The Candlekeep Annex: RPed Baldur’s Gate No and Low Reload Adventures

[Borco]

Astral, human enchanter: Introduction

Game version: BGEE 2.6.6.0
Mods: SCS v35.25, BG Tweaks (cosmetic changes)
Difficulty: Insane
SCS install: all tactical components and AI enhancements (BG1), limited spell revisions (see details below), modified overpowered items, mage and priest HLAs are treated as memorizable spells, sequencers and contingencies are innate abilities

Since I'll be playing a mage, I suppose it makes sense to first elaborate a bit on the specifics of my current spell set-up. The “Install all spell tweaks component” of SCSv35 currently introduces a major overhaul to the spell system without any opt-out options. Because of this, I skipped it in favor of selecting individual tweak categories as follows:

• IWD spells in BG: Skipped.
• Changes to Restoration: Installed.
• Changes to shapeshift spells: Skipped. I'm using the default BGEE versions of Polymorph: Self and Shapeshift.
• Core Stratagems spell-system changes: Installed. These are consistent with the previous SCS versions.
• Icewind Dale-inspired tweaks to Baldur's Gate/Baldur's Gate II spells: Skipped. This is mainly relevant in keeping the vanilla behavior for Chromatic Orb (which saves at +6 and has all the effects), Shocking Grasp (still requires a successful melee attack), Lower Resist (10% + 1% per level MR reduction), and Death Spell / Death Fog (automatically kills all non-gated summons).
• Rebalancing of slightly-too-powerful spells: Installed. This is a mixed bag comprising some traditional SCS changes (capping Skull Trap damage, Harm deals 150 dmg, PI/Simmys cannot use quick slots, MMMs are +2 weapons etc.) and other tweaks that I would deem more optional. Most importantly, ADHW no longer works against undead and other non-living creatures, which is going to pose a meaningful limitation on an enchanter with no access to Evocation damage spells. Also, Lightning Bolt can no longer strike single target multiple times, which is a shame, really.
• Spell school changes: Skipped. Symbols and power words are still classified as conjuration. Sequencers and triggers are already treated as innate abilities, so this wasn’t required either. I was assuming that Astral won't be able to use Wish without this component - this turned out to be untrue and enchanters can indeed use it. Unfortunately for Astral, we hadn’t rolled his starting WIS accordingly.
• Spells increased in power: Installed. Symbols and blade globes are party-friendly, Energy Drain steals 5 levels, and Larloch's Minor Drain scales up to 5d4 magic damage. The LMD change is certainly going to be relevant, since enchanters don’t have much IA material in their book at L1.
• New arcane and divine spells: Skipped.
• Revised elementals: Skipped.

With these geeky set-up details out of the way, let’s meet our wizard:

Starting spells: Find Familiar, Sleep, Charm Person
Weapon proficiency: Darts

It's been a long-standing habit of mine to name my protagonists after characters from Heroes of Might and Magic III and Astral is no exception (fittingly, the Astral of HOMAM also happens to be something of an enchanter himself). His inception as a character coincided with @Finarfin's Conan and they each left Candlekeep in their separate dimensions on the same day.

Compared with his mighty barbarian counterpart, Astral's progress has been painfully slow. I'd like to say measured, but that would've been too much of an optimistic description. Where Conan steamrolled fearlessly ahead with confidence and swagger, Astral has been hesitant and indecisive, constantly brooding over his book, often questioning his own potential. By the time Finarfin’s protégé was boasting of slaying dragons, we were just learning how to cast level 5 spells.

Overall, Astral was and continues to be a demanding character for me as a player in terms of concentration, planning, and execution. At the same time, it's certainly been a rewarding experience - similarly to the satisfaction achieved through exhausting physical exercise, when you know that you've managed to somehow push yourself further and challenge your own limits. If nothing else, then I’m hoping to come out of this run as a better arcane caster than before. Finally, to Astral's defence, I wouldn't necessarily describe it as being particularly difficult per se, because ultimately whenever Astral finally pushed himself into action or decided to execute a plan, he'd usually end up delivering a more solid and consistent performance than most of my previous characters.

The theme song was an obvious choice.



For the record, I have a backlog of posts relating to our multiplayer session with Ryland and Kalam which I will try to prioritize for now. Still, I just wanted to get Astral out there so that I feel sufficiently committed to come back with his story later.

Regards,

B.

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 18 - The Price of Debt

Conan left the Copper Coronet, leaving Imoen and the others behind. He found Aran waiting at the Docks, pale and smiling.

“Conan. Good to see you again.”

“What do you want of me, thief?”

“Vampires,” Aran said simply. “They bleed us dry. Unless someone cuts out their heart, my guild dies.”

Conan’s mouth curled. “I know them. I defeated their mistress once already.”

“Defeated, yes,” Aran said smoothly, “but not destroyed. Bodhi walks still, stronger than before, her coven growing with every nightfall. Go to the Graveyard District. My captain, Arkanis, will meet you there with his squad. Do this, and your debt to the Shadow Thieves is ended.”

Conan’s only answer was a nod.

---

The Graveyard​

The day was waning when Conan strode into the graveyard. Not vampires yet — the sun still burned — but he heard fighting nearby. He turned and saw two familiar shapes: Nevin and Uncle Lester, still locked in their endless duel. Conan remembered them fighting just the same when he first came to the city months ago.

Conan laughed, a deep roar that startled the crows. “Crom! Warriors who fight for months without pause — they’d find welcome in Valhalla itself!”:

Spoiler

In the crypts, Arkanis waited with his thieves.
“Heard much about you,” he said, hand on his dagger. “Hope you’re as good as they say.”

Conan grinned. “Steel proves more than words. Stay out of my way.”

Arkanis gave a thin chuckle, and they pressed into the dark.

---

The Trap​

Too quiet.

Conan’s instincts screamed warning a heartbeat before it struck. Invisible shackles coiled around his arms and chest, freezing him mid-step. He roared, muscles bulging, rage flaring — yet the bonds did not break.

Shadows shifted. Fangs gleamed. Vampires poured from every crevice, descending on the thieves like wolves into sheep. Screams filled the labyrinth. Blood painted the stone. One by one, the Shadow Thieves fell. Even Arkanis, defiant to the last, was torn down beneath claw and fang:

Spoiler

Conan strained, shackled still, watching helplessly as the slaughter unfolded.

Then she appeared.

Bodhi. The vampire queen glided from the darkness like a vision of nightmare beauty.
“Ah, Conan. Good to see you again.” Her smile was cruel perfection. “Don’t struggle. Those chains are woven for you, barbarian. Not even your vaunted rage will break them.”

Conan spat at her feet. “Do your worst, witch. I’ll break free, one way or another.”

She laughed softly, circling him. “Still so proud. Still clinging to that stubborn fire. I told you before — you are meant to be mine. My right hand, my champion. With you beside me, the land itself would bow.”

His arms strained, veins standing out, but the shackles held. And worse — he felt her mind pressing into his, whispering, coaxing, eroding. His fury wavered, swallowed by something deeper, colder.

“By Crom,” he thought, “is this how it ends?”

---

Copper Coronet — Some time earlier​

Imoen had not sat still since Conan left. Her gut twisted, something sharp and wrong.
“I don’t like this,” she told Drizzt, rising. “I mean, Conan’s a walking fortress, sure — but something’s off. I have to follow him.”

Drizzt nodded, eyes dark. “I feel it too. We’ll go. The rest stay — Bruenor, Cattie-brie, Wulfgar. Too many feet will give us away.”

Bruenor muttered under his beard but did not argue.

Slipping into the shadows, Imoen and Drizzt followed Conan across the city, all the way to the graveyard. They watched from cover as he met Arkanis and his thieves.

“He’s walking into something,” Imoen whispered, chewing her lip.

Drizzt’s hand rested lightly on his scimitar. “A trap, most likely. But if it is, we’ll need to strike at the right moment.”

“Then we’d better be ready,” Imoen said. She whispered arcane words, layering herself and Drizzt with protections, strength, haste. Sparks of magic shimmered around them as they followed Conan into the crypt.

---

The Shackled Barbarian​

They saw it happen: the shackles binding Conan, the vampires erupting from the shadows, the slaughter that followed. Imoen’s heart clenched — seeing the barbarian, unmovable until now, helpless.

