ranzware
I thought I was out.
I’d had my fill of Baldur’s Gate 3—in a good way, mind you—and was finally free to play something else without feeling like I was shamefully neglecting what is surely the RPG of the decade. I’d made all the Tavs and Durges I’d ever wanted to play as, and then a few more just for good measure. I’d conquered honour mode with ease. I’d “accidentally” triggered the funny vampire-squashing monastery routine more times than anyone ever needed to, cooked delicious real-world soup using in-game recipes (thanks, Brother Donnick), and thoroughly poked and prodded every bit of the Sword Coast the game had to offer. I felt satisfied, and finished.
And then Patch 8 happened.
Photo mode alone is eating up hours of my life. I can finally take beautiful screenshots of the game’s gorgeous scenery without having to slap a[nother] mod onto the game, and I can pause the action mid-battle to show my team off in dramatic poses. I can also give Shadowheart cat ears, powerful monsters daft googly eyes, and take selfies as I pose next to the corpses of my many, many, enemies, ‘critical failure’ stickers disrespectfully applied to the final image.
But it’s the new subclasses that have really grabbed me by the bhaals and refuse to let go.
The sheer amount of time I’ve poured into the game has inevitably made me a little too comfortable with the old options. I knew who I wanted to fulfil a particular role before I’d gathered my party and ventured forth, I knew exactly when and where I’d find equipment that would make them shine from the second they joined, and I knew which feats I wanted them to have long before I’d even got as far as the title screen.
Not any more. Twelve subclasses mean there’s more than enough newness for me to give the entire Tadpole Crew very different roles. Wyll was born to be a charming swashbuckler like the fairytale heroes of old. I’m certain Karlach would go around punching people in the face like a drunken monk after one too many beers even if I didn’t ask her to. Bladesinger made perfect sense for Lae’zel, because of course she’d want to be the master of every battle discipline all at once—why go for swords or spells when swords and spells is right there? And you can’t tell me commanding a legion of bees doesn’t suit Minsc, chaos incarnate and friend to hamsters everywhere, like a butt-kicking boot.
It’s like someone snuck a few new tracks onto my favourite meticulously crafted playlist and then hit shuffle. It’s mostly the same—and then suddenly I don’t quite know what I’m doing and everyone’s wearing the wrong gear.
I’m in heaven. I’m checking and rechecking the descriptive text of icons that didn’t exist until a few days ago because I honestly have no idea what they do. I have to rethink every action and approach the same old batches of goblins and Bhaalists—battles I know so well I could probably draw a tactical map of the area from memory—in a completely new way.
My old expert spear-throwing barbarian now needs to get close enough to punch people until they’re sozzled.
My new wizard has spent the past few years chopping people up with greatswords.
And my death cleric is far more interested in what happens after people die than keeping everyone else safe and healthy.
Because Baldur’s Gate 3 seamlessly integrates class abilities into so many non-battle situations, even actions as ordinary as chatting to other people and exploring a basement feel new. For the first time ever the noble Blade of Frontiers is my designated sneaky rogue, loosening locks and relieving the city’s vaults of their shiniest items. My most charismatic party member, the one person I need to bring to the front so they can lead this conversation and hopefully spare us from a tough battle is… who, again? I can’t sleep-click my way through encounters, and that means I’m forced to fully engage with the game again. I’m noticing my team again. I’m wondering who to bring and accidentally getting myself into a fun sort of trouble because I made the wrong choice, something that’s felt basically impossible for the last, oh, 300 hours.
I loved my first playthrough, every few minutes seeming to introduce some new wonder I wouldn’t have dared to even jokingly wish for. This game made every impossible RPG dream I’d ever had look easy. It was an overwhelming experience, like getting wiped out by a tidal wave of fluffy day-old chicks.
I still loved it when I hit the 500 hour mark, familiarity breeding a newfound sense of confidence that I could do whatever I liked and the game would take even my wildest strategies and ideas into account. I sometimes set things on fire on purpose and relished every challenge the plot could throw at me.
After an MMO-worthy length of play time I love it more than ever. I’m getting both the cozy familiarity and the surprising freshness at once, and it’s even better than either one on their own. I’m fearlessly striding into enemy territory and then tripping myself up when I get there, just smart enough to get myself into trouble, but not yet knowledgeable enough about all of Patch 8’s intricacies to get myself out of it. A string of self-inflicted sticky ends await my remixed party and their new skills, and I’ll be smiling every time I have to reload and try again.
But this is the end of the line. There will be no more more from Larian. It’s done. Over. And as precious as this final drop of new is, I’m not sad about that fact, because I know the adventure’s not even close to being finished. Baldur’s Gate 3 has been finished off and then handed over to its fans to enjoy as-is, mod to the hells and back, and then thanks to the new crossplay feature, play with just about anyone and everyone else. It’s a gift.
Thank you. I won’t forget it.
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Kurt Indovina
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