulahey, in no better shape than you left him. Held from whatever afterlife calls it, this specter has apparently been waiting for you. A dagger of bone hovers before it, ready for a willing hand to drive it deep. Had this creature breath, you are sure it would be hurling curses. It waits for the kill, a death beyond death, and knows no hope. Rightfully so.

    You brush aside the quaint blade and bring your hands around the creature's neck. A stranger's weapon simply will not suffice in this matter; you must be certain this phantom remains among the dead. It is strange though: Doomed as he is, Mulahey still looks somewhat relieved. His visage fades within your grasp and leaves you clutching at empty air. A puzzling turn, but of little concern. The mine is yours once again.

    You turn to leave, but find the exit blocked. The lone dagger has become five: a skeletal set of claws that hovers before you. A talon extends and presses against your chest, and a hollow voice chills the air. "You should use the tools you are given." It traces a line of ichor on your tunic, increasing in pressure. "Listen to what is bred in the bone." There is a flash of motion as the claws push deep into your chest.

    You awake in an instant, the sound of morning a welcome clamor. You are intact and, though tired, you are certainly not afraid.

    Your heart is not your weak spot.

    As darkness falls, your mind drifts back to events past and to conquests well won indeed. The feared and fabled bandits that have plagued the entire coast are as dust beneath you. You stride through their camp, ignoring their attacks, and scattering tents and bodies as you go.

    Your recollections are interrupted without impact or fanfare, as the earth opens to accept your passage. The cascading rock and gravel prevents your escape, and in a moment all is black. For all you know, you have descended to the very core of the world.

    The walls around you illuminate, and a cavern slowly takes shape, though you can see no more than a few steps ahead or behind. Stumbling forward you find yourself face to face with yourself.

    Before you is a likeness in stone exact to the smallest detail. A voice in the darkness accuses you, even as it seems amused. "Such pride undeserved, great conqueror, when your whole being is borrowed. Credit where it is due, and dues where payment is demanded."

    A dagger of bone flies from the blackness and strikes the statue, square. It cracks slightly, but the pain you feel is as though you were rent asunder.

    "You were made as you are," taunts the voice, "and you can also be broken." You fall backward into the void and do not come to rest until morning wakes you.

    Tonight, you dream of blood. Not of blood on a blade or the blood on your hands, but an ichor that runs as a torrent through the realms. A flood that pours across the fields and forests. An ocean that floats you to the world's edge and threatens to cascade off into the void.

    This blood seems a frightening thing: a massive force that sweeps away all resistance. As a whole, it is a monster, and it cannot be stopped. Were it to be viewed from on high, it would seem to cover the entire world in its red-black embrace.

    You, however, do not have such a lofty perch. From within the deluge, you can see it does not move as one, but is filled with currents, eddies, and undertows. Pockets of calm afford breathing space, whilst violent whirlpools threaten to rend limb from limb. Ultimately, it seems undirected, mindless, and meandering. You may be caught within, but there are still options open, still choices to be made.

    The tide presses on, but you press back. Let the blood rage as it will; you are in control of what is yours, and that is all you can ask.

    5th (this one is extremely similar to the good one)
    You close your eyes tonight, and Candlekeep winds its way into your dreams. With a flash of memory, you are a runt of a child once more, Gorion dragging you through the gates of the citadel. Aged as he ever was, you still have to run to keep up with him. He has an important meeting with Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes: an important meeting about you. Funny, you don't remember it.

    As you stand outside the doors of the inner keep, you can hear the shouting from within. Gorion is uncharacteristically loud and seems quite irate. You don't know why he bothers, really. No one seems to want the two of you around.

    As you trace patterns in the water of a fountain, a reflection distracts you from the argument. A large raven has perched atop a stone wall and stares directly at you with huge black eyes. You stare back through the mirror of the water and are suddenly afraid to meet the bird's gaze any other way. It has claws for feet. You think to yourself: little skeletal claws.

    The doors of the keep suddenly swing open, and Ulraunt storms out. He glances at you for a moment, but looks away as he speaks. "You both can stay," he sneers, "but mark my words. That child will be the death of you."

    A flash of memory once more, and Gorion walks out of the keep as he is today: dead. You drop your gaze back to the water so as not to see. The raven is gone, but your own image remains. Your eyes are black, like those of a bird.

    "Like father, like child," the reflection says.

    You wake with a yell, predictably unrested.

    And the last
    Tonight, you sleep hunted by all and wake in a dream hunted by one.

    Tonight, you are the monster everyone claims you are: the kobold scorned like a rodent, the ogre that children fear comes in the night. The mobs and their torches now come for you, counting you among the creatures you once did hunt. Or so someone would have you believe.

    Once again you hear the voice, a voice that now makes no secret of its origins. It speaks of destiny and nature, and of evils bred in the bone. It says you will never be free of the mob, that they will hunt you for what you are. Murder and death run through your heart, and accepting that will supposedly give you power. The essence of Bhaal within you cannot be ignored.

    It is mistaken. You have already accepted what runs in your veins: You have accepted it and moved on. Whatever the foundation of the blood within you, it is yours and no one else's. If there is a power to be had, then you will administer it as you see fit and not according to the ravings of a shade long dead.

    You calmly turn your back and walk away, applying the most powerful weapon you have at your disposal: indifference. Let the dead rattle on if they wish. Had they the power to harm you, they would have done so a dozen times over. More tangible threats require attention.

    The voice becomes shrill and piercing as you walk, but gradually grows weaker. As it fades, one warning does stand out amidst the din. It speaks of others that will listen where you have not, others that will embrace what you have rejected, and others that will be your death. This describes but one man, and you know of no other it could be. He who orchestrated your fall and deserves all that you shall inflict upon him. Sarevok.

    He shall feel your wrath for all that has occurred. You awake sure of your cause and of what must be done.

    They lose a lot of impact without the creepy music and Kevin Michael Richardson's narration, I think.

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