“I have to help him!” she gasped.

Drizzt’s hand shot out, steady as steel. “Not yet. Wait for my signal.” And with that, he melted into the darkness, a shadow among shadows.

Imoen’s breath came fast. “How in the Nine Hells are we supposed to fight this?!” Her hand trembled until it brushed a scroll tucked deep in her pouch. She pulled it out — the prize they’d brought from the Underdark. Her last resort.

She prepared it.

---

Conan​

Bodhi’s voice was a drone in his ears, her captain looming over him, draining his strength. Conan sagged to his knees, rage guttering low.

Then — motion. A blur of shadow, a hiss of steel. Twin scimitars flashed, and in the blink of an eye the captain’s head leapt from his shoulders, blood fountaining hot across Conan’s face.

---

Imoen​

Signal enough. Imoen unleashed the scroll.

Time stopped.

The world froze in silence, every scream and hiss hanging in the air. Dust hung unmoving in the lamplight. Vampires loomed like statues. Even Bodhi’s predatory smile was caught half-formed.

Imoen stepped through the stillness, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. It was strange, terrifying — to walk among frozen death.

She reached Conan’s side. Her hand trembled over the cruel runes. “Hold on, Conan… just hold on.” She tried a dispel — nothing. Panic fluttered in her chest, but she forced it down, whispering the syllables of a Knock spell. A faint click answered, then another, and suddenly the shackles split open with a crash. The barbarian was free.

“Okay… okay.” She bent, braced herself, and with Strength magic and haste fueling her, she hoisted Conan. One arm slung over her shoulder, and in a blur of unnatural speed she dragged him out of the worst of the carnage.

Once clear, she fumbled a vial from her belt and forced it to Conan’s lips. The bitter draught slid down, color slowly stirring back into his face. “Come on, Conan. Stay with me.”

---

Bodhi​

Conan was breaking. His fire, his fury — all of it crumbling under her will. Soon he would be hers. The thought thrilled her; with Conan at her side, she could unmake this city, this land.

But then—blood. Her captain’s headless corpse fell before her, and in that same instant Conan vanished, stolen away in a blur she hadn’t seen.

Shock. Rage. Then cold fury. She straightened, eyes scanning the shadows, lips curling back from her fangs. “So. They dare challenge me.”

---

Conan​

His vision cleared. Imoen knelt before him, relief in her eyes. She pressed his weapons into his hands.

“Glad you’re back,” she said quickly. “But no time. Drizzt’s still in there.”

Conan’s grip closed around his mace and sword, strength surging back into his limbs. He rose, towering, bloodied but unbroken.

“Then we go,” he growled.

The Battle in the Crypts​

Conan strode back into the slaughter, mace whirling in one hand, sword gleaming in the other. The vampires hissed, their eyes red embers in the gloom, but it was his roar that filled the crypt.

Steel sang beside him — Drizzt, darting through shadows, his twin scimitars carving arcs of silver light. Imoen’s magic blazed behind them, bolts of force and fire scattering the lesser spawn.

Conan swung. The mace smashed through a vampire’s skull, bone and blood spraying the wall. He pivoted, sword flashing low, severing legs at the knees. They kept coming — silent, relentless — but he met them with fury, with the joy of slaughter.

Bodhi glided through her children, untouched, eyes fixed on him.
“You will kneel, barbarian. You are mine.”

“Come and take me!” he bellowed.

She struck — faster than thought, a blur of claws and fangs. Conan caught her wrists, the impact rattling stone. Her strength was monstrous, but his was the strength of Cimmeria, of the mountains, of rage. With a roar he slammed her down, the floor cracking beneath her.

She laughed, even pinned. “So strong. So wasted.”

Fangs snapped toward his throat, but Conan’s mace — forged for crushing the dead — swung in a savage arc and caught her jaw. Bone splintered, black blood spraying as Bodhi reeled back with a hiss, her form already knitting itself together.

Drizzt darted in like a shadow given steel, his scimitars flashing, sparks leaping from her claws as he pressed her step for step. She moved like water, like smoke, but his blades found flesh all the same.

At last Bodhi faltered, silvered steel cutting deep under Drizzt’s relentless assault. That was Conan’s moment.

With a roar that shook the stone, he drove forward, mace raised high. The weapon flared bright as dawn, and when it came down on her chest, the impact hurled her back into a column, stone shattering on impact. She shrieked, clawing at the wound, and Conan bore down without mercy, driving the mace into her heart.

Light seared through her, body convulsing in rage and despair — then the vampire queen crumbled to ash at his feet. His Atlantean sword plunged through her chest, pinning her like an insect.

Her scream split the dark — then silence. Her body crumbled to ash.

The remaining vampires scattered, shrieking into cracks and tunnels, broken without their mistress.

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 19 - Ashes of Suldanessellar

Conan lowered the glowing mace, breath like thunder in the crypt. He turned to his companions. Drizzt’s blades dripped black ichor, his chest rising fast. Imoen leaned on her staff, pale but unbroken. For a long moment, the barbarian only looked at them.

“You’ve my thanks,” he said at last, voice low but steady. “Crom knows, I’d be a slave now without your steel and sorcery.”

Imoen smiled faintly, brushing soot from her hair. Drizzt gave a quiet nod.

But inside, Conan felt something new. A man of Cimmeria trusted no one—steel and strength alone. Yet here, in this strange land, he had found those who would risk their lives for him, not for gold or glory, but for bond. It is no weakness, he thought. To have allies at your back. Perhaps it is the greatest strength of all.

---

Aran Linvail received him in the Docks, pale features unreadable.

“So,” Aran drawled. “Bodhi’s brood is ended. My enemies fall. Yet…” His lips curled. “Arkanis and every man I sent lie dead. Your reputation grows, Conan—but my guild bleeds.”

Conan’s eyes were like cold iron. “They fought. They died. That is all any man can do. Your enemy’s gone. Your power restored. Take your victory, thief lord.”

Aran studied him, then sighed. “You speak like one who has buried many. Perhaps you’re right. And… a bargain is a bargain. Your debt is paid. More than that—consider this a gift.” He leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper. “Irenicus. The mage you hunt. He marches on an elven city called Suldanessellar. If you seek him, seek there.”

Conan inclined his head. “Useful words. You’ve done your part, thief. I’ll not forget it.”

---

Back at the Copper Coronet, Conan stood before his companions, his voice low but unyielding.

“My road runs to Suldanessellar. This fight is mine, and mine alone. Stay here—you’ll not follow me into this.”

They understood, though none were pleased. Wulfgar clasped his forearm with silent respect. Bruenor muttered about “damned fool errands,” beard bristling. Catti-Brie touched his shoulder gently. Drizzt met his eyes and gave a solemn nod, a warrior’s acknowledgment. One by one, they let him go.

But Imoen stood, arms crossed, chin raised. “Alone, huh? Not a chance. You’re stuck with me, barbarian.”

Conan said nothing—only gave the faintest nod. Deep down, he was glad.

As they left together, his thoughts turned inward. Strange. Since freeing Imoen, I’ve thought less of Hyboria. Aye, I miss my old flesh, my homeland. Yet… this body fights stronger. My blade has never sung so true. And this land—Faerûn—offers battles unending, thrones unwon. A man might carve his kingdom here, same as in Cimmeria. And this time, I’ve strong allies at my side. No man walks alone forever. Perhaps Crom had cast me into this world for a reason. And if so… then let the gods watch close, for I’ll leave my mark on it before I’m done.

---

Their road wound far. One evening they met a merchant on the wild path, his wares glittering with spells. Among them: a helm wrought of silver and black iron.

“Vhailor’s Helm,” the man whispered. “It can summon a reflection of its bearer—an ally as strong as yourself.”

Conan barked a laugh, tossing the coin without haggling. He stuffed the helm in his bag of holding. “The world barely holds one Conan. Two would split it in half.”

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother…”

---

Smoke was visible long before they reached Suldanessellar. Towers that once gleamed through emerald canopies now stood broken, fires eating their roots. Yet even in ruin, the city was beautiful—white stone, silver bridges, living trees fused with crystal.

Imoen’s breath caught. “Gods… he deserves death just for this.”

The ground shuddered.

