Boxing Day, 1998. I’m sat in my mate Dave’s bedroom in Stockport, staring at this absolutely massive box with five CDs and what looked like someone having the worst day of their entire existence glaring back at me from the cover art. Dave had picked up Baldur’s Gate from Virgin Megastore with his Christmas money, and honestly? Neither of us had a clue what we were getting into. I’d been mucking about with Ultima VII on my 486 earlier that year, thought I knew what computer RPGs were all about. Turned out I knew absolutely nothing.
See, growing up in the UK meant my exposure to proper D&D was limited to whatever Tom Brady (not the American football bloke, obviously) could explain during lunch breaks at college. He’d picked up the Player’s Handbook from Games Workshop and kept trying to convince us that rolling dice was somehow more entertaining than going down the pub. I mean, we tried it a few times in his mum’s front room, but I never quite grasped why armor class worked backwards or what THAC0 was supposed to mean. Sounded like something you’d buy at a petrol station, didn’t it?
But there I was, Boxing Day afternoon, rolling stats for what felt like three hours straight. Kept trying to get that perfect 18/00 strength – which, if you’ve never dealt with AD&D’s mental system, means you roll an 18 and then get a percentage on top that makes it even better. Completely barmy way of doing things, but I was determined to get it right. Eventually settled on a half-elf fighter called Marcus (yeah, I know, not very creative) and stepped into Candlekeep with absolutely no idea I’d just started what would become an 80-hour obsession.
That opening music hit different, you know? Proper orchestral stuff with those deep chanting voices. Made my Creative Labs speakers sound like they were worth more than the twenty quid I’d paid for them. And then you’re wandering around this massive library with your foster dad Gorion, doing mundane errands and learning how to right-click on things. Seemed peaceful enough. Little did I know I’d spend the next few months uncovering some mental conspiracy about the God of Murder while clicking on every single pixel of the map looking for hidden treasure.
The companions were what properly hooked me though. Found Minsc early on – this massive ranger with brain damage and a hamster he claimed was from space. Initially thought he was just comic relief, right? Big muscular bloke shouting “Butt-kicking for goodness!” every five minutes. But spending time with him, you realize there’s proper depth there. Same with Imoen – starts off as your childhood friend, but her story gets dark fast. Made me genuinely care about these people in a way I’d never experienced in a game before.
And Edwin! Bloody hell, that pompous red wizard was the most arrogant character I’d ever encountered, but his dialogue was so perfectly snooty that I kept him around just to hear what he’d say next. These weren’t just stat blocks with voice acting; they felt like actual people with their own agendas and personalities. I remember the first time Kivan and Viconia started having a go at each other because of their racial differences – sat there genuinely unsure what to do, felt like I was mediating a proper argument.
The world map nearly gave me a panic attack when I first opened it. This was 1998, remember – open world games weren’t really a thing yet, certainly not on this scale. All these locations scattered across the Sword Coast, most of them completely unexplored. Where do you even start? Made the mistake of heading straight to Nashkel Mines from Beregost with a party of level 2 characters. The kobolds absolutely murdered us. After my fourth total party kill, I swallowed my pride and went back to do smaller quests around the Friendly Arm Inn.
That’s when Baldur’s Gate taught me something important about patience in gaming. You couldn’t just charge through the main quest like you might in a platformer or shooter. Had to take your time, build up your party, learn the systems. My first encounter with a basilisk was traumatic – didn’t understand why my characters kept turning to stone until it was too late. Lost three hours of progress because I hadn’t been rotating save files like an idiot. Nearly rage-quit on the spot, but instead I reloaded, prepared properly with protection spells, and felt this incredible rush when I finally killed the scaly bastard.
Combat was like nothing I’d experienced before. Pausing to issue orders to each party member, positioning everyone strategically, saving spell slots for the right moment – it was chess with fireballs. Spent ages on early GameFAQs forums reading about party composition strategies. Should you have two thieves for trap detection? Was it worth doubling up on divine casters? The endless combinations meant every playthrough felt completely different.
The dialogue system spoiled me for other games for years afterward. Actually having meaningful choices in conversations? Information that might change depending on how you responded? Revolutionary stuff back then. Found myself reading every line carefully, sometimes taking notes when important plot details got revealed. And the writing had this perfect balance of serious fantasy drama and unexpected humor that just worked. “You must gather your party before venturing forth” still pops into my head whenever I’m trying to coordinate mates for a night out.
Technically, the Infinity Engine was incredible. Those pre-rendered backgrounds were so detailed I’d sometimes just stop and look around. The Bridge District in Baldur’s Gate city with all its architectural flourishes. Forests with proper dappled sunlight. Dungeons that felt genuinely atmospheric with dripping water and ominous shadows. These weren’t just gameplay spaces – they were places that felt lived-in and real.
Sarevok remains one of my favorite video game villains ever. Not because he was particularly complex, mind you, but because the game built him up so effectively. First time you actually see him in that terrifying spiked armor, after hearing whispers about him for dozens of hours? Genuinely intimidating. That final battle killed me so many times I started having nightmares about his voice. When I finally beat him – after spending twenty minutes setting traps around the area with my thief before starting the fight – I literally jumped up and did a victory lap around Dave’s bedroom.
Made a proper mistake during my first playthrough that I still laugh about. Spent so much time on side quests and exploration that I hit the experience cap ages before reaching the endgame. Kept wondering why my characters had stopped leveling up, thought it was a bug or something. Didn’t know RPGs could have level caps! The fact that I’d maxed everyone out and was still finding the late game challenging shows how well-balanced the difficulty was.
When Baldur’s Gate II came out, I booked time off my first proper job to play it. My girlfriend at the time couldn’t understand why I was so excited about “that dragon thing again.” But Baldur’s Gate had become more than just a game to me – it was a formative experience that shaped what I expected from RPGs going forward.
Looking at modern games like Dragon Age or The Witcher, you can see Baldur’s Gate’s influence everywhere. The companion relationship systems, meaningful dialogue choices, the blend of main story and side content – BioWare created a template that countless developers have followed and refined. When I played Pillars of Eternity a few years back, it felt like a proper love letter to everything that made Baldur’s Gate special.
Replayed the Enhanced Edition during lockdown and was amazed at how well it held up. Yeah, some of the AD&D rules felt clunky and the pathfinding still made me want to chuck my mouse out the window, but the core experience was every bit as engaging as it had been twenty-odd years earlier. The story, characters, world-building – all still brilliant.
I’ve played hundreds of games since 1998. Some with better graphics, more streamlined systems, bigger worlds. But few have captured that perfect combination of mechanics, storytelling, and world-building that made Baldur’s Gate so revolutionary. It wasn’t just a great RPG – it was the game that showed what computer RPGs could become. And for that, it’ll always hold a special place in gaming history and in my heart, right alongside Boo and his miniature giant space hamster adventures.
John grew up swapping floppy disks and reading Amiga Power cover to cover. Now an IT manager in Manchester, he writes about the glory days of British computer gaming—Sensible Soccer, Speedball 2, and why the Amiga deserved more love than it ever got.