Shapes loomed from the haze—ten golems, huge as towers, their stone faces blank, their march silent but shaking the earth.

Imoen went pale. “Conan… there’s ten of them!”

Conan squinted, counting casually. “One, two… aye, looks like ten.” He drew steel with a grin. “Good odds.”

He charged, roaring, and stone met steel. The first golems shattered under his might, Imoen’s magic sparking at his side. Even the last two—adamantine giants—fell after brutal effort, their hulks collapsing in thunder:

Spoiler

---

The city’s heart was a battlefield. Demons, panther-like beasts, drow sorcerers—all fell beneath Conan’s fury. At last, a dragon rose from the ruins, but Conan met it with the demon-knight’s sword from Underdark. The beast did not stand a chance:

Spoiler

Through the chaos, they carved a path—and there stood Irenicus.

No words. No parley. Conan lunged, steel-first.

Irenicus’s summoned horde filled the ruins, a tide of demons, djinns, and twisted things. For a time, the barbarian was forced back, but as they poured forth, they turned on each other, clawing and tearing, blades clashing in madness:

Spoiler

The mage laughed, chaos itself at his command. In the storm of carnage, Conan fought like a man possessed—fury, steel, and will carving a path until at last his sword dripped with slaughter and he stood before Irenicus himself.

Irenicus staggered, wounded, cornered.

Conan raised his blade. “Now you tell me, wizard—can you send me back to Hyboria?”

Irenicus reeled, blood running down his lips, but his eyes still burned with cruel fire.

“Hyboria?” he spat, laughing through broken teeth. “Fool. You’ll never see it again.”

Before Conan could strike, the mage raised his hands. Dark runes flared, burning through the air.

The spell erupted—blinding, searing—an unmaking born of desperation. Fire and shadow swallowed all: Conan, Imoen, and Irenicus together, consumed in the same breath.

 

[WiseGrimwald]

The spell erupted—blinding, searing—an unmaking born of desperation. Fire and shadow swallowed all: Conan, Imoen, and Irenicus together, consumed in the same breath.

Coanan is no more? He is deceased? He is a dead barbarian? If so, very sad.

Meanwhile the Helmuth party fought the warders and prevailed, though they were badly hurt in the process.

 

[Finarfin]

Coanan is no more? He is deceased? He is a dead barbarian? If so, very sad.

Meanwhile the Helmuth party fought the warders and prevailed, though they were badly hurt in the process.

Spoiler

That is part of the main story of BG2 at the end where basically whole party dies and is dragged to hell after fight with Irenicus. Luckily, Conan is too stubborn to die. No way his barbarian ancestry will allow that before he steps back into his homeland. (at least I hope so )

Keep up the good work with Helmuth! Being hurt is part of the job as long as they prevail!

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 20 - Hell’s Reckoning

The world went white, then black. Silence.

Conan’s body felt as if it had been torn apart and hammered back together, every bone aflame. He groaned, forcing his eyes open. The ground beneath him was no stone he knew, but scorched obsidian, cracked and glowing with veins of molten fire. The air stank of brimstone, each breath a blade down his throat.

Beside him, Imoen stirred, pushing herself up on trembling arms. Around them stretched a wasteland of jagged peaks, rivers of lava, and skies painted in eternal twilight, thick with ash. Screams—distant, inhuman—carried on the foul wind.

Conan rose, wiping blood from his mouth. His voice rumbled low. “Crom… where in the hell are we?”

Imoen gave a weak, crooked smile, though her eyes were wide with fear. “Where do you think, little guy? Yep. It’s hell. Literal hell.”

Conan’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. His gaze swept the burning horizon, jaw set like iron.
“Then let’s find the devil that rules it… and break his teeth.”

---

The trials fell behind them, conquered and silent. At last, the black gates loomed ahead, the keys gathered and ready. They sat, catching their breath.

Conan pushed a pebble across the black ground and watched it skid. He met her eyes and shrugged like a man shrugging off rain.

“I ought to have told you sooner,” he said. “When I woke in this body outside Candlekeep I thought it was a dream. Then the reflection proved otherwise. I was — I am — from another world. Once I held a crown; armies at my command; once I bled for a throne in a place called Hyboria. A cabal of mages unmade me and shoved what was left into this stunted body. I lost my strength — all but the rage. Every day since I have hunted a path home. That is the thing I have not told you.”

Conan continued. “I held my tongue because words are brittle things. Say I was from another world, and you’d think it madness. Say I longed to return, and you’d call it folly. So I let silence guard me. A blade speaks clearer than riddles—and I thought my deeds would matter more than my tale.”

Imoen was already looking at him like she’d expected the words. Her smile was small, wobbly, and there was no mockery in it, only a tired, strange relief. “You think I didn’t notice?” she said quietly. “The Crom-thing was the first clue - nobody here says that. Then there’s the way you talk, the stories you tell like you stepped out of an old song. And you keep calling yourself a barbarian like it’s a title. People in taverns whispered that barbarians were myths. I put it together.”

She leaned forward and jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “I played along because watching you try to be civilized was entertaining. Mostly, though — you came for me when they imprisoned me. You let me free when they would have killed me back at Spellhold. You saved me from that sinking ship, carried me through the Underdark, and kept me safe the whole way. That’s why the rest of it doesn’t matter.” The jest faded from her voice, leaving something sharper, truer. She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, her words quiet but heavy with meaning.

Her voice broke, just for a breath. “To be honest… my little brother was a monster. Sometimes I felt like I loved him because he was the only blood I had — and most days I hated him for what he was. When he was gone… a part of me grieved, yes. But a bigger part was—relief. I wanted him different, better. I even prayed for it when I was little, whispered it into the dark like it would change him. Funny thing is—his name was Conan too. Maybe the gods twisted my prayer, gave me you instead.”

She straightened, eyes bright with mischief and steel. She nudged him. “By Crom, enough melodrama! We have a world to break out of. Let’s crush our enemies, see them driven before us — and, uh… we’ll leave the lamentations for another drow tavern.”

He allowed himself a humor-black grin. “Aye. That we do.” His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, softer than his words. “Crom would like you, girl. You laugh at the dark and spit in despair’s eye. That’s the only prayer he ever heeds.”

And together they opened the gate, knowing Irenicus will probably be on the other side.

---

The gate yawned wide, and Irenicus stepped through, four demons looming at his side:

Spoiler

Conan roared and waded in, steel flashing. Imoen’s illusions tangled the fiends, scattering them like hounds at a hunt. A single Balor bore down on him, a mountain of fire and hate. Its spell struck — an implosion that crushed the air from his lungs, driving him to his knees. For a breath he was broken:

Spoiler

Then he rose, bellowing like the mountains of Cimmeria, and his flail shattered the fiend’s skull in a blaze of holy fire. One by one he split the rest, dragging each demon into its grave until only Irenicus remained, cloaked in his monstrous form.

The mage called down a Fallen Planetar, wings black as night. Conan fought it blow for blow, their clash shaking the very pit. At last, bound by some higher law, the creature was torn back to its plane:

Spoiler

But before it vanished, its blade fell — carving deep into Imoen. She crumpled, blood dark on her lips.

Conan turned just in time to see her fall. Panic hit him harder than any demon’s strike. He tore into Irenicus, rending spell-shield after spell-shield, until his flail broke the sorcerer’s demon body and hurled him down:

Spoiler

The enemy lay defeated, but victory was ash in Conan’s mouth. He dropped beside her. Her chest was still. Her breath was gone. Her skin already cooling.

Conan’s hand lingered against her cheek, rough fingers trembling. He had faced gods, monsters, and endless war, but this… this was the one blow that struck true.

"By Crom… no battle ever felt so lost"

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 21 - The Choice of Two Worlds

Silence held, heavy as breath before a scream. Then came the light—slow, burning, dawn poured into black. From it stepped a figure: tall, terrible-beautiful, armored in thought, wings of living fire. Conan, who had faced gods and beasts alike, felt awe and dread rise together like twin blades.

“Conan of… this place,” the woman said. Her voice was wind and bronze. He heard more than the words — as though the sky itself bent to listen. “You have unmade a great darkness. Irenicus sought to remake the world in his own image, drawing power from the living and the dead alike—but you unmade his great scheme, shattering the web of darkness before it could consume the realms. For that, a boon is given. I am Solar, judge and herald of the higher planes. You may return to your home-world, to the life and name you lost — or demand another gift, equal in weight. Choose.”

The word tasted like iron and snow. Conan’s mouth went dry. Memory came in a flood: banners snapping in a cold wind, a throne too warm for his hands, faces that had cheered and faces that had cursed. The feel of his old flesh, the taste of his old blood, a crown like a stone of frost. He thought of Hyboria and of all he had lost, and the world within his ribs turned for it.

And then he looked down.

Imoen lay small on the black stone, hair matted with blood, lips dark and still. No breath stirred her chest. Conan saw her laughing once in his ear, swearing she’d never leave him, her stubborn trust burning truer than any oath he had sworn.

He remembered the night in Cromwell’s forge, kindness of Svirfneblin in Underdark, Aran’s sly words, Arkanis’s splintered throat, the thieves’ eyes as they fell in the crypts, Drizzt like shadow, Imoen like stubborn light. A line of cold loss cut through his chest sharper than any war ever had.

“Can you bring back the dead?” he asked. The words came rough. He could have said send me home. He could have seized the crown again in a breath. The memory of his kingdom glittered at the edge of thought like a cut jewel. But the jewel seemed suddenly very small.

The Solar’s wings folded a little, a gesture almost like sympathy. “I may mend what the mortal weave has severed,” she said.

He did not bargain. He thought of Hyboria one hard second longer, then looked to Imoen, and the iron in his chest broke like thin ice.

“Bring her back,” he said.

The Solar lowered her hand, and light spun from her like molten silver, weaving runes older than iron. Air thickened with the scent of rain on hot metal. Threads of fire stitched through Imoen’s form, unmaking ruin, remaking flesh. Her body trembled, chest rising shallow, then fuller—until a small gasp broke the silence.

Conan leaned close. He would not tell her that a goddess of light had offered him Hyboria. He would not burden her with his longing.

Imoen blinked, dazed, her hand fumbling to catch his arm. Her voice rasped like torn paper. “What did I miss?”

“You got hit hard,” he said, blunt and rough with something like tenderness. “Too hard. Don’t move yet.”

Confusion and relief tangled in her eyes. “I thought… I thought it was over.”

“Aye. Now keep your head clear and your tongue sharper.” He nudged her gently with the pommel of his sword.

The Solar watched them both, that impossible face unreadable, then inclined her head. “You chose well, Conan of two worlds. This portal will lead you back to Faerûn when you are ready. Walk careful.”

She folded her wings, her radiance unraveling like dawn withdrawing its hand. For a heartbeat, her mouth curved—blessing or farewell—and then she was gone. The chamber cooled, leaving only mortal fire. The portal remained, shimmering silver and waiting, a bridge between Hell and the world they knew.

Imoen frowned faintly. “Chose well? What’s she talking about?”

Conan snorted. “Bah. Gods love riddles. Let it lie girl.”

Conan sat back on his heels and let himself breathe for the first time since the fight. The chance to go home had stood before him — and he had not taken it. The truth did not wash him clean of longing; it only made it quieter. For now the world at his feet was enough.

Imoen’s voice came soft, still fragile. “What did I miss?” she asked again, hopeful, afraid.

Conan drew a ragged breath, gazed over ruin and flame, then down at her. His voice was rough but steady. “You stood where others would have broken, and I’d not be here without you. That’s enough, Imoen.”

For a heartbeat she just blinked, then a soft laugh escaped her, cracked but real. “Hells, that’s the first time you’ve called me Imoen instead of ‘girl’.”

Conan grunted like a stone rolling. “Keep talking and I’ll go back to ‘girl.’”

She crossed her arms in mock severity. “Hah! Not a chance. I’m framing this moment in my mind forever.”

A rough smile touched Conan’s lips, quick as a panther, and was gone again. Side by side, they walked into the portal, leaving the darkness behind, stepping toward a dawn not of Hyboria, but of a land Conan could still claim as his own.

 

[Finarfin]

Quick Recap of SoA as Conan​

Compared to my BG1 playthrough, where I had only 22 screenshots, I ended up with just over 100 in SoA. Considering the length of the game, that’s not much of an improvement. I often had to improvise in writing to fill the gaps.

I completed most of the quests, with the exception of the Beholder Cult. I had 0 screenshots from Windspear hills and Planar Sphere, so I totally skipped about writing those parts. I also skipped the entire drow city after buying potions and Firetooth and went straight to kill Adalon. I cleared the first two levels of Watcher’s Keep before going to Suldanessellar to get the 4th head for the flail and upgrade it at the start of ToB.

I tried to manage experience carefully going into ToB. With Luke, I reached max EXP at the start of ToB, which caused me to rush and die. This time, I kept EXP under control bit better.

---

Early Game Observations​

The start of SoA was a bit easier for Conan compared to most other characters. Extra speed helped a lot, as did Rage, which counters most game-ending spells and abilities. Later, extra resistances along with the DoE and Hardiness made things even more flexible.

Early game equipment:

• Mostly Varscona with an offhand Belm.

Mid to late game rotation:

• FoA + Belm or DoE offhand
• Boomerang Dagger (later replaced by Firetooth)
• iMoD + Belm
• Silver sword for demons in hell (though insta kill never landed)
• Soul Reaver for dragons and strong solo hitters

Here is screenshot right before the final hell fight:

---

Melee vs. Ranged​

Unlike my previous characters, I went melee most of the time. My last two characters (Luke and my Cavalier) avoided melee in some cases due to the Maze spell. (Cavalier started going melee for mages after getting Carsomyr) Rage makes melee much more viable, but you always need an action ready to counter Maze—or keep Rage active if possible.

I actually had to counter Maze twice:

1. Warden (I didn’t know he used it)
2. Underdark, facing a Drow mage in front of the surface gate. He turned invisible, but I heard him casting something with “moche” and immediately triggered Rage. Thanks for the tip, @Alesia_BH : “hearing moche = Maze.”

---

Close Calls​

There were two moments where Conan almost died:

• The trap on the Slaver’s Ship (I misjudged its placement—lesson learned!)
• Trolls at D’Arnise (rushed again like I did with Luke—never again! I hope )

Fortunately, Conan survived both.

---

Build and Strategy​

The main reason I chose a Barbarian and built Conan this way was to prepare for the Sendai fight, which is still ahead. My Cavalier almost had a flawless run—except for a lucky save at Ducal Palace—but got destroyed HARD at Sendai.

Even the Hell Challenges were taken with Sendai in mind:

• Test of Pride: +20% resists
• Test of Fear: +2 Constitution
• Test of Selfishness: +10% magic resist
• Test of Greed: Blackrazor + 15 HP
• Test of Wrath: +2 Strength

Playing a short character makes life significantly easier. My last characters were Elf, Human, Human, Halfling, and now Dwarf—it’s a noticeable difference.

Since barbarian can't have more than 2 points in masteries, Conan ended up with 2 in many of them. With Luke the specialization was that much more important. His final stats were:
2x long swords (Varscona at the start and then Blackrazor)
2x flail (FoA + DoE)
2x mace (iMoD)
2x scimitar (not that important, but most of the game had offhand belm)
2x dagger (super useful at the start of BG1 and used throwing daggers through whole BG2 as well)
1x dart (regular darts for some mages who used protection from magical weapons)
1x sling (never used it)
3x two weapon style

I was thinking of adding something to halberd and axe for Ravager and Axe of the Unyielding, but Watcher's Keep 3 is a no go place for me for a solo char with upgraded demons. I like those weapons, but they are not worth the risk imho. Blackrazor/FoA will have to do.

---

Going Forward​

For ToB, I plan to focus more on technical documentation and recording fights so I have enough screenshots. I promise this time I won't try to fill the gaps with story writing

---

About the Writing​

I initially planned for Conan to turn evil after obtaining Human Flesh and Blackrazor (I took both for the Sendai fight). The idea was that his drive to return home would justify doing “anything it takes.” However, the more I wrote, the less it felt like Conan would be like that—especially after Imoen “joined” the party.

For roleplaying purposes, Conan will remain the same chaotic neutral, even though his alignment technically changed after Hell. Looking back, I would rewrite many parts now, but Conan and his story naturally evolved as I played.

Writing is not easy, but I enjoyed it more after Spellhold. Imoen’s easygoing style proved a funny contrast to Conan’s heavy, straightforward nature, which made the story much more enjoyable for me and easier to write. Few times I got 10000 chars limit on the posts, so I had to make them shorter

 

[WiseGrimwald]

Quick Recap of SoA as Conan

I've really enjoyed reading your write-ups. Thank you!

 

[WiseGrimwald]

Journal of Helmuth

We continue progressing down the tower. Mostly straightforward apart from the Dwarven Doom Guards. Usually I leave them be, but I deemed the party powerful enough to take them on. Buffed activated dead meant that we had a buffer in front of us. Used a lot of Wand of the Heavens charges. Both Tenya and Sirene were badly injured, but we survived and can now pick up the loot. I think that resting is now in order. I don't think that I could have improved much on the tactics used.

The 25% magic resistance of the wyvern helm there should be VERY useful for me, and Kiel's buckler should be a boon for my thief.

When we exit, we will have to invest in new wands of the heavens if we survive that far.

The greater wyverns were tough. We had to rest after fighting each one.

We reached the chess board with no problems and wiped the enemy out using web, fireballs and glyphs of warding. It was almost TOO easy, the effect of having a sorcerer rather than a mage.

Afterwards we rested, not to heal injury, but to remember spells.

We finally took on the Dragonknight, killed him and his cohorts, and rested.

The battle was very different to the normal battle there. We were attacked from all sides with the result that Tenya was killed before we were able to defend her.

Then went on a major shopping spree. Only item that I wanted at Ulgoth's was a Mithril Axe +3. Can manage without it.

Now finished Ice Island. We don't intend to go to Werewolf Island as the time taken is too much for the rewards gained.

Death of Sarevok

 

[WiseGrimwald]

Journal of Helmuth in Dragonspear

I have finished the Prologue and both Valerie and Sirene have left. I don't know how permanent that is.

I'd be disappointed to lose Val after nursing her into becoming a very good sorcerer. If I don't get her back, in future I'll have my own sorcerer in the party.

At least I have a plethora of scrolls for any mage that I might recruit.

If I don't keep Sirene, I will be disappointed as I wanted a paladin in the party. EDIT I've discovered she is in Dragonspear, but apparently not Valerie.

I have discovered that if I get rid of Valerie's script and change her name, she stays with the party.

I'll investigate further, perhaps call her Valery instead of Valerie

EDIT

Apparently Valerie for BG2 is now available, but not for SoD.

I can understand why they've missed out SoD.

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 22 - Prophecy of the Stranger

The portal spat them out not into ruin, but into song and torchlight. Elves crowded the marble steps of Suldanessellar, voices raised in celebration. Banners stirred and the scent of green things filled Conan’s lungs after the blackness of Hell. He had never cared much for crowns or courts, but even he could not deny the weight of a city calling him savior.

Queen Ellesime stood at the fore, her face proud but shadowed with unease. When the clamor faded, she spoke:

“Behold your saviors! By their steel and courage, Suldanessellar stands free.”

The elves cheered again, louder, and Conan found himself pulled to the high table in the queen’s hall. Garlands draped from marble columns, silver bowls brimmed with fruits and spiced wine. Harps sang above the clamor.

Imoen leaned back in her seat, grinning as wide as the platters before them. “Not bad for a couple of jailbirds, huh? From chains and torture racks to the high table of elves. I could get used to this. ”

Conan tore a joint of roast stag with his teeth, washing it down with black wine. “I could not,” he said flatly. “Too much singing, not enough fighting. Give me a firepit and a haunch of boar over this jeweled banquet.”

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, barbarian through and through. Think they’ll notice if I pocket the silverware? ”

When the revels at last dimmed and the torches guttered low, Ellesime called them aside to a quiet chamber beneath the great tree. There her smile faded.

“You have won us peace, yet I cannot let you leave blind to what stirs,” she said softly. “Conan and Imoen… you bear the essence of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. His taint runs in your veins. Already the world trembles, and unrest spreads like wildfire. I would have you consult the spirits of this forest. They alone can give you the truth of what is to come.”

Conan grunted but gave a nod, more out of respect than belief. “Then I’ll hear the stones speak.”

---

They left the elven halls behind, following a narrow path where moonlight spilled like silver dust across the roots. The air grew stiller as they pressed deeper, as though the forest itself held its breath. Great carved heads rose from the earth at last, their eyes blind, their mouths waiting. The scent of moss and old rain clung to the grove, and in the hush between heartbeats, the first voice rumbled:

“From beyond the stars, the stranger comes.
A soul not born of this world, yet bound in blood of murder.
Crownless king, sword of fate, breaker of thrones.
Two shadows walk—sister and brother not by birth,
But bound by fate and blood alike.
Blood shall drown the rivers, fire shall eat the skies,
Yet from the outsider’s choice shall the end be wrought—
A god reborn, or a god undone.”

The grove fell silent again, save for the trickle of a nearby stream.

Conan spat into the grass. “Words carved by stone-heads. They speak of blood and crowns, same as any drunk in a tavern. I care little for gods or the spawn of gods. Let Bhaal rot where he lies.”

Imoen crossed her arms, mocking a grave voice: “Two shadows walk—sister and brother not by birth… blah blah blah. Sounds fancy. Basically means I’m stuck babysitting a barbarian dwarf with anger issues.” She winked at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you look good in the songs.”

The grin faltered, just a little. Her arms tightened across her chest. “But… all the same, I’m one of them too. A child of Bhaal.” She gave a small shudder, eyes fixed on the stones. “Never thought I’d be afraid of my own blood. But gods… I am.”

Conan’s gaze hardened, voice low as iron striking flint. “Blood is nothing. You are what your hand makes of you. I’ve seen men born kings crawl like worms, and bastards rise like giants. Bhaal does not own you, Imoen.”

She let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half nerves. “Trust you to make it sound that simple. Maybe I just need to—”

The underbrush shivered, and a woman stepped into the open with a dozen shadowed figures half-hidden behind her—killers, every one. She moved like a promise of trouble, eyes cold and certain.

The woman swept a hand toward her killers, eyes flicking to Conan with hungry interest. “I am Illasera the Quick. My band has taken cities and toppled lords; our blades know the taste of many crowns. You are the famous barbarian Bhaalspawn? How quaint. Show me what they’re singing about.”

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. Another murder-cultist with charisma problems. Do they teach this pattern in the School of Doom?”

Conan’s lip curled. “If you mean to fight, woman, then fight. Don't talk”

The fight was fast, brutal — steel and spell crashing through the trees. But speed could not outmatch raw strength and fury. When the dust settled, Illasera lay still upon the roots of an ancient oak. Conan gave a short harsh laugh: “Quick, was she? Quick to die.”:

Spoiler

(side note: in truth, Conan had to run around a lot because he got blind and the fight was definitely not quick haha. Also when I was here with my Cavalier I swapped Amulet of Power for Amulet of Seldarine and she got energy drained, so I was really careful this time not to get that)

---

The air rippled and folded around them, and the forest and battlefield dissolved into the boundless expanse of the Pocket Plane. In its place stretched a vast, shadowless expanse, the horizon curving into pale nothing.

From the stillness, the Solar appeared, radiant and unyielding. “Good to see you again, Conan of two worlds,” she said, wings arcing behind her. “You have crossed into the Pocket Plane. This place is bound to your essence — refuge, and crucible. Here you may rest, gather strength, and face the trials set before you. Through them, your path shall be made clear.”

Conan’s mouth twisted in a grunt. “Trial again. Always another trial.” He set his jaw, heavy steps carrying him toward the first gate.

Imoen gave him a look halfway between worry and exasperation. “You know, normal people get excited when told they’ve got their own personal hideout. You? You grumble and stomp, when honestly… having a place that’s ours doesn’t sound half bad.”

Steel rang in the Pocket Plane, echoes caught in walls that weren’t walls at all. Conan swung the blade he had torn from Irenicus’s trial in hell, and every strike seemed to leave the air shuddering, draining energy from his enemies. The sword bled malice — its aura gnawed at the edges of thought, whispering ruin, demanding surrender. Any other man would have broken, mind unmade. Conan only laughed low in his chest. “A foul weapon,” he muttered, cutting another foe down in two strokes. “But strong. Strong enough to serve a Cimmerian hand.”:

Spoiler

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 23 - Separate Roads, Shared Blood

The trial ended in silence and sweat. Conan wiped his blade clean on the stone and gave a grunt that might have been approval.

“It seems clear enough,” he rumbled, voice like a grinding wheel. “They’ll hound us until this ‘Five’ are broken. Good. Let the hunters come. Or maybe we should hunt them! But—” his eyes narrowed, the thought curling sharp behind them “—this might be the path home to Hyboria. ”

Imoen’s mouth twitched, as if she wanted to speak but thought better of it. Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, then shuttered. Hyboria was a word she had learned to hate—because it meant leaving her behind.

Conan continued speaking, oblivious to the stir in her chest. “Listen. From here, we can teleport anywhere in Faerun. Candlekeep—you know its walls better than any. Go there. Find what you can of this prophecy, and of these Bhaalspawn. The more we know, the sharper our edge.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “Candlekeep? Alone? While you go charging headfirst into gods-know-what? Forget it. I’m not letting you—”

He cut her off with a look, steady and heavy as iron chains. For a moment she bit her lip, then sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Fine. Fine. You’re impossible, you know that? Just… come back, Conan. Promise me that much.”

Conan stepped forward, awkward in such moments, but pulled her into a rough embrace. “Take care, Imoen. You’ve claws enough.”

She hugged him back tighter than she meant to, then pulled away with a shaky grin. “Don’t worry. "I’ll have books piled high by the time you return. When I think about it, the ceiling’s pretty high in the Pocket Plane, so there’s room..." she muttered, a nervous edge betraying how much she dreaded leaving Conan to charge headlong into the unknown and leaving his side. "...Anyway, try not to break the world while I’m gone."

With a word, the portal shimmered to life. She stepped through, looking back once before vanishing.

Conan faced the gate again. His command was simple.
“Take me where the spawn gather. To where the Five bleed their strength.”

---

The world twisted—and spat him out into chaos. A city under siege, its walls black with fire, its streets filled with the din of battle. Above the roar came the banners of one more child of Bhaal, leading an army against the city’s heart.

Conan’s first step was not toward the walls, but the nearest tavern. He pushed through the smoke-hazed door and slammed a fist on the counter. “Ale.”

In the corner, a familiar voice piped up:

Spoiler

“Ah! The First Warrior reborn! Slayer of shadows, breaker of chains, storm made flesh!” Volo, quill in hand, parchment spread across three tables. He puffed up proudly and began to read aloud.

“‘With sword in hand, Conan carves through destiny itself, grim as a mountain and twice as unyielding. The people whisper his name already, a hero sprung from another age, a barbarian with the fire of gods in his blood.’”

Conan’s only response was a faint nod as he drank.

Volo cleared his throat, moving to the next sheet. “And by his side—Imoen, the ever-loyal companion. Quick of wit, lighter of heart, ever the sidekick to her barbarian comrade, she—”

Conan snorted into his mug, a rare laugh shaking his chest. “Sidekick. Good thing she’s not here, or I’d be dragging Volo’s corpse out the door.”

The barkeep leaned close, voice grave. “If it’s Bhaalspawn you hunt, stranger, there's one who hides in the castle. Strong, cunning… mad enough to topple walls alone. If no one ends him soon, the city falls, and that weight rests on his head.

Conan set down his drink. “Then the castle it is.”

He slipped into the sewers beneath, but found no quiet passage. An army of shadows swirled in the gloom, ranks of duergar and orcs pressing close. He eyed the darkness, grim humor twitching his mouth. “This must be where many brave warriors died. Whether they wore axes, or… gods help them, darts. Best keep my undead-killing mace ready.”:

Spoiler

He tried for stealth, muttering to himself, “I’ll just sneak through…”

The horde stirred, hungry eyes and blades flashing in the dark.

“…or not.”

He slipped into the castle, but the horde followed him:

Spoiler

He planted himself where the tunnel narrowed to a single iron door, shoulder braced against stone. Steel sang as they came, one by one, the choke-point forcing bodies into singularity. The passage became his rampart; each foe fell before he let another through.

Spoiler

(side note: I told myself I will be more careful and won’t just rush the sewers … and what did I do? this time I had iMoD equipped all of the time so it was safe and HP never went under 200)

---

In the castle, no guard’s steel slowed him for long:

Spoiler

By the time Conan forced open the last doors, blood smoked on his flail and the throne room waited.

Gromnir lounged there, a bull of a half-orc in dented finery, ringed by mailed killers and black-robed mages. He surged to his feet, bellowing:
“You! You storm into my castle, cut down my men, and dare stand before me? Look at us — steel, spells, shields and armor thicker than walls! Look at you — not even wearing proper armor. One blow and you’ll be meat on the floor. Are you mad?”

Laughter rolled through the chamber. Conan let it wash past him. Then he chuckled low, almost pleasant, and scraped a smear of blood from his flail with his thumb.
“Armor ...” he said, tasting the word while continuing to clean his flail. “... is part of a state of mind … in which you admit the possibility … of being hit.”

The laughter died. Silence thickened, broken only by Conan’s grin.

“Mad, they call me?” Gromnir roared, brandishing his maces. “We’ll see which madman bleeds first!”

Conan moved before the last word left his mouth. He barreled forward like a breaking wall, his flail caving helms, breaking bones. Guards toppled in sprays of blood, their cries drowned beneath the crash of his rush. Gromnir barely got his weapons up, the shock of Conan’s first blow rattling his arms to the shoulder. Surprise widened the half-orc’s eyes as he found himself ringed not by loyal men but corpses.

Magic hissed and spat, yet Conan moved like a panther, the very webs intended to trap him ensnaring only those around their master.

Spoiler

At last Conan drove his flail low, smashing one mace aside, then high — iron crushing jaw, teeth and blood spraying across the throne steps. Gromnir staggered back, throat bared, and Conan’s final swing cracked his skull like a war drum. The half-orc crumpled, the throne behind him dark with spatter.

Only one battle mage remained, crawling, burned and broken. He threw down his staff and fled, stumbling into the shadows, leaving Conan alone amid the ruin:

Spoiler

 

[WiseGrimwald]

Journal of Helmuth in Dragonspear

Arrived at Coast Way Crossing, getting there was trivial.

We came across some dwarves investigating a cave. We had run out of spells when we found an access to an inner sanctum. We therefore returned to the coalition base to rest.

We found Skie out adventuring an persuaded her to return to the base.

We then killed a vampire and returned to the base ourselves.

Returning to the cave we witnessed Coldhearth turning into a lich and have been given the wherewithal to defeat him. Now to return

We used the secret revealed to kill Coldhearth, then we destroyed the phalactery. However he returned to the fray and we had to use a second charge to kill him permanently.

The dwarves gave me a helmet that raises my con by 2 and have agreed to fight as allies in the future.

Disaster! The bridge has been destroyed

Now in Troll Claw Woods where the trolls outside were no problem. Fergie located them using stealth, then web and fireballs completed the job.

In the cave things were more difficult. At least Sirene had the sword of troll decapitation.

Now at the forest of Wyrms. By giving Fergie improved invisibility, he was able to kill the dragon Morentherene with no difficulty.

We managed to separate some of our enemies which made their elimination much easier.

Fighting the shadow aspect almost led to Fergie's death, but not quite

Sirene and I are attracted to each other!

Reached the Boareskyr Bridge

RL interrupts play for a week or so.

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 24 - When Steel Meets Fire

Conan returned to the tavern, the scent of smoke and spilt ale thick in the air. The barkeep straightened as he entered, eyes wide with something close to gratitude.
“With that mad half-orc gone, the city’s got a fighting chance,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag that was no cleaner than the counter. “It’s still small, still weak… but now we might live to see another dawn. Thank you, stranger.”

Conan gave only a curt nod and drained the last of his ale before stepping back into the Pocket Plane.

Imoen was waiting, arms folded, her face lighting up the instant she saw him—then dimming just as quickly. The air between them carried an awkward weight neither seemed eager to break.
“How did it go?” she asked at last.
“Bloody.”
Imoen let out a nervous chuckle. “Of course bloody. With you, it’s always bloody.”

Conan grunted, then asked, “Did you find anything about the fire giant who leads the siege?”

At that, Imoen perked up. She fumbled through a stack of tomes and pulled one free, patting the space beside her. Conan sat, awkwardly close, as they bent over the worn parchment together.

“Yaga-Shura,” Imoen read, her brow furrowed. “A Bhaalspawn… they say he’s invulnerable. That no steel can touch him.”
Conan’s lips twisted into a grin. “Everything can be cut down with steel. Some men just take longer to fall.”
Imoen rolled her eyes but jabbed a finger at the page. “No, really—look here. His heart was taken from him, hidden in the Fire Temple deep in the mountains. To harm him, the heart has to be burned in a sacred pyre not far from there.”

“Worth a shot,” Conan said, already rising.

Imoen snapped the book shut, glaring at him. “That’s it? ‘Worth a shot’? I should go with you.”

“No.” His voice was firm, unyielding. “You’re more useful here. Keep digging. The more you uncover, the sharper our blade against these others.”

Her mouth tightened. It was plain she hated the thought of staying behind, hated letting him stride into danger alone. But she swallowed her protest, only muttering, “Just… be careful. The Fire Temple won’t exactly roll out a welcome red carpet.”

Conan paused, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Good work, Imoen. Keep at it.”

The moment lingered a beat too long, and then he stepped away. The air shimmered as the portal opened at his command.
“Send me close to the Fire Temple,” he growled. And without another word, he vanished into the blaze of light.

---

Conan drew the hood of his new cloak tighter. The weave shimmered with sorcery—quicker steps, unseen hands. He became little more than a shadow stalking flame as he approached the Fire Temple:

Spoiler

Imoen had been right. There was no red carpet rolled out—only rivers of molten rock, and a small army of fire giants barring the gate. Steel sang and blood hissed as it struck the lava-scorched stones. When they pressed too close, Conan’s throwing knife flashed again and again, buying him the space to breathe:

Spoiler

A noble efreet rose from the flames, its laughter like a furnace opening. Conan’s lip curled at the memory of Spellhold—but this one had no illithid at its side. Instead, a fire lich crackled beside it. The sorcerer unleashed infernos, but Conan’s flame-forged resistance turned the blasts to little more than heat on his skin. The lich burned away quickly under steel:

Spoiler

Deeper within, more giants rallied—this time alongside a red dragon whose wings filled the chamber, and a fallen deva whose light had turned cruel. Conan’s knife flew more often than his blade as he cut through the tide, but steel held, as it always had:

Spoiler

At last, he found the heart—black and pulsing in its sanctum. He took it and went to the temple which Imoen marked on his map. A druid-guardian barred his path, summoning an image of Conan himself, armed with the life-draining sword he had claimed in Hell. With a grim grin, Conan swapped to his mace off-hand, the one charm that warded such level drain while keeping his trusty flail in main hand:

Spoiler

The druid was no weakling. Her Implosion gripped him, crushing his body in invisible fists, pinning him for a breath:

Spoiler

But Conan’s will tore the spell like rotting cloth, and his flail finished what her magics could not. Soon the sacred pyre blazed, and Yaga-Shura’s heart burned to ash.

---

Outside Saradush, the world stank of smoke and death. Refugees staggered past him, hollow-eyed, babbling of slaughter within the walls. When Conan saw the city itself—broken, smoldering, choked with corpses—he felt as though a mailed fist had struck his chest. So many dead.

Then came the fire giant himself. Yaga-Shura towered, his voice booming over the carnage.
“So. You are the one who slew Illasera. Come, little dwarf—try your steel against my flesh!”

Conan didn’t bother to answer. He charged.

Shock widened the giant’s eyes when Conan’s blade cut him—when blood, real blood, welled. Yaga-Shura staggered, bellowing in panic. His minions swarmed to shield him, but Conan hacked his way through what felt like half an army:

Spoiler

The giant was slow, and slower still when Conan’s enchanted flail crushed into him, dragging him down like a stone into mire. Yaga-Shura fell at last, his roar ending in a wet, choking gurgle:

Spoiler

The field went quiet. Then, one by one, the horde broke, fleeing the carnage left in Conan’s wake. Victory stood, but it was bitter. The cries of Saradush’s dead still clung to the air, echoing in Conan’s ears even as Yaga-Shura’s broken army scattered to the winds:

Spoiler

---

Conan stood in the dim glow of the Pocket Plane, his flail still spattered with giant blood, but his gaze far away. Imoen perked up at his return, ready with some quip, but froze when she saw his face.

He sat heavily on one of the stone steps, as though the weight of Saradush itself pressed on his shoulders. For a long while, he said nothing.

Finally, his voice came, low and raw.
“The giant fell. His heart burned. His army scattered. By all rights, it should be a clean victory. Yet…” He ground a hand over his brow. “The city was already broken. Thousands dead. Too many for any steel to avenge. I felt their cries in my gut, Imoen. Like I’d swallowed fire. And when I slew him—it did not silence them. Not one.”

Imoen’s smile had faded long ago. She slid closer, her usual lightness tempered. “Conan…”

He looked at her then, eyes hard, but with a glint of something fragile beneath. “I’ve won battles, aye. I’ve taken thrones, split kingdoms. But this… this was butchery, and my blade too slow to stop it.”

Imoen placed a hand lightly on his arm. “You can’t carry all the dead, Conan. Not even your shoulders are that broad. You did what you could. More than most would even dare. And if those people had any chance at all—it was because you were there.”

For a moment, silence pressed between them, broken only by the faint hum of the plane itself. Then Conan let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though it held no humor.
“Bah. I’m a Cimmerian. I should drink, curse the gods, and move on. Yet the cries still cling.”

Imoen gave him a small, crooked smile. “Then we’ll carry them together. And when it gets too heavy, I’ll remind you—you’re not alone anymore.”

Conan gave a grunt, something between acknowledgment and gratitude. His hand briefly covered hers before pulling away. “Aye. Not alone.”

 

[Finarfin]

Fun fact: Some of you might know this, but the music from the Fire Temple (Marching Mountains) is heavily inspired by Basil Poledouris's soundtrack from Conan The Barbarian.

BG2 Marching Mountains:


Conan Mountain of Power Procession:


I remember 1st time I heard Marching Mountains, I let the game run in the background while I did something else, just so that the music kept playing. Now whenever I am writing Conan's story, I have soundtrack from 1st movie on repeat to help with inspiration and writing

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 25 - Into the Dragon’s Maw

The hum of the Pocket Plane steadied around them, its silence a stark contrast to the screams that still haunted Conan’s ears. Imoen had wasted no time while he was away; parchments and inkpots lay scattered about her stone desk, her hands smudged with charcoal from tracing maps.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes softer than her voice. “I’ve been digging. Already tracked two more of the Five. One’s taken the form of a dragon—yes, a dragon, Conan. And the other’s a drow. Both dangerous. Both buried deep in lairs you don’t just walk into.”

She pushed a marked map across the table toward him, her fingers lingering a heartbeat before she let go. “That will leave one after this. One until it’s done… and you can probably go home to Hyboria.” Her voice faltered on the word, as if it carried more weight than she could bear. For a moment, something unspoken flickered in her eyes—something she smothered with a smile that didn’t quite reach. "Don’t worry, I won’t give you grief about fighting alone anymore. I know you can do this.” Her voice cracked faintly, though her smile held. “I trust you, Conan. Even when it terrifies me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, only met her gaze. Then she added, softer, “I’ll search for the last of the Five while you’re away. That’s how I can help.” She reached into her pack and pulled out two scrolls, handing them to him carefully. “I bought these at Adventure’s Mart some time ago,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “I was saving them for the right moment. They’ll dispel any magic you have on yourself and make you immune to other magic for a time. You might need them against the next two Bhaalspawns.”

They wished each other luck in the blunt way of warriors, words too small for the weight between them. Still, Imoen tried for levity as she adjusted her pack. “And listen—if you end up sneaking into that drow lair, maybe try not to brag about the lamentation of the women this time?”

Conan gave a short, rough chuckle, the sound more alive than it had been since Saradush. Imoen’s grin stayed a moment before she shimmered out of the plane, her form swallowed by light.

Conan’s eyes lingered on the place she’d been. Hyboria… a name that meant nothing without her now. He turned, telling himself he needed nothing but his blade, his armor, and his own stubborn heart. Feelings were for fools and poets. Still… the ghost of her smile lingered, stubborn and quiet, and for a heartbeat he let himself notice it before turning away. The path forward was all that mattered.

Then he turned, his hand tightening on the flail at his side. Without another word or though, he stepped through the portal—into the dragon’s lair.

---

The air thickened with sulfur as Conan entered the lair. A robed figure barred his path, eyes blazing with contempt.

“You crawl into my domain, dwarf? I will unmake you with a thought.”

Conan only sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Here we go again. Same old story.” His flail came up as he charged.

The mage swathed himself in layer upon layer of protections, his body glimmering like living glass. For a moment, he seemed untouchable—until Conan’s simple darts hissed through one shield:

Spoiler

And Cromwell’s bow sent shaft after shaft hammering into another:

Spoiler

The mage staggered, then threw back his head with a roar that cracked stone. Flesh boiled away into scales, robes torn into wings of fire. A dragon stood before him, laughter thundering from its maw

“Little fool. Did you think arrows and darts would slay me?”

Conan drew the black sword, its edge drinking the light around it. “Steel is steel,” he growled, “and you can bleed.” Even this colossus could not resist the blade’s dark hunger:

Spoiler

With a final crash, the beast fell broken:

Spoiler

Deeper in the caverns, lizardmen were left behind as Conan slipped by under the shroud of his cloak:

Spoiler

Beyond them, more dragons came. Two at once he cut down in a storm of blood and fire, then another alone, then another again—until the cavern floor was a graveyard, corpses heaped so high there was scarcely room to stand.

Spoiler

And still it was not done. At the black heart of the lair, a swarm of beholders awaited—Death Tyrants and Tyrant Golems, eyes blazing with unholy power. Terrifying to behold, yes. But to Conan, they were only more bodies to be broken. One by one, they fell until silence reigned:

Spoiler

---

Image of Conan’s stats and equip (equip which was used for the 4th dragon - the fire dragon. That's why Conan is wearing Helm of Brilliance):

Spoiler

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 26 - Saved by a Sister’s Gift
(Side note: I actually made a video of the fight, so it was much easier to document this time.)

Conan knew that in the next cavern, one of the Five waited. Abazigal.
So Conan took his time to prepare:

• Potion of Invulnerability
• Potion of Heroism
• Spell Turning
• Stoneskin
• Improved Invisibility
• Improved Haste
• Hardiness
• Potion of Cold Resistance

Spoiler

Conan came in, fast and quiet. Abazigal was surrounded by salamanders, so Conan cut them down first:

Spoiler

Abazigal struck hard, but even he could not withstand Conan and the black sword:

Spoiler

The moment Abazigal turned into a dragon, Conan entered his rage—better safe than sorry, in case spells came that could end even him. Then Abazigal layered himself with protections. No blade could touch him. Conan ran:

Spoiler

Even with Conan's electrical resistance at the maximum, Abazigal’s claws bit deep. Conan drank a potion of regeneration as he circled the cavern:

Spoiler

And more running:

Spoiler

Then came the dreaded Remove Magic, followed by Greater Malison:

Spoiler

Conan’s speed saved him—the spells could not catch him:

Spoiler

More protections. More running:

Spoiler

This time, Conan let the dispels catch him. Then he slammed back potions: Oil of Speed, Potion of Heroism, Potion of Invulnerability, Potion of Regeneration. Running. Waiting. Watching. Finally the protections dropped. Conan’s blows landed—until Abazigal blinded him. More running, blindly this time:

Spoiler

“No more tricks,” Conan thought. He drew the great demon-forged blade from the Underdark and unleashed greater whirlwind after greater whirlwind:

Spoiler

Abazigal staggered. Conan pressed harder:

Spoiler

His confidence grew too quickly. In his fury he forgot defense. Abazigal seized the moment. A Maze spell—swift, silent, deadly. Conan’s rage and magic resistance failed him. The cage closed in:

Spoiler

Helpless—then a memory: Imoen’s face, her hands pressing two scrolls into his grip. Conan unfurled one, tearing its power into being just in time. The Maze collapsed into nothing:

Spoiler

Too close.

Now no spell could harm him. Conan took up the black sword and hacked into the dragon with merciless strokes:

Spoiler

Then back to the demon blade. Greater whirlwinds rained down:

Spoiler

Abazigal faltered, staggered, and at last collapsed, the cavern shaking beneath his fall:

Spoiler

(Side note: That Maze almost got me. He casts it so fast and without a word it’s hard to react. I made the mistake of not having rage constantly. This was the exact moment my Cavalier had to use the first scroll, too.)

 

[Finarfin]

Conan, Barbarian Dwarf: Part 27 – The Cavern of Endless Night

With the dragon slain, Conan gathered the treasure. Among the spoils, he found a flail head—another piece of the legendary Flail of Ages. Without hesitation, he made a swift journey back to Cromwell, who reforged the weapon with practiced hands. When the dwarf returned, the flail burned with new power, each strike now echoing with the weight of time itself. It was time to face the drow lair Imoen had marked on the map.

The entrance was heavily guarded, but Conan’s upgraded flail crushed all opposition with brutal ease:

Spoiler

The tunnels beyond swarmed with slaves, their eyes hollow, their chains dragging. Conan pulled his cloak tight and slipped past unseen, unwilling to waste steel on broken souls:

Spoiler

Deeper in, two liches barred his path. Their wards held strong, and their spells rained down, but Conan pressed on with his mace of disruption, hammering through the arcane defenses until the undead sorcerers crumbled to dust:

Spoiler

In the next chamber, the ground itself shook as an Elemental Prince of Earth emerged. A mountain of living stone, crowned with shards of obsidian, its voice was a grinding avalanche:

Spoiler

“By Crom! What manner of beast is this?” Conan roared, flinging himself forward.
The battle was long and brutal, stone crashing against steel, but the Blackrazor’s dark hunger and the Flail of Ages’ unstoppable weight shattered even this so-called Prince. The cavern floor split with the final blow, and the elemental collapsed into rubble:

Spoiler

Pressing onward, Conan’s instincts screamed warning. He sensed life-drainers ahead—vampires, perhaps. He readied his Mace of Disruption in his offhand:

Spoiler

Instead, he was met with something far worse—vampiric Illithids, flanked by an army of mind flayers and umber hulks. They blinked into existence around him, the air thick with psionic force. Conan swung wildly, cutting a path through the swarm. Then one of the vampiric Illithids struck unseen, sinking its tendrils into his life-force. The dwarf staggered, drained, rage barely holding him upright:

Spoiler

Snarling, he raised his Shield of Harmony, fortifying mind and body. His potions still coursed through him, Potion of Invulnerability holding firm:

Spoiler

With a roar, Conan unleashed a Greater Whirlwind, atop of Greater Deathblow which he had from before. Flayers and hulks fell in waves until only a single Ulitharid remained. The duel was short, brutal, and bloody:

Spoiler

When it fell, Conan stood alone among the corpses, chest heaving. He returned to the Pocket Plane to rest, sharpen his blades, and steel his mind:

Spoiler

For he knew that beyond the next chamber lay a challenge unlike any other.

(Side note: Before the illithid room, I boosted my intelligence to 25. I came in with mace of disruption, but there is very little space to move after that horde teleports in. Then they started draining my intelligence fast. So I switched from Mace of Disruption to Belm, to take them down faster but I missed one vampiric Illithid who drained me. I think with the Potion of Invulnerability, saving throws were safe but I still had to move fast so that they won't drain all the intelligence. This room is really hard. One option is to just go to the previous room and kill them there, but I did not like retreating. But I think that is a legit tactic and I might do it next time)

 

[Alesia_BH]

Hey there, hi there, everyone! I'm sorry I haven't been around of late- especially with such cool stuff going on. Wise in Dragonspear (!); Finarfin's Conan facing Sendai (!!); Borco rolling an enchanter (!).

I'm looking forward to catching up once I find the time. Until then, good hunting, everyone!

Cheers,

A